Here. Again. Wherever here is.

[riversinger]

She much prefers the TARDIS to travelling coach, but when all one has is a vortex manipulator, and a glitchy one at that, one makes do with what one has.

Which is why River materialises in the middle of the bar, frightening the whiskers off a waitrat and only just missing being drenched in beer.

"Sorry!  Sorry, thought this was supposed to be..."

Comments

[themanclion]

'An' I'll bloody 'ave one an' all,' comes an indignant voice, just to her left.

OK, she'd made him jump. But more importantly, that was his beer she just made the rat spill.

'What the bloody 'ell d'you think you're doin', turnin' up out of nowhere, you daft mare?! You made tha' rodent spill me drink!'

[riversinger]

River pivots on one heel, cocks a sculpted eyebrow in his direction, and seeing who it is, rolls her eyes.

"Hello again, ever so nice to see you too."

One hand pulls out her sonic screwdriver, and she thumbs it to life, waving it at the gadget on her wrist. "All systems in nominal working order. So you just decided it was time for a detour, then. Fine. I'll have a pint and bring one for my -- friend here."

[themanclion]

That pulls him up short, which is a shame, as he was about to launch into a full-on rant about how useless women are, particularly ones that do not apologise about spilling perfectly good alcohol when there's a man sitting there who desperately needs it; nay, has earned it after recently putting the collar on a United-supporting murdering bastard.

'...what?'

...it takes time to pull back from a rant that big.

'Did you say, again?'

[riversinger]

River rests a hand on her hip, and sighs the long suffering sigh of those perpetually having to explain advanced technology to monkeys who lack even the rudimentary maths to understand it.

"Vortex manipulator? Time travel device? I was aiming for the Wafujing Night Market on the -- some place you've never heard of. And I ended up here instead. Hence the unplanned arrival and the sad demise of your intoxicant of choice."

[themanclion]

Gene stares at her, his expression a mix of indignation (still) and anger.

'Why're you sayin' that like I should 'ave any idea wha' you're bleatin' about?'

[riversinger]

"Well, you did ask the question, didn't you? It's hardly my fault if you weren't prepared for the answer. Now shove over."

She steals a bar stool and settles in next to him.

"I'm famished. What's good to eat here?"

[themanclion]

He replays the last fifteen seconds in his head and settles on 'time travel device'.

Which he bloody hopes doesn't mean what he thinks it does.

'I've only 'ad a fry up an' a curry.'

Beat.

'...'ave we met before?'

[riversinger]

She leans an elbow on the bar, resting her chin on her hand, scrutinising his face.

"Yes. And -- no. I haven't had a proper fry up in ages. I'll have one of those," she addresses a wait rat, utterly oblivious to his indignation.

[themanclion]

If she were a bloke, this is the point where Gene would start slapping.

'When?'

In fact, no.

'...bollocks, no we 'aven't. I'd remember. Your hairstyle ain't exactly subtle, is it luv?'

Not to mention she's definitely a bit of totty but he's too distracted to focus much on that right now.

[riversinger]

"Just last week, in fact. You were in a bit of a pickle." She actually reaches out to pluck at his tie, straightening it a bit. It's hopeless really. Needs laundering and then retying. Or burning. Yeah, burning would do it.

"Damned lucky I showed up to rescue you. And you wouldn't remember, because it hasn't happened yet. For you, anyway."

[themanclion]

He jerks back from her hand, snapping his tie out of her reach, irritated by the over-familiar gesture. It immediately begs the question of just how well they know each other.

'The day Gene Hunt needs rescuin' by a bird is th' day I no longer 'ave a hole in my arse, sweet'eart.'

He is terribly unnerved by this, especially seeing as it's not the first time he's heard of someone here knowing an older version of himself.

[riversinger]

"Well, that would explain why you seem to be perpetually full of shit," she quips. "Suppose we should go through the formalities then."

"River Song, archaeologist." She offers her hand in greeting. "Also, time traveller. So sorry if that does your head in."

And if her smile is warmer than perhaps a casual greeting should be, and he gets the utterly wrong idea about the nature of their relationship, well, it wouldn't exactly do any harm, would it?

[themanclion]

He would probably dispute her thinking on the latter point. He has a habit of doing that when something's bound to make him look a twat.

Her hand is taken briefly, warily, and he drops it fast, eyeing that smile.

'So we're...friends, are we?'

He manages to make it sound a little lascivious though, inside, he's wondering what he'd be doing with an archaeologist or, perhaps more pertinently, what would an archaeologist be doing with him? Especially a time-travelling one.

'An' what sort of trouble would I be in tha' would mean I needed some poncey history bird t'help me ou'?'

[riversinger]

"Ah ah ah!" She holds up a single finger, waggling it at him gently. "That would be spoilers, now wouldn't it? And of course we're friends. This poncey history bird happens to have a vortex manipulator."

Again she taps the device on her wrist, now covered with a simple leather flap.

"Tell me, have you met the Doctor yet? Or Ace Witherspoon? Smallish woman, pyromaniacal tendencies, drives a TARDIS that looks like a tree?"

[themanclion]

'Ace? You mean Dots? Yeah, I know 'er.'

He lights a fag, snapping his Ronson with unusual venom.

'Don' know anythin' abou' her motor though an' I don' want to if it looks like a tree.'

He has to assume he's shagging this bird, or will do. Because unless he's counting the ones he's met here, he's never in his life had a woman as just a friend. Blokes like him don't make friends with girls.

[riversinger]

Unless they show up in the middle of an epic fire fight with the Daleks. And then all bets are off!

"No, not a vehicle. Her -- oh nevermind." She sits back as the rat delivers her fry up, and pauses, fork in hand.

"You are DCI Gene Hunt, yes?"

Wouldn't be the first time a doppelganger had thrown her for a loop. Probably won't be the last.