alternativewriting | Passages Inn OTA

There are Inns out there that exist between worlds and dimensions. They show up just when you need a place to stay, your car having stalled out a mile away or the unexpected rainstorm suddenly starts dropping torrents of water. Or sometimes you’re wandering around the streets in a city and need a place to stay and you spot the door to this Inn which looks friendly and inviting. Going in, things are just a bit off. The patrons are perhaps not quite human; the man behind the desk smiles a bit oddly. However he tells you that you’re in luck. There’s just one room left and you can have it.

But, when you leave the next morning and turn around to see what it’s called, the inn is gone. When you ask people about it, they look at you funny as if they have no idea what you’re talking about. There was never an inn there, they tell you.

And yet you may still have the key in your pocket, the leftover from dinner, a note from a girl you spoke to, just some little token that says well, maybe you’re not completely crazy.

The Passages Inn is one of those Inns.

Built in the middle of an interdimensional nexus it can reach any time or place or space. You just need to find the door and you can come in. If you’re lucky you can find the door again.

Just remember, first Tuesdays are Viking Night and second Thursdays are Poetry Slam.

The proprietor of the Inn is Alec Troven

element_wizard All questions and concerns may be addressed to him.

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Sadly the vikings aren't going anywhere... just yet. If they get a bit rowdier Alec might banish them. There's a shrill scream of a small girl who is very unhappy that she can't join in the fight.

The second glass is place in front of him without Alec actually getting a glass or pouring any whiskey. No bottle is in sight either. "Thanks. I stole it from the boyfriend."

"Usually how the best shirts are acquired."

He can't even begin to estimate how many articles of clothing he's won and lost in the grand scheme of things. The 80's were a strange time for... well, everyone mostly in hindsight. When the liquor appears in the glass, Ritchie lifts it for a quick whiff. It's the right smell and consistency. This guy definitely knows what he's doing. He doesn't hit this glass as hard, but the first sip is a generous one.

"You seem used to this crowd. Been here a while?"

"So I've discovered. Sweaters too," Alec said cheerfully. Considering his lifespan and how many people he's dated over the years, he's gotten quite the collection.

It's very good whiskey. It's not McCallum whiskey. He doesn't hand that out to unsuspecting people except for certain reasons (like he feels like it). But it's still good.

He laughs at the question. "Yes. I have been. I'm the owner and creator of the Inn."

"All of this?"

Ritchie swivels on his stool to take the sight of the place in again. Nodding in approval would be an insult, frankly. Instead he cracks a smile and gives the owner a thumbs up. He's only met one creator of their own world before, a madman really with a god complex. At least this guy tends bar and hasn't executed anyone...

...yet?

"You cast a good net for random landing pads. I wasn't aiming for anywhere in particular. Just glad to see decent alcohol exists here."

"MmMmm... it's in a nexus node between realities," Alec said.

It really is a nice place - even with the vikings. The fireplace is nice and normally there's some guy sitting in the shadowy corner, but it's too noisy and busy for that tonight. Later.

Technically, Alec doesn't have a god complex... he's got an ancient eldritch entity complex. Still not the sort to execute people. That's cliche. Turning them into interesting things on the other hand.

"We've got any sort of drink or food you want here. Anything." It's said almost challenging.

He's had a brief brush with transfiguration. The spell was...frankly exhausting, but tearing up a kitchen that was not his own as a bear ended up being the best sort of catharsis he could ever have imagined.

As for the boasting of the menu...challenge accepted.

"So if someone ordered a rack of dinosaur ribs a la The Flintstones, you're saying that you could make that happen."

Even after a couple of joints he'd never be that hungry, but it can't hurt to simply ask to indulge his curiosity.

"Yup!" Alec leaned against the counter. "Are you really sure you want that, though? It'll be expensive."

The cheerfulness drops away a little bit and something a bit... off surrounds Alec. "And I always get the bill paid. If you don't have the money now, I'll take it from you later. Time means absolutely nothing to me."

He flips back to assuming human...ish. "But if you really want to, gimme your dino type and I'll get it for you."

Ritchie can't quite pinpoint what the shift is in the man's aura, but the words don't exactly settle him either. He's not big on the idea of debt between dimensions nor how that collections process might unfold.

"Nah, man. I'd never be able to finish it. But I wanted to know."

He can think of something smaller but equally challenging. Furrowing his brow for a few seconds, he slams his hand down on the counter when he decides.

"What about a peanut butter and banana sandwich-- little bit of a peach jam in the middle? Tricky part? The best peanut butter is one they discontinued about 20 years ago. Local Atlanta brand."

It's actually very interesting how he goes about it. Any large amount money that Ritchie might have made either in the future, past or present Alec would have taken, is taking or will take. So Ritchie would get a windfall or get a really good business deal or something - or might have had one or will have one - and then lose it or never get it.

Mean?

Yes.

Does Alec care?

Not particularly.

"What's the name of the brand? Any particular type of peach jam and bread?" he asks with a tilt of his head. His eyes get a distracted look, paying attention to something beyond the here and now. (For whatever here and now means). "And what year was it discontinued. I'm not from earth and I don't know what year you're from. Twenty years ago means nothing to me."

It takes a minute to remember these bits of information. What a strange way to become aware of how much information a brain can hold and where it is all stored-- Ritchie can't even imagine how this guy handles it if he's not human and ageless.

Though he'd be lying if he said he never thought about it.

"Kwicky's," he snaps to attention rather than let his mind travel deeper into a wormhole, "that was it! I wanna say...1988? The creamy kind, not the peanut. That one tasted like shit."

His enthusiasm fades slightly in lieu of memories.

"For the jam out of Henry County, Georgia. I'm flexible about the bread. Maybe just a general Earth wheat?"

It really is. Alec has that problem plus dealing with realities that don't exist any more.

"B'sed, I'll go get it for you," he said, not writing it down. After he vanished through the door presumably into the kitchens a cat appeared on top of the bartop and stared right at him in that unnerving way that all cats have.

The cat looks like a calico cat- a transparent calico cat.

"Mrrp?"

Ritchie's never been much of one for animals. Frankly, where he's from, he's pretty sure there's several laws regarding animals and certain proximities for food. It's a reminder that is another world where, clearly, regulations are much less defined than the United States of America. ...He does, however, frequent the occasional hipster establishment that may or may not have a patron animal as a haunt.

The cat earns a brief stare back before Ritchie looks away and occupies himself instead with a wild rummaging through the satchel at his side. He never thought to check on the well-being of his items. Removing a few notebooks and placing them on the bartop to be out of the way, he checks on some more valuable contents at the bottom of the bag: a journal and a few wrapped crystals that seem to have made it just fine.

Briefly his eyes move back to the bar hoping the cat has decided to fuck off.

Even then the laws probably don't have rules dealing with ghost cats. Though, ghost cats aren't the worst thing to wander through the Inn. There are plenty of critters that meander through. At least Ritchie missed the Great Porg Invasion.

So many porgs.

Soooo many porgs.

Alec returns with a sandwich on a plate and immediately sneezes; fortunately holding the sandwich above his head so he doesn't get snot on it. Another sneeze followed and then a third. He glares at the cat.

"Get out. You know you're not supposed to be in here," He snapped. The cat gives him a haughty look and slips through the bar and then out onto the floor. Tail held high she wandered out of the room as if it were totally her idea.

"Sorry about that. She knows she's not supposed to be in here but..." he shrugged. "Every necromancer I've talked to shrugs and says she is bonded to the Inn and can't be freed until the Inn is destroyed."

The sandwich placed in front of Ritchie.

"There you go. It should be right."

It will be. Alec is good.

Passages Inn OTA

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