http://grumpywordsmith.livejournal.com/ (
grumpywordsmith.livejournal.com) wrote in
milliways_bar2006-10-12 06:46 pm
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The Front Door opens to allow a small rubber ball to come bouncing into the bar.
"Sam!"
"Sam! Do I have to do everything around here?"
Moments later, a grumbling White House Director of Communications comes into the bar. Not that he's noticed--he's too absorbed in scowling at the sheaf of papers he has in his hand. He reaches down automatically for the ball, which has come to rest against a chair leg, and only as he rises back up does he notice where he is. Just in time to hear the Door slam shut behind him.
"Not again!"
"Sam!"
"Sam! Do I have to do everything around here?"
Moments later, a grumbling White House Director of Communications comes into the bar. Not that he's noticed--he's too absorbed in scowling at the sheaf of papers he has in his hand. He reaches down automatically for the ball, which has come to rest against a chair leg, and only as he rises back up does he notice where he is. Just in time to hear the Door slam shut behind him.
"Not again!"
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He's sitting over at one of the tables not far from the door, still in uniform, rather pointedly avoiding a view of the Observation Window.
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Picking up his martini, he comes over to the table--then stops short.
"You're not crazy, right? Not like--," Toby gestures toward basically everyone else in the bar.
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"And this, is just a speech. For the President. Of the United States. Nothing important. Only a new policy initiative for most of the Developing World." He turns to glare at Bar, raising his voice. "Not like it has to get done anytime soon."
He stops and closes his eyes. "Great. Now I'm talking to the furniture."
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He puts out a hand, "Toby Ziegler. White House Director of Communications for the Bartlet Administration."
He would have added 'the United States' in there somewhere, but if this guy is the Brit he seems to be, he can probably guess that from Toby's accent.
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"Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart, United Nations Intelligence Taskforce." Pause, while he runs over the last few American presidents in his head. "1970."
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Really, this would be so much easier if he could just accept he's completely losing his mind.
"United Nations Intelligence Taskforce," Toby repeats slowly. "I don't think I've heard of that before."
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"What kind of intelligence are you usually dealing with, if you don't mind my asking?"
Of course, that might be classified, but Toby figures it doesn't hurt to ask.
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There; that's simple enough, isn't it?
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Best to ask instead about Happier Things. "Do you have to stay in Manhattan, or are you based in Britain?"
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"Britain, as it happens," the Brigadier says. "Our members in various countries are seconded from the host country's military and are still bound to obey that chain of command. Conflicting orders get resolved in Geneva."
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There may be just a bit of sarcasm in that. Possibly.
"Bar grabbed you out of nowhere too, huh?"
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"Ok, so things could be worse."
"I don't suppose you're from Earth? Late twentieth-century?"
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"I'm not from Earth at all. I'm an Ozian, thank you much, and while my country isn't exactly fruit and roses, it's certainly not the sort of place that would produce people from Kansas."
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"So, been stuck here for a while then?"
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Hmm.
"There's beer here at least."
Not that he drinks it.
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"Of course," he raises his voice and glances back at Bar, "You'd need that here, wouldn't you?"
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Yes, getting disconnected from the present all by yourself can really make the end of the universe even worse.
"And really, this place is not nearly so bad as home."
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Toby sighs. "But, what are you going to do?"
"So, uh, your government is trying to kill you, you said. Are you some kind of activist?"
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He'll leave out the bit about setting the bridge on fire and blowing up the Basilica. It just doesn't sound good to strangers.
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"Yeah, I could see how that would make things.... delicate."
"It's hard enough trying to reach compromises with the politicians of my country, and they don't have that kind of record. Usually."
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