Introduction
This RP is closed.
What if you were not meant to find love in this lifetime? What if you were destined to live your life alone, forever yearning for something you could not have? But...what if you were given a second chance?
For four individuals, this is a reality. They have chosen to wait however long it takes to find the one. They have been plucked from their very lives, and imprisoned in the vast expansion that is time, fated to stay until they find what they need. Whether you must wait centuries, or only a few years, you don't know. You wait, and imagine who you will be with and when it will be, but with time your memory fades...
Then, by chance, all four are dropped into present day New York City. They are confused, because they have nearly forgotten their very reason for giving up their former lives... then, realization sets in. Maybe this is where they will find love. Maybe this is what they've waited for for so long.
Four friends live in the city. Every week, one of them hosts a casual gathering in their homes where they all come together and talk, make dinner, and just spend time with one another; a ritual that has gone on for months. All four of them lead the lifestyle of any other person living in the city, fast-paced and thrilling. These are the ones fated to be with the others. Little do they know what will unfold.
Character Roles:
Man from the Past: Hank Darringer - Played by Pencil_Me_In
Man from the Past: Edward Washington Collins - Played by LDSJediMaster
Man from the Past: Severus Corvis - Played by Machina Ex Deux
Woman from the Past: Evelyn Williams - Played by fierytempest
Woman from the Past: Isabella Waldon - Played by Yumiko Ai
Woman from the Past: Katherine Victoria de Lacey - Played by Mr. Morbid
Woman from the Present: Katelyn Smithson - Played by Lavender
Woman from the Present: Renee Dyson - Played by Florenai
Woman from the Present: Audrey Scotts - Played by vampire_chic14
Man from the Present: Adam James Westerfield - Played by Ariki
Man from the Present: Matthew Haven - Played by Lavender
Man from the Present: Jackson Alexander - Played by Machina Ex Deux
Character Skeleton:
What to put in the Description section:
What to put in the Personality section:
Equipment section isn't required.
History section is required. But, it doesn't have to be a novel. A paragraph or so will do, but remember, use detail; this could be how I decide whether or not to accept you. Show off your writing skills!
For four individuals, this is a reality. They have chosen to wait however long it takes to find the one. They have been plucked from their very lives, and imprisoned in the vast expansion that is time, fated to stay until they find what they need. Whether you must wait centuries, or only a few years, you don't know. You wait, and imagine who you will be with and when it will be, but with time your memory fades...
Then, by chance, all four are dropped into present day New York City. They are confused, because they have nearly forgotten their very reason for giving up their former lives... then, realization sets in. Maybe this is where they will find love. Maybe this is what they've waited for for so long.
Four friends live in the city. Every week, one of them hosts a casual gathering in their homes where they all come together and talk, make dinner, and just spend time with one another; a ritual that has gone on for months. All four of them lead the lifestyle of any other person living in the city, fast-paced and thrilling. These are the ones fated to be with the others. Little do they know what will unfold.
Character Roles:
Man from the Past: Hank Darringer - Played by Pencil_Me_In
Man from the Past: Edward Washington Collins - Played by LDSJediMaster
Man from the Past: Severus Corvis - Played by Machina Ex Deux
Woman from the Past: Evelyn Williams - Played by fierytempest
Woman from the Past: Isabella Waldon - Played by Yumiko Ai
Woman from the Past: Katherine Victoria de Lacey - Played by Mr. Morbid
Woman from the Present: Katelyn Smithson - Played by Lavender
Woman from the Present: Renee Dyson - Played by Florenai
Woman from the Present: Audrey Scotts - Played by vampire_chic14
Man from the Present: Adam James Westerfield - Played by Ariki
Man from the Present: Matthew Haven - Played by Lavender
Man from the Present: Jackson Alexander - Played by Machina Ex Deux
Character Skeleton:
What to put in the Description section:
- Code: Select all
[b]Role:[/b] are you a woman/man from the past or the present?
[b]Full Name:[/b] First, middle(s), and last. here, you may link each part of their name to a picture. I like things to look neat & organized, so please don't put huge pictures all over the place.
[b]Nickname:[/b] notice this isn't plural. If you have more than one, give history behind them please.
[b]Age:[/b] over 21 and under 30.
[b]Gender:[/b] only goes two ways!
and then a physical description to go with your REALISTIC image.
What to put in the Personality section:
- Code: Select all
[b]Theme Song:[/b] tells a lot more about a person than you think. include URL.
[b]Occupation:[/b] be realistic here. and, preferably, original. ;)
[b]Hobbies:[/b] minimum 3. maximum 6.
then, you may either include a brief description of your character's personality, or some adjectives. don't be lazy though and put "nice, kind, smart." thanks.
Equipment section isn't required.
History section is required. But, it doesn't have to be a novel. A paragraph or so will do, but remember, use detail; this could be how I decide whether or not to accept you. Show off your writing skills!
- 44 posts here • Page 1 of 2 • 1, 2
The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 7 authors
Setting
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It was Friday night. New York City was just now coming to life, as the evening descended on everything. Clubs were hopping with excitement, bars were swamped, and a thrill only the city could emit pulsed through the streets. People were just now getting out for parties, women and men flooding the sidewalks. That was one thing about NYC: diversity.
Kate Smithson was inside the apartment. She was hurrying back and forth between the bathroom and her bedroom, because there was no mirror in the bathroom at the moment, but there was in her room. You see, Kate's sister Devon decided to get pregnant at 16. By then, Kate was out of the house, and glad about it, not wanting to have to deal with her frazzled mother and irresponsible sister. Devon had a little boy, and named him Bono because of her love for U2. Haaaaaa. Now, he is five years old, and possibly the most obnoxious child on the face of the planet. And this past Thanksgiving, Kate had the family over, which wasn't the best idea... Bono decided to throw a temper tantrum and angrily chuck Kate's $60 bottle of perfume at the bathroom mirror, resulting in its shattering, and $60 dollars down the drain. Now that you know that, don't look so surprised that there is a lack of... mirror in the bathroom.
Annie walked out of the kitchen. She was wearing a tight, strapless blue dress that barely reached her knees. Her heels clanked on the hardwood floors. "Why are you in such a hurry? The party doesn't start for, like, another hour," she said casually, pursing her full, glossed lips. Annie had a mane of raven black hair, that curled but not in ringlets. She never brushed it or did anything to style it, because it already contained enough body and curl for the both of them. She leaned against the wall in the hallway between the bedrooms and the bathroom.
Kate was sitting in front of her full length mirror, patting some blush onto her cheeks. Her legs were drawn in Indian style, and she leaned forward with her lips pursed as she applied the rest of the makeup: mascara, lip gloss, and some eyeshadow. She didn't like to pack on the stuff, but this was a party for work. "So what? I like to be early." That reply got a loud snort from Annie. Kate rolled her eyes and stood up. Her attire consisted of a silky rose-pink dress that hung nicely on her feminine figure. It halted just above her knees, and she wore a pair of heels the color of bitter chocolate. She had a small cardigan, but she didn't plan on wearing it long. These events were always crowded and warm. Annie whistled.
Kate let out a breathy chuckle and brushed past her roommate, who had her arms crossed, watching Kate as she bustled around the house. Annie had her eyebrows raised. "Daaahhling, calm doooown..."
"I'm perfectly calm," Kate replied, pausing. "Where's my purse?"
"On the sofa."
"Thanks." she grabbed her leather bag and slung it over her shoulder, taking one final look in her bedroom's mirror before grinning. "You'll be there, right?"
"Fashionably late." Annie said.
"See ya'." And Kate was off, down the stairs of the apartment because they had no elevator. She was outside in no time, strutting down the pavement. The chilly air didn't bother her, or her bare legs, the flights of stairs having quickened her heart rate and sped up the warmth in her body. She stopped. She closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. Then she smiled, and was off again. Her destination was an up-class bar and club called Chance.
Kate Smithson was inside the apartment. She was hurrying back and forth between the bathroom and her bedroom, because there was no mirror in the bathroom at the moment, but there was in her room. You see, Kate's sister Devon decided to get pregnant at 16. By then, Kate was out of the house, and glad about it, not wanting to have to deal with her frazzled mother and irresponsible sister. Devon had a little boy, and named him Bono because of her love for U2. Haaaaaa. Now, he is five years old, and possibly the most obnoxious child on the face of the planet. And this past Thanksgiving, Kate had the family over, which wasn't the best idea... Bono decided to throw a temper tantrum and angrily chuck Kate's $60 bottle of perfume at the bathroom mirror, resulting in its shattering, and $60 dollars down the drain. Now that you know that, don't look so surprised that there is a lack of... mirror in the bathroom.
Annie walked out of the kitchen. She was wearing a tight, strapless blue dress that barely reached her knees. Her heels clanked on the hardwood floors. "Why are you in such a hurry? The party doesn't start for, like, another hour," she said casually, pursing her full, glossed lips. Annie had a mane of raven black hair, that curled but not in ringlets. She never brushed it or did anything to style it, because it already contained enough body and curl for the both of them. She leaned against the wall in the hallway between the bedrooms and the bathroom.
Kate was sitting in front of her full length mirror, patting some blush onto her cheeks. Her legs were drawn in Indian style, and she leaned forward with her lips pursed as she applied the rest of the makeup: mascara, lip gloss, and some eyeshadow. She didn't like to pack on the stuff, but this was a party for work. "So what? I like to be early." That reply got a loud snort from Annie. Kate rolled her eyes and stood up. Her attire consisted of a silky rose-pink dress that hung nicely on her feminine figure. It halted just above her knees, and she wore a pair of heels the color of bitter chocolate. She had a small cardigan, but she didn't plan on wearing it long. These events were always crowded and warm. Annie whistled.
Kate let out a breathy chuckle and brushed past her roommate, who had her arms crossed, watching Kate as she bustled around the house. Annie had her eyebrows raised. "Daaahhling, calm doooown..."
"I'm perfectly calm," Kate replied, pausing. "Where's my purse?"
"On the sofa."
"Thanks." she grabbed her leather bag and slung it over her shoulder, taking one final look in her bedroom's mirror before grinning. "You'll be there, right?"
"Fashionably late." Annie said.
"See ya'." And Kate was off, down the stairs of the apartment because they had no elevator. She was outside in no time, strutting down the pavement. The chilly air didn't bother her, or her bare legs, the flights of stairs having quickened her heart rate and sped up the warmth in her body. She stopped. She closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. Then she smiled, and was off again. Her destination was an up-class bar and club called Chance.
Setting
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The lights were blinding. It had gone from impenetrably dark to blindingly bright too quickly for Henry's eyes to adjust. He covered his eyes with a hand to shield them and that's when the noise hit him. It was so loud he stumbled on his own feet and ended up sitting on the ground with his back against something solid. Rubbing his eyes repeatedly, he finally got them to adjust enough to take in his surroundings.
The buildings were like glowing shadows against the night sky. They stretched upward for miles, blocking out any stars that might have been. Henry scrambled to his feet as hordes of people flocked past him. They marched in almost uniform lines down the street, some pushing and shoving, others with hands pressed to their ears talking as though someone were there to listen. None of them seemed to pay him any attention. The noise was almost unbearable. Strange blaring noises came from the derailed trolley cars that moved without tracks. Men with portable kitchens were selling sausages and bread. There was a bright purple light above his head that was unnerving. This must be in hell....
There was something untoward about this: had he truly died? Now that he strained his mind he could remember a man...he was tall, almost unnaturally so, with a black hat covering his blonde hair and his steely gray eyes looked like melted steel. He had visited Henry...after the accident. He had come as a doctor but he carried no bag or ointments. What do you regret most? he had asked. That I never loved as my father loved my mother he had answered. So you shall. And now here he was. In this strange land of noise and sound and lights to bright to see by. There was something about the man that was too familiar. He stood out in Henry's mind. Though their time was short, Henry could now remember a long conversation about...oh what was it! The trolley cars?
Someone collided with his shoulder and Henry stumbled forward. "Watch it!" they yelled. Henry went to apologize but he found himself jumping out of the way as a young man riding on some sort of flat board with wheels on it came flying past him. The ground dropped a level, his balance was thrown, and he inadvertently stumbled into the path of a trackless train car. Another blaring sound, bright lights, the screech of something daresay demonic, and then Henry was thrown to the ground. His head hit the ground and the bright lights all began to swim together.
The buildings were like glowing shadows against the night sky. They stretched upward for miles, blocking out any stars that might have been. Henry scrambled to his feet as hordes of people flocked past him. They marched in almost uniform lines down the street, some pushing and shoving, others with hands pressed to their ears talking as though someone were there to listen. None of them seemed to pay him any attention. The noise was almost unbearable. Strange blaring noises came from the derailed trolley cars that moved without tracks. Men with portable kitchens were selling sausages and bread. There was a bright purple light above his head that was unnerving. This must be in hell....
There was something untoward about this: had he truly died? Now that he strained his mind he could remember a man...he was tall, almost unnaturally so, with a black hat covering his blonde hair and his steely gray eyes looked like melted steel. He had visited Henry...after the accident. He had come as a doctor but he carried no bag or ointments. What do you regret most? he had asked. That I never loved as my father loved my mother he had answered. So you shall. And now here he was. In this strange land of noise and sound and lights to bright to see by. There was something about the man that was too familiar. He stood out in Henry's mind. Though their time was short, Henry could now remember a long conversation about...oh what was it! The trolley cars?
Someone collided with his shoulder and Henry stumbled forward. "Watch it!" they yelled. Henry went to apologize but he found himself jumping out of the way as a young man riding on some sort of flat board with wheels on it came flying past him. The ground dropped a level, his balance was thrown, and he inadvertently stumbled into the path of a trackless train car. Another blaring sound, bright lights, the screech of something daresay demonic, and then Henry was thrown to the ground. His head hit the ground and the bright lights all began to swim together.
Setting
0.00 INK
Severus Corvis had been floating, drifting for such a very long time. He had watched through the gray haze that seemed to pervade this place as the world changed, empires rose and fell, countless people lived and died. Through it all had been the same detachment, the same veil of indifference, that he had felt in life. Mistake not that some of the things he had seen had fascinated him; it was simply that they were not of his world, nor he of theirs.
Sometimes, he remembered the day he had come to be here. He had been defending Rome, the day he fell, and he was soon to discover that it would not be long before his beloved empire followed him into the abyss. Beset by too many men to defeat at once, he had nonetheless gone down swinging. The poets would tell tales of it, that much he had known. It was only in his dying moment, as he had finally been able to name the emptiness in his soul, that he wondered what it had all really been worth.
And then the man had appeared. Dressed like a barbarian warrior as he was, Severus had tensed incorporeal muscles against the pain that still issued from the wound in his chest, but the man had held up his hands as though to convey a nonviolent intent. That had been enough for the Roman legionnaire to pause, and the man, taller even that Severus, had come to stand before him. Blond hair, worn long like that most typical of warriors from the north, and gray eyes, like the storm-tossed sea, or like this endless space he now inhabited.
"Be at ease, brave soldier," the man had said, voice low, smoother than he would have expected, and speaking Latin, not the Gallic tongue. "I come to you not as an enemy, but as a friend."
Severus had taken a step backward, and his own voice answered calmly, if a bit less strongly than he would have liked to be heard. "A friend? You come to me on the eve of battle; I can still feel the wound your people placed in my chest. Claim not to be my friend."
The man had shaken his head, then, and closed his eyes briefly. "There is no visible wound any longer, friend. What remains is only the pain of the heart itself. You have a regret that grieves you still. Tell me: what is it?"
In that moment, Severus had discovered that the man was right: all that remained of the battle was a new scar, silvery-white against bronzed skin, directly over his heart. Regret... His mind was bombarded with images of a woman: dark-eyed and beautiful, attending the throne of an enemy queen. The same woman, bathed in her own blood, the sword of his general protruding from her back, eyes wide with terror. "I... regret that I never did find out what it might be to love, and be loved in return." It was hard to say, his pride as a soldier would almost not allow for it, but as soon as the words escaped his lips, the burden on his chest lifted, just a little, and the mysterious man smiled.
"And so you shall," he replied cryptically, and the next thing he knew, Severus had arrived here, wherever here was, exactly. Just as he was contemplating this, he felt a peculiar tugging on his awareness, and was once again drawn from what had become the familiar and thrust into that which was not. He had seen things like this, before, but now it seemed that he was in the image. The metal shapes called cars whizzed past at speeds horses could only dream of, the people paying them little heed as they walked along paths at the side of the road. There were many bright pinpoints of light here; light-which-was-not-flame. Electricity, he thought it was called. None of it made too much sense to him, but there were more important considerations at the moment.
Severus checked himself over. It had been... well, a long time since he was corporeal. He'd landed hard, but on his feet, and he was pleased to discover that his muscle memory for such things at least had not deserted him. A larger problem was that a good number of people seemed to be staring directly at him as they passed, though a few didn't bother. At least one person produced a small device that flashed with its own light before growing dim, and he flinched away from it, blinking to clear the after-impression from his sight. It took him a minute to figure out why he was the subject of quite so much inquiry, but then he looked down. It had to be the armor. Everyone else was walking around completely unprotected, but they also acted as though they had never... oh. Soldiers did tend to dress differently now, didn't they?
His instincts kicked in: he needed to blend, and fast. People bought their clothes from gigantic tailor shops with no tailors now, if he remembered correctly, but he did not have the proper currency. Either way, it was going to be best to get out of here as quickly as possible. That in mind, Severus schooled his expression into sheer stoniness, and sent a few glares at the gawkers, who immediately seemed to find it more prudent to go back to what they were doing. That done, he set off down a side alleyway, hoping to stay out of sight as much as possible.
****
Jack was awoken from his slumber by an impatient knock on the door. Starting at the sudden sound, he pushed unruly dark hair off his forehead as a reflex of habit, straightening stiffly from where he'd been slumped over his desk. He realized with trepidation that he'd drooled on one of the papers he was supposed to be grading and swore, taking care of the problem as best he could with a tissue. Man, this was just not his day.
He'd intended to finish all this grading before he allowed his friends to drag him out tonight. Jack wasn't all that social to begin with, and he really wasn't one for the club scene, but occasionally Barry and Joe managed to convince him that it was a good idea. Or threaten to beat the stuffing out of him for flaking on being their wingman, again. Now, at least one of them had clearly shown, up, and he hadn't even showered yet.
"Jack, you freckin idiot! We know you're in there! Don't tell us you forgot about tonight!" Joe's voice thundered through the door, and Jack flinched. Yeah, this was going to be fun. Rolling his eyes, the slightly-malnourished college professor hauled open his door (it had a tendency to stick) and gestured his friends inside.
"I didn't forget," he explained with a yawn, "but I did fall asleep. Give me a few minutes; I'll shower and be ready in a jiffy."
Joe snorted. "Yeah, right, man. You shower longer than my ex-girlfriend, and that's saying something."
"Maybe she wouldn't have taken so long if she didn't sleep with your smelly ass," Barry replied acidly, and Jack shook his head. The three of them had been best friends since undergrad, and though he had little in common with them anymore, they still got on well, and if he was being honest the two of them were the only reason he hadn't locked himself in his apartment forever after what they had termed "the Estelle Incident."
Joe was an athlete through and through, and played semi-pro baseball these days. Tall and muscular with sandy-blonde hair, he was your classic all-American guy type, and definitely played it up. He was a bit of a womanizer, which made Jack a little uncomfortable, but deep down, he was a good guy. Barry was a bit more of the artsy type; and a trust-fund kid to boot. He ran his own design studio out of his apartment on the Upper East Side, and was always much better dressed than the other two. Jack himself was the brains of the operation, and hence most definitely also the wingman.
"Look," he said, his voice slightly plaintive. "Why don't you just leave me the address and I'll meet you guys there. It's called Chance, right?"
"No way, buddy. You're not wheedling your way out of this one. Just hurry up and get dressed; it's not like you don't shower every day anyway." That was Barry, and as usual, he had caught Jack in an attempt to get himself out of this.
So a few minutes later, Jack emerged from his bedroom in a pair of dress jeans, a white collared shirt (slightly rumpled but otherwise serviceable) a charcoal-gray blazer, and a red tie. When Joe saw the tie, he made a disgusted noise and promptly seized his friend and tugged it off. "We're going to a club, you idiot, not a business meeting. Now untuck your shirt." Jack obeyed, and Joe nodded. "Okay, let's get going, guys. I hear there's some fancy office party at Chance tonight, but it's still open to the public. Besides, who knows? One of us might get with someone's hot secretary." Barry and Jack shot each other looks behind Joe's back, but followed him out anyway.
Sometimes, he remembered the day he had come to be here. He had been defending Rome, the day he fell, and he was soon to discover that it would not be long before his beloved empire followed him into the abyss. Beset by too many men to defeat at once, he had nonetheless gone down swinging. The poets would tell tales of it, that much he had known. It was only in his dying moment, as he had finally been able to name the emptiness in his soul, that he wondered what it had all really been worth.
And then the man had appeared. Dressed like a barbarian warrior as he was, Severus had tensed incorporeal muscles against the pain that still issued from the wound in his chest, but the man had held up his hands as though to convey a nonviolent intent. That had been enough for the Roman legionnaire to pause, and the man, taller even that Severus, had come to stand before him. Blond hair, worn long like that most typical of warriors from the north, and gray eyes, like the storm-tossed sea, or like this endless space he now inhabited.
"Be at ease, brave soldier," the man had said, voice low, smoother than he would have expected, and speaking Latin, not the Gallic tongue. "I come to you not as an enemy, but as a friend."
Severus had taken a step backward, and his own voice answered calmly, if a bit less strongly than he would have liked to be heard. "A friend? You come to me on the eve of battle; I can still feel the wound your people placed in my chest. Claim not to be my friend."
The man had shaken his head, then, and closed his eyes briefly. "There is no visible wound any longer, friend. What remains is only the pain of the heart itself. You have a regret that grieves you still. Tell me: what is it?"
In that moment, Severus had discovered that the man was right: all that remained of the battle was a new scar, silvery-white against bronzed skin, directly over his heart. Regret... His mind was bombarded with images of a woman: dark-eyed and beautiful, attending the throne of an enemy queen. The same woman, bathed in her own blood, the sword of his general protruding from her back, eyes wide with terror. "I... regret that I never did find out what it might be to love, and be loved in return." It was hard to say, his pride as a soldier would almost not allow for it, but as soon as the words escaped his lips, the burden on his chest lifted, just a little, and the mysterious man smiled.
"And so you shall," he replied cryptically, and the next thing he knew, Severus had arrived here, wherever here was, exactly. Just as he was contemplating this, he felt a peculiar tugging on his awareness, and was once again drawn from what had become the familiar and thrust into that which was not. He had seen things like this, before, but now it seemed that he was in the image. The metal shapes called cars whizzed past at speeds horses could only dream of, the people paying them little heed as they walked along paths at the side of the road. There were many bright pinpoints of light here; light-which-was-not-flame. Electricity, he thought it was called. None of it made too much sense to him, but there were more important considerations at the moment.
Severus checked himself over. It had been... well, a long time since he was corporeal. He'd landed hard, but on his feet, and he was pleased to discover that his muscle memory for such things at least had not deserted him. A larger problem was that a good number of people seemed to be staring directly at him as they passed, though a few didn't bother. At least one person produced a small device that flashed with its own light before growing dim, and he flinched away from it, blinking to clear the after-impression from his sight. It took him a minute to figure out why he was the subject of quite so much inquiry, but then he looked down. It had to be the armor. Everyone else was walking around completely unprotected, but they also acted as though they had never... oh. Soldiers did tend to dress differently now, didn't they?
His instincts kicked in: he needed to blend, and fast. People bought their clothes from gigantic tailor shops with no tailors now, if he remembered correctly, but he did not have the proper currency. Either way, it was going to be best to get out of here as quickly as possible. That in mind, Severus schooled his expression into sheer stoniness, and sent a few glares at the gawkers, who immediately seemed to find it more prudent to go back to what they were doing. That done, he set off down a side alleyway, hoping to stay out of sight as much as possible.
****
Jack was awoken from his slumber by an impatient knock on the door. Starting at the sudden sound, he pushed unruly dark hair off his forehead as a reflex of habit, straightening stiffly from where he'd been slumped over his desk. He realized with trepidation that he'd drooled on one of the papers he was supposed to be grading and swore, taking care of the problem as best he could with a tissue. Man, this was just not his day.
He'd intended to finish all this grading before he allowed his friends to drag him out tonight. Jack wasn't all that social to begin with, and he really wasn't one for the club scene, but occasionally Barry and Joe managed to convince him that it was a good idea. Or threaten to beat the stuffing out of him for flaking on being their wingman, again. Now, at least one of them had clearly shown, up, and he hadn't even showered yet.
"Jack, you freckin idiot! We know you're in there! Don't tell us you forgot about tonight!" Joe's voice thundered through the door, and Jack flinched. Yeah, this was going to be fun. Rolling his eyes, the slightly-malnourished college professor hauled open his door (it had a tendency to stick) and gestured his friends inside.
"I didn't forget," he explained with a yawn, "but I did fall asleep. Give me a few minutes; I'll shower and be ready in a jiffy."
Joe snorted. "Yeah, right, man. You shower longer than my ex-girlfriend, and that's saying something."
"Maybe she wouldn't have taken so long if she didn't sleep with your smelly ass," Barry replied acidly, and Jack shook his head. The three of them had been best friends since undergrad, and though he had little in common with them anymore, they still got on well, and if he was being honest the two of them were the only reason he hadn't locked himself in his apartment forever after what they had termed "the Estelle Incident."
Joe was an athlete through and through, and played semi-pro baseball these days. Tall and muscular with sandy-blonde hair, he was your classic all-American guy type, and definitely played it up. He was a bit of a womanizer, which made Jack a little uncomfortable, but deep down, he was a good guy. Barry was a bit more of the artsy type; and a trust-fund kid to boot. He ran his own design studio out of his apartment on the Upper East Side, and was always much better dressed than the other two. Jack himself was the brains of the operation, and hence most definitely also the wingman.
"Look," he said, his voice slightly plaintive. "Why don't you just leave me the address and I'll meet you guys there. It's called Chance, right?"
"No way, buddy. You're not wheedling your way out of this one. Just hurry up and get dressed; it's not like you don't shower every day anyway." That was Barry, and as usual, he had caught Jack in an attempt to get himself out of this.
So a few minutes later, Jack emerged from his bedroom in a pair of dress jeans, a white collared shirt (slightly rumpled but otherwise serviceable) a charcoal-gray blazer, and a red tie. When Joe saw the tie, he made a disgusted noise and promptly seized his friend and tugged it off. "We're going to a club, you idiot, not a business meeting. Now untuck your shirt." Jack obeyed, and Joe nodded. "Okay, let's get going, guys. I hear there's some fancy office party at Chance tonight, but it's still open to the public. Besides, who knows? One of us might get with someone's hot secretary." Barry and Jack shot each other looks behind Joe's back, but followed him out anyway.
Setting
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"I cannot believe you!" Something new was rising up. It was a feeling she'd seen before, read about, wished she could portray and suddenly it was happening to her.
"How dare you?" Mother whipped around, her bonnet loosing from her head. A spill of chestnut hair fell into her wild eyes. The Waldon family should have been to bed long ago, but after a night of dancing and laughter and utter humiliation, they had yet to make it into slumber. "How dare you speak to your father that way!" Her eyes were wide, wild with shock. Something about that look made Isabella feel twisted with joy.
"Do you really expect me to continue feeding you?" Father growled through his teeth. Fear suddenly fell over her. The anger in her body died away and she felt an unbridled foreboding. How stupid could she have been? What had made her act out in this way? Had it been the snide comments made by Lady Westbrook? Or the way Mister Thomas had looked at her and then laughed? Perhaps even the music had been much too bouncy. Whatever it had been, Isabella Waldon, daughter of Sir Lionel Waldon, had poured her drink right on the satiny, ivory dress of Lady Westbrook's dress. It had been quite liberating, to say the least. It felt like time had stopped. No music, no small talk, no footsteps tapping to the rhythm of the night. Just Isabella trying to hold in her rage, which screamed in her ears, and Westbrook, squealing in irritation and bewilderment. This had lead to a silent carriage ride home and an awkward "good-night", that ended with all this yelling and threatening. But Isabella, sweet, quiet, spoiled Isabella, never thought her father would utter words like that.
"You..." She stuttered, tears brimming at her dark lashes. Words could not express the great void that was widening inside her. It had always been there, hungering for something, but now it was vast and black. Pushing past her weak and stupid mother, Isabella flew out the door and into the silent streets of London, hiding her tears. It was on the outskirts of the city, close to where she'd grown up, that she found solace in a thinned out patch of woods. Looking up at the stars, Isabella wished for someone to just hold her. Nature had always been her comfort, but it would not help her now. All her life she'd wished for one thing...
"And what might that be, child?" The voice was so soothing there was no way it could have frightened the young woman from her thoughts. In fact, Isabella slowly lifted her watery blue eyes and smiled sadly, the pain evident on her lips. It was as if she expected him to be there.
"Someone to love... and to love me in kind." The tears fell as her father's words rang through her ears again. He hated her. Looking upon the dark stranger in his white tunic and dark trousers, he appeared ethereal with blond hair haloing his shadowed face. In his arms, which wrapped warmly about her body, she felt a change occur. It was not the feeling she longed for most, but it was a welcome emotion within her heart. Something was happening, something important and amazing...
--------------------------------------------
Wherever she woke up, it was pitch black and the air was stifled with sweat and pungent perfumes. She knew the smell all too well from the many parties she attended. Blinking over and over her small hands reached out and felt a wall covered in fabric. It was sudden and this time she was frightened when a bright light of a green hue shone in her eyes. It flashed to white and soon faded into a pink she'd never seen before. People were talking, yelling, making no sense at all.
"No!" One called out. "I said no! This is supposed to be a sleek, clean party! Who in the hell wants red wine at a friggin' party meant to have champagne?!" The man's voice was severe and frightening. Isabella's eyes were slow to adjust, but she saw him standing by a long table with an enormous fountain in the middle. Strange lights were hovering everywhere, no flames involved in there glow. Where was she? Had that strange man taken her to a dream? Was this fantasy the only place where she'd ever find the one person who would understand her?
"And what in the hell is that?" Looking up, Isabella watched as the man walked toward her. He gripped her shoulders and she instinctively pulled away.
"Pardon me, sir, but I would appreciate you never laying your hands upon me!" She uttered looking upon him incredulously. Isabella couldn't believe the audacity! Laying his hands on a woman he'd never met before! What kind of a place was this?
"Look, honey," he laughed at her, "you're gorgeous and all, but if you're planning on going out, you need new threads. Now get out of my party before I have you escorted by security!" His eyes were wide and blank. She saw nothing behind them except for a focus on the task ahead. Appalled by his demeanor and lack of manners, Isabella brushed passed him, picking up her skirts and walking away. But where was she going? Where was she? Roaming the dark hallways with the magic lights hovering around her head, Isabella felt anxiety creeping under her skin. Who had that man been? Why had he tricked her so and brought her here? Stopping where she was, Isabella, once graceful, poise, and intellectual Isabella, had to take in long, deep breaths to keep herself from screaming in panic and confusion. What was she going to do? Where was she?!
"How dare you?" Mother whipped around, her bonnet loosing from her head. A spill of chestnut hair fell into her wild eyes. The Waldon family should have been to bed long ago, but after a night of dancing and laughter and utter humiliation, they had yet to make it into slumber. "How dare you speak to your father that way!" Her eyes were wide, wild with shock. Something about that look made Isabella feel twisted with joy.
"Do you really expect me to continue feeding you?" Father growled through his teeth. Fear suddenly fell over her. The anger in her body died away and she felt an unbridled foreboding. How stupid could she have been? What had made her act out in this way? Had it been the snide comments made by Lady Westbrook? Or the way Mister Thomas had looked at her and then laughed? Perhaps even the music had been much too bouncy. Whatever it had been, Isabella Waldon, daughter of Sir Lionel Waldon, had poured her drink right on the satiny, ivory dress of Lady Westbrook's dress. It had been quite liberating, to say the least. It felt like time had stopped. No music, no small talk, no footsteps tapping to the rhythm of the night. Just Isabella trying to hold in her rage, which screamed in her ears, and Westbrook, squealing in irritation and bewilderment. This had lead to a silent carriage ride home and an awkward "good-night", that ended with all this yelling and threatening. But Isabella, sweet, quiet, spoiled Isabella, never thought her father would utter words like that.
"You..." She stuttered, tears brimming at her dark lashes. Words could not express the great void that was widening inside her. It had always been there, hungering for something, but now it was vast and black. Pushing past her weak and stupid mother, Isabella flew out the door and into the silent streets of London, hiding her tears. It was on the outskirts of the city, close to where she'd grown up, that she found solace in a thinned out patch of woods. Looking up at the stars, Isabella wished for someone to just hold her. Nature had always been her comfort, but it would not help her now. All her life she'd wished for one thing...
"And what might that be, child?" The voice was so soothing there was no way it could have frightened the young woman from her thoughts. In fact, Isabella slowly lifted her watery blue eyes and smiled sadly, the pain evident on her lips. It was as if she expected him to be there.
"Someone to love... and to love me in kind." The tears fell as her father's words rang through her ears again. He hated her. Looking upon the dark stranger in his white tunic and dark trousers, he appeared ethereal with blond hair haloing his shadowed face. In his arms, which wrapped warmly about her body, she felt a change occur. It was not the feeling she longed for most, but it was a welcome emotion within her heart. Something was happening, something important and amazing...
--------------------------------------------
Wherever she woke up, it was pitch black and the air was stifled with sweat and pungent perfumes. She knew the smell all too well from the many parties she attended. Blinking over and over her small hands reached out and felt a wall covered in fabric. It was sudden and this time she was frightened when a bright light of a green hue shone in her eyes. It flashed to white and soon faded into a pink she'd never seen before. People were talking, yelling, making no sense at all.
"No!" One called out. "I said no! This is supposed to be a sleek, clean party! Who in the hell wants red wine at a friggin' party meant to have champagne?!" The man's voice was severe and frightening. Isabella's eyes were slow to adjust, but she saw him standing by a long table with an enormous fountain in the middle. Strange lights were hovering everywhere, no flames involved in there glow. Where was she? Had that strange man taken her to a dream? Was this fantasy the only place where she'd ever find the one person who would understand her?
"And what in the hell is that?" Looking up, Isabella watched as the man walked toward her. He gripped her shoulders and she instinctively pulled away.
"Pardon me, sir, but I would appreciate you never laying your hands upon me!" She uttered looking upon him incredulously. Isabella couldn't believe the audacity! Laying his hands on a woman he'd never met before! What kind of a place was this?
"Look, honey," he laughed at her, "you're gorgeous and all, but if you're planning on going out, you need new threads. Now get out of my party before I have you escorted by security!" His eyes were wide and blank. She saw nothing behind them except for a focus on the task ahead. Appalled by his demeanor and lack of manners, Isabella brushed passed him, picking up her skirts and walking away. But where was she going? Where was she? Roaming the dark hallways with the magic lights hovering around her head, Isabella felt anxiety creeping under her skin. Who had that man been? Why had he tricked her so and brought her here? Stopping where she was, Isabella, once graceful, poise, and intellectual Isabella, had to take in long, deep breaths to keep herself from screaming in panic and confusion. What was she going to do? Where was she?!
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Kate brushed by countless people; goths, gangsters, girls who were definitely too young to be on the arm of a 25 year old man, and the occasional sweet elderly couple who were holding hands and on their way to a romantic dinner. She smiled and sighed, folding her arms tightly across her chest and glimpsing around. Then...
What the hell? she thought, eyes widening in confusion as she saw Severus appear practically out of nowhere. The few people around him gave weird looks, even angry, yelling things like "watch it, buddy!" and "nice clothes!". She couldn't help but snicker herself at his attire. Was he coming from the theater? She continued walking until she got to the crossing, waiting with a few others for the light to turn so they could safely travel across the white lines to the other side of the street.
Kate had been to this club before. In fact, the magazine held many of their gatherings at Chance. It was modern, had a great atmosphere, and a large dance floor. The cross light turned green, and the countdown began as she strode hurriedly. She reached the opposite sidewalk in record time, and headed the short distance to the club. Once she closed the few yards between her and the entrance, she flashed the bouncers a charming, dimple-indented grin and walked in. There was a woman at the door that took her jacket, and purse. She inclined her head in a thank you and slowly made her way toward the crowd. Her eyes drunk in her surroundings, until she was practically bombarded. Her boss, Gregory, threw his arms around Kate and squeezed her in a slightly inappropriate hug, and she half-laughed. "Hello, Greg. Nice party."
"Nice? This party is far from nice. It's magnificent."
"Okay, then, magnificent. Where's the bar?"
He smirked and rolled his eyes, pointing in its general direction. "Don't get too drunk, love, we'll need you at some point." he chuckled, eyes sparkling.
"Don't you worry, Greg." Kate replied, patting him on the shoulder and ambling where he gestured to, rolling her eyes and snickering at his comment from before.
What the hell? she thought, eyes widening in confusion as she saw Severus appear practically out of nowhere. The few people around him gave weird looks, even angry, yelling things like "watch it, buddy!" and "nice clothes!". She couldn't help but snicker herself at his attire. Was he coming from the theater? She continued walking until she got to the crossing, waiting with a few others for the light to turn so they could safely travel across the white lines to the other side of the street.
Kate had been to this club before. In fact, the magazine held many of their gatherings at Chance. It was modern, had a great atmosphere, and a large dance floor. The cross light turned green, and the countdown began as she strode hurriedly. She reached the opposite sidewalk in record time, and headed the short distance to the club. Once she closed the few yards between her and the entrance, she flashed the bouncers a charming, dimple-indented grin and walked in. There was a woman at the door that took her jacket, and purse. She inclined her head in a thank you and slowly made her way toward the crowd. Her eyes drunk in her surroundings, until she was practically bombarded. Her boss, Gregory, threw his arms around Kate and squeezed her in a slightly inappropriate hug, and she half-laughed. "Hello, Greg. Nice party."
"Nice? This party is far from nice. It's magnificent."
"Okay, then, magnificent. Where's the bar?"
He smirked and rolled his eyes, pointing in its general direction. "Don't get too drunk, love, we'll need you at some point." he chuckled, eyes sparkling.
"Don't you worry, Greg." Kate replied, patting him on the shoulder and ambling where he gestured to, rolling her eyes and snickering at his comment from before.
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Memories of the conversation with the blonde haired doctor came flooding back. In a turn of strange happenstance, Henry was offered an opportunity that, according to the Doctor, very few were given. To live in a time to find the perfect love. Apparently, circumstance and good fortune were not enough to find the truest love in a lifetime, but that time itself could play a key part in the affair.
Picking himself up off the ground, several people flocked to Henry begging questions if he was alright, should they notify the authorities, was he injured? Waving them off and limping back onto the sidewalk, Henry continued his journey into the heart of the city. It was all playing out in front of him. He had truly been transported through time here, to this...New York in the Americas. Fascinating.
"Good sir!" Henry called to the nearest vendor. "Can you perhaps tell me what year it is?"
"Excuse me?"
"The year?"
"2010...you hit your head or something, buddy?"
"Yes perhaps I have," Henry chuckled. "Two hundred years. It's remarkable, isn't it?" The vendor was looking at Henry strangely which only caused the man to laugh even harder. His laughter faded as he turned his back to the vendor and gazed out at the city. How was he expected to survive in this new time? He had no home, no currency, no relatives. Nothing but the outdated clothes on his back. There had to be some way to understand this new culture. To adapt to it.
Summing up his courage, he began to walk again. He would need to put his best deductive skills into understanding the way people functioned now. Certainly with all this new technology, people must be very advanced in education and skill. Following the sounds of loud music, Henry walked into what appeared to be a tavern. There were similar brightly colored lights inside as well and the room was crowded with people. Well...this was a good a place as any to observe this new time. Taking a seat at the long counter, Henry glanced around himself almost nervously as people buzzed.
The men were not so different as he was accustomed. Some were of clearly higher class with their seemingly expensive clothing consisting of overcoats, shirts and matching trousers. Some wore silken cravats around their neck, other's wore no jacket at all. Both seemed socially acceptable, so Henry too, removed his own coat. The men didn't seem to wear waistcoats any longer, but Henry chose to leave his on.
The women, however, seemed an entirely new breed. Their dresses were a varying style of silks, cottons, lace, and colors. The hemlines were the most shocking. Leaving exposed arms, bare legs, and low necklines. Such attire was hardly modest bed wear let alone in public. But as no one seemed to make remarks of offense, Henry was left to conclude that this, too, was acceptable. The working women were just as distinguishable in this time as his own. They wore men's attire in trousers, and collared shirts. Some of them wearing a waistcoat themselves! My women were interesting these days.
Picking himself up off the ground, several people flocked to Henry begging questions if he was alright, should they notify the authorities, was he injured? Waving them off and limping back onto the sidewalk, Henry continued his journey into the heart of the city. It was all playing out in front of him. He had truly been transported through time here, to this...New York in the Americas. Fascinating.
"Good sir!" Henry called to the nearest vendor. "Can you perhaps tell me what year it is?"
"Excuse me?"
"The year?"
"2010...you hit your head or something, buddy?"
"Yes perhaps I have," Henry chuckled. "Two hundred years. It's remarkable, isn't it?" The vendor was looking at Henry strangely which only caused the man to laugh even harder. His laughter faded as he turned his back to the vendor and gazed out at the city. How was he expected to survive in this new time? He had no home, no currency, no relatives. Nothing but the outdated clothes on his back. There had to be some way to understand this new culture. To adapt to it.
Summing up his courage, he began to walk again. He would need to put his best deductive skills into understanding the way people functioned now. Certainly with all this new technology, people must be very advanced in education and skill. Following the sounds of loud music, Henry walked into what appeared to be a tavern. There were similar brightly colored lights inside as well and the room was crowded with people. Well...this was a good a place as any to observe this new time. Taking a seat at the long counter, Henry glanced around himself almost nervously as people buzzed.
The men were not so different as he was accustomed. Some were of clearly higher class with their seemingly expensive clothing consisting of overcoats, shirts and matching trousers. Some wore silken cravats around their neck, other's wore no jacket at all. Both seemed socially acceptable, so Henry too, removed his own coat. The men didn't seem to wear waistcoats any longer, but Henry chose to leave his on.
The women, however, seemed an entirely new breed. Their dresses were a varying style of silks, cottons, lace, and colors. The hemlines were the most shocking. Leaving exposed arms, bare legs, and low necklines. Such attire was hardly modest bed wear let alone in public. But as no one seemed to make remarks of offense, Henry was left to conclude that this, too, was acceptable. The working women were just as distinguishable in this time as his own. They wore men's attire in trousers, and collared shirts. Some of them wearing a waistcoat themselves! My women were interesting these days.
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Severus was trying to keep track of his location, but this city was a far cry from Rome. The buildings were so tall it was hard to distinguish anything by landmark, and the streets were simply packed by people, more than he thought should ever properly be in one place at one time. It was starting to make him feel a bit trapped.
Speaking of people, the four that had been following him since he first turned down this alley were getting closer. Deciding it would be better to ask what they wanted and have done with it, Severus stopped dead in his tracks and swiveled before the men could "fade" into the shadows, as they doubtless thought themselves capable of. "Can I help you, sirs?" he asked as politely as he could. The tongue called English still felt strange to him, but they had clearly understood his question, for all of them looked to the man in the center.
That man, as tall as Severus and almost as muscular, rolled his shoulders backward, jerking his head from one side to the other, producing a cracking noise. "Well, ya can start by givin' me an' my boys here ever'thing ya got," he replied, drawling his words slowly as though he thought the soldier in front of him a simpleton. His men nodded, shooting each other looks of anticipation.
Ah, so this man was a thief. Where he had come from, Severus would have likely had to slice off the man's hand in punishment for this, but apparently now, this was frowned upon, which was odd, but perhaps understandable in a sense. Nevertheless, that did not mean the once-legionnaire was going to allow himself to be robbed. "I'm afraid I cannot do that," he replied flatly. "I do not have any of your people's currency, besides."
The man looked at him strangely, and then let out a booming laugh. "'Our people,' he says! This one's a real nutjob, eh boys?" The statement elicited the appropriate guffaws, and Severus decided that it was a good thing he had patience.
It was soon unnecessary, however, because the man in question stepped forward immediately afterward and took a swing at Severus's unarmed head. Ducking, the man slammed the heel of his hand into the mugger's chin, and watched as he fell into a heap on the floor. Placidly, the Roman stepped back and regarded the other three with no hint of aggression, which apparently only served to unnerve them further. "Hey, man, we don't want no trouble," one of the others said, and began to back off as quickly as he could, other two in tow. One of them threw something small and made of leather at Severus's feet, as though this might stall his progress. Foolish as that thought might have been, the warrior made no attempt to pursue them, but did stoop to pick up the object. Inside was a plastic card with a realistic painting of a woman he had never seen, and several pieces of oddly-textured green parchment.
"You did a job on him," someone said from behind him, and Severus swung around to meet the smiling face of an elderly woman with dark skin and white hair. She didn't appear to be afraid of him, though apparently she had witnessed the confrontation.
"I am sorry," he replied. "If you are family and wish to seek retribution, however, I hold that he attacked first." They didn't look much alike, but who knew how such things worked in this world?
The woman chuckled a bit hoarsely. "Oh, no, he is no child of mine. Tell me, young sir, what is your name?" She peered at him with twinkling brown eyes, the lines about them testament to many years of life.
"Captain Severus Corvis at your service, ma'am," he replied dutifully, executing a bow as befit her age and apparent wisdom.
"Hmm... Severus, is it? And Corvis, that is Crow in this tongue. Why don't you follow me, Captain Severus Corvis? I think I may be able to help you." With that, she turned, and disappeared into a shopfront, leaving him unsure what to say. If she knew the translation, that meant she spoke his own language. But what was an old woman who spoke Latin doing here, of all places?
He was curious enough to find out, and so he followed her inside, still holding the leather square. She smiled again, exposing several gaps in her teeth, and disappeared behind another door, reappearing later with a bunch of fabrics over one arm. "I know why you're here, Severus Corvis," she explained quietly, so that he almost had to strain his ears to hear her, "and I know that you are not the only one. I will help you as much as I can, but eventually, you will need to adapt to this new life of yours. Take these." She held out the bundle of clothes, which he took in steady, if a trifle numb, hands. A quick glance showed him a white shirt with long sleeves in the style of many of the people he had seen thus far. The trousers were made of a durable, blue material of some kind, and the purpose of the rest was fairly obvious.
"I thank you," he replied, unsure how to take all the new information and falling back on his well-honed manners.
"No need," she replied, handing him several green papers similar to the ones he had seen in the unfamiliar satchel-like object. "That's currency," she explained. "You have seen people use it, yes?" He nodded; it was familiar enough. "Good. You can leave your armor here, and I've got an extra room upstairs if you need some place for a night or two. You ought to go familiarize yourself with the town tonight, though. Call yourself Sev Crowe, and send me anyone else like you." With that, she disappeared behind the door again, leaving a slightly-bewildered Severus behind.
"Sev Crowe." He tested the name out and shrugged. It sounded about as right as anything did at the moment. A few minutes later, a newly-modernized Sev stepped out of the shop, marking the street and location firmly in his memory, and set about in a random direction.
****
Jack was carded by the bouncer at Chance. Honestly, by this point he should be used to it, but he was 27 years old, for Chrissake! It should at least be possible for him to get into a club without being harassed.
He was slightly irritated as he stepped into the place. The office party was clearly dominating one side of the room, and other than a few yuppies and a guy whose clothes looked so thrift-store they were practically nineteenth-century, the other side was empty. Immediately upon entrance, Jack headed for an empty table, his usual one immediately next to the strangely-dressed man. Despite the fact that his wardrobe was even more outdated than Jack's own, he had a decidedly academic look about him, which eased any awkwardness the young professor might have felt at being within a few feet of someone so odd.
The man seemed to be busy people-watching, and Jack didn't bother saying anything to him. That would just be weird, right? Instead, he ordered a drink from the waitress and sat back in his chair. Joe was already edging close to the fringes of the office party. That guy could charm his way into anything, of this his much less socially-apt friend was certain. Barry was busy chatting up the bartender, a young man of perhaps twenty-three. It was no secret that Barry appreciated both genders equally, and neither of his friends was at all bothered by it. This was the reason Jack was wingman twice over: Joe had no idea what he was doing if he couldn't act like a total red-blooded ladies' man. Jack was a fair bit more nonthreatening, and could probably handle it more easily if Barry happened to be flirting with a dude that evening.
Taking a cue from the other solitary male, Jack allowed his eyes to flick across the room, never stopping on any one thing for too long. He was bored already, go figure.
Speaking of people, the four that had been following him since he first turned down this alley were getting closer. Deciding it would be better to ask what they wanted and have done with it, Severus stopped dead in his tracks and swiveled before the men could "fade" into the shadows, as they doubtless thought themselves capable of. "Can I help you, sirs?" he asked as politely as he could. The tongue called English still felt strange to him, but they had clearly understood his question, for all of them looked to the man in the center.
That man, as tall as Severus and almost as muscular, rolled his shoulders backward, jerking his head from one side to the other, producing a cracking noise. "Well, ya can start by givin' me an' my boys here ever'thing ya got," he replied, drawling his words slowly as though he thought the soldier in front of him a simpleton. His men nodded, shooting each other looks of anticipation.
Ah, so this man was a thief. Where he had come from, Severus would have likely had to slice off the man's hand in punishment for this, but apparently now, this was frowned upon, which was odd, but perhaps understandable in a sense. Nevertheless, that did not mean the once-legionnaire was going to allow himself to be robbed. "I'm afraid I cannot do that," he replied flatly. "I do not have any of your people's currency, besides."
The man looked at him strangely, and then let out a booming laugh. "'Our people,' he says! This one's a real nutjob, eh boys?" The statement elicited the appropriate guffaws, and Severus decided that it was a good thing he had patience.
It was soon unnecessary, however, because the man in question stepped forward immediately afterward and took a swing at Severus's unarmed head. Ducking, the man slammed the heel of his hand into the mugger's chin, and watched as he fell into a heap on the floor. Placidly, the Roman stepped back and regarded the other three with no hint of aggression, which apparently only served to unnerve them further. "Hey, man, we don't want no trouble," one of the others said, and began to back off as quickly as he could, other two in tow. One of them threw something small and made of leather at Severus's feet, as though this might stall his progress. Foolish as that thought might have been, the warrior made no attempt to pursue them, but did stoop to pick up the object. Inside was a plastic card with a realistic painting of a woman he had never seen, and several pieces of oddly-textured green parchment.
"You did a job on him," someone said from behind him, and Severus swung around to meet the smiling face of an elderly woman with dark skin and white hair. She didn't appear to be afraid of him, though apparently she had witnessed the confrontation.
"I am sorry," he replied. "If you are family and wish to seek retribution, however, I hold that he attacked first." They didn't look much alike, but who knew how such things worked in this world?
The woman chuckled a bit hoarsely. "Oh, no, he is no child of mine. Tell me, young sir, what is your name?" She peered at him with twinkling brown eyes, the lines about them testament to many years of life.
"Captain Severus Corvis at your service, ma'am," he replied dutifully, executing a bow as befit her age and apparent wisdom.
"Hmm... Severus, is it? And Corvis, that is Crow in this tongue. Why don't you follow me, Captain Severus Corvis? I think I may be able to help you." With that, she turned, and disappeared into a shopfront, leaving him unsure what to say. If she knew the translation, that meant she spoke his own language. But what was an old woman who spoke Latin doing here, of all places?
He was curious enough to find out, and so he followed her inside, still holding the leather square. She smiled again, exposing several gaps in her teeth, and disappeared behind another door, reappearing later with a bunch of fabrics over one arm. "I know why you're here, Severus Corvis," she explained quietly, so that he almost had to strain his ears to hear her, "and I know that you are not the only one. I will help you as much as I can, but eventually, you will need to adapt to this new life of yours. Take these." She held out the bundle of clothes, which he took in steady, if a trifle numb, hands. A quick glance showed him a white shirt with long sleeves in the style of many of the people he had seen thus far. The trousers were made of a durable, blue material of some kind, and the purpose of the rest was fairly obvious.
"I thank you," he replied, unsure how to take all the new information and falling back on his well-honed manners.
"No need," she replied, handing him several green papers similar to the ones he had seen in the unfamiliar satchel-like object. "That's currency," she explained. "You have seen people use it, yes?" He nodded; it was familiar enough. "Good. You can leave your armor here, and I've got an extra room upstairs if you need some place for a night or two. You ought to go familiarize yourself with the town tonight, though. Call yourself Sev Crowe, and send me anyone else like you." With that, she disappeared behind the door again, leaving a slightly-bewildered Severus behind.
"Sev Crowe." He tested the name out and shrugged. It sounded about as right as anything did at the moment. A few minutes later, a newly-modernized Sev stepped out of the shop, marking the street and location firmly in his memory, and set about in a random direction.
****
Jack was carded by the bouncer at Chance. Honestly, by this point he should be used to it, but he was 27 years old, for Chrissake! It should at least be possible for him to get into a club without being harassed.
He was slightly irritated as he stepped into the place. The office party was clearly dominating one side of the room, and other than a few yuppies and a guy whose clothes looked so thrift-store they were practically nineteenth-century, the other side was empty. Immediately upon entrance, Jack headed for an empty table, his usual one immediately next to the strangely-dressed man. Despite the fact that his wardrobe was even more outdated than Jack's own, he had a decidedly academic look about him, which eased any awkwardness the young professor might have felt at being within a few feet of someone so odd.
The man seemed to be busy people-watching, and Jack didn't bother saying anything to him. That would just be weird, right? Instead, he ordered a drink from the waitress and sat back in his chair. Joe was already edging close to the fringes of the office party. That guy could charm his way into anything, of this his much less socially-apt friend was certain. Barry was busy chatting up the bartender, a young man of perhaps twenty-three. It was no secret that Barry appreciated both genders equally, and neither of his friends was at all bothered by it. This was the reason Jack was wingman twice over: Joe had no idea what he was doing if he couldn't act like a total red-blooded ladies' man. Jack was a fair bit more nonthreatening, and could probably handle it more easily if Barry happened to be flirting with a dude that evening.
Taking a cue from the other solitary male, Jack allowed his eyes to flick across the room, never stopping on any one thing for too long. He was bored already, go figure.
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If there were any reason for her to go out tonight, Audrey didn't see the point. She had no siblings close to her to take out and her friends were probably doing the same thing she was. Getting the next day ready for their classes. Unless, of course, that was just Audrey who did that. She never really went out enough with them to know. After all, who could find time when there were art projects to plan, reading assignments to look over, pictures to star?
Audrey sighed as she shoved her things away. She really did need to get out of the apartment for a bit, maybe just wander the streets and head into any book stores or trinket shops she could find. Stories were getting old and well, who DIDN'T want to find the latest glass animal the world had to offer. That last thought made Audrey shake her head with a smile. By god, I really need a life. She thought, deciding that maybe she just needed a coffee to spice things up, like she needed the stunted growth anyways. How much shorter could one person get?
The place was an absolute disaster as Audrey pulled on her coat, papers lying all over the coffee table and couch, stickers stuck to the dining room table from those odd nights where Audrey took care of her colleagues children for a while. But she didn't mind. The place was homey, even though she got her head ripped off nearly every time her mother came to visit.
It was still early evening when Audrey left the apartment complex, early enough that her neighbor Shirley was out collecting from her mailslot.
"Hey Kym!" Shirley called out as she saw Audrey walk by, "Out of your place finally? About time too, I was really getting worried for a while there."
Audrey grinned as she relished in the way most people seemed to greet her by her middle name, and waved. "Ah, Shirley, looks like you're in the same spot I always see you in. What is it now? Some poor broker just dying to take you in?" Shirley was an avid business woman, taking on multiple careers at a time, and always seeming to get more mail by the day by some entrepreneurs, etcetera, who have heard of her achievements.
"No, just bills. Typical."
"I see." Audrey nodded.
"So where are you off to, if you don't mind my asking?" Shirley piled the mail into her shoulderbag, and walked over to Audrey, who shrugged.
"Not sure yet. I was hoping to get some coffee, maybe take a well deserved break from my teaching for the night. If you have time, you should come along. I'm sure there is plenty interesting that's going on in your life."
Shirley rolled her eyes. "Oh sure. If getting fired because you forgot to send in one silly transcript. I swear people have been getting colder through the years. Anyway, that's not important. Let's talk about the weather maybe, it has to be more interesting in little ol' me. I know a great place, here, I'll take you, we can use my car. Sorry, but yours isn't that reliable. Bugger looks like its going to break down any minute."
"Hey! That jeep has been with me since I moved out, and as long as it takes me from point A to point B, I'm perfectly happy with her. But fair enough, show me this place you know."
Audrey sighed as she shoved her things away. She really did need to get out of the apartment for a bit, maybe just wander the streets and head into any book stores or trinket shops she could find. Stories were getting old and well, who DIDN'T want to find the latest glass animal the world had to offer. That last thought made Audrey shake her head with a smile. By god, I really need a life. She thought, deciding that maybe she just needed a coffee to spice things up, like she needed the stunted growth anyways. How much shorter could one person get?
The place was an absolute disaster as Audrey pulled on her coat, papers lying all over the coffee table and couch, stickers stuck to the dining room table from those odd nights where Audrey took care of her colleagues children for a while. But she didn't mind. The place was homey, even though she got her head ripped off nearly every time her mother came to visit.
It was still early evening when Audrey left the apartment complex, early enough that her neighbor Shirley was out collecting from her mailslot.
"Hey Kym!" Shirley called out as she saw Audrey walk by, "Out of your place finally? About time too, I was really getting worried for a while there."
Audrey grinned as she relished in the way most people seemed to greet her by her middle name, and waved. "Ah, Shirley, looks like you're in the same spot I always see you in. What is it now? Some poor broker just dying to take you in?" Shirley was an avid business woman, taking on multiple careers at a time, and always seeming to get more mail by the day by some entrepreneurs, etcetera, who have heard of her achievements.
"No, just bills. Typical."
"I see." Audrey nodded.
"So where are you off to, if you don't mind my asking?" Shirley piled the mail into her shoulderbag, and walked over to Audrey, who shrugged.
"Not sure yet. I was hoping to get some coffee, maybe take a well deserved break from my teaching for the night. If you have time, you should come along. I'm sure there is plenty interesting that's going on in your life."
Shirley rolled her eyes. "Oh sure. If getting fired because you forgot to send in one silly transcript. I swear people have been getting colder through the years. Anyway, that's not important. Let's talk about the weather maybe, it has to be more interesting in little ol' me. I know a great place, here, I'll take you, we can use my car. Sorry, but yours isn't that reliable. Bugger looks like its going to break down any minute."
"Hey! That jeep has been with me since I moved out, and as long as it takes me from point A to point B, I'm perfectly happy with her. But fair enough, show me this place you know."
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Edward was out on patrol by himself tonight. The captain hadn't been to happy about it, but Edward insisted. With Germany collapsing around them the only German he found would likely be wanting to surrender. And if they didn't, well Edward had long ago resgned himself to death, so it wouldn't be that big of a dissapointment if it caught up with him. Besides, he didn't want one of those damned pathetic recruits from the repple depples pestering him. He wanted to be alone, to be able to think without some idiot asking him what it was like to be in combat or to kill Kraughts. So Edward walked by himself through the woods, his Garand held cassually in his right hand. It took him a while to realize that there was someone walking along beside him. Normally realizing something like this would have made Edward jerk into violent action, but this presence had an almost opposite effect on him. For the first time since he'd step foot on Europe, he found himself calm, content. Edward turned to slowly look at who, or what, ever had been walking with him, slinging his rifle across his back as he did so. He knew this person wasn't going to be a threat. He found himselfe looking at a man. A tall man, taller than Edward, with blonde hair and blue eyes. "Your missing something aren't you?" The man said kindly with a small smile.
"I am?" Edward asked in confusion. Then he felt accutely felt an emptiness inside of him. One he knew he had had for a long time, he had just never realized it. "I am."
"And what might it be?" The man asked like that of a mentor, trying to help his pupil to realize something.
"Love." Edward answere without realizing it. He would never have admitted that to anyone before, even to himself, but he knew it was true.
"I can give you an opportunity to find love. An opportunity very few people ever recieve. It will take you away from everything you have and know, but it will give a chance for happiness that you will never have in this life."
Edwards heart leaped at the chance, before coming crashing back down again. "No woman would ever be able to love a man like me. I'm a monster. I killer." Edward didn't say this in anger like he might have before. He said it with a great amount of sorrow.
"Then let me prove you long. Let me take you from this awful place and time, let me take you to one where you can be happy. Let me prove you wrong."
Edward looked up into the mans face. The smile was still the their and the eyes... his eyes were filled with love, like that of a grandfather for a wayward grandson. With it fully realizing it, Edward was nodded his head. The man's smile widened and he lay a hand on Edwards shoulder. In an instant edward was pulled out of this life and into another plane. Edward floated in blackness watching the world turn and age around him. Then he somehow sensed himself falling. Falling back towards earth. Falling to the future. Falling towards hope.
Edward opened his eyes. He found himself looking out of an alleyway onto the busy street of a bustling city. It was much different from those he had been used to, but he was disconcerted by it. He couldn't remember the exact details, but he knew he had watched the world grow into this. It wasn't familiar, and there were things he would need to get used to, but strangely that didn't bother him. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, Edward looked around, ignoring the strange lloks he was getting from the people around them. He didn't realize how strange it would look to them. A WWII Paratroope in full combat gear and with weapons, grenades and ammunition. He saw the sign for a bar named Chance just down the street from him. Deciding that he could use a drink before trying to figure out this new world he was in, Edward walked straight for it. The bouncer outside moved to stop in from entering, but Edward gave them such a withering look, a look that promised they would be sorry if they tried to stop him, that they let him past, weapons and all, figuring that the guns and grenades were fake. Edward stopped as soon as he entered, taken a back. He knew things would be different, but just not how different. So he stood there and looked over the bar, particularly the party going on on one side.
"I am?" Edward asked in confusion. Then he felt accutely felt an emptiness inside of him. One he knew he had had for a long time, he had just never realized it. "I am."
"And what might it be?" The man asked like that of a mentor, trying to help his pupil to realize something.
"Love." Edward answere without realizing it. He would never have admitted that to anyone before, even to himself, but he knew it was true.
"I can give you an opportunity to find love. An opportunity very few people ever recieve. It will take you away from everything you have and know, but it will give a chance for happiness that you will never have in this life."
Edwards heart leaped at the chance, before coming crashing back down again. "No woman would ever be able to love a man like me. I'm a monster. I killer." Edward didn't say this in anger like he might have before. He said it with a great amount of sorrow.
"Then let me prove you long. Let me take you from this awful place and time, let me take you to one where you can be happy. Let me prove you wrong."
Edward looked up into the mans face. The smile was still the their and the eyes... his eyes were filled with love, like that of a grandfather for a wayward grandson. With it fully realizing it, Edward was nodded his head. The man's smile widened and he lay a hand on Edwards shoulder. In an instant edward was pulled out of this life and into another plane. Edward floated in blackness watching the world turn and age around him. Then he somehow sensed himself falling. Falling back towards earth. Falling to the future. Falling towards hope.
Edward opened his eyes. He found himself looking out of an alleyway onto the busy street of a bustling city. It was much different from those he had been used to, but he was disconcerted by it. He couldn't remember the exact details, but he knew he had watched the world grow into this. It wasn't familiar, and there were things he would need to get used to, but strangely that didn't bother him. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, Edward looked around, ignoring the strange lloks he was getting from the people around them. He didn't realize how strange it would look to them. A WWII Paratroope in full combat gear and with weapons, grenades and ammunition. He saw the sign for a bar named Chance just down the street from him. Deciding that he could use a drink before trying to figure out this new world he was in, Edward walked straight for it. The bouncer outside moved to stop in from entering, but Edward gave them such a withering look, a look that promised they would be sorry if they tried to stop him, that they let him past, weapons and all, figuring that the guns and grenades were fake. Edward stopped as soon as he entered, taken a back. He knew things would be different, but just not how different. So he stood there and looked over the bar, particularly the party going on on one side.
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Renee looked out of the window of her apartment complex. The city was busier then she had ever thought it would be. The nightclub was already beginning to fill at 7:00 PM. Drunks and cheaters piled into the bar, hoping a good night would come by. But from Renee's experiences, a night in a bar is never a good one. She turned to her television. She plopped down on the couch. She turned on the television. Of course, it was on the News Channel. She had no idea; but the channel automatically turned to the News Channel upon being turned off. She occasionally saw the message at the top that stated she had changed channels. She had meant to call her provider about this, but she just kept on forgetting. And it was quite awkward, considering Renee isn't the forgetful type. It was the new segment, Hillary's Outlet. It updated viewers on fashion... but more in a 'capitalist' sense.
"So here we have this elegant blouse. You can see from its material, it is of course nylon. But don't let that prevent you from buying this unique piece of clothing! It is obvious the makers of this blouse had tenacious and hard-working employees! That's a good sign in the government we've come into these days. Pay our workers more! It's the way to go.
I'm Hillary Richards, and this is Hillary's Outlet. The image flashed back to the anchors.
"Thank you for that fashion update, Hillary." the man said with a somewhat awkward facial expression.
"In breaking news, the government has yet to decide on another tax method for the state of New York! They are debating on whether they should tax Americans for our trash cans, or an added 'bonus' for taking out a loan! Way to clean up the garbage!" he began laughing, hysterically. The woman next to him looked around.
Donald was renowned for cracking such jokes. That's why the News Company kept him. Despite the sheer stupidity, he put some life into those TV-addicted no-lives. Renee heard a knock on the door. She stood up and walked into the tile entryway and opened the door. A tall, skinny man dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt appeared at the door.
"Hey, Jonas." she smiled. Jonas was one of her co-workers. He worked on the same level as her. They'd known eachother since they both seemed to join at the same time. He was somewhat attractive, as she could say.
"Mind if I stay for a while?" He asked, taking out a grin.
"Sure!" Renee replied, happily. She needed the company for now.
"I'm watching the news, but I can make something if you're hungry. In fact, I'm hungry right now. How about some cilantro soup?" she asked. Jonas took a seat on the rocking chair. He hesitated for a second, most likely adoring the comfort of the chair.
"Sure, that'd be nice." he replied with a crescendo voice. Renee stepped into the kitchen. She opened a lower cabinet on the island and took out a pot. She retrieved the needed spices for the recipe on the spice rack. Cilantro, thyme, and a bit of oregano. She assembled all the materials. Despite what the doctors said, she thought she had a bit of OCD in her. She heard the rocking of Jonas in the chair as she began to prepare the meal. She moved rather quickly, as she wanted to join her friend Jonas with the TV. She threw in some vegetables and put it on the stove. She walked over to Jonas, and sat down on the couch nearby.
"So, why'd you stop by?" Renee asked, not trying to be rude.
"I was actually heading down to the grocery store, but I figured I'd just stop by since I'm in the neighborhood." He replied.
"You're going to the grocery store at 7:00 PM on a Thursday night? You could of just told me you were going to that bar." she smirked. She acted this way with Jonas, as they were somewhat close friends. He hesitated for a second, looking at the TV.
"Fine, you got me." He began laughing silently.
"But I understand you don't like bars, so don't expect me to drag you along." he told her. She nodded, and the timer by the stove rang. She walked slowly into the kitchen, retrieving the pot. She quickly poured it into two bowls, and arranged the spices as a condiment. She placed two spoons in each of them. Renee wasn't an eat at the table sort of person, so she put them into heat concealers and brought them into the living room. She placed the bowls on the table.
"It's still hot, so wait a minute or two." she looked at him.
"I'm not stupid, Renee." he replied, watching the TV.
"Wait, what? What'd I do? I cooked up thi-"
"Just kidding, of course. I'll wait. I'm just playin'!" he laughed.
"Okay." Renee muttered, and almost rolled her eyes. Jonas sometimes took it a bit too far. They watched the News while waiting for the soups to calm down. Her new life in New York City was beginning to work out for her. She had expected to be boarded up in a lifeless tenement without any chance of escaping. But in under a year, she already had a good job and decent friends... and of course whatever that thing was.
"You think I should get a cat?" Renee randomly asked.
"Well, do you like cats?" he replied.
"I don't know." and it was almost an initiative to stop the conversations. Renee leaned forward and handed him his soup, which had already calmed down. She took hers.
"So here we have this elegant blouse. You can see from its material, it is of course nylon. But don't let that prevent you from buying this unique piece of clothing! It is obvious the makers of this blouse had tenacious and hard-working employees! That's a good sign in the government we've come into these days. Pay our workers more! It's the way to go.
I'm Hillary Richards, and this is Hillary's Outlet. The image flashed back to the anchors.
"Thank you for that fashion update, Hillary." the man said with a somewhat awkward facial expression.
"In breaking news, the government has yet to decide on another tax method for the state of New York! They are debating on whether they should tax Americans for our trash cans, or an added 'bonus' for taking out a loan! Way to clean up the garbage!" he began laughing, hysterically. The woman next to him looked around.
Donald was renowned for cracking such jokes. That's why the News Company kept him. Despite the sheer stupidity, he put some life into those TV-addicted no-lives. Renee heard a knock on the door. She stood up and walked into the tile entryway and opened the door. A tall, skinny man dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt appeared at the door.
"Hey, Jonas." she smiled. Jonas was one of her co-workers. He worked on the same level as her. They'd known eachother since they both seemed to join at the same time. He was somewhat attractive, as she could say.
"Mind if I stay for a while?" He asked, taking out a grin.
"Sure!" Renee replied, happily. She needed the company for now.
"I'm watching the news, but I can make something if you're hungry. In fact, I'm hungry right now. How about some cilantro soup?" she asked. Jonas took a seat on the rocking chair. He hesitated for a second, most likely adoring the comfort of the chair.
"Sure, that'd be nice." he replied with a crescendo voice. Renee stepped into the kitchen. She opened a lower cabinet on the island and took out a pot. She retrieved the needed spices for the recipe on the spice rack. Cilantro, thyme, and a bit of oregano. She assembled all the materials. Despite what the doctors said, she thought she had a bit of OCD in her. She heard the rocking of Jonas in the chair as she began to prepare the meal. She moved rather quickly, as she wanted to join her friend Jonas with the TV. She threw in some vegetables and put it on the stove. She walked over to Jonas, and sat down on the couch nearby.
"So, why'd you stop by?" Renee asked, not trying to be rude.
"I was actually heading down to the grocery store, but I figured I'd just stop by since I'm in the neighborhood." He replied.
"You're going to the grocery store at 7:00 PM on a Thursday night? You could of just told me you were going to that bar." she smirked. She acted this way with Jonas, as they were somewhat close friends. He hesitated for a second, looking at the TV.
"Fine, you got me." He began laughing silently.
"But I understand you don't like bars, so don't expect me to drag you along." he told her. She nodded, and the timer by the stove rang. She walked slowly into the kitchen, retrieving the pot. She quickly poured it into two bowls, and arranged the spices as a condiment. She placed two spoons in each of them. Renee wasn't an eat at the table sort of person, so she put them into heat concealers and brought them into the living room. She placed the bowls on the table.
"It's still hot, so wait a minute or two." she looked at him.
"I'm not stupid, Renee." he replied, watching the TV.
"Wait, what? What'd I do? I cooked up thi-"
"Just kidding, of course. I'll wait. I'm just playin'!" he laughed.
"Okay." Renee muttered, and almost rolled her eyes. Jonas sometimes took it a bit too far. They watched the News while waiting for the soups to calm down. Her new life in New York City was beginning to work out for her. She had expected to be boarded up in a lifeless tenement without any chance of escaping. But in under a year, she already had a good job and decent friends... and of course whatever that thing was.
"You think I should get a cat?" Renee randomly asked.
"Well, do you like cats?" he replied.
"I don't know." and it was almost an initiative to stop the conversations. Renee leaned forward and handed him his soup, which had already calmed down. She took hers.
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Henry was beginning to feel nervous as the seats next to him were filling. A gentlemen next to him seemed uninterested in the happenings around him, despite the colorful chaos that ensued. He hardly looked the part of a modern day citizen. Even without the coat. Glancing back and forth between a group of dancers and a group of socializers, Henry caught eyes with someone across the room. His face paled and he stood abruptly. The figure turned and began walking away so Henry followed quickly.
"You there! Hello!" he called, ignoring the unusual looks he was getting. The person moved to the back of the room and down a hall, through a door, and as Henry burst through it, standing there at full attention in the middle of the lavatory with a hint of a grin, was the Doctor.
"Hello Henry."
"You!"
"Yes, its me," he said chuckling. "Come now, we haven't much time for formalities or accusations, I have a present for you." The Doctor's somewhat soothing voice continued on as though something fascinating and frightening had not just occurred. "You'll find that these belong to you," he stated and handed Henry a satchel. Opening it with hurried curiosity, Henry found inside a black shirt with buttons, a modern pair of trousers, shoes, socks, and a jacket. "Well go on," put them on." Henry eyes the man suspiciously before entering a stall. He undressed and began pulling on the new clothing.
"I have so many questions to ask you," Henry said as he fuddled with the new pants.
"So ask them." Was the Doctor's reply.
"Well I..." Henry trailed off. The amount of questions he had resulted in one giant conclusion: silence. There were so many things to ask that Henry found himself asking none. He finished dressing in the eery silence. However, as he exited the stall wearing the new outfit, the Doctor was nowhere to be see. He checked the stalls: empty. He checked the hallway: empty as well. For the second time, he was simply...gone.
Stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, Henry felt something. Pulling it out, it was a black leather envelope. Inside was a picture of himself on some sort of card. Hank Daringer. There was a series of numbers under his name. It looked like an address, perhaps? And then modern currency filled the sleeve. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he looked every bit like a Hank Daringer now.
"This is to be a new life then. I suppose." Nothing left to do but to think with my head...and live with my heart. Exiting the restroom, he took his former seat at the bar. How fascinating.
"You there! Hello!" he called, ignoring the unusual looks he was getting. The person moved to the back of the room and down a hall, through a door, and as Henry burst through it, standing there at full attention in the middle of the lavatory with a hint of a grin, was the Doctor.
"Hello Henry."
"You!"
"Yes, its me," he said chuckling. "Come now, we haven't much time for formalities or accusations, I have a present for you." The Doctor's somewhat soothing voice continued on as though something fascinating and frightening had not just occurred. "You'll find that these belong to you," he stated and handed Henry a satchel. Opening it with hurried curiosity, Henry found inside a black shirt with buttons, a modern pair of trousers, shoes, socks, and a jacket. "Well go on," put them on." Henry eyes the man suspiciously before entering a stall. He undressed and began pulling on the new clothing.
"I have so many questions to ask you," Henry said as he fuddled with the new pants.
"So ask them." Was the Doctor's reply.
"Well I..." Henry trailed off. The amount of questions he had resulted in one giant conclusion: silence. There were so many things to ask that Henry found himself asking none. He finished dressing in the eery silence. However, as he exited the stall wearing the new outfit, the Doctor was nowhere to be see. He checked the stalls: empty. He checked the hallway: empty as well. For the second time, he was simply...gone.
Stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, Henry felt something. Pulling it out, it was a black leather envelope. Inside was a picture of himself on some sort of card. Hank Daringer. There was a series of numbers under his name. It looked like an address, perhaps? And then modern currency filled the sleeve. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he looked every bit like a Hank Daringer now.
"This is to be a new life then. I suppose." Nothing left to do but to think with my head...and live with my heart. Exiting the restroom, he took his former seat at the bar. How fascinating.
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After a few deep breaths, Isabella thought she might open her eyes and see the woods outside London. Taking in another breath through her nose, she wished the smell of the Thames would waft through. But instead it was booze, strong perfumes and stale, hot air. The sounds grew louder in her ears and more voices entered the building she was in.
Oh no. She was lost in this darkness for ever! Looking around with wild, navy blue eyes, Isabella knew she had to be free of this place. She had to get out and breathe fresh air, dark earth, and beautiful grass. Those smells were the only thing that would calm her down. With a racing heart and a light film of sweat covering her body, Isabella forced her slippered feet to move from her hiding spot in the black hallway and out into an enormous crowd of people. The young woman, modest and innocent, stopped again, but this time in shock and awe. The women were wearing the most intriguing clothing. Their legs were smooth, bare, and she could see them. The shoes were tall, their breasts were nearly falling out of the low-cut neck lines, and Isabella caught herself staring at a pair of young ladies passing her to walk over to a long bar surrounded by both men and women.
Where was she?! What was she supposed to do? Looking down, Miss Waldon looked over her plain, pale green dress, cut low and well, but not down the the naval as the other ladies were. If her mother had been here, she would have cursed them all! Or she would have joined in the fashion to be like everyone else. It all depend with her. Perhaps that is why Isabella had become so tired of her. It had never felt right to Isabella that she should strive to live like everyone else. Putting her hand to her hair, which was part-way down, almost ready for sleep, she made sure what was still pulled up into the tightly woven plait was still in place. Isabella wanted freedom from this stifling, loud place, but she would at least look presentable doing so.
Making her way around the perimeter of the large group, Isabella smashed her hip against a table top and she yelped in pain. Holding her side, she sat down at the seat behind the table, a long, leather covered bench.
"Oh goodness!" She cursed, holding her hip and wincing as the pain flooded through her thigh down to her knee. Looking up, Isabella noticed the young man sitting just beside her. Gasping an apology she stood back up, with a slight limp, and curtsied to him.
"Excuse me! I had no inkling this place was taken." She yelled over the music (or what she figured must be music because of the 3/4 rhythm) and the other yelling people. "I will take my leave, sire." She curtsied again, hoping another seat would be close by. The pain was numbing her, but sitting had felt rather nice and she figured doing that for the next few minutes wouldn't hurt anything, save for her escape. Which was beginning to look almost impossible in the sea of oddly dressed men and scantily clad women.
Oh no. She was lost in this darkness for ever! Looking around with wild, navy blue eyes, Isabella knew she had to be free of this place. She had to get out and breathe fresh air, dark earth, and beautiful grass. Those smells were the only thing that would calm her down. With a racing heart and a light film of sweat covering her body, Isabella forced her slippered feet to move from her hiding spot in the black hallway and out into an enormous crowd of people. The young woman, modest and innocent, stopped again, but this time in shock and awe. The women were wearing the most intriguing clothing. Their legs were smooth, bare, and she could see them. The shoes were tall, their breasts were nearly falling out of the low-cut neck lines, and Isabella caught herself staring at a pair of young ladies passing her to walk over to a long bar surrounded by both men and women.
Where was she?! What was she supposed to do? Looking down, Miss Waldon looked over her plain, pale green dress, cut low and well, but not down the the naval as the other ladies were. If her mother had been here, she would have cursed them all! Or she would have joined in the fashion to be like everyone else. It all depend with her. Perhaps that is why Isabella had become so tired of her. It had never felt right to Isabella that she should strive to live like everyone else. Putting her hand to her hair, which was part-way down, almost ready for sleep, she made sure what was still pulled up into the tightly woven plait was still in place. Isabella wanted freedom from this stifling, loud place, but she would at least look presentable doing so.
Making her way around the perimeter of the large group, Isabella smashed her hip against a table top and she yelped in pain. Holding her side, she sat down at the seat behind the table, a long, leather covered bench.
"Oh goodness!" She cursed, holding her hip and wincing as the pain flooded through her thigh down to her knee. Looking up, Isabella noticed the young man sitting just beside her. Gasping an apology she stood back up, with a slight limp, and curtsied to him.
"Excuse me! I had no inkling this place was taken." She yelled over the music (or what she figured must be music because of the 3/4 rhythm) and the other yelling people. "I will take my leave, sire." She curtsied again, hoping another seat would be close by. The pain was numbing her, but sitting had felt rather nice and she figured doing that for the next few minutes wouldn't hurt anything, save for her escape. Which was beginning to look almost impossible in the sea of oddly dressed men and scantily clad women.
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The bar Shirley took her to wasn't the type of place Audrey would find herself in, but that's what happens when you allow yourself to be taken somewhere different. As Audrey walked into the building, she felt her stomach clench at the very sight of the people and the sound of loud music. What was she doing here? And why did she allow her friend to drag her along.
'Uh, Shirley? I really don't feel comfortable here. Is there, uh, another place to go?' Audrey whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear herself.
Shirley turned and stared for a second while she processed what came out of the woman's mouth.
'Oh, don't be silly," She laughed, "We all need a break once in a while, and Kym, my dear, you need one most of all."
Audrey placed her hands on her hips at that one, "Oh, really? And you think drinking and partying is a good way of doing so? Shirley, I have to teach in the morning. What do you think the kids and my boss are going to think if I just waltz on in with a hangover?"
"Don't drink then. Have fun, meet guys. And stick with me. I'll even let you drive."
Audrey felt a little better, but not much considering the copious amounts of people in the same room as her. So as she watched Shirley head out into a large group of people, Audrey found a quiet corner to sit in, or at least the quietest corner in the place.
"Hey good looking, how 'bout I buy you a drink?" A man crooned as he shoved in beside Audrey. From the looks of him, the man was definitely intoxicated and out of his mind. A second smell test and Audrey was sure of it.
"Screw off." She said, surprising herself with her bad mood. "I like my men to remember their mornings thank you very much."
The man shrugged and stumbled off.
All she wanted was a coffee to lift her spirits after a hard days work. She didn't need to be here, she needed to be somewhere more acceptable to her standards. A place where she didn't have to be a total basketcase, and continue to be her usual self. Preferably somewhere with some children where she knew people couldn't do anything stupid.
Tired of all the bustle of the place, Shirley shoved through the crowd of people where she knew Shirley was standing. That didn't help her mood in the slightest.
"Hey, Shirley?" She said as she tapped her friend on the shoulder, "I'm going to book it. I'm walking home, so call a cab and pick up your car in the morning please."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Shirley said as she waved Audrey off. She turned back to the man she was talking with, leaving Audrey to shrug and leave the building.
The fresh air was a relief. It lifted Audreys mood as she turned to head in the direction of her apartment complex. But that wasn't where she was going. Coffee was on Audrey's mind and she'd be damned if she left her craving unattended, so she headed to a Starbucks along the way and sat down by a window seat with a decaf coffee at hand.
'Uh, Shirley? I really don't feel comfortable here. Is there, uh, another place to go?' Audrey whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear herself.
Shirley turned and stared for a second while she processed what came out of the woman's mouth.
'Oh, don't be silly," She laughed, "We all need a break once in a while, and Kym, my dear, you need one most of all."
Audrey placed her hands on her hips at that one, "Oh, really? And you think drinking and partying is a good way of doing so? Shirley, I have to teach in the morning. What do you think the kids and my boss are going to think if I just waltz on in with a hangover?"
"Don't drink then. Have fun, meet guys. And stick with me. I'll even let you drive."
Audrey felt a little better, but not much considering the copious amounts of people in the same room as her. So as she watched Shirley head out into a large group of people, Audrey found a quiet corner to sit in, or at least the quietest corner in the place.
"Hey good looking, how 'bout I buy you a drink?" A man crooned as he shoved in beside Audrey. From the looks of him, the man was definitely intoxicated and out of his mind. A second smell test and Audrey was sure of it.
"Screw off." She said, surprising herself with her bad mood. "I like my men to remember their mornings thank you very much."
The man shrugged and stumbled off.
All she wanted was a coffee to lift her spirits after a hard days work. She didn't need to be here, she needed to be somewhere more acceptable to her standards. A place where she didn't have to be a total basketcase, and continue to be her usual self. Preferably somewhere with some children where she knew people couldn't do anything stupid.
Tired of all the bustle of the place, Shirley shoved through the crowd of people where she knew Shirley was standing. That didn't help her mood in the slightest.
"Hey, Shirley?" She said as she tapped her friend on the shoulder, "I'm going to book it. I'm walking home, so call a cab and pick up your car in the morning please."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Shirley said as she waved Audrey off. She turned back to the man she was talking with, leaving Audrey to shrug and leave the building.
The fresh air was a relief. It lifted Audreys mood as she turned to head in the direction of her apartment complex. But that wasn't where she was going. Coffee was on Audrey's mind and she'd be damned if she left her craving unattended, so she headed to a Starbucks along the way and sat down by a window seat with a decaf coffee at hand.
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Edward's appearance in the club caused a small disturbance. After all, it wasn't everyday that you saw a man in full comabt kit walk into a New York club, especially one like Chance. Almost everyone had some looks for him, but nobody bothered to approach him. Edward was glad for this. None of them were his friends. My friends are probably all dead. The thought came suddenly, almost out of nowhere, and hit him really hard. Those that weren't dead would be old enough by now that he'd never recognize them, and he doubted they'd believe it if they saw him. "I wouldn't blame them. I'd be a ghost," Edward growled under his breath. He hadn't realized until just then the magnitude of the decision he had made. Most, if not all, of his world was gone, replaced by this new, flashy, loud one. He decided he definitely needed a stiff drink now. Walking up to the bar through the group of party goers, Edward hardly payed attention to where he was walking. That was probably why he ran into Katelyn. His leg accidentally caught her foot, sending both of them spilling to the ground. Edward hit it hard, landing on his left shoulder. His equipment rattled loudly as he fell. One of the grenades popped off his webbing, but Edward managed to grab it before it rolled away.
He awkwardly spun onto his back, ready to chew out what sorry idiot that had tripped him, when he saw that it wasn't some dog faced soldier, but a woman. A very beautiful woman with dark hair and brown eyes wearing a pink dress. The anger that had quickly ignited at falling was quickly extinguished. If it had been a man he had collided with, he be yelling out him so loud all of New York could have heard him, but now faced with a woman the hardened combat veteran quickly became a teenage school boy at a complete loss for words. "I'm..." He said dumbly as he said he stood up. "I mean... I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. Let me help you up." He offered his hand before remembering that it was holding a grenade. Blushing profusely he stuffed it into a pocket before offering his other hand.
He awkwardly spun onto his back, ready to chew out what sorry idiot that had tripped him, when he saw that it wasn't some dog faced soldier, but a woman. A very beautiful woman with dark hair and brown eyes wearing a pink dress. The anger that had quickly ignited at falling was quickly extinguished. If it had been a man he had collided with, he be yelling out him so loud all of New York could have heard him, but now faced with a woman the hardened combat veteran quickly became a teenage school boy at a complete loss for words. "I'm..." He said dumbly as he said he stood up. "I mean... I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. Let me help you up." He offered his hand before remembering that it was holding a grenade. Blushing profusely he stuffed it into a pocket before offering his other hand.
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Jack blinked when the strangely-dressed woman slid into the booth beside him. He had to say, if he was drunk already, he was sorely disappointed with himself. Looking down at the table in front of him, he decided that no, he hadn't even finished one yet, and though he was a lightweight, it wasn't quite that low a tolerance. Which meant either he was going as crazy as his grandmother or they-in this case, she specifically- were/was real. And since when did he think backslashes anyway?
Sighing inwardly, he decided that he really didn't like this club too much besides. "You're fine, Miss," he replied, slightly amused that she'd curtsied and called him 'sire.' Apparently, whatever acting troupe these people belonged to took their roles very seriously indeed. He did not miss the way she eyed the crowd that was packing the doorway, however. That was a look he'd seen before, and probably worn an number of times, for that matter, back when he was still the boy from the country sucked into the city lifestyle. Back when he'd known... no. That was something best forgotten.
Still, he could not help the large measure of sympathy he felt for this woman, whoever she was. "Look, do you need to step outside for a bit? I can help," he offered with a small smile. He wasn't particularly socially-adept, but something told him that right now, this woman probably wouldn't notice how charming he was or was not, and he was ever the sucker for someone who needed a hand.
Not literally, of course; he wasn't the sort of person to touch people at random, especially not when they looked frightened or were complete strangers, both of which were the case here. Standing, he slipped past yet another oddly-clothed person, this one looking like he was some kind of military, maybe early twentieth century. He was halfway to the door, and hopefully so was the woman (maybe he should have told her to follow him? He was awful about details like that) by the time the collision and subsequent awkwardness occurred.
For such a scrawny guy, he managed to clear them a path pretty easily, testament to what was now years of practice taking the subway to NYU every morning from his awful apartment in Harlem. He let out a whoosh of breath in relief when he pushed the door open. The night air was a tad chilly, but it was surely better than the sweltering atmosphere inside. Holding the door open and fervently hoping he would not have to wend his way back through the press of bodies to find his self-assumed charge, his eyes caught, as they always did, on the lights of the city in the late evening. Sometimes, the country boy still marveled at the sheer amount of people in this place, or the ridiculous number of lights, and the romantic soul he'd long buried beneath layers of logic stirred at the sight.
****
Sev was decidedly uncomfortable in his new clothes. They were inadequately protective, as far as he was concerned. Even the clothes he wore when not in his legion armor were of sturdier make than this assortment of fabrics.
Still, he supposed he'd have to get used to it. Forcing his hands to stop moving, he dropped them to his sides, realizing when his fingers brushed over a pocket in the blue pants- jeans, perhaps?- that there was something in there. Furrowing dark brown eyebrows, the tall man withdrew another square of treated leather, much like the one the thief's accomplice had thrown at him earlier. Instead of showing a woman's portrait, though, the colored square in this one displayed his own likeness, in these clothes, no less.
"Severus Nathan Crowe... I suppose that's who I am now..." He wasn't sure how the proclamation made him feel, as the emotional barometer of a Roman soldier was fairly steadily between "somewhat amused" and "mildly irritated." Well, if he was being honest with himself, that was actually mostly just him. None of his fellows had taken the Stoic philosophies so close to heart as he had, and he honestly could not understand why. The one time he had felt something different, had become emotionally attached, ended in complete disaster.
Several more of the green papers accompanied the...I.D., was it? And Sev realized quite suddenly that he was quite hungry. Clearly, hunting was not an option, both because of the scarcity of any but the smallest game animals here and what he understood to be social taboos about doing such things too near to where people lived. Why, he did not know; this was clearly just as much of a wilderness as anything he had encountered in his lifetime. Where were the fields for crops, anyway?
Shaking his head, Sev continued to wander backstreets for a while, having found himself in a decidedly residential area. Most of the buildings here were massive, though they appeared much the same as one another. Gray, metal, and square. Whatever had happened to architecture, he wondered? Here there were neither columns nor marble nor statues or even something vaguely resembling a circle. It was... unsettling, in a way.
Outside another apartment complex, Sev found something interesting. It was a large red rectangle, a bit taller than himself and maybe half again his width. "Coca-cola..." he sounded out. The word was only passingly familiar, certainly not one of those that he'd picked up on when learning this tongue. He might have seen one of these boxes before, though. The way he understood it, one was to feed it the green paper and it in turn would produce something that a human could consume. Why this was done so indirectly was a mystery, but he should be able to figure it out, right?
He was not aware that the building in front of which he was standing was not too far from the club where so many of his fellow time-travelers were present. nor indeed would he have known what to do if he was. He pulled out one of the bills, marked with a "20," and tried to feed it to the machine, but the ridiculous thing just spit it out. After several more attempts, his legendary patience was more tried than it had been in a long time. "Why do you not function?" he demanded of the machine, putting on his best "voice of the world's greatest empire" air of command, but of course the box would not reply. He knew that much. Perhaps the machine would respond better to a different picture? Maybe the man on this bill was no longer in charge, and thus the machine did not like money with his portrait? Roman currency made so much more sense than this.
Sighing inwardly, he decided that he really didn't like this club too much besides. "You're fine, Miss," he replied, slightly amused that she'd curtsied and called him 'sire.' Apparently, whatever acting troupe these people belonged to took their roles very seriously indeed. He did not miss the way she eyed the crowd that was packing the doorway, however. That was a look he'd seen before, and probably worn an number of times, for that matter, back when he was still the boy from the country sucked into the city lifestyle. Back when he'd known... no. That was something best forgotten.
Still, he could not help the large measure of sympathy he felt for this woman, whoever she was. "Look, do you need to step outside for a bit? I can help," he offered with a small smile. He wasn't particularly socially-adept, but something told him that right now, this woman probably wouldn't notice how charming he was or was not, and he was ever the sucker for someone who needed a hand.
Not literally, of course; he wasn't the sort of person to touch people at random, especially not when they looked frightened or were complete strangers, both of which were the case here. Standing, he slipped past yet another oddly-clothed person, this one looking like he was some kind of military, maybe early twentieth century. He was halfway to the door, and hopefully so was the woman (maybe he should have told her to follow him? He was awful about details like that) by the time the collision and subsequent awkwardness occurred.
For such a scrawny guy, he managed to clear them a path pretty easily, testament to what was now years of practice taking the subway to NYU every morning from his awful apartment in Harlem. He let out a whoosh of breath in relief when he pushed the door open. The night air was a tad chilly, but it was surely better than the sweltering atmosphere inside. Holding the door open and fervently hoping he would not have to wend his way back through the press of bodies to find his self-assumed charge, his eyes caught, as they always did, on the lights of the city in the late evening. Sometimes, the country boy still marveled at the sheer amount of people in this place, or the ridiculous number of lights, and the romantic soul he'd long buried beneath layers of logic stirred at the sight.
****
Sev was decidedly uncomfortable in his new clothes. They were inadequately protective, as far as he was concerned. Even the clothes he wore when not in his legion armor were of sturdier make than this assortment of fabrics.
Still, he supposed he'd have to get used to it. Forcing his hands to stop moving, he dropped them to his sides, realizing when his fingers brushed over a pocket in the blue pants- jeans, perhaps?- that there was something in there. Furrowing dark brown eyebrows, the tall man withdrew another square of treated leather, much like the one the thief's accomplice had thrown at him earlier. Instead of showing a woman's portrait, though, the colored square in this one displayed his own likeness, in these clothes, no less.
"Severus Nathan Crowe... I suppose that's who I am now..." He wasn't sure how the proclamation made him feel, as the emotional barometer of a Roman soldier was fairly steadily between "somewhat amused" and "mildly irritated." Well, if he was being honest with himself, that was actually mostly just him. None of his fellows had taken the Stoic philosophies so close to heart as he had, and he honestly could not understand why. The one time he had felt something different, had become emotionally attached, ended in complete disaster.
Several more of the green papers accompanied the...I.D., was it? And Sev realized quite suddenly that he was quite hungry. Clearly, hunting was not an option, both because of the scarcity of any but the smallest game animals here and what he understood to be social taboos about doing such things too near to where people lived. Why, he did not know; this was clearly just as much of a wilderness as anything he had encountered in his lifetime. Where were the fields for crops, anyway?
Shaking his head, Sev continued to wander backstreets for a while, having found himself in a decidedly residential area. Most of the buildings here were massive, though they appeared much the same as one another. Gray, metal, and square. Whatever had happened to architecture, he wondered? Here there were neither columns nor marble nor statues or even something vaguely resembling a circle. It was... unsettling, in a way.
Outside another apartment complex, Sev found something interesting. It was a large red rectangle, a bit taller than himself and maybe half again his width. "Coca-cola..." he sounded out. The word was only passingly familiar, certainly not one of those that he'd picked up on when learning this tongue. He might have seen one of these boxes before, though. The way he understood it, one was to feed it the green paper and it in turn would produce something that a human could consume. Why this was done so indirectly was a mystery, but he should be able to figure it out, right?
He was not aware that the building in front of which he was standing was not too far from the club where so many of his fellow time-travelers were present. nor indeed would he have known what to do if he was. He pulled out one of the bills, marked with a "20," and tried to feed it to the machine, but the ridiculous thing just spit it out. After several more attempts, his legendary patience was more tried than it had been in a long time. "Why do you not function?" he demanded of the machine, putting on his best "voice of the world's greatest empire" air of command, but of course the box would not reply. He knew that much. Perhaps the machine would respond better to a different picture? Maybe the man on this bill was no longer in charge, and thus the machine did not like money with his portrait? Roman currency made so much more sense than this.
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His words were like a sweet nectar to her sour situation. Of course she'd go outside! Of course she wanted to be free of this suffocating atmosphere! All these people; it was worse in here than at any of the balls she'd attended. That was saying a lot, too, for she'd been to some very grand balls held in very tiny areas. His speech, however, made her second guess the decision to leave with him. He had a bizarre accent, most definitely not British, and the words he used were not structured correctly. It was a tongue unknown to her and Isabella was wary of accepting his help at first, but he left so quickly, she had no chance to answer. In fact, the rude young man hadn't even introduced himself! What was this place?! Isabella Waldon would have at least given her name before he'd escorted her outside. He wasn't even escorting her! The only conclusion the woman could make was that she'd somehow been transported to Australia. Convicts and mongrels were all congregating for their nightly hollering. But he had been kind enough to offer her a way out of this hellish place she'd suddenly appeared, and so, with some reluctance and some gratefulness, Isabella pushed passed the same people he did. Thinking she may faint from nerves as she made her way through the current of strangers, Isabella tried her best to keep two blue eyes on the man who was her light in the darkness. For just a moment, she lost him and her blood boiled in fear. But just as quickly as she'd lost him, he moved back into her sight opening a door to some other place.
The breeze was cool and welcome on her face. She closed her eyes in relief as her slippered feet made contact with hard stone, and she took in a deep breath. The air here was not stale, but not necessarily fresh either. There was a familiar stench of pollution and garbage. It wasn't a great smell, but it was the first one she could identify with. If she wasn't in London, it smelled like it. It reminded her of walking down the streets of the market. Hundreds of people traveling up and down the wares and wagons. Inhabitants of the streets didn't care who was below their window, the chamber pot would be emptied whenever and wherever they pleased. Those selling were smelly and obviously the idea of bathing was sacrilegious.
Perhaps she'd just fainted from emotion in the forest and this was a dream? Opening her eyes and looking up, Isabella knew she had to be dreaming. Moving beside the man who'd shown her the way out, the lady looked up to the skies. Endless black was tucked behind a sea of stars spilling from their nests in the heavens and onto Earth. Any sane person would think the sky was falling down around them. Some blinked off while others lit up. A twinkling picture painted all around her. No matter where she turned, the stars seemed so close she could touch them.
"Where have I gone?" Isabella whispered aloud, awe filling her body. "What is happening?" All these questions needed answered, but somehow, right now, none of it mattered as much as it had only moments ago. Right now, she was lost in this new, beautiful world where she'd been transported. Was this really Australia? If so, she could stand to live here.
The breeze was cool and welcome on her face. She closed her eyes in relief as her slippered feet made contact with hard stone, and she took in a deep breath. The air here was not stale, but not necessarily fresh either. There was a familiar stench of pollution and garbage. It wasn't a great smell, but it was the first one she could identify with. If she wasn't in London, it smelled like it. It reminded her of walking down the streets of the market. Hundreds of people traveling up and down the wares and wagons. Inhabitants of the streets didn't care who was below their window, the chamber pot would be emptied whenever and wherever they pleased. Those selling were smelly and obviously the idea of bathing was sacrilegious.
Perhaps she'd just fainted from emotion in the forest and this was a dream? Opening her eyes and looking up, Isabella knew she had to be dreaming. Moving beside the man who'd shown her the way out, the lady looked up to the skies. Endless black was tucked behind a sea of stars spilling from their nests in the heavens and onto Earth. Any sane person would think the sky was falling down around them. Some blinked off while others lit up. A twinkling picture painted all around her. No matter where she turned, the stars seemed so close she could touch them.
"Where have I gone?" Isabella whispered aloud, awe filling her body. "What is happening?" All these questions needed answered, but somehow, right now, none of it mattered as much as it had only moments ago. Right now, she was lost in this new, beautiful world where she'd been transported. Was this really Australia? If so, she could stand to live here.
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"Where have I gone? What is happening?" The questions snapped Jack out of reverie he'd been trapped in, and he shrugged. He wasn't really sure what was meant by the questions; surely this woman knew where she was? Perhaps she was simply unaware of the exact address? Well, that was something he could do. Jack's memory was near-eidetic, and he'd been here before besides.
"You're at 1325 Bethesda Boulevard, Manhattan, New York, New York, outside the rather cramped nightclub named Chance," he replied mildly. That was probably a little too much explanation, but she had framed the question quite broadly, and he had a penchant for talking long after his audience had grown quite bored anyway. It was something he was trying to work on, but progress was a bit slow.
Glancing sideways, he realized he had no idea who this woman was anyway. Which likely meant... yep, he'd gone and forgotten to introduce himself again. The finer points of socialization were totally lost on the professor, and in all honesty he didn't much mind. There were much better things to discuss than the weather, in his humble opinion. Then again, there had to be more than one reason he'd only ever met a single woman willing to put up with him and only him for more than a few minutes at a time. He figured his friends had gotten used to it by now, and developed a way of dealing with him that somehow worked out pretty well. "Er... My name's Jack, by the way. Ah, well actually it's Jackson, but... my friends and... everyone just calls me Jack."
The young man sighed inwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand before raising his eyes skyward. That could have gone much more smoothly. For all her odd clothing choices and dubitable familiarity with her own surroundings, he wasn't quite sure his companion was the real fish out of water here. How long had it been since he'd tried to hold a normal conversation with someone besides Joe or Barry? He honestly couldn't remember. "As for what is currently happening, I suppose the answer to that depends on the parameters of the question. Do you mean immediately now and here? Or are you thinking more on a cosmological scale, because there are several different-" wincing, Jack cut himself off and smiled apologetically. "Sorry." Well, if he'd messed up before, he was certainly digging his own conversational grave now. For whatever reason, he hoped she wouldn't be too put-off by his response. Why did he care, anyway? Aside from the general sort of caring he had for people generally, because that didn't really require that they put up with him.
Maybe she was just interesting. Certainly, he hadn't expected to run across such a curious sort at Chance, of all places. This woman looked about as out of place as he felt, and something about that was interesting to him. Either way, this was surely better than hanging around inside a club he really had no business being at.
*****
Ten minutes later, Sev was still having no luck, and had resorted to staring the machine down, arms crossed. This, too was to no avail, and he decided he needed to buy food from an actual person rather than a piece of technology. There had been no need for such things in his time, and surely he did not need it now.
That decided, the man resumed walking, passing the occasional other person, but none who looked to be purveying foodstuffs. He had almost decided to return to the old woman's store and ask for help when he came upon a decidedly busier street and spied a green sign atop a series of windows that looked in on a promising establishment. It was apparently called "Starbucks," whatever that meant.
With an internalized resigned sigh, he decided to see just what this Starbucks might provide in way of nourishment. He would really have liked some fresh bread right then, maybe with some cheese and wine, or fruit of some sort. Given what he knew of the modern diet, such simple fare was not likely to be served in too many places, but certainly it was worth an effort to find out.
Pulling open the glass door, Sev stepped into a room lit with bright false light, blinking slowly to allow himself to adjust. Honestly, sometimes electricity made it seem as though each building had its own private sun, though there was no heat, only luminescence. He was glad he was no longer wearing his polished armor plates; surely the reflections would have been blinding.
There were but two other occupants in the room; a woman seated at a table, whom he nodded to in greeting, and a bored-looking young man standing behind a counter. Well, now here was another quandary. He had only the faintest notion of how such procedures were carried out. To buy himself time, he perused the boards over the youth's head and tried to make sense of the names therein. What exactly was a mocha frappe, and what was the difference between a tall and short one?
"...Can I help you?" Sev realized he'd probably been staring at the menu for a good two minutes straight and snapped to attention, the sudden weight of his stare clearly unnerving the kid at the counter.
"Yes. I would like..." the soldier squinted, and picked the first thing he saw. "A double-shot espresso." His eyes flicked to the pastries. "And one of those," he continued, indicating some confection that appeared to at the very least contain bread and some kind of red fruit, though he had no idea what the white stuff on top was.
"That'll be $6.34," the squirrelly young man replied, and it took Sev a second to remember that he was indeed carrying currency.
"Devoveo," he muttered under his breath. "Ego must memor illa res.*" It wasn't until he had retrieved his bills and placed the one labeled 20 (which he thought was probably defective anyhow) on the counter that he realized he'd relapsed into Latin. Clearing his throat, he nodded firmly, hoping his audience would simply pass it off as some other foreign language.
Taking the cup (which was hotter than he'd expected) and the pastry, he settled on a table near the woman, but not so near as to be impinging on her space. That would simply be rude, but he did want a spot next to the door, just in case. He knew not what to expect from this time, after all, and caution was well-ingrained in him.
*Roughly translates to: "Curses. I must remember these things."
"You're at 1325 Bethesda Boulevard, Manhattan, New York, New York, outside the rather cramped nightclub named Chance," he replied mildly. That was probably a little too much explanation, but she had framed the question quite broadly, and he had a penchant for talking long after his audience had grown quite bored anyway. It was something he was trying to work on, but progress was a bit slow.
Glancing sideways, he realized he had no idea who this woman was anyway. Which likely meant... yep, he'd gone and forgotten to introduce himself again. The finer points of socialization were totally lost on the professor, and in all honesty he didn't much mind. There were much better things to discuss than the weather, in his humble opinion. Then again, there had to be more than one reason he'd only ever met a single woman willing to put up with him and only him for more than a few minutes at a time. He figured his friends had gotten used to it by now, and developed a way of dealing with him that somehow worked out pretty well. "Er... My name's Jack, by the way. Ah, well actually it's Jackson, but... my friends and... everyone just calls me Jack."
The young man sighed inwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand before raising his eyes skyward. That could have gone much more smoothly. For all her odd clothing choices and dubitable familiarity with her own surroundings, he wasn't quite sure his companion was the real fish out of water here. How long had it been since he'd tried to hold a normal conversation with someone besides Joe or Barry? He honestly couldn't remember. "As for what is currently happening, I suppose the answer to that depends on the parameters of the question. Do you mean immediately now and here? Or are you thinking more on a cosmological scale, because there are several different-" wincing, Jack cut himself off and smiled apologetically. "Sorry." Well, if he'd messed up before, he was certainly digging his own conversational grave now. For whatever reason, he hoped she wouldn't be too put-off by his response. Why did he care, anyway? Aside from the general sort of caring he had for people generally, because that didn't really require that they put up with him.
Maybe she was just interesting. Certainly, he hadn't expected to run across such a curious sort at Chance, of all places. This woman looked about as out of place as he felt, and something about that was interesting to him. Either way, this was surely better than hanging around inside a club he really had no business being at.
*****
Ten minutes later, Sev was still having no luck, and had resorted to staring the machine down, arms crossed. This, too was to no avail, and he decided he needed to buy food from an actual person rather than a piece of technology. There had been no need for such things in his time, and surely he did not need it now.
That decided, the man resumed walking, passing the occasional other person, but none who looked to be purveying foodstuffs. He had almost decided to return to the old woman's store and ask for help when he came upon a decidedly busier street and spied a green sign atop a series of windows that looked in on a promising establishment. It was apparently called "Starbucks," whatever that meant.
With an internalized resigned sigh, he decided to see just what this Starbucks might provide in way of nourishment. He would really have liked some fresh bread right then, maybe with some cheese and wine, or fruit of some sort. Given what he knew of the modern diet, such simple fare was not likely to be served in too many places, but certainly it was worth an effort to find out.
Pulling open the glass door, Sev stepped into a room lit with bright false light, blinking slowly to allow himself to adjust. Honestly, sometimes electricity made it seem as though each building had its own private sun, though there was no heat, only luminescence. He was glad he was no longer wearing his polished armor plates; surely the reflections would have been blinding.
There were but two other occupants in the room; a woman seated at a table, whom he nodded to in greeting, and a bored-looking young man standing behind a counter. Well, now here was another quandary. He had only the faintest notion of how such procedures were carried out. To buy himself time, he perused the boards over the youth's head and tried to make sense of the names therein. What exactly was a mocha frappe, and what was the difference between a tall and short one?
"...Can I help you?" Sev realized he'd probably been staring at the menu for a good two minutes straight and snapped to attention, the sudden weight of his stare clearly unnerving the kid at the counter.
"Yes. I would like..." the soldier squinted, and picked the first thing he saw. "A double-shot espresso." His eyes flicked to the pastries. "And one of those," he continued, indicating some confection that appeared to at the very least contain bread and some kind of red fruit, though he had no idea what the white stuff on top was.
"That'll be $6.34," the squirrelly young man replied, and it took Sev a second to remember that he was indeed carrying currency.
"Devoveo," he muttered under his breath. "Ego must memor illa res.*" It wasn't until he had retrieved his bills and placed the one labeled 20 (which he thought was probably defective anyhow) on the counter that he realized he'd relapsed into Latin. Clearing his throat, he nodded firmly, hoping his audience would simply pass it off as some other foreign language.
Taking the cup (which was hotter than he'd expected) and the pastry, he settled on a table near the woman, but not so near as to be impinging on her space. That would simply be rude, but he did want a spot next to the door, just in case. He knew not what to expect from this time, after all, and caution was well-ingrained in him.
*Roughly translates to: "Curses. I must remember these things."
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Breaking from her matching fear and amazement at the sight before her, Isabella turned to the young escort. It could not be possible that this was at all real. No, he must have been lying to her. The young man with a fine face, now that she could see under the strange lamps lining the streets, was looking at her with sincerity. He was not jesting at her. Then how had she come to be in New York City?
"New York?" Her blue eyes were wide and her hands moved to her mouth. Something inside her was screaming in pandemonium. Weren't the British supposed to be bitter at the Americans; even though it had been nearly thirty years since they'd fought for their independence. In fact, the more Isabella thought about it, the more she realized most men and women of society pretended the Americas did not exist. They spoke more of the pestilent Australia than America. So why was she here?
She certainly no longer felt like herself. The young man was introducing himself and all she could think about was how the whole world was spinning and that if she fell over like her horrible mother always did, she was going to just simply die. It was a long, drawn out thought, and the only one she could remember right before she slumped to her knees. The woman did not go out completely. She could still see the lights and her hand had instinctively reached out and gripped the side of a trash bin.
"Oh my," she whispered, running her hand over her forehead and over her mass of thick hair. Looking back up after the introduction (Jackson did he say?), and her embarrassing lapse of self, Isabella let out one loud, half-hysterical laugh. For a moment, she noticed how wonderfully bright his eyes were in the lamp's light. Jackson was an intelligent man, she could tell. One could only hope he was as interesting as he was intelligent.
Good grief, she really was going mad. Shaking her head as if to throw away crazy thoughts, Isabella wet her lips, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
"I suppose," she started, running his words through her mind, "that now there is some gathering of friends and neighbors within the building behind." That much she could discern from her jostled observations. "So I would assume my question bares more on the cosmological scale." With a confused grin, Isabella let her grip on the trash bin go and rubbed her sweating palms together. Her anxiety was growing as she sat helplessly on the side of the street.
"Because what is happening right now, to me, is something I cannot believe." Isabella rubbed at her face, like she did many times when she was angry. It had always made her mother irate and she could remember her hands getting slapped away by the weekly gossip column. But her mother was not here and the situation called for reactions of the kind.
"What year is it, might I ask?" This was her next line of thinking. Yes, it was even more insane than the last, but the moment seemed to call for a less-than-sane approach.
"New York?" Her blue eyes were wide and her hands moved to her mouth. Something inside her was screaming in pandemonium. Weren't the British supposed to be bitter at the Americans; even though it had been nearly thirty years since they'd fought for their independence. In fact, the more Isabella thought about it, the more she realized most men and women of society pretended the Americas did not exist. They spoke more of the pestilent Australia than America. So why was she here?
She certainly no longer felt like herself. The young man was introducing himself and all she could think about was how the whole world was spinning and that if she fell over like her horrible mother always did, she was going to just simply die. It was a long, drawn out thought, and the only one she could remember right before she slumped to her knees. The woman did not go out completely. She could still see the lights and her hand had instinctively reached out and gripped the side of a trash bin.
"Oh my," she whispered, running her hand over her forehead and over her mass of thick hair. Looking back up after the introduction (Jackson did he say?), and her embarrassing lapse of self, Isabella let out one loud, half-hysterical laugh. For a moment, she noticed how wonderfully bright his eyes were in the lamp's light. Jackson was an intelligent man, she could tell. One could only hope he was as interesting as he was intelligent.
Good grief, she really was going mad. Shaking her head as if to throw away crazy thoughts, Isabella wet her lips, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
"I suppose," she started, running his words through her mind, "that now there is some gathering of friends and neighbors within the building behind." That much she could discern from her jostled observations. "So I would assume my question bares more on the cosmological scale." With a confused grin, Isabella let her grip on the trash bin go and rubbed her sweating palms together. Her anxiety was growing as she sat helplessly on the side of the street.
"Because what is happening right now, to me, is something I cannot believe." Isabella rubbed at her face, like she did many times when she was angry. It had always made her mother irate and she could remember her hands getting slapped away by the weekly gossip column. But her mother was not here and the situation called for reactions of the kind.
"What year is it, might I ask?" This was her next line of thinking. Yes, it was even more insane than the last, but the moment seemed to call for a less-than-sane approach.
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Breaking from her matching fear and amazement at the sight before her, Isabella turned to the young escort. It could not be possible that this was at all real. No, he must have been lying to her. The young man with a fine face, now that she could see under the strange lamps lining the streets, was looking at her with sincerity. He was not jesting at her. Then how had she come to be in New York City?
"New York?" Her blue eyes were wide and her hands moved to her mouth. Something inside her was screaming in pandemonium. Weren't the British supposed to be bitter at the Americans; even though it had been nearly thirty years since they'd fought for their independence. In fact, the more Isabella thought about it, the more she realized most men and women of society pretended the Americas did not exist. They spoke more of the pestilent Australia than America. So why was she here?
She certainly no longer felt like herself. The young man was introducing himself and all she could think about was how the whole world was spinning and that if she fell over like her horrible mother always did, she was going to just simply die. It was a long, drawn out thought, and the only one she could remember right before she slumped to her knees. The woman did not go out completely. She could still see the lights and her hand had instinctively reached out and gripped the side of a trash bin.
"Oh my," she whispered, running her hand over her forehead and over her mass of thick hair. Looking back up after the introduction (Jackson did he say?), and her embarrassing lapse of self, Isabella let out one loud, half-hysterical laugh. For a moment, she noticed how wonderfully bright his eyes were in the lamp's light. Jackson was an intelligent man, she could tell. One could only hope he was as interesting as he was intelligent.
Good grief, she really was going mad. Shaking her head as if to throw away crazy thoughts, Isabella wet her lips, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
"I suppose," she started, running his words through her mind, "that now there is some gathering of friends and neighbors within the building behind." That much she could discern from her jostled observations. "So I would assume my question bares more on the cosmological scale." With a confused grin, Isabella let her grip on the trash bin go and rubbed her sweating palms together. Her anxiety was growing as she sat helplessly on the side of the street.
"Because what is happening right now, to me, is something I cannot believe." Isabella rubbed at her face, like she did many times when she was angry. It had always made her mother irate and she could remember her hands getting slapped away by the weekly gossip column. But her mother was not here and the situation called for reactions of the kind.
"What year is it, might I ask?" This was her next line of thinking. Yes, it was even more insane than the last, but the moment seemed to call for a less-than-sane approach.
"New York?" Her blue eyes were wide and her hands moved to her mouth. Something inside her was screaming in pandemonium. Weren't the British supposed to be bitter at the Americans; even though it had been nearly thirty years since they'd fought for their independence. In fact, the more Isabella thought about it, the more she realized most men and women of society pretended the Americas did not exist. They spoke more of the pestilent Australia than America. So why was she here?
She certainly no longer felt like herself. The young man was introducing himself and all she could think about was how the whole world was spinning and that if she fell over like her horrible mother always did, she was going to just simply die. It was a long, drawn out thought, and the only one she could remember right before she slumped to her knees. The woman did not go out completely. She could still see the lights and her hand had instinctively reached out and gripped the side of a trash bin.
"Oh my," she whispered, running her hand over her forehead and over her mass of thick hair. Looking back up after the introduction (Jackson did he say?), and her embarrassing lapse of self, Isabella let out one loud, half-hysterical laugh. For a moment, she noticed how wonderfully bright his eyes were in the lamp's light. Jackson was an intelligent man, she could tell. One could only hope he was as interesting as he was intelligent.
Good grief, she really was going mad. Shaking her head as if to throw away crazy thoughts, Isabella wet her lips, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
"I suppose," she started, running his words through her mind, "that now there is some gathering of friends and neighbors within the building behind." That much she could discern from her jostled observations. "So I would assume my question bares more on the cosmological scale." With a confused grin, Isabella let her grip on the trash bin go and rubbed her sweating palms together. Her anxiety was growing as she sat helplessly on the side of the street.
"Because what is happening right now, to me, is something I cannot believe." Isabella rubbed at her face, like she did many times when she was angry. It had always made her mother irate and she could remember her hands getting slapped away by the weekly gossip column. But her mother was not here and the situation called for reactions of the kind.
"What year is it, might I ask?" This was her next line of thinking. Yes, it was even more insane than the last, but the moment seemed to call for a less-than-sane approach.
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Jackson watched with alarm as the woman collapsed next to the garbage can in front of the club. She wasn't drunk, was she? No, no, he supposed not. Despite her rather odd mannerisms and obvious confusion, she did not seem to be so. It was more like... the sensation of being in a dream, but not entirely being convinced that it was a dream somewhere between recognizable reality and what was not.
As she continued to speak, he settled himself onto the ground beside her, and listened without judgment as she continued to puzzle through her own state of mind. Subject matter aside, he was well-familiar with the process. It happened to him when he was trying to decide how to process a new piece of information, usually one relating to his current philosophical project, attempting to synthesize what was known with what had been learned. Sometimes, this meant "un-knowing" some things.
For now, the woman seemed to be willing to do just that, as she began with the simplest of questions: what year it was. "Well, on the cosmological scale, I don't think I can claim to know," he replied with a touch of good humor, "but in strictly human terms, it's 2010." There was a moment of silence in which he presumed this was processing, and an idea came to him. "How about this: you can ask me anything you think you need to know, and I won't think it strange, no matter what the question is, if I get to ask you something in return and you don't think it strange either. By my count, you've asked three questions now: where you are, what's happening, and what year it is. I've asked one; about the scale of your questions, but it still counts. So now I get two. Let's see..." Jack rubbed at the barely-there stubble on his rather pointed chin and glanced upward, hen sideways at the woman herself. He couldn't be sure, but it almost looked like she was... shaking? Was that the existential problems she was working through, or the- no, he'd definitely seen his breath, and she was wearing a dress.
For the love of Spinoza's god-saturated soul, Jack, she's probably freezing, and you didn't even notice! Shaking his head at himself, Jack divested his torso of his somewhat-warm jacket, leaving only his blazer and scarf as protection against the chill. Not that it mattered; he was, after all, from the frostbitten empty plains of Montana. "Okay, two questions: what's your name, and are you cold?" he asked, sheepishly offering the coat in case she could make use of it.
As she continued to speak, he settled himself onto the ground beside her, and listened without judgment as she continued to puzzle through her own state of mind. Subject matter aside, he was well-familiar with the process. It happened to him when he was trying to decide how to process a new piece of information, usually one relating to his current philosophical project, attempting to synthesize what was known with what had been learned. Sometimes, this meant "un-knowing" some things.
For now, the woman seemed to be willing to do just that, as she began with the simplest of questions: what year it was. "Well, on the cosmological scale, I don't think I can claim to know," he replied with a touch of good humor, "but in strictly human terms, it's 2010." There was a moment of silence in which he presumed this was processing, and an idea came to him. "How about this: you can ask me anything you think you need to know, and I won't think it strange, no matter what the question is, if I get to ask you something in return and you don't think it strange either. By my count, you've asked three questions now: where you are, what's happening, and what year it is. I've asked one; about the scale of your questions, but it still counts. So now I get two. Let's see..." Jack rubbed at the barely-there stubble on his rather pointed chin and glanced upward, hen sideways at the woman herself. He couldn't be sure, but it almost looked like she was... shaking? Was that the existential problems she was working through, or the- no, he'd definitely seen his breath, and she was wearing a dress.
For the love of Spinoza's god-saturated soul, Jack, she's probably freezing, and you didn't even notice! Shaking his head at himself, Jack divested his torso of his somewhat-warm jacket, leaving only his blazer and scarf as protection against the chill. Not that it mattered; he was, after all, from the frostbitten empty plains of Montana. "Okay, two questions: what's your name, and are you cold?" he asked, sheepishly offering the coat in case she could make use of it.
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Two thousand and... what? Two thousand and...
"Oh my dear heavenly Lord..." She whispered under her breath and dropped her head to her knees. What in the world was going on? How could it possibly be nearly two centuries in the future? How?! It wasn't possible for her to be here! She was just in the woods beyond the city of London, the year eighteen hundred and sixteen. She was upset and angry with her parents. Isabella saw that man... then she was here.
Oh dear God. What was happening?
He began speaking to her again and she moved her eyes toward him, though her head still lay on her knees, which she was now most fervently hugging toward her chest. Her muscles were in a frenzy of disbelief and the chill in the air, but the young woman couldn't notice beyond the fear, confusion, and utter surreal amazement in her mind. Looking up at him with glossy, blue eyes she listened carefully. He was her only tie to this world of apparent psychosis, and he had answers. She needed those right now. But it seemed he wanted to know her as well. Of course he did! He'd introduced himself and she sat here with a dumb look on her face! How rude! Sitting up straight, another flock of her long raven hair falling from the plait on the back of her head, Isabella began apologizing.
"Oh dear! Please forgive me! I have been so utterly impertinent! You have helped me out of that wretched building and here I sit demanding answers from you without even so much as a thank you or a name!" Holding out her hand, palm down as she was taught, she tried her hardest to smile politely. It came across more awkward and filled with panic than anything. "My name is Isabella Beatrice Waldon, sire. It is a pleasure." She nodded her head as well, but when she looked back up, she was lightly chewing on her bottom lip.
"And I believe I'm freezing where I sit, Mister Jackson." The chill around her had grown as she stopped living in her mind and started to pay more attention to her surroundings and her new acquaintance. Her body was taught with the shivering. Isabella may have been one hundred and ninety-four years in the future, but she'd left London in the same season New York City was witnessing.
"Oh my dear heavenly Lord..." She whispered under her breath and dropped her head to her knees. What in the world was going on? How could it possibly be nearly two centuries in the future? How?! It wasn't possible for her to be here! She was just in the woods beyond the city of London, the year eighteen hundred and sixteen. She was upset and angry with her parents. Isabella saw that man... then she was here.
Oh dear God. What was happening?
He began speaking to her again and she moved her eyes toward him, though her head still lay on her knees, which she was now most fervently hugging toward her chest. Her muscles were in a frenzy of disbelief and the chill in the air, but the young woman couldn't notice beyond the fear, confusion, and utter surreal amazement in her mind. Looking up at him with glossy, blue eyes she listened carefully. He was her only tie to this world of apparent psychosis, and he had answers. She needed those right now. But it seemed he wanted to know her as well. Of course he did! He'd introduced himself and she sat here with a dumb look on her face! How rude! Sitting up straight, another flock of her long raven hair falling from the plait on the back of her head, Isabella began apologizing.
"Oh dear! Please forgive me! I have been so utterly impertinent! You have helped me out of that wretched building and here I sit demanding answers from you without even so much as a thank you or a name!" Holding out her hand, palm down as she was taught, she tried her hardest to smile politely. It came across more awkward and filled with panic than anything. "My name is Isabella Beatrice Waldon, sire. It is a pleasure." She nodded her head as well, but when she looked back up, she was lightly chewing on her bottom lip.
"And I believe I'm freezing where I sit, Mister Jackson." The chill around her had grown as she stopped living in her mind and started to pay more attention to her surroundings and her new acquaintance. Her body was taught with the shivering. Isabella may have been one hundred and ninety-four years in the future, but she'd left London in the same season New York City was witnessing.
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Jackson stared dumbly at the proffered hand for a moment. It certainly wasn't for a shake, that much he knew. He felt like he'd seen this sort of thing before, like in a period movie or something. Estelle had been rather fond of those, he remembered, and flinched inwardly.
Well, it couldn't hurt, could it? He still wasn't sure if Isabella- quite the old-fashioned name, that- was an actress, delusional, or something else, but either way, her distress seemed genuine enough to him, and he'd told her he would not judge besides. He certainly didn't want to exacerbate the problem, whatever it was. So, feeling more than a little foolish, he took the hand up in his own and brushed his lips over it briefly.
Having received the answer he was expecting to his second question, he draped the coat over her shoulders, careful still to not actually touch her. The unconventional greeting may have used up his "touching" quotient for the day, as it were. Leaning back on the palms of his hands, Jackson contemplated the city lights above for a moment before his eyes flicked to the woman next to him.
She was probably the first truly unique person he'd met in a long time, he decided. Whether this was to anyone's benefit or detriment remained to be seen, but this whole set of circumstances really was interesting. It was clear that here- dare he say now?- was not where Isabella Beatrice Waldon felt she belonged, and if her mannerisms were anything to go by, she might be right. At the very least, it would require some acclimation. Where had she come from, anyway?
"I can't say I know exactly what it is you seem to be going through, Miss Waldon, but I meant what I said. You can ask whatever you need to, and I won't judge." He flashed his best 'slightly-awkward country lad' smile, which turned out more sheepish than anything, but he had been told it generally had the property of setting people at ease. Of course, it was Barry that had told him this, and in a moment of complete drunkenness, and the two had never talked about it- or anything else Barry had said that particular evening- afterward, and thus he could not honestly be sure that it was true.
Well, it couldn't hurt, could it? He still wasn't sure if Isabella- quite the old-fashioned name, that- was an actress, delusional, or something else, but either way, her distress seemed genuine enough to him, and he'd told her he would not judge besides. He certainly didn't want to exacerbate the problem, whatever it was. So, feeling more than a little foolish, he took the hand up in his own and brushed his lips over it briefly.
Having received the answer he was expecting to his second question, he draped the coat over her shoulders, careful still to not actually touch her. The unconventional greeting may have used up his "touching" quotient for the day, as it were. Leaning back on the palms of his hands, Jackson contemplated the city lights above for a moment before his eyes flicked to the woman next to him.
She was probably the first truly unique person he'd met in a long time, he decided. Whether this was to anyone's benefit or detriment remained to be seen, but this whole set of circumstances really was interesting. It was clear that here- dare he say now?- was not where Isabella Beatrice Waldon felt she belonged, and if her mannerisms were anything to go by, she might be right. At the very least, it would require some acclimation. Where had she come from, anyway?
"I can't say I know exactly what it is you seem to be going through, Miss Waldon, but I meant what I said. You can ask whatever you need to, and I won't judge." He flashed his best 'slightly-awkward country lad' smile, which turned out more sheepish than anything, but he had been told it generally had the property of setting people at ease. Of course, it was Barry that had told him this, and in a moment of complete drunkenness, and the two had never talked about it- or anything else Barry had said that particular evening- afterward, and thus he could not honestly be sure that it was true.
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His acceptance of her hand was awkward and in turn made her feel strangely dumb. It was most obvious she was not where she should have been and it seemed her etiquette wasn't normal to Jackson. But she slowly pulled her hand back and covered the knuckles he'd brushed and smiled carefully. With his coat about her shoulders she followed his upward gaze, still unsure of what to do, to say, or even ask. With his re-utterance that she may ask him anything she moved her chromatic eyes slowly, taking a peek she thought, only to meet his eyes. Turning back around quickly, a sudden warmth of embarrassment filled her neck and ears. Isabella cleared her throat gently and tucked a wild clump of hair behind her rather smallish ear.
"That last thing I remember," Isabella spoke quietly to him from behind the confines of his warm coat, "is running from my home and into the woods beyond the Thames in London." The young woman remained silent for a moment, envisioning the horrible way her father had threatened her. But she giggled, remembering what had brought about the fight.
"Lady Westbrook had called me 'a frivolous rebel child, who respected no good society except that of savages in the farthest reaches of the Americas'." The insult was drawn out and horrendous to say the least. Who said things like that anyway? It was a ridiculous insult that never should have caught Isabella's ear, but it had. "I dumped my drink all over her dress. Completely ruined it." Another giggle escaped her lips, but she shook her head and lowered it down, staring at the leaves and bits of garbage stuck to the road at her feet. "My father practically threatened to have me thrown out like a vagabond onto the street..." Her voice died away and she covered her eyes, keeping them closed and in the darkness where the pictures were still moving. He must have just been angry. There was no way he could have really meant it.
With a deep breath of air, Isabella blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall and looked over her shoulder at Mister Jackson.
"I'm from London, England. I was born in 1791. My question is, do you believe a word I'm saying? Because I'm finding it hard to believe that any of this can be real."
"That last thing I remember," Isabella spoke quietly to him from behind the confines of his warm coat, "is running from my home and into the woods beyond the Thames in London." The young woman remained silent for a moment, envisioning the horrible way her father had threatened her. But she giggled, remembering what had brought about the fight.
"Lady Westbrook had called me 'a frivolous rebel child, who respected no good society except that of savages in the farthest reaches of the Americas'." The insult was drawn out and horrendous to say the least. Who said things like that anyway? It was a ridiculous insult that never should have caught Isabella's ear, but it had. "I dumped my drink all over her dress. Completely ruined it." Another giggle escaped her lips, but she shook her head and lowered it down, staring at the leaves and bits of garbage stuck to the road at her feet. "My father practically threatened to have me thrown out like a vagabond onto the street..." Her voice died away and she covered her eyes, keeping them closed and in the darkness where the pictures were still moving. He must have just been angry. There was no way he could have really meant it.
With a deep breath of air, Isabella blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall and looked over her shoulder at Mister Jackson.
"I'm from London, England. I was born in 1791. My question is, do you believe a word I'm saying? Because I'm finding it hard to believe that any of this can be real."
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Jackson listened to the story slowly spill for the woman's lips, doing his best to suspend disbelief until she finished. Interestingly enough, the story of the horrible lady and the dress brought a smile to his face. Now there was something he'd wished he could do more than once to the occasional pretentious pontificate at those scholarly functions which he often attended. Something in it seemed so vivid, so real, as strange as the implications might have been. He'd always had a fondness for conspiracy theories himself, and his academic discipline was one where doubt tended to pervade everything equally, which in some strange way made the strange more believable.
Still, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't having some difficulty with it. She was, after all, claiming to be from centuries in the past! For a moment, he considered asking her something of the events that had happened before or since then, but that would be cruel. Either way, she clearly believed what she was saying, and he was not such a hard man as to painfully attempt a rupture of that point of view. Besides, there was always the possibility that rather than being royally duped or pulled into her delusions, he was simply listening to a very real anecdote from a very real seventeenth-century life.
Which would mean... well, he didn't really know what that meant. A rush of air escaped him, and it might have been less a sigh and more a testament to the fact that he'd been holding his breath as he watched her tell her tale. But... surely that wouldn't make sense, would it? "The wisest man of all is the one who understands his own ignorance," he replied evenly, running a hand absently through his short-cropped hair. Her eyes were glistening in the light from a nearby streetlamp, and he had to say that her distress alone was easily-believed. Somehow, it seemed like the worst thing that could possibly happen at the present moment would be for her to start crying.
Realizing belatedly that he might have been staring, he averted his face partially and continued. "I can't say I know exactly what's going on, but... i don't think you're crazy, which means one of two things: either something has happened to harm what seems otherwise to be perfectly good cognitive functioning, or... you're telling the truth. I know that's not much of an answer, but I'm willing to assume that you're right until anything else becomes more likely. Not that I think it will, mind." A pause. "Er... so basically, yes. I believe you. Whether your words are true... I guess that will take a bit longer to figure out, maybe."
Did that sound as monumentally stupid out loud as it did to me just now? Maybe I'm going insane...
Still, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't having some difficulty with it. She was, after all, claiming to be from centuries in the past! For a moment, he considered asking her something of the events that had happened before or since then, but that would be cruel. Either way, she clearly believed what she was saying, and he was not such a hard man as to painfully attempt a rupture of that point of view. Besides, there was always the possibility that rather than being royally duped or pulled into her delusions, he was simply listening to a very real anecdote from a very real seventeenth-century life.
Which would mean... well, he didn't really know what that meant. A rush of air escaped him, and it might have been less a sigh and more a testament to the fact that he'd been holding his breath as he watched her tell her tale. But... surely that wouldn't make sense, would it? "The wisest man of all is the one who understands his own ignorance," he replied evenly, running a hand absently through his short-cropped hair. Her eyes were glistening in the light from a nearby streetlamp, and he had to say that her distress alone was easily-believed. Somehow, it seemed like the worst thing that could possibly happen at the present moment would be for her to start crying.
Realizing belatedly that he might have been staring, he averted his face partially and continued. "I can't say I know exactly what's going on, but... i don't think you're crazy, which means one of two things: either something has happened to harm what seems otherwise to be perfectly good cognitive functioning, or... you're telling the truth. I know that's not much of an answer, but I'm willing to assume that you're right until anything else becomes more likely. Not that I think it will, mind." A pause. "Er... so basically, yes. I believe you. Whether your words are true... I guess that will take a bit longer to figure out, maybe."
Did that sound as monumentally stupid out loud as it did to me just now? Maybe I'm going insane...
- 44 posts here • Page 1 of 2 • 1, 2
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View All » Add Character » 19 Characters to follow in this universe
Newest
Katherine Victoria de Lacey
"I'm a woman of the world and they say I am strong."
Edward Washinton Collins
Really, how much could it have changed since the '40s?
Matthew Haven
A singer and pianist at a local jazz bar who keeps to himself.
Hank Darringer
Think with a sharp mind and live with a stout heart.
Audrey Scotts
That teacher that all the kids adore.
Katelyn Smithson
A sarcastic woman who has a weakness for romance and a determination that could cut through steel.
Trending
Edward Washinton Collins
Really, how much could it have changed since the '40s?
Audrey Scotts
That teacher that all the kids adore.
Katelyn Smithson
A sarcastic woman who has a weakness for romance and a determination that could cut through steel.
Hank Darringer
Think with a sharp mind and live with a stout heart.
Matthew Haven
A singer and pianist at a local jazz bar who keeps to himself.
Katherine Victoria de Lacey
"I'm a woman of the world and they say I am strong."
Most Followed
Matthew Haven
A singer and pianist at a local jazz bar who keeps to himself.
Katherine Victoria de Lacey
"I'm a woman of the world and they say I am strong."
Audrey Scotts
That teacher that all the kids adore.
Hank Darringer
Think with a sharp mind and live with a stout heart.
Edward Washinton Collins
Really, how much could it have changed since the '40s?
Katelyn Smithson
A sarcastic woman who has a weakness for romance and a determination that could cut through steel.
View All » Places
44 posts · 19 characters present · last post 2010-12-26 19:09:58 »
New York City Owner: Lavender
None
Fullscreen Chat » Create Topic » Edge of Desire: Out of Character
Discussions
Most recent OOC posts in Edge of Desire
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
I'd be cool with that. Definitely bringing Sev back. Probably my favorite character that I never really got to play. On the fence about Jackson, though... guess it depends.
Anyway, revive away if you'd like, Jedi! =)
Anyway, revive away if you'd like, Jedi! =)
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
Ok, so who wants to start the reboot? Lavender's been on since we started talking about it, so I'm going to assume she won't mind to much if we do a restart.
I will say that I am willing to do make the restart if you guys would like me to and/or if no one else wants to. I do have a small track record of taking over dead or dying RPs =p
I will say that I am willing to do make the restart if you guys would like me to and/or if no one else wants to. I do have a small track record of taking over dead or dying RPs =p
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
I Think waiting for a reboot would be best. We shouldn't get further if into the story if we're starting over.
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
'Tis true. Would you like to continue writing for now, or wait for the reboot?
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
It's a good thing I decided to troll this morning!
I'm all for a restart. I will hate losing all that machine and I have written, but this is too good a plot to keep to ourselves!
I'll go ahead and resubscribe to this and when you all get the restart going I will certainly join. Maybe a new character? I dunno.....
>D
I'm all for a restart. I will hate losing all that machine and I have written, but this is too good a plot to keep to ourselves!
I'll go ahead and resubscribe to this and when you all get the restart going I will certainly join. Maybe a new character? I dunno.....
>D
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
I mean I guess if Lavender's okay with it and all... I was having so much fun playing a random Roman soldier who got confused by vending machines lol.
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
If you do a restart, I'll certainly joined. This was and interesting concept with interesting characters. I was sad it wasn't more successful and it definitely deserves another go.
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
Machina, I'm willing to continue our plot if you are. -shrug- All my other RPs are dying off. :/
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
I'm still here! I was waiting for a few more posts before I went again, just because I don't want to... post too much, I guess. Plus, I wanted to give Audrey the chance to possibly talk to Sev before he gets bored and leaves Starbucks or something.
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
I'm sorry I haven't posted guys! It's been so busy over here. I may put it on hold for a bit..
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
I've been wondering that myself Yumiko. It's been two days since the last post (which was you) and a week since I lasted posted. It's kind of sad because it's such a great concept. It always makes me sad when great concepts don't get used.
So, is there anyone out there? Were we waiting for someone specific to post? Let's not let this one die people!
So, is there anyone out there? Were we waiting for someone specific to post? Let's not let this one die people!
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
Hey, sorry I haven't posted. Life's been crazy lately. I'm gonna try to get on it today. :)
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
Posting looks great guys. A lot to read through, lol. We just need Ariki and fierytempest to post. If they don't seem to see this, I'll PM them.
Re: [OOC] Edge of Desire
Sorry about my recent absence. I spent a weekend without the internet.
Anyway I'll be back for this week. I will be unable to post this weekend as well.
Anyway I'll be back for this week. I will be unable to post this weekend as well.