tu_vas_triompher | (no subject)

(no subject)

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.

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"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?"

"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?

"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.

--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?"

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."

"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.

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?"

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.

Edited 2017-03-03 22:48 (UTC)

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.

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.

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..."

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

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.

"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."

"--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.

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