It's only Alex's second day on the island, but she thinks she's coping as well as can be expected; she's combed her hair out the best she can, scrounged a pair of shorts and a tank top from the clothing box, and gone down to explore the beach. It really is lovely, just as advertised, sea and sun and all; desert island or no, it's a beautiful day, and she's in quite a decent mood by the time she's made it down a little ways along the waterline.
The same can't be said, though, for the other woman standing on the shore.
"Are you all right?" Alex says, drawing closer to her. "You look a bit lost."
"Alex Drake. Former DI, I suppose." The identification catches her momentarily off-guard, even remembering what Sam told her about people who shouldn't exist; she wonders what kind of world Harriet Jones, Former Prime Minister came from -- future or fictional or just plain not hers, or if quite a bit more time's passed than she realized since she left home.
"I take it someone's already given you the welcome-to-the-jungle speech? I'm not exactly qualified, I'm afraid."
"It's good to meet you Detective," Harriet replied in the same fast and friendly tone with all her focus on the woman in front of her. She was a politician and she knew how to try and charm someone even when she wasn't doing it consciously.
"Yes, I've already heard. A democracy and a police force and people from all over time and space. It all sounds wonderful. Probably wonderful, I'm sure. You haven't been here long yourself then?"
"As of yesterday morning," Alex says ruefully. "Still getting my feet under me, I'm afraid."
She's been doing her job long enough to recognize when someone's trying to charm her, but in this case she's aware that it's basically harmless; force of habit is a strong thing, and politicians are what they are.
"So, Harriet Jones. You're handling this extraordinarily well."
"I was Prime Minister. Strange things become quite normal, I'm afraid to say," she responded lightly. "There's an act of Parliament banning my memoirs."
"Let me guess. You found out Gordon Brown wears ladies' underwear." Assuming the joke translates at all, which she's not entirely positive it will. "Personally, I wouldn't be at all surprised."
Harriet wasn't entirely sure she approved of that type of joke. It spoke of a certain lack of respect towards politicians that didn't sit well with her, though she had to admit there was a certain truth behind it. That reputation had been earned through a lot of scandals, after all.
"The PM where I come from. Sort of." And that answers that question, or at least raises a few more specific ones. "So what was the great risk to government safety, then?"
Harriet didn't reply to that at first. There was no real reason she had to answer after all, she could easily brush the question off with a joke about it being secret. No reason except that she had never liked having to keep secrets and she was dead now. There was no harm in saying anything.
"Aliens," she said at last. She was deadly serious about it, of course, but she expected a look of disbelief from the other woman all the same.
She's quiet for a few moments, looking out at the water, turning the word over in her mind; it shouldn't be a surprise, not now, not after 1981 and here and everything.
"And you don't mean the sort my DCI gets virtually fascist about, do you."
And after a minute, Alex smiles, turning back to look at the other woman.
"You know, I believe you," she says. "I believe you believe, anyway, and trust me, there is no one on this island less qualified to go around judging other people's realities."
It had never been about belief to Harriet. Aliens existed and the government had stacks of files proving it so. It was simply a matter of clearance, of being able to know for a fact what other people only suspected. She didn't believe in Aliens anymore than she believed in CIA operations in the middle east. They were simply things that existed.
"Oh, and why would that be, might I ask?" she replied. It was a subject she, no doubt, would find more comforting than aliens.
"I had something happen to me. I woke up in 1981." She looks sidelong at Harriet Jones, smiling archly. "It's possible that I'm hallucinating all of this right now."
Probable, more likely, but it doesn't do to say it that way to the constructs; it doesn't seem polite, somehow, and she rather likes this one.
The same can't be said, though, for the other woman standing on the shore.
"Are you all right?" Alex says, drawing closer to her. "You look a bit lost."
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"Oh, I'm quite all right, thank you. This is all a bit new to me, that's all. I only arrived here a few hours ago but I'm finding I quite like it."
She pulled out her identification again as she talked, "Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister."
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"I take it someone's already given you the welcome-to-the-jungle speech? I'm not exactly qualified, I'm afraid."
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"Yes, I've already heard. A democracy and a police force and people from all over time and space. It all sounds wonderful. Probably wonderful, I'm sure. You haven't been here long yourself then?"
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She's been doing her job long enough to recognize when someone's trying to charm her, but in this case she's aware that it's basically harmless; force of habit is a strong thing, and politicians are what they are.
"So, Harriet Jones. You're handling this extraordinarily well."
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"I don't know who that is, I'm afraid."
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"Aliens," she said at last. She was deadly serious about it, of course, but she expected a look of disbelief from the other woman all the same.
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"And you don't mean the sort my DCI gets virtually fascist about, do you."
It's not a question, really.
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"You know, I believe you," she says. "I believe you believe, anyway, and trust me, there is no one on this island less qualified to go around judging other people's realities."
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"Oh, and why would that be, might I ask?" she replied. It was a subject she, no doubt, would find more comforting than aliens.
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Probable, more likely, but it doesn't do to say it that way to the constructs; it doesn't seem polite, somehow, and she rather likes this one.
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