Wayne has finally accepted the fact that just because this place shows up when he goes through the bathroom door at Panco, that it isn't actually part of the building, and is actually someplace else.
This still does not prepare him for the fact of seeing his wife sitting at the bar when he comes through the door for a break. And as talented as he is, it still leaves him standing speechless for a good seven seconds, hand still on the door.
Wayne finally unsticks himself from the door and cautiously approaches her, as one might approach a skittish deer.
When he's finally convinced himself that it is actually her, he comes close enough that he doesn't have to shout and says, "Cherien?" (Even though he's not seen anyone from either Panco or Edenfalls here, habit makes him stick to the alias unless they're completely alone.)
Tom's been in the mood to come to Milliways more often, and he's had the time, by some sheer miracle. It's interesting to meet new people, after all. And the scotch is so so good.
He notices the woman looking for a bartender.
"Good evening. You might have better luck hailing a waitrat. Shall I call one over for you? I need a drink anyway."
"I've gotta find a waiter just to get served at the bar, around here? Shit."
Count on her mind to make things more complicated than they need to be. Excuse her for being less than polite, at the moment. She thinks she's going nuts.
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This still does not prepare him for the fact of seeing his wife sitting at the bar when he comes through the door for a break. And as talented as he is, it still leaves him standing speechless for a good seven seconds, hand still on the door.
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But she's still eying the length of the bar, wondering what she took and how it could be sadistic enough to leave her there with no bartender.
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When he's finally convinced himself that it is actually her, he comes close enough that he doesn't have to shout and says, "Cherien?" (Even though he's not seen anyone from either Panco or Edenfalls here, habit makes him stick to the alias unless they're completely alone.)
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"Wa...Doug?"
She stares at him for a moment, before shaking her head, as if it is totally his fault that he's in her drug-induced hallucination.
"What the Hell are you doing here?"
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He notices the woman looking for a bartender.
"Good evening. You might have better luck hailing a waitrat. Shall I call one over for you? I need a drink anyway."
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Count on her mind to make things more complicated than they need to be. Excuse her for being less than polite, at the moment. She thinks she's going nuts.
"Well, fine, call one."
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"Bar is temporarily out of commission. It happens occasionally." He beckons a passing waitrat.
The waitrat skitters over, and Tom leans down to address it. "A scotch please, and for the lady-" He turns to Dahlia, smiling reassuringly.
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She says this in a very dumbfounded, stunned way, because...uhm. Rat. Taking drink orders.
"...I must've really hit the stuff, this time. Shit."
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