(no subject)
It's been months since Quinn's seen the door to the Bar, which is a pity. He'd been hoping to fill the Autobot leader in about the new children's drawings in the-
er-
-castle, yes, but all of a sudden he could feel air on his chin, and his clothes were all-
"What the hell?" a much younger Quinn-looking man wonders aloud, patting his oddly rough-woven and decidedly old-school tunic down with both hands. When he finds a pouch at his belt, he undoes the knots that hold it shut and pulls out a small card.
"'Congratulations!'," he reads off. "'Tonight for Halloween you are Amlad, the Prince of Jutland'- what the hell?"
er-
-castle, yes, but all of a sudden he could feel air on his chin, and his clothes were all-
"What the hell?" a much younger Quinn-looking man wonders aloud, patting his oddly rough-woven and decidedly old-school tunic down with both hands. When he finds a pouch at his belt, he undoes the knots that hold it shut and pulls out a small card.
"'Congratulations!'," he reads off. "'Tonight for Halloween you are Amlad, the Prince of Jutland'- what the hell?"