hands_of_blu | (no subject)

(no subject)

Western Canada in the late 1960s is a fine, upstanding part of the country. The cities aren't gigantic, glittering megalopoli by any stretch of the imagination, but they're modern, civil places to live, and they've got plenty of excellent cultural institutions. They're just miles and miles and miles from anything else whatsoever- including, in some parts of the Prairies, carefully concealed, hotly contested war zones.

The BLU sniper is not happy that he had to drive six and a half hours to get a decent drink*, but he intends to make up for lost time at the first bar he sees. His companion on the way into town will be doing the driving on the way back. For now, however, they've parted ways, which makes getting to Milliways and bringing Cata back without attracting attention so much easier.

*The driving is not a problem. The fact that his alcohol supply ran out because his teammates kept taking his stuff, thus necessitating wasting most of his down-time on driving to replace it? That's another story.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm sure that could be arranged."
It might take a bit of arranging, since people would ask Questions otherwise, and there are only two people she feels comfortable even contemplating explaining Milliways to. But Cata thinks it would be worth the effort.

The Medic nods. "in ze meantime, we haf a little while before we haf to find und take our seats," he says. "If you had-"

Whatever else he was going to say gets cut off; he's glaring at a short-haired, square-jawed, slightly stubbly fellow across the street.

She follows his line of sight, frowning a bit. "Problems?"

"I should have known he'd be here..." The Medic shakes his head. "It seems our opposite numbers- ze surviving ones, anyway- haf taken ze same opportunity for leisure time. Including ze new RED Engineer."

"Hmm. Well, perhaps he'll leave business to business hours."
That would be the sensible approach, at least. But she's keeping an eye on him anyway, just in case.

"I expect he will," says the Medic, "but if vun RED is here ze ozzers aren't likely to be far away, und I trust zeir Soldier about as far as Herr Scout can throw Herr Heavy. Not to mention zeir Spies." He shakes his head. "Zis sort of sing is exactly vhy I haf to buy seats on ze aisle, in case I haf to get out quickly..."

"We'll see what happens, I suppose. And in the worst case, we take care of the problem."
It's not as though that'll be difficult for either of them.

"Ja, alzough we'll need to be discreet about it," says the Medic. "Local law enforcement gets very uptight if zey sink someone's been causing any sort of trouble und I haf no desire to spend any longer in Canada zen strictly necessary."

"Understood."
If the opportunity allows, her jewelry is loaded. Some of it with things that would probably give the local medical profession several aneurysms as they tried to work it out.

The stubbly fellow turns away; he's taken an interest in the bookstore down the street. The Medic shakes his head, but he's not about to argue with good fortune.

"On zat note, we ought to head for ze concert hall now."

Good fortune for now is no reason not to keep an eye out - but one can do that and still have a good evening.
"Lead the way."

Being an intensely suspicious person has kept the Medic alive for a good long while now. He's not about to give that up for the evening, either. Fortunately there are no signs of anyone else he recognizes as they approach the Jack Singer Concert Hall up ahead.

It looks a bit like a theatre - with some embellishments on the theme, but as far as Cata can tell, that holds true for most buildings here compared to Bistort.
(To say nothing of forms of transportation.)

That's no real surprise. The same architect designed the music hall and the university theaters. He wasn't responsible for the interior decor- that was an enthusiastic donor with a thing for making the lobby look the equal of concert halls in Toronto and New York.

The Medic scans the crowd thoughtfully, then shakes his head just a touch. There's no one here that he recognizes- not yet, anyway.

Cata nods. She's keeping her guard up, but it's good to know there's no immediate danger.
"Where are we headed?"

"Through zat door over zere-" He nods towards one of the doors. "We give our tickets to ze gentleman in ze vest und proceed to a pair of seats in Row H, chust on ze aisle, as I mentioned before. Not ze best seats in ze house, but it provides a good view of ze orchestra und allows for spotting trouble a long way off."

"Both of which are very good things."
It's like seeing a play, after a fashion. If you can't see the stage, there not much point.

The Medic nods, and fishes their tickets out of a well-concealed pocket. (Of course he has concealed pockets when he goes out in public. Don't all the sensible people?) "All ze main exits are marked in red, und ze emergency exits haf smaller green signs," he says. "I brought a miniature radio in case of needing emergency pickup. However, for now..."

He's just going to hand over the tickets to the older woman at the door and lead the way into the concert hall proper.

"I sink we can relax for at least a few minutes, hmm?"

This sensible person added the pockets herself!
"One would hope we can."
And she certainly intends to give it her best shot.

They're actually pretty close to the start of the concert; other people are filing into the seats around them even as they settle down. Fortunately, no one within line-of-sight appears to set off any more of the Medic's warning bells. That's a start, if nothing else.

"I don't know how many instruments you'll recognise tonight," the Medic notes as he hands over a playbill, "but here; ze players und zeir positions are marked on a map of ze stage..."

She examines the playbill for a few minutes, and asks questions where she sees fit. The idea of stringed instruments, at least, isn't far removed from what she knows; most minstrels at home tend to have harps.

There'll probably be a harp tonight, too, although perhaps bigger than she's used to seeing. The piano might take some explanation, though, not to mention the woodwinds.

They're about halfway through the question roster when the sound of half a dozen instruments trying to settle on various notes goes up. "Ah," says the Medic, "tuning. Ze concert's going to start in a minute or two..."

Cata watches the process, with no small amount of interest.
"Some of those things look... impractically big."

"Ja, well, zey don't much move about vith zem," the Medic admits. "Und zey usually travel mit cases to protect zem from banging up und ozzer forms of damage."

"Ah. I admit I'm far more used to wandering minstrels. Some of those wouldn't exactly lend themselves to wandering."
To put it mildly, if one has to sit down to play it...