(Untitled)

[milkbonesoldier]

[OOM: After Wells told Ace the truth about their respective universes, he went home to consider the evidence. They might be from separate worlds, but he still can't shake his suspicions that she might be right about a few things anyway.

And then, a few days later, he gets a nasty surprise with the morning news.]The door swings open on a bright and

Comments

[poisonwine]

Belle wanders over, but keeps her distance. He looks like he needs something to hit, rather than talk to. Not that she minds sparring, but she likes being warned beforehand. "Who pissed in y' coffee, Wells?"

[milkbonesoldier]

"Time itself, by the look of things," says Wells, looking up. "Hallo, Belladonna. Remind me why I read the fucking newspaper before noon?"

[poisonwine]

"Masochism. I let 'em pile up until I'm gettin' ready f'r a job. What's de trouble?"

Figuring it's safer to approach now, she slides onto a stool next to him.

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells reaches for his tea (generally he avoids coffee unless it's been made by somebody who speaks better Arabic than he does). "There's a manuscript gone on display in a hotel in Harrogate," he says. "The manuscript's from the time of King Edward the Second, back in the thirteen hundreds. 's all about the people and the countryside in the Severn Valley, back as far as the Romans. Real old, dusty stuff, right

[forge_fire]

Someone sits beside him, the cane settling with a light tap on the bar counter.

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells looks up sharply, then relaxes. "Morning," he says, sounding considerably more relieved than he's felt in a good long while. "How're things?"

[forge_fire]

He shrugs. How're things usually?

He smooths a hand on the counter with a smile and pulls the bowl of olives his way, one finger reaching out to nudge the little pot of seasoned oil closer. The bread is dipped in it a moment later before he takes a bite.

[milkbonesoldier]

It seldom hurts to ask. Wells isn't much on manners, generally, but he knows that much.

"Annie's got some Lebanese pastries for you back home. I'll leave 'em with the Bar next time I come in," he says. "New recipe. I've tried telling her I don't know a damn thing about Lebanese cooking so I can't judge if she's got it right or not, but she doesn't listen to that sort of thing."

[md_donighal]

"Good morning, Sergeant," says the man in the gray suit. "You have about you the air of a man who has just been informed of the biopsy's results."

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells snorts, and holds up the page from the Yorkshire Post. There's a photograph of a grinning computer company executive, who's gesturing to the glass wall beside him. There are pages of the manuscript behind that glass, illustrated and illuminated in the sort of style one expects from the artists of the Middle Ages. One page appears to show a lake surrounded by hills with a great cone-shaped creature in it, though the cone's all rounded and blunt on top and it's got a long wiggly stalk coming out of it and a couple of shorter ones poking rakishly out on either side. The picture's a little too fuzzy to tell for certain, but either the creature is polka-dotted or it's covered in bumps and spikes.

"If the biopsy got done by the court doctor of Edward the Second, maybe."

[md_donighal]

"...I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually hoping that's a poorly-rendered specimen of the Great Race of Yith in that picture. But one of those would have four stalks, so..." He shrugs and sighs.

[milkbonesoldier]

"A what, now?" says Wells, who hasn't got the sort of education that people like his cousin might wish.

[nitro_is_ace]

"Look like someone's gone an' pissed in y'coffee, Wells. Sommat happen?" All was peaceful on the Wells farm when she left earlier this morning.

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells doesn't say a word. He just pushes the page from the Yorkshire Post at Ace, the one about the Codex Bricester being on display for an annual meeting of some computer company or other. There's a photograph of a grinning executive, who's gesturing to the glass wall beside him. There are pages of the manuscript behind that glass, illustrated and illuminated in the sort of style one expects from the artists of the Middle Ages. One page appears to show a lake surrounded by hills with a great cone-shaped creature in it, though the cone's all rounded and blunt on top and it's got a long wiggly stalk coming out of it and a couple of shorter ones poking rakishly out on either side. The picture's a little too fuzzy to tell for certain, but either the creature is polka-dotted or it's covered in bumps and spikes.

"The Codex Bricester," he says, "was written during the reign of King Edward the Second. Fucking seven hundred years ago, give or take a few."

[nitro_is_ace]

Ace tilts her head.

She decides that doesn't help anything, so she tilts the paper instead.

Nope.

Very carefully she pinches her nose.

"EX-TER-MI-NATE." She informs him, in a more than passable imitation of Dalek screeching.

[milkbonesoldier]

"My thoughts exactly," says Wells. "I think I've got a road trip to Brichester in my future, don't you?"