(Untitled)

[yourtieisugly]

'Man sitting at the bar, his long grasshopper legs tucked up on the support struts of the stool beneath him. He looks like the type that frequents this type of bar -- and worse. The kinds of places where gum isn't the only substance you have to worry about scraping off the bottom of your shoes after you leave

Comments

[yourtieisugly]

Behind him, someone drops a couple of quarters into the old jukebox. The machine eats them -- chukka-ching, chukka-ching -- and eventually burps out something by Woody Guthrie. House plants his fist against the side of his face, the heel of his palm digging into the ear closest to the jukebox. It's not that he has anything against Woody Guthrie (honestly, how can you have it in for a guy whom even Dylan called "a genius genius genius"?) but right now, he's not in the mood for twangy folk rock.

Unfortunately, plugging one ear means that the other is open to twice the abuse. He hears a greeting come from a couple stools down. House gives the owner of the voice a sideways look, ostensibly to determine if he's worth further inspection.

He looks worn into this place. A comfortable drunk, at least, judging by the way he orders. House decides that it's worth a shot -- after all, he's only got another couple of bucks in his pocket. Maybe this guy knows the bartender and can make "nice" on House's behalf. He doesn't quite feel like going home yet.

"Do we know each other?"

[wizard_dresden]

"If you don't like the music, I can change it. Or turn it off." Which doesn't answer his question, but I'm working on being friendly.

I don't think I know him, but I did know someone very similar... at least in appearance.

[yourtieisugly]

This guy is too eager. Creepy neighbor eager. House takes one look at the patent leather jacket and dark, McDreamy looks and gets a pretty good opinion of Mr. Music.

"I'm not gay," he says, pinkie finger jutting daintily out from the side of his beer stein, "certifiable, maybe, but not gay. The music's fine." He plugs his lips around the rim of the glass and takes a deep drink. When he comes up, he squeezes the foam off his upper lip with his hand.

"You own this place?"

[wizard_dresden]

"So, is covering your ears a new way of indicating how much you like the music? I keep missing these things." Hell, he should be glad the damned jukebox didn't decide to dance a jig and turn itself inside out.

I frown - at a couple of the things he said. "Don't care if you're gay or not. Didn't realize it was relevent. And no." That last one in reference to whether or not I own the place.

Next time I'll just wave my hand at the jukebox and make it play a different song rather than offering to be kind. Some people.

[yourtieisugly]

'Neighborhood Watch faded kind of quickly, didn't it?

"You offered to change the music. Didn't know if it was because you had the deed to the bar, or because the person who does appointed you 'Extra Special Jukebox Monitor' today."

[wizard_dresden]

Oh for crying out loud.

I wave a hand at the jukebox with just enough power to influence, rather than short-circuit and some crazy-ass polka music decides to oompa it's way from the speakers. Not exactly what I had in mind, but it'll do.

[yourtieisugly]

Images of fat Bavarians in green tights go dancing through his head.

"Thanks," he says tightly, "that's much better."

[wizard_dresden]

"Best I can do on short notice. I'd switch it again, but you're likely to get Metallica."

I sigh. 'Flick my hand again to just turn it off for the moment. "Feel free to dump quarters in it later and pick something more to your liking."

I take a long, long pull from my beer as a distraction.

[yourtieisugly]

- "So, not the owner, but friends with the barkeeper and a strong advocate for the RIAA. Doesn't sound like our kind of people." - This comment from the leggy blonde sitting on the stool next to him, her fingers wrapped around the straw of a neon pink drink. Despite himself, House aims ocular daggers at the stool which is, of course, empty.

He's getting pretty tired of his hallucinations showing up when they're not wanted -- especially when they put their imaginary drinks on his tab.

It looks like James Hetfield is gonna' have to be his go-to guy for now. House stuff the bus ticket into his pocket and throws a glance in the guy's direction. "Do the taxis come out this far? I think I've worn out my warranty for riding buses."

[wizard_dresden]

I chuckle. I can't help it.

"Man, I haven't seen so much as a Yugo around here. Not sure there are cars, or buses. At least, not part of any infrastructure that I've seen. Hot-foot it or plant it on the stool there seem to be your options."

I shrug. "I could probably make you fly, but I doubt you'd like the landings much."

[yourtieisugly]

House makes a face. Terrific. Out of one looney bin and into another. House is suddenly nostalgic for the comparative calm of Mayfield.

So a taxi was out. He had hoofed it less than a quarter mile from the bus station to get to this place -- the first real bar he'd seen since leaving upstate Jersey -- and barely seen so much as a service station in between. It was like being in a chapter of The Stand -- except without all the poorly written sex scenes.

"Got a phone around?"

[wizard_dresden]

I shrug. I haven't actually looked.

"There might be one. But I doubt it would call anywhere you're thinking." I take another pull on my beer. "See, this place, not any ordinary bar. Actually, I take that back. The bar itself is rather ordinary, but it's location in the grand scheme of things is a little out of the ordinary."

I shift on the stool to face the eerily familiar guy down the bar. (Really odd to find a fourth person who looks like that - it's started to creep me out.) "Apparently, this little 'town' - for lack of a better word -" and I point toward the door leading out of the bar that faces a stretch of road that meanders through, "is one of those strange 'mystical convergences' that draws people in and doesn't see fit to necessarily let them go."

And now he's really going to think I'm nuts. I'd think I was nuts if I hadn't done this before.

[yourtieisugly]

"Like reality television," he says. Aw, he doesn't mean that. He would never malign reality TV, especially when it's done so much for him. He scrapes his nails over his close-cropped crown and feints a tight smirk down the bar.

"Look, don't dick me around. If I wanted to trip the light fantastic with unicorns and harem dancers, I would've stayed in the hospital. At least there I was guaranteed medication."

He reaches into his back pocket and tugs out a cell phone. 'Flips it open. No reception. He'd tried earlier, but with similar results. This place was a black hole.

[wizard_dresden]

"What's reality television?" Have I mentioned I don't actually get to watch much TV? For a number of reasons.

"Whatever. Doesn't matter. I'm not dicking your around - I've got better things to... well, back home I'd have better things to do." I'm getting off track. "Anyway - it's not a joke. Not a fantasy. You've been given a sort-of one-way invitation to wherever-the-hell we are. Maybe you can walk back into your old life directly from here, maybe you can't. Maybe we're all locked in pods somewhere and this is some sort of virtual reality - " Hey, I managed to see the Matrix when I was in Europe for a tour, shut up. "- or maybe we're all crazy. We'll probably never know. So, kick back and enjoy not being locked in a small room. If you like open air, there's plenty of it just through that door."

[yourtieisugly]

Forget that everything this guy's saying sounds like something that would land anybody else in a private, padded room. He certainly sounds like he believes what he's talking about, which means that he thinks he's rational.

"I wasn't brought here. I just walked in for a beer. I've had a rough couple of months. Drinking seemed like a good idea." He raises an eyebrow. "How did you get here?"

[wizard_dresden]

I can't help it. I have to laugh - well, at least smile.

"You were brought here. I can guarantee you, this isn't the bar you thought you were walking into."

I figure I'll start there and then tell him how I got here - stupid mystical convergences.

"As for my arrival," I fan a deck of cards in one hand, "I'd stepped off stage so my assistants could prep for the show's finale and was intending to walk into the bathroom, but ended up here instead." Fortunately, the bar here also has a bathroom or there might have been a problem.