milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Bonnie walked in clutching a clipboard that she was checking off as she went. Funding is a go, approval is a go, there were still things left to do, and she'd left all her dynamics books here. And her laptop. So she was there to do ... a lot of stuff, not all of them related to work, thank heavens.

She and her clipboard took a place at the bar, pencil sketching out possible hydraulics systems.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"See, this is why I prefer being a civilian. I'm doing stuff that your guys would love to be doing, except without the pressure of a rank system involved."

"It's not the rank system that puts pressure on me so much as the man-eating aliens and people who'd be happy to see me eaten do."

"People who'd be happy to see you eaten? Who'd you piss off?"

"The Genii. They look like they're Amish, but they've been working on the bombs thing, and they're really unhappy about the fact that the Wraith are up early."

"... Amish bombers. That's a mental image that'll stick with me."

"They took over Atlantis for awhile, and...yeah. Special. Not to mention the whole 'using us to figure out ancient boobytrap puzzles' thing."

"...Sounds like a bad horror movie."

"More like Indiana Jones. If I wasn't good at math, I'd be kinda dead right now."

"In Milliways, alive or dead doesn't make much difference," she pointed out.

"It does in my universe, and I don't know about you, but I like being alive."

"I have to stay alive." And there was no wavering in that.

"Well, I don't have to, but I'd like to."

Bonnie nodded, but shrugged. "I have to. Somebody depends on me."

"Who's that?"

"Karr. My... partner."

The pause earned a raised eyebrow and curious look. "Your 'partner'?"

"Yeah, he's hard to categorise," Bonnie muttered. "He's one of the Trans Ams I told you about. Black on top, silver on bottom, yellow scanner, bad attitude most of the time..."

"After meeting Skippy out there, I don't think I'd be too worried about a car with a bad attitude in here. Cars don't have guns attached to them."

"No, but around here, cars have more manoeuverability," she pointed out.

"What about the tables and the chairs?"

"You think a table's going to stand in the way of an angry car?"

"It might get him stuck or slowed down."

"You don't know my cars. They can drive through fourteen-inch steel-reinforced concrete without a scratch."

"...Do you sell whatever they're made out of?"

"Nnnope. But I give it away to people who deserve it."