PFSB: Milliways

[riddleofthebelow]

Tom needed his camera to take yet more pictures of his adorable children, and when he fetched it the evening before, he found something odd he can't explain. It's not a bad odd thing. It's just a puzzling odd thing.

Ingress has some explaining to do.  Or Wei Wuxian. Either one.

So Tom's at a table at Milliways, with an eyebrow raised, and wouldn't mind some company.

Comments

[hinotfuckingdead]

"Arch, Arch," the man repeats as he shakes, in the manner of one consulting a memory long archived. "Roma Below, yes? I knew a woman once of that House--Ianua. Delightful lady."

[riddleofthebelow]

Tom is, as they say, gobsmacked.

“You... know of the Underside? Not many do here. I’m of London Below not Roma, but I’ve visited that Undercity a few times.”

[hinotfuckingdead]

"Ah! In Iauana's time, I don't believe Londinium was big enough to rate an Undercity."

"I met her here, a very long time ago. Well, time is relative, but it was a long time ago for me and, it seems, for you as well, and this place has certainly changed, too."

[riddleofthebelow]

Oh, this was a good choice. Tom is intrigued.

“How fascinating. And what may I call you?”

[hinotfuckingdead]

"My name is John Gaius," he says. "Titles are something I prefer to leave back there." He gestures vaguely at the door. "I had forgotten what a relief it can be to go somewhere where nobody knows your name."

[riddleofthebelow]

Tom nods. He understands, even though you’d have to physically restrain him from giving his own title whenever he has the opportunity.

“Then please, call me Tom.”

[hinotfuckingdead]

After ten thousand years, it starts to pale.

"As you like, Tom," he says cheerfully. "London, eh? Quite a long heydey, there. When are you?"

[riddleofthebelow]

“Early 21st century. What’s your when and where?”

[hinotfuckingdead]

"Oh, one of my favorites! You all have the best memes." He grins.

"I'm long way after--different calendar entirely I'm afraid. I'm from Earth originally, but I haven't been home in far too long." His smile fades into melancholy.

"I spend most of my time on spaceships or in my own little pied-à-space station I share with my friends."

[riddleofthebelow]

"I went to my future timeline once. It was some five hundred years on. Spaceships definitely become de rigeur, don't they?"

Tom doesn't care for them. They make him claustrophobic.

[hinotfuckingdead]

He nods. "You Openers have the right idea, when it comes to getting from here to there. Studied the principle a bit--couldn't get the hang of it."

"It's in the blood, of course, so it ought to be my bread and butter, but--no dice."

[riddleofthebelow]

"...In the blood? Are you of the Underside of Earth as well?"

[hinotfuckingdead]

He shakes his head. "No, no--I just meant that the gift for Opening is carried in the blood, not in my blood in particular."

"I have something for a knack for biological magics, but it didn't give me enough insight to reproduce that particular talent.

[riddleofthebelow]

“Oh, I see. Yes, I follow now.”

For a moment there, Tom was disconcerted by the other man seemingly knowing more about him and London Below and Openers than he would prefer.

He must be preoccupied with his concern over Ingress not acting like herself. He’s not thinking clearly. That’s all.

“Yes, the magic of my birth world is definitely not the blood magic of an Opener. I’m pleased I can access both.”

[hinotfuckingdead]

"Ah? A migrant, eh? Or just got lost?"

[riddleofthebelow]

“Yes, I made the choice to move worlds not long after I arrived here at Milliways.”

[hinotfuckingdead]

He raises his eyebrows. "I can't say it never crossed my mind. But I owe too much to too many to skip out on them. Sometimes, though..." He shakes his head.

[riddleofthebelow]

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown? No, no don’t answer, you left your work behind the closed front door.”

[hinotfuckingdead]

"It's not the crown that gets to you," he says soberly. He takes an ice-rattling pull of his drink. "It's the sword."

[riddleofthebelow]

“I’m sorry to hear that. My current role is not dependent on a sword.”

Which is a really, really good thing.

“But I suppose that whatever one does, it’s always easy to look for the grass that’s greener.”

[hinotfuckingdead]

"Who was it that said all political power ultimately comes from the barrel of a gun? Or the sparkly star on the end of a wand, I guess."

[riddleofthebelow]

“I don’t believe I know,” he says, neutrally, and while he recalls mentioning magic of his birth world, he doesn’t think he said anything about wands.

Still, referring to a wand in context of magic is a reasonable leap to make. And for all he knows, his name and reputation might be known to this man, since it seems he’s familiar with Milliways.

“Political power can be such a relative concept.”

[hinotfuckingdead]

"Especially when you inherit it," he says. "Eh?"

He makes the universal fatuous expression associated with making a Dad joke.

[riddleofthebelow]

“I suppose. Did you inherit or are you a self made man?”

Tom likes to think he’s a self made man, and his blood was judged worthy by the House of Arch all those years ago. Now he’s absolutely a part of an inherited system, and he worries, sometimes, for Portico. Not that he thinks his little lad has failings, not in the least. Power and its trappings, even the limited power they exert in the Underside, can be worrisome when you think about what your child might one day face.

[hinotfuckingdead]

He frowns as his joke falls flat. Sad trombone.

"Another quotation -- some men are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust up on them. And boy, did I get thrusted upon." He makes a wry face, and investigates his drink, which is empty somehow.