He starts trying to do that. "Does the, uh, the barrier itself, does it need specific imagined properties? Am I just going for an opaque impenetrable blob, or a forcefield, or, uh, I don't know – castle walls or something?"

"It doesn't need to be of anything specific, whatever comes easiest to you."

Pause. "Does it usually take very long to do? – I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting to have my mind read, by, uh," a pretty girl, "um, anyone? At least, I wasn't."

… He said that already. That's how the past tense works. It stays for the sentence. What is he doing. What is he thinking. That might not even be right.

At least he has a balaclava to cover his stupid, mortified face.

"You have absolutely nothing to apologize for," she assures him, very seriously. Still not reading his mind. "I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner - it sounds like you'd have no reason to expect anyone to be able to read your mind. Children usually take a few weeks to get the hang of it, but I don't know how quickly an adult would pick it up. Likely faster, but I couldn't say by how much."

"– It is read-only, right? The mind-reading doesn't have any mind-writing?"

Blink. "... I could send you thoughts and sensations and you might perhaps mistake them as your own without practice at how it works? But I haven't been doing that, it would be incredibly rude."

"I just – thought it best to check," not that he can tell she's not lying – not that he can tell she's not reading him now – not that she can probably do him any harm here – not that he's sure mind-writing would count – fuck he is so dead if she's evil.

It is not helpful to panic over 'what could be's if he has no way to avert them.

So instead, he continues, "Do you mind if I ask, what was it about the face?"

"What? No, your face is fine, it was um. Your hair. It would be painful to have it that short, and, um. Indecent. To have it that. Not braided."

"… Oh." He frowns a little. "Humans don't have that – it being painful – and it's not indecent, at least not in my culture."

She nods. "I did get that impression, I'm sorry for, ah. Making you feel like there was something wrong with you."

He shrugs.

"… So anyway, I haven't actually explained what this place is." He thinks. "Uh, first questions first – do you know what a bar is? Magic? A universe?"

"No, yes, and yes. Does magic work the same way or is it different here?"

"I don't know how your magic works – where I'm from I can't actually find anybody who seems to believe it exists. Uh, anybody sane, that is. A bar sells various drinks usually, this place kinda resembles and claims to be one, which seems a bit silly." Pause. "No offence."

I'm not sure in what way it is silly for this to be a bar.

"… My experience with bars has never included one at the end of the universe that hijacks doors, and I'm not sure 'end of the universe' is even particularly coherent."

"End of the universe?"

Largely a cosmetic designation due to the exploding stars out the window and the time stopping properties of the establishment.

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't think it's particularly – at least not immediately – relevant, but it seems weird that they're actively exploding and we're frozen."

The stoppage of time is relative to the worlds whence patrons arrive, not relative to other events within Milliways.

… He will get back to this later.

"But anyway, yes, welcome to the end of the universe and the bar found at it which is named Milliways. The bar herself, if it wasn't clear, is a person and communicates using napkins." He indicates them.

"It was clear," she says, nodding. "I can tell she's there and is a person. Oh, I haven't introduced myself, have I, I'm sorry - I'm Calassúrë Vetuilë."

"Hello," he responds (smiling, not that it's visible). "Dante, if you don't recall."

"I think at the time I was too busy having, um. Sincere but sadly mislead concern and was a bit distracted," says Calassúrë, a little wryly. "I um, you don't need to wear the part over your face if it's uncomfortable, you look fine."

He pulls that part of the mask down, being careful to keep his hair covered. "Oh, uh – not immediately necessary but what would you prefer I use to refer to you, if I were talking to someone else? I'm not clear how your name's structured."

"Either is fine, the first is the name my mother gave me, the second is the name my father gave me. The first is the one people more commonly refer to me as. But if Vetuilë is easier to say or you find it prettier, feel free to use it instead."