(Untitled)

[di_or_dci]

[Just pre-Milliways: It's the freakiest show.]

Sam Tyler had been hoping that somewhere between leaving his flat and getting to what he still thinks of as his office, something would have happened. Something like waking up, getting home, realizing it had all been some strange fever dream, finding out that he was still a DCI after all

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[themanclion]

Gene? Has been Bound for three days now. And is really not doing well with it at all. There's nothing to do. Except...well, this is a pub. So there's a lot of drinks. And he likes drinking, which is why he's not at all far off half-cut right now.

He automatically looks up when the door opens, hoping that his own has reappeared. His face, when registering the new arrival, settles into something that's mid-way between shock and horror but also somehow manages to careen through amused, happy and furious before getting there.

'Tyler!'

Of all the gin joints...

'Bloody 'ell, is nowhere sacred?!'

[di_or_dci]

"You."

It figures. It bloody well figures.

"Don't tell me this is your kingdom, too?"

Hallucinations layered on top of hallucinations? Did he skip onto a different kind of madness while he wasn't looking?

Is DCI Hunt his own personal demon?

(Maybe he will go for that drink now.)

[themanclion]

He smirks in that way he has, like he thinks it's funny but is perfectly aware that no one else does.

'Not yet, Sammy-Boy, but give it time.'

He may be serious about this.

'You look like shit.'

[di_or_dci]

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, then gives it up and goes hog-wild, resting his face in one hand.

"I cannot believe this."

At least that part is muttered. Then he lifts his face back out of his hand, holding back a scowl by sheer force of will.

(He doesn't know yet that Sammy-boy is better than Gladys. Give him time.)

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Guv."

It's a terrible save, but if this side of the door is just like that side of the door --

Playing along might be better than nothing?

[themanclion]

He waves his pint glass in the air (in a totally non-threatening manner).

'Drinkin'. Come an' 'ave one, y'look like y'need it. An' the first ones free.'

He...is not sure what he thinks about Tyler showing up here. Though he does suspect this was the reason he was Bound. He was warned that the place pulled tricks like that sometimes.

Also, he called him 'Guv'. This is a good start.

[di_or_dci]

Non-threatening maybe, but definitely not non-exasperating-as-hell. It's a talent, apparently.

Or Sam's just got a short fuse.

"Drinking. You want me to -- "

The way Sam sees it, he's got two options. One, he can make a stand for principle here, about how it's a working day, and one should most definitely not be drinking a pint of bitter or whatever-it-is this early in the morning. Or at any time when work is meant to be getting done.

On the other hand, this is his second set of hallucinations or dimensional-traveling in just as many days, and he really cannot cope.

"I think I'll do that, actually."

He would, as it happens, kill for a Diet Coke.

[themanclion]

'Good lad.'

There is hope for him yet, clearly! Even if early signs have not been promising. And there definitely sounded like there was about to be an objection in there somewhere which is definitely un-copper like behaviour.

'Get your arse over 'ere then. I'n guessin' from the general ditherin' that this is y'first time. Lucky you ran into me, really.'

He may or may not be being sarcastic. He's a bit pissed, it's hard to tell.

[di_or_dci]

"Oh, I'm counting my blessings as we speak."

He can count them on the thumbs of one hand!

Er.

At least he is also making his way toward Hunt, hooking his foot around a barstool and taking a seat.

"Tell me you haven't been serving yourself."

That can only end in tears. And bloodshed.

And a lot of drink all over the floor. For starters.

[themanclion]

Gene looks suspicious. Was that sarcasm?

'Don' need to, Tyler. Magic bar.'

It was sarcasm, wasn't it? Just for that, he pulls his most smug look and totally fails to elaborate.

Also, he's offended. Sort of. Because if Sam had ever been drinking with him, he'd know that he has an iron constitution and could serve himself all night without falling over.

To sum up; Tyler is a cheeky bastard. And that needs to be knocked out of him pretty damn quick.

[di_or_dci]

"Magic . . . . bar. Uh. Right."

Okay, on second look, the rats wandering around with trays are fairly odd, too.

It's Gene's smug look that gets Sam's dander up. (This will be a recurring theme.)

"What, no push-button dispensers? Really?"

Shouldn't technological marvels of the future have some of those? Maybe that's only on the telly.

"Can I get a Diet Coke?"

All right. That is not what he was expecting to have work.

[themanclion]

'A Diet...'

He doesn't know whether to be more affronted at Sam accidentally figuring out how the bar works like that, or the order he placed. (This will be a recurring theme.)

'I though' y'were goin' t'have a drink. In case you 'adn't noticed, Tyler, this is a pub.'

Men should not have to be told what to do in a pub. It should be instinct.

'Get a proper bevvy in, y'bloody girl. Its embarrassin'.'

[di_or_dci]

"I could hardly miss the pub part with all the obvious decor."

Sam makes an expansive gesture that takes in Milliways and its environs.

And the patrons.

And, you know, the bar.

"But I'm betting if they can get me a Diet Coke that doesn't taste bloody awful, they'll manage a pint of bitter just fine."

That is his story and he is sticking to it.

But god the Diet Coke tastes just like home.

[themanclion]

'Congratulations, you shoul' be a detective.'

It's grumbled into the remains of his pint, right before he finishes it up and another appears at his elbow, along with a whiskey chaser.

Bar has got to know him well, these last few days.

'What the 'ell are you doin' 'ere, anyway? Shouldn' you be...I dunno, gettin' the rest o'that prostate probe off that plonk, or cryin' over a corpse or somethin'?'

Chris has filled him in over what happened in the morgue. More than a bit tapped in the head, this one, by all accounts.

[di_or_dci]

"What do you think I am, fresh off the beat?"

Maybe he doesn't want Hunt to answer that.

At all.

"You put me in charge, I'm working the case. Building the case, if you like. You'll thank me later."

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

"Bloody daft door didn't give me much of a choice."

That last gets said into the dregs of Sam's Diet Coke.

[themanclion]

Gene doesn't answer it. He doesn't have to, the expression on his face says it all. And it quickly changes into something a lot more urgent.

'...'ang on.'

No really, hang on, while he downs his whiskey.

'...righ'. I pu' you in charge yesterday, when I was off talkin' to the press down the pub. That don' mean you get t'run aroun' doin' whatever you bloody well want. I'm 'ardly goin' to leave a murder enquiry in the 'ands of a new bloke from Hyde.'

Or anywhere. Gene is hands-on and only really believes in delegating the boring bits.

[di_or_dci]

"Oh, yesterday it's fine, but today it's going to be a mess. Right. Like the first hours of a murder investigation are the least important."

Please.

"But okay. Fine. Have it your way, guv. What's on the docket for today? Considerin' you look well on your way to pissed as we speak."

Go on. He's waiting.