milliways_bar | (no subject)

"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."

Quinn grimaces. "That obvious?" he asks rhetorically, passing a hand over his face. "Sorry. Damn, but that smell brings back memories. I didn't think I'd ever run across real tea again."

One of the passing wait-rats, who has rather more sense than Quinn, scampers off to the Bar at the sound of that. Quinn blinks and hooks a thumb towards the rodent. "That happen often around here?"

"They're employees." Preston murmured, "I was a bit wary at first. The camps at Disneyland supposedly included guards dressed as rats but-"

Preston stops himself before he launches into another "Pre-Libria lecture"

"-So. What do you do in your world sir?"

Polite to the end.

"Ah," says Quinn, nodding. He's going to ignore the bit about Disneyland just now. Life's weird enough as it is.

"Who, me? I'm what they call a fire chief, sort of." He smiles wryly. "Not so much 'cos I put out literal fires as the metaphorical sort. I've been pretty much in charge of my little community of survivors these past ten years or so, ever since the old chief died. I mean, I do whatever work's to hand, of course- there's always work that needs doing- but when there's big decisions to be made and we can't come to a decision, it's down to me to make things happen. Guess they thought being the kids' teacher was good practise for getting people to plan ahead and act sensibly, or something. You?"

To Preston, that equates to "Docent" and to-

Father

He bites back the name a little roughly as he studies his hands on the tabletop, "...I am-I was an enforcer in a dystopian government who's sole purpose in life was to destroy items rated EC-10. Books, games, movies, and anything else that was designed to illicite emotion."

HE winces, "I'm sort of-in between jobs at the moment."

Quinn gives him a very long look. ~~And Millitime leaps in to protect the integrity of the space-time continuum.~~

"Like that Partridge fellow," he says at last, shaking his head. "Except without being dead.... damn. I thought for sure I'd hallucinated that bit."

"Sadly no." Preston smiles softly, "If...you have trouble with hallucinations I'm told there's an infirmary here?"

Totally missing the point. Again.

"No, not usually. I just thought this place wasn't real, that's all. So..."

He sighs. The rat returns with his tea. He takes it without looking- and damn near drops it when he realises what he's picked up.

Not a drop gets spilled, though. Both hands are swiftly wrapped around the cup, cradling it like a baby bird fallen out of a tree, and he stares at the liquid as if it just proclaimed itself to be his father and a Dark Lord of the Sith.

Preston watches quietly. Let the fellow enjoy himself.

"There's a few other things." Preston's voice is quiet, "CAn you see the door behind you?"

Preston, very clearly-cannot.

Quinn glances over his shoulder a moment, then nods. "Yeah, it's there," he says. "Why? That not how it works around here?"

Preston sighed, "Sometimes the building plays tricks on people-well-I wouldn't know if I'd call it a trick." He hesitates, "It's-for lack of a better word-magic."

And he sighs, because a Cleric believing in magic is just-well-just.

"I see," says Quinn.

He's not one to believe in magic himself, usually. But usually? This is his bedroom. And right now, it's not. Plus, the twin thing.

So- magic? Sure. Why not.

The Twin thing.

"...you-"

He stops.

"-the bar binds people. things can get pretty strange around here." He smiles a little to himself.

"Do you like what you do? Teaching I mean?"
Because he's assuming that quinn's primary function is "TEACHER"

"What do we do when we are awake?" "Keep two eyes on the sky."

"Oh, yeah," says Quinn. "It's important work. I mean, it's not going to be me who survives the burning times, is it? It's the kids who'll outlive the dragons, if anyone does. I owe it to the rest of the human race to make sure they've got what they need to make it in the future, don't I?"

This is probably not helping the overall impression he's giving, is it.