Your Time is Sand, Your Ways are Leaves upon the Sea

[nostradamnit]

Who: Nostradamus and Company
Where: Cabin 139, the buffet, noisy places
What: Quick pre-event thingum
When: June, before the camping excursion.
Warnings: None yet


1. And the hand just re-arranges the players in the game [Closed to Hythlodaeus]
Down at the very end of the hall (or beginning, if one is wise enough to take the nearer elevator bank) is Room 139, where one can find Michel de Nostradame sitting on the bed, this fine afternoon. A tall man, he occupies the bed rather fully, his leather boots sitting on the floor beside it. He's holding a Serena Eterna notebook and one of these fascinating 'pens' from the souvenir shop, organizing some of his thoughts on paper.

This is the state of things, when Hythlodaeus arrives. The room itself is tidy, no extra 'stuff' in it yet. It seems Nostradamus has yet to really figure out how he wishes to occupy it.


2. Oh, I had a dream, it seemed I stood alone [Open, Windjammer Buffet]
Nostradamus isn't the first person to whom the buffet has seemed a little foreign, but he's clearly taking a methodical approach to figuring out what he likes and what he doesn't, five or six plates on the table in front of him, a little sample of several dishes on each. He's actually arranged the plates so that they're roughly mapping out the buffet itself, to make it easier to find what he enjoys again.

"It would be nice if I knew what any of these delicacies were called." He has an egg roll in hand as he says that, half-eaten.


3. And the veil of all the years [Open, Casino or Rischie]
Perhaps you're passing through the casino or lingering in Rischie for a late night drink. Either way, it's clear that the man in the leather jerkin is not having a good time. The lights and sounds, the smoke in the casino or the bass in the club--it's overwhelming for a man who comes from the days when a hearty joust or a feast was the greatest festivity in the castle. Disoriented and suffering from sensory overload, Nostradamus is in a corner with his hands over his ears.

He may need a little assistance.


4. Goes sinking from my eyes like a stone [Wildcard]
darkersolstice or darkersolstice#9463, as always

Comments

[saltwaterlungs]

Ugh. She couldn't believe she was going to have to interrupt her chill-out time to help this dude. The fact nobody was forcing her didn't occur to her. Darcy takes one of his elbows, and attempts to heave him to his feet without jostling his hands too much. Probably to his surprise, in the same way as a big dog getting picked up for the first time, she manages to shift him a considerable amount.

"Lets! Get! You! Out!"

[nostradamnit]

He does the standing thing, giving her a look of confusion mingled with gratitude. "Please!" Her strength is definitely surprising, but he'd not going to ask about that here and now. This is so very not the time.

[saltwaterlungs]

It's much easier once he's standing and holding his own weight. The good little psychopomp ferries him out of the noise and bright lights, dragging him far enough down the hallway that the pounding bass is little more than a dull thud.

"Here," she says at a regular volume, "this should be better."

[nostradamnit]

"Ah...thank you. I...won't wander into there again. Sorry." He's still mildly stunned, but he realizes he's been a pain in her ass enough. So clearly he ought to just leave her be. Right? Right.

[saltwaterlungs]

"It's fine. Do you want to go get water or something?" she asks, her duty doesn't end until she can confirm he's fine, "Rischie's is a lot."

[nostradamnit]

"I...I can find water on my own, truly. And all the water on this ship is even clean. It's amazing, truly."

He's feeling guilty for having needed help, now. The silence is almost deafening.

[saltwaterlungs]

"Okay then," she says churlishly, half offended at her offer being rejected and half already over it.

"You're also someone who's old- relatively, someone from the past compared to me then, ehn? It's not just a costume?"

[nostradamnit]

"This no costume, no. I am from Anno Domini 1558."

It makes him a little sad, deep down, that someday his clothing might be considered a costume. But he isn't going to linger on the thought for too long, not right now.

[saltwaterlungs]

"That's rough."

Darcy gently ushered him in the vague direction of somewhere to get water from, as she tried to restrain the part of her that perked up at when he was from. 1500s was old enough to have knights, right?

"I'm Darcy, by the way. I'm not sorry about freaking out on you, but I'm not still mad about it, either."

[nostradamnit]

"Michel de Nostredame. At your service."

He sketches a bow--he's realized those aren't done here, but it seems proper in this moment. Like, with everyone coming from different places and times, there can't be one single set of social mores he's bungling, right?

[saltwaterlungs]

"... no shit," she barks, unable to hide her enthusiasm, "fucking Nostradamus?"

This was the second historical figure aboard the ship she knew- Stede didn't count, as she hadn't heard of him before she got to know him. She's not going to bow back, for her own dignity.

"No shit, we like, had to do an assignment on you when I was in primary school- well, it was for important French figures, I think I ended up writing about Jean d'Arc, but like- you were an option? Holy shit."

[nostradamnit]

"I was important enough to write about for school, centuries later?"

He has not clue how to feel about that, but he sure is feeling something right now. It's just...Big. He wrote down his recipes and prophecies and observations, and hoped someone might read them. But he had no real expectations of having a legacy.

[saltwaterlungs]

"Yeah, your prophesies are really famous. You apparently predicted a bunch of shit. I don't actually know any of them, but I guess you do, so."

The excitement of 'oh shit I know this guy' had worn off a bit. So instead she comes out and asks-

"Do you know any knights?"

[nostradamnit]

"Of course. Being at court, I often get to see them knighted by the king--and I'm often present at jousts and tournaments, in case anyone is severely injured."

The question's a little confusing. How could he not know knights?

[saltwaterlungs]

There's a legitimate excited glimmer in her eye. She doesn't even know where to start, the idea that he actually lives in at a court with a king and there's jousting. It's the intensity of a trained falcon seeing a chunk of meat mid-air, and it's only Darcy's continued pursuit of coolness that prevents her from sinking her talons in with questions.

"Cool. That's really- it's pretty cool. Knights are cool."

[nostradamnit]

"'Cool'?" He doesn't really understand the word as she's using it, looking completely baffled.

[saltwaterlungs]

"Yeah?"

She tilts her head a bit at him.

"Awesome? Good? What, was cool not invented yet when you're from?"

[nostradamnit]

"Awesome and good, I understand perfectly. 'Cool' is...a synonym?"

Given his understanding of 'awesome' in its original sense, this may someday lead to him sounding like a youth pastor, talking about the inherent coolness of God.