romaneseuntdomus: but he looks DECEPTIVELY SASSY here. (motherfucker what.)
Esca Mac Cunoval, of the Brigantes. ([personal profile] romaneseuntdomus) wrote in [community profile] coquaigne2012-06-23 10:53 pm
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ROMANI ITE DOMUM.

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."
marthy: whatever's going on, i like it. (big: crooked smile.)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 03:58 pm (UTC)(link)
"Now it's London. It's a really great city--my brother and I both go to uni there." She's racking her brain for places that sound like 'Eboracon' and can't come up with any. Except maybe Edinburgh, but he doesn't sound Scottish. Of course, the accent's probably different two thousand years on, so she probably can't rely on that for anything. "I'm Martha, by the way."
marthy: really and truly pleased. (big: grin.)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 04:10 pm (UTC)(link)
Martha wasn't sure if they had last names in those times--ancient history wasn't her favourite subject (or, at least, not British ancient history). But if they do, she supposes she won't confuse him if she gives him hers. "Martha Laurence-Tharkay. It's nice to meet you."
marthy: so you're a vegan now, george. (big: eyebrow raise)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 04:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Martha glances around at the slot machines with their brightly coloured displays and occasional tinkling music. One in the corner keeps shouting WHEEL! OF! FORTUNE!, and it occurs to her how overwhelming the idea of electric lights must be, let alone screaming neon. "Not exactly. I don't go to a lot of casinos, though. If you want, we can go somewhere else."
marthy: whatever's going on, i like it. (big: crooked smile.)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 04:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Martha assumes that this is too much for the poor fellow--she can't help condescending a little in her mind, knowing now that he's from the distant past--and thus thinks she's doing a very good deed right now. "Well, these're slot machines here--all of this is for gambling. I looked at the directory, and there are stores, if you need anything, and restaurants. I'm not sure what else."
marthy: whatever's going on, i like it. (big: crooked smile.)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 04:45 pm (UTC)(link)
"Yeah--I've never played slots before, but that's what they are." Martha leads them through an impressive variety of them, and then past craps tables, roulette tables, blackjack tables, and all the rest. "And these are for card games, I think."

She considers the offer of exploration, glancing over at Esca, before nodding. "Why not? I've got time. What do you want to see first?"
marthy: please stop kissing in front of me. (big: ^_^)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 04:51 pm (UTC)(link)
"Oh, yeah, you haven't got those." What do they have in Roman Britain? Inns? Martha's not sure. "They're like shops just for food--you sit down and order a meal, and they serve it to you. If you're hungry, we can try one."
marthy: really and truly pleased. (big: grin.)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 05:11 pm (UTC)(link)
In all honesty, Martha would rather eat at home--there are plenty of great restaurants in London, but no one makes quite the same combination of Tibetan, Indian, Turkish, and English foods as Tharkay. Not at the same meal, anyway. But 'home' is too far to drop by outside holidays, so if she's tired of making dinner, restaurants have to do. "All right. I think they're a few floors up. I wonder where the stairs are..." They can try an elevator after the poor man's had something to eat.
marthy: so you're a vegan now, george. (big: eyebrow raise)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 06:38 pm (UTC)(link)
They're pretty nice looking for stairs, but in the end, they are stairs. "Up," Martha answers, since she's pretty sure the casino is at the bottom of the hotel, and leads the way up. On the way, she supposes they might as well make smalltalk. "So what kind of food do you like?"
marthy: you're fucking kidding me, right? (big: sideye.)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 06:45 pm (UTC)(link)
"Seal?" It's a good thing George isn't here, she thinks--he'd be utterly disgusted at the thought. Even she, meat-eater that she is, has difficulty imagining eating seal. "They eat all kinds of things. I usually just make pilaf--it's really easy, just rice and whatever else you have in the house cooked in with it."
marthy: you're fucking kidding me, right? (big: sideye.)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 06:58 pm (UTC)(link)
"Of course I've heard of seals." She's not an idiot, Esca. "But we don't eat them."

She pauses at the landing, looking around at the next floor up. There's a really nice swimming pool, but no restaurants. Onwards and upwards. "Anyway, pilaf is...well, I guess if you don't have rice, it's kind of hard to explain, but it's really good. One of my dads taught me to make it."
marthy: won't tell a soul.  probably. (big: tell me a secret.)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 07:12 pm (UTC)(link)
"Well--because they're seals! You can't eat them. Besides, they're endangered." Which probably doesn't mean anything to him. "It means there aren't a lot left, so you can't hunt them or anything."

Martha would be happy to introduce him to all the deliciousness of cuisine from outside the British Isles, but it'll be another two flights of stairs before they can even think about that. "Well, uh. I'm not from a tribe exactly. Dad's family live in Nottingham, though. And Tharkay was born in India. It's on the other side of the world from England, really far away. Are you from a tribe?"
marthy: whatever's going on, i like it. (big: crooked smile.)

[personal profile] marthy 2012-06-24 07:25 pm (UTC)(link)
"Well, I didn't. Anyway, my brother'd go mental if he thought I ate a seal." George grew out of the self-important vegan stage before puberty, thankfully, but Martha's pretty sure he could find some condescension in his heart for the idea of eating an endangered animal.

"Brigantes," she repeats. Martha isn't entirely sure the extent to which tribes were a part of England; she wonders vaguely if perhaps there are people who still keep to them. Neo-pagans, maybe, she supposes. "Nottingham's in the midlands. North of London, but not really north. And India never really belonged to the Romans, I don't think. I don't know if they knew about India in your time. Maybe for spices, they did."

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