(no subject)

[tu_vas_triompher]

In the mad world of Milliways, it's nice to have some constants. Like Harry leaving his shoes all over the floor--really, how can a single pair of shoes manage to be in so many places at once? And like arguing with the dogs that they don't sleep on the bed, and the dogs sneaking up onto the bed anyway a few minutes after the lights go out, and then arguing with the dogs that they're at least supposed to stay at the foot of the bed. And then adjusting to fit around Hector's very bulky bulk because dogs don't understand French or English.

In the mad world of Milliways, the bedtime rituals are constants. And waking up is generally much the same too these days. Dogs taking up too much space, Harry loudly still asleep, the still-delicious knowledge that Feuilly can wake up and lie abed as long as he likes, watching dawn light come in around the curtains.

Of course, in the mad world of Milliways there's also the constant awareness that anything might interrupt any of that at any moment.

Comments

[harryhotspur]

But for now, Harry is still asleep. Loudly.

He is far from a peaceful sleeper, but snoring is not usually one of his vices. He's doing it now, though, that very loud, snorty kind that almost inevitably gives way, as he drifts into sort-of-wakefulness, into a sort of wheezy sound, and then, abruptly, he sits up coughing loudly into his arm. And then he flops back onto the pillow with a groan, his other arm flopped over his face to block the light.

"Ah, Christ," he mutters. His voice sounds-- different, the accent is just slightly different, but it's perhaps not enough for either Feuilly's English or the Milliways translation field to pick up-- and more conspicuously, he just sounds like he's caught a cold.

[tu_vas_triompher]

No, it's true, he's not much of a snorer. More of a mumbler. Mutterer. Shouter. But the snoring isn't his usual; it does indeed sound like he's got a cold or something.

(This is where Feuilly tells himself that it's silly to start worrying whether Harry's caught that flu going around, the thing that makes people think they're someone else. A bit of snoring and snuffling does not a hallucinatory fever make. Snoring and snuffling and coughing. And swearing.)

(...goddammit, he'd better not have caught that.)

[harryhotspur]

Well, at least he knows the answer quickly?

"Julie," he groans, and those vowels definitely don't sound like they usually do. "You awake?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

He tries very hard to mentally make Julie sound like Feuilly, and just can't manage it.

Feuilly scrubs his fingers through his hair, hard. "Harry? Are you all right?"

[harryhotspur]

"Who the fuck is--" He starts sitting up, propping himself up on his elbows, but as soon as he sees Feuilly he recoils, nearly toppling off the edge of the bed as he does so. "Who the fuck are you!"

[tu_vas_triompher]

And now the dogs are awake! Hector just whuffs with mild curiosity, but Lady recognizes a fun game when she sees one, and flails herself happily on top of Harry, licking his face madly.

...Yeah, Feuilly is going to take advantage of the distraction to get out of bed. "Harry, it's me--Léon--uh. Feuilly. You don't--"

[harryhotspur]

Why-- what-- dogs-- bloke-- headache-- it's all just a touch overwhelming, even for someone who prides himself on not being easily flustered, and Ashley has a similar impulse, shoving the overenthusiastic dog off and scrambling, coughing, out the opposite side of the bed from-- that guy-- Leon?

Also, what the hell is he wearing? His shirt is weirdly baggy, like something a pirate would wear, and yet not nearly long enough for comfort.

"What-- where--?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

The little bloke with the French accent is wearing just about the same sort of shirt, floofy in the sleeves and hanging...yeah, not really long enough for comfort under the circumstances.

He's holding up his hands in a gesture that's probably meant to soothe, and not-very-effectually telling the dog to get off the bed. Eventually he gives up on that, and hauls the dog over by the collar and hugs her, still eyeing Ashley apologetically. "Feuilly," he repeats. "My name is Feuilly, this is Milliways, and--you--you're all right, you really are all right, but you--may be--a little confused?"

[harryhotspur]

"Yeah, you think so, mate?"

Right, okay, clearly this guy is trying to help. "--could you tell me where my trousers have got to? And the rest of my things?"

Was he robbed? That might make this situation begin to make at least some kind of sense.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Your--oh, um--yes, I--" Right, trousers, good idea. Feuilly puts Lady down without ceremony and goes to rummage in the dresser, mind racing. Right. Flu. Hallucinations. Harry thinks he's-- "This really is your room. But you're, um--there's a, a sickness going around--" Wait, that's not reassuring at all. "You'll be fine! Here, these are yours--" He hands over the least disreputable set of Harry's clothes that he can find.

(By now Hector is up too, and snuffling at his face. But the human smells like he's supposed to, so there's nothing to get excited about, at least not more excited than one generally gets about the humans waking up, which means breakfast, which is always an important part of the day. Hector eases himself down from the bed and click-clicks over to the place where breakfast happens, and sits. And waits.)

[harryhotspur]

Ashley takes the clothes and inspects them slowly, though of course he can tell from a glance that they're fucking ridiculous. But he likes to seem calm, and this makes him seem that way, and buys him a few moments to start to actually feel it. There's no imminent threat, not from this little guy. He can handle this.

When he has completed his inspection (interrupted by a sneezing fit-- what did he just say about an illness? Not that that makes any of this less confusing?), he tosses the clothes onto the bed and says, "Right, funny. Fine, you don't have my clothes, that's alright. Could I get some plain old trousers at least?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly grimaces sympathetically--and with a little amusement despite himself. Yes, well. Harry's clothes. "Really, that's--you're welcome to something of mine?" His trousers make more sense to him, anyway, so maybe they'll suit--this stranger?

(He holds his body differently from Harry. It shouldn't make as much of a difference as it does, but--that isn't Harry. That voice isn't Harry's, even if it sounds so familiar.)

"Look, um. You--here, try these on instead, they're probably close enough to your size--I'll feed the dogs, and you can take a moment to-- Your name isn't Harry, is it?"

[harryhotspur]

He gives Feuilly a long look. He's not lying, is he. He really doesn't know him, hasn't brought him here on purpose.

Huh.

"Ashley," he says. "I'd shake your hand, but--" But, as convenient proof of why he won't, he's started coughing again.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Ashleh," he repeats a little helplessly. And tries not to look hurt about not shaking hands; Feuilly knows Joly's anti-germ regimens enough to at least try not to read anything into it but that.

Right. Feeding the dogs. Hector. Lady. He makes it last a little longer than it needs to, for his sake as much as for--Ashleh's. He finds time to pull on trousers himself, too. Probably a good idea.

But, right. "So, um--Ashleh--you, um. The person I was expecting you to be," he says carefully, "is named Harry Percy. From, um. England, Northumberland? Alnwick and Warkworth?" Do the names stir any recognition?

[harryhotspur]

Ashley takes advantage of the time to root around in the drawers for trousers that at least mostly look like real trousers-- weirdly high waisted, and they need braces to hold them up, but that seems to be as good as it's going to get.

That done, he starts looking around. Not very polite guest behavior, but these are strange circumstances. He's halfway into the bathroom when Feuilly speaks, and replies, distracted, "Oh, aye? He'd suit those clothes, alright." Whichever Harry Percy it's supposed to be, and whenever those clothes are supposed to be from, it's all old timey to him.

Any cold medicine in that cabinet above the sink? No, of course not, God forbid anything be that ordinary.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"He does suit those clothes," Feuilly says quietly from the doorway. It's strange to see Harry searching the place like a nosey visitor, but it makes the situation seem that much more realer. Right. A visitor. And by all accounts a temporary visitor: hasn't he been told the effects wear off in a few days? So convincing Ashleh that he's Harry Percy isn't really the point.

"Listen, this will sound ridiculous, I know. You're in a place called Milliways, and--whether or not you believe in, in magic--I didn't--but these kinds of things happen here. So--so what can I do to help you?"

[harryhotspur]

"You're very polite," he says. His tone is blandly cheerful, oddly blank in a way that sort of makes you wonder if he means what he says, but also isn't quite pointed enough to be obviously false. Maybe he's just a really even-keeled guy, now that the shock has passed. "Where is here?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

Very polite. Feuilly looks a bit blank himself. He'd like Harry back now. "--Um. Well, this is your room?" Is that what he's asking? "Down the hall there's a staircase, and that takes you to the, the main room, where you can get breakfast--food, um. Clothes?"

He can't help a little smile, a very little smile. Those trousers just don't look quite right. "I'm--I'm very sorry. This must be, um. Unsettling." To say the least. "Where are you from? I'm from Paris."

[harryhotspur]

"The main room of what, I mean. Is this a hotel or something? A hospital?"

What he's pretty sure it is, is a dream, so he won't be surprised if he doesn't get an entirely comprehensible answer to this, but it's worth a try.

"I'm from Yorkshire."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Oh! Milliways is--ah--sort of an inn? Bar? There's grounds--" Feuilly waves a hand at the windows, which look out on a somewhat tired end-of-winter lawn, with woods beyond. "Some people come and go, and some people--live here."

For a given value of live. But his face brightens immediately at the mention of Yorkshire. Places he knows on a map! "Oh, I know where that is! In the North, yes? Though not so far north as Northumberland?"

[harryhotspur]

An inn. A bar where people live. So, a hotel.

He clears his throat. "Right, yeah, that's the one." Why is this guy so into Percys and Northumberland? Maybe he's some kind of old-timey historian? "So I'm guessing we aren't in England."

[tu_vas_triompher]

it's because he's a huge nerd, sorry ashley
also because you're his boyfriend

"N-no. No, this isn't England. It's--" It's a magical inn. (Feuilly can never quite think of it as a hotel; the word is too inextricably linked with massive Paris buildings. Porters and busy streets and fifth-floor rooms.) "I'm told it's very like Scotland outside? I'll need to take the dogs out soon, if you'd like to come along? I can show you--show you the place."

[harryhotspur]

"Sure, why not. Do--" He pauses to cough, politely muffled in his sleeve in a very un-Harryish manner. This fevery cold is definitely the weirdest part of this dream, he thinks. "Think I could get some proper clothes somewhere?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Yes, from the Bar," he answers patiently. "Clothes, breakfast, anything you need. And--maybe you could go to the Infirmary--"

Joly will never forgive Feuilly if he doesn't try to get Harry over there.

[harryhotspur]

Why is he saying 'you can get clothes from the bar' as if that's a sentence that makes sense?

Right. A dream.

"Sure, sure, sounds good." See how affable and easygoing he is!

[tu_vas_triompher]

It's disturbing, frankly. Feuilly has the feeling he might bolt as soon as they leave the room. But, well, it's not like he can keep Harry-not-Harry locked up in here for days. So he just nods and gets his shoes on, and whistles for the dogs.

[harryhotspur]

He's not planning to bolt, just to, you know, quietly wander off. But not before he's found some clothes that don't make him look like fucking Oliver Twist.

Might as well make conversation until then, though. Seeming at ease while others are unsettled is a position he can never resist.

"So what d'you get up to in Paris? Some kind of historian, I'd bet."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Ah--a fanmaker, actually." He smiles a bit at Ashley. "History I had to study on my own time. What about you? What do you, ah, get up to in Yorkshire?"

It's odd not to have any idea at all who this is.

[harryhotspur]

"Fanmaker, eh?" That does indeed seem suitably quaint and Victorian. "I've got meself some caravans. Families rent them, have a weekend away, like."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Caravans." The word conjures up camels crossing the desert, exotic travelers. "I don't--in England?"

[harryhotspur]

"In England, in Yorkshire," he agrees. "We're not talking glamour here! Just a quick drive, weekend in the country side."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"In a--caravan."

Yeah, no, he's not picturing it. He almost nods it off agreeably: Ashley's manner is catching. But no, dammit, Feuilly is curious. "I'm sorry--I don't--I don't really picture it. I, ah--caravan must mean something very different in your time?"

[harryhotspur]

"Right, I guess so," he agrees, untroubled by this cultural gap. "Well, if I had me phone, I'd show you. I wouldn't think too much about it! Just be disappointed when you finally see one."

Then again, maybe a van of any kind would be a marvel to a guy who looks so old-fashioned. But then again again, doesn't the room have a TV in it?

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Ah." Feuilly doesn't like to be told not to think too much about things. But...all right. "Well, it sounds--pleasant?"

They're at the door to the main room, and he pauses just a moment, wondering if there's some sort of explanation he should try. Warning. But he just shrugs and opens the door, and herds the dogs through. Ashley can make what he wants of it.

[harryhotspur]

--right, he understands a bit of the confusion about terminology now. Hotel? Bar? Lodge? Thing? Sure, dream-brain, whatever you want.

"...how did I get here, again?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly's a little surprised by his own feeling of...domestic familiarity, coming into this room. It might be strange, but it's really kind of home now. The dogs nose off towards the far door, plainly more interested in finding fallen breakfast scraps than in getting outside.

"It's..." Feuilly runs a hand through his hair and tries again. "There's an illness that comes here sometimes--I've never had it myself, but some friends have--that makes a person imagine they're someone else. It, um. It's apparently very convincing. But I know that's hard to accept."

[harryhotspur]

"Right, an illness, you mentioned that."

Despite the surreal look of the place, the bizarre and inexplicable circumstances, somehow the thing that makes Ashley most certain that this is a dream (even though everyone says you don't feel pain in dreams, and he definitely has a headache and the coughing-- there it comes again-- makes his throat and chest sore) is the way this little French guy says completely nonsensical sentences in that apologetic tone.

"So, you order clothes from the bar, that's what you said?" he asks, sounding faintly amused.

[tu_vas_triompher]

At some point Ashleh is going to have a reaction to this. Feuilly is sure of it. But for now, the calm is at least--convenient? Especially since the dogs have remembered what they're here for and Lady is scratching at the door to the grounds. "Yes, that's--here, let me just let the dogs out? And then we can--you just ask at the Bar. I mean, the Bar itself, you don't have to wait for someone. --I'll be right back to help you?"

[harryhotspur]

Yes. Sooner or later. Definitely.

"Oh, you take your time. Don't worry about me."

Once Feuilly has gone to see to the dogs, Ashley wanders towards what is obviously the bar. He half expects to see clothes menu, but there isn't one, of course. He peers over (is he shorter than usual? or is this bar tall?), trying to see if anyone's around.

"Hello there?" he calls. "Could I get some clothes, please?"

--oh, look. There they are, magically appearing with perfect dream logic. He wonders what else he could get. Well, worth a try: "And some smokes?"

Those too! Oh, this is a good dream.

"Now if you could just point me to where I could put these on..." A napkin appears, with a map drawn on it. "Thank you kindly."

And he's off to get changed. Don't worry, Feuilly, he'll probably be right back.

[tu_vas_triompher]

He hasn't returned by the time Feuilly hurries back from letting out the dogs, but that's not immediate cause for concern. Feuilly assumes he's gone to the washroom to change. Honestly, Feuilly doesn't mind the moment to himself, to sit at the bar and scrub his face with his hands and collect his thoughts.

And order coffee.

And a bagel.

And ask Bar for any information she can give him about that illness that makes people think they're someone else. Unfortunately, it's not all that much.

[harryhotspur]

Ashley found some tissues in the bathroom, and trumpets his return by blowing his nose.

The new outfit is straightforwardly 21st century: jeans, a checked shirt, a leather jacket over all. He would've liked to shave, but oh well.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Oh. Yes, that's...not Harry at all. Feuilly smiles politely. "Everything fit all right? Would you like some breakfast? I, ah, went ahead and ordered mine..."

[harryhotspur]

"I'm alright, I'm alright," he says. You can never eat dream food anyway! "Might take a look around, actually."

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly gives him a considering look. Joly would be having little fits about contagion, and it's certainly on Feuilly's mind as well. But as far as he can make out, no one has ever gotten anywhere near fatally ill from this? And it goes against his instincts to try to hold someone against their will.

"Well--all right. There's--I wouldn't go into the woods." Yeah, he knows this has a strong possibility of guaranteeing woods exploration, but it still needs to be said. "Stay around the, the main buildings? There's the gardens, the forge, um...the garage...the stable?" Should he try to prevent Harry from riding Harry's horse? Well, best not to mention it, anyway. "And you can get food from the Bar whenever you're hungry. I'll be--just--around?"

Um. "And people will probably think you're Harry Percy." Because somewhere in there, he is.

[harryhotspur]

"Right, right, like you said." For all his affable demeanor, he hasn't actually smiled once, and doesn't now. "Like you said. Well, I'll keep that in mind."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"--Right." Like he said.

Is it very disloyal to start wondering if he perhaps doesn't altogether like this Ashley? Well, it's unfair, anyway. Brief acquaintance, trying circumstances. Anyway Feuilly can smile at him, apologetic and hopeful, and wish silently for a rapid recovery?

Oh, lord. Should he take both the dogs to his own room tonight? It's been so convenient sleeping at Harry's. Aside from any other considerations.

Sigh.