(no subject)
Who: Elijah Baley, whoever else.
When: Mid-afternoon.
Where: The bar. Can't go wrong with that.
What: Lije is still trying to make sense of this place. Still.
The bar was not an entirely unfamiliar sort of place, but like most of the hotel, it was disconcertingly empty.
Elijah had been spending a good part of the day wandering through the hallways, trying to find anything out of the ordinary, but this entire situation was like beating his head against the wall. He'd never, in his entire life, been so utterly alone. On Solaria, on the trip to Solaria, there had at least been robots. Here, there wasn't anyone except the never-seen hotel staff. He still didn't know what to make of them. If they'd stay put for any length of time and talk, maybe he could come to some conclusion, but they weren't having any of that, apparently. His recent conversation with Ford still baffled him, too. He'd met an alien. He'd met an actual, real alien. From another planet.
And now, he found himself in the bar, more-or-less resigned to his confusion. The juke box was not like any similar device he'd ever seen, but after playing with it for a while, he managed to make it produce some sort of music, even if it was incredibly unfamiliar music. Presumably, it was centuries older than him.
He sat down at the bar as a bowl of salted peanuts and a drink were set before him. The peanuts were unfamiliar-looking though he eventually recognized them by the taste, if nothing else, but the drink was the sort of terrible, yeasty, poor excuse for alcohol he knew from home. Stupidly, he found this reassuring.
Elijah listened to the music detachedly, and tried to sort out his thoughts as he drank.
When: Mid-afternoon.
Where: The bar. Can't go wrong with that.
What: Lije is still trying to make sense of this place. Still.
The bar was not an entirely unfamiliar sort of place, but like most of the hotel, it was disconcertingly empty.
Elijah had been spending a good part of the day wandering through the hallways, trying to find anything out of the ordinary, but this entire situation was like beating his head against the wall. He'd never, in his entire life, been so utterly alone. On Solaria, on the trip to Solaria, there had at least been robots. Here, there wasn't anyone except the never-seen hotel staff. He still didn't know what to make of them. If they'd stay put for any length of time and talk, maybe he could come to some conclusion, but they weren't having any of that, apparently. His recent conversation with Ford still baffled him, too. He'd met an alien. He'd met an actual, real alien. From another planet.
And now, he found himself in the bar, more-or-less resigned to his confusion. The juke box was not like any similar device he'd ever seen, but after playing with it for a while, he managed to make it produce some sort of music, even if it was incredibly unfamiliar music. Presumably, it was centuries older than him.
He sat down at the bar as a bowl of salted peanuts and a drink were set before him. The peanuts were unfamiliar-looking though he eventually recognized them by the taste, if nothing else, but the drink was the sort of terrible, yeasty, poor excuse for alcohol he knew from home. Stupidly, he found this reassuring.
Elijah listened to the music detachedly, and tried to sort out his thoughts as he drank.