The Cellar - View Single Post

DanaC · 03-19-2007, 01:57 PM

A polite cough startled him from his thoughts and set the hairs on the nape of his neck tingling. With an almost palpable dread he turned his head to look. There, sitting rather incongruously at the very end of the bar, sat a customer. At least, he assumed it was a customer. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and asked,

"What can I getcha bud?"

The man grinned, held up both hands as if in surrender and answered,

"Oh, just a cup of tea I think."

He sounded English. So okay, his bar had wandered off to a strange desert whilst he was sleeping. But what the fuck was an English man doing sitting in a bar in the middle of a fucking desert? And where did he think he was going to get a cup of tea from?

The man was still grinning at him, though he appeared to be waiting for an answer. Either that or he was just waiting for his cup of tea. There was something about him that seemed odd. Odder than the fact that he was sitting in a desert bar seeking tea. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Not for the first time that morning he wondered if he was losing it. Lost it already maybe?

"uh...we don't do tea bud...I can get y'a beer...a whiskey maybe?"

"That's it," he thought, as the stranger's grin faltered, disappointment clear on his pale features, "I've lost it. This is me now, totally mad." Another more profoundly disturbing thought crossed his mind then. What was his name? What was his fucking name? He cast his eyes about the bar, looking for something, anything with his name on. Anything to jog his memory, place him somehow in reality. Panic edged his thoughts, threatened to overwhelm him. There, off to the right, under the bar where the spare cloths and icebucket lived, he could see a small box. He reached for it: English Breakfast Tea, it said on the top. Forty bags. He looked back at his customer, his heart beating double time. The stranger's grin had subsided to a confident smile.

"Thanks," he said, his clipped English tones softened by a slight London accent, "But it really is a cup of tea I want."

03-19-2007, 01:57 PM	#14
DanaC We have to go back, Kate! Join Date: Apr 2004 Location: Yorkshire Posts: 25,964	A polite cough startled him from his thoughts and set the hairs on the nape of his neck tingling. With an almost palpable dread he turned his head to look. There, sitting rather incongruously at the very end of the bar, sat a customer. At least, he assumed it was a customer. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and asked, "What can I getcha bud?" The man grinned, held up both hands as if in surrender and answered, "Oh, just a cup of tea I think." He sounded English. So okay, his bar had wandered off to a strange desert whilst he was sleeping. But what the fuck was an English man doing sitting in a bar in the middle of a fucking desert? And where did he think he was going to get a cup of tea from? The man was still grinning at him, though he appeared to be waiting for an answer. Either that or he was just waiting for his cup of tea. There was something about him that seemed odd. Odder than the fact that he was sitting in a desert bar seeking tea. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Not for the first time that morning he wondered if he was losing it. Lost it already maybe? "uh...we don't do tea bud...I can get y'a beer...a whiskey maybe?" "That's it," he thought, as the stranger's grin faltered, disappointment clear on his pale features, "I've lost it. This is me now, totally mad." Another more profoundly disturbing thought crossed his mind then. What was his name? What was his fucking name? He cast his eyes about the bar, looking for something, anything with his name on. Anything to jog his memory, place him somehow in reality. Panic edged his thoughts, threatened to overwhelm him. There, off to the right, under the bar where the spare cloths and icebucket lived, he could see a small box. He reached for it: English Breakfast Tea, it said on the top. Forty bags. He looked back at his customer, his heart beating double time. The stranger's grin had subsided to a confident smile. "Thanks," he said, his clipped English tones softened by a slight London accent, "But it really is a cup of tea I want."