Work Text:
The interior of the Angel Shot lay as dark as the void just outside, not a single breeze or mote of dust stirring in the deadness of the black.
Yet the door swung open anyway, at a time it should have been locked. Perhaps it was left open by mistake.
A greeting bell rang as a figure walked in, unsure of where exactly they’d found themselves so suddenly— they’d been traveling with two compatriots, racing against the clock to remedy an illness no one had struggled with before or since, mere hours after their worldview had been thoroughly ripped up by the roots.
Suffice to say, they were hungry.
Though the lights were off, they were at least thankful for still being able to navigate by the dim light offered by their soul in the dark; it was certainly a novel experience.
Hell, the last few hours had been a novel experience for them, so they found the bar no more odd than flying turtles or sixth-gen console grandpas.
After a small amount of fumbling around in the dark, they finally found a light switch and flicked it on, just to be met with some dimly lit overhead bar lights. Thankfully, the jukebox in the far corner didn’t seem to be connected to the same circuit; in the current quiet, that racket would have been incorrigible.
It was all nostalgically familiar to them.
Though nobody seemed to be managing the establishment at the current hour, the equipment behind the counter certainly seemed to be in working order, so as long as this patron found themselves here, they would make the most of it.
A thought had crossed the patron’s mind when they first entered, but dismissed it as ridiculous as soon as they reminded themselves of their current state. However, glancing at the nebulous interior of the fridge and the bizarre settings on the appliances beyond, they slowly considered that it may not have been as ridiculous of a thought as they’d assumed.
Hunger in mind, and with little in the way of instructions, the patron hazarded a guess as to the trick of each part of the kitchen, resolving to reconstruct a dish that they already found themselves missing sorely.
The fridge was quick to give up the shredded cheese and chopped garlic, though the actual base frozen garlic bread they were accustomed to using had been so hard to find that they nearly assumed it wasn't possible to retrieve. They would have sighed in relief when they figured out that was, in fact, not the case.
Still making sure not to make a sound, they opened the garlic bread package, sprinkling the cheese and chopped cloves on top, though they found themselves for lack of a toaster oven.
It was a good thing that they were holding nothing when looking around, then, of course, that they had to notice the grey, faceless figure which had been observing them from the stairs. Had they had a mouth, they might’ve screamed.
How long had it been there?? Seconds? Minutes? The whole damn time?!
For a moment, just a moment, they thought they saw a passing resemblance to a figure that they themselves had been desperate to reach since they first saw them in roiling darkness; but it was not the same.
This was another vessel, different in shape and presentation in a way that was decidedly not even close to April’s. It was just. Here, in a bar in a fold in space and time.
It took a great deal of time for the patron to realize that it’d been holding a powered-off appliance in its hand since the moment they saw it, but once they did, they blinked. It was just… a toaster oven. A normal, non-magic or soul-infused or whatever, toaster oven.
They pointed to it apprehensively, pleasantly surprised when it held it up for them to take, and so they did.
It was another twenty minutes before the slices were ready, but they somehow still smelled good despite the patron’s evident lack of a solid body. They also remembered that they had no mouth to eat it with, but given the aforementioned oddities from earlier, and the fact that they could still smell it, they put it on what seemed to be the best size of plate they could find and sat down at the bar, no longer too concernedly aware of the vessel still watching from the stairwell.
Carefully, they raised the first slice of their garlic cheese bread to their face, moving it to roughly where their mouth would be, and were shocked to find that they could still eat.
It tasted like home. A home that… hadn’t really existed, for years by this point. Painfully nostalgic.
They finished the whole thing with fervor, leaving the merely-crumbed dish in the washtray. They stood in place admiring their work as soon as they had made sure near-everything was the way they’d found it; it was probably about time to get back to their party.
For a moment before exiting out the front door, however, they paused, looking back at the vessel which still gazed upon them from the stairwell. They thought better of simply leaving.
Grasping for a pen and paper behind the counter, they finally found a ballpoint that inexplicably seemed to still be filled with ink, and wrote up the following note:
“To the proprietor of this bar,
I don’t know who you are, or where this is, or how I got here, but last night (I assume, given you were closed) I found myself walking through your front door. Since nobody was present, I helped myself to make something from your odd, bottomless fridge. I do apologize if I made a mess of anything; I tried to leave everything as spick and span as I found it.
Your vessel did see me and actually helped get the toaster oven I needed for the food, so please, tell them thank you on my behalf, as I could not do so myself.
Seeing as you have a vessel, I can only presume you’re one of these red SOULs, like I am. …Like I am now. This is new to me, and I’m still trying to make my way back to my own. Their name is April.
I don’t know why your bar is situated here, or if you even exist, to be frank, but assuming you’ve been here a while, I can guess at the things that have happened. The various pictures and testimonies on the walls seem to support my theories, so if I am right, please know you have my full sympathies.
Mostly, I wanted to thank you for the hospitality, even if it was utterly involuntary; I wasn’t even sure I’d ever eat food again, let alone a dish that served as such a potent reminder of better times. I think I needed this.
I’m not sure if I’ll remember this place, given how abruptly I arrived, but please know that if I ever find myself here again, I promise to pay my tab. You can hold me to that.
Sincerely,
Someone who’s still trying to figure it out.”
Calmly, they set the note against the counter and delicately put the pen on top of it, though they weren’t sure if there was a specific way they should have left it. They simply hoped the presentation was enough as is.
Taking one last glance over the walls, they mentally smiled to themselves and got up from the bar.
The vessel had not moved an inch from where it stood.
They gave it a small nod of gratitude.
Satisfied, they walked back over to the light and extinguished it once more. Grabbing onto the front door handle, they drew in the shadow of a breath, opened it, and stepped through.
And the Angel Shot was deathly quiet once again.