(Untitled)

[balletrat]

*Meg's sitting at a table, and frowning.

In front of her - not right in front; more in the middle of the table, far enough that she'd have to reach to pull it closer if she wanted to read it - is a book. A history book, to be precise, an overview of the twentieth century; Meg picked it up from the bar a few minutes ago

Comments

[shelley_winters]

Shelley, in passing, wonders if there's something special about it.

So it is that Meg gains a redhead also eyeing the book.

It's Milliways. Anything could happen.

[balletrat]

*It takes Meg a moment to realize that She Is Not Alone.

When she does, however, she looks up, breaking into a grin.*

- Shelley? I haven't seen you in ages!

[shelley_winters]

Shelley smiles amiably.

"Yes! I have not been here," she explains.

"How are you? Apart from, er, worried by literature?"

[balletrat]

It's not literature that worries me, *Meg explains, a little wryly.* It's history.

*She perks up.* But other than that I've been good - though there were the weeks with the baby which were, er, less restful. Er. Anyways - how've you been? Where've you been?

[xan_shaped]

A plate of hamburger and french fries is set down across from her.

"Hey, Leggo-my-Meggo! Where've you been all my life?"

[balletrat]

- well, for most of it, in Paris, *Meg says, practically, and giggles; then, sternly:*

The question is, where have you been for the past month or so?

[xan_shaped]

Xander bites into his hamburger and chews shiftily.

"Well," he says, voice muffled, "we spent most of it back at the ranch trying to train up the next generation."

He swallows and smiles apologetically.

"Slayers. Imported from Zimbabwe."

[balletrat]

. . . you can import Slayers? *Meg asks, fascinated.* How do they get past customs laws?

*. . . for the record, Meg things Zimbabwe is somewhere in South America.*

[milkbonesoldier]

The last time Wells saw anyone looking at a book with that much suspicion, someone had just tried to give Joe a pamphlet on certain highly personal diseases.

That does not look like a book on highly personal diseases.

"Bit of a troublesome subject, is it?" he inquires of the girl.

[balletrat]

*Meg would be much easier in her mind about a book on highly personal diseases.*

Little bit, *she admits, looking up with an easy grin.* I've never been much of a historian - and the situation is sort of, er, complicated.

[milkbonesoldier]

"Well, that makes two of us," says Wells. "The not a historian bit, I mean. Except certain specialised bits of it. What's the complicated part?"

[balletrat]

The complicated part, *Meg explains,* is that this is history from after my time. So basically it's the future - which under normal circumstances is kind of reason enough to stay away from it right there.

But. On the other hand, dead, so it's not like it's going to affect anything -

[maydaybrat]

"It won't bite. Possibly, it'll tear your fingers, but it won't bite." Mordred points out, leaning back in the chair opposite her.

No, he hadn't been there a moment ago.

[balletrat]

- well, I wouldn't put it past the books they have in this place, *Meg says, wryly, and looks up.*

Salut, Mordred -

[maydaybrat]

"Normal books, then. Bonjour, Meg."

[balletrat]

I have read books before, Mordred, *Meg points out, with a grin.*

. . . well, halves of them, anyways. I've even finished some!

[skjaldmeyjar]

Svava would also eye the book as she walks by, then give Meg a curious look.

"... History of the future?"

[balletrat]

Well, my future, *Meg says, with a rueful grin.* Bunch of other people's pasts, but I figured this way was easiest -

[skjaldmeyjar]

"Well, insted of thinking future or past- perhaps just an 'accounting of a certain period of time in a certain world' or something of that sort insted?" She chuckles.

[balletrat]

If it's in a history book, *Meg says, decidedly,* it counts as history - at least now I'm dead. That's the way I think of it. The rest is all - logistics.