milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Elizabeth Weir is in a far better mood than she has been since she found herself bound in Milliways.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it's a lovely day outside.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she didn't even think to try the main door today, to go back to her world.

Or maybe it's that she's on her third candy bar.

The options are many; the answers are few.

At any rate, she finds herself a barstool, breaking off a piece of chocolate from her newest bar and popping it into her mouth before ordering a root beer.

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"Yes, well..."

He just shakes his head.

"Not much I can do about it now, is there."

Elizabeth reaches out to pat one of the Brigadier's hands on the bartop in mock sympathy.

"I suppose not..."

Dramatic pause.

Were he someone else he'd be rolling his eyes, but he's not. All he does is sigh in a faintly put-upon manner. "Can't be helped, I suppose," he says. "And it could've been a good deal worse."

Elizabeth, not really caring about containing herself anymore, agrees.

"They could've called you Lizzie."

A voice that Elizabeth's unfamiliar with cuts through the conversation, and as the man counts down (http://community.livejournal.com/milliways_bar/14604888.html) to zero, the music blares, and Elizabeth grins as widely as humanly possible.

Shouting over the din, even though the Brigadier is right next to her: "THINK HE TAKES REQUESTS?"

"I really don't think that-"

Whatever he didn't think gets swallowed entirely by the sudden outburst of Latin. Clearly that's not what he expected to hear; he twists in his seat to look for the source, but the sound system's been rigged up so that it's coming from every single part of the Bar at concert-hall quality. It takes him a moment to realise Elizabeth's even speaking to him. "Hm? What? Well, possibly..."

Moving a little bit closer so she doesn't feel the need to shout at the man, "We should ask. Orff is too much for me today."

Elizabeth cocks her head away from the bar -- all the better to converse, away from the bar-slash-speakers -- and she leaves her root beer, popping her last bit of chocolate in her mouth before standing.

"I'm trying to decide if I'm in a Beatles or Aerosmith mood."

"... I'm sorry, I don't believe I've ever heard of any such performers as Aerosmith. American, are they?"

1970, man. what can you do.

"American, yes. Rock. Sex, pretty much."

Not that Elizabeth doesn't look like describing Aerosmith that way isn't one of the reasons why she loves them.

"You should give them a try. What music do you listen to?"

Up go the eyebrows; he doesn't seem as if he disapproves, he just looks a bit surprised, is all. Elizabeth hasn't seemed the sort to be quite so blunt in the past.

"I don't believe you'd recognise any of the names. Most of the musicians I favour aren't the sort to become terribly popular overseas, I'm afraid...."

Elizabeth shrugs. "I speak five languages. Most of the music I've listened to can barely be defined as music."

Russian rap? Difficult on the ears, some days.

A cocked smile upward at him, and, "You may have to educate me on the wonders of British popular music then. Squibs."

Chuckle.

"Only if you promise never to call me by that name again, thank you," he says firmly. "Not even Uncle Arthur gets to use that name any more."

Both hands in the air, "Yes sir. No more nicknames, I swear."

It's possible that at any other time, Elizabeth might have felt bad about pushing the nickname so far forward.

At the moment? Not so much.

"This'll be great -- records and everything."

Well, the thing about being the Brigadier is that if you find yourself backed into a corner you feel no qualms about using whatever weapon comes to hand. She pushes any farther, she gets called 'Lizzie' until he can't keep a straight face any longer.

"I should say so. I'm a bit surprised a full-service place like this hasn't thought of something similar before."

How a sound system's to figure in his report back to UNIT he's not entirely certain, but it does point to a certain lack of planning on the management's part. That's something.

"Maybe they didn't have a demand for one before," Elizabeth offers almost dismissively; she seems far less interested in why there wasn't a system before than the fact that there is one now.

"So -- we're not going to get anywhere down here." The bar was still playing music loudly, and Elizabeth wasn't sure who to go up to for a request. "You want to try Aerosmith first, or teach me some of yours?"

"No, I suppose we're not;why don't you pick something from this Aerosmith group, and we'll see how it goes from there, hmm?"

"Fantastic. Let me --- " and she's off to the bar to make requests, returning with a small cd book and a portable stereo.

"Where should we go?"

"Outside suggests itself," the Brigadier says. "Well away from any distractions that might come spilling through the door, hmm?"

"Perfect!"

Elizabeth practically drags Alistair outside, except she's not actually got a hold of him.

The scenery is becoming familiar to Elizabeth now, and she knows where she's heading when she finds a slope facing the lakeside, and plops herself down on the grass cross-legged, flipping through the cd book.

This is most definitely not Elizabeth's usual behaviour, but it's not entirely objectionable, really. He'll cooperate- for now, at least. Granted, he's still seated as stiffly and properly as if he were at his desk at UNIT HQ once he settles onto the grass, but he's paying attention to her; does the rest of it really matter?

Not to Elizabeth.

It's a quick search, and Elizabeth narrates: "I asked for all the Aerosmith CDs Bar could come up with, and it's every one released so far...at least in my time. That's such a weird thing to say...At any rate, here we are."

A black CD with a white outlined set of wings across the top is placed in the stereo and Elizabeth immediately flips to track 8.

The guitar repetition over heavy basslines develop for several bars, and Steven Tyler's voice breaks out:

(I never thought a first time love / would ever last / how could a kiss like that / knock me flat on my ass...)

"This is Aerosmith doing more of the blues than anything else -- one of the best albums they've had."

"Believe me, you do get used to it after a while."

Then he stops to listen, expression first curious, then thoughtful.

They really don't have that sound in 1970. Never did.

They will. Eventually.

And Elizabeth's not so much paying attention to the Brigadier as humming along with the music, shifting in her position to every half note in the guitar break as if she'd been doing that all her life.

The song ends, and she turns down the volume when the next song picks up on the CD, "I haven't listened to Aerosmith in a long time. I'll have to keep the habit going."

Well, yes, eventually. And eventually they'll have the Sex Pistols, which will be something of a nightmare.

(The mun tried so very, very hard when she was writing Hellblazer fanfic. Couldn't make it all the way through "God Save The Queen". So sorry.)

"I can think of a few men under my command who'd offer to sell you their first-born children for more of a sound like that," he muses aloud.

"But not you," Elizabeth observes.

She sounds disappointed.

He's not an unobservant man.

"One song's hardly enough to judge a whole body of work by, now, is it?" he says, eyebrows raised. "I do think I'm entitled to listen to a bit more before I make up my mind."