Playing at Grown ups

A Pink Dormouse Production

Chapter Eleven

Avon

The Sprocket and Piston was packed but he recognised very few of the customers as regulars. Many of the locals were visiting their families for the Winter Solstice and a considerable proportion of those remaining in town were already assembling on the common, awaiting the lighting of the bonfire. He shouldered through the gaggle of tourists by the door and found the rest of the crowd parted before him as easily as the normal clientele did for Dariel. There was something to be said for wearing a trench coat; even without the SCorps’ colours it still intimidated offworlders. Just before he reached the bar someone tapped him on the shoulder. He stopped and turned to face the stranger.

"Yes?"

"Ah noa yew, I do, Ah noa yew!"

"I think you must be mistaken," Avon replied, eyeing the man warily.

"Naw! I do noa yew! Yoa’re-" He stopped as Avon’s hand crushed his windpipe and forced him backwards into the wall.

"I have never seen you in my life before, and you most certainly do not know me." He slowly tightened his grip on the man’s throat, wanting this to be over before... before-

"Stop that right now." Vila had appeared from somewhere; was standing next to the stranger; watching both of them with something that was almost- no, definitely- a threat. "Let go of him." He glared at Avon. "Now." Avon relaxed his grip but kept his thumb and fingers on either side of the man’s neck. "And as for you: out. Before I decide to use this." Avon glanced down and saw that Vila had a blaster pressed up under his adversary’s ribs. The man edged towards the door muttering,

"Ah’ll ne’er do that agen." Avon wondered why he had not thought to draw his own gun.

"You should be more careful," Vila commented. "You get certain leeway in here when I’m on shift but I don’t think it extends to throttling stray tourists. Drink?"

"Thanks," Avon said edgily. Vila slid back behind the bar, holstering his gun.

"Never had to use it yet. Now, we’re out of cognac and I haven’t had time to go scrounge some from elsewhere; don’t even ask what’s passing for House Red until Marianne unloads the crates she’s brought us; the blackcurrant vodka’s not bad though."

"Get me one then... please." Vila handed Avon a glass, which he emptied immediately and passed back to be refilled, wishing his hands would stop shaking.

"Don’t let it get to you. There’ve been people makin’ trouble all week- wouldn’t dare if more of the SCorps’ guys were about." For a self-confessed coward Vila was surprisingly calm about the whole event.

"Vila. I couldn’t... it never occurred to me to draw my gun." I need to get my reactions sharper or find out what is blocking them. Safer here than anywhere but I can’t exile myself on one planet forever.

"What?" Vila turned back around after measuring another double vodka into the glass. "You narrowly avoided killin’ one of me customers with your bare hands and you’re apologisin’ for not doin’ it properly? Don’ want people firin’ guns in here anyway: far too messy."

"Thank you." Avon took the glass back and stared at the contents, "Remarkably good. Where did you find it?"

"Your friend Tay- they’ve got a couple of stills out on their farmstead. Pricey but I think this should cover it." Vila laid a wallet on the bar top. "We’ll leave him the documents and this rather... interesting picture but I think the cash should be used to pay for the damage he did in here."

"What damage?" Avon was feeling a lot calmer already. I was just out of practice: that was all. "And when did you start picking pockets again?"

"Me?" Vila looked back at him mock-innocently. "He dropped it in the confusion. As for the damage, well I’m sure I’ll find some to blame on him when I’m clearin’ up in the mornin’. Course that’s assuming he remembers where he lost it in the first place."

"You seem to have rather a lot of people waiting to be served. I shall stop distracting you and head over to the common. Anywhere has to be less crowded than here."

"You haven’t looked into the stoner bars lately," Vila grinned. "I’ll see you there in about an hour."

Avon left his second drink on the bar untouched and passed easily through the throng who were regarding him even more cautiously than they had on his way in. He had no desire to be surrounded by so many strangers and was more than a little curious to meet Dariel’s two Primaries.

At the edge of the common he stopped to speak to Vila’s friend Storme and her two daughters. Jasmine and Ermine were decked out in new multicoloured tapestry cloaks, while their mother wore an old, patched geepskin. Presumably there was an absent father somewhere taking an interest in the girls’ welfare.

There was more to the card-reader than he had anticipated; she was evidently well travelled and had at some point been married to a professor of mathematics at a prominent university (she was, of course, unwilling to disclose which). It seemed she had been an academic herself before coming to live on Astbury but would not be drawn to reveal any further details. Most intriguing. Avon resolved to ask Vila if he knew any more pertinent facts regarding the woman, said his goodbyes and went to look for Dariel and Marianne closer to the bonfire.

He found Dariel without his usual bodyguards but flanked instead by two men in their early thirties. The tall, bearded black man wearing the standard black trench coat and leather trousers was Mylo, and the small blond with high cheek bones and a short ponytail, wearing red velvet trousers and frockcoat topped off with a matching fur-lined cloak was Nils. Mylo had twin blasters holstered on his belt with a set of Federation-issue restraints hanging over one hip balanced by a set of reproduction pre-atomic police handcuffs at the other. Nils merely packed a six shot percussion pistol but had an elegant riding crop protruding from one knee boot.

Both of Dariel’s Primaries are switch: wonders will never cease... Avon was still wary of getting overly involved with the Big Guy- it would be far too easy to lose all sense of perspective over him- but those two would be gone within the week so he might just try and find out what they had to offer.

Vila

By the time they had ejected the stragglers from the pub and locked up, the partying on the common was well under way. The usual suspects were gathered together near to where the ox was roasting. Marianne was wearing a knee length wulvert-skin coat and had one arm around the shoulders of a cute little auburn-haired spacer-girl. Vila had mixed feelings about the coat- he accepted that wulverts were nasty vicious beasts that fed on unwary oxen and the odd careless farmer- but wearing the pelt of something you couldn’t eat, that was not quite in keeping with his principles. Looked warm though... He drew in close to Avon, who was holding a goblet of the same golden alcoholic liquid the others were sharing.

"Hello, you. What’s that you got?"

"Tarsian Mead: Nils brought a crate along." Avon casually slipped his arm around Vila’s waist. "Hasn’t he offered you any yet?" Nils broke off his conversation with Mylo and Dariel to speak to the pair.

"Where are my manners? Of course Vila needs a goblet as well." He poured the mead and handed it over, Dariel cleared his throat to attract Marianne’s attention away from her date.

"Now we are all gathered," he rumbled over the crackling of the fire and spitting of the fat from the ox, "we can begin the toasts. To absent friends!" They all drank then Marianne started the role call of names:

"Jayrel, Tansa..."

It took the better part of two bottles to remember everyone- Vila threw in a mention for Dayna and Soolin but left out Tarrant and was interested that Avon saw no reason to include the man either. Finally Marianne moved on to:

"Those no longer with us," beginning with "Monique, Roal, Kip..." Vila vaguely recognised the combination of names and made a mental note to look into it later, but was more concerned that Avon had slunk away. He threw in a hurried toast to "Reece, Gan, Cally, Blake, Jenna" and any others he might think of later then nodded to the others and went looking for his Primary.

The flat was empty as he had expected, but he wanted to allow Avon a little time to think things over before he was found. There were two obvious places to look next so he selected the nearer one first...

The electronic lock to Dariel’s study had been disabled but when he tried the door he realised that the mechanical lock had been activated from the other side.

"Go away!" Avon called from inside; Vila ignored him and set to work on the lock. "Fuck off, Vila."

Well who else would be breaking in to check on you? Don’t you go thinking you’re going to get rid of me that easily either...

He freed the lock and opened the door slowly; Avon was nowhere to be seen, so obviously he was lurking behind the big wooden desk: the only piece of furniture not positioned against a wall. Mentally congratulating Dariel on such a security-conscious floor plan, Vila approached the desk cautiously. He slid around the side of the desk and dropped to the floor. As expected, Avon was leaning against the upright section on the other side of the footwell, knees drawn up to his chest, toying with his Derringer. Vila watched the other man in silence for a few minutes then said,

"D’you mind puttin’ that away: Dariel won’t thank you for blasting a hole in anything of his." Avon slipped the gun into a pocket of the trench coat beside him and hugged his knees closer to his chest.

"I still miss him," he murmured to no one in particular.

"I know," Vila answered, "I miss all of ’em. Not quite the same, I know, but times like this I get to thinkin’"

"You? Think?" Avon responded automatically. "But you do these days, don’t you?" He moved round to lie with his head in Vila’s lap completing the usual sequence of events: Avon stropped, Avon sulked, Vila tracked him down and they ended up at this point.

"More than you know." Vila was relieved that Avon had decided not to shut him out when the initiating factor bit a lot deeper than any of the reasons he’d had in the old days. Almost always had boiled down to Blake in the end, of course.

"Evil stuff that mead," he said after a while. Avon looked up at him.

"Quite possibly."

"How much did you have before I got there anyway?"

"Enough. I assume the alcohol content is something shocking."

"Ohh, yes..." Vila thought about throwing in that old excuse ‘you’ve been working too hard’ again, it had always been much better than hinting that Avon might have been over-reacting to whatever.

"After all this time... over two years of not seeing him and six months since... I should really be able to cope with the loss better." Avon mused, "I was there with him, when it happened, wasn’t I?"

"Ye-es" replied Vila hesitantly, hoping he wouldn’t give too much away.

"And after- what happened to his- to him?"

"I couldn’t tell you- it was all a bit confused- we were knocked out for a lot of the actual rescue then I was lookin’ after you and it never occurred to me to ask. Couldn’t you find out? I’m sure you can contact Orac, can’t you?"

"I’d rather not, I still have ways to circumvent any programming designed to keep me out but there would always be the possibility of revealing our existence and location to the wrong persons, no matter how careful I was." At times like this it seemed that Avon had at least some idea that they were hiding from the rebels as much as they were hiding from the Federation. Vila was unsure if there were some memories that crept through or if it was something he had said that gave the impression that certain people were no longer on their side.

Wouldn’t do to push though, might cause all sorts of problems. "Maybe I could find out- get all sorts of people in the bar that might know somethin’. I’ll listen out for you."

"That would seem to be the better suggestion," Avon agreed. "If there is a grave, I would like to go there some time."

"Are you sure that’s a good idea?"

"Possibly not, but I feel a need to do something for his memory. Dariel has his belief in the Great Hall, Marianne talks of Cosmic Recycling but what do I have other than visiting Blake’s last resting place?"

"If it means that much too you- if you think it would help..."

"I think perhaps it would." Avon sighed. "I have tried- very hard- to act in a manner that would be considered... normal. But sometimes it is difficult to accept certain... realities."

They sat in silence again for a few minutes.

"Gan always said you’d bring me nothing but grief," Vila observed a lot more brightly than he felt.

"Gan did?"

"Yeah, long time before any of the others took any notice of us. Worked it out for himself didn’t he? S’pose I just looked too smug about it. Bastard never paid up for losin’ our wager either: said I’d cheated."

"Which wager?"

"The one about who on the Liberator would get laid wi’ another crew member first of course- I said you, he said Jenna."

"Bloody typical." Avon almost smiled "Now what of this present I have for you?"

"Don’t you want yours first?" Vila had been unsure whether Avon would be taking notice of such Astbury customs but he’d been saving the gift since their visit to the casino and now seemed the ideal time to pass it on.

"But you usually get yours first."

"You’re the sub: get over it. And before you ask, Dariel’s office is number eight on my list of places I most emphatically do not want to be caught havin’ sex."

"Very well." Avon reached into his trench coat; Vila started considering the advantages of wearing something with that much potential for hidden pockets. Avon pulled out something bulky wrapped in brown paper. Ripping off the paper, Vila revealed a tool roll.

"I tried to include everything you were likely to need. Now you can return those tools you have borrowed from me, Marianne, Mac at the pub- oh, and Gems was muttering something about her manicure set?"

"The nail file is the perfect thickness for getting into the library after hours. Seriously, Avon, this is just what I’ve bin wantin’- I looked around the market some but they never had anythin’ this good."

"Well now, I did have to call in a couple of favours to complete the set but if it prevents you absconding with any more of my equipment-"

"S’pose you want your present now." Vila dug in his pocket for the velvet bag protecting the gold fob watch and handed it over. "It keeps perfect Earth Standard Time so you have to put it back an hour every morning. No takin’ it apart to see how it works- it’s a genuine antique."

"Thank you, Vila." Avon turned the watch over and examined the worn inscription on the back. "Not pre-atomic but possibly Old Calendar."

"The guy I won it from said it had been in his family for over ten generations. None of the jewellers round here are certain about the markings but they all agree that he wasn’t lyin’ about it bein’ old."

"Hold on, you won someone’s cherished heirloom at poker?"

"Well," Vila grinned, "it was that or his ship. S’pose he thought his luck might change if he kept playin’"

"I doubt it, if you were one of his opponents. Seriously, Vila, this has to be one of the most... valuable items I have every been given freely."

"Glad you like it. Now how’s about we go back to the bonfire? Marianne’s supposed to be doing vocals for the headliners on a couple of numbers."

"Why ever not?" Avon stood up unsteadily and grabbed at the desk for support. "You know how much you mean to me?"

"Yeah. An’ I know what you’ve bin drinkin’ an’ all. Come on, let’s get ourselves back outside before they send out a search party."

On to Chapter Twelve

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