R. Lutece (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spindown) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-06-08 07:51 pm
spindown) wrote in come_sailaway2022-06-08 07:51 pm
Coffee and Shopping
Who: Rosalind and any soul who is unlucky enough to run into her.
Where: Sand Dollars and the Sundries Shop
What: Harassing her roommate, shopping, having coffee.
When: June, before the camping excursion.
Warnings: Science nonsense and rudeness, probably quantum shenanigans and blood.
Locked to Phil
Rosalind woke up on this boat in a room that both is and is not her own, without her partner that both was and was not herself. The sequence of events that lead her here were harrowing but, in the face of a strange cruise liner and stranger occupants, she finds she actually misses them. She caught glimpse of her roommate when she first arrived, a strange fellow that she hadn't given more than a passing glance as he lie in bed, largely because he was not Robert and that was her greatest concern. Now, having finished muster and being freed from the bonds of whatever force compelled her to attend, she returns to find that she is, somehow, roomed with a non-biblical angel.
She considers the winged fellow as one might consider a particularly curious looking grandfather clock. She knows all the parts involved and, whether she approves of the aesthetic or function, it will continue existing just to spite her. Still, there's no call to be rude, and if she's to be stuck with a roommate it tracks that she should, perhaps, know his name.
"What are you called?" she asks primly, by way of greeting, and crosses the room to examine the bed and the various technological amenities.
Open - Sand Dollars
This ship may lack proper library facilities, be run largely on magic, and be staffed by ghosts, but at least it has coffee. It would have truly been intolerable without some ready source of caffeine and, frankly, she couldn't abide tea. So she sits in the little cafe, Sand Dollars it's called, and reads a terrible, trashy fiction novel about time travel while sipping a very strong, very hot cappuccino. She has a small plate before her filled with madeleines and, every few minutes, makes a derisive hum as she turns the page of her book.
Open - Sundries
The sundries store has a number of useful and useless items, but lacks quite a lot of the amenities she is accustomed to. Or, at least, the versions of those amenities she is accustomed to. It appears to have the lot of them in some more modern format, but they are not things she recognizes immediately. So, with a great deal of frustration, Rosalind spends quite a long time sorting through the items on sale at the shop. She turns over the packaging, reads the labels, reads the chemical composition information (one of the few modern touches she wholly approves of) and then moves down the line.
If you've never seen a Gibson girl reading various convenience store groceries like they're a fascinating novel, now you have.
Where: Sand Dollars and the Sundries Shop
What: Harassing her roommate, shopping, having coffee.
When: June, before the camping excursion.
Warnings: Science nonsense and rudeness, probably quantum shenanigans and blood.
Locked to Phil
Rosalind woke up on this boat in a room that both is and is not her own, without her partner that both was and was not herself. The sequence of events that lead her here were harrowing but, in the face of a strange cruise liner and stranger occupants, she finds she actually misses them. She caught glimpse of her roommate when she first arrived, a strange fellow that she hadn't given more than a passing glance as he lie in bed, largely because he was not Robert and that was her greatest concern. Now, having finished muster and being freed from the bonds of whatever force compelled her to attend, she returns to find that she is, somehow, roomed with a non-biblical angel.
She considers the winged fellow as one might consider a particularly curious looking grandfather clock. She knows all the parts involved and, whether she approves of the aesthetic or function, it will continue existing just to spite her. Still, there's no call to be rude, and if she's to be stuck with a roommate it tracks that she should, perhaps, know his name.
"What are you called?" she asks primly, by way of greeting, and crosses the room to examine the bed and the various technological amenities.
Open - Sand Dollars
This ship may lack proper library facilities, be run largely on magic, and be staffed by ghosts, but at least it has coffee. It would have truly been intolerable without some ready source of caffeine and, frankly, she couldn't abide tea. So she sits in the little cafe, Sand Dollars it's called, and reads a terrible, trashy fiction novel about time travel while sipping a very strong, very hot cappuccino. She has a small plate before her filled with madeleines and, every few minutes, makes a derisive hum as she turns the page of her book.
Open - Sundries
The sundries store has a number of useful and useless items, but lacks quite a lot of the amenities she is accustomed to. Or, at least, the versions of those amenities she is accustomed to. It appears to have the lot of them in some more modern format, but they are not things she recognizes immediately. So, with a great deal of frustration, Rosalind spends quite a long time sorting through the items on sale at the shop. She turns over the packaging, reads the labels, reads the chemical composition information (one of the few modern touches she wholly approves of) and then moves down the line.
If you've never seen a Gibson girl reading various convenience store groceries like they're a fascinating novel, now you have.
no subject
She can be as prim as she likes; he sounds slick, suave, the perfect gentleman. European, though the exact where is hard to pinpoint due to that different timeline thing. Upper class background. His eyes eerily golden.
no subject
So he's European aristocracy and rude. Those features are frequently synonymous. Good to know that also is a constant.
"Indeed," she agrees blandly. "...and you are called? Or is that also rendered unto César exclusively?"
no subject
And there's the real test--does she recognize the name of his country, or is she another from a reality where the Platinum Wars never happened?
no subject
Where she had provided a perfectly reasonable multiversal answer (assuming the Atlantic Ocean was a constant), he has not returned the courtesy. Indeed, he has granted her precious few courtesies--asking for her home and date without a greeting, mentioning people who are not present (though she is still uncertain if he meant the ancient emperor or not) as though she ought to know them, and now openly refusing basic politesse and giving a cheeky reply? Testing her knowledge with a vague answer about his home rather than simply explaining himself and his curiosities? Had he not just acknowledged the potential gap in dimensions, and that they were both from a similar time? Certainly it is a much vaster divide between their respective homes than she had expected.
In her experience, even European lushes were rarely raised in barns.
He has not an ounce of propriety.
She bristles and sets her sundries down on the shelf, promptly abandoning them.
"You may reserve judment but I shall not," she decides and gives him a disdainful sort of look. "Good day, Mr. Summer."
It's a dismissal as much as anything and, while she doesnt leave the shop, she does promptly move to another aisle entirely.