Gene wanders in, slightly the worse for wear. When Bar presents him with a napkin reminding him, in no uncertain terms, that he has still yet to pay any of his tab, plus there's the bill for that scanner he broke on top of it...well, he knows what's coming.
'Nope.'
Another napkin.
'Not interested.'
There's a pause for thought. And then an iPad appears
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Lily tilts her head slightly, reading the sign.
"What do you need help with?"
... and is the Bar or the bartender asking?
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This thing is from the future, as is everyone in this bar. They must all know how to do it. Gene isn't looking at her (his attention moving from the birds only for long enough to grab his pint), he's just poking the screen and scowling hqrder.
'Are they s'posed t'be pigs? I've never bloody seen a green pig before.'
(He wrote 'help' because it was shorter than 'get this thing away from me', he just won't admit it.)
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She looks at the thing he's holding.
"I'm sorry, did you say a stone was protecting it?
"What is that thing?"
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'How th' bloody hell should I know? Bar gave it me so I'd work.'
Not that...any work whatsoever appears to be happening, of course. But it's Angry Birds! It should be understandable.
'You must know. Unless you're not...' Her clothes earn a frown. '...when're you from?'
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"I'll help you, but I need a small favour in return."
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'If it's the sort o'favour you were after las' time I saw you, forget it.'
The lack of poetry suggests they might be on safe ground, though. And he is looking for a distraction.
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He reaches out for the iPad, explaining to Gene what he needs to do.
Next to him, Fry climbs up the barstool and then sits on the bar.
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Maybe it's some kind of black magic. A fag is lit and there is contemplation on the matter for about half a second.
'Alrigh', lad?' he says to Alex, and then glances back at Guppy.
'Well? Wha's the favour?'
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She's curious as to how long it will take him to notice she's there.
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We apologise.
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At least the long minutes of silence from his end is giving her time to slowly put together the rules of the game.
"You're kinda a lousy shot."
Let's see him ignore that.
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'I bloody am not, you cheeky mare!'
Glareglareglare.
....and half a smile. Sort of.
Ish.
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"Why do you need help?"
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He stabs at the screen, scowling and not looking up at all.
'Oh, come on, play th' bloody white man!'
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"Is it thinking on its own?"
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Now he looks up, and the scowl turns into a frown of recognition and rememberance of the last time they spoke.
'Oh, it's you.'
Hmm.
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It's the same Urquhart as usual: tall, broad, long black cloak, long blond hair, cool amber eyes.
And wearing a red squishy ball on his nose. That's not usual.
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'New career as a clown? Suits you.'
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'Aside from the usual? Nothin'.'
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