milliways_bar | (no subject)

Head scarf tucked beneath his arm but still clad in his galabayya, Bill opens the door entirely absorbed in Al-Ahram Weekly. The letters on the newsprint would be unrecognisable to most, but he's worked in Luxor for a long time and knows the language almost too well. He doesn't really seem to register anyone at the bar or even the fact he's back at the bar: he's fixated on the paper. Stumbling into the nearest table, he curses beneath his breath but sits in the closest available chair, drawing out his wand.

He uses it as a pen; it highlights the article he's reading. He sets that paper aside and takes out another one: he's got a whole stack. Next up is Cairo Live, and after that it will be the Middle East Times. He'll finish with the Egypt Daily News and that will be enough. His face falls as he reads; he finds himself highlighting more and more news stories that by themselves might be entirely insignificant but when they're read as a series... they start to fall together like pieces of a puzzle.

Fuck. These are not random acts, he thinks. No: on 12 January in Siwa, a house was set afire and all the camels' throats slit. The family who owned the property were never found. A week later at the Dakhla Oasis near Mut, a woman was found dead but no cause of death could be established. On 3 February, three eleven-year-old children were found stoned to death on the banks of the Nile near Sohag. In mid-February a family disappeared from Mallawi and another from Minya. And on and on it went: in none of these cases was motive ever established, and no perpetrators were ever caught.

"Fuck!" Bill says it out loud this time, hand wrapping unhappily round the end of his wand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck." He flags down a passing wait-rat. "Bring me a large glass of Ogden's. In fact, make it the whole bloody bottle. They're heading straight towards Cairo."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"How many of you are there?"

He starts to stand. If you've touched my mum, I'll have to kill you.

There's no question about it.

"In addition to me and him? Well, The Other is gone, and so is the Faerie Queen, so, uh,.... Nine hundred and Ninety Nine."

He blinks at the standing.

"You all right?"

"Just a slight headache."

Bill rubs his temples: he's not stupid but this is beyond ridiculous. And are all nine-hundred ninety-nine of you snogging the female members of my family?

It's a joke, Bill. It's a badly-scripted cosmic joke.

"I could get you some willow bark essence, does a wonder for headaches...."

Nope, just one of him. This one, actually. But he's gonna avoid making any of those points. What, let your mom use my room? oh yeh, it's cause I don't sleep there.

Bill waves off the suggestion. "But thank you. It's been an exceedingly interesting evening, but I do need to get back home to my wife. I'd hate to keep her waiting." He gestures to the bottle of Ogden's. "Do help yourself, though, if you like."

He's not had to pay for a thing here since Dover. One of these days he might have a chat to Bernard about that... but maybe not.

Another thought for another time, Bill.

Tim accepts the bottle ggreatefully.

"Thanks man. Have a good night!"

"Don't mention it."

And don't touch my family. He takes his papers, his head scarf, makes sure he's got his wand, and walks to the door.

Fleur definitely won't believe a word of this. He won't blame her: he wouldn't either.

Tim watches him go, blissfully unaware of the other mans thoughts.

He takes a sip of the alcohol, still watching.

Funny, all he can think is 'Nice ass. I'd let him do me.'