milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

There was a Woobie inna bar, relaxing on a stool with a bottle of beer. He was once again wearing a blue t-shirt, proclaiming in white letters across the front:

My name is Andrew.
I am not a turtle.

Ahhh, it was almost like old times. Being a friendly sort, he wouldn't mind company in the least, and is especially fond of meeting new people.

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"Scottish," Andrew replied almost absently, staring back at Lincoln warily. "Uh, Ewan McGregor. He's an actor. Of course, he fakes an American or English accent a lot. But he's Scottish." He paused. "Those are different countries, by the way. Different regions of the world." In case he didn't know.

"An actor? Does that mean he's well-known?" Lincoln took a moment to order a milkshake -- he'd grown awfully fond of them -- and settled into his chair to listen. "Tell me more." It wasn't that he had a plan, but more like a zygote of an idea.

"Well, being an actor doesn't neccessarily mean you're well-known," Andrew answered, chuckling softly at the inside joke of it. Andrew himself was pretty damned far from being famous. "But McGregor is, yeah. He's been in a lot of big movies. Do you know what a movie is?"

Lincoln bit back a withering look. "I'm not a complete knucklehead." (He'd overheard that word the other day, and was gunning for a way to use it in his own conversation. It was just fun to say.)

"So... in your world, there are still people that talk like that? And being an actor means... that you can learn to do that, right?" He wondered if his world and Andrew's were the same, just from different times. He wished he knew some way of confirming that, but he couldn't remember anything from longer than three years ago, and they never talked about Before at the Institute.

Andrew gave him a slightly indignant look in return. "Yeah, being an actor means you can learn to do that. For movies."

DUH, Mr. Smartypants. Nyah.

"I don't see why it wouldn't work all the time, though." Or just long enough to get some attention, anyway. "Look, how do you learn how to do that? I want to know."

"Fake an accent? Uh, well... you listen to people who talk that way."

"But I don't know anybody who talks like that. I've never even heard it, really."

"Alright, well. You wanted something to do, right?" Andrew gave Bar a gentle pat. "M'am, can I have a copy of..." He paused, trying to think of a movie where Ewan McGregor used a Scottish accent. "Trainspotting. The movie, not the book." And lo, it appeared, complete with the guy on the front who looked startlingly like Lincoln, had Lincoln been a smack addict.

"Here," Andrew said, passing the DVD over. "There's a TV with a DVD player over there." He pointed across the room.

Lincoln examined the case. His eyes popped a little. "Does he look that bad all the time? What happened to him?"

He'd been hoping this guy would have looked a little better.

Andrew laughed. "No, he doesn't look like that all the time. Just for that movie. He plays a drug addict in it."

He eyed the picture again. "You can fake that too?" He put the case down. "And I guess I'll find out whatever a drug addict might be."

Andrew snorted. "Uh, yeah. It's not a good thing. But yeah, actors can fake all kinds of things."

Lincoln nodded. "Okay. Thanks." He finished his milkshake with a too-satisfying slurp and stood up. "I'll let you know what happens. Thanks, Andrew." And he headed off for the television set, not entirely sure what to expect.

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