obeir | WTL Inbox

[Alfie murmurs a thank you, taking the cake into the kitchen and setting it on the counter, where he'll leave it until the tea is ready. Actually making the tea is going to take a backseat for a moment, though, because K sure is looking tipsy. He reaches out a hand to help steady him, though he does at least seem like he's managing okay with that on his own.]

I wouldn't either, if I saw you playing the piano.

[If K lets him, he'll start leading him into the living room.]

Most people don't want to be bothered when they're playing their instruments, eh?

[ The help is accepted without protest, but Alfie receives an exaggerated sad look of "not you, too?" when he says he wouldn't request any songs, either. ]

A sign might help. "Skinjob pianist takes requests." Just put it away when I don't want to be bothered. [ Actually there was an attempt at the sign before, minus the android slur, however Phil and Jeremy's housefox ate it. After taking a seat (carefully; the room is sort of spinning) he glances up at Alfie, who didn't answer his question. ]

But what songs do you like?

Oh, I'm not much of a music man. It's background noise, to me.

[Once K is on the couch, he heads back into the kitchen to start the tea.]

I like Royce's elvish music, and some of the stuff that comes out over the radio at home is all right. What's a skinjob?

Oh. [ Elvish music means consulting Royce, so that's easy. What would've been popular around Alfie's time? 1910s, 1920s. Maybe the library will help. ]

Something humans call androids. Because we're... [ He raises a hand, sort of wiggling his fingers to illustrate, heedless of the fact Alfie probably won't see. Bear does, though, and K obliges his request for petting. ] Flesh and blood, but only playing at being human. Kind of like how mir is used in Royce's world. [ His tone becomes more solemn. ] They shouldn't call us that. [ He probably shouldn't call himself that, even facetiously. ]

Ah, but you use 'em yourself when you're drunk, is that it?

[Water in the kettle, he turns to face K, leaning against the counter.]

[ There's an urge to protest that he isn't drunk, but he knows that's exactly what a drunk person would do. ]

Sometimes when I'm sober. [ He tilts his head in lieu of a shrug. ] I'm sorry. For showing up like this. [ So he may have misjudged how long it'd take to sober up; inexperience. He looks questioningly toward Alfie. ] If it bothers you.

Bah.

[He waves a hand dismissively.]

You think I'm not used to this sort of thing? Of course I am, yeah. And the tea will help-- you do want tea, don't you? We've got coffee, as well.

I get these... [ A vague gesture toward his head. ] Drinking helps with the headaches. Sometimes. The tea's good, thank you. [ And usually tastes better than coffee, as far as K's found. Alfie's comment about being used to this has him looking something between amused and curious. ]

Used to it with Royce? [ He guesses, knowing how fond Royce is of wine. ]

Used to it from home. Then men I know there are far rowdier than Royce.

[It'll be a few minutes until the water's heated, so he heads back into the living room, sitting down across from K. Bear plods over and plunks his head into Alfie's lap, looking for ear-scritches; Alfie obliges.]

Ones you employed at your bakery in London? [ He's trying not to smile as he says it. It hasn't been difficult to infer Alfie was more than just a baker, even if he isn't entirely certain of the specifics. ]

Alfie catches that tone, and gives him a full knowing smile.]

That's right, yeah. The men in my bakery, who baked my bread and kneaded my dough, and would sometimes kill people for me if people needed killing.

[ Well that. SURE IS A THING.

And boy if K isn't regretting boozing it up now, because the casual way Alfie says it has him covering his mouth and having to stifle a laugh. Which he's pretty sure isn't the appropriate response to such information, especially not from an officer of the law. ]

The baking world's even more cutthroat than I imagined. [ That does explain a few things about Alfie. And then there's the obvious question that he isn't sure he should be asking. ] Why would they need to be killed?

Well, so long as we both understand that we're not really talking about bakeries--

[He's pretty sure that K gets that, but it's worth clarifying.]

-- there are many reasons. Yeah. To punish, to send a message, to clear out troublemakers. Now, killing's certainly not the only answer to those problems, but there are situations where it's the best.

[ As amusing as the thought is, K doesn't believe Alfie was a murderously competitive baker, of course. Which is probably good news for Phil here in the Meadous, all things considered. ]

The bakery was a front. [ He guesses. ] The Meadous retirement you were talking about, making wine... Forced retirement, or you're happy leaving that part of your old life behind?

[ And maybe he's also wondering a little if Alfie'll ever bring that old life here, so to speak. If he hasn't already in some manner. ]

It's not so simple as one or the other. I chose my job. I enjoyed my job. If I were home, I'd still be doing it.

[Then again, considering his health scare... maybe not. If he were home, he might not have much time left. That's enough to make anyone's priorities shift around a bit.]

But the Meadous isn't much of a place for a gang; it's far too small. And I'm happy enough here all the same.

For the record, [ And for Zephyr's sake if they're listening. ] I'm not encouraging murder. [ A pause, eyebrows raised, then: ] But it might not always remain this small. Once people are free to come and go as they choose.

[ Follow your gangster dreams, Alfie. A smile tugs at the corners of K's mouth. ] Hypothetically, is there anyone here you'd want to recruit?

[ Fuck, Marry, Kill: Gangster edition. ]

You and Gabriel.

[Alfie says immediately.]

Though perhaps not for reasons that you'd like. I'd look at Ienzo and Rhys, as well. And you're right; things may change when the worlds are opened up. I'm forty-five, and the idea of starting up a gang from scratch at my age makes me feel very tired. But--

[He shrugs.]

I am gonna live much longer here than I ever would have expected, back home.

[ Because K had only really been expecting Royce to be named (who's simply a given, he assumes), the others catch him by surprise — especially himself. Wryly: ] If it's anything to do with how well I'd follow orders, you won't offend me with the truth.

[ It's something he probably should be more bothered by, but it is what it is; accept the things you can't change. Of course, it's a bit of a different story when he's fully sober. ]

Well, I've never given you an order, so I wouldn't know how well you follow them. But you're eager to please, and unquestioningly loyal to your friends.

Oh. [ That's — unexpected. ] Those don't seem like disagreeable reasons. [ Since they're even less offensive than what he'd first assumed, at least to him. Even if they may be the result of programming as much as personality traits. ]

Royce said you wished for a lifespan that matches his, when I was wondering about my own. I think it'd be nice... staying in the Meadous long term, really establishing a life here. I hope to as well. But...

[Alfie raises his eyebrows.]

But?

When people vanish from here, it isn't by choice. It's something that happens without warning as far as I've seen and heard.

[ So regardless of how much he hopes or plans to spend the rest of his life here, it's difficult to ignore that possibility. ]

It's on my mind, too. I think about it a lot, in fact.

Maybe that'll change too, with the walls coming down and Zephyr becoming more powerful.

[ But it's still a maybe. ]

That's what Royce thought. Zephyr will find a way to keep us here, if we want to stay.

Yeah, that is the goal, I think - them having more control over all of it, the coming and the going. Travel between god worlds is on the table, as well; we'd like Royce's wife, Gwen, to come here.

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cw: terminal illness reference

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