Fic - From The Ashes of Disaster (1/?)
Dec. 5th, 2009 06:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redfiona99Author: Red Fiona
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, Spyglass Entertainment do. No money being made.
Pairing: Quinn/Creedy, eventually. Some Creedy/OFC in the first part.
Rating: M, especially later on.
Spoilers: None. Prequel to ‘He Who Fights Too Long Against Dragons’ - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/471485.html.
Summary: In the ruins of Britain, humans still try to eke out a living where the dragons cannot find them. A band of roving bikers arrive in the remnants of Birmingham, both sides have to try to reach an agreement.
~~~~
Drip, drip, drip went the clock. It was last thing on a Wednesday and Quinn trying to concentrate on the lesson despite himself. He knew how important it was to keep as much as they could of the world that was but he couldn’t see any practical applications for studying art. He’d rather do more maths.
The faint sound in the distance distracted him even more. The ‘prrt, prrt’ sound of motorbikes was something he remembered from London, and this was similar but deeper. He wasn’t the only one who could hear it, everyone else had heard it too, including the Prof, who was pretending he hadn’t. Even he had to give in when the men on the motorbikes rode round the corner. There were seven of them, all unmodified engines, and although the riders all looked older than Quinn, they didn’t look that old, not as old as the Prof certainly.
No one in the class was even pretending to pay attention any more.
“As it has become obvious that no further work will be done today, I hereby dismiss class.” There was a general cheer as everyone raced off to see the strangers and their bikes. “Not you, Quinn. I think you’ll enjoy this. Follow me.”
The Professor lead the way out, around the swarm of bikes to where the Mayor was talking to a man Quinn assumed was the leader of the bike gang.
Quinn tried to pay attention to what was being said, but it was difficult with these engines being near him. They would have been wonderful machines if anyone had looked after them.
“Like the look of them then?” The man spoke with a Scottish accent. He was younger than the rest of the bikers but older than Quinn. He was taller than him too, but that wasn’t difficult with Quinn being short for his age. Quinn made a sound that could have been an agreement with the biker. The man pressed on. This kid was a lot less talkative than the others. He must just have been shy. “She’s a beauty.”
“It needs the front brake pad replacing and there’s something wrong with the engine.” No, the kid was just a git. Of course Creedy knew it was true; he’d been struggling since Chesterfield, but there was no need to point it out quite so loudly.
“Quinn, come over here.” The older man in the pale brown suit called the kid over. Negotiations must have been finishing. Creedy went over to have a looksee.
The man in the suit was talking to the kid. “How long would it take to convert these bikes?”
“There’s seven of them. If we switch a quarter,” there was a pause as the man in the suit nodded, “of the metal works over, assuming we can find enough metal. I’d say four months minimum.”
“In that case, gentlemen, for six months of your labour we will convert these bikes from petrol usage to alcohol usage.”
The bikers reacted with a start. “Who said anything about changing stuff, and why do you think we’re going to pay?” The gang certainly looked more menacing than the middle aged men and children around them, how were they going to stop the bikers from just taking what they wanted.
“So you’re not having difficulties finding petrol then?” The suited man sounded doubtful. “That’s good to hear. In between the dragons, the lack of new supplies and evaporation, I would have thought that the pumps might have run dry.” The bastard had to have known the trouble they’d been having, thought Deacon, leader of the bikers. The only reason they’d stopped was to barter for more fuel. “Switching over to alcohol-fueled engines should avoid that. You can make your own and travel with it.” The man in the suit carried on. “You can even make more of it as you travel.” The community had spent a lot of time switching everything over to run on alcohol since they moved to Birmingham.
Deacon looked to be thinking it over. “Say we accept, and I’m not saying we will, what kind of work would it be?”
“Hard manual labour, I’m afraid.” The bikers got the feeling that the man in the suit had been through this before and wasn’t bothering to lie. “We need people to help sew the crops, and harvest some of them. Bed and board will be provided, of course.” Those were distinct pluses. They’d made it through the worst of winter with their bodies and boots still intact, but it had been a close run thing. Having a six month rest up would be good for them, how hard could the work be?
~~~~
End of Part 1
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, Spyglass Entertainment do. No money being made.
Pairing: Quinn/Creedy, eventually. Some Creedy/OFC in the first part.
Rating: M, especially later on.
Spoilers: None. Prequel to ‘He Who Fights Too Long Against Dragons’ - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/471485.html.
Summary: In the ruins of Britain, humans still try to eke out a living where the dragons cannot find them. A band of roving bikers arrive in the remnants of Birmingham, both sides have to try to reach an agreement.
~~~~
Drip, drip, drip went the clock. It was last thing on a Wednesday and Quinn trying to concentrate on the lesson despite himself. He knew how important it was to keep as much as they could of the world that was but he couldn’t see any practical applications for studying art. He’d rather do more maths.
The faint sound in the distance distracted him even more. The ‘prrt, prrt’ sound of motorbikes was something he remembered from London, and this was similar but deeper. He wasn’t the only one who could hear it, everyone else had heard it too, including the Prof, who was pretending he hadn’t. Even he had to give in when the men on the motorbikes rode round the corner. There were seven of them, all unmodified engines, and although the riders all looked older than Quinn, they didn’t look that old, not as old as the Prof certainly.
No one in the class was even pretending to pay attention any more.
“As it has become obvious that no further work will be done today, I hereby dismiss class.” There was a general cheer as everyone raced off to see the strangers and their bikes. “Not you, Quinn. I think you’ll enjoy this. Follow me.”
The Professor lead the way out, around the swarm of bikes to where the Mayor was talking to a man Quinn assumed was the leader of the bike gang.
Quinn tried to pay attention to what was being said, but it was difficult with these engines being near him. They would have been wonderful machines if anyone had looked after them.
“Like the look of them then?” The man spoke with a Scottish accent. He was younger than the rest of the bikers but older than Quinn. He was taller than him too, but that wasn’t difficult with Quinn being short for his age. Quinn made a sound that could have been an agreement with the biker. The man pressed on. This kid was a lot less talkative than the others. He must just have been shy. “She’s a beauty.”
“It needs the front brake pad replacing and there’s something wrong with the engine.” No, the kid was just a git. Of course Creedy knew it was true; he’d been struggling since Chesterfield, but there was no need to point it out quite so loudly.
“Quinn, come over here.” The older man in the pale brown suit called the kid over. Negotiations must have been finishing. Creedy went over to have a looksee.
The man in the suit was talking to the kid. “How long would it take to convert these bikes?”
“There’s seven of them. If we switch a quarter,” there was a pause as the man in the suit nodded, “of the metal works over, assuming we can find enough metal. I’d say four months minimum.”
“In that case, gentlemen, for six months of your labour we will convert these bikes from petrol usage to alcohol usage.”
The bikers reacted with a start. “Who said anything about changing stuff, and why do you think we’re going to pay?” The gang certainly looked more menacing than the middle aged men and children around them, how were they going to stop the bikers from just taking what they wanted.
“So you’re not having difficulties finding petrol then?” The suited man sounded doubtful. “That’s good to hear. In between the dragons, the lack of new supplies and evaporation, I would have thought that the pumps might have run dry.” The bastard had to have known the trouble they’d been having, thought Deacon, leader of the bikers. The only reason they’d stopped was to barter for more fuel. “Switching over to alcohol-fueled engines should avoid that. You can make your own and travel with it.” The man in the suit carried on. “You can even make more of it as you travel.” The community had spent a lot of time switching everything over to run on alcohol since they moved to Birmingham.
Deacon looked to be thinking it over. “Say we accept, and I’m not saying we will, what kind of work would it be?”
“Hard manual labour, I’m afraid.” The bikers got the feeling that the man in the suit had been through this before and wasn’t bothering to lie. “We need people to help sew the crops, and harvest some of them. Bed and board will be provided, of course.” Those were distinct pluses. They’d made it through the worst of winter with their bodies and boots still intact, but it had been a close run thing. Having a six month rest up would be good for them, how hard could the work be?
~~~~
End of Part 1
