milliways_bar | (no subject)

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After his "conversation" with the Dark Dragon and Mia's subsequent tongue-lashing, Autor found himself chastened and in need of a bracing cup of tea. He picks up a face mask for protection from the flu and soldiers out to see if his worries about Oswin and Rae being infected are well-founded.

Catch him out and about in the main bar.

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Dr. Hannibal Lecter enters from the staircase, and immediately makes a face.

"Very wise," he remarks to Autor in passing as he goes to the bar and fetches himself a mask as well.

"It does help a little against the stench," he says, returning to where Autor is drinking his tea.

Autor was absorbed in his book until the good doctor made his passing remarks, but by the time he returns, he's a little more prepared--albeit a little surprised that Dr. Lecter came back.

"I don't suppose you know from whence it came?" he says, already looking for an escape route.

"The stench?" Dr. Lecter says. "No. The air freshener was perpetrated by the rats."

Autor nods, and then looks him over. "I don't suppose you caught the flu that was going around? If so, I'm sorry to have missed that."

"You might have found me quite amusing as a gay Danish architect," Dr. Lecter smirks, "to say nothing of the knight of King Arthur, via a migration age Sarmatian cataphract."

"Yes," Autor says, pulling his mask down to sip his tea. "I imagine I would have found you very amusing indeed. You must have been very confused as an ancient cavalryman."

He keeps his eyes off the infirmary, letting them wander back to his book. "Was there something you wanted specifically this time around, or is it fruitless to ask?"

"What are you reading?" Dr. Lecter asks, cheerfully.

Autor tries not to look distinctly uncomfortable. "Pride and Prejudice."

"I met Miss Austen," Hannibal says, sounding almost delighted. "I do think it was her cold that mutated to this formidable flu."

"Really, did you? She's lovely, isn't she?" Autor gushes, and then seems to realize who he's speaking to. He picks up his tea and pulls down his mask to quickly sip it. "So she was patient zero? When did you meet her?"

He hesitates. "I don't suppose you met anyone who thought they were Lydia Bennet?"

"No, I didn't," Dr. Lecter says. "Did you?"

Autor sets his teacup down on the bar. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't," he says. "Do you think this flu has finally run its course in the bar? I've met a couple of people now who have recovered."

"We can consider it ended seven days after the last known presence of infection," Hannibal says. "Until then, it might be safer to stay here."

"That's for a standard flu, isn't it?" he says, raising his brows. "Unless you know something about this one that I don't."

"Standard," Dr. Lecter says. "This one is a standard flu, with the one notable variation being those overly specific hallucinations. It's almost as if we were taking those personalities from somewhere, fully formed."

"Manifesting an entirely different persona, with histories and inclinations and everything," Autor agrees, nodding thoughtfully. He adjusts his glasses. "In the curious case of Ms. Bennet, hers was confirmed fictional."

"My impression entirely," Hannibal says. "Rae was being historical at one point, as the famous female aviator Amelia Earhart. She may of course have been a fictional representation of the historical personage."

"Rae had the flu?" he says, furrowing his brow. "Hm. Who else did you observe, if you can remember given your own infection?"

"Javert and Valjean both," Dr. Lecter says. "In fact, I think they must have caught it off me. The purple unicorn and William Evans, too."

"I didn't know it could cross species," Autor says, blinking down at his tea. "I'll have to ask her if standard flus can or just the Milliways version."

He pulls his mask down to indulge in his drink. "Do you know if this is a regular occurrence? I'm surprised to hear so many were infected."

"From what I hear, this is the third or fourth time this happens," Dr. Lecter says. "And no lingering ill effects except deep embarrassment seem to ever have been reported."

Pause.

"Her?"

"'Deep embarrassment' is reason enough to avoid it if one can," Autor says, wrinkling his nose. "And by 'her', I mean the purple unicorn. She may know if human diseases usually carry over to the ponies or if that's limited to Milliways'."

"Deep embarrassment is usually preferable to a painful death," Hannibal says.

Autor raises a brow at him, and then dips his head in concession. "Well, in any case, I'm glad it's nearing its end," he says. "People are lucky that embarrassment is the only side effect. I can only imagine how many injuries could happen when one isn't in control of oneself."

He tilts his teacup back and forth, watching the dregs. "Did Rae look well?"

"She did," Dr. Lecter says. "I'm sure nothing will remain of the infection."