milliways_bar | (no subject)

The fire is where Quinn generally takes his own meals, so it was sort of inevitable that a collision should occur. Metaphorically, anyway. Quinn doesn't bump into people physically if he can avoid it- he might spill his food.

"Afternoon," he says politely.

Robbie is probably more apt to smile then his father. He looks upward and smiles broadly, "Hi Quinn!"

Preston, for his part, acknowledges his twin's presence with a nod.

He'd lift an eyebrow if he thought the one-eyebrow trick was called for just yet. As it stands, he sort of gets the feeling that 'can I sit' is not the best question to ask. Lucky thing there's a table right nearby to sit at instead. "And how do the both of you fare this fine day?" he asks instead.

"We're doing fine." Preston manages a smile-althought it's tight. Your trademark smile available only in Libria, "-It's time to get back to work."

Robbie glances sullenly around.

Clearly the kid doesn't want to go.

Quinn nods. "Know what you mean," he says. "I'm lookin' forawrd to getting back myself, once Captain Reynolds finishes the sale. You going back to school then, Robbie?"

Robbie for his part chews on his hamburger a bit, "...Rebuilding a goverment. Hoo boy. All kinds of fun for the family."

It's sarcasm. and it gets a look from Preston-but the father ignores it.

".... excuse me?" Quinn asks, blinking. "I thought you were- what, nine?"

"...I'm going back." Preston said bluntly, "And I'm taking Robbie with me." Seems common sense that a kid can't stay without a parent overseer.

Preston's voice was deadpan, "He doesn't want to go."

"Well, yeah, I understand the two of you going together bit, but you're making him work with you? At his age? Sorry, Robbie," Quinn adds apologetically. "Didn't mean to talk past you."

"He's not going to be working close with me." Preston's voice takes on a harsh tone, "-I-"

I want to keep him close.

Because Mary's gone, Partridge's gone-and if anything happened to Robbie-

But it's more then that, "Children in Libria should participate. They will be the ones who carry on our government. all voices deserve to be heard."

However it's a half-assed response and Preston knows it. He absorbs himself back in his food.

"He's nine, Preston," Quinn points out. "I mean, I'm keeping the book on dragons for the kids at the castle, but they're just kids. The whole point of childhood is learning how to live one step at a time, not being thrown into adulthood feet first."

"....Father did that-"

Preston turned sharply to Robbie, "...This is nothing like that." Preston said, "We-"

Robbie shrugged uncomfortably before turning to Quinn, "...S'all people know. You're an adult after you take the Citizen Apititude and Employment Test. I started school when I was six and started training with guns when I turned eight. It's the way we...were."

Or are, depending.

"...I've left Robbie alone on numerous occasions. He knows how to take care of himself." Less a son and more of a roommate.

"And he can take care of his sister."

"I started school at five, Robbie," says Quinn. "Used to be that you had to stay at school until you were sixteen, and some people went on to more after that- but you weren't of age until at least sixteen. For some things, later. Gave you time to develop, get your feet under yourself."

He glances sidelong at Preston, expression dubious.

Robbie squirmed, "-Without proper guidance and responsibilty people who were kept in school resorted to all sorts of ways to occupy their time." He sounds a bit like a schoolboy reciting his lessons

"Without guidance and a set path in life children who are naturally curious seek out ways to experiment. Drug use became common, the precentage of teenagers that engaged in sexual intercourse rose while the age at when people lost their virginity lowered." Robbie studies Quin n a bit puzzled, "-Give children responsibilities young and you mold them into responsible adults."

"It's not responsibility if you don't have a choice in it," Quinn says. "It's just doing what you're told."

Aye, there's the rub.

"-Reguardless, if presented with the right responsibilities and an opportunity to choose-"

"-I choose to stay here." Robbie's voice is hard, "...I choose to be a kid. Cause I've never had the chance."

Quinn just sighs, shaking his head. "Here comes the hurricane," he mutters to himself, watching the two of them.

There's no hurricane, nothing but the sound of quiet thunder.

"...I didn't either."

Preston shrugs. Facts are Facts.

"And look how Libria turned out under a generation raised like that," Quinn says, quietly, evenly.

That's all.

Preston would love the opportunity to present his case but all the same-

"...It's for the best Robbie." Preston said, "This was only meant to be a vacation-you can't stay here and neither can I. WE're shirking our responsibilities."

"I'm not saying you ought to stay here either, Robbie," says Quinn. "This is a good place, but it's not the real world- not the one you were born in, anyway. All I'm saying is, I was raised to believe that a kid's responsibility was to learn how to be a good person who could stand on their own, and then become a grown-up. You've gotta go home- but it's only asking for trouble, forcing him into it, Preston. I can guarantee that."

Preston frowned, "...I don't want to force him into anything. He's spent nine years taking care of himself-"

Robbie nodded, "I can take care of myself. I can take good care of myself Quinn. It's not fair that Dad's gotten to be here and experience things and-"

He lowered his head, "I know I sound very childish and I'm sorry but things here are so much...better then Libria but..."

He shook his head, "There's no chocolate back home John."

This argument was starting to sound all too familiar. Maybe not in terms of specifics, but oh, it was so very close to how many fights he'd had to defuse at the castle? He'd just... never had to defuse it between an adult and a nine year old before.

"There's none at the castle, either, Robbie," Quinn says gently. "Creedy and me're still going back when it's time, though..."

He rubs at his forehead with one hand. "I'm really sorry, Robbie. This place- you can't live your life here, not really. Everyone's got to leave, you know? You'll come back someday, I expect. Likely when you're least expecting it. Besides, if you stay here, what happens to the other children your age? 's not like any of them got to know what bein' a kid's really like."

Then he glances over at Preston. "I agree with you that both of you need to go back, but honestly- you could do far worse than to ease up on him a bit. It's not as if Libria's exactly well-versed in how to raise healthy children without medicating them. There's other ways, and you've both still got a long way to go."

There's this particular feeling in Preston's gut. It's rather odd and he can't describe it-

Except he has this sudden urge to slam the man against the wall and...

Annoyed, Preston pushes back, gritting his teeth, "...Do you have Children Quinn?" What the hell do you know about raising kids if you don't have them?

"Biological? No," Quinn answers, looking back with an equally stubborn expression. "Foster? Yeah. Since I was seventeen. His name's Jared. He was three when I found him, but I think fourteen years of upbringing covers the missed time and then some. Got a problem with that?"

Preston's got his cleric face on, "...Don't try to tell me," Preston says, "How to raise my children."

It's not out of malice, please believe that.

"...At least until you've-had-your own kids."

( "He wants his mum, Creedy, what'm I supposed to do?" "Have you tried explaining?" "He thinks she's sleeping, back in the village...")

"You've got no bloody clue what you're talking about," Quinn snaps back. He means 'no clue about Jared, or the fostering, or what it's like to be a single father to a kid you don't share DNA with when you haven't the slightest clue how the two of you are going to survive until the morrow.'

That's probably not how it sounds, though.

Preston's hand raises-

And lowers, clenched into a fist.

"Don't assume that just because our world was repressed we're any less human or any less capable as parents." Preston's voice rose an octave, "-You have no-"

His hand raises again. Anger.

No, you've been with me. You've seen how it can be, the jealousy,rage...

He stood up, "Robbie-Come."

It should be noted that he's never sounded more like Father, or one of Father's agents until now.

"Don't assume blood's the only thing that matters," Quinn growls back under his breath.

He's not standing up. He's not going anywhere.

This is because if he so much as shifts position right now he's going to smack his twin so hard their respective ancestors in both worlds are going to hurt.

Robbie follows him, looking back at Quinn with an unreadable expression full of pain.

Preston doesn't glance back as the door opens to an apartment. If Quinn's looking through-he'd see an incredibly sparse apartment-wooden floors and futuristic stylings. He might note the complete lack of furniture and the Giant Television set.

The door closes.

Minutes pass.

Quinn does his best to get a smile on his face for the boy, but it's probably not fast enough, and even if it were, it's not likely to be all that convincing.

The door's closed; he sighs, and leans back in his seat. Maybe the Bar can do that thing Eddie made for him. With alcohol in the coffee. He could use it about now.

The door opens with a woosh and inserts a small child wearing gray pajamas and a very startled expression. In a flash it vanishes behind him.

"...What the-"

He stares at Quinn, then peers around.

Better say something before he starts to scream.

Quinn looks up from his still-completely-unadulterated coffee, and blinks. "Robbie?" he asks warily. "Were you trying to come here?"

Robbie's eyes go wide. Max warned him about this!

His eyes go wide, "...I-I-I-I-I-"
He's shivering.

"-This isn't the bathroom!!"

"oh, bloody hell-" Quinn gets up and crosses over to crouch down to Robbie's approximate height. "Can you see the door?" he asks, first of all.

Somewhere in the back of his head is a sneaking, dreadful conviction that John Preston is going to find a way to blame this on him, too.

Robbie turns his head a bit-staring at the door-

No..

"Doors just don't disappear." Robbie's very matter of fact, "-That doesn't happen Mr. Quinn. Not at all."

Whatever conviction and adult attitude he had earlier is completely gone.

"...My dad-"

Robbie lowers his head, "...My sister-"

Mr. Quinn is what the kids at the castle call him, and it grabs something in Quinn's chest a little to hear it. He puts that aside, though. "It happens here," he says. "It happens to plenty of people. I hear about it all the time."

He almost runs a hand over his face, but he's not going to let himself do that in front of the boy.

"They're going to be fine," Quinn says. "And so are you. You can stay in my room, if you like- I'll get you a room if you don't. But it's gonna be all right, I promise. One way or another."

Robbie's developed a bit of a habit. He drops to the floor, curling into a tight little ball before he looks up at Quinn Tentatively.

"...My dad-My dad has a room here..."

But he doesn't know if his dad closed out his tab or not.

Robbie shivers, "It's cold and I'm in my pajamas-and nobody can be dignified in pajamas!"

"If it's still open we'll get you there, then," Quinn says, reaching over to lay a hand on Robbie's shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you upstairs. I'll get you clothes from the Bar if there's nothing that'll suit. All right?"

He hasn't thought to replace his own yet. That's more of a personal choice than anything, though.

Hey, it's got it's own chic.

Robbie's too frightened and blitzed to do anything but nod. Wrapping his arms around his chest he peers around-afraid of people pointing and laughing. Like those dreams that pre-librians were known for having...

"...Mr. Quinn?" Robbie hesitates "...Pre-Librians always had those dreams...of being in a room filled with people in their underwear-" He mumbles the rest, "Pajamas are like that and people are gonna laugh at me and-"

Quinn gently prods the boy to his feet, starting the two of them towards the stairs as soon as he thinks Robbie can manage. "No one's going to laugh, Robbie," he says. "This is Milliways. They've all seen loads worse. And if they do laugh, I'll make 'em stop. Come on, now-"

Robbie follows, "...couldn't be laughed at." Robbie's wiping his eyes, "-Aw hell-I'm nine and I'm crying like some stupid little kid." He huffs, disgusted with himself, "-A cleric wouldn't be this...weak."

But he follows Quinn.

"Yes, you're nine," says Quinn. "You're also tired, far from home, and separated from your loved ones. Anyone'd do the same in your circumstances no matter what they were trained to do. It'll pass, you'll see."

Hm. Preston's tab marker is still hanging up by the Bar, though someone paid it off a while ago. All right, then. "Looks like we're going to your dad's room after all, Robbie."

Robbie nods, "....."

It's heartfelt. The man's rescued Robbie twice and while he feels indebted and stupid and tired and sore-he's also absurdly greatful.