Bernard Black, Black Books, Milliways Bar

[mmlexie]

There's no telling how Bernard Black wound up slouched in the armchair at Milliways, or how long he has been there. Bernard certainly couldn't tell you the answer to either question, though this may have something to do with the fact that he is utterly dead to the world with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and has been that way for some time now

Comments

[goonandrun]

It.

What?

What?

Gordon wants to know WTF is going on.

One doppelganger was bad enough.

But now?

This one doesn't even look like a prick.

[mmlexie]

Little does Gordon know.

"Manny!" is the bellow, again.

A pause, as it becomes clear that Manny is not going to appear.

Manny always appears.

An incredulous Bernard lurches to his feet. He moves like someone who has spent a very long time at sea and is now walking on dry land for the first time in years.

"Manny, if you don't kick out all these happy-looking customers and put the molluscs back on the pipes right now--" That thud was the sound of Bernard hitting the floor.

From behind the sofa, muffled threats of creative violence can be heard.

[goonandrun]

Gordon clambers up onto the couch, hands raised up to his shoulders as he tries to decide what to do.

Finally, he pokes the top of his head over the couch, so that his eyes are the only visible part of his face.

A high-pitched sort of noise immediately escapes him as he stares straight at a carbon copy of himself.

Maybe Manny is an alternate universe Dennis?

[mmlexie]

Bernard has got a hand on the sofa cushions and is in the middle of hauling himself up, still loudly proclaiming what he is going to do to Manny, when he looks up and finds himself face-to-face with an unfamiliar pair of eyes and a head of dark hair.

"Get out," he says testily. "We don't serve your kind here." 'His kind' being customers.

Bernard's voice rises. "Out!"

[a_day_of_sky]

The yelling's enough to get anyone's attention.

From a nearby table, a young woman glances up, dressed in a white tee, jeans, and a red scarf.

"Are you alright?"

[mmlexie]

"No!" is the immediate, disdainful response, Bernard sounding like nothing so much as a disgruntled, Irish, furious, hungover, petulant (large) child, if such a thing exists in this world or any other. He gets up, staggering only once or twice, and finally glances in the direction of the questioner.

She is momentarily assessed as summer girlfriend material, but ultimately the idea is discarded; she's wearing trousers. The proper summer girlfriend has hair and skirts to toss in the breeze as she laughs -- breezily.

"How," says Bernard, voice muffled for a moment as he produces a lighter from nowhere and cups his hand round the cigarette in his mouth and lights it, "am I supposed to run a bookshop that has no books but plenty of at ease customers who ask questions?" From the vague, slightly flaily handwave, it can be inferred that he is talking about the at ease customers at large, though there is certainly more than a hint of bite at the end of his question. "They're supposed to be uncomfortable! Unhappy! Give me their money and

[a_day_of_sky]

Ella cants her head slightly, offering him a mildly quizzical glance, although it does have a bit of unhappiness about it.

It takes her a moment to come up with an answer she deems to be appropriate.

"... This isn't a bookshop."

[mmlexie]

This is the cue for Bernard to rant.

"It used to be," he says, "before that man-ape got his ideas about customer service and fashionably-expensive coffe drinks and--" A waitrat passes, bearing a bottle of wine. Bernard's eyes narrow. "--Little people in fur suits selling my wine!"

[not_the_lion]

And a young man (maybe twenty or so) looks up from the book he's reading.
"I've no idea what you're going on about, but I don't see how yelling all of that at anyone would induce them to come to your aid."

(OOC: Hi. Is a Jill. And while this isn't Regulus as presented in this LJ's bio, it's also not strictly-canon!Regulus, because what would be the fun in that? XD You likely don't have time to read the full explanation right now, but I can cobble something together and toss the fic at you later. Ping/email me if you have questions, depending on whether I'm around.)

[mmlexie]

"Easily," snarls Bernard. "MANNY!"

There is a pause, now, to allow the worst thing that ever happened to Bernard to appear, bowing and scraping and offering sausage rolls.

Except he doesn't appear.

"MAN-NY!"

Another pause.

Bernard has had enough. "MANNYMANNYMANNYMANNYMANNYMANNYMANNY--"

He is entirely likely to go on like that all morning.

[not_the_lion]

Oh, is he, now?
There are two complications to that fact. First, Regulus knows far more annoying people (in fact, he was reared by one of them), and as such sees no reason to put up with all this noise any longer than necessary.
Second, he's been to the bar often enough to know that magic isn't anywhere near as patchy as it is in London Below.
Oh, he's not going to do anything yet, and it wouldn't be more than shutting the man up, but he's going for his wand now all the same.

[mmlexie]

Bernard tips his head back and goes on, with the sort of cadence usually reserved for a child's singsong. As he does so, he sets to lighting the cigarette in his mouth. "--MannyMannyMannyMannyMannyMannyMannyMannyMannyMannyManny--"

(This usually works.)

[base_bastardy]

Edmund jumps and nearly drops his wine.

"Gracious gods in heaven and below. Another madman."

[ooc: munfangirlSQUEEEE]

[mmlexie]

Bernard is not much given to paying attention to customers, if they're not A) speaking directly to him, or B) breaking one of the shop rules (stealing, using mobile phones, talking loudly, eating ice creams, running, laughing, telling anecdotes, annoying Bernard, or spreading happiness, among others). However, this customer's twitch catches his eye -- and so, unfortunately, does the wine.

Bernard's eyes widen, and he does, probably, look very much like a madman. He points straight at the customer's drink, arm straight and unerring. "Where did you get that?!"

Bernard is one of those people whose voices have three distinct settings: loud, louder, and loudest. At the moment, he's somewhere between the last two.

[OOC: *grins and HIDES cheerfully*]

[base_bastardy]

"Procured from the bar, good sir Bedlam."

His voice goes nobleman-cold. He will not be intimidated or yelled at by a strange little man in a chair.

[mmlexie]

Anger at the customer momentarily abated--and turning back on Manny, because the bastard put a bar in Bernard's bookshop--Bernard turns to the important task of lighting the cigarette in his mouth.

"Black," Bernard corrects, with the impatient tone of one attempting to teach a small child, as he blows smoke out through his nose. He slows it down even more (condescendingly) for the other man's benefit, illustrating with a lazy swoop of the hand holding his cigarette. "Black. What the fuck kind of a surname is Bedlam?"

Because, why not. Antisocial bastards need... um... more alcohol, I think. FRIENDS! Something...

[new_to_liirness]

Someone is watching.

He's watching from the rafters above the confused bookseller (or book owner who has a store full of books, anyway), sitting with his broom on his lap. He's considering dropping a bit of muffin on the loudmouth.

It tended to work with the crazies in the Emerald City anyway.

[mmlexie]

Bernard has just made himself a moving target for any and all muffin barrages. Sort of moving, anyway; the moment he's up, he nearly trips and goes down again. Someone is exceedingly hungover this morning, and not best pleased about it. Balance maintained, Bernard surveys what was once his kingdom, and now appears to be a trendy, clean, family-friendly pub, complete with trendy flashy lights and people drinking their trendy drinks and laughing their trendy laughs.

Bernard lights the cigarette hanging from his lips with hands that nearly shake in their violated indignation and horror. "When I get my hands on that man-ape--" He flicks the lighter off and flings it at the far wall.

The lighter is small, and Bernard isn't exactly an athlete. The wild flail of limbs and coat is too much to be at all threatening, and so it is what it is -- a petty expression of frustration by a hungover grumpy Irishman.

[new_to_liirness]

"Are you having a seizure?" he finally asks, holding off on the muffin attack.

[mmlexie]

"--What! Whatty what!"

Bernard is now looking left and right, over here, over there, under the couch cushions -- essentially everywhere but up.

"Who said that! Show yourself!"