taxonomites | [visual] OR [location: the Railway Arms]

Entry tags:

{ toby logan

[visual] OR [location: the Railway Arms]

Chris, not being much of a liar, is blissfully unaware of today's glitch and is likely to remain so unless someone points it out to him. Currently he's seated at the bar in the Railway Arms with a pint of mild, and fiddling with the tablet. After a bit of struggling to understand and a lot of luck he's managed to work out all the settings.

He prefers voice for the most part. The idea of a phone this fancy is still very alien to him, but it's something he thinks he can get used to. And he's never liked drinking alone, so he's decided to set up his tablet to visual.

It's a bit like having a television in a pub, really. A tele you can talk to people on. Which might even be more fun that watching the horse races

Chris frowns, leaning forward to tap the screen. Just in case it's not working. "'lo?" There's a slight pauses, and then he leans forward to tap again and mutter. "...Is this even working right?"

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Bored and kind of amused, Toby decides to help the guy out. He's not sure if he's ever seen him before ~~and he has no idea about today's glitch, either~~ so that's a plus.

"Yeah, it's working."

Edited 2009-08-19 21:09 (UTC)

Chris looks perhaps a bit too pleased by that achievement, and settles back into his bar stool with his pint. "Great. Took me forever to work it all out. Some really advanced stuff, innit?"

In Chris' case 'really advanced' meant that even a portable phone had been unheard of in his time. The closest that came to them were radios and walkie talkies, which really weren't quite on the same level.

Toby tilts his head, a lazy shrug. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, it's not exactly your typical cell phone." Un...less this guy's not acquainted with cell phones, either. Which makes sense, he thinks.

Toby would be right. There may have been early versions of the mobile phone in 1973, but they were nothing like the modern day variety. They weren't even called that back then.

Chris stared blankly for a long moment, trying to work out if he'd meant something that should have been obvious to him. "D'you mean radiophones?" he ventured carefully, deciding 'cell phone' must just have been some sort of American word he hadn't heard in the films or series he'd seen.

"No... I mean cell phones. Cellular phones, mobile phones, whatever you wanna call them."

The visual goes weird for a second as Toby leans out of frame for something, then he sits back again and holds up a black flip-phone. The battery's been dead for over two months now, but it gets the point across.

"Like this." Ta-da. "Do you not have these back home?" He pauses, then tries: "... Yet?"

Chris looks at the phone with a mixture of awe and envy. He'd never seen anything like the tablets before he came to Taxon, and he hadn't expected the rest of the world to have either. The tablets are more than a step up from the police issue radios they have back at the station, and those aren't exactly outdated either.

"Jammy bastard," Chris tells him, though not with any real malice. "You Yanks have to get all the best stuff first, don't you?"

Toby scratches his head, letting the 'Yank' thing go. Right now he's a little more curious about the shock in regards to his phone. "Hey, not all the best stuff. Twenty-first century, you guys aren't that far behind anymore, right?"

Chris thinks on that, then shakes his head. "Far enough, by the looks of things. So far ahead you're confusing your centuries, even. It's not the twenty-first century for ages yet."

Not for another thirty-ish years by Chris' reckoning. Whoever this bloke is obviously did worse on his maths O-levels than even Chris did.

Ah-ha. The paramedic raises his eyebrows. "It was 2009 last time I checked... what year was it for you?"

The sensible part of Toby's brain catches him not thinking that this is as weird as it should be. And then he thinks about how damn weird this is.

Chris pulls a face, and shakes his head, clearly not believing him. "No, it bloody isn't. It's 1973."

2009... that's not just weird. It isn't even just a simple mixup. It's insane is what it is.

"I'm serious, man. 2009." This is a 'seriously not kidding' face, Chris. "Almost 2010, actually."

Almost 2010? He really iss insane, isn't he? Chris stares, not quite sure what to say to that.

"You don't really think that, do you?"

"Hey, I could ask you the same thing about '73." Hey, Toby can be patient.

"Of course it's '73," Chris snaps uncharacteristically, a little less patient on subjects he can't make any sense of. "It has to be. I think I'd have remembered if it was a later year. Or at least look older than I do."

Toby sighs a little. "Look... I don't think all of us here are from the same... time, all right? I mean, don't get me wrong, I probably wouldn't believe me either, but think about where we are."

He shrugs.

Honestly, Toby isn't the first to have told him that. Chris simply can't accept it. As open minded as he can be, the idea of different times and dimensions is something that goes right over his head.

He shakes his head. "2001... 2009. It's all bollocks. How can people be from different times? It isn't even possible."

Gene has the Quattro in Taxon, which although bloody confusing, is not unwelcome. He's driven pretty much all over, trying to find a way out, to no avail though. Time for a pint, at least when he's sat in the pub, things feel vaguely normal, even if it is his local from ten years ago and Chris seems to be from ten years ago too.

This place is just bloody weird, he's been reading people's messages on the tablet and trying to work out who's who and what's what. The conclusion - he's landed in a huge City sized psychiatric ward.

The Audi screeches to a halt outside the pub and with a frustrated car door slam, he heads inside.

Chris looks over with a friendly grin, as pleased to see a familiar face as he would be an unfamiliar one. "All right, Guv?"

His attention is gone from the tablet immediately, and he shifts slightly to make the barstool next to him more accessible. "Bit weird this place, innit? Can't find the way out anywhere, and they've kidnapped the pub. What'd you want to kidnap a pub for, anyway? Nelson must be going mental, wondering where it's gone."

'Bit weird' is probably an understatement, considering, though of course Chris hasn't put much thought into how an entire building could have just been brought here. It's obviously possible somehow, and Chris has never been one to concern himself too much with exact details. Right now he's focussing more on how to deal with being here, rather than how they've got here.

"Chris." Gene greets him with his usual stoic unreadable expression and occupies said bar stool, clicking his fingers to get the barman's attention.

"Pint, and another one for 'im, luv." He glares at the barman who doesn't belong here, just his presence pisses him off, even if he does have a convenient Manchester accent.

"'S a cheap copy innit, like bloody Madame Tussauds." He gestures at the barman, "that empty-headed tosser might as well be made out of wax."

Chris squints at the barman, picking up his current drink to try and finish it before the barman hands him his next one. Considering he's barely drank half of it, it's something he's doomed to fail at.

"What d'you reckon's happened to Nelson if they haven't brought him here?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "They didn't even do a proper job of replacing him. This bloke's not from Jamaica, that's for sure."

Not that Nelson could have been replaced properly. He was a fixture at the Railways Arms, and without him it was impossible for it to really be like it was back home.

"Well spotted Einstein, there's no flies on you is there?" Gene rolls his eyes, frustrated that Chris keeps asking questions he hasn't got answers to.

Normally he wouldn't readily admit this, however... "Will you stop with the sodding Mastermind round, my speciality subject is not the fucking ins and outs of the land of frigging Oz, thank you Magnus Magnusson."

Nodding guiltily, Chris stared down at his pint. "Sorry, Guv."

Chris was used to being the one without answers, but usually someone around him did have them, or at least had some clue what was going on. "It's just weird, not knowing anything. It just don't make sense. Almost seems like it shouldn't be happening."

Gene sighed, staring into his pint that had now arrived for the longest time. He doesn't have any answers, he hasn't a clue what's going on. And despite the situation, and the lack of even basic comprehension, he puts a hand on Chris' back and gives it a reassuring, if brief, pat.

"It shouldn't, Christopher. It shouldn't. Reckon we'll wake up soon. I do know one thing though." He lit a fag. "You need a bloody haircut."

Chris tugged at a strand of hair, tugging to see just how long it was. "Yeah, probably," he agreed, letting go. He did seem to have been reassured by the pat, if only a little bit. It might not have been much, but Chris had always been one of those people who got a lot from a little. Even the smallest amount of reassurance helped calm him. "How am I supposed to get a haircut though, if there in't no one who knows how?"

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[visual] OR [location: the Railway Arms]

[visual]

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[Location: The Railway Arms]

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ignore the fail on the 'luv' then the bar'man' XD

XD That's okay! I figured it was just a slip up.

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