milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[OOM: There'll always be an England. It's just that eventually, it's REALLY going to suck.]

The door opens, and for a moment the ruddy-gold light of candles and lamps can be seen on the other side. Not for long, though. The blue-clad, bearded fellow who trudges through closes the door behind him.

And then stops, two paces in, and stares.

Quinn Abercromby hasn't got any words at all for this.

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'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.

A man who looks like him, and who sounds an awful lot like-Father.

Preston hesitates, "Be wary of what you teach them."

He swallows, "Too often does an individual trust in the authority that an educator provides. A good educator should strive to educate about all aspects of society and never control-anyone."

Ironically-a line from Father.

"Control?" Quinn's eyebrows go up. "It's a community, not a prison. I mean, yeah, I'm the one who's got to talk people down from doing really stupid shit, but it's not like I'm castle dictator or anything. They just listen to me, that's all."

About now he remembers the existence of the tea, and takes a momentary sip- the first he's had in longer than he can remember. And oh, he does remember...

He's just this side of bursting into tears.

Preston quiets again, allowing the man more time to enjoy it.

"...that's good."

He'd eat but he hasn't had an appetite for the past few days. This man-

"Hungry?"

There's an edge to preston's voice that he can't disguise-but he thankfully covers it, "Sorry-I'm-tired I guess."

He hasn't been sleeping very well.

"Hm?" Quinn looks up, blinking. Wiping the tea from his mustache (now there's something Preston probably never thought he'd see), he thinks for a moment. "Oh, yeah. Food. You know, I don't remember when I stopped for food last. That'd probably be a good idea... hey, are you all right? You look almost as done in as me."

"I'm fine." Preston said bluntly, "I haven't been sleeping that well." Both Robbie and Lisa had noticed.

Preston sighed, "I'm given ration coupons-that the bar seems to take. She'll take any kind of currency. Your meal's on me." It's the least I can do for a twin.

And how weird is that?

Preston is doing his best not to stare at quinn with a perverse sort of fascination.

"Good," says Quinn. "'Cos the only money I have's what we found when we were digging. Couple centuries out of date-"

Then he blinks. "Thanks, mate," he says gratefully. "What does the kitchen make, do you know? It was gonna be fish back home tonight- Gavin made it to the river and back okay."

He hasn't quite noticed the almost-staring yet. There's tea. It's more important.

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