sadfreezingbrit_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sadfreezingbrit_archive) wrote2011-08-06 05:37 pm
sadfreezingbrit_archive) wrote2011-08-06 05:37 pm
Entry tags:
One increasingly restless physicist in three settings [22/??? artefacts collected]
[ Philip's been in Wonderland for almost a year now. He's dedicated some time to the idea of meeting a romantic partner here, but that time was extremely limited to say the least. Fleeting thoughts that don't compare...
Fleeting thoughts that don't compare to this nagging feeling, that increasing restlessness he's been trying to ignore since yesterday. Talking to Dean and remembering what a good friend he's found in him somehow made things better, if only temporarily. Very temporarily. There is still-- ]
Christ, I look like a shoddy James Bond villain knock-off.
[ There is still so much missing, which is why this accidental video has been showing him trying on various outfits and muttering to himself for well over an hour now. Granted, having one arm still in a sling slows the process down considerably, but there's also the fact that he really isn't too sure which occasion he's so frantically trying to find an appropriate outfit for.
He tentatively holds two ties up to his (currently) white shirt. ]
That's not... not really saying hate me, more ignore me or bad Christmas present.
[ He groans and disappears from view, reappearing in outfit #491 some time later. ]
Okay. [ Adjusting dark blue trousers. ] Right. [ Straightening dark blue shirt. ] Good, that's-- [ Checking light blue tie. ] That's... [ Deep sigh. ] That's nonsense.
[ Ripping light blue tie off and tossing it away before plonking down on the bed. ]
It's complete and utter nonsense.
{ Don't beat yourself up, it's only marginally more ridiculous than the other human mating rituals I remember.
But um, if you wanna kick back and let old Clarence show you how it's done, I've got someone in mind already. Best plan too, trust me here, 'cause you ain't gonna score and we both know it... }
Look, just this once don't--
[ Whatever passionate statement Philip was about to make to "himself" is lost on his audience as the video feed cuts off at last. ]
- - - -
[ Philip's voice is heard again soon after that, though his final decision on what to wear will remain a mystery, at least during this brief (yet deliberate) audio transmission. ]
Um, is there-- We haven't got... someone like a barber here by any chance, do we?
[ Click! And that's it! ]
- - - -
[ ...Until later that day when Philip takes his troubling thoughts out for a walk on the beach for accidental and deliberate action encounters alike. ]
Fleeting thoughts that don't compare to this nagging feeling, that increasing restlessness he's been trying to ignore since yesterday. Talking to Dean and remembering what a good friend he's found in him somehow made things better, if only temporarily. Very temporarily. There is still-- ]
Christ, I look like a shoddy James Bond villain knock-off.
[ There is still so much missing, which is why this accidental video has been showing him trying on various outfits and muttering to himself for well over an hour now. Granted, having one arm still in a sling slows the process down considerably, but there's also the fact that he really isn't too sure which occasion he's so frantically trying to find an appropriate outfit for.
He tentatively holds two ties up to his (currently) white shirt. ]
That's not... not really saying hate me, more ignore me or bad Christmas present.
[ He groans and disappears from view, reappearing in outfit #491 some time later. ]
Okay. [ Adjusting dark blue trousers. ] Right. [ Straightening dark blue shirt. ] Good, that's-- [ Checking light blue tie. ] That's... [ Deep sigh. ] That's nonsense.
[ Ripping light blue tie off and tossing it away before plonking down on the bed. ]
It's complete and utter nonsense.
{ Don't beat yourself up, it's only marginally more ridiculous than the other human mating rituals I remember.
But um, if you wanna kick back and let old Clarence show you how it's done, I've got someone in mind already. Best plan too, trust me here, 'cause you ain't gonna score and we both know it... }
Look, just this once don't--
[ Whatever passionate statement Philip was about to make to "himself" is lost on his audience as the video feed cuts off at last. ]
- - - -
[ Philip's voice is heard again soon after that, though his final decision on what to wear will remain a mystery, at least during this brief (yet deliberate) audio transmission. ]
Um, is there-- We haven't got... someone like a barber here by any chance, do we?
[ Click! And that's it! ]
- - - -
[ ...Until later that day when Philip takes his troubling thoughts out for a walk on the beach for accidental and deliberate action encounters alike. ]
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It's kind of you to offer, and if...if it's not too much trouble, I would appreciate the company.
[Why is it always tall, megalomaniacal, power-hungry arses that want to make the moves on her- Oh, wait, no. She hasn't met Mr. Sandpaper Kisses yet. Maybe later.]
To be honest, I'm a bit worried he'll come back, and I don't think a slap will deter him.
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No trouble at all, Evelyn. [ He looks around in preparation of fishing for his shoes. ] Where should I go?
[ Once on his way he will take some time to be morose about the fact that he makes for an even worse bodyguard than usual. No two working hands, no matter how skinny and untrained, and not much luck with left-handed gunmanship either - or so he suspects.
Luckily those sentiments are obscured, at least while Philip is busy thriving on his equivalent of chivalry; the thought that in a place of magical horrors nobody should fall victim to something as ordinary as an entitled pervert. ]
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[The real question: room number, or defaulting to one of the many parlours? Philip has by no means given her any reason to doubt his sincerity or kindness so far, and the private rooms have deadbolts to prevent entry by presumptuous emperors with grabby hands...]
...Ah, room ten. I'll leave the door unlocked.
[Evelyn would like nothing better than to confront the man who cornered her in the library, give him a firm telling-off and carry on with life, but this isn't her world anymore. No matter how many staircases and rooms there are, it's still small, and people can be found.
People like her.
Regardless, she tidies up her room and waits, anxiously.]
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[ A brief pause for any potential last words. Then the feed turns off and Philip goes about putting on his aforementioned shoes. Whatever outfit he had on last will simply have to do for the moment.
The only accessory he adds is a loaded revolver, concealed as best as he can. It takes civilised company like Evelyn to bring back the tension he felt when he first started carrying the thing around. It just doesn't come naturally to him, no matter how much he tries to argue for its practical usage.
...Which has been very limited so far. The worst things he had to face here were painfully unaffected by bullets, though at least today he hopes that the threat of firepower could be of use to him.
If it actually has to come to that, which Philip sincerely hopes is not the case. Catching up with a dear acquaintance has a much better ring to it than standing guard.
He knocks on Evelyn's door, one and a few additional minutes later. ]
{ Kill the rival and grab the girl, huh? Always figured you had it in for the classic moves. }
Evelyn? It's Philip.
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She isn't nearly as tense as she was before, having settled down after putting the kettle on to boil. Tea always helps, and if it doesn't, then the ritual act of putting it all together feels calming enough. Having pulled a couple of chairs around the table in her room, Evelyn tries - and fails - to distract herself with reading. She can almost hear Handel's Hallelujah chorus when someone knocks on the door.]
Coming.
[Book down, stand up, a stroll over to the door to open it juuuust enough to- Thank Heavens, somebody sane. Stepping back, it swings wide and she gestures that Philip enter. The only thing she wasn't able to clean up entirely happens to be the small pile of dresses draped over the ottoman at the foot of her bed, ranging from the abominably opulent to the much more flattering.
We are pretending that these don't exist because the closet won't take them back.]
Thank you for coming, it's...well, as you can imagine, it's been a rather strange weekend so far.
[He implied earlier that he too had been having some trouble with "quadrants." Assuming the worst is difficult when she doesn't know his other acquaintances, but the whole ordeal probably hasn't been easy.]
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[ Philip steps inside and takes an appreciative look around the room. Settling in seems to have gone all right for her and the vintage design is almost starting to grow on him. ]
After some of the past events I should be glad this one is almost tame in comparison, but--
[ It's unsettling because it's tame, because it's not entirely unlike ideas that went through his own mind. Ideas didn't want anything to do with, trains of thought that started out as innocent musings and led further and further into dark and gloomy realisations like so many of the things he contemplates for too long.
Philip shakes his head and dismisses the thought. ]
I suppose if I can keep it down to wasting my morning trying on clothes then it really could be worse.
[ A knowing glance at the pile of Evie's dresses. Nice to recognise some of the symptoms at least. ]
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[She shuts the door behind him, moving over to the table and drumming her fingers on the edges. All this has put her in something of a mood, but she doesn't want to come off as paranoid or overly frustrated.
That's impolite for a hostess.]
I...I have tea, but honestly I wouldn't blame you if you wanted something stronger, all things considered.
[Evelyn grimaces at the heap of evening-wear. How dare it delude her into thinking she wanted to impress somebody! She hardly knows anyone aside from a few particular individuals; The entire notion of this event is cruel.
She puts on a rather sporting, amused smile and gestures loosely at Philip's clothing.]
And it's not bad...I mean, my opinion can't count for altogether too much since I don't know what sorts of things you wear seventy-odd years in the future, but it doesn't look terrible.
[...is that encouraging?]
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Alas, for somebody who takes time to adjust his hair while running from alien zombies Evelyn's assessment does not encourage and sounds almost too consoling to reassure.
Philip bites down his disappointment, reminding himself firmly that he did not actually come here to wow anyone with his appearance.
...And that he can always change into something else later. He forces a smile. ]
If you hadn't called I'd probably still be changing. I almost did before coming down, but... it's a bit [ He tilts his head to glance at the sling accessorising his look involuntarily. ] tricky these days.
[ Somewhere during this observation he allows himself to take a seat, vowing to stay strong and respectable in the face of booze offerings. ]
I'll just have the tea, thanks. [ He clears his throat. ] With a little rum, if you have it.
[ ...Well. So much for that. ]
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In Evelyn's defence, she wasn't trying to be consoling so much as reassuring, seeing as her disclaimer can be attributed to a rather limited view of the future aside from the fact that there's going to be another world war and that young women are wearing fewer and fewer garments.
She refused to put on any of those garish dresses to parade about the mansion, so she can't be a reliable judge of what's "in."]
Of course.
[She nods at his arm, expression apologetic. Evelyn broke her arm as a child and understands the frustration of having a useless limb for any amount of time. It just. Really bites.]
...tea and rum?
[That's a new one. With a little laugh, she fetches it from the closet and settles at the table across from him, leaning in on folded arms.]
Are you going to mix them or have them separately?
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[ Low alcoholic beverage proficiency is not something Philip is used to being met with, especially not in Wonderland. Here's to looking at you two, Mister Booze Hunter and Laudanum Boy.
He reaches for a slice of lemon and a bit of sugar (both of which an excellent hostess such as Evelyn undoubtedly prepared) and mixes them with a little rum before pouring tea into the cup and sliding the mixture across the table as an offering to Evelyn.
Clearly nobody should have to endure Wonderland sober for longer than absolutely necessary. ]
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[Honestly? Evelyn's knowledge of alcohol is fairly limited. Men drink Scotch Whisky and Bourbon and rum. Sometimes beer. Women drink Brandy and wine. Occasionally, these stereotypes cross over to the other side. She is also fully aware that she has a tolerance of spirits very close to zero. At least, she did the last time she checked. Which was some party back in university. A while ago. Things might have changed between now and then.
She watches him fix the drink curiously. It seems a strange brew, but gin and tonic has created a pleasant mix before, and at the turn of the century everyone was drinking distillation of wormwood. What harm could sweetened tea and rum possibly be? It seems rather like a Hot Toddy.
Tentatively picking up the cup, she takes a wary sip and is pleasantly surprised.]
...this is quite good, actually. Where did you learn how to make it?
[Such alcoholic prowess! Mister Booze Hunter would be so proud.]
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That was, erm...
[ He reaches for a second cup, hoping a repeat of the mixture will jog his memory. That and his own serving might just include a little more than the recommended quantity of rum.
Philip's own tolerance started off as a good average and has now - after steady and habitual increase combined with a certain sentient disease - reached levels that are quite bordering the inhuman.
He stirs the beverage and takes a sip, the taste bringing back a few memories. ]
A small pub near Canterbury. I think they called it Sailor's Tea and, um... a friend persuaded them to hand over the recipe.
[ It seems so simple a fix now, but back then the discovery was quite awe-inspiring. ]
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She doesn't make a habit of imbibing copious amounts of alcohol, because she'd rather not be one of those people, and maintaining a sterling reputation is hard enough without letting liquor and parties hold her back (See Fig. A, Jonathan Carnahan). But perhaps the occasional indulgence wouldn't be so bad, in good company.
After a couple of minutes simply enjoying the drink, Evelyn speaks.]
So.
[Ooh, half the cup gone. She feels quite content now. Always rather gregarious and interested in what others have to say, Evelyn presses gently for information.]
Tell me about yourself. Or...your hobbies, or anything you like. If you bring up my field of study, I'll never be still, so it's best you choose a subject of conversation lest I monopolize everything.
[Evie knows full well that she can get a bit...obnoxious...when it comes to Egyptology, because she has to be to get by. Continuous self-reminders to keep rambling in check: Get.
...did we mention that this drink is fantastic?]
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[ He slowly pours himself another cup. Philip certainly seems just as eager to listen. And indeed, expanding his interests is one way to take part in the academic discourse he sometimes misses dearly.
...Of course listening also means he won't have to spin and maintain any half-truths, won't have to make sure to avoid unpleasant subjects on time. ]
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[Philip will have to excuse the abject surprise on Evelyn's face; this is, after all, a young woman who is constantly being told no. Very rarely does anyone want to subject themselves to her excited almost-lecturing. The favourable response is not what she was expecting, and appears to have taken her off-guard for a moment.]
I-
[She drums her fingers on the sides of her teacup thoughtfully before knocking the rest of it back and sliding it across the table to be refilled.]
What...exactly would you like to know, then?
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With Egyptology knowledge that doesn't extend much further than a recent review of The Mummy he doesn't exactly have a good starting point for scientific inquiries.
Maybe personal history then. Until he finds a good opportunity to
fakedisplay more knowledge. ]You said you were living in Egypt. That's quite a way from London.
[ The implicit question being of course what an early 20th Century place like Evelyn would do in a foreign girl like this. ]
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My father, Howard Carnahan, was an explorer and archaeologist of some renown. He spent so much time in Egypt that he married my mother, an Egyptian woman from Cairo. They had me, and my brother Jonathan.
[She would normally be afraid of coming off as dreadfully dull, but the alcohol is doing quite a bit to loosen her tongue...and her hand gestures. Remembering much more fortunate times appears to put her in a better mood, at any rate.]
We spent almost all of our holidays there, in Alexandria, or Karnak, or Aswan. I grew up learning hieroglyphs and reading about the ancient kings between sessions at preparatory school.
[Evelyn smiles into her cup.] I wanted very much to be like my father, but he always said I took after my mother more.
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No matter. Another sip of tea and the sentiment is forgotten soon enough. Philip's attention to Evelyn's story is quite genuine after all. ]
Then your expedition is a first step?
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[She's quiet for a moment, recalling her reason for wanting to go out in search of Hamunaptra in the first place. Those damned Bembridge scholars and their damned particular rules. Evelyn wouldn't be surprised if they just came out and told her that their refusal to accept her application was due to her sex.]
It was supposed to be a step towards legitimate fieldwork. As you can probably imagine, women are not very highly regarded in the study of archaeology. [Sip.] ...I'd never been on an expedition before. It was my first one. No one would fund an excursion to a city founded on rumours and legends, so I funded it myself.
[Evelyn shrugs loosely, swirling her drink.]
I'm not- [She sits a little straighter.] I'm not the sort of person to be deterred by nay-sayers and...and Philistines, you know. There are plenty of things out there that can't be explained - it just takes a determined mind to uncover the truth.
[Aw, on her little soap-box. It isn't said defensively, but with the air of someone who's excited to share her opinions for once.]
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[ Cue encouraging, if slightly weak smile. Sadly this is a vision that can only be shared in words. ]
Being a woman in archaeology-- in- in any academic field today, it doesn't- it shouldn't hold you back anymore.
[ Philip may be suffering from a few blind spots on account of his ManlinessTM, but the general idea holds water. It does get better. ]
...But you're right. A determined mind can always go a long way and--
[ He swallows. ]
I hope you find what you're looking for.
[ Philip feels his throat tightening, his jaws clenching as he almost doesn't want to make that final wish.
He quickly takes another sip of tea. A little further down this path and he would have to think back to the time he sought to uncover the truth and succeeded... at a price. ]
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If I didn't know any better, Philip, [Evelyn treads cautiously.] I'd say you almost sound sad.
[Well-wishes are definitely worth more when one actually means them. Assuming Philip is as much of a private person as he seems, it might be better to leave the subject well enough alone. Evelyn looks down into her teacup apologetically, already feeling guilty about her accusation. She recovers with remarkable poise and a slightly-tipsy flourish.]
Dwelling on societal drawbacks is hardly festive fare, though...how are you doing? With your arm, and...and your eye?
[She dons an encouraging, slightly teasing smile. In her experience, lightening the weight of gloom and doom with a little good humour can work wonders.]
The patch looks quite dashing, you know.
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Dashing, really? [ He laughs. ] That... is a new one.
[ So flattered. ♥ ]
Now I might just have to make up an exciting story to go with it, otherwise it can't live up to its glamour.
[ Aahahaha haahaha haha ha. God. ]
{ Just make sure you jot it all down in your notebook, might not be able to keep all the glamorous stories straight otherwise. }
[ All the internal cringing ever. BUT! There was a question. Philip clears his throat. ]
It's, er... better, thank you. It's better. [ He taps his temple next to the patch once. ] I hardly even notice the difference anymore.
[ Which is true enough, apart from a few forlorn looks into the mirror every now and then.
...Just as long as you don't get him started on the lack of progress that damn arm's been making. ]
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That's good. I was worried about you.
[What with the depressing, mood-killing turn their last conversation had taken.
Nothing seems quite so depressing now, but this could be attributed to the alcohol. Evie finishes her second cup, resting one arm on the table and her cheek in her hand. She grins.]
Has anyone been stalking you for this event, then, or am I just a lucky duck?
[Because the best subject to turn to is how to cope with the quadrants. The liquor is surprisingly helpful.]
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[ That sure is a nice thing to hea-- whoa there, tone down the smile! Philip stops himself just before his grin grows too wide. Right. He forgot about that little event detail.
It was a nice gesture, not a ~nice gesture~, but have a pleasant conversation that lasts long enough and suddenly Unchained Melody practically starts playing in the background.
Right. Right. Next question. ]
Err... no, actually. I've been stalker-free so far. I got a call from one of the trolls though. [ Pause... pause... explanation! ]
...They're the ones who broadcast in different colours, I think this is their event and- I was actually hoping she could give me some advice, but...
[ He pulls out a picture from his pocket and slides it over to Evelyn with a sheepish grin. ]
I didn't get much, apart from really terrible fashion advice.
[ He can laugh about that, at least. His eye falls on Evelyn's empty cup. ]
...One more cup for you?
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...trolls, right. Yes. Those...those strange little grey people, correct? The last time Evelyn met one, it bit her. She doesn't have a very high opinion of their trolling ways.
Nodding and pushing her empty cup across the table with one finger, Evelyn takes the picture carefully and stares at it.]
Yes, thank you, but...what...
[She sits back, turning the photograph upside-down in the hopes that it will make more sense that way. It doesn't. There's so much pink. For Heaven's sake, is that skin or fabric? And the drawing skills are positively deplorable - whoever executed this masterpiece didn't even put the eyepatch over the correct eye.]
...what on earth is this? Do people actually wear these things? That's just...that's just absurd!
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