milliways_bar | (no subject)

Peter walked up, "I'm not the only one's who's been busy lately, huh? When's yours due?"

"End of March."

He sets the book aside with a grin.

"When's yours?"

"Doctors are saying February, maybe even around Valentine's Day." Peter said as he flopped down in a nearby chair.

"Guessing your girl, Sheila's the mama?"

"Yeah."

His grin gets a bit wider at that.

Peter nodded, "Yeah, my fiancee, Dana's having mine. She's been pestering me about the wedding date more. Sheila been doing the same about wanting to get hitched or what?"

"Not yet. Been thinking about it anyway."

Beat.

"Don't tell her I said that, though."

Peter nodded, "My lips are sealed."

~~*It's not even a cookbook?*~~

*Look, it's Slack. She hasn't seen this one before. Curiouser and curioiser.*

-- you poor thing.

"... What?"

Brilliant opening line, that.

You look too well-traveled to be having kids on purpose, *Slack notes, shrugging.*

Kinda familliar, as well, though I'm not likely to have any clue from where.

"Well, it kinda wasn't on purpose. Not that it's any of your business."

He eyes her.

"Don't think we've met."

Isn't it? Well, point there - suppose it's not. Some people don't want to share 'em.

*She offers her hand, still smiling a bit smugly.*

Slack, driver for Dead Reckoning.

*Yep, no doubt about it - she's proud.*

He shakes.

"Ash Williams. Resident demonic punching bag."

-- you're sure you're the only one, mate?

He looks around, apparently having forgotten where he was.

"Yeah, you got a point."

Can tell you for sure one of 'em's me. Got thrown in a fighting pit for their entertainment.

Well. And everyone else's. Except mine, obviously.

"That's really sick," he observes.

"Got thrown in a pit once myself, but that was more of a revenge thing."

It really is.

*Her brows furrow, though.*

-- a pit of what? I'm hoping you're not going to say a pit of stenches, 'cause then I might have the sudden inclination to smack you in the head.

"-Big nasty undead guys with bad attitudes?"

... yeah. Um, that sounds like stenches to me.

*Now she looks kind of freaked out.*

Where are you from?

"Michigan, early 90s."

He's mildly creeped out, too.

What 90s? There have been a lot of 90s, *she replies matter-of-factly.*

It's an important distinction, I think.

.... where's Michigan?

"The 1990s."

He boggles a bit at the second question.

"And it's... uh... up north."

Oh, oh. I was worried you were gonna say the 2190s, I haven't met anyone from my future yet.

*Slack pauses.*

I'm from Fiddler's Green, in 2104 -- wait. North? Near Toronto?

*She knows where Toronto is. That's where they're going.*

...

"Close enough."

That's where I've been trying to go for a few months. Except mostly I've just been here.

Spares us the stenches, though. Or me at any rate, the rest of the crew's back with Reckoning. Been getting supplies through Bar, though -- the Wrangles have been great.

-- And I'm doing that talking thing again.

*Slack leaps up to sit on top of Bar's surface, and crosses her legs.*

Want me to hush up?

He looks at her over the edge of his book.

"Nah. Saves me the trouble of talkin'."

Not a fan? Usually, neither'm I, but Riley got me on this damn kick about stories.

*She curls her hair around her fingertip boredly, then pats Bar.*

Coors Light, darlin'? Thank you.

He eyebrows at her. (What? It's a prefectly valid verb.)

"Who's Riley?"

Um.

*Slack coughs on her Coors Light.*

I've got no idea where to start on that one, m'friend.

"Try the beginning."

He gives a semi-evil-looking grin.

I talked about that already. The damned fighting pit, he got me out. Shot the stenches in the heads. Er, and me in the arm, but that's not the point.

*She looks down at the arm - there's a small scar. Of course, that's from a different thing altogether, and Ray Stanz fixed it the same night he got her addicted to strega.*

He made Reckoning - s' short for Dead Reckoning, really - and I live in the thing now, with a bunch of other friends. Riley's got this catchphrase, 'everybody's got a story' ... he doesn't want to hear 'em, I want to hear 'em all.

He nods.

"My girlfriend was the reason I got thrown into the pit in the first place. 'Course, she wasn't my girlfriend then."

How's that for a story?

*That there? is quite a story indeed.*

Erm. You're dating someone who threw you in a pit of stenches?

... Why?

"Hey, I can't really blame her. She thought I killed her brother."

He looks down at the baby name book.

"Besides, it all turned out okay."

*For the first time, Slack catches on.

And smiles at the book.*

Well, I do see you have a point.

Don't get your kids thrown in pits though -- wait, she thought you killed her brother. I think I've missed a lot of important points.

"Yeah, probably. Did I mention the time travel?"

It seems he's had to tell this story a lot recently.

... no.

*Slack picks up her drink again, and leans a little against Bar in his direction.*

Tell all, Mr Williams.