milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The door opens and Ellen slips in from the Capital Wasteland, a battered leather duster thrown over her old Vault suit. She's got a rolled-up sheaf of blueprint paper in hand. "Hey, Bar?" she says. "I could really use a beer, we had trouble with raiders coming after the water caravan today... oh, and if Dean Winchester's here somewhere, could you let him know I'm looking for him? Thanks."

There's a bark- the door didn't close immediately behind her.

"Oh, and some water and food for Dogmeat, please? Thanks."

She's looking for Dean specifically, but this is Ellen; she'd be just as happy to meet up with anybody else tonight. She made it to the end of a very long day, after all.

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"I meant the homemade stuff," Ellen says. "Some of the whiskey from before the War's really good. I bring it here to sell people sometimes- they get all excited about two hundred year old whiskey even though it's been aging in glass bottles instead of the original barrels."

"Yeah, I know but sometimes even stuff you buy can be near as bad. Two hundred years for you so I think that's still before me.""

"No, it's after you," Ellen says. "It's 2278 at home. The Great War was in 2077. You won't have seen our whiskey yet."

"And that's two hundred years or so after me, hell of a lot of time."

Ellen nods. "There's three world wars, a whole bunch of extra states, men landing on the Moon, and all kinds of other things between your time and mine," she says, "even if we were from the same world, which I'm not sure we are."

"Yeah, it gets confusin' with all the various futures and what changes and what hasn't."

"I've found a few things I can ask about," Ellen says. "To see who's from my history and who's not. But those don't always work."

"I haven't thought too much about that. Usually it's a matter of folks not tellin' me about things."

"Well," says Ellen, "I can tell you this. When I was going through the ruins of the Museum of History, I once found a recording of President Lincoln's voice. It was a little wax cylinder that you played on an Edison phonograph. I've told some people here about it, and they've told me that in their worlds nobody ever got a recording of President Lincoln's voice. So I know there's places where that's different. If nobody ever recorded the President's voice like that, then your world isn't the one that ends up becoming mine."

"I'll remember that though I don't know if that's true in mine or not."

Ellen nods. "I don't have a whole lot else from your time that I know is different," she says apologetically. "The next big thing isn't until 1945 or so, I don't think. Or possibly 1969."

"I'll see if I can find out if it's there in mine."

"All right," says Ellen. "One day I'll take you to hear it, if you want- remember how I told you there's people living in the Lincoln Memorial now? I gave them the recording. They've probably made copies of it, if I know them at all."

"I'd like that. I've seen pictures and read Lincoln's speeches but nothin' else. How are things goin' with the cowboy you know?"

"Mr. Paulson's doing all right," Ellen says. "I got a note from him the other day. I sent him a letter back with one of the traders and told him I might be able to put him in touch with someone who could help him get out west again, if he wanted. Haven't heard back yet."

"Oh good, I hope we can help him out."

"I'll bring you his letter when he writes back," Ellen promises. "I think he'll be glad even if all that happens is he gets to see a horse again."

"I think we can manage that for him and more."

"I certainly hope so," Ellen says. "He had it worse than most of us on the ship, I think. The aliens killed his wife and son during the kidnapping. I'd like things to go right for him, for once."