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She snorts.
"And you just help them out, trucking T-rex skulls or whatever across the country? Do they pay you?"
"And you just help them out, trucking T-rex skulls or whatever across the country? Do they pay you?"
"Sure. Most the time. Folk crazy enough to ask usually got a lot of money to burn on silly ventures."
He doesn't know what a T-rex is. Sorry.
He doesn't know what a T-rex is. Sorry.
The best dinosaur, Arthur. Top of the food chain.
"Most of the time?" she repeats, giving him a raised eyebrow. No sir, not her. "I'd charge them a premium, asking for rare things like that."
"Most of the time?" she repeats, giving him a raised eyebrow. No sir, not her. "I'd charge them a premium, asking for rare things like that."
That place is reserved for the Elizabethan Megasaurus, sorry.
"Sometimes it's goods, not money. Weapons, that sort of thing."
"Sometimes it's goods, not money. Weapons, that sort of thing."
"Same back home –– guns, drugs, whatever we have on-hand. I haven't touched actual money in years, closest thing we've got is ration cards."
"Is that so?" That actually surprises him a little. Even during the wilder days, people still tended to accept money. Or, well, they carried it on them.
"Those get you food? Fuel?"
"Those get you food? Fuel?"
"Both," she replies. "Well, sort of. Fuel is technically contraband, so it's just credits for water usage and electricity. Kind of the way the running water works here –– but every time you turn it on, it costs you."
"Anything can become contraband if you start restricting it," he surmises- he knows all about that.
“Don’t I know it,” she replies. “Never seems to stop anyone from doing it anyway, though.”
"Governments like to have control over as much of people's lives as they can. Get people in trouble."
“Yeah. I used to want to do something about that, but now I know the system works just fine for me. Just don’t get caught and it’s fine.”
"You and I are more alike than you'd think," he says, with a little grin and a tap to his temple. He actually did think they were quite similar right away, but he enjoys pointing it out.
She rolls her eyes a little, just to be contrary, but she smiles too.
"Uh huh," she replies. "Seeing as you figured your shit out first, that makes it easier for me."
"Uh huh," she replies. "Seeing as you figured your shit out first, that makes it easier for me."
"Oh yeah. Shame I forgot my damn rulebook back home, so I'm gonna hafta play it by ear."
Damn, he's glad they were paired. He tosses her his journal when they walk up to the lounge, so she can open it herself.
She catches it and opens up the door, and she tosses it back.
"Good thing I like playing it by ear," she replies. The best plans survive that way, evolving, adapting. "You competitive, Arthur?"
"Good thing I like playing it by ear," she replies. The best plans survive that way, evolving, adapting. "You competitive, Arthur?"
"I dunno," he says, quite honestly. "What makes a man competitive? I like winnin' a game of cards as much as any man around."
"I think it's less about how you feel about winning and more about how you feel about losing," she replies, amused.
"Now that's true. Here, I'm guessin' I'm a realist at heart. I like winning, but I know we all gotta lose at times."
"Not me," she says. "If I lose, I'm taking everything back and then some in the next hand."
"Seen a lot of good fellas get their ass kicked thinking of it like that."
He doesn't mind. Let her be a little competitive.
He doesn't mind. Let her be a little competitive.
“And if they were serious about it, they’d dish out more than they just took,” she replies. A grin: “And then some.”
"Admit it, you just want a fight," he tells her, grinning a little as he puts his journal back into his hip bag.
A shrug.
“I like a little excitement. You do too.”
“I like a little excitement. You do too.”
"I'm a good Christian boy," he protests, as he goes to swipe a bottle of whiskey.
"Wow," she replies, grinning. "Almost convincing."
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