discwoooorld
Jul. 17th, 2011 10:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holliMina seated them at a table towards the back, under Sam’s favorite of the murals that lined the walls, all painted to look like a Klatchian garden. “That’s lovely,” Meg said, nodding up at the painting. “Who did it?”
“I did,” Mina said, and looked proud. She was starting to get her work in galleries, Sam knew, and though her parents didn’t think that being an artist was quite respectable (and certainly not as respectable as being a duchess), they’d let her go wild on the walls of the restaurant. She’d done a wonderful job.
Meg was duly impressed, and Mina’s smile was quite genuine as she left them with their menus. Sam sagged a little with relief once she was gone. “What should I get?” Meg asked, opening her menu. “It’s all Ephebian to me, I’m afraid.”
“It depends on what you like. But the vegetable biryani’s very good, if you don’t eat meat, and the chicken makhni if you do. And they’re not too spicy.”
“The chicken, then,” Meg said decisively. “So how do you know that girl, Sam?”
“Er. Well. We used to, um. Date. For a bit.”
Meg’s eyebrows went up. “And how long is a bit, then?”
“Well. Eight months or so.” As though he didn’t know how long, to the day...
“I see,” Meg said. “You two seem to get along quite well, though.”
“Yeah, well. She dumped me,” Sam said, by way of explanation. “But we’re still friends. More or less.”
“That’s very big of you.” Meg said it solemnly, but her eyes were dancing.
“Don’t make fun,” Sam said, though he didn’t really mean it. He scrabbled frantically for a topic of conversation. What *did* people talk about on first dates, anyway? It had been ages since he’d been on one.
“So what’s your family like?” he offered at last. “I know your mum’s a witch, but what about your dad? Any brothers or sisters?”
“My family? Er, well...” Meg seemed to hesitate for a moment. “They’re pretty ordinary, I suppose. Two little brothers, a little sister. Dad trained with the Fools’ Guild here in the city, but he never liked it much. He’s... I suppose you’d call him a bureaucrat, these days.”
“Lancre has bureaucrats?” Sam asked, teasing a little. “I’d have guessed you didn’t have enough people to need them.”
“Well, we really only need a couple,” Meg said. “So Dad and Shaun Ogg, between them, take care of most things.”
Sam nodded. It was hard to imagine, though, a country where a couple of people could handle the day-to-day running of things. He thought of the hive of activity that was the Patrician’s Palace, the rooms upon rooms full of clerks and analysts, all passing information steadily upwards until it reached the tall thin man in the Oblong Office, sitting at his desk before the empty golden throne.
“Lancre’s a monarchy, isn’t it? Sam asked.
Meg flushed. “Well, yes. More or less. I mean, we do have a king, and a royal family, but Lancrastrians don’t really make very good subjects. They-- *we*-- tend to take royal commands as mild suggestions.”
Sam shrugged. “S’pose it’s all right if that’s what you’re used to. I’m a republican, me. His Lordship might be an absolute ruler, but nobody says he was born with the right to be one.”
“That’s-- certainly one way of looking at it,” Meg said. Sam was left with the impression that he’d said entirely the wrong thing. He tried not to wince. Mina, showing remarkably good timing, chose that moment to take their orders, and Sam tried to beam a silent ‘thank you’ at her with his eyes.
She beamed back a ‘you’re welcome, dummy,’ before explaining to Meg why she ought to order a mango lassi. Sam chimed in to back up Mina-- they were delicious here-- and ended up getting one too.
Conversation got a bit easier after that, turning to Meg’s first day at the hospital, and from there to their respective jobs. “Did you always want to be a policeman?” Meg asked him after the samosas came out to the table, piping-hot and wrapped in golden pastry.
“Since I was small, yeah. I can’t remember ever wanting to do anything else. What about you? Did you always want to be a doctor?”
“No. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a witch, like Mum, and my godmother. Everyone said I’d be a natural at it, too. But when I got to the age where you start training, if you really want to do it, I found that I didn’t. But I still wanted to help people, and I was interested in midwifery, so doctoring seemed like a good idea.”
“Huh,” Sam said. “What happened to change your mind?”
“Nothing *happened,*” Meg said. “Not really. I just... didn’t want to be the thing everyone expected me to be. You never felt like that?”
Sam shrugged. “Suppose I do. But I wouldn’t give up coppering for anything. I’m good at it, and I like it, and I’d still like it even if Dad didn’t want me to do it, I think.” In fact, sometimes Sam wondered if his dad *did* want him to be a copper. Not that he disapproved, or wasn’t proud, but-- it was a tough old life, sometimes, coppering. Not that he’d ever heard a word of it out loud, but sometimes Sam got the sense that Dad didn’t necessarily want Sam following in his footsteps.
Well, they hadn’t all been the easiest footsteps. Sam knew his father’s history, knew why he drank fruit juice and not sherry, why Dad knew more dirty fighting than any three other Watchmen put together. But Sam had been born above all that.
No one had asked him if he wanted to be, though.
And now he was pretending he hadn’t been. What would Dad say about *that*?
“I did,” Mina said, and looked proud. She was starting to get her work in galleries, Sam knew, and though her parents didn’t think that being an artist was quite respectable (and certainly not as respectable as being a duchess), they’d let her go wild on the walls of the restaurant. She’d done a wonderful job.
Meg was duly impressed, and Mina’s smile was quite genuine as she left them with their menus. Sam sagged a little with relief once she was gone. “What should I get?” Meg asked, opening her menu. “It’s all Ephebian to me, I’m afraid.”
“It depends on what you like. But the vegetable biryani’s very good, if you don’t eat meat, and the chicken makhni if you do. And they’re not too spicy.”
“The chicken, then,” Meg said decisively. “So how do you know that girl, Sam?”
“Er. Well. We used to, um. Date. For a bit.”
Meg’s eyebrows went up. “And how long is a bit, then?”
“Well. Eight months or so.” As though he didn’t know how long, to the day...
“I see,” Meg said. “You two seem to get along quite well, though.”
“Yeah, well. She dumped me,” Sam said, by way of explanation. “But we’re still friends. More or less.”
“That’s very big of you.” Meg said it solemnly, but her eyes were dancing.
“Don’t make fun,” Sam said, though he didn’t really mean it. He scrabbled frantically for a topic of conversation. What *did* people talk about on first dates, anyway? It had been ages since he’d been on one.
“So what’s your family like?” he offered at last. “I know your mum’s a witch, but what about your dad? Any brothers or sisters?”
“My family? Er, well...” Meg seemed to hesitate for a moment. “They’re pretty ordinary, I suppose. Two little brothers, a little sister. Dad trained with the Fools’ Guild here in the city, but he never liked it much. He’s... I suppose you’d call him a bureaucrat, these days.”
“Lancre has bureaucrats?” Sam asked, teasing a little. “I’d have guessed you didn’t have enough people to need them.”
“Well, we really only need a couple,” Meg said. “So Dad and Shaun Ogg, between them, take care of most things.”
Sam nodded. It was hard to imagine, though, a country where a couple of people could handle the day-to-day running of things. He thought of the hive of activity that was the Patrician’s Palace, the rooms upon rooms full of clerks and analysts, all passing information steadily upwards until it reached the tall thin man in the Oblong Office, sitting at his desk before the empty golden throne.
“Lancre’s a monarchy, isn’t it? Sam asked.
Meg flushed. “Well, yes. More or less. I mean, we do have a king, and a royal family, but Lancrastrians don’t really make very good subjects. They-- *we*-- tend to take royal commands as mild suggestions.”
Sam shrugged. “S’pose it’s all right if that’s what you’re used to. I’m a republican, me. His Lordship might be an absolute ruler, but nobody says he was born with the right to be one.”
“That’s-- certainly one way of looking at it,” Meg said. Sam was left with the impression that he’d said entirely the wrong thing. He tried not to wince. Mina, showing remarkably good timing, chose that moment to take their orders, and Sam tried to beam a silent ‘thank you’ at her with his eyes.
She beamed back a ‘you’re welcome, dummy,’ before explaining to Meg why she ought to order a mango lassi. Sam chimed in to back up Mina-- they were delicious here-- and ended up getting one too.
Conversation got a bit easier after that, turning to Meg’s first day at the hospital, and from there to their respective jobs. “Did you always want to be a policeman?” Meg asked him after the samosas came out to the table, piping-hot and wrapped in golden pastry.
“Since I was small, yeah. I can’t remember ever wanting to do anything else. What about you? Did you always want to be a doctor?”
“No. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a witch, like Mum, and my godmother. Everyone said I’d be a natural at it, too. But when I got to the age where you start training, if you really want to do it, I found that I didn’t. But I still wanted to help people, and I was interested in midwifery, so doctoring seemed like a good idea.”
“Huh,” Sam said. “What happened to change your mind?”
“Nothing *happened,*” Meg said. “Not really. I just... didn’t want to be the thing everyone expected me to be. You never felt like that?”
Sam shrugged. “Suppose I do. But I wouldn’t give up coppering for anything. I’m good at it, and I like it, and I’d still like it even if Dad didn’t want me to do it, I think.” In fact, sometimes Sam wondered if his dad *did* want him to be a copper. Not that he disapproved, or wasn’t proud, but-- it was a tough old life, sometimes, coppering. Not that he’d ever heard a word of it out loud, but sometimes Sam got the sense that Dad didn’t necessarily want Sam following in his footsteps.
Well, they hadn’t all been the easiest footsteps. Sam knew his father’s history, knew why he drank fruit juice and not sherry, why Dad knew more dirty fighting than any three other Watchmen put together. But Sam had been born above all that.
No one had asked him if he wanted to be, though.
And now he was pretending he hadn’t been. What would Dad say about *that*?
no subject
Date: 2011-07-18 02:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-18 12:37 pm (UTC)The other easy option is to be a rich useless idiot, and that's never Sam.
Meg's embarrassment makes perfect sense, here. A republican boyfriend! Her parents will be so appalled and proud.