(Untitled)

[bring_a_sponge]

A Man in Black is coming through the Door glowering at a digital readout screen in his hands, which is how the Door manages to slam shut behind him before he looks up to see:

"Ah, shitHe stomps over to Bar and brutally takes a seat. (No, really, 'brutally' is just the word

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[hello_freak]

There's a tall, shaggy headed gentleman sitting at the end of the bar, watching him intently over the top of his copy of the New York Times. At his elbow, there are a stack of newspapers from every major metropolitan area in the world, all dated July 2010.

"Another brash Yank in the bar. How charming."

Have some droll with your bourbon, Zed.

[bring_a_sponge]

Oh, look. A brand-new someone to growl at. Maybe the night isn't a total loss after all.

"And another smug Brit. Are you from before or after your Empire went into the crapper?"

[hello_freak]

"After."

Said utterly without inflection.

"I should clarify: An angry American transferring the attribution of his indigestion to the nearest convenient target. How utterly predictable."

Something about the man's suit has caught his eye though. It is completely unwrinkled, even as the man wears it. Which is impossible, at least in his universe.

He snaps his paper once and glances down for a few moments. And then his curiosity gets the better of him.

"Where did you get that suit?"

He doesn't even realise he's set the paper down (abandoned it, really) and is advancing on the older gentleman, intent on getting a better look.

[bring_a_sponge]

Zed glowers. Like he wants this Anglo nutjob any closer to him than he already is. What is it with people in this dump and their problem with personal space?

"Special manufacture. Dikon tubers straight from Titan III."

"Resistant to all terrestrial and 156 kinds of extraterrestrial toxins, can disperse the shock of impact from attacks by anything less than a Class Omega threat, and it's machine washable. Even stands up to an Argalian's acid-breath. All three heads."

"What the fuck's it to ya?"

[doyousmellfudge]

"Did you seriously expect to get a good response from that?" says a pudgy, sixtysomething man who's nursing a whiskey sour a few stools down from Zed's position.

[bring_a_sponge]

"Sometimes I think this pile of shit exists just to fuck with me," Zed rumbles, not actually disagreeing with the man.

[doyousmellfudge]

"Little self-centered of you, don't you think?" says Artie lightly.

(Pot, meet kettle.)

[bring_a_sponge]

"No," Zed growls.

"But I'll allow for it screwing with other people's heads too. When I'm not here."