He had been in Damascus when he’d caught sight of the door. And while a lot of things have changed recently, the order to go through the door to Milliways as it finds him has not been rescinded
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Rachel has been bartending tonight and thus been a little less sensitive about who's watching her and for how long. But when her shift is over and she picks up the drink book to go sink into one of the squashy armchairs, another person watching her is a little easier to pick up on.
When she looks up and finds an unfamiliar man watching her, without the somewhat-usual leer, she's still wary.
It's just that the confusion makes it a much softer sort of wariness.
"Uh, yeah." Rachel straightens into less of a slouch in the chair, setting the book on her knee. "She woke up, though, so I'm done. One of the wait-guys can get something for you, though."
He'll eat sometimes, either to experiment with food, or to accept the hospitality of another. And occasionally will have a cup of coffee in order to fit in better. But neither food nor drink is a requirement.
That his commenting on her job tonight was more of a random thought than a demand for service is good. It's still an odd sort of conversation, but she's less offended by it and Rachel's expression relaxes marginally.
"The peace," she echoes, and glances round. It's not quite as bustling this time of the evening but there's still the random weird of Milliways to contend with. Still, the sort of people that show up here, she can imagine what he's seeking peace from.
...or, well, not imagine it. Guess at the severity of, maybe.
"Consistent insanity is still consistent, I guess."
There's something familiar and unsettling about the way he speaks, the expressions he does/n't take. But Rachel can't quite place it. Her posture speaks of wariness for her as she curls up a bit in the chair, one knee brought to her chest so her arms can wrap loosely around it.
When she looks up and finds an unfamiliar man watching her, without the somewhat-usual leer, she's still wary.
It's just that the confusion makes it a much softer sort of wariness.
"Um... hi?"
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"Hello."
His head tilts to the side, slightly.
"You were tending the bar."
See? He's been paying attention.
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"Uh, yeah." Rachel straightens into less of a slouch in the chair, setting the book on her knee. "She woke up, though, so I'm done. One of the wait-guys can get something for you, though."
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He'll eat sometimes, either to experiment with food, or to accept the hospitality of another. And occasionally will have a cup of coffee in order to fit in better. But neither food nor drink is a requirement.
"I am merely enjoying the peace."
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"The peace," she echoes, and glances round. It's not quite as bustling this time of the evening but there's still the random weird of Milliways to contend with. Still, the sort of people that show up here, she can imagine what he's seeking peace from.
...or, well, not imagine it. Guess at the severity of, maybe.
"Rough time at home?"
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His expression shifts into something that, if you watch closely, might be wry amusement.
"That is something of an understatement," he confirms.
He too glances around the bar.
"Perhaps 'peace' is not the most apt description of Milliways. But it is comfortable in its consistency."
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There's something familiar and unsettling about the way he speaks, the expressions he does/n't take. But Rachel can't quite place it. Her posture speaks of wariness for her as she curls up a bit in the chair, one knee brought to her chest so her arms can wrap loosely around it.
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For Milliways to qualify as insanity by comparison.
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"...no," she manages finally, between what could be termed giggles. "No, I don't think anyone could call it that."
Maybe she should have chosen 'weird' over 'insanity.'
...no, that doesn't work either.
"But I take your point. It's not that crazy here."
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"What is your world like?" he ventures.
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"It's a war zone."
Saying that sobers the conversation very well for her. Though she frowns a moment later. It was a war zone, the last time she saw it.
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A war that is currently being conducted in shadows, but a war zone nonetheless.
"Are you a soldier?"
It's his default thought. He is one himself, after all.
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She hesitates, then nods. "I was."
It's a good word, soldier. More accurate than warrior, really.
"How's it going?"
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