The scrape of a key sounds from the other side of Milliways' front door. A click later, the knob turns to escort a tall blonde woman into the room
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There's an older woman at a table nearby, with silver-streaked red hair done up in a complicated knot on the back of her head; she's wearing a long dress and bolero jacket in beige, embroidered with copper and silver that match her hair.
She glances up from the small device she's studying, and offers Olivia a smile.
"Sure thing." Cheerful. "This place is called Milliways, and it has a tendency to take people by surprise the first time they come here. -- I take it this is your first time?"
"So far as anyone's ever been able to ascertain," she says, "it's a nexus of all possible realities, semi-randomly accessible from all of them, and located at the end of time. It's also the name of the bar and inn that occupies that nexus."
Beat.
"I don't know if that'll make any more sense to you than it did to me, first time I stumbled in."
"It's not something I've encountered before," she says at last, "but...no. It makes sense."
Much more sense than it should, even if she hasn't seen the phenomenon in this exact permutation. Soft spots, is what she thinks, and it propels her next glance around the bar -- this one swifter, and far sharper.
Her eyebrows go up, but she doesn't comment on the younger woman's sharper look around.
"There's a few basic rules here," she continues, "nothing too onerous -- no violence in the bar, no sex or nudity in the bar, although they're only middling prudish about what counts as nudity, and no outside business. Which usually translates as no outside grudges, in cases where old enemies run into each other here."
"Oh, I don't have the first clue." Rueful. "I know I first came here over a decade ago, subjectively speaking, but I don't think that necessarily even gives us a minimum age."
"That's still a long time for this kind of phenomenon to exist," she murmurs, more than half to herself. "You haven't noticed any adverse effects from being here?"
She glances up from the small device she's studying, and offers Olivia a smile.
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Olivia does, however, venture a few more measured paces into the bar. "Excuse me, ma'am?"
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(Ma'am. Oh it's been a while since she's heard that one.)
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Not what happened to my apartment or how did I get here. The former's irrelevant; depending on the answer she receives, the latter might be as well.
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Guarded again, as if unsure whether it's wise to admit that fact.
"What is Milliways, exactly?"
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Beat.
"I don't know if that'll make any more sense to you than it did to me, first time I stumbled in."
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"It's not something I've encountered before," she says at last, "but...no. It makes sense."
Much more sense than it should, even if she hasn't seen the phenomenon in this exact permutation. Soft spots, is what she thinks, and it propels her next glance around the bar -- this one swifter, and far sharper.
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"There's a few basic rules here," she continues, "nothing too onerous -- no violence in the bar, no sex or nudity in the bar, although they're only middling prudish about what counts as nudity, and no outside business. Which usually translates as no outside grudges, in cases where old enemies run into each other here."
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"Do you know how long this place has existed?"
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"That's still a long time for this kind of phenomenon to exist," she murmurs, more than half to herself. "You haven't noticed any adverse effects from being here?"
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A pause, and she adds conscientiously, "Nor any I've noticed in any other regular patrons."
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"Why wouldn't you be the best judge?"
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And, after another moment's hesitation, she offers her hand.
"Olivia Dunham. FBI."
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