ROMANI ITE DOMUM.

[romaneseuntdomus]

Esca doesn't realize he's walked through any door, at first, because the door to the peristyle at the Aquila Vila don't have doors, precisely. It takes Esca a moment to realize what's happened, and in that moment he walks into and onto a bed, of the softest quality he's ever encountered. The shift in perception shocks him further, and he turns, scaring and confused. An open door behind him leads back to the garden. But here... There are things to explore. Gently, he closes the door, and walks out.

The floor is soft under his feet, softer than fresh grass, and the air is pleasantly chilled like the best days at home. There are shining metal boxes open, but nothing happens when he walks inside, and eventually he finds stares that take him to identical rooms. None of the doors are locked, though it does take Esca some time to understand that one must twist the handle to open them.

He repeats this descent until he finds himself in a large room full of color and sound; multiple booths call out to him like sirens, and he is at once curious and skeptical. He wishes he had brought a sword. As is, in a shirt and braccae, he feels slightly exposed.

He climbs atop one of the nearest flashing booths, this one bright yellow and shouting about 'slots'. Crouching, he cups his hands around his mouth and calls out to allies. "Am I alone? Show yourself, friend! I mean no harm, and have naught which you could steal."

Comments

[marthy]

"Probably," Martha agrees, without a hint of irony. "A lot of the animals are endangered, so they might not be alive otherwise. And some of them were born at the zoo, so..."

"Oh." She can't help being disappointed--she was hoping that was Eboracon--but Esca recognizing it is a good second. They've come to the restaurant floor and are now idling near the stairs, because Martha's a little too engrossed in this mystery to explain the choices to him. "God, I'm crap at geography. Um. Maybe Durham? Or Yorkshire, I guess?"

[romaneseuntdomus]

"You hunt too often, if that is the case. One should only hunt in season, or you'll thin the herd."

Esca stops, and leans back against the railing, equally lost in thought. "I have never heard of Durham, or Yorkshire."

[marthy]

"It's not just hunting. Their land gets turned into farms, or cities, or--well, you kind of have the wrong twin for animal rights. My brother, George, he can go on about it for hours. Trust me, we wouldn't be hunting tigers if they put me in charge."

All the excitement of matching Cumbria dissipates at this. Martha didn't really expect him to recognize names like those (they don't sound even the slightest bit Roman), but it would have been nice. "Well, there's Northumberland, too. Eboracon's probably called something like those names these days."

[romaneseuntdomus]

"I think you have lost me utterly." He hangs his head, but only slightly. "What of twins?"

"If it is like London, it is called Ebora now, perhaps? But Caledonia is a very different word from Scotland; I've no notion of how that transformation took place." He shrugs. "I know only the names of my home."

[marthy]

"Oh. Sorry. I've got a twin, his name's George." Martha's not sure what else she can clarify for Esca, so she doesn't make much further effort there.

Northumberland doesn't strike a chord of recognition in Esca's face, which is another small disappointment. "I can't think of anywhere called Ebora. But it's not like I'm an expert on the north--I hardly ever go there. Maybe I could look it up when I get home..."

[romaneseuntdomus]

Esca nods. He knows what twins are. "And he cares far more of zoos."

He nods, shrugging. "Things change. My grandfather would not understand how things are where I live." He wants to at least appear to accept it. "If the knowledge has not been lost, I don't see why not. For now, these restaurants..."

[marthy]

"Sometimes I think George loves animals more than people," Martha says, giving Esca a crooked smile. "He doesn't eat meat or cheese or anything like that. He won't even wear leather."

It occurs to Martha then that even if she does look it up, she'll have a hell of a time trying to get the information back to a bloke living in ancient Britain. Well, she'll do it for her own self, then. Until then, restaurants. "Well, these're the options," she says, waving a hand at the seemingly endless row of places. Some look rather old-fashioned, like Martha's mental image of some kind of medieval inn, while others are much closer to the sorts of places she visits in London. "We can try any of them you like."

[romaneseuntdomus]

"Is he... very sickly?" Esca says, with the tone of voice of someone asking delicately after a madman.

To Esca, none of the fooderies look particularly familiar, he not having gone often to taverns or the like during his stays at Calleva. He frowns a little, and follows his nose to the best smelling cookery. "Ah," he says with a smile. "Seal."

[marthy]

"Oh, no, he's pretty healthy. He just doesn't like when animals are in pain." George is the sensitive one. Martha keeps her vulnerable spots a little more camouflaged--or tries to, anyway. "And he gets by. Eats a lot of grains and things, though."

"Seal," Martha repeats, following Esca to the restaurant. It smells almost fishy to her, but not strictly bad. "I hope they have some non-seal, too."

[romaneseuntdomus]

He must be very sickly. Esca continues to look a little grave and sympathetic. "I wish him the best."

At the seal, which is in a pot of stew Esca hops over the counter to find, he does not look at all grave. "Do you dislike it so? It's very hearty."

[marthy]

"Uh. Yeah." George is just fine, Esca. Just. Fine. And Martha can't tell if Esca's taking the piss out of her or not.

"I've never had it," Martha says, looking dubiously at the pot of stew. It doesn't smell bad, and it even looks pretty good. "Maybe if I pretend it isn't seal..."

[romaneseuntdomus]

Esca nods, still a little grave, and goes back to the seal stew. It has lumps of seal, a whole lot of barley, beans, and brassicas. Using stone bowls Esca finds behind a counter, he makes two portions for the both of them, and drinks from his bowl slowly without the aid of spoon. "It's good," he says. "Very good."

[marthy]

Martha looks down at her bowl, then glances around for soup spoons. This place doesn't seem to have any, and she doesn't feel like going and rooting around in a completely different restaurant. And anyway, maybe seal stew is supposed to be drunk the way Esca's doing it. He certainly doesn't seem to have any reservations when it comes to tipping his bowl up to his mouth.

Dad would despair, she suspects, but if this is how it's done, this is how it's done. Taking a deep breath, she lifts the bowl to her face and takes a very small sip. If it's awful, she doesn't want to swallow a big mouthful. "Oh--it is good."

[romaneseuntdomus]

Oh, Martha, you're lucky Esca isn't eating it straight from the caldron. Esca finishes up his stew quickly, obviously satisfied. He's clearly pleased when she seems to like it. "It's good for you. Not so terrible." He imitates her diction just slightly.

[marthy]

Straight from the cauldron? Ew, ew, ew. She gives him a slightly sheepish smile before drinking some more of it. "I guess if you have to eat seal, this is pretty good. It'd be better with a spoon, though."

[romaneseuntdomus]

Esca considers this. Maybe things are done differently, where she is from. He shrugs, and fishes the serving spoon out of the caldron, the one he used to fill up both their bowls, and hands it to her. "Better?"

[marthy]

"It's a little big..." Martha says dubiously, but she manages to make it work. It's less unwieldy for her than trying to drink the stew, though she suspects she looks ridiculous. In a few minutes, she's finished, too. "I guess you don't really have soup spoons yet, do you."

[romaneseuntdomus]

Esca looks a little confused. "This is stew," he says, because it's the best answer he can manage.

[marthy]

"Yeah, I know. You can use them for stew, too. They're spoons like this one--" and Martha gestures to the spoon sitting next to her empty bowl--"except smaller. That way you don't spill stew all over yourself while you eat it."

[romaneseuntdomus]

"I don't spill," Esca says. He's a very neat eater, in general. "I think your people are just sloppy." Said with a smile, though. It's the kindly sort of jostling insults one delivers to a member of another tribe. Even if you're fond of them, rivalry is healthy.

[marthy]

"Maybe some of them are, but the rest of us are just polite." She grins back. They've settled into a comfortable sort of kinship, she thinks, so she can take some gentle ribbing. "Want to get some dessert? You can try out a spoon for yourself."

[romaneseuntdomus]

Esca tsks at her mockingly, but takes it well enough. He likes this girl, he decides; she is very strange, but kind enough. He nods at her suggestion. "Alright, a dessert. What manner of beast is it?"

[marthy]

"It's not a beast," she says, laughing. She leads the way out of the restaurant and down the row of brightly coloured counters and awnings, in search of something suitably good-looking. "It's pudding--you know, something sweet after the main course. Do you guys eat those?"

[romaneseuntdomus]

Esca frowns, thinking. "The Romans eat honey and apples after meals. It is not a British custom." He shrugs. He was never much fond of the habit, himself, but who knows.

[marthy]

"Huh. I didn't know that." Based on how much Dad likes pudding, you'd think it was as English as roast beef. Martha stops at a little shop that boasts soft-serve and a variety of toppings. "Well, we won't have honey and apples, so it won't be too Roman. Have you ever had ice cream before?"