milliways_bar | (no subject)

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She's curled up in one of the armchairs, but she's dragged it (mostly through sheer determination and quite a lot of muttering about coasters) to the Observation Window, preferring to have that, instead of the fireplace, as her view.

She has what is most likely a coffee table book, but the pictures are of alien landscapes - too many moons, too jagged a backdrop, too many colors in too many unusual places to be of Earth.

It's just a few places she'd been wanting to go. At least, at the very least, she can look at the pictures.

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"I rather like the cliffy one," remarks a deep, quiet Irish voice behind her, referring to a particular landscape depicting vast cliffs of amber looming over a churning pink sea, beneath two suns setting. "It's very colourful."

Colour is an attribute in short supply in Albion.

(Which is an irrelevant, fanciful concern.)

"But the more jagged ones possess a certain harsh beauty."

One day, Moriarty will learn basic social mores, and so will begin conversations with an introduction.

She turns her head whipcrack fast, eyes wide. Some of that is just her, the same high-energy curious girl she's always been. Some of that is the nerves that are now perpetually on edge, busy trying to avoid dwelling on the details of reality.

"Isosperus. It was on the itinerary." She blurts, because what is it with her luck in running into people in fancy dress?

Whatever it is, that's some dang good luck. She appreciates the view, frankly.

Edited 2012-10-21 04:30 (UTC)

"Was?"

Is something wrong with Isosperus? Does it have monsters? Moriarty bets it has monsters. Possibly formerly preserved in amber.

"Is there something awry with it?"

She's officially in love with his accent. Maybe it's just a little tiny puppy love, but still. After a year alone, accents are awesome.
"It's fine... I think. Could've had something happen to it, wouldn't know I'm afraid. The ship crashed."

Spectacularly, suddenly, unexpectedly. She'd still like a word with the captain, but the last time she saw him he was a walking long-dead zombie Dalek puppet. Makes talking difficult.

"Always a danger with any kind of transport. Should I presume you're stranded now? And perhaps not in the delightful Coral Island manner?"

That was a weird book.

The unfamiliar reference gets a blink, but from context she figures that the Asylum does not qualify under that clause. Even sarcastically, 'delightful' should not be used to define that place.

Though actually, it fits very well. If the island a bit more barren.

"Stranded... can be used to describe it, sure."

Moriarty cocks his head, giving her a wry grin.

"Well, if fiction has taught me anything it's that you'll either soon be rescued by a burly young sailor, or you'll sail yourself to safety on a makeshift raft."

Moriarty thinks the 'makeshift raft' option is the more interesting one.

"So overdone - I'm going with option 'C', to give the story points for originality." She tries to grin back at that, because hey, this is okay, right?

It comes out a little strained, a little disappointed, even after a couple weeks of distance. She got so close to freedom.

Moriarty's smile flickers slightly, because there was no way he couldn't catch the slight strain there.

"At the very least, the bar and its environs, such as they are, seem not only pleasant but more than adequate to live in. Far preferable to some deserted island or planet."

"Well, there are books here. And company. I'm leaning towards giving this place the win." She settles, able to take a mental step back to what's going on outside of her door.
"So, I'm Oswin... and what should I call you?"

If he doesn't give an answer, he's totally Nina.

"I'm Professor James Moriarty, but, er," quick, awkward smile that makes him look his age for a moment (for a professor, he can't be older than his early twenties), "Moriarty or James will serve. They're quicker to say, too."

"Oooh, another professor. I feel like I should be taking notes." She grins cheekily. "Don't tell me you do genetics as well, I'll begin to suspect a bias."

Moriarty laughs softly. "No, mathematics and astronomy. I've yet to even meet any genetics professors."

"Mathematics and astronomy... because being officially smart in one subject wasn't enough?" She asks, having never really felt the need to be similarly 'officially' smart in much of anything. "Or double the tweed?"

Moriarty shakes his head. "I am only a professor of mathematics - but I do astronomy as well, and teach it on occasion."

Beat.

He peers down at himself. "Do I appear to be wearing any tweed? I rather dislike it."

She pulls a sad face, because hey, tweed. It's kind of awesome.

"Total tweed denial." Oswin diagnoses, shaking her head. "I may cry at the tragedy of it all."

"Is it truly that tragic? I very much doubt tweed would suit me. You'd have me wearing a deerstalker next, and then I'd look totally absurd."

"Everyone looks absurd in one of those, dear." She smirks, "Why they were created in the first place is one of the great mysteries of the universe."

"For stalking deer, one presumes," Moriarty remarks mildly, "although the fashions of the upper classes are ever bizarre and alien."

Meanwhile, Leela is in an armchair very much like Oswins', doing much the same thing. Only the alien world she's looking at pictures of is Earth. (Well, alien to her, anyway). She's currently looking at a photo of the skyline of Chicago, circa 2012.

She turns her head and nods at Oswin. "What world are you looking at?"

"... Aren't you... cold?" Oswin asks in return, because wow, that's definitely... retro.

She imagines the cleaning is hell.

Leela raises an eyebrow.

"No," she says. "Why would I be?"

Oswin, never daunted by an eyebrow, raises one right on back.

"It's not exactly bikini weather?" She hazards, helpfully.

"I don't know what a bikini is," she says. "Besides, we are indoors. The weather doesn't matter."

"... Wow. And I thought my brain was amazing." A year of straight-up denial of a Dalek conversion almost seems... wussy, compared to denial of it being late fall. In that outfit.

Leela's eyes narrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"... Seriously?" Oswin is definitely coming in second place in the denial sweepstakes to this girl.

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about," she snaps. "You ask me if I'm cold and then you tell me it's not 'bikini weather' as if I'm expected to know what that means. It would help you explained it - I'm probably from a different world than you."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure of that." She agrees, blinking. Tiiiime to quietly go back to her book, she's pretty sure.

Not just yet. "It could be determined fairly easily if you know anything of the Sevateem. Or of the Mordee Expedition."

"Or.. you know, realized I didn't know anyone else in leather bikinis." She adds, pulling her book up a little bit.

She's being lectured. By the woman who is wearing a leather... look, the waitresses on the bar deck wore more. And they were forever complaining about the draft.

"Is that what what I'm wearing is called on your world? A 'bikini'?"

She looks down at herself. "If it is, I suppose that explains what you mean. My clothes are suitable for the time being."

"As you say." Hey, if the girl wants to go around looking like someone's best bedtime friend, that's not her problem. "You have fun with that."

"I will, then."

Well, that was confusing. But if she wants to be like that about it, more power to her. Leela turns her attention back to the book before shaking her head and setting it down.

"Interesting book." Charlie is observing from the rafters.

She squeaks, faintly, startled, staring upward with wide eyes.

Then she gives him a frown, because being scared is not an emotion she's particularly enamored with.

"Interesting perch."

"Sorry to startle you, Oswin. But you can see a lot from up here." Though he hasn't actually succeeded in seeing anything that would explain some of the weird stuff that's been going on of late.

"That's alright. Your chin's even more chiseled from this angle." She's gone back to rolling with the punches, and people who lurk in rafters deserve everything they get.

"If that's a compliment, thanks.

"Should I come down?" No reason to make it too easy on her.

That does seem to be the consensus of the universe.

"Up to you - you are rocking the lurker hunch up there."

"Don't knock lurking till you've tried it." But for now, he's content to leap down.

"Hey."

Green boy over her shoulder.

(He's rather more tense than he was last time, and wearing it on his sleeve. And on his belt, in the form of a Chinese sabre in quite a nice scabbard.)

She is an adult, and has survived a ship crash and Dalek conversion and a year alone amongst the crazy and she definitely does not squeak like a mouse when snuck up on.

Much.

"I'm putting a bell on you."

That gets a small laugh out of him. "Sorry. They teach us to walk lightly. They have to," he adds, displaying a big combat boot.

"... This is the part where most people get a little bit worried about the juxtaposition of 'they' and 'giant combat boots'." She points out, helpfully. "And it'll be a big bell."

Well, he's a big guy, it'd have to be.

"Guardian Academy. Hero training. Relax, I only use my powers for good."

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