(Untitled)

[maj_ferretface]

Frank steps into the bar and freezes.

It is a long, long moment later when blue eyes widen knowingly and he says, "This is a Communist plot."

He straightens his jacket in one sharp move and walks to the bar, and with every step, his voice gets stronger. "Commie plot," mutters Frank Burns. His lip curls and he takes a stool. "Commie plot."

Comments

[blowupthefloats]

"Oh, I don't know," says a casual voice a few stools away. There's a man with gray hair and dark glasses seated there. "Milliways seems pretty legit to me."

And this is coming from the 1-6's leading authority on plots and conspiracies. Although they're normally US government conspiracies, not Communist ones.

[maj_ferretface]

Frank's head snaps to the side. "It's a plot." Duh says his voice. His sneer returns: "Only the Reds could come up with something like this."

[blowupthefloats]

"And what the hell would Communists do with a bunch of people sitting around a bar?" Munch asks. He's also smirking, but it also looks like he's trying not to laugh. "Get us all drunk?"

Not Munch, though; he's sticking to coffee. Bar serves better coffee than what's brewed in the squad room.

[maj_ferretface]

"They would--" And here Frank is stuck, as he has never actually considered what it is that Communists do with all their deviousness. He changes tack. "If I knew that, I'd be a Communist."

Logical, no?

[blowupthefloats]

That's assuming Frank was rational to begin with ;)

"Exactly," Munch says without missing a beat. Boy, this is fun. "So how can you be sure that this is a plot by the Communists, if you're not a Communist?"

[maj_ferretface]

Frank's face takes on a hunted look.

"Because - because I don't understand it."

[blowupthefloats]

"So because you don't understand it, that automatically makes it a conspiracy of some kind?"

Behind his glasses Munch's eyes narrow at this needle-nosed man. He's lost pretty much all sympathy he might have had for Frank Burns at any point in this conversation.

[maj_ferretface]

Frank looks up a moment, thoughtfully, and then he decides, "That's about right."

[blowupthefloats]

Facepalmage. Serious mental facepalmage.

"Then why the hell are you still here?"

[maj_ferretface]

"Because somebody has to keep an eye on it," he explains seriously. "Can't let Pierce and McIntyre," and oh, there is loathing in those two names, "run amuck here with no supervision."

Frank, he thinks, is an excellent supervisor.

[blowupthefloats]

"And I'm sure you're just the person for the job, aren't you Mr. Supervisor?"

Don't step in any of that spilled sarcasm, there.

[maj_ferretface]

Don't worry. Frank won't.

He nods firmly. "Exactly." He likes this guy (he gets it). As can be evidenced by the buddy-buddy way in which he smiles (it doesn't look right; he's awfully weaselly and his lips are very thin) and asks, "So where you from, soldier?" Frank is what we like to call clever, he is very certain.

[blowupthefloats]

Oh, Munch gets it all right.

"Detective," Munch corrects, somewhat offended. "And I'm from New York City; Manhattan, specifically."

A beat, and since it seems to be part of the introduction ritual at Milliways:

"The year 2006."

[maj_ferretface]

Frank very nearly swallows his own tongue.

For want of anything better to do, he laughs, though admittedly, it's more of a high, nervous trill than a laugh. "2006?"

[blowupthefloats]

"Yup." Munch takes a sip of his coffee. "Comes after 2005, before 2007."

[maj_ferretface]

"It's 1951," Frank informs him helpfully.