Disclaimers: Not the Davies, not the Elliot, not the Rossio, not the Straczynski.
One of the threads doesn't acknowledge the more recent offerings in its franchise, and hence is definitively alt-uni.
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THREE MEN IN A BAR
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The first man stood behind the bar, absent-mindedly polishing clean glasses with a soft cloth. Past his prime, with receding grey hair, a marked gut, and several broken veins in his cheeks, he almost looked the very model of the jovial barman. Only a neatly-trimmed grey beard spoiled the image — that, and the haunted look occasionally visible in the depths of his eyes.
If you were to ask the man how long he had worked there, he would shrug and say 'a while', or some other vague response. Because, to tell the truth, he couldn't answer to any degree of accuracy, due to the timeless nature of his workplace.
The bar — it had no name as such — was one of those that briefly insinuate their doors over the entrances to other pubs across space and time, pulling people from their own timelines and depositing them in others. They usually operate at random (or, if you prefer, in service to the needs of destiny), though some tend to appear to clients with specific attributes. This particular bar preferred to service those unfortunates who couldn't die; but it was staffed by those who had already perished, leaving a debt they felt they needed to work off.
So while the barman would say he'd worked there 'a while', what he would mean was 'not long enough yet'.
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The second man came through the door under an obvious cloud of depression. Roguishly handsome in a grey military-cut greatcoat, with brown hair flopping carelessly over his forehead, he looked to be the type who would normally stride into a room with purpose, making a grand entrance; as it was he merely walked. He barely reacted when the device on his wrist registered the spacio-temporal distortion around the bar door, merely glancing at it with a shrug before continuing slowly over to the bar and hiking himself up onto a stool. The first man nodded to him, and came over with a slightly rolling gait.
"And wat'll be your pleasure young sir?" His accent was reminiscent of old rural England; long, flat vowels and missing aspirates, though with a hint of Australian in there too.
The second man raised an eyebrow at the 'young'. "What have you got?" This one's accent was best described as 'mid-Atlantic'; tones from Scotland, England and the American Midwest all combined.
The barman gestured to the taps on the bar, then the rack of bottles behind him, and with the air of one reciting an old and much-loved speech, replied, "A thousand delicacies from a hundred worlds; pleasures of the body, pleasures of the mind..." He gave the second man a lascivious wink.
"How about a pint?" replied the second. "Beer; a dark German bitter from Earth, if you have any?"
"The least of my inventory," said the first, and moved over to a tap near the middle of the array. "We also have a selection of fine foods from many localities; just ask and the kitchen will provide."
"Just the beer for now, thanks. How much?"
The barman shrugged. "You can settle up when you leave." He paused while he handed the glass over, then went on, "A'course, if you have a story to tell, and it's entertainin' enough, I might be inclined to consider it part payment?"
"A story..." said the second man.
"Maybe you could tell me about that black cloud 'overin' over you? Might 'elp put your mind in order, so to speak."
"Well..." the second man said, then took a long pull of his beer. "Can't be any worse than going over it in my head all the time.
"I had a team. A really sound team of good souls — not angels by any means, but good at their jobs, committed, and even though we argued sometimes, we all had each others' backs when it really counted. They all looked to me as their leader, but then I left them for a while, I made some... questionable decisions, and most of them ended up dead..."
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The third man burst through the door just as the second was finishing his story. He staggered to a stop then spun around, as if expecting someone to follow him. When the bar's door remained closed, he shrugged, turned on his heel, and swaggered over to the bar. "Rum if you please, my good man," he declared, slapping an ancient, battered tricorn hat onto the bar as he jumped onto a stool. He sounded vaguely English, with a slight slur, as though he'd already had a few.
The other two men looked him over. Flamboyant, billowing silk shirt, sash and breeches, and fine leather folded-down boots clashed horribly with the ratty hat and matted, bead-adorned black-brown dreadlocks, though the carefully-painted eyes and well-kept waxed beard and moustache balanced the transition from grime to splendour. "White or dark, sir?" asked the first.
"Dark as you have it, mate; and never mind the 'sir'." He introduced himself with a flourish.
"Now there's a coincidence," said the second man, giving his name.
"Makes you think there's a greater power at work," said the first, and supplied the name he went by in life, along with a glass of demerara rum for the third man and a fresh pint for the second.
"O'course there is, mate. There always is," said the third, and gestured to the second. "How'd you get yours then?"
"What do you mean?" replied the second.
"Oh, I've been around long enough to spot it. Mine host is dead, but can't rest until he's made amends for something he done while alive, probably why he's tending bar this somewhat eldritch tavern; and you've got yourself some kind of immortality. How'd it happen?"
The second shrugged. "I was dying... actually, I was dead. A heroic last stand, slowing the enemy's advance just enough. But there was this girl—"
"Ah," interjected the first and the third, nodding knowingly.
"—and she wished me back. Maybe she felt guilty, maybe she was drunk with the power she'd just absorbed..." Suddenly he grinned, boyishly, "...maybe that kiss I gave her was just that good, but she brought me back. But whatever she did, it didn't just bring me back to life... it keeps bringing me back to life."
"There's some that'd say that was a good thing, a'course..." said the first man.
"And they'd be wrong, eh mate?" said the third. "I can sympathise, I truly can; once spent five hundred years at the bottom of a well meself. Finally dug up by some archaeology types, talk about culture shock."
"Nearly two thousand years buried in a box, dying of asphyxiation every couple of minutes only to be revived again," said the second. "That was the worst, but by no means the only."
The first man nodded sympathetically. "I was under the control of an alien parasite, was made to betray my friends. Managed to off myself before I did anything worse."
"All the worse for you mate," said the third, raising his glass to the first.
"How so?" asked the first.
"Weren't really your fault, were it? So that makes it all the harder for you to make up for it. Ask me, I'd say the only forgiveness you need is your own."
The first shrugged. "And that'll be a long time coming. But what's your story, friend?"
"Ah, well, 'tis a tale of love, treachery, honour, and adventure on the high seas. Cut a long story short, there was this girl—"
"Ah," interjected the first and the second, nodding knowingly.
"—we had an odd relationship, part friends, part enemies; couldn't tell which it was from one moment to the next to be honest, but she and her true love were parted the very day of their wedding, him having taken on a job that required him to spend eternity stuck on his ship. Long story there, but ten years at sea, one day on land; that was the deal. Didn't stop them from having their wedding night though, and he left her with child, as they say." He gestured with his glass to the first man. "Fill her up, if you would be so kind." The first man complied.
"So," continued the third man with a nod of thanks, "ten years go by, my dear friends — or enemies, depending on the wind — are reunited, and she introduces her daughter to her father for the first time. Precocious little basket; she notices right off that though her mother is still a fine figure of a woman, she's obviously got a few years behind her, while her father, due to the nature of his calling, doesn't look more than a young lad."
"Ah..." said the second man. "That's a dilemma I can sympathise with."
"Me too, mate; though I've always been of a more 'love 'em an' leave 'em' sort of mind meself. Saves a lot of trouble of that nature, savvy?
"Anyway, so the kid gets the romantic notion that she can save her mother and father's love. First I hear of it, it's a year later, she's run away from home, and she's tracked me down in Tortuga, which if you remember your history weren't exactly the nicest place for a proper young lady, an' is stickin' the muzzle of her pistol into me back!
"So she introduces herself, and says how she's heard that my good self has found out the location of the fabled Fountain of Youth, and that she intends me to lead her there so she can fix her mum up proper. Being a romantic at heart, I agree."
The second man nodded, mesmerised by the third man's charismatic performance. The first quickly poured another round of drinks and passed them over.
"Long story short again, it was a bit of an adventure, what with her mum an' dad chasing us down and accusing me o' kidnap, capturing mermaids, having to carry dear old Dad around from pool to pool and whatnot, but the upshot of it is, the Fountain can't give eternal life, it can only take life from one and give it to another. Luckily, the kid's father had eternal life to give, several times over, so we sets her mum up nice an' proper. The kid weren't interested, but I thought to meself, why not, and grabbed at the chance as well.
"So there you have it; my good friends set up for eternity, their little 'un ready for her own life, and as for my good self... well, there's much treasure, many fair doxies, and a lot of rum between there and here. Swapped sail for stardrive, but it's still the old life. Not always happy, mind, but on the whole..."
"Doxies?" queried the second man, with an odd enquiring expression.
"Well, not just doxies, as such," said the third. "Booty is booty, after all, wherever it may be. And from the cut of your jib you're of the same mind, am I right?" He tossed off the last of his rum.
"True... it's been a while since I've had my mainbrace properly spliced, I must say," said the second man, sinking the last of his pint.
The first man smiled as the other two made some silent negotiations with their eyes.
"All right then," said the second.
He stood, followed somewhat unsteadily by the third man, and they turned to the door.
"We do have some rooms upstairs," said the first man. "Like I said, pleasures of the body..."
"Okay," said the second. "How much?"
"All part of the service," replied the first, tossing him a key. The third man caught it and looked at it blearily. "Stairs are over there, second door on your right."
"Thanks. We'll probably need something to eat later," said the second. He put his arm around the third's waist and led him over to the staircase.
Half way up, the third man stopped and turned back to the bar. "Me hat!" The first man tossed the hat over to him. "Thank you," he said, putting it on with reverence. He then straightened himself up, assumed a declamatory pose, and announced to the room, "You will always remember this as the day you almost shagged—"
"Oh shut up and come on," said the second man, dragging him up the stairs.
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Dedicated to a dear friend, who threatened to kill me if I ever actually wrote this.
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In order of appearance, in case you need them:
- Captain Jack Demeter (Babylon 5)
- Captain Jack Harkness (Doctor Who, Torchwood)
- Captain Jack Sparrow (Pirates of the Caribbean)