[i]Welcome to the Restaurant. Feel free to wander the halls or take a seat in the bar. If you'd like a table for yourself, simply ask a waiter. Our windows give excellent view of the End, wherever in the Restaurant you are.[/i]

John, the bartender, the proprietor, the sole owner of this oddity of an eating place, scrutinised the pane of glass from which those phrases were hanging on. It was a very well-made sign, very modern, assuming the customer came from any point in time before a 21st Century in which Earth is still a planet, because otherwise it would look rather gaudy. Either way, it wasn't the material he was bothering with---the decoration in the place was hodgepodge of so many styles from so many age, nothing is gaudy if you don't stare too long at it---but the words. Are those really the best words he could muster? But how else to make people feel at ease in a place where you can watch the End of the Universe right outside the window? The food is nice, he supposed. Anything anyone can think of, his cooks can make. And the drinks are excellent, of course, because he's serving them.    

He sighed, and decided to continue cleaning the bar instead of bothering with the sign. It's pretty quiet that day. Only a couple of customers on the tables, mostly humans and humanoids, although there's also that group of Eeldritch horrors taking up a big table in a faraway corner, busy with themselves. He tried to eavesdrop on them earlier and was quite disappointed to find out that they were simply playing cards, not planning an apocalypse.

No one was at the bar for him to serve, which was a bit of a shame. He kind of wanted someone he could listen to.

He wondered what the day is going to bring him.