- What is this oyster you seek from me?
- Oyster card darlin' ….
- …..................?
- If you don't have an Oyster card, you've got to go over to that queue there and buy a ticket.
- I seek not a ticket. I seek the truth.
- Still going to need a ticket.
Xenia cartwheels over the barrier gently shinning the London Underground employee in the head as she goes. A sound of a heel cracking the guard's skull will be added later with two short planks.
She looks back at him, prostrate, twitching. She's unsure whether that is supposed to happen with speaking characters. Her instructions were to clout the extras only. Cheaper apparently.
No matter. She straddles the moving banister of the escalator and rides to the bottom as if it has been designed for the purpose. She momentarily observes the busker whose banjolele is the most precious item in his life. She feels him cathect with instrument as he breathes life into its very being. Her spiritual moment is interrupted by the music itself. His playing is awful. His intoxication is actual. She smells it.
Then she senses burning rubber and the cry of the metal dragon from the dark depths.
She emerges from the passageway onto the platform. Her eyes dart left and right. Up and down. For a second, she motions to leap upwards towards the roof, then thinks better of it. A small pink toddler ambles past. Xenia for the first time in a long time feels maternal. She is after all past 30 – even in Planet Hollywood years. She feels lost. She searches out conversation. She attempts a smile and eye contact. She tried it in Ludlow, Shropshire once and it worked a treat. Perhaps the man in the orange bib and the peaked cap. He looks like their patriarch. Besides, the natural authority of the women of a certain age is diffuse in this dimension.
- Hark. A seeker? What have you to say to me brother?
- If you accept the Lord's love and start a relationship with his son, you can fulfil your heart's desires.
- Have you news of other seekers?
- The news is good sister. The son has opened up the way for you. We have all done bad things. The son's redemption awaits.
She tried that in Ludlow. What did he say his name was? Gareth, Lord of Harlech.
- Do you know the Corinthians sister?
- Aye. I battled with those in series two I am certain brother. Know you Harlech, Land of the Hills and Mines.
- Sort of. I think you mean Wales.
- Whales are for transport by sea brother. By tunnel we ride the dragon do we not? Will one of the metal beasts transport me to Harlech?
- I think you need a ticket for Paddington. Here take a leaflet.
- Thank you sire. Is this to serve as my guide?
- In a manner of speaking.... I believe it contains the truth you seek, sister. By the way, love the costume. It's a bit unkeeping for church. But wow!... Have you ever made...?
The onset of the metal dragon obliterates the rest of the sentence. The inert suddenly turn restless, the apathetic mobile and the passive aggressive pushy. Xenia evades the tight bunches of fellow travellers around the train doors, jumps up onto the dragon's body and squeezes inside one of its vertebrae into a crack in the anastomose torso of the beast.
- Slide down window's neat eh?
- Hark?
- I mean I just got in from Madrid. And it's dam hot on the Metro. You don't want no windows. But in London it keeps the crap from blowing through. You see I wear contacts and I gotta be careful...
- Know you Paddington brother?
- Hey you 'merkin too? Cool. I'm from Newark. You?
- Er...Ludlow.
- Where's that? Maryland? Hey...You headed to a Sci Fi convention or somethin' eh? I saw a bunch of Trekkies get off at Marylebone, but you don't look like a Trekkie to me.
- Trek? I seek the trek. I look for the way of the Paddington in order to meet with Gareth of Harlech, Son of Lord Ethelwaine of the Harlechs. I have fought with the Corinthians for the wages of sin and now I must complete my mission.
- Hey cool. Is this Game of Thrones? No. Wait a minute you're....
NEXT STATION STOP IS PADDINGTON.
WILL ALL PASSENGERS FOR MAINLINE STATIONS TO BRISTOL, THE WEST AND WALES, PLEASE ALIGHT AT THIS STATION STOP.
STAND CLEAR OF THE DOORS.
NEXT STATION PADDINGTON... A bear in a big hat, red rubber boots and a duffel coat is eating a marmalade sandwich on the platform. She knees him passionately in the groin and snatches the food. The groan will get added later.
It may be a while before she comes upon more provisions. She puts the food in her bag, exclusively designed for all her intrepid adventures across the strong female role model industry, and which comes with a stylish leather holster, which gives you loads of space (it's 178x137cm) and is available in eye-catching shades – Xenia'd plump for turquoise ordinarily, though the studio always chooses black.
Whatever. She ascends the tunnel and seeks out the whales to take her to Harlech.
Fade to commercials.
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