(no subject)
The bar door opens, to reveal a rather portly redhaired woman, of some middle years. She strolls into the room, calling out in a joyful, boisterous voice "SALLLLLLY! I'M HOOOOO-" Michelle pulls the unlit cigar from the corner of her mouth with a frown as she takes in what is quite obviously not her house. "-ome. Huh." A quick glance behind the bar is enough for her to know it's not HER bar either. But a time slide should desposit her exactly where she decides to be. Which means she somehow got diverted in between the late twentieth century and... well, the exact date is meaningless to anyone who doesn't live there, the natives just call it Harmony. Which is impossible.
Mike crams her cigar back into her mouth to chew on the end of it. Tentatively, she reaches out mentally,
seeking Harmony. It's still there, somewhere forward and to the side, but she can't quite touch it. Bizarre. Which means she's stuck here, for now.
Might as well make the best of it, eh?
She takes a good half an hour exploring the bar, and peeking out at the world outside. But, long practice has shown her that when there's a bar, there will eventually be people who need drinks. Which is why the end fo her explorations finds Mike back behind the bar, having taken count of the booze available, and thrown on the apron left lying around. In the time honored tradtion of Bartenders everywhere, she's got a mug in one hand, and a rag in the other.
"So, what'll it be?"
Mike crams her cigar back into her mouth to chew on the end of it. Tentatively, she reaches out mentally,
seeking Harmony. It's still there, somewhere forward and to the side, but she can't quite touch it. Bizarre. Which means she's stuck here, for now.
Might as well make the best of it, eh?
She takes a good half an hour exploring the bar, and peeking out at the world outside. But, long practice has shown her that when there's a bar, there will eventually be people who need drinks. Which is why the end fo her explorations finds Mike back behind the bar, having taken count of the booze available, and thrown on the apron left lying around. In the time honored tradtion of Bartenders everywhere, she's got a mug in one hand, and a rag in the other.
"So, what'll it be?"