(no subject)
Gene bounces into Milliways, exuding energy the way he always does when he's on the trail of a scumbag. He grins when he sees where he is - pint, excellent! - and then he sees the television above the bar. It appears like there's some sort of event going on in London, but he doesn't recognise the names of those involved. William and Catherine? Doesn't ring a bell.
And then he sees the carriage, and the cheering crowds, and the flags. The commentator mentions the name of the Queen, and he goes white. For a moment, he feels like he might pass out. There's a memory...something. A noise; familiar, but he can't place it.
The bar is closer than the door. He collapses on a stool, and grinds out,
'Whiskey. An' turn that shit off.'
For once, she doesn't argue on either score. With the blank screen comes relief, but not half as much as when he's halfway through the bottle. That's the kind of relief he likes. Blessed oblivion, and he's welcoming it with open arms tonight.
And then he sees the carriage, and the cheering crowds, and the flags. The commentator mentions the name of the Queen, and he goes white. For a moment, he feels like he might pass out. There's a memory...something. A noise; familiar, but he can't place it.
The bar is closer than the door. He collapses on a stool, and grinds out,
'Whiskey. An' turn that shit off.'
For once, she doesn't argue on either score. With the blank screen comes relief, but not half as much as when he's halfway through the bottle. That's the kind of relief he likes. Blessed oblivion, and he's welcoming it with open arms tonight.