Trail Mix, Blueberry Yoghurt and FOTD
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: March of Time
Rating: G/PG (mild language)
Challenge: Trail Mix #11: balcony, Blueberry Yoghurt #25: make a wish, FOTD: crepuscular
Toppings/Extras: none
Wordcount: 369
Summary: Lord Ashdown receives bad news, and Miss Rees attempts to comfort him.
Notes: I heart banter. Crepuscular, adjective: 1-of, pertaining to, or resembling twilight; dim; 2-Zoology: appearing or active at twilight.
“Hey, Eddie... you OK?”
Ashdown, who was stood with his elbows on the banister of the balcony he stood on, did not even glance over his shoulder. It was dusk, and the whole of Britannia City... glowed. That was the only word he could think of. It effervesced. The thousands of windows all blurred into one in the end, and the walkways-now lined with faintly lit up neon border markers-were still bustling with activity. The sight used to amaze him. How trite it all seemed now.
“Are you including the discovery of my imminent death in your question, or are we discounting that as blindingly obvious?”
Pia rolled her eyes and joined him at the banister, dangling her arms over the edge.
“Whatever, man. I was just trying to be a friend. No need to be a dick about it.”
“To be perfectly honest with you, Miss Rees, I think that this is one thing perfectly worthy of ‘being a dick about’. I have until about midday tomorrow to live, according to that wonderful Mr Kirby.”
“Aw, come on,” Pia said, grinning and pushing him in the arm. “That’s just a theory. These guys have no idea how time-travel works.”
“You mean aside from the mere trifle of inventing it?”
“They worked out the method, they still don’t got a clue about what actually happens. It’s a hypothesis-no, even better, it’s just a possible outcome! It’s time that does the work here, not them. And time is a big ol’ mystery to the best of us.”
Her words were so surprisingly profound, especially by the standards of Pia Rees, that Ashdown grudgingly felt compelled to be a little comforted.
“Well, I suppose we shall find out tomorrow,” he said sullenly.
“I hope you don’t die, Eddie,” Pia said, resting her head on the backs of her arms and staring down through the thousands of walkways between each skyscraper and down to the Smog, which tonight glowed a threatening green. “I quite like you. You’re a laugh.”
“I’m afraid that being ‘a laugh’ is not enough against the unstoppable march of time,” Ashdown sighed. “But thank you all the same.”