(Untitled)

[balletrat]

*Meg's sitting at a table, and frowning.

In front of her - not right in front; more in the middle of the table, far enough that she'd have to reach to pull it closer if she wanted to read it - is a book. A history book, to be precise, an overview of the twentieth century; Meg picked it up from the bar a few minutes ago

Comments

[milkbonesoldier]

The last time Wells saw anyone looking at a book with that much suspicion, someone had just tried to give Joe a pamphlet on certain highly personal diseases.

That does not look like a book on highly personal diseases.

"Bit of a troublesome subject, is it?" he inquires of the girl.

[balletrat]

*Meg would be much easier in her mind about a book on highly personal diseases.*

Little bit, *she admits, looking up with an easy grin.* I've never been much of a historian - and the situation is sort of, er, complicated.

[milkbonesoldier]

"Well, that makes two of us," says Wells. "The not a historian bit, I mean. Except certain specialised bits of it. What's the complicated part?"

[balletrat]

The complicated part, *Meg explains,* is that this is history from after my time. So basically it's the future - which under normal circumstances is kind of reason enough to stay away from it right there.

But. On the other hand, dead, so it's not like it's going to affect anything -

[milkbonesoldier]

"Ah," says Wells. "Something like havin' the fellow from 2004 look in the archives to see if there's any of what happened to me and my lads in 2002, except that I'm not dead." He nods.

"My name's Harry Wells, by the way. Sergeant, British Army."

[balletrat]

I'm Meg Giry -

*A beat, and sudden recognition.*

- wait, Wells? *Meg says, and starts to giggle.* In that case, I think I know who the fellow from 2004 is -

[milkbonesoldier]

"Yep," says Wells, with a bit of a grin. "Ah, you know Andrew, then? Yeah, that'd be him."

[balletrat]

Yeah, *Meg agrees, grinning back,* I sort of live with him half the time, so. He mentioned you.

[milkbonesoldier]

"Did he, now?" Wells wonders. "Takin' my name in vain, was he?"

[balletrat]

Oh, yes, *Meg answers, seriously.* I heard all about the orgies, the devil-worship, the tweed suits -

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells gives Meg a very, very long look.

"Right, but what about after I turned sixteen?"

[balletrat]

*Meg raises wide eyes.*

- well, then there was the International Fedration of Really Really Dull Bankers, wasn't there?

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells puts a finger to his lips. "Ssh. We don't want that one gettin' out, now, do we."

And then he ruins it all by snorting with laughter; this is not a subtle man.

[balletrat]

*Meg has been doing really well at holding her straight face up to that point, but that ruins it; she starts to giggle.*

Your secret, *she manages to say, putting a hand to her heart,* is safe with me, I promise.

[milkbonesoldier]

"Good," says Wells, when he's recovered a bit. "Oi, I needed that. Thanks, miss."

[balletrat]

Hey, don't thank me, it was fun - and call me Meg, s'il vous plait, *Meg says, with a grin, and tilts her head, a little.*

- rough day?