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

So sorry for being so dead as of late @_@

[goodweather]

... Huh.

"That... explains a lot." Huh!

The speculation isn't actually as disconcerting to Phil as it may be to others. Look, he's spent a long time waffling around, looking for (and hoping he'd never get) answers for the bizarre things he's been made to tolerate, and someone having some kind of explanation, an idea for a set of rules and ideas besides Wishy Washy Ooo Magic is honestly its own kind of comfort. And Ms. Lutece obviously has an actual idea of what the hell she's talking about.

"I'll help you if I can, but I don't think we're gonna have access to a lot on a cruise ship. I'm... a forecaster myself, and ships do have tools for that, but I get the feeling the bridge is gonna be locked."

No I'm in the same boat. Badumchhh.

[spindown]

"Forecaster?" Rosalind asks and cocks a brow. It's not a term she is familiar with and, unfortunately, nothing about this fellow's appearance gives her any clues about his profession. She had no real desire to acquire access to the bridge, breaking and entering are only advantageous when the proper tools are out of reach, but if he could assist her she is curious how.

"What would you require from the bridge?"

[goodweather]

"Weatherman," he explains. "Meteorology, mostly prediction. Ships like these usually have some pretty high-end equipment. Weather maps, satellite images--if any of that actually exists here, it'd be in the bridge."

He puts a thoughtful hand to his chin. "I've never actually been on a cruise, I just know about onboard forecasting teams. I think we'd be lucky to even find a thermometer around here."

[spindown]

"Meteorological equipment?" Rosalind asks with a reflexive scoff. Meteorology is a reasonable profession, one she has a great deal of respect for considering her last home was suspended, in perpetuity, above the Atlantic Ocean. The actual equipment necessary to chart weather patterns, however? That she can build in her sleep.

"Shall I build you a potato clock while I'm at it?" she says and then, somewhat belatedly, realizes that half the conversation has not happened. She looks to her right and makes a small, unhappy face before looking back at him.

"Make a list of equipment you would like," Rosalind says, instead. "If the technology littering the ship is as advanced as it appears, I'll be able to create something to do the job. I would appreciate a copy of your data for reference, of course."

[goodweather]

... Well, this is a bit of a stuffy one. Smart as a whip for sure, but he's not sure how to feel about being scoffed at for world-class cruise liner weather data machines being... like a middle schooler's science project? (Well. Part of him wonders if this is just what she adapted to push her way past men in the field.)

"I'll... write something down," he replies, a little intimidated and a little bewildered. "Basic tools will do just fine. Barometer, anemometer, hygrometer, you know. I get the feeling your engineering skills go far beyond, but I don't expect you to do so much on my behalf. I'll give you my readings, of course. I don't do this just for myself."

[spindown]

"Of course not, you're a scientist. Likewise, you are welcome to my notes, though they are usually rather dense. Bit of a slog," Rosalind replies offhandedly. It would be like discussing the weather but, well, that's definitely part of what they're doing.

She spares a moment to glance at the amenities in their room--a clock with an electric display, screens, lamps, several pieces of furniture. She's passing certain she can build everything he wants without having to leave the room but it would probably be wise not to squander their creature comforts. (Not while there is so much unoccupied ship around them.)

"I'll have those by tomorrow," Rosalind says and then adopts a sort of contemplative frown. She eyes him, then, and considers. "Are you a personable sort? Do you...socialize? With...people?"

It is clear from her question that she does not or, otherwise, vastly prefers not to.

[goodweather]

He's about to continue on a little bit about more advanced weather equipment, since she's apparently both capable and perfectly willing, and any data he gathers will be going towards her work as well. Getting out maybe a few buoys or balloons to put together a predictive map would be great. He's a forecaster; it's generally pretty useful to not only be able to measure out weather statistics in the present, but to see what might be coming a week or more out. Stay a step ahead of a potential storm. There's never been any sign of land; he doesn't know where in any ocean they could be, and ocean and wind currents alone affect a lot, hello.

Then she asks an odd but apparently pertinent question, and he makes a note to just write this all down later.

Blink blink.

"I... am, yes, I do enjoy the company of other people very much. Why do you ask?"

[spindown]

"I ask because I do not," she explains, despite this being painfully self evident.

"But I am also in need of assistance. There should be a man here who...looks very similar to me. If you speak to...people and hear of someone matching my description, please inform me."

The way she's fidgeting wouldn't be overt enough to merit a reaction on most people, but for her it might as well be a warning flag waved on high. She hasn't seen Robert and the idea that she might be without him is...laughable? It would be, if it were funny. She's rather distressed about it but, apart from requesting a second pair of eyes to keep lookout, there's not much she can do in the moment.

"Likewise if there are other scientists, I would...appreciate any contact information you acquire. I've never been much for...social networking."

You don't say.

[goodweather]

The way she speaks makes him think of a brother, or perhaps some other family member, or just coincidentally looking alike--in any case she's clearly not comfortable with their sudden separation.

"Of course," he says. "I'll keep an eye out." There's still a whole ship of passengers to meet, after all. God knows how many else are here. Thirty? Sixty? Hundreds?

At his hip, he thumbs his ring as he speaks. "If you don't mind me asking a favor of you as well... if you find a woman with brown skin, brown curly hair, going by the name of Rita, could you point her my way?"

[spindown]

Brown skin, curly hair, called Rita? Simple enough. She nods in response, glad they have the arrangement established. There is one short followup, however, and she arches a brow just so as she looks past his shoulder.

"Does she...also have wings?" she asks. "Because, if so, that will make identifying her rather more simple."

[goodweather]

Phil snorts. "No, no, she doesn't have any wings. She looks as normal as anyone else. Actually, uh, I'm not even supposed to have these."

He loosely gestures over his shoulder. "Someone or something stapled these to my back without my permission, and now I'm stuck with them. It's a good thing they fly or I would've probably sawed them off by now."

He's not sure if he's kidding or not, either. He genuinely... not hates, he tries not to hate anything these days, especially anything that he's stuck dealing with, but really thinks he'd have been better off without them sometimes. He doesn't even fly that often, and Phil's displeasure about the whole situation shows on his face.

[spindown]

Rosalind nods and makes a small 'ah' sound. She had refrained from comment, largely because it was terribly rude to talk about physical features that one cannot adjust. If he dislikes them, however, and they are not native, then they are fair game for commentary.

"I used to have an intern who suffered from something similar," Rosalind tells him, sympathetically, or as close to sympathetically as she is capable of being.

"Industrial accident," she clarifies because it naturally follows that she should tell the tale. She debates whether or not to continue and her expression goes a bit strange as she does. It doesn't shift so much as, suddenly there's two of her and, when she moves, they fall out of sync leaving a ghostly sort of afterimage in her wake.

She decides: yes, she probably should tell the tale. The other Rosalind, however, decides no, and moves away from the conversation, talking about something else. Something neither of them are currently privy to as she is entirely silent.

"He got too close to a quantum anomaly I was researching and got a nasty jab from what was, previously, a harmless sea slug. The effects the entangled creature had on him were rather stunning. His extra appendages did not manifest quite as...nicely as yours. It is unfortunate that you must suffer them, of course, but they aren't made of keratin and spare index fingers so...at least you have the aesthetics."

Did I mention she is bad at conversation and being personable?

cw for implications of suicide

[goodweather]

Yes, you did very much mention.

Given the, uh... the whole sternness of this woman, the aloofness of that second image, and the quite severe topic at hand, Phil comes to the conclusion that maybe he should probably not make mention of... this? At some point he'll have to ask--if they're stuck living in the same space, he'd prefer to know--but. Not now. It feels improper.

So, despite his uneasy glancing at her second image, instead he addresses what he's actually being told.

"That's... terrible. I'm very sorry for him. Yes, I do consider myself fortunate, knowing that it could have been worse--" (like tentacles, Jesus, he'd heard krakens and jellyfish were an option for some people) "--and that I got a gift out of it. I don't make much use of it, though. I don't usually have a reason to fly, and I have sort of a problem with heights."

A "problem," he says, as if he hadn't repeatedly dropped himself from five stories up until it became routine. It would've been higher if Punxsutawney had any taller buildings.

[spindown]

"I felt similarly in my youth," Rosalind admits and feels like that is quite a secret. Phil, however, entirely lacks the context around that. "Ironic, perhaps, that my legacy was predominantly tied to making a city fly. I was never terribly fond of living in it, but one works where the opportunities are."

She has been standing for some time just speaking, and while she's entirely comfortable with this, she had been made to understand that most people were not. Most people, for some reason, didn't like to stand in one place for a long time and speak. (Strange, but not explicitly inconvenient.)

"Would you like a cup of coffee, I'm given to understanding we have some in the room? I should like to compare it to the shops to see if I need walk down every morning or not."

[goodweather]

Phil's eyebrows shoot up when Rosalind mentions her legacy. He'd already entertained the thought when she'd started talking about building her own professional weather machines in a day, but he's more sure now that he's just been roomed with one of those once-in-a-generation firecrackers that become part of the general schooling curriculum. Now, he could have taken it as a euphemism, but given his experience, he's far more willing to treat it literally these days. The woman literally has a double image wandering around the room.

"I... yes, it would be appreciated, thank you."

Should he sit? That seems impolite.

"If--if you don't mind me asking, you say you made a city fly? People, buildings, infrastructure and all?"

[spindown]

Rosalind putters, as does the other version of herself. She seems a little surprised when she spots the variation but says nothing as she sets about filling and activating the small coffee maker on the dresser. Once it has burbled to life and she is sorting through the many small packets in the dish next to it, she answers his questions.

"If we are speaking technically," she begins and its very, very clear that she prefers to speak technically. "Each structure that required suspension began with a layer of entangled material that was then encased in a great many helium balloons, steel beams, and propellers. People, it turns out, are considerably more comfortable if there is an apparent apparatus by which they assume levitation operates, you see. Atop that bit of theatrical frippery any and all facilities were built.

"The vertical position of the suspended molecules were my doing, as were the controls to adjust that position in space. The rest of the city taking flight was...more or less incidental. Like hanging a shelf and then having...someone build a city on it."

She's not given to diminishing her own work, but she's also not given to letting people credit her for more than is her doing. She can't make just anything take flight...well...she can but the process is rather unfriendly to most living creatures and better suited to advanced preparations.

"I will say, some of the secondary engineers were quite clever, in their way. The Battleship Bay false beach and shoreline was an exceptionally interesting attraction amid all the interlocking platforms. I've never been one for the outdoors but the fact that they were ambitious enough to build it was almost worth the energy to keep it suspended and heated."

[goodweather]

Phil, of course, can only halfway keep up, but he gets the gist. Lots of science and physics-defying stuff, potentially quantum judging by that "entangled material" line, to suspend things mid-air with a whole lot of propellers and what-have-you attached to ease the minds of the people living on top of a city hovering in the air.

And yet she's not dressed a bit like all of those cyberpunk sci-fi icons all the movies tout. He thinks he might be finally starting to get a proper grasp on where she's from.

"Christ," he huffs. "We haven't got anything like that. As far as things in the air go, we've got jet planes and commercial airliners, but that's as far as it gets. Space... well, we only just got a photo of a black hole just a little while ago."

He's surrounded by so many extraordinary people in these alternate dimensions it's hard not to feel a little inadequate, but most of them also usually come saddled with some terrific unresolved trauma. Phil's just happy he got all of that out of the way before he got here.

"You make it sound as though the making and suspension of this city wasn't something you had in mind when you were... developing all of this technology. Were you conscripted, or?"