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
"Just as I said, I knocked."
The game models don't make a face extreme enough for this reaction.
First, he's been perfectly candid about how this works. He's shown her, to her face, at her behest, precisely how he does this. That is, overall, commendable.
Unfortunately: second, this is complete and total hogwash.
She stares, watches him open and shut the door, and her offense and affront mount with each movement. It's like watching a magician if you bred rabbits and did haberdashery on the side. Everything in her is screaming that this is just flim-flammery but she cannot, on her life, figure out the mechanism by which he is tricking her.
She has literally, not once, not ever, been more offended than she is right now.
Tragically, he is also being perfectly polite, so she has no call to go off on a rant or start screaming at him. There is no world in which she does this which, oddly enough, is made extremely clear by the total lack of variants or deviations spawning in her wake. Not once has a ghostly form of her diverged from the timeline. In all possible universes where this interaction occurs, she is in alignment with herself.
This is bullshit. (Pardon her French.)
She gapes and stares and looks at him and, in a very tight-lipped, stiff fashion:
"As you said," she agrees. Begrudgingly. So begrudgingly. "And that's an entire sub-dimension, is it? With gravity and weather and such? Hm?"
Does her voice go higher pitched with strain as she speaks? Ludicrous. Of course it doesn't.
no subject
He pays absolutely no heed to the frustration and disbelief coming from her, and answers nonchalantly.
"I'm afraid I don't know anything about sub-dimensions. It's just a little section of the Hedge I own. Really, anything to do with how it works would be the domain of my man, he's the magical brains of this operation, I just live here. Do you intend on questioning me further? Because I myself would prefer this conversation over tea."