With remarkable speed for someone so apparently clumsy, he vanishes in the direction of the stairs.
What would you do if someone casually invited you to visit Regency London? If the answer doesn't involve research and scrounging an appropriate wardrobe, your name is definitely not Aaron Stampler.
The young man who trots back out of the stairwell looks and acts almost nothing like the shy, stuttering boy who went in a few minutes ago. The major difference is way he's dressed; the subtler difference is in the way he suddenly seems to be paying real attention to the world around him. A little of the innocence is gone, but not all. He looks cheerful, honest, friendly, and just maybe competent in something.
. . . Kim is impressed, in spite of herself. Not only does he look less likely to get chewed up and spat out; to her, he looks less likely to draw attention.
There is a novel quality to the grin, something entirely absent in the everyday Aaron: confidence. Nothing flashy, just a small and quiet certainty that he knows exactly what he's doing.
"Glad to hear it."
...And then there is the matter of the accent.
The pitch-perfect mimicry of Kim's accent, to be exact.
She gives him a brief smile in acknowledgment. "Good."
With that, she opens the door, checks the surroundings, and steps through.
The alleyway they step into is narrow and fairly dark, although daylight is visible at the mouth of it to their right. The ground underfoot is mostly mud (and probably some things even less pleasant), with a few cobblestones palpable beneath that.
She closes the door carefully, then leads the way down the alley--
--almost directly into the bustle of Hungerford Market. Street vendors are crying their wares in unmusical voices. Down the way, wagons are lined up on either side of the street, taking up every available inch of space and selling everything imaginable -- food, clothing, cloth, metalwork. In the opposite direction is a main street, with horse-drawn carriages clattering over the cobbles.
And Kim looks more at home than she's ever looked in Milliways.
He wasn't there a minute ago. Aaron can be very unobtrusive.
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Kim's head comes up, noting Aaron, and lifts a hand in greeting.
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When he's within easy conversational distance: "H-hey, Kim."
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She actually half-smiles. "You still want t'come to London?"
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"I sure do."
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With remarkable speed for someone so apparently clumsy, he vanishes in the direction of the stairs.
What would you do if someone casually invited you to visit Regency London? If the answer doesn't involve research and scrounging an appropriate wardrobe, your name is definitely not Aaron Stampler.
The young man who trots back out of the stairwell looks and acts almost nothing like the shy, stuttering boy who went in a few minutes ago. The major difference is way he's dressed; the subtler difference is in the way he suddenly seems to be paying real attention to the world around him. A little of the innocence is gone, but not all. He looks cheerful, honest, friendly, and just maybe competent in something.
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"Better."
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There is a novel quality to the grin, something entirely absent in the everyday Aaron: confidence. Nothing flashy, just a small and quiet certainty that he knows exactly what he's doing.
"Glad to hear it."
...And then there is the matter of the accent.
The pitch-perfect mimicry of Kim's accent, to be exact.
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Even so, she doesn't quite share his confidence. Sliding off her stool, she settles her cap on her head and leads the way towards the door.
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One thing hasn't changed: Aaron is still pretty easy to lose in a crowd. All that's different is the nature of the crowd he's best camouflaged for.
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She pauses in front of the door.
"We're just lookin' around, right? I ain't got the blunt to be buyin' things in Hungerford, and excitement ain't my lookout."
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He drops the accent for the next two words, as though assuring her he's playing this straight.
"Got it."
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With that, she opens the door, checks the surroundings, and steps through.
The alleyway they step into is narrow and fairly dark, although daylight is visible at the mouth of it to their right. The ground underfoot is mostly mud (and probably some things even less pleasant), with a few cobblestones palpable beneath that.
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He's not gawking like his regular self would, but he's certainly paying their surroundings a great deal of attention.
Exciting and interesting are two very different things. Hopefully this visit will be all the latter and none of the former.
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--almost directly into the bustle of Hungerford Market. Street vendors are crying their wares in unmusical voices. Down the way, wagons are lined up on either side of the street, taking up every available inch of space and selling everything imaginable -- food, clothing, cloth, metalwork. In the opposite direction is a main street, with horse-drawn carriages clattering over the cobbles.
And Kim looks more at home than she's ever looked in Milliways.
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