"...we're talking alternate histories, here, it's almost certainly not whatever happened to you.

"The first you I'm aware of is from the 20s—wait, no, 40s—and when he was a child he and his siblings found a magical wardrobe in their uncle's house that took them to a fantasy land written by a devoutly Christian author. Shenanigans happen, they kill an evil witch, they become the four reigning monarchs for a while, there are talking animals, decades later they find the way out of the wardrobe again and find themselves in the bodies of—themselves—as children, again, in their uncle's house. There's more books and also movies but I haven't actually read the books and I haven't watched the movies in forever because I felt like it'd be rude to my version of you to try to do a character study of who he is based on the fictional materials he features most heavily on.

"And, well, my version of you is a boarding school student from an Earth that tends to attract interdimensional visitors for one reason or another, and I'm one such visitor that was attracted. He is as far as I can tell a perfectly normal teenager."

"I am absolutely thrilled."

There is literally ice crystallizing on his skin.

"Uh, I'm sorry for whatever I said that's upsetting. I didn't mean it."

The window splits in half.

Know what else is a bad idea? Fuck you. Die.

A sphere of sea-green marble exists where there was not one before.

Eiðemann is no longer in the location he was in.

The sphere of sea-green marble is no longer in the location it was temporarily in.

"Um?"

There's a napkin on the bar.

There sure is. "Did he get dealt with by Security?" Pete wonders aloud, taking a look at the napkin.

While the Erogame cannot be meaningfully harmed, that does not actually make it acceptable to take hostile action towards it and its manifestations in the bar.

New napkin.

Would you like a drink? I can also provide one to bring to Eiðemann's holding cell, if you do not wish to wait for his release.

"Yes to both, I'm visiting, yeah."

He receives a

and a warm to-go cup.

Oh that looks fun, he wonders what it is. He tries it as he hops off the stool and makes his way to the holding cell.

The blue stripes taste somewhat (but not very much) like banana; the yellow stripes taste a little (hardly at all, really) like blueberry. You know, if he thinks to try them separately. The texture is thicker than milk but thinner than a proper smoothie. It's unsurprisingly pleasant.

Eiðemann is in his cell. The marble sphere is... rolling gently back and forth across a small bed of what looks like Hawaiian black sand.

"Hullo."

Bar is great. 

He walks over to the cell and offers Eiðemann his own drink. "Sorry for, um. I was kind of insensitive."

"And I'm a living landmine. You weren't that insensitive."

He accepts the drink and takes a sip. "...this is extremely good," he says, mildly annoyed.

"Bar is amazing at drink recs." He sits cross-legged on the floor—and winces a bit when he carelessly squeezes his dick. He adjusts it so that the tip is resting on his shin. 

(Pete wonders for a moment why this happened; it's the kind of situation where this would be inconvenient, and his power ought to have suspended physics momentarily to avoid it. He doesn't have to think very hard to guess why it wasn't actually considered on the whole inconvenient, though. He knows Ed finds him hot. He knows Ed thinks his dick in particular is unreasonable. If Eiðemann is anything like that, he's not going to regret accidentally drawing attention like this. He's probably not going to regret it anyway.)

"I kinda jumped the gun a bit and entered shitposting mode—you won't know what that means. I was saying things because they were entertaining to say, not because I thought it was a good idea. So I'm sorry for that."

"I'd be a filthy liar if I said I'd never done that. Or worse."

Eiðin glances over – not at the rearrangement, but when Pete reasons out why it happened. Then he snorts and goes back to staring at his drink.

"—can you actually read minds or are you just doing the Pevensie thing that's indistinguishable from that for all intents and purposes? Not that that's going to change much of what I do but it might change some of the framings I use in my brain for things."

"I definitely do the formerly-known-as-Pevensie thing, but no, neither of those is what just happened. As of... fairly recently... my primary sense is for desire, and I wasn't surprised that you desire me but then you formed the firm impression that I desired you back, while I wasn't looking at you or thinking particularly about you at all. Or, well, you formed the impression that I thought your cock was pretty. And I decided that if you were going to go around doing things like that I might as well actually get a look."

"I did mention I was dating an AU version of you," he points out. "And the way AU fanfic works is that for all intents and purposes you're the same person, just in different circumstances and contexts. But it's the whole point.

"...sec, lemme review that for shitposting... No, I think that's still legit. —does the translation effect work across non-contemporal versions of the same language such that when I say words like 'legit' you immediately get the connotations or do you have to work those out from context and first principles?"

"I don't get free extra context, but connotations are part of the package. Sometimes I actually get more of them than the people talking to me intended, it's funny even though it's usually also inconvenient to have information I'm not supposed to and not know it."

"Alright. Well, you've got a gamer fic-inspired dealio that has 'ero' in the name, I was kidnapped from the locker room shower stall right after going swimming despite Bar usually having preferences against patron nudity, it's clear that the PTB want us to fuck, and while I am obviously not opposed to the idea I feel like there's—" More character interaction that ought to be onscreened before they get there. That's shitposting. "Probably more stuff we should talk about before we do that. Fucked if I know what, though."