"Buddy, you don't know the half of it," is the reply. It's a perfectly sensible answer if you've encountered more than sixty seconds of the ludicrousness that is Jack's life.
Regardless, Eyepatch McWelcome's offer of information is appreciated. He's either the most laid back bouncer in the history of everything or he's not, but either way he appears to be trying to assist strangers.
Unless, of course, it's a trap.
Jack approaches with caution. You wouldn't know it, what with his confident stride, but his brain has kicked into overdrive, storing visual information with great efficiency.
Jack considers this seemingly innocuous statement for a few beats, turning to look at Fiona. Experience has taught him that if something appears to be too good to be true, it usually is (except when it isn't).
He's learned to be the wary variety of superhero.
"Is there a catch? I take a drink and get spirited off to Battleworld and have to fight my way out?"
"I assume it is provided as an apology, as you have just been plucked from your place in space and time and brought to the end of both, which, as you might have guessed, is here."
She didn't have anything to drink herself, nor to eat, but she was sitting at the bar counter. She had a book instead, a thick, old volume that'd left some dust on the wood.
"Also, depending on whether you see the door behind you right there," and she pointed to the place right behind his head, "you are either trapped here or allowed to go whenever you like."
Tiwa gives him a headtilt, she's seen a few nockers pull off outfits like that and comes over. There are some braids with shinies in her hair, a wound healing on her neck and she's got a lightness to her step,
'Aliens made it' would be the honest reply, but Jack of Hearts, bold and intrepid adventurer, poet at large, and winner of every game of poker from wherever here is all the way to the heat death of the universe, takes a short step back in faint alarm.
He's seen that look before. That look that says 'I want to EAT you.'
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"Let me guess. You've never been here before?"
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He chooses his words very, very carefully.
"No, I don't think so. At least I don't remember. Yet."
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He leans forward and gestures invitingly at the chair across from him.
"Have a seat if you like. First drink's free, and I think I'm supposed to give you the welcome speech at this point."
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Regardless, Eyepatch McWelcome's offer of information is appreciated. He's either the most laid back bouncer in the history of everything or he's not, but either way he appears to be trying to assist strangers.
Unless, of course, it's a trap.
Jack approaches with caution. You wouldn't know it, what with his confident stride, but his brain has kicked into overdrive, storing visual information with great efficiency.
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"No," she offered.
"In fact, the first drink has proven to be free of charge."
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He's learned to be the wary variety of superhero.
"Is there a catch? I take a drink and get spirited off to Battleworld and have to fight my way out?"
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She didn't have anything to drink herself, nor to eat, but she was sitting at the bar counter. She had a book instead, a thick, old volume that'd left some dust on the wood.
"Also, depending on whether you see the door behind you right there," and she pointed to the place right behind his head, "you are either trapped here or allowed to go whenever you like."
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"There goes the need for my 'am I on Earth, an Earth, any Earth?' question. Thank you, I think?"
But there's the issue of a door. Following the implied trajectory of his finger, he looks over his shoulder.
"There's a door," he says, turning back to her and letting a glint steal into his eyes.
The kind of glint that one uses when one suspects that the attractive lady with a book might be slightly insane.
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"Nope, first drink's free, you're shiny."
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He doesn't, however, show it.
"'Shiny'?"
There's an almost plaintive sense of inevitability.
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Tiwa peers at him even more and the headtilt becomes more birdlike.
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He's seen that look before. That look that says 'I want to EAT you.'
"It's my costume," he offers, fascinated.
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