donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2007-07-02 08:13 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2007-07-02 08:13 pm
Walking the Low Road to Nowhere
Title/Series Info: Walking the Low Road to Nowhere
Pairing: none
Rating/Warning: Rated G, no spoilers
Word count: 662
Summary: Stuck in the 1870's Jack drinks and plans
Author's Notes: Combining thetw_wotd_fic prompt bifurcate with the spirit behind the song "Loch Lomond" and the idea of never seeing home again, no matter what road you took.
He had a plan. It wasn't the best plan he'd ever had, but it was a plan. And it was better than just sitting here doing nothing. Anything had to be better than this, trying to live day by endless stream of days and doing nothing.
He nodded to the bartender to refill his glass.
The plan had a few flaws in it. Well, to be honest, more than a few, quite a number in fact. But it would work, and if it did, well, then it would all be worthwhile, wouldn't it? And it would work. It had to work. He’d just give himself time for one quick drink, a brief moment to reassess all the variables, and then he’d activate his plan.
The bartender refilled his glass.
The theory behind this plan was sound. Sure there were a few drawbacks, but what plan didn't have a few risks? Of course his last plan had seemed sound. He absentmindedly stroked the vortex manipulator on his wrist. That plan had failed, and it was a lot simpler than this one…. There was no reason that plan should have failed, but it did, and that’s why he’d been forced to come up with a second plan. Not having a plan just wasn’t an option. He could do this, he had to do this. Waiting around for a hundred some odd years just wasn’t an option, really, it’s wasn’t even a vague possibility. This plan could work, no, it would work.
He picked up the glass, but seeing it was empty he gestured to the bartender, who refilled it.
Theoretically all he had to do was make the slightest change in the known course of events, the tiniest ripple in the time stream would morph into tidal wave in 20 or 30 thousand years. The Time Agency would detect his manipulations and swoop in to set things right and voilá he was saved! Or arrested, it was possible they’d arrest him, probable, but that would work too, either way he’d be out of the here and now. Of course that was providing he didn’t change things too much, too big a change and the Time Agency might not exist anymore, or he could somehow rewrite his own timeline and he’d never been born, or… He shook his head, trying to clear it, time travel could get truly confusing sometimes. If he picked the wrong thing to change he could bifurcate time itself and what a mess that would make of things...
The bartender refilled his glass.
He’d been wracking his brain to come up with something that would fit the bill. 1870's Earth history was not his forte, if he remembered correctly, Disraeli was going to be re-elected soon, he could muck with the election. But messing with politics was always dicey. Theft could work, it had in the past... in the future? His past anyway. After all, that whole “Stone of Scone” incident had become legendary within the ranks of the Time Agency. Of course, it was also rumored that the agent who set that little feat in motion was jailed and then had their memory erased. But the result would still be getting out, not being stuck in this time and being back in his own.
He nodded at his glass, and the bartender refilled it again.
His own time. How long had it been? To hear his own name again. Would he even answer to it? Was he even that person anymore? He rubbed his head, trying to clear it, but nearly fell off the barstool instead.
The bartender caught his eye. “I think that’s enough, time to head on home.”
With a quick flick of the wrist he downed the last drink and sloppily saluted the bartender with the empty glass.
“See you tomorrow,” the bartender said, picking up the glass, “Same time?” The man winced, and nodded before staggering into the night.
Pairing: none
Rating/Warning: Rated G, no spoilers
Word count: 662
Summary: Stuck in the 1870's Jack drinks and plans
Author's Notes: Combining the
tw_wotd_fic prompt bifurcate with the spirit behind the song "Loch Lomond" and the idea of never seeing home again, no matter what road you took.The man sat at the bar, pondering.
He had a plan. It wasn't the best plan he'd ever had, but it was a plan. And it was better than just sitting here doing nothing. Anything had to be better than this, trying to live day by endless stream of days and doing nothing.
He nodded to the bartender to refill his glass.
The plan had a few flaws in it. Well, to be honest, more than a few, quite a number in fact. But it would work, and if it did, well, then it would all be worthwhile, wouldn't it? And it would work. It had to work. He’d just give himself time for one quick drink, a brief moment to reassess all the variables, and then he’d activate his plan.
The bartender refilled his glass.
The theory behind this plan was sound. Sure there were a few drawbacks, but what plan didn't have a few risks? Of course his last plan had seemed sound. He absentmindedly stroked the vortex manipulator on his wrist. That plan had failed, and it was a lot simpler than this one…. There was no reason that plan should have failed, but it did, and that’s why he’d been forced to come up with a second plan. Not having a plan just wasn’t an option. He could do this, he had to do this. Waiting around for a hundred some odd years just wasn’t an option, really, it’s wasn’t even a vague possibility. This plan could work, no, it would work.
He picked up the glass, but seeing it was empty he gestured to the bartender, who refilled it.
Theoretically all he had to do was make the slightest change in the known course of events, the tiniest ripple in the time stream would morph into tidal wave in 20 or 30 thousand years. The Time Agency would detect his manipulations and swoop in to set things right and voilá he was saved! Or arrested, it was possible they’d arrest him, probable, but that would work too, either way he’d be out of the here and now. Of course that was providing he didn’t change things too much, too big a change and the Time Agency might not exist anymore, or he could somehow rewrite his own timeline and he’d never been born, or… He shook his head, trying to clear it, time travel could get truly confusing sometimes. If he picked the wrong thing to change he could bifurcate time itself and what a mess that would make of things...
The bartender refilled his glass.
He’d been wracking his brain to come up with something that would fit the bill. 1870's Earth history was not his forte, if he remembered correctly, Disraeli was going to be re-elected soon, he could muck with the election. But messing with politics was always dicey. Theft could work, it had in the past... in the future? His past anyway. After all, that whole “Stone of Scone” incident had become legendary within the ranks of the Time Agency. Of course, it was also rumored that the agent who set that little feat in motion was jailed and then had their memory erased. But the result would still be getting out, not being stuck in this time and being back in his own.
He nodded at his glass, and the bartender refilled it again.
His own time. How long had it been? To hear his own name again. Would he even answer to it? Was he even that person anymore? He rubbed his head, trying to clear it, but nearly fell off the barstool instead.
The bartender caught his eye. “I think that’s enough, time to head on home.”
With a quick flick of the wrist he downed the last drink and sloppily saluted the bartender with the empty glass.
“See you tomorrow,” the bartender said, picking up the glass, “Same time?” The man winced, and nodded before staggering into the night.
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I like drunk Jack :-)
One little comment: your story would be easier to read if you had an empty line between each paragraph (i.e. by pressing Enter twice).
The Stone of Scone mention made me giggle :-)
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oh, and drunk Jack.... *smiles* what's not to like?