Before Cledwynn even had a chance to respond, the dragon-like creature began talking to others. A real fireball of the party, that's for sure.

Then again, he wondered where the fun was in talking to someone who responded to a question one hadn't yet asked. Most people, he felt, wouldn't find it sporting to talk to someone that already had the means of knowing way too much about them.

It was means to tick people off. 

It could have been a good thing, he figured, especially for people who were easily amazed. It could be the greatest of party tricks. 

But here, in this scape, in light of what was going on.. It only made Cledwynn more uneasy about being here. After all he'd been through in past lives, and now he was here, watching the End from within a restaurant of freaks, geeks, and spooks.

Then he remembered that he was all three of those things.

Soon after, more of his boring gazes painlessly and unnoticeably inflicted the others. He just kept examining the other people here. To him, they looked like a normal group.

Then again, by his standards, normal was the new crazy, and freakshows were in. He'd let his eyes be subject to them, and to the Restaurant, and to the End.

All that was left now was what he'd saved for last, the man behind the counter whose name was unknown to the mecha-apparition. But as he looked to the tender of this place, he didn't notice anything even remotely stunning about the man. He was, in all intents and purposes, dreadfully [i]mediocre.[/i]

And Cledwynn found that to be awfully wrong, given this place, its residents, its whereabouts.

But he couldn't just go up and ask the man, [i]'Say, why do you look so normal?'[/i] 

Even thinking about it now, a person that looked as generic as that could take offense to such a question. Then again, maybe he'd been asked this before. Maybe he had a reason. 

Then it came to Cledwynn that maybe he looked so normal to contrast the others he expected would come here. It wasn't likely that he'd just get any usual astronaut. Was it all a big scheme? All part of Mr. Normal's master plan to catch the most attention? 

Because if so, he was succeeding in spades. After all, Cledwynn had been staring at the restaurant keeper for some time now, entranced with how [i]normal[/i] he was. Perhaps, this polter-bot wondered, he had a normal name too. Like Bob. Or Tim. Or James or Bobby or John or .. or even just Man. 

The more he thought about it, though, something like 'Man' or even 'Mr. Man' was definitely bizarre.

Though he was certain that this barkeep had a one-syllable name. His bets were on Bob. 

.. He laughed at himself in his head. How crazy were things right now? Here he was, a ghost with metallic prosthetic legs, a beating human heart and fully functional brain, devil's tails stretching from his back as he sat alone, away from some strange abominable dragon, and two girls- one that looked and sounded battle-hardened, the other not-so-much as he sat at a table here in a restaurant at the edge of everything, where atoms somehow both collided and split, where the concept of time could be void. All of this could have been some strange lucid fever dream or a chunk of his insanity gone rogue, turned to sickest reality.

But he was confident that all of this was really happening. It was one for the books, he was sure. Not that he wrote books, anyway. It was certainly an idea to consider, though.

He didn't let it distract him from the fact of everything that was going on and-

Wait, was he STILL staring at the barkeep? Yet, he couldn't help himself. That man was strangely common. Like the base of a Create-a-Hero in a typical MMORPG. Cledwynn's thoughts were led astray and back to this man who he was sure held a name like Tim. Or was it Bob..? He didn't care to remember. 

... Or, rather, he couldn't remember. It was almost like he was forced to forget the aspects of the barkeep the moment his eyes were gone. He'd just have to try harder to remember he who looked so commonplace. It was really all he could do.

Besides, it was better than being under the whim of those with telepathy. Granted, it wasn't that dragon's fault for being able to read his thoughts, nor was it Cledwynn's. 

It just wasn't very sporting to have one's mind read. There were secrets he wanted to keep.

So, instead, he gathered his ghastly courage and resolve, and practically stomped over to the front stand of the restaurant, saying nothing, but extending his transparent hand to the barkeep.

Nothing like a good handshake to break the figurative ice.