milliways_bar | (no subject)

And the Mun's brain is gone like so much spoiled cheese.

Preston however is staring openmouthed-looking a bit like a fish.

His son, curious, trades glances between the two men.

"John? Do I have an uncle that I don't know about?"

Because that's the only explination as far as Robbie's concerned.

"Not bloody likely, kid," says Quinn without looking away from the weirdly familiar stranger. "Ain't got any siblings. Never did."

Although it occurs to him that his mum did get the divorce on the grounds of infidelity.

Preston, regaining some of his composure, stares down at his son, "Of course not Robbie. There would have been records of it."

This-however-this phenomenon required further exploration.

Preston strode forward and outstretch a hand, "....John Preston."

Cordial to the end.

Quinn recovers enough to reach for the hand and shake it. Both of his are calloused and roughened with a lifetime's worth of hard work- a decade and a half, if not more, of putting things back together or digging them apart.

"Quinn Abercromby," he says. "Good to meet you, mate. Smart boy you've got there."

Fatherly pride is something Preston doesn't lack in, "Thank you sir. Robbie was top of his class at the monestary. It's a-Preston family tradition."

He could never tell you where those words came from.

Robbie beams, absurdly proud, "Thank you John."

Preston nods, then studies the new arrival again, "-I assume-you're new?"

He's doing his best not to scream why the hell do you look like me? at the top of his lungs.

Quinn nods. "Afraid so. Just a little while ago, in fact-" He points over his shoulder. "That was the door to my sleeping quarters when I went to open it. I didn't even look until it closed behind me."

A sheepish smile crosses his face.

"I'm still not sure I haven't cracked my head on something, but it's too damned consistent for a dream."

Preston offers the man a small smile, "I thought I was hallucinating myself when I first arrived. I can assure you this is no dream. This is a good place."

He hesitated, "-Welcome to Milliways! Um-the...bar. at the end of the Universe."

He's bracing himself for the "You're a lunatic" speech.

"People come here when they're in the bathroom apparently." Robbie closed the book and watched the two men intently, "I mean-the door shows up everywhere. It showed up at the monestary head's office once. That was a lucky break."

Robbie paused, looking to his father, "What's a bar dad?"

"I'll explain it later Robbie." Preston put a hand on his son's head and returned his attention to Quinn, "....has-someone talked to you about this place yet?"

Quinn does not, in fact, give the 'you're a lunatic' speech. It's bloody difficult to say that when you're surrounded by So. Many. STRANGERS. And there's the Window, too; you just don't get special effects like that any more...

"Huh? No, not really," he says. "I mean, a little bit, but not enough to make it make sense."

"No outside food or drink John?"

Preston blinks, "What? No-" He pushes Robbie aside with the air of a kidding father, "Go back to your book. Or if that doesn't work then go outside and work on your practice."

Robbie glowered, but obeyed his Father, waving to quinn before he scampered off.

"Simple common sense sort of things." Preston said, "No violence in the bar. There's a security staff. No...."

Blushing.

"um-"

More blushing.

"Intercourse or-ah-biological-um-"

He sighs, "No being naked in the bar. And Finally no business. Apparently what's on the outside of the door stays on the outside of the door." A firm nod, "However, if you have business in your world that needs attending, patrons appear to be more then happy to assist you."

That was his case.

Preston sighed and offered Quinn a seat, "Would you like something to drink? to eat?"

Quinn watches the boy run off. "It's not a bad book, but it's all wrong," he murmurs. Then he turns his attention back to the older man.

"Oh, I shouldn't worry about that too much. I know my manners, thanks," Quinn says. "But there's really no business back home. Not any more. I'm not sure if there's even anyone left alive outside my community, and we've been listening for years now."

He reaches for one of the chairs. "I could do with a drink, I think," he says. "Cold water's fine. I just got in from planting this year's vegetable crop- at least, we're hoping it'll last that long."

Preston hesitated before raising a hand almost elegantly. A waitrat scurried from a place-somewhere-and studied the two men with it's beady eyes.

"-A glass of water for this fellow, on my tab-" Preston murmured, "And green tea for me."

The rat nodded once before scurrying off.
Let that sink in.

"Vegetables? are you a-produce grower?"

He's not really looking at the rat. The whole place is really pretty overwhelming to him right now, so one little detail's likely to be overlooked.

"Hm?" he says, snapping his attention back to the here and now. "No, this was the whole community at work. There's about two hundred of us living in what used to be Alnwick Castle- dunno if you'd know where that is. It's about three hundred miles north of where London used to be. This is our first chance of getting anything decent growing in ages- there's only so much you can get out of sheltered pots and plants under artificial light, you know?"

Preston nodded slowly, "....I'm not familiar with agricultural production. The Ration centers handle all food growth." He pauses, "And owning potted plants is-well-was-a crime in my world."

He hesitates, "Why can't you grow anything?"
beat.

"outside?"

"Yeah, your boy mentioned that. Factory foods, huh?" Quinn shakes his head. "Can't remember the last time there was a real working food-packing plant. Ajay might've been able to tell you, but I didn't much keep track."

He exhales at the question, leaning back in his chair and reaching for the napkin from earlier. "We've got dragons," he says without preamble. "Matter of fact, most of the bloody world's been overrun by the things. And don't go telling me they don't exist, 'cos they do. Big as houses, and that's just the little ones. They're everywhere, the bastards. And they feed on ash, so if it's green and growing- or pink and running- they'll set it on fire and eat what's left after."

Preston's eyes go wide.

Once upon a time he would have said something.
But that was before Milliways, and Werewolves, and the fact that a motley crew of otherworldly creatures had collected in a space that was worthy of EC-10 Fiction.

Or worse, A roleplaying game.

"....My god." Preston swallowed, "-How..."
It's anyones guess as to what the "How" refers to. Preston leaves much open to interpretation.

"The scientists said they'd always been there," Quinn says, assuming he was going to ask how was that possible, that's insane. "Hibernating. That the species is as old as they come, maybe even as old as the dinosaurs. They went into hibernation when nearly all the food was gone, and they only woke up once there was enough life on Earth again to make it worth their while."

Pause.

"First one to wake up killed my mum. I was there at the time."

"....I'm sorry."

Preston's face fell, a flash of anger, "-No one can control these creatures? They just-kill?"

"They're animals, Preston," says Quinn wearily. "Predators. You might as well try to control a shark- look, this should give you an idea-"

He pushes the napkin towards Preston, sketch side up.

"They're wild. Don't belong to anyone. They don't care who they attack, or what, as long as it ends up ashes. Far as anyone knows, the only things they see in the world are food, other dragons, and rocks. So, yeah, they pretty much just kill and eat, and breed like mad 'cos there's nothing that eats dragons to keep 'em in check."

Preston mutters something about nuclear weapons, Quinn may catch it-then again he may not.

"-What do the governments of your world intend to do about them?" He's still stuck in that slight, "Governments can solve all your problems mentality" but only slightly.

That gets a stare, and a rough, harsh laugh. "Governments?" says Quinn disbelievingly. "I don't think you understand, Preston- there are no governments! They're gone! They sent the military against these things at first, when they finally realised they were for real, but it didn't do much good. For every one they killed there was another ten to take its place. They were using nukes before the end- that's how bad the dragons were. And it still wasn't enough. There's no governments any more. Not anywhere."

A long, shivering pause.

"... I'm not sure if there's anyone else left at all, some days. I mean, I've got to believe it, but... we haven't heard from the other fortresses in years. Not by foot, not by bird, not by radio- nothin'. Alnwick Castle might be all that's left in England."

Preston takes this all in, eyes serious.

What else can he say?

And he's suddenly greatful. God Almighty greatful for being born in a world where the only thing he had to do was be worried about the evils of mankind.

He's not really sure about how to respond.

Quinn starts absently doodling designs in the condensation on his waterglass. "One thing, at least," he says. "They're starving. The ones we've seen, anyway. We're going to hunker down and do everything we can to outlast the damn things. I believe we've got a chance- dunno how long we've got to do it, but we've made it twenty years now. We're good at not dyin'. I think we can do it."

Preston nods slowly, "-I just-"

He hesitates, "Dragons are a work of EC-10 fiction in my world." He mulls over the idea in his head,"The Pre-Librian governments should have been more efficent about it -How did they become such a threat? I mean did they just appear?"

The Green tea and glass of water arrives.

Preston hesitates, unsure of how to begin this next question. Sooner or later however he's going to have start interacting with people...well...normally.

"I'm told that people procure alcohol when in times of duress." Preston said, "It's for special occasions in my world-but if you like-"

He's flailing.

'EC-10' rates a blank look from Quinn, but at least he knows what Libria is, sort of. He shrugs. "The first ones just appeared," he says. "The very first one was sleeping under London. Woke up and broke out when I was twelve years old- right in front of me. Sixteen men and my mum, dead on the site, and me the only survivor."

He exhales, and then squints at the other man. "Cor, no wonder your boy talks the way he does," he says. "Yeah, a drink's a good thing when something hits you extra hard, but I'll be all right. Creedy's rotgut'd just lay me out flat if I had anything... to..."

It's just occurred to him that there is a faintly familiar smell coming from the other end of the table. Quinn's eyes lock onto Preston's cup for a moment, and he blinks a few times.

There hasn't been tea in Britain in a decade.

Oh-well-

Preston would have to be a fool to miss that look, "Tea?" The bar can make you anything you like, "...Would you like some? The bar makes an excellent Green Tea."

Preston finishes his own cup off, confused-until he recalls what Quinn said about things being destroyed.

"They make English tea as well-or so people tell me."