(no subject)
When he realizes it's been around thirty years since the last time he spoke English, Jamie decides it might be time to head back to more familiar climes for a bit.
He doesn't go to Adam's world. Adam's world isn't much like Adam's world anymore in any case, any more than Adam's city was like Jamie's city; time has gone on, as it always does, and now Adam's London is full of spaceships and soaring sky-highways, just like the science fiction novels that Adam used to read. Jamie thinks whenever he's there that Adam would have liked to see it - which is why he isn't there often. The London two worlds over, though, feels about as much like Adam's London did three hundred years ago as anything could. It's got the same wide streets broken up with surprising alleys, and the same underground rumbling beneath your feet, and the same people hurrying by in dark suits.
- well, the people aren't really the same. But they might as well be.
It's so close that it would be uncomfortable, if the geography of London was anything like the geography of Jamie's home-that-was. But Jamie's city, and Adam's city, don't exist on this world. And it's nice, in a way, to hear accents he recognizes on every street corner. It's nice to be able to blend in and pass for a local for once without having to make too much of an effort.
Jamie's around sixteen years old physically now, which means that he looks fifteen and can pass for a young eighteen without doing much more than raising a few eyebrows. The first day he's there, he keeps an eye out for someone who vaguely resembles him to pass on the street and then steals their wallet. That gives him a name to use and enough money to work from until he figures out how the banking system works in this world. (This is obviously the sort of world that has banks.)
The next day he steps in on a back-alley football match - if a world's got football he always considers that something of a good-luck charm for him - and manages to score a lucky strike. That gets him an invite to the pub afterwards, which he's hoping will get the names of a few places that'll hire a fellow without too much in the way of paperwork. As it happens, he strikes it luckier than he's dared to guess. One of the boys has a father who repairs antique engines and is looking about for an assistant, and after wrangling an invite to the shop Jamie manages to talk himself into an honest job.
It wouldn't be making him much, maybe not even enough to live on, if he was paying for rent. But Jamie hasn't paid rent anywhere in two centuries - why bother, when squatting's so much easier? - and as it is he's putting away a reasonably tidy sum each month.
It's a good enough world, Jamie decides, and a good enough city. Some things about it rub the wrong way - a few too many policemen, a few too many people muttering darkly about politics, and an awfully bizarre fascination with goings-on in America, which to be fair do seem rather explosive - but he could do worse than stay here a while. (At least until some official comes to turn him out of the apartment he's broken into and set up house in.) The pub becomes his regular, and he flashes his stolen driver's license when anyone asks for ID. He flirts over the counter with the blonde girl who comes into the shop to get parts for the old cars she fixes up, and politely backs off when his boss' son expresses an interest - the girl says she likes tall fellows anyhow, which Jamie has to admit he's not a prime example of. He gets to know where to find the best fish and chips, and where to go to see the best local football matches.
He's at one of those matches when he sees a flash of blonde hair across the way, and looks over to see if it's the girl from the shop. It isn't; it's another face that's surprisingly familiar. But Jamie's not much fazed by that these days. He's run into his fair share of creepy cross-world twins, and at closer range than across a football field, too.
He leaves the stands and heads back to the apartment, buying a pasty from the vendor on his way out, and doesn't think much of it again.
He doesn't go to Adam's world. Adam's world isn't much like Adam's world anymore in any case, any more than Adam's city was like Jamie's city; time has gone on, as it always does, and now Adam's London is full of spaceships and soaring sky-highways, just like the science fiction novels that Adam used to read. Jamie thinks whenever he's there that Adam would have liked to see it - which is why he isn't there often. The London two worlds over, though, feels about as much like Adam's London did three hundred years ago as anything could. It's got the same wide streets broken up with surprising alleys, and the same underground rumbling beneath your feet, and the same people hurrying by in dark suits.
- well, the people aren't really the same. But they might as well be.
It's so close that it would be uncomfortable, if the geography of London was anything like the geography of Jamie's home-that-was. But Jamie's city, and Adam's city, don't exist on this world. And it's nice, in a way, to hear accents he recognizes on every street corner. It's nice to be able to blend in and pass for a local for once without having to make too much of an effort.
Jamie's around sixteen years old physically now, which means that he looks fifteen and can pass for a young eighteen without doing much more than raising a few eyebrows. The first day he's there, he keeps an eye out for someone who vaguely resembles him to pass on the street and then steals their wallet. That gives him a name to use and enough money to work from until he figures out how the banking system works in this world. (This is obviously the sort of world that has banks.)
The next day he steps in on a back-alley football match - if a world's got football he always considers that something of a good-luck charm for him - and manages to score a lucky strike. That gets him an invite to the pub afterwards, which he's hoping will get the names of a few places that'll hire a fellow without too much in the way of paperwork. As it happens, he strikes it luckier than he's dared to guess. One of the boys has a father who repairs antique engines and is looking about for an assistant, and after wrangling an invite to the shop Jamie manages to talk himself into an honest job.
It wouldn't be making him much, maybe not even enough to live on, if he was paying for rent. But Jamie hasn't paid rent anywhere in two centuries - why bother, when squatting's so much easier? - and as it is he's putting away a reasonably tidy sum each month.
It's a good enough world, Jamie decides, and a good enough city. Some things about it rub the wrong way - a few too many policemen, a few too many people muttering darkly about politics, and an awfully bizarre fascination with goings-on in America, which to be fair do seem rather explosive - but he could do worse than stay here a while. (At least until some official comes to turn him out of the apartment he's broken into and set up house in.) The pub becomes his regular, and he flashes his stolen driver's license when anyone asks for ID. He flirts over the counter with the blonde girl who comes into the shop to get parts for the old cars she fixes up, and politely backs off when his boss' son expresses an interest - the girl says she likes tall fellows anyhow, which Jamie has to admit he's not a prime example of. He gets to know where to find the best fish and chips, and where to go to see the best local football matches.
He's at one of those matches when he sees a flash of blonde hair across the way, and looks over to see if it's the girl from the shop. It isn't; it's another face that's surprisingly familiar. But Jamie's not much fazed by that these days. He's run into his fair share of creepy cross-world twins, and at closer range than across a football field, too.
He leaves the stands and heads back to the apartment, buying a pasty from the vendor on his way out, and doesn't think much of it again.