It's an empty tavern. There are some tables and booths here and there, and nearby is a window, through which he can see blackness interspersed by distant explosions. 

Farther in, there is a bar. There is no bartender, however. 

Well, this is a little outside his experience. It's not really Sanguine's aesthetic. If it were him Gaemir expects there'd be at least a few other patrons around. Still, he doesn't have any other likely theories.

He wanders up to the bar.

"Is this you, Sam?" He asks of the air. 

If it is, he isn't answering. Unless this napkin is his doing, that is. 

Huh. He picks up the napkin, peering down at the writing on it. 

"...Alright, sure, I'll have a drink." 

Thirty minutes later, he is sat on one of the barstools, chatting idly with Bar in between sips of his third drink. 

"-and all the ingredients can be found in Skyrim?" He asks, savouring the flavour. 

Before she can answer the question, the door opens up behind him, admitting someone new. 

It's been a stressful day. The ambush, the rush to reinforce the remains of Ilek's patrol, the battle with the Storm mage, his injuries - Jaim is beyond exhausted. He just wants to rinse off and take a long soak, or as long as he can manage before Istaim comes back to herd him to the Infirmary again.

He opens the door, stepping inside without looking, and then stops just inside the threshold, holding the door open while he stares. 

"What," he asks flatly. 

Gaemir twists around, face lighting up at the appearance of a new person, and then filling with curiosity. 

"Oh, hello!" He peers at the newcomer's face, and then smiles at him, "Well aren't you gorgeous." 

"I-" he stops. Stares at the other person. His hair is lighter, and his eyes are brown, but. Other than that, they look exactly alike.

"What is this." He is really not in any condition for a mystery right now. 

"Welcome to Milliways, the inter-dimensional bar! I'm told the door can replace any door anywhere, letting in people from all over the 'multiverse'. If you come inside and close the door, time is paused in your own world. If you leave and close the door behind you, the door it replaced will return! So you're probably not stuck here, at least." Given the door is still open. 

"...That is ridiculous. I hope you realise." 

He does have doubts that someone would choose to do some unheard-of Space magic to his bathroom door, though.

"Yep! Well, I mean, it could also be some unknown plane of Oblivion. Can't fully rule that out, really, and I don't have any way to tell one way or another. Either way it's interesting!" He pats the bar, "Bar here is a person," he adds, "She sells all the food and drinks. First drink is free," he shakes his glass temptingly.

"I don't drink," Jaim says absently, taking all this in. After a moment, he steps inside, shutting the door. 

"Plane of Oblivion? And why do we look alike?"

"No idea! Any comments, Bar?" 

He gets a napkin. He reads it. 

"Huh, apparently we're what's called 'alts'. Same people, different circumstances," he summarises.

"Oblivion is where the Daedra live, in my world. The Princes - Daedric gods - and lesser Daedra. They're afterlives, too, for people who served the Princes in life. This could be part of the Realms of Revelry - it's a little too tame, though, supposedly they fashion themselves to match whoever enters them. This is not what I would have expected to find in my own personal paradise." He smirks. 

He hums after the other finishes speaking, eyebrow raising at the last comment. Yes, he can see it. This person does remind him of his younger self. But, more... care-free. 

He steps up to the bar next to his 'alt'. A napkin appears, and he reads it, nodding. 

"Yes, I suppose a drink would be appreciated. A cup of Kiyanyi eyebloom tea?" He gets it. He takes a sip. "Perfectly steeped, my compliments," he tells her, before smiling at the napkin he gets in return. 

He settles on a barstool, turning to look at the other. "I am Jaim of Cialin," he tells him, pronouncing the name in two separate syllables - Ja-eem - and the country in three - Kee-a-lin. 

"Camoran Gaemir, lately of Skyrim, more broadly of nowhere in particular except maybe Valenwood, if they'd acknowledge a bastard raised on the run away from the Green." And also if his family hadn't been overthrown by the Aldmeri Dominion's puppets. 

"A bastard raised on the run?" The entire concept of bastardry continues to bewilder him. Who cares if a child's parents were married? One's child is one's child. 

"The Aldmeri killed the last Camoran king of Valenwood and most of his family. My mother escaped. She had me and raised me - until she died - while running from the Dominion's agents." He shrugs, "Valenwood doesn't look very fondly on Bosmer who don't follow the Green Pact, and it's not really possible to do that outside of Valenwood. I'm also only half-elf, which probably complicates things even more." 

"Not that I want to be royalty. This suits me just fine, really."

He is too tired to try to parse most of that, but- "I know the feeling," he comments. "I'm generally pleased to have been disinherited, if not with the rest of the circumstances around it." 

"Story time?" 

He huffs a laugh, "Sure." 

"I was the crown prince of Cialin, heir to my father's throne, until six years ago. When I was twenty I did a foolish thing which enraged the king to the point of causing him to disown me and exile me from the capitol. I am now the General of the Southern Border Forces." 

"Not much of a story," he comments. "And - a General. Why would you want to be a General?" 

"It's not what I wanted to be. It's what I needed to be, for my brothers' sake, and for the people of Cialin." 

"Are you sure we're the same person?" Gaemir directs at Bar. The napkin confirms it. 

"Well, I can't imagine ever doing something like that for a bunch of people I don't know. Maybe I might, if I had siblings. Is your kingdom in a war or something?" 

"The entire world is embroiled in a war," Jaim corrects, "The Arming Empire controls everywhere but Cialin, the City-State of Sanctuary, and some of the Southern Islands. They are working very hard to remedy that." 

"Oh, well." He thinks on it for a second.

He shrugs, "No, I can't really see myself doing that, even if I somehow ended up back in Valenwood during the coup. Commanding an army doesn't sound as bad as ruling a kingdom, but I bet it's still awful."

"I can handle awful." 

"Sure, so can I. Doesn't mean I'd want to," he shrugs. "So you've got brothers, what are they like?" 

"I have three. Gael, Ilek, and Rial." 

He pauses, putting his thoughts in order. 

"Gael is... Kind. Just. Steady. He has a good head for politics but he works for the benefit of our people. He loves to read, to learn new things, and he's a fair hand with a blade and a spell, as well. He'll be king, now that I am disowned. He will be much better at it than I could have been. In an ideal world, however, he would have preferred to be a scholar, I think. He often has trouble believing that he is worthy of the trust his supporters place in him. He would prefer a more limited social circle than that which comes with being crown prince."

Jaim worries he will burn himself out, and wishes he would take more breaks. Yes, he is aware this is hypocritical. 

"Ilek is more quiet about it, but he is equally as kind and just as Gael is. He has a great deal of trouble relating to and understanding other people, however. He is honest to a fault - he hates manipulation - and he subconsciously expects other people to be the same, which of course they are not. He is a skilled fighter - much moreso than I was at his age - and musician, and he is curious, about everything, but used to keeping his curiosity to himself. The life of a prince stifles him."

"Rial loves people. He loves talking to them, and helping them, and making friends," Jaim smiles fondly. "He loves magic - he's especially fascinated by runescripting, the process through which we make longer-term magical objects, but any magic will catch his attention. He enjoys writing. He writes to me, otherwise I'd hardly know him. I have only seen him twice since I was disowned."

Gaemir listens to these descriptions, it dawning on him that- "Oh, you... really love them, huh?" 

Jaim blinks. 

"Of course. They are my little brothers. I would do anything to see them happy and safe."

Gaemir has never loved someone like that in his life. 

This hurts, for some reason. Like a small ball of heat in his chest, and a weight in his belly. Hearing this person, an alternate version of himself, speak so fondly of his loved ones... He wants that. 

"...If I have any siblings, I don't know it. My mother had another son, but as far as I know he died before I was born, during the coup. Maybe I have siblings by my father, but I've never met him - I only know his given name." 

Jaim gives him a long look. 

"Do you have anyone?" He asks. 

He shrugs, "I have the Guild? I have friends all over Skyrim." Nothing like that, though. 

"That sounds lonely." 

Not that he gets to see most of his loved ones often, but at least he has them. Knows that there are people out there who love him, and would miss him if he died. 

Shrug. Half-hearted smile. 

"I'm good, really." He has all the world to see and nothing to hold him back. Why wouldn't he be? 

Jaim hesitates briefly, and then slips off his stool to offer Gaemir a hug. 

...Gaemir will take a hug, yeah. 

Hug.

...He means to be solid and comforting about it, but he sags a little once he has his arms around Gaemir. The tea helps, but he is still exhausted, physically and magically. His wounds are healed, but still tender, and could reopen if sufficiently stressed. He really is not prepared for world-meeting shenanigans. 

Gaemir notices this. 

"Hey, are you ok?"

"Just tired," Jaim sighs, pulling away. "There was a skirmish this afternoon. We lost a great deal of people. I was injured killing the enemy commander, and my mana pool is drained." 

"Divines." He gently pushes Jaim back towards his seat, "Don't hurt yourself on my account."

Once Jaim is settled again, he hops back up into his own stool, looking to turn the subject away from such heavy topics.

"Drained? Your magicka recovery rate is that slow? Or, I suppose your world might have different magic." 

"It may be," he agrees, taking another sip of tea. "There are eight colours of mana - Time, Fire, Air, Life, Earth, Water, Illusion, Space - which we may use alone or together to cast spells. The amount of magic we may cast depends on the size of our mana pools, the colouration of them, and our skill with the colour. I am most skilled at Life, Air, and Water, but my pool contains mostly Air and Water mana, along with a few low-tier spells worth of the other six, and a small pool of unrefined mana I maintain mostly for sensing. Sleep and meditation are the best ways to recover mana, though one can absorb a very small amount from food and the mana in the air they breathe."

"Huh. I'm not much of a scholar, really, but I can give you an overview." He thinks for a moment, before beginning, "We recover magicka at a pretty much steady rate all the time, until our pool is full. There's a bunch of branches of magic - Hm, Illusion, Destruction, Conjuration, Restoration, Alteration... Yeah, and Enchanting and Alchemy, though those don't involve spells. Spells are learned from spellbooks, usually, which are enchanted to help the person reading them absorb and memorise their contents. They are really complicated, spellcrafting takes ages and you have to do a lot of checking and doublechecking your math - I've never done it myself, but I know some mages."

"I'm about mid-Novice level at most of them - the lowest level of skill beyond, you know, not using magic at all - but I'm low-Adept at Illusion."

"Do you think we could learn each others' systems?" He wonders. "Assuming you have access to spellbooks. Ordinarily I could check you for a mana pool, as well, but." 

"Maybe! But it can wait," Gaemir eyes him. "Bar also rents rooms, you know. You could get one and go get some sleep. You look like you could use it." 

He huffs a laugh, "Alright, you may be right about that." Though how well he will be able to sleep in a strange place like this with no one he trusts in reach of his passive senses - once he has the mana for them, that is - is up in the air. 

He will solicit Bar for a key to a room, paying with the money in his coinpouch, and then slip back down from the stool. 

"I suppose I will see you in some hours," he directs at Gaemir.

"Oh, Bar mentioned that time doesn't always pass consistently in here. You might be gone no time at all from my perspective, or it could be months or something. I'll come looking if you're gone too long, how about, if you'll give me your room number."

Jaim blinks, then hums, accepting this. 

...He gives Gaemir a long look. Considers for another long moment.

Then, "You would be welcome to come with me," he offers. 

Not that there'd be anything in particular happening beyond sleep at this time, given his state. But. 

Jaim may not feel the same kind of loneliness, but he recognises it when he sees it. There's no reason for either of them to be alone, right now.

A little taken aback, Gaemir blinks as well, tilting his head at Jaim. 

"...Sure," he smiles. 

He nods, reaching out to take Gaemir's hand and pull him down from the stool, leading him out of the barroom and upstairs. 

He pats Bar as they leave.

 ...Gaemir: just as cooperative about being led places as Jaim probably expected.

Yep. 

Once inside the room, he glances longingly at the bed, but then notices the other door - presumably to a bathroom. 

"...I meant to rinse off and then have a soak, before I ended up here," he comments. "I think I'd still like to do that." 

"Mind some company?" 

"...No, but. I really don't have the energy for..." he trails off, blushing a little bit.

"That's fine," he shrugs, eyeing the blush with a smile. He blushes, he knows, but not at things like 'sharing a bath'. It's cute. 

Into the bathroom, then. He strips off his clothes, piling them on the small counter next to the sink. Belt, wraps, shirt, pants. Then he goes to examine the bath-shower set up. 

Gaemir strips off as well, taking a bit longer than Jaim to get out of his leathers.

 When he looks up, Jaim is peering at the taps on the bathtub, his back to Gaemir. He gets a eyefull of the very obviously purposeful, somewhat messy scarring all over his upper and part of his lower back. 

Seen from a distance, with enough time to get a good look, they look something like wings.

...Wow, what in Oblivion happened there, he doesn't ask. Asking about scars is Rude. He does come up behind Jaim and set a hand on his back, gently, ready to pull away if he reacts badly. 

Jaim glances up at him and smiles, "I think these taps work roughly the same way as the ones in my world," he says. He offers no reaction to the hand on his back other than a twitch of his shoulders. 

Alright, that's good, he hopes. 

"Well, start it up, then, I guess." He does not recognise the taps and such, though it doesn't look too difficult to figure out. 

He gets the showerhead running, and they both get in, Jaim rinsing off while Gaemir leans back against the other wall and watches thoughtfully. 

"Are you going to stand over there watching the whole time," Jaim asks absently.

"Hm, no," Gaemir agrees. He moves forward, coming up behind Jaim, resting a hand on his waist. "Want some help?"

Jaim huffs, amused, "As you please," he says, glancing back at Gaemir.

Gaemir will help, then, taking the cloth from Jaim's hands. He will also... shoulder kiss?

Jaim tenses a bit under his hands. "Not right now, I said-"

"I'm not angling for that, don't worry," Gaemir murmurs, "Just..." He steps up closer so his front is pressed all along Jaim's back, "Let me be nice to you?" 

Jaim doesn't really know what he means by that, but...

He nods, slowly relaxing back against Gaemir. 

Gaemir will be nice to him, then. 

Meanwhile, down in the barroom, the door opens again. 

She steps inside, attention focused on her visor, and then immediately stops short as her suit informs her of the change in surroundings. 

She peers around, taking in the supernovae through the window, the near-emptiness of the barroom - aside from a half-empty glass of some pale liquid, and an almost empty cup of tea - and the complete lack of flame residue. 

"Strange," she murmurs. This is either the work of a very powerful Mist, or something entirely out of her experience. 

If it's a Mist, she won't be getting out of this by simply stepping back out of the door. Humming to herself, she chooses to continue on into the room, stepping up to the bar. 

"Someone must have been here recently," she notes, placing her hand over the tea and noting that it's still radiating some heat. "But where is this?" 

Explanation via napkin!

Huh.

"And the drinks belong to the two other versions of me upstairs?" She asks. "Interesting. I don't suppose you know when they'll be back?"

She does not, unfortunately. 

"Shame," she muses. "Well, I guess I'll just have to wait for them. I'll have that drink, I think. Surprise me?" 

A surprise is provided! It looks like a milkshake of some kind, pale purple and thick. 

She takes a sip. She is, as promised, surprised! Pleasantly so. She continues to drink it, turning her attention to playing a visorgame while she waits. 

She's had a weird night, filled with weird dreams. Most of her dreams have been weird, though, lately. Fragmented and fantastical, strange yet... somehow familiar. Emotional, too. Longing. 

She shakes it off, rolling out of bed, picking up a change of clothes, and making her way to her bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. 

Only, her bathroom door doesn't seem to be cooperating with this plan. She stares at the barroom which seems to have replaced it, eyes quickly locating the person sitting at the bar with their back to her.

"Um. Excuse me. I need that bathroom?" 

She looks up, blinking at the face presented. This person looks much like she did some years ago, when she was still a teen. Another alt, perhaps?

"Hello," she says, pleasantly, folding her visor back so it only covers one eye. "Welcome to Milliways," she adds, "This is an interdimensional bar. The door replaces doors across the multiverse. While you are inside with the door closed, time will not pass. If you leave, closing the door behind you, it will lead to the location you were expecting, but you will be unable to access the bar again through it." 

Pause.

"There is a bathroom through there, if you need it," she adds, motioning towards the hall in question. 

"Uh, never mind, actually, this is more - why do we have the same face?" 

"Bar," she pats the bar, "Informs me that certain people will find duplicates of themselves all across the multiverse, altered by their circumstances and experiences, but familiar all the same. We are what is called 'alts'." 

"You're me?" She takes in the other person's outfit and accessories - the skintight suit with its armored additions, the orange-glowing circles and lines, the visor over her one eye - and grins, "That's so cool. What's your world like?" 

She chuckles, "I live on a space fleet," she decides to start with, "We're traveling through the void between galaxies, fleeing our destroyed planet and searching for a new one. We should reach the nearest galaxy in our next jump - which we'll be taking in about a month." 

She listens intently as she approaches the bar and sits down, her eyes wide, "Wow! I guess that explains the power armour, or whatever that is," she motions at her, "You must be way higher-tech than we are."

She glances down at herself, "It's called flame armour. It runs on my flames - soul energy." 

"That sounds like some kind of magic." 

"...I suppose you might call it that? It's just... the natural manifestation of willpower. Anyone can do it, though using it consciously requires unlocking it."

"What can you do with it? Maybe I wouldn't have noticed if it's not very obvious."

"It looks like coloured fire - though most inactives can't see most expressions of it. It can be used to do various things, and each colour has different properties. This one," she taps the flamecore on her chest, "Is called Sky flame, and it's most easily used for empathy."

"I've never heard of anything like that," she muses, staring at the flamecore. 

"...Hm, you might not have even if they do exist in your world. Back when we lived on Earth, before the Orchid War, there was an organization which enforced a masquerade preventing the regular population from discovering them."

"I guess it's possible I wouldn't have noticed, then," she agrees, thoughtful. 

"...Hey, can you check somehow? Can you unlock them for me?" 

"I could check, my flames are good for discerning flame type. Unlocking them... that would bind you to me on a soul-deep level. The breaking of that bond would be incredibly dangerous to you unless you are a Sky like I am."

"Why break it? And wouldn't I be a Sky, since we're the same person?"

"My Sky flames are partly bound to my bloodline," she explains, "So I can't be sure that you'd have them too. You might just be a Cloud - that's my secondary. As for breaking it... bonds are meant to be support systems. Being away from your bondmate for too long - your Sky especially - hurts, on a soul deep level." 

"...Well. I think you should check, at least. If I am a Sky, then you can just do it, right?" 

She chuckles, "Good point," she admits. 

Concentrating, she produces a tendril of Sky from the gemport on her right gauntlet, reaching out to brush it over her companion's body, and then allowing it to sink inside. There's a moment where she thinks she feels nothing, and her brow furrows in confusion, and then it's as though something blooms- 

"...Huh. Strange." She glances up to catch her eyes, "Well, you have them. Sky and Cloud, like I have, though the Sky is weaker than mine."

"So you can unlock them?" 

"I can..." She frowns, hesitant, "Even if I will be able to break the bond - it's an attachment between souls. Even if it only lasts for a few moments, we'll still get a deep understanding of each other, and while we're attached I'll be able to influence you, and once it breaks it will hurt. Are you sure about this?"

She considers this for a long moment. "Well... you're me, aren't you? If you're me, you'd never do something like that to someone else - control them, I mean."

"I wouldn't," she assures her.

"Alright, then. I don't see the problem - a little pain here and there doesn't really bother me." She pauses, "Oh, I'm Angela, by the way. Angela Theron. We should probably know each others names before we do this, huh?" She laughs a little.

It's more than just a little pain, but... well, if she can endure it, it stands to reason her alt could too. Then she chuckles, "Ah, I'm Angela as well. Angela Vongola - just call me G. Everyone does." 

"Nice to meet you!" Even if it's a pretty weird situation!

"Yes," she agrees. 

"...Alright, brace yourself." She reaches out with the flame tendril again and- touches it, against that bloom of restrained power. It tries to rebuff her for a moment - the other might feel a twinge of pain while this happens - and then it breaks through the barrier, catching onto her alt's Sky flames, and tugging. 

"Ow-" is all she has time to say, before her flames ignite and suddenly she's spilling orange-touched violet flames all over the room.

G blocks her eyes, squinting in the light, but of course the flames don't harm her, or anything else. They just wash gently over the area, before slowly retreating back into Angela's body.

...They do. But something else doesn't. 

"...What..." Angela stares at her hands, wide eyes taking in the pale silver glow emanating from her skin. "This... isn't part of the flames..." 

And then the memories hit her.

-Chained to the ground in a circle of fire, she strains with all her might, reaching out for the two figures chained within their own circles nearby-

-Muddled together, hundreds of lifetimes, cut short, always cut short, no longer than twenty years, bloody and gruesome and alone, always alone, constant longing for what, so far as she can tell, was never there, and then- 

-A bloom of light, silver-orange-violet power streaming out through a gap in a seal of chains. It shatters. 

Artemis breathes in.

Her aura retreats beneath her skin, and she opens her eyes, catching the gaze of the gaping person next to her.

"...You saw all of that?" She asks. 

She does her best to get ahold of herself. "...No, not all of it. The pivotal memories, I believe." She pauses. "Artemis was the name of one of the ancient ancestors of our people. Or, perhaps not an ancestor - she was said to have had no children. Her twin brother, however, is said to have been a common ancestor of many flame bloodlines." 

"Ancestor? Not by blood, he wouldn't have been. Phoebus has loved only two women, and has no children by blood." She calls to mind the legends she's read in recent lives, going through the common myths surrounding her brother. "All those said to be his children, are either children he adopted and raised when their own blood failed them, or false rumours," she concludes. 

"Of course, he may have been different in your world."

"Yes," she agrees, "From what I recall of the memories I saw... he reminds me of one of my own brothers. I can't imaging Xan having children with the carelessness of the Apollo of our legends." 

"You have a brother like mine? You have brothers?" 

"Yes. Don't you? If you are the Artemis of legend, I'd expect you would have many brothers and sisters, far more than I do."

"My father has other children," she acknowledges, "Most of them aren't siblings, though. Enyo. Hermes, perhaps. Hephaestus has his moments." She shrugs. "Father always favoured me. It made it difficult to bond with most of them. The competition for his attention was... fierce." She pauses. "He used to favour me, that is. Given what he allowed to be done to my brother and myself..." she shakes her head.