(Untitled)

[themanclion]

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?

Comments

[scots_wolf]

"You don't like your own royalty, Englishman?" Urquhart asks, leaning against a pillar nearby, smirking.

He appears, uncalled and probably unwelcome as always, like a crow that instinctively knows where a juicy new carrion can be found.

[themanclion]

'What?'

He turns his head blearily, his hand wrapped loosely around his glass.

'Yeah. I like royalty.'

He thinks. Most of the time.

[scots_wolf]

"For that, you're remarkably keen on not seeing them on that screen thing," Urquhart points out.

[themanclion]

'Why should I? Nearly forty years in the future f'me.'

He doesn't want to think about it even for a second.

[scots_wolf]

"They have the usual names half your royals seem to have, and proceed to the accompaniment of the usual cheering crowds," Urquhart says. "It probably doesn't constitute a spoiler of your future. An English prince named William marries a woman named Catherine. That was old news even in my time."

Duh.

[themanclion]

His eyes close briefly. He doesn't know he's gone pale again, but he hears those crowds even now.

'Well there y'go then. Seen one, seen 'em all.'

[scots_wolf]

Something about the man's reaction tells Urquhart not to hit with all the power of his mockery. It's not pity. Urquhart doesn't do pity.

It's more like caution. You can't tell the manner in which the man is going to explode. Once you know, you can just stand downwind.

"I was watching that," Urquhart just says.

[themanclion]

'I don' give a toss.'

And it's clear that he really doesn't. Really, really doesn't. And he'll go pretty far not to have it turned back on as well.

[scots_wolf]

"If you don't, then you won't mind," Urquhart says. "If I ask the bar to turn it back on, that is. It's something from the far past, anyway."

[themanclion]

'...what?'

Hang on, what?

'The far past? It's the future, y'said so yourself.'

[scots_wolf]

"End of the universe," Urquhart says. "Everything is in the far past from here. The bar is getting those sounds and picture from 2011 in England, that's true. Some 2011. Some England."

[themanclion]

Gene continues to stare at him, then shakes his head and turns away, back to his drink.

'Pedantic twat.'

[scots_wolf]

"Thank you," Urquhart says. "I do my best."

[themanclion]

'An' only a pedantic twat would be proud of bein' one.'

He pours another drink, and lights a fag.

'You shoul' meet my DI. No doubt you'd get on like a house on fire.'

[scots_wolf]

"What is he like?" Urquhart asks. "Apart from a pedantic twat, of course."

[themanclion]

'He's a picky pain in the arse,' he says, on automatic mode.

'Who says things exactly like you jus' did.'

i.e; he has a superiority complex, thinks he's smarter than everyone else, and uses fancy words when there's no need for them. Just like Urquhart.