(Untitled)

[aj_crawley]

" - just think we ought to consider the possibility that it was sent to us for a reason, my dear. That's all."

"Yeah, well. That's what he said."

Three figures tromp down the stairs into the bar, one after the other. First Andrew, slightly dusty but no worse for the wear after his morning adventure. Then Aziraphael, clutching a large, dark volume

Comments

[hadyougoing]

Ava Wilson has had about as much fun as you can have in this joint right now inciting hellhounds to tear apart the corpse of one's friequaintance, and now she's back inside with: her headband, a purple sweater, a still-not-quite-healed pinkish bruise peeking out from said purple sweater.

She isn't ordering anything right now.

"--Andrew?"

[stilljustandrew]

He blinks at her. "-- Ava! Hi."

[hadyougoing]

"Dude!"

She scurries over.

"Have you seen this place? It is very ... apocalypse now, right now."

[stilljustandrew]

"I know, right?" He gestures up the stairs. "I went to the library to see if I could find anything useful? And I wound up slipping through a crack in L-space to a bookshop in London."

[stilljustandrew]

"Yeah, 'fraid not," he says with a sigh. "It's full-on crazytimes here."

[aj_crawley]

"And nobody can figure out why?"

They're drifting in the vague direction of a table, but Crowley can't quite seem to tear his eyes from the glowing red crystal bobbing above the Bar.

Something feels really off about this place; something he can't ever really remember picking up in Milliways before. If Aziraphael once told him that he could feel a great sense of love surrounding Lower Tadfield, then this is the opposite of that. It's...

Well, it gives Crowley the willies, is what.

[a_fell]

He clutches the Book as though it will provide reassurance (though it really, really doesn't). The place looks like - well, he's been in war zones and this isn't really comparable, but if the Bar had been detonated in the middle of business, it could hardly look worse. It's more random, more chaotic, than any bomb, though. Moreso than he's ever seen.

He follows Andrew and Crowley toward a table, hoping. This has not often turned out to be the best plan.

[stilljustandrew]

"If anyone has figured out why," he says, settling into a chair, "they haven't announced it or anything. And my bet is no they haven't."

[a_fell]

Aziraphael gives him a weak smile. Apparently, that is the best he can manage, which is disturbing enough in itself. The thick book is carefully laid on a table between the three of them, but no one moves to open it yet.

[aj_crawley]

Crowley follows Aziraphael's gaze, giving Mike a tight, awkward nod when he spots him.

What do you say, in situations like this? I love what you've done with the place, seems in rather bad taste, even for Crowley.

[stilljustandrew]

"Hey, Mike."

Andrew looks ... yeah. Worried.

"Does anyone have any idea what's going on? -- Is Bar okay?"

[starrydome]

There's an elf lord in the Bar. The rubble and debris make him look even more out of place than he normally does.

His bright, grey eyes take in the appearance of the three approaching figures. Two of which give him pause.

Not Men. Not elves. Something else. And they have a book.

An old-looking, weighty tome.

While it is entirely possible that it has no bearing what so ever on the proceedings at hand, Elrond is a loremaster and so it seems natural to him, that these people might know more of what is happening. And where it will lead.

He stands and walks over to the threesome. "Excuse me," he says, well-modulated baritone sounding almost, but not quite British. "I couldn't help noticing your book."

And the way it's being held. And the fact that you're, well, different. But that would be far too direct. And impolite.

(ooc: any and all puns and/or suggestive comments are entirely coincidental)

[stilljustandrew]

"Lord Elrond," Andrew says by way of greeting. "Uh, elen sila lumenn' omentielvo."

Half a beat, and his mouth twists wryly as he glances at the Observation Window. "So to speak."

[a_fell]

He clutches the book a little more tightly, if that's possible, eyes widening at Andrew's greeting.

"Good evening," he says, and while it lacks something of his usual cheer, it's the best that he can manage. It's difficult to balance the shock of the bar's condition with the shock of coming face to face with someone whose story he loves. Still, he's well aware that this is someone who KNOWS things. He would hardly be surprised to discover that he knew Agnes.

"Do you recognise it?" he asks hopefully.

[aj_crawley]

Crowley - well, Crowley's in the middle of looking around for a waitrat to get rid of this bloody banana skin. But he pauses at this interruption, glancing between Aziraphael and Elrond with something that might be interest, if only he didn't look so...

Well, stressed.