(no subject)
Milliways, as has been noted, is a weird, weird place.
Sometimes Lincoln can't keep track of how long he's been here. Time takes its own time between the Bar and the room he's stuck in. Sometimes he wonders if he's been here a year, stuck just on the other side of the door from the Merrick Institute. How many of them had died by now? How many had he failed to save from becoming mere products? It wakes him in a sweat sometimes.
Sometimes he dreams. There were holidays and he was dressed as something strange, wasn't he. One time he got covered in glitter. Another time his legs turned all shaggy. Still another, he was turned into a bird. And there were people, too: a dwarf dressed a sitar hugged him once. Those are better than the normal nightmares. Jordan gets mashed up in a car, and her sponsor smiles and thanks Lincoln and walks free. Tom twists his face into something mean and ugly, and reaches into Lincoln's abdomen to tear out his liver. Lima and Starkweather, cut up, wander through the Institute, and no one else notices that they're dead. Dr. Merrick keeps talking, in his strange, calming voice, and goes about his business with impunity and conviction.
Lincoln's got a watch that he took from Tom's apartment: he was wearing it when he and Jordan fled back to the Bar, after they realized who would be coming for them. It's still on time in his world. Every time he sits up in bed, he grabs for it and reads the face. The hands move slowly, here, perhaps, because in L.A., it's six in the morning, the day after they left.
Time here is all shite, he decides, in a voice that's part Tom's and part Mark Renton. But however it's working, he needs something to eat.
So, stop me if you've heard this one before: a clone walks into a bar...
Sometimes Lincoln can't keep track of how long he's been here. Time takes its own time between the Bar and the room he's stuck in. Sometimes he wonders if he's been here a year, stuck just on the other side of the door from the Merrick Institute. How many of them had died by now? How many had he failed to save from becoming mere products? It wakes him in a sweat sometimes.
Sometimes he dreams. There were holidays and he was dressed as something strange, wasn't he. One time he got covered in glitter. Another time his legs turned all shaggy. Still another, he was turned into a bird. And there were people, too: a dwarf dressed a sitar hugged him once. Those are better than the normal nightmares. Jordan gets mashed up in a car, and her sponsor smiles and thanks Lincoln and walks free. Tom twists his face into something mean and ugly, and reaches into Lincoln's abdomen to tear out his liver. Lima and Starkweather, cut up, wander through the Institute, and no one else notices that they're dead. Dr. Merrick keeps talking, in his strange, calming voice, and goes about his business with impunity and conviction.
Lincoln's got a watch that he took from Tom's apartment: he was wearing it when he and Jordan fled back to the Bar, after they realized who would be coming for them. It's still on time in his world. Every time he sits up in bed, he grabs for it and reads the face. The hands move slowly, here, perhaps, because in L.A., it's six in the morning, the day after they left.
Time here is all shite, he decides, in a voice that's part Tom's and part Mark Renton. But however it's working, he needs something to eat.
So, stop me if you've heard this one before: a clone walks into a bar...