milliways_bar | (no subject)

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As he suspected he would, Jim caught Sherlock's - heh, Rory's - stupid bloody cold. He went to bed angry, frustrated, and sick to the back teeth of this entire bloody bar.

He wakes up with a Welsh accent, a body that feels weirdly exhausted, and a whooooole lot of surprise at finding himself in a bedroom that is not wallpapered in Laura Ashley, cluttered with years' worth of books and theatre junk. Gethin has never set foot in a room so opulent, and so incomprehensible to him. He spends a good hour looking at the clothes, the books, the...frankly pornographic, yet extremely beautiful...photography on the wall of the library (the centrepiece of which involves his own face, and the blurred figure of a much taller man in the background. He doesn't look at it for long.) Everything is very, very weird.

In short, Gethin Roberts does not have a bloody clue what's going on. But at least there are clothes he recognises - comfortably 80s in style - and if the cold he's got means he can't go searching Jonathan out, at least there appears to be a...bar, downstairs?

What. The Actual. Hell.

[OOC: getting in under the wire! Open until the end of March. :)]

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He brightens unconsciously at the understanding smile. But yeah, he's still pretty lost. Socialist groups? Politics? Maybe Bahorel will know something about it?

"I'm not much of a scholar," he admits. "I canny bide indoors all day. But I've seen a few books around here and it's all a bit different from what we've got at home, eh? I didn't know they'd be so political."

This is the kind of thing that leads his father into despair. Of course books are political. Who would write and read, if there weren't power to be had from it all?

Bahorel will, indeed, know something about it.

'Books have always been political. Millions of voices all thinking they're right, finding an audience, everyone reading them? They're very powerful.'

And if you're all on your own, they can be the closest thing to a friend you've got.

'But there's nothing wrong with being outside too, if that's what you like.'

"Aye, I'm more...hunting and playing football," he says a touch absently.

Millions of voices bound up in books? It's a disconcerting thought. But maybe not so surprising. "I suppose if more people could write, there'd be more books. I mean--" Ugh, obviously, what a dumb thing to say. "I just mean, everyone's got their bit to say, haven't they? Got to get their word in. Christ, if there were a whole book for every opinion everyone's got at home, we'd be fucking buried in them."

'Everyone's got their bit to say, yeah.'

He sips his coffee.

'Some people just have more to say than others, and its easier for them to do it. So there's places like my shop for some of the others.'

Any of the others, if they ask and they're not hurting people. Any at all.

'There's worse things to be buried in than books.'

"Better things, too. --For me," he adds hastily. "No offense, I'm just saying...I'm no much of a scholar, that's all. Like I said." He gulps down the rest of his hot chocolate and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

He's a little uneasy now, with a suspicion that if he thought much about people not getting the chance to have their bit to say, he'd then come perilously close to thinking about other things, and it might involve questioning and doubting and-- "Political," he repeats under his breath.

'No offence taken,' he says, in the mildest of tones, and looks William over.

'Are you all right? What's political?'

"I'm fine," he says hastily--and then, with a cheerful grin, "Get tae fuck, man, I'm fine, I just know a few other political people here. Christ, you start talking to them and the next thing you know they're telling you there didny ought to be any king or any nobility or any churches, and you start thinking Christ am I that fucking backwards and glaikit that I canny understand what they're on about or is it them that's a bit off."

'Republicans?'

Gethin smiles again, and gives a little shrug.

'I know a lot of people like that. They're just people, like everyone else. They just think different stuff, but it doesn't make them any better or worse.'

"Aye, a Republic, that's what they want. They're French." Maybe that explains it. "You'd probably get on with them--Bahorel, he'd want to hear about your shop and all that. Meetings and, and making people heard."

...and also gay stuff, probably.

Edited 2017-03-28 20:46 (UTC)

'Bahorel.'

Gethin, as established, reads books. Has read a lot of books. And now there's a French Republican called Bahorel? He blinks, and then realises he looks surprised and makes himself stop.

'...right, well, yeah. I'll talk to anyone, you know? Point him my way, if you see him.'

"Bahorel," he repeats helpfully, because foreign names are hard. "I'll send him your way, sure. He's about so tall, a great dark fellow, wears black and red. You canny miss him."

....wait. Right. This is Jim. He probably doesn't know he's Jim, but he is, and Bahorel won't much want to talk to Jim. Well, he'll...try to explain things to Bahorel, anyway.

Sometimes William does in fact wish he were a little better at thinking before he says things.

"Do you need anything to eat," he asks, as a cunning diversion. "You can get breakfast, anything."

It is a very cunning diversion, and even works! Gethin's very hungry, and he hasn't been feeling well. His whole body feels exhausted, which he's putting down to this cold he seems to have picked up.

'Wouldn't say no to some breakfast, yeah. Do you just ask the bar, like with the drinks?'

"That's right. You just say, eh...Bar, I'd like some hot oatcakes with honey and strawberries, and there you are. --I would like some, Bar." Now that he's thinking of it.

And lo, they appear. Gently steaming. William grins, proud of his amazing talents. "Anything!"

He can't help grinning, both at William's enthusiasm and the magic of this place. It's really brilliant!

'Bar, could I have some muesli, please? With some strawberries on it.'

And yep, there it is! Truly amazing.

'I reckon if I lived here a hundred years, I wouldn't get used to that.'

"Oh, you do. You do. You get used to all kinds of things. --It's not just food," he continues around a mouthful. "You can get clothes, any kind of a thing. Footballs, games. Books!" Because Gethin likes books! "She just won't give you any weapons. Or pot or cocaine," he adds, because he's definitely asked.

Gethin blinks again at the last addition, then smiles.

'Plenty of pot at home, don't need to get it here.'

Jonathan is convinced it's keeping him alive. And maybe it is, who knows?

'And I definitely don't need weapons. I woke up in a room with lots of books, but I don't understand any of them - maybe it'd be good to borrow a few from down here.'

William chews and swallows. "Woke up in a room with a lot of books? That's..." That sounds like it would be Jim's room, which makes sense. He's been to a room of Jim's, ages ago, but he'd be surprised if Jim had stuck with one of the standard-issue rooms here.

"What kind of books?"

Edited 2017-03-28 23:02 (UTC)

'Science stuff. Astronomy, and maths. Philosophy - but more advanced than I've ever read, and mostly in German and French. Textbooks, y'know? And some crime things, but not novels. Real-life crime. There was a whole library of books.'

Well, half-full. Lots of empty shelves too.

'And a kitchen that's bigger than my flat back home, and a gym, and a lot of clothes I definitely didn't buy.'

He looks a bit nervous about it all, actually. This is all very well and good - and fun, to a degree! - but his days of waking up in strange rooms are long behind him, and he doesn't miss them. Also, he used to remember how he got there. And then there's the tattoo. He can't figure out the tattoo, no matter how hard he tries. It's not like it's a new, healing one. It looks like it's been there a while.

"...aye, well." He licks honey off the back of his knuckles, thinking how to handle this. It just seems much easier to dodge the whole Jim subject, if Gethin doesn't press. "You can get another room, if you want. Ask Bar, and she'll give you keys."

Oh, Christ. "Did you hang onto the keys to that room?" Because the poor bastard's probably locked out now, to add to his troubles.

'It didn't have keys. It had like a number pad, and...something else.'

He's never seen a thumbprint scanner before. Maybe in a film, but not in real life. He looks unsure, then remembers his muesli and tries a bit.

'I didn't leave anything in there, so I don't have to go back. I didn't bring any money for a different one, though.'

And he can't go home, because he's sick. Damnit, this is turning into a pain in the arse.

Yeah, William doesn't know anything about number pads, let alone thumbprint scanners, but that does sound like something Jim would have.

"Aw, Jesus." Poor bastard, this is a mess for him. "Look, you--you don't need to worry about the money, right?" Jim seems to have plenty. "There's...you'll be fine, they've got rooms for people who can't pay. It's all magic anyway, isn't it?"

'I've never been to a place where stuff's free, and you don't have to pay for a hotel.'

Let alone magic replacing any need for payment. He looks glum, and prods at his cereal.

'Ah, doesn't matter. I've money at home, I can try and bring some back.'

If nothing else he'll kip on the sofa over there. It's not a big deal.

"There you go. Just get yourself a room, it's nothing to worry about. Bar can give you a key and I can help you find it if you need."

He'd offer his own room, except it's his and Jamie's room, and Jamie would just about murder him for inviting Jim to stay there. Jamie would not be wrong, either.

"You'll be alright," William says, aware that he doesn't sound very convincing.

Jim would find it utterly hilarious for Jamie's reaction alone, apart from the fact he'd never want to stay in a room shared by two teenage boys. H'd hardly be able to imagine how gross it must must be.

'Yeah, yeah, it'll be fine.'

He eyes William with a hint of amusement.

'You'd be more reassuring if you'd stop telling me I'll be all right, though. Honestly, I've stayed in a hotel before, it'll be fine.'

What can go wrong? He's just a bloke. He's not worried.

excuse you william is twenty now he's not a teenager
which...doesn't make the room any less gross, ewww

William scowls at him a little. "Aye, well--" Well--yes. Fine. That may be a valid point. "I'm just saying."

It's not exactly a snappy retort, but whatever. William takes a big bite of his oatcake, demonstrably Not Concerned about the person Jim thinks he is right now.