Sunday, 1 May 1988, Montreal
Spring in Montreal is short, mild, less than terribly predictable, and welcomed with open arms. 1 May 1988 dawns slightly overcast, but the clouds burn off, and it hits a quite comfortable (by Montreal standards) 12°C.
No one really takes any notice of the three girls who cut across the McGill campus and spend a couple hours rambling around the park on Mont Royal. There's nothing all that remarkable about them . . . except, of course, that one of them is, on some version of Earth or another, being born 1800 miles away today, and one has metal claws in her hands and recovers from injuries almost before she receives them.
They stop for a quick lunch and then ride the Metro down to Old Montreal. They wander down cobblestoned streets and in and out of little shops, past churches and museums and the city hall.
When shadows start getting long and the temperature starts to drop, they turn down a side street.
"I know the best place for dinner," Meg says. "It was in one of those off-the-beaten-path guide books last year, so of course the path beats right to the door now, but I don't think we'll have any trouble getting a table."
There's a small crowd in and around the doorway, but Meg goes past them and waves to a tall man in a white chef's jacket. "Bon soir, Sylvain," she calls.
The man comes over, smiling. "Meg. Bon soir. Trois?"
"Oui, si tu--," Meg starts, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.
"Pour toi, bien sûr," he says, and lead them over to a comfortable table in the corner of the restaurant.
"Sylvain, these are my friends, Parker and Laura. They're visiting from the States and I couldn't let them leave without bringing them for the best food in Montréal. Parker, Laura, this Sylvain Gagné."
Sylvain bows slightly. "Bienvenue à Montréal, mesdemoiselles. I hope you will enjoy your visit, and your meal. Alice will be right with you."
"Merci, Sylvain," Meg says, and turns back to Parker and Laura. "Sometimes, it helps to be dating the owner's favorite nephew."
No one really takes any notice of the three girls who cut across the McGill campus and spend a couple hours rambling around the park on Mont Royal. There's nothing all that remarkable about them . . . except, of course, that one of them is, on some version of Earth or another, being born 1800 miles away today, and one has metal claws in her hands and recovers from injuries almost before she receives them.
They stop for a quick lunch and then ride the Metro down to Old Montreal. They wander down cobblestoned streets and in and out of little shops, past churches and museums and the city hall.
When shadows start getting long and the temperature starts to drop, they turn down a side street.
"I know the best place for dinner," Meg says. "It was in one of those off-the-beaten-path guide books last year, so of course the path beats right to the door now, but I don't think we'll have any trouble getting a table."
There's a small crowd in and around the doorway, but Meg goes past them and waves to a tall man in a white chef's jacket. "Bon soir, Sylvain," she calls.
The man comes over, smiling. "Meg. Bon soir. Trois?"
"Oui, si tu--," Meg starts, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.
"Pour toi, bien sûr," he says, and lead them over to a comfortable table in the corner of the restaurant.
"Sylvain, these are my friends, Parker and Laura. They're visiting from the States and I couldn't let them leave without bringing them for the best food in Montréal. Parker, Laura, this Sylvain Gagné."
Sylvain bows slightly. "Bienvenue à Montréal, mesdemoiselles. I hope you will enjoy your visit, and your meal. Alice will be right with you."
"Merci, Sylvain," Meg says, and turns back to Parker and Laura. "Sometimes, it helps to be dating the owner's favorite nephew."

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Carefully.
After eating a few more bites of her crepe.
"Other people will need rescuing, too. Sometimes."
They could even contract out their services.
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Not that Meg is not all for rescuing people. She is, she totally is.
But, um . . .
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She grins teasingly at Meg.
"But look at it this way. You have more experience at rescuing people than I do. I was the rescuee last time."
"And like the woman says. People need rescuing sometimes."
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And Parker.
"You do not have combat training. It is not safe."
But if they ever do --
Not that it is relevant. Now.
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Or ever.
"Besides, I don't think feathered hair is a good look for me."
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Some terrifying stuff went on in the 80s too, to be fair. Which it would seem Meg has had the good sense to avoid.
"And, yes. I don't really have what you would call combat skills."
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Because she does know. Very well.
"But many people do not. It is okay."
Beat.
"We are still friends."
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"We are.
"And I'm very glad."
And, hey, if they ever had to figure out how to rescue someone, they would.
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Unanimous vote.
"I'd say we all got lucky, meeting each other."
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For her, at least, it has been.
Not that X believes in luck.
Much.
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"So, Parker, do you have plans with Seth for your birthday, too?"
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"We're going up to L.A. this weekend. We're staying with his family, and going out on the town. It should be fun."
Parker's looking forward to it.
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"You will go dancing? When you are out on the town."
It's what Bela likes to do, certainly. That and shop. And hook up with people.
Parker is probably not going to do that last one.
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Seth can't dance to save his life. But he does it with his whole heart. And that's what matters.
There probably won't be hooking up. Not that Parker would mind. But Seth is a gentlemanly sort. And with parents in the house? That gets awkward.
"And sight see."
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Seems like she heard similiar advice once . . . from someone.
Of course, the best thing to go with good advice is pass it on.
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X frowns, very slightly.
"It is for tourists. Sightseeing."
It is entirely possible someone in her neighborhood has Opinions about tourists. And which parts of the city they should stick to.
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And generally cuter, if not as portable.
"It is. But it can be fun to just wander around and look at the sights. Like we've been doing today. Don't you think?"
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"Well, to be completely fair, half the places we went today I knew about because a native showed me how to find them."
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Beat.
"He knows a lot of interesting places. Pam does, too."
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"They're in San Francisco? Where do you like to go there?"
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"I have quartered the rest of the city. But it is not the same."
She's not exactly a homebody, but -- she does not feel a need to go far afield.
"Chinatown and Japantown are interesting, too. But it is easier if you speak the language."
And, you know, if you know people already. X has a way of getting around.
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"I have a couple of classmates who speak little or no French, and . . . well, it's Montreal, it doesn't limit you the way it would out of the city, but does limit you."
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"When I was in Barcelona I tried to stick with Spanish, but it's a pretty international city. In a pinch you could generally find someone who spoke English to some degree."
"Once you got outside the city? Not so much."
"You miss a lot when you don't know the language."
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Except maybe in parts of Africa. And Eastern Europe.
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