sweethymns | OPEN RP POST QUATRE

Oh. Okay.

[Her hand is set down and she takes one step back.]

So. Man out of time then.

[The way she says and takes in the situation just adds to her oddness and a dissonance to the whole situation they've found themselves in. As if the unusual and out of place were everyday things to her. And in a way, Amelia does realize that she should be reacting a bit more to the fact that this man was from a different time and yet she doesn't want to make a fuss. And she's had over 60 years of magic and there are stranger things still.]

[Man out of time, indeed. And many more things.] 1912. [He utters it breathlessly, as if to himself.

But he forces his resolve to strengthen, and looks directly at Amelia, searching her expression, as if it'll unearth some clue about this insightful woman.]

You don't seem all that surprised.

Um.

To be honest I think my reaction is delayed to the point where my surprise is dull, but trust me.

This is a first and I have no idea where to go from here.

Edited 2016-09-17 02:22 (UTC)

Well ain't that great. [It's dry and sarcastic, and a bit deadpan. And it's not her fault, but something clicks in Booker that resembles frustration towards his situation. His confusion twists into a clear frown.]

What am I supposed to do then? Like I said, I'm not even supposed to be here. Unless this is some surreal afterlife, I'm pretty certain that I'm not even supposed to be alive.

[That had been part of the plan, back then, in the river. That was where the twisted version of himself had been born, and it was there he would kill him.]

[She holds her breath, and clasps her hands together trying to think. He isn't supposed to be alive? Then he was either dying or already dead. But he slept like a physical person would and woke up normally. So check that off. Also his forehead felt real, so that's another thing to take note of.]

... First thing's first. There's a change of clothes in your room.

[It was totally there, this whole time really]

Then we're going to go outside. Stretch your legs. Be ready to talk when you want.

[They can go to the local cafe that's empty this early in the morning and the owner knows Amelia well enough to just leave her and any company she has well alone.]

But leave the weapons behind okay? Civilians in this age aren't allowed to carry arms without a license.

[He sets his jaw stubbornly, but he can't bring himself to argue the point. Maybe he does need to get out -- to get a lay of the land, and maybe it'll settle his nerves. Maybe.]

...Fine.

[He thinks about what she said, though; the PI in him feels compelled to question.]

You've got men's clothes around here? I thought you said you were the only one who lives in this house?

I keep spare clothes for people in general.

[She crosses her arms and looks at him as if challenging him to try and extrapolate further.]

[Challenge accepted.]

Why? You get a lot of strays?

Not all of them come from 1912. Now, shoo. Go change.

[Uh huh. He's gonna remember you dodging the questions, Amelia.

But for now he relents, in a mockery of his time in the military.] Sir, yes sir.

[HE GIVES HER A LINGERING SKEPTICAL LOOK before he turns to go back to the guest room to change into these mysterious clothes of his.]

[The clothes Amelia has as spares for Booker consist of dark denim jeans, boots, and a dark button up and a dark jacket... Huh. Well, it's supposed to be innocuous and modern.

She's dressed mostly the same, except for a wine red cardigan to beat the chill of the morning and her hair tumbles down in waves again. She's already standing at the front door, on her phone making sure her schedule doesn't have anything unexpected.]

[The clothes are definitely modern, and therefore it's hard not to think that they're odd, but once he puts them on and glances at the mirror, he finds that they're... strangely suited to him. He straightens the collar of his jacket, one hand plunging experimentally into a sleeve.]

...weird.

[When he's done, he approaches her at the front door, looking vaguely uncertain.]

So where we going?

Cafe.

[She pockets her phone and opens up the door. Outside, it's still a little grey, but slowly warming up. Amelia's house is isolated from the other neighborhoods, but the walk to town isn't too bad. Her house is surrounded by a flower garden and it's easy to see that it's well taken care of, especially the roses.]

The place I go to makes coffee better than I can.

[Amelia looks at Booker dressed up and smiles slightly.]

Good. Looking good, I mean.

[He has to admit that coffee sounds good right about now. He takes a glance outside, not sure what to expect. There's a flower garden -- hers, he assumes -- and it lends to the sight not being as jarring as he thought it might be. All-in-all, it's actually peacefully looking.]

Coffee's a little stronger than tea. We're getting there. [A half-hearted attempt at a joke, and he blinks when she compliments him. He doesn't know how to take it (he feels weird dressed this way), but he'll take her word for it.]

Thanks. Same could be said for yourself. [Dressed up for... a day on the town, he supposes?]

Ah. Thanks.

[If she's trying to hide that she's pleased by his compliment, she's not doing a good job. But it makes her seem nicer, like a little more human with that reaction.]

Here, this way.

[And out they go, down the path. There's a few street signs and cars parked on the side. She talks while they walk.]

This town is called Blackgale. It's been my home for a while now. It's not as big as come other cities in this century, but it's a good place.

[Amelia might be an unusual woman, but Booker amusedly thinks to himself that she reacts to compliments much like a normal one.

He shoves his hands in his jean pockets as he follows, maybe only a step behind and to the side of her. The fresh air feels nice in his lungs, and he makes a note to take deep breaths, a calming habit of his.

He listens, and can't help but eye the decidedly modern-looking cars as they pass.]

Blackgale, huh? It looks nice and peaceful. [But Booker knows looks can be deceiving -- Columbia was a prime example of that. Of course, he doesn't expect Blackgale to be the same way. (At least he certainly hopes not.)] How long have you lived here?

It's been over ten years now. I work at the local high school as a teacher.

[As if on cue, a passerby waves at Amelia with a greeting, Hi, Miss Steinbeck. She jumps as if not quite used to it, but she manages a friendly wave back before continuing on.]

So people know me.

[Booker looks at the passerby with the vague curiosity of someone who obviously isn't from around here. He takes a mental note of Amelia's last name, if out of nothing more than habit.]

Is that what you were doing in the kitchen? Work? Looked like a stack of papers a mile high. [Teaching-related, he assumes.]

Mm hm. I teach literature. Or basically, I talk about books if we want to be simplistic about it.

[BUT SHE LOVES BOOKS OK]

But since it's 2014, that means there's a lot of books from the past that are worth talking about and making a study out of. I'm quite a big reader myself.

And likely a lot I've missed since 1912.

[Not that Booker was ever as big of a reader as Amelia, but he is passingly curious about what's transpired between then and now, in this world.]

The kids like you?

Somehow, I manage. I'm liked enough. Every teacher has a rough start and I definitely had it rougher than most.

[Because she's so weird, her adjustment to being around people showed back then and it still does. Before it was definitely a detriment and she couldn't call herself someone who had instructional control. But years passed, her determination never wavered, and one way or another, while Amelia Steinbeck wasn't the favorite teacher per say, the kids would say there's something comforting about her presence, as if the town wouldn't be the same without her.]

I'm tough though.

[Now they're crossing the street and after one more street to cross, they'll be in the downtown area where all the shops are. There's some people outside, walking their dogs, or going to jog early in the morning. Honestly, it's a pretty nice town? And normal?? Mostly????]

I'd like to think that teachers have got a rough job to begin with, so toughness is a prerequisite. I don't got the patience for other people's kids.

[He knows himself well enough to admit to that much at least.

As they get closer to downtown, the feeling of being out of place begins to creep onto Booker again. It's a nice place to be sure, but the architecture is weird, the signage is foreign, and the technology is sometimes overwhelming. He tries not to let it show too much.]

[Amelia glances over at Booker every now and then, to see if this 1912 man is doing okay. He's steady on his feet and seems to be taking in the sights just fine. The streets of Blackgale are probably eerily modern to someone like Booker, but the streets are decorated with pots of flowers, and even more roses. It grounds this time a lot more with its color and life.]

Have you been to California before? And by before, I mean... You know.

Edited 2016-09-17 04:54 (UTC)

[He shakes his head.] No. I ain't ever been that far west in the States before. [He watches as another car drives past, a little weirded out by its sleek design.] Not 'til... now. I lived in New York for a time, before-

[Well. Before Columbia. Before all of this.]

...Before here.

Ah, an East Coaster.

[She says this wryly, almost playfully.]

Well, thankfully for you, as a teacher in this state, I am well versed in the history. You can ask me anything about it too.

[why do you sound so proud... There's some chattering on the opposite street, some families, a Hispanic one, a Korean couple with their baby in a stroller, an everyday scene.]

I will say, that our weather in the winter is the best.

Edited 2016-09-17 05:06 (UTC)

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