Call to Arms

The war raged outside. Beyond the bar, the universe, the multiverse was in flames.
An author sat near the door, scribbling frantically about Ben and Polly, the inept romantic prose of an inexperienced adolescent. Thoughts of chocolate sauce far from his mind, he struggled with unfamiliar undergarments.
The ancient grandmother clock by the door struck thirteen. Again.
Adric stood by the hearth, nursing his Shirley Temple, wishing he could leave the bar, to fight the good fight. Stepping outside would leave him dead again, and he hated the embarrassment that caused.
Otherwise, the bar was empty.
Until the war came.