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

[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.

[riddleofthebelow]

Tom is definitely too serious today to get dad joke right off the bat. Now he feels rather silly. Paranoid and silly, a strange combination, indeed.

“I beg your pardon. I didn’t catch your joke at first. I’ve matters on my mind that are keeping any sense of humor suppressed, it would seem.”

[hinotfuckingdead]

"Not at all," he says with a wave. "I'm afraid the more serious things are, the stupider my jokes get. My friend Joy has made a variety of creative threats on the subject."

Seriously: "To dispense with humor, I achieved my current position when all other possible candidates were dead."

[riddleofthebelow]

“Temple and Arch. That doesn’t seem ideal.”

[hinotfuckingdead]

"Far from it," he says. "It was a long time ago, though." A rat brings him a new drink, and he salutes casually. "Wars are like that."

[riddleofthebelow]

“I’m sorry to hear it. My experience with war is, thankfully, limited. Skirmishes and battles abound but rarely does all out war”

[hinotfuckingdead]

He nods. "How long have you belonged to the Underside?"

[riddleofthebelow]

Chronological time is getting trickier and trickier to calculate for Tom.

"Less than twenty years, more than fifteen. Not long at all, really."

[hinotfuckingdead]

"There's something I've often wondered about," he says. "War and the Underside. So much is lost or forgotten in war. If a city is scythed off the map--does the Undercity go with it? Or does it all become Underside? Could you have an Underplanet?"

"Often wondered it."

[riddleofthebelow]

"I think they become ghost cities. Even more so than an Undercity is already. And I don't see why there couldn't be an Underplanet."

[hinotfuckingdead]

"There can certainly be ghost planets," he says. It's not physically possible for his black eyes to look far away, or anything but placid shark black, but something in his expression suggests unhappy memory.

[riddleofthebelow]

The decimation of an entire planet would certainly fall under the category of unhappy memory.

"I've wondered, because I know that in the future of my world, the Earth must be abandoned. Some of the people of the Underside colonize the planets along with those of the Above. But I often wonder who gets left, and what it will be like for them. I mean to say, would there even be a noticeable difference if you never went up again?"