The Door morphs into a pair of sliding doors, which whoosh open and admit a lanky young man with curly hair and a dark suit and also an armload of books. And a peeved expression which gives way to a scowl and an increasing amount of shouting
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Martin's trying to be helpful. He's just a bit gobsmacked by the guy's appearance. Don't worry. He'll get over it. Eventually.
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Gareth looks up at the speaker and his eyebrows go up; he stands up to more efficiently stare at the unfamiliar yet familiar man. "Are you another one of my descendants?"
They don't look exactly alike. CG's considerably taller and has a mop of unruly dark curls, and even their facial structure is a little different. But the resemblance is striking. They could be brothers.
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"How could I be your descendant?" he asks. "We're practically the same age."
Beat.
"Aren't we?"
Fucking Milliways.
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"I'm twenty. Effectively. But I was originally from 1875."
He seems to think this is sufficient explanation!
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Well then. OK. That...
"Oh. I see. You're a... clone. Ew. I mean. No. Not that it's... It's just..."
Yeah, he lost that train of thought before it even left the station.
"Sorry. I've just never met a... clone before."
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Says the guy who doesn't even know he's left the building/city/dimension.
"The city's full of them, this is where we were created... Okay, what on Earth is that?" He has caught sight of the Window. That is a lot of exploding things.
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He sounds even less certain about this. Maybe that's just how he always sounds, though.
"I'm Crieff--Er--Martin Crieff. Captain Martin Crieff."
Be more awkward, Martin. We dare you.
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"Is Fitton where you live or just where you're from? I mean, my apartment building's in space, but the access teleporter is in Seattle."
He's still watching the universe blow up as he speaks. With a rather intense stare, actually.
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"Uh, well, I'm from London. I just live in Fitton. And work there. Well, based out of there, really. I sort of work all over the place. Part of the perks of being a pilot."
And a man with a van.
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