But there's a light on in Chicago and I know I should be home.

[nothingsodivine]

As is custom, there are many different people around, engaging in many different activities (and some of the same activities in different places). Come with me, gentle viewers, and we will see what they're up to.

Desmond Descant is in a bar as is per the custom of manly men who suffer manly heartache (the narration hears you snickering). He's

Comments

[nowinprint]

"Have you ever met a half-crazed Jehoveh's Witness, 3-D?" Dmi asks. "My experience, they tend to go one-or-null on the old crazy, but maybe things are different outside the Windy City. And I think the loop may have snuck something into that beer of yours and dragged you home with it, because it's a bit impossible to be anywhere in the Doctor's sphere of influence and not have something big crash into itself over your head."

The drink comes and she pushes a few bills across for it.

"The interview would be the usual topical suspects - you know, thumb on the pulse of the city, what's it like being through the Rift, a Wanderer perspective on local events as spoken by a man sharing a house with who might be the most political Wandrer to come through. Well. I suppose he's not wanted for shooting Romana three times, and there's that whole crop of them down by Santa Fe aiming for integration, and all told he's a bit random to get any sort of momentum for a political run of it, but we let him keep the title 'cause nothing's worse than a wet cat, an abandoned dog, or a Doctor who doesn't think he's sparkly. Though I may have to start off by asking what that middle 'D' is supposed to stand for." She pauses. "What is that supposed to stand for?"

[nothingsodivine]

"Yeah, well..." Des just rolls his eyes and goes back to his beer, for once having absolutely no clever retort for that. Round One: Dmitri. Papa will be back in the second round with a zinger... Maybe.

He leans back a little and taps the table a few times, giving her another incredulous look. "You're trying to communicate with me, but the words are not making any damn sense, sugarplum. We speak the plain anglais here, not The Language of the Rambly Reporter." Yes, he's teasing her just a bit. He takes a sip of his beer. "And, for the record, my middle name is not as interesting as you'd think it would be. It's Damian."

Whoo. Shocker.

[nowinprint]

"Pretty sure whatever dialect of Desglish you're speaking doesn't qualify as plain English of any description, French or otherwise," she says. "And here I was holding out hope for Desiderio or Desislav, or something." She sighs into her tequila, making a note in her journal. "But we'll press on. Doesn't have to be now, you understand; normally I'd invite you for a drink, but that seems a bit unimaginitive, doesn't it? I suppose I could always invite you out for an imaginative drink." She considers. "There's a place down on South Wentworth that'll sell you a seventeen-layer drink in a yard glass for ten bucks, carefully arranged by density of alcohol. It's quite possibly the most ridiculous booze I've ever seen."

[nothingsodivine]

"Desmond Desislav Descant might be overdoing it a bit," Des chuckles, pointedly ignoring her first comment. "It doesn't roll off the tongue. Desmond Damian Descant has a nice little lilt to it."

He spent way too much time thinking about that name before he decided to adopt it as his own.

Des perks up, looks at his draft beer, and then looks at Dmitri like she may have somehow evolved into his new favorite person. "Ridiculous?" He says with extremely wide eyes. "Or amazing?"

[nowinprint]

"Yeah, but having a first name with a diminuitive like Des and a last name like yours sets you up for all sorts of 'Descan't help himself' jokes," Dmitri says. "But, hell, if I wasn't Dmitri my hippy folks would have named me Rainbow or Sunshine so, Deek, I can't really hold you to task for it even if you should have known better." She grins. "Seventeen-layer drink, two pound burger with cheese fries, my treat. Do I have myself an interview?"

[nothingsodivine]

"Cuuuute," Des drawls, rolling his eyes a little. "Sunshine suits you, because you're certainly a ball of it." He says that in such a way that suggests it's not as much of a dorky compliment as it is something mildly sarcastic with just a hint of endearment. It's hard to say, really, but it's clear from his grin it's not meant to be an insult.

He gives her a rather pleased look and sticks out a hand. "You are an angel, both literally in the sense that gives me free food. You got a deal, sweetness."

[nowinprint]

Dmitri sticks her hand into his, shaking firmly. "A pleasure doing business with you, Desmond Damien Descant. My schedule is flexible and I'm only a journal entry away, whatever you need me for."

She considers for a moment after releasing his hand.

"And feel free to tell the Doctor that, while Rome is all well and good and I did see that photo of him in La Repubblica, we also have exciting mysteries here. And if he's feeling strapped for cash I can put him in contact with the Angel of Knowledge Board of the Sciences and I'm sure they'd give him a grant to poke at the Rift all day."