milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The time's coming when Wells is going to have to assemble some people that he knows and take care of things back home, but for now he's putting that time off. He and Annie spent most of the day together. For now she's off doing more research on other worlds' recipes to see what she can adapt to her own use. Harry, for his part, is settled in at a table near the fire. Dinner's done with, and he's got a pint; it's really not a bad situation at all.

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There's a young man sitting by the Bar watching the room with idle interest. If he happens to catch Harry's eye, he offers a polite nod.

Well, Harry notices a lot of things, and doesn't notice others; this one, he notices. "Evening," he says to the young man he doesn't recognise.

"Good evening", Roshaun answers, seemingly feeling social tonight.

The Bar is about used to Wells by now. When he murmurs a request for the usual to it, his pint of Bass appears without fuss. "Can't say I've seen you around before," he says. "You new here, or did I miss something?"

"Not so new, though I keep to myself a lot. My name is Roshaun."

He gave up listing off all his titles some months ago.

Wells nods. "Good meeting you then," he says. "M'name's Harry Wells."

He considers a moment, and adds, "From 2004, on Earth."

"Ah." He smiles. "I've been to Earth, in 2005."

"... you know," says Wells, "just once I'd like to be the one from the future? I mean, other than to- well, never mind."

He's just remembered Sharpe and company.

"I doubt a year would make very much difference, in any case", Roshaun offers.

"It does if you're a sports fan," Wells says. "I don't suppose you follow football at all? Be a bit pointless to ask about the World Cup if you don't."

"I watched perhaps one game while I was there. Nita Callahan or Kit Rodriguez might be able to tell you, if you know them."

"Mmmm... can't say I do, no." Wells shakes his head. "Doesn't matter, I suppose. Thought I'd ask."

"It's not a game we play, on my world."

Or if it is, he hasn't been exposed to it.

She's in a corner booth, as usual, back to the wall. Sharpening a knife as well, a nice one. The metal gleams in the light.

But she's also near the fire because it's a colder night, and her head is cocked thoughtfully to one side, eyes fixed on him, because that is an interesting heartbeat.

Very interesting indeed.

You don't last long as a soldier if you ignore the prickly feelings that make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Anything involving knife-gleams will generally do that after twenty-five years in the field; he twists about in his chair to see where it's coming from.

She catches his eye and smiles, a thoughtful, slow smile.

Now, where has she heard that before? Must have been - Angua, yes. A werewolf.

She flips the knife over and thoughtfully rubs at a slight scratch.

The knife gets a long look; the girl gets another one. "Nice pigsticker you've got there," Wells comments.

"It's not mine."

A flash of a smile.

"Well. It wasn't. I rather think the owner will no longer need it."

"That so?" Wells comments, eyebrows rising. "Ought I to ask?"

"Not if you don't want to."

Puts it on the table, a mock salute. "Maladicta. Often known as Mal."

She reminds him of someone he knows- Melou.

He nods, not bothering to return the gesture. "Harry Wells," he says. "Formerly Sergeant Wells, Light Infantry, British Army. From Earth."

She's never met him. Pity.

"Nice to meet you. I'm infantry yas well - Corporal, with the Borogravian Army. From the Disc."

"Where Angua comes from?" Wells guesses. "The Disc, I mean. I'd've remembered if she said anything about Borogravia."

"Yeah."

A grin.

"We've met. She's a nice girl, if a little prickly at first. You're a werewolf as well?"

Wells inclines his head slightly. "What gave it away?"