Cuthbert Allgood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wise_ass) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
edge_of_forever2013-09-04 05:32 pm
wise_ass) wrote in edge_of_forever2013-09-04 05:32 pm
August 12 | 10:45 PM | The holodeck, open to everyone.
It's late, but still a fairly respectable time to be up and about. He passes a few people on his way up to the holodeck but thankfully, when he gets to the door, he finds there's nobody else in sight. He lights up a cigarette and stands in the center of the dimly lit room, a blank page waiting impassively for his command. Bert takes a long, easy breath and sighs; the cigarette smoke is toasty, familiar, divine. The first one he's had in days.
"You wouldn't happen to know Mejis, would you?" he asks. His tone is polite-- it sounds like he's already forgiven the computer for not having the first fucking clue about where Mejis is, but before he can explain himself, the room has already started coming to life.
It flickers a few times through scenes Bert's not sure he recognizes as even from his world, but when it finally settles, he finds himself standing on one of the rolling hills overlooking the little town. The oil derricks, far over the hills to his left, are backlit by a fiercely beautiful sunset. On his right he can see a wide, treeless horizon that tells him he's not far from the Clean Sea.
It must have been a market day. The people below are packing up their stalls and loading up their carts. There's a tense moment where he's terrified he'll see something, someone he'll recognize before he realizes that the computer's brought him to a Mejis about fifty years prior to his ka-tet's infamous visit.
He heads down the hill and wanders a bit, trying to stay out of people's way, but enjoying, as he usually does, the novelty of secret immersion, not even minding when a woman gives him the obligatory small-town stink eye reserved for unfamiliar, unaccompanied young men. In fact, it makes him smile. It doesn't seem to improve her opinion of him any, but he can't help it. He walks through the market with that shit-eating grin, hands stuffed in his pockets, enjoying the alien quaintness of it all with a bizarre brand of contentment he figures can only be enjoyed by holidaymakers in other worlds.
He's in another world even now, though, isn't he? The station? The idea is an uncomfortable but not unwelcome knot at the base of his skull. He's spent nearly all of his time here doing penance, even if he hasn't realized it, but the last month has actually been penance in earnest. Bert had been drinking whiskey when zombi Alain had helpfully suggested he eat a bullet to better cope with his guilt, and mayhap it was a blessing, because the stuff just hadn't tasted the same after that. Or mayhap it was his own self-pity that didn't go down sweet anymore.
Cuthbert wasn't sure what he'd expected to feel, standing in the red dirt of Lower Market, surrounded by the smells and sights and sounds he's spent the last seven or so years trying to smother from memory. And mayhap it'd be different if he'd been dropped in at the right time and seen ole Kimba Rimer or Cordelia Delgado strutting through town. Mayhap.
But right now, the air feels clean, and somewhere a hundred wheels away, Cuthbert Allgood hasn't even been born yet. He closes his eyes and lets the idea sink in.
Behind him, the holodeck door opens, and he smiles-- that wide, idiot grin that says he's actually pleased for company-- and squints to see who it is.
"Hey there," he calls out, his voice warm and animated. "Just mind the cow pies."
"You wouldn't happen to know Mejis, would you?" he asks. His tone is polite-- it sounds like he's already forgiven the computer for not having the first fucking clue about where Mejis is, but before he can explain himself, the room has already started coming to life.
It flickers a few times through scenes Bert's not sure he recognizes as even from his world, but when it finally settles, he finds himself standing on one of the rolling hills overlooking the little town. The oil derricks, far over the hills to his left, are backlit by a fiercely beautiful sunset. On his right he can see a wide, treeless horizon that tells him he's not far from the Clean Sea.
It must have been a market day. The people below are packing up their stalls and loading up their carts. There's a tense moment where he's terrified he'll see something, someone he'll recognize before he realizes that the computer's brought him to a Mejis about fifty years prior to his ka-tet's infamous visit.
He heads down the hill and wanders a bit, trying to stay out of people's way, but enjoying, as he usually does, the novelty of secret immersion, not even minding when a woman gives him the obligatory small-town stink eye reserved for unfamiliar, unaccompanied young men. In fact, it makes him smile. It doesn't seem to improve her opinion of him any, but he can't help it. He walks through the market with that shit-eating grin, hands stuffed in his pockets, enjoying the alien quaintness of it all with a bizarre brand of contentment he figures can only be enjoyed by holidaymakers in other worlds.
He's in another world even now, though, isn't he? The station? The idea is an uncomfortable but not unwelcome knot at the base of his skull. He's spent nearly all of his time here doing penance, even if he hasn't realized it, but the last month has actually been penance in earnest. Bert had been drinking whiskey when zombi Alain had helpfully suggested he eat a bullet to better cope with his guilt, and mayhap it was a blessing, because the stuff just hadn't tasted the same after that. Or mayhap it was his own self-pity that didn't go down sweet anymore.
Cuthbert wasn't sure what he'd expected to feel, standing in the red dirt of Lower Market, surrounded by the smells and sights and sounds he's spent the last seven or so years trying to smother from memory. And mayhap it'd be different if he'd been dropped in at the right time and seen ole Kimba Rimer or Cordelia Delgado strutting through town. Mayhap.
But right now, the air feels clean, and somewhere a hundred wheels away, Cuthbert Allgood hasn't even been born yet. He closes his eyes and lets the idea sink in.
Behind him, the holodeck door opens, and he smiles-- that wide, idiot grin that says he's actually pleased for company-- and squints to see who it is.
"Hey there," he calls out, his voice warm and animated. "Just mind the cow pies."
no subject
What's funniest of all is how he's mostly stopped trying to tease that panicked whimper out of people. It used to be one of the few sure-fire joys in his life-- scaring the shit out of idiots and watching them wet themselves in an effort to avoid tasting his knuckles. Since coming here, it's lost its luster-- and not for any lack of idiots.
The kid sucks on his smoke and Sandor can't help noticing-- it was all half of them could bitch about, Kara and Spike being the loudest and most annoying about it, but Sandor hadn't even known what a cigarette was before this place. "Surprised Thrace didn't slap that out of your hand the first time she saw you with it," he says, nodding at it. "Though I guess there being replicators means it's not exactly a commodity."
no subject
Bert's surprised to find that he feels slightly responsible for, and therefore a little embarrassed by, their behavior, but he opts to just ignore it and continue with the conversation.
He follows Sandor's eyes to his cigarette, and gives a clipped, sudden laugh.
"Really! Mm, I wouldn't bet on it. They're not easy to get. For me, anyway. Sai Rogers gets them without even asking and he sends them on to me." Bert sidesteps a cart and spots a saloon down the road. Pint of beer would go down nice. Not so hard as whiskey, just a little something to soften the edges of this awkward meeting.
"But if you tell anyone my source, I'll have to kill you," he says seriously, flicking ash off.
no subject
It occurs to him that he's supposed to be finding out more about them, not the other way around... but that's nothing Allgood couldn't have found out for free just by spending five minutes in the pirate's company.
"So what is this place, anyway?" he asks as a dirty child trudges past, leading a goat on a frayed rope, casting an eloquently derisive look up at the pair of them and pausing to scratch his arse and spit in the dirt before moving on. "You come here for fun?" His disbelief comes through clearly, even as he follows the kid toward the wide veranda and realizes it's an ale-house of some kind.
Well, if there's booze, it can't be all bad, right?
no subject
He twirls a pretend gun and blows smoke off his finger. "Rode into town, vanquished villains, preserved innocents, inspired ballads..."
Nearby, one of the market horses snorts energetically.
"Actually I spent most of the time counting cattle."
no subject
They take a seat at the bar, behind which stands a man whose face is as wrinkled as the dishtowel he's using to dry out a couple of pint glasses. "What'll it be?" he asks curtly. Sandor ignores the stinkeye-- he'd have taken more notice if the man hadn't looked askance at them-- and just says "Ale" in response, glancing at Allgood, letting him answer for himself.