Coffee and Shopping

[spindown]

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.

Comments

[spindown]

They actually reach the elevator with little fuss, which is somewhat shocking to Rosalind. She's barreled through a short paper's worth of information and, to his credit, Dr. Watson has seemingly listened and retained the lot. She's impressed, if somewhat distracted by her own wariness. They call the carriage and Rosalind gives her duplicates a wary assessment, as though the look of them will somehow indicate when and how she is to collapse back into one.

"I have experienced this with...eight other instances of myself," she explains in a much calmer, more gradual tone than before. "First with one, influenced unduly by...magic, and then again in singles until a test caused five separate copies to spawn."

The elevator arrives with a ding, as quickly as she could expect, and she steps into it.

"Had I not someone present, I expect that would have seen me dead--"

She reaches for the button and, all at once, ceases to be. She's gone like the bursting of a flash bulb and, in the same instant reincorporated with the direct negative of that sensation into the most neutral of her copies. Where the mirrored Rosalind had followed her into the elevator, gesturing opposite, this one remained outside of it, seemingly in no rush at all.

"--though I expect I will get more longevity out of a centrifuge than anything the...infirmary...can offer?" she finishes and looks dreadfully confused. Watson is not standing where she had expected and, as she turns to spy him, she is struck with a headache strong enough to make her stumble from standing.

[lightconductor]

"Bloody hell," Watson says, and immediately moves to catch her, one arm loosely around her waist in case she falls. "Careful, Doctor. I have you. I fear your divergences may have... collapsed."

Possibly. He thinks. He guesses. Look, he doesn't have any other explanations other than the one she just gave him. In which case, he probably needs to get her down to the infirmary at once.

"Speak to me. Can you stand?"

[spindown]

She keeps her feet, which is only really a testament to her having expected this. She does cling to Watson, though, as the worst of the headache passes. It is a miserable, prolonged ringing that takes several long, impossible moments to clear, and once it has she contains all the memories of her alternate selves. Fantastic.

Once she can hear him, or anything again, she pries one hand from its grip on his arm and presses it under her nose.

"Might I have that handkerchief back?" she asks, sounding all the world like a woman who has just been struck hard enough to daze her. She manages to stand straighter after a beat, but still sways slightly as she does. The disorientation stacks dramatically with each copy, it seems, and she is already bleeding from her nose.

"You are correct, that is what has happened," she clarifies as she tries both to stem the flow of blood and keep from bleeding on her clothing. "I apologize I cannot recall which conversation we were having. What was the last thing I said?"

[lightconductor]

"You had said how if this had happened to you when you were alone, you would be dead, and then you," Watson struggles for a moment to put this as delicately as he can, "you collapsed, and then you said something about needing a centrifuge which I admit I don't understand the significance of."

He presses the handkerchief to her face, holds it there until she can take over.

"Do you think you can make it to the infirmary? You may lean on me as much as you need, of course."

[spindown]

Watson presses her handkerchief beneath her nose and once she's managed to extricate her fingers and grip it herself, he releases. She would prefer not to hold onto him whilst sporting her own blood on her hands but, she may not be given much option. As it is, her disorientation is clearing and, as the ringing in her head calms, she can think with more clarity. The headache persists but, well, there's not much to be done about that.

"That was another conversation with another you, who both is and is not yourself," she explains. "Were we to have had a slightly varied interaction, I would have explained that the cryoprecipitate was most important...I...believe you suggested storing my own blood in reserve. I disagreed but, now, I believe I should reconsider. It is a clever idea, well done."

No, she does have to lean on him. With an apologetic grimace she leans on his shoulder and hobbles into the lift.

"The mind is not generally accustomed to recalling multiple instances of the same events. It struggles and creates the memories in a way that can inter-mesh with a linear experience of time. It does not do a very good job of it and, frequently, this is the result," she says and then releases his shoulder to gesture at her face.

Hopefully he will be able to extrapolate that the more variations, the harder the collapse is to process. She is out of breath already and feeling too lightheaded to risk sucking down air like a beached fish. Besides that, it would be rather undignified.

[lightconductor]

It's a little startling to be told an opinion another version of yourself had, but Watson considers this, then nods, slowly. He presses the button in the lift

"Yes, that would be a rather good idea. Have you seen the electric ice boxes in the cabins? That may be the best place to keep your blood fresh. It may not be the most convenient place, but it will be the most secure." There are too many vampires around for him to think much about leaving the blood in any public space. "I am... reasonably certain there are the materials for a transfusion in the infirmary. I haven't yet had to do one here, but I've gone through the equipment and drugs provided as best I can. It isn't all familiar to me, regrettably, but I've been making a close study of it."

The lift lurches into movement; Watson leans on his cane as Rosalind leans on him. He watches her face closely.