The inn pulled Larry out of the museum a few hours ago. Not long after that, he decided to take advantage of the free time and try to get something on paper
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Tutankhamun has slipped away from his servants and couriers again and ended up in the Inn once more. He's been spending most of his time outside, because even though he's not used to temperate zone winters, it's a great opportunity to spend some time outdoors without having to risk assassination at the same time.
The Inn unaccountably has been providing him with barbarian garb to wear outside. He does not object; it transforms back into Egyptian clothing when he comes back in.
Now, as he walks back into the Inn, he sees a man seated at a table doing what looks like scribework. Curious, he walks over to the table and, craning his neck, peers at it. It resembles a chariot, in a way. At least, it has wheels.
"We would be pleased to know," he says in an interested voice as he points at the picture, "what that item is."
Larry only blinks a couple of times, once he processes that there's another person there. The royal 'we' and that particular dress sense can only mean one thing, really, but it's something he knows how to deal with. (Not that he plans on explaining how, if he can help it.) "It's a remote-control car, at least generally. Sort of... your time's got chariots, right? Cars are like those, only they don't have to be pulled by horses. And this is a much smaller version that's steered from the outside." That'll cover the basics, at least. Anything more complex will have to be explained some other way.
No, the magic comes in with other aspects of the job. "Most people use these for the entertainment value. I'm trying to rework the concept into something people might find a valuable use for - if I can work out the kinks in the idea, they'd be good for keeping people's pets entertained." One of said kinks is 'what happens when the thrill of the chase doesn't cut it anymore, and the dog/cat/whatever actually catches the thing the car's towing?'
"Perhaps, if they were small pets." Of course, Larry's talking to someone whose pet is a large black panther. "How does the car keep the people's pets entertained?"
"Well... where I'm from, a lot of people keep dogs. And cats, but dogs are more into the chasing things. So if someone got tired of throwing a stick or something for the dog to chase, they could tie it to the car and just run the car around, with the remote. Have to figure out how to keep the car intact if the dog catches the stick... wait, Velcro! Then it can break away!" He adds a note to that effect to the page he's on. For once, he's got an idea that doesn't sound dumb when he goes to explain it. (Well, and that isn't likely to have its thunder stolen by someone else.)
He thinks about the notion of a stick being tied to the car and a dog chasing after it. "It could work well," he says at last. "But the car would have to be able to move very, very fast to evade the dog." Cats are better at pouncing than dogs, but even dogs pounce on things occasionally.
"We would be interested in knowing your name."
He's really hoping that this man isn't a priest. He's not overly fond of priests.
He's not worried about it being fast enough. After all, the basic concept keeps a dinosaur skeleton occupied all night, and what Rexie lacks in speed (surprisingly, not that much) he more than makes up for in stride length. "Oh, right, sorry. I'm Larry."
"...Kysen mentioned you, but I don't remember whether he said you were here. Either way, it's an honor." Before he got the museum job, the biggest association Larry could have made was that song Steve Martin did on Saturday Night Live. Fortunately, he won't be subjecting the inn to a rendition of said song any time soon.
The narration is as unfamiliar with the Steve Martin song as Tutankhamun himself is.
"Oh, you know Kysen!" That gets a huge smile. "It is possible that he mentioned you. If so, I regret that I did not recognize your name. Do you craft such things"--a glance at the sketchbook--"as a profession?"
It's... a very silly song, all things considered. "Not as such. I'm good at coming up with the ideas, but... less good at getting to the making-a-profit step. Granted, this idea did sort of come up on the job, but I haven't had much time to poke at it until now. I work in a museum - basically, they're places for keeping old things so the public can come see them."
"Museums sound like temples," comments Tutankhamun. "Only they seem a bit less holy.
"You should try it. It does look as if it would be entertaining. And not only for the pets." A thought occurs to him. "How did the idea come up on the job?"
"One of the artifacts brings everything to life at night, and I'm the lucky one who gets to keep the exhibits from having the run of Manhattan. The resident dinosaur skeleton - dinosaurs were basically giant lizards, but something killed them off ages ago - likes playing fetch, and the car thing's worked out pretty well in that case."
Tutankhamun is now picturing a skeleton of a giant crocodile chasing after the car. He cannot help wondering why it likes to play fetch. And what it likes to use as a stick.
"You are fortunate," he says, taking a deep breath. "Are skeletons habitually alive in your country, or is that the influence of the artifact?"
It's a reasonable question from someone who believes that the dead have to be mummified so that they'll live again in the afterlife.
"That's just the artifact. Otherwise it probably wouldn't have given me so much of a shock, the first night on the job." He's settled into it, since then, but still.
Tutankhamun has slipped away from his servants and couriers again and ended up in the Inn once more. He's been spending most of his time outside, because even though he's not used to temperate zone winters, it's a great opportunity to spend some time outdoors without having to risk assassination at the same time.
The Inn unaccountably has been providing him with barbarian garb to wear outside. He does not object; it transforms back into Egyptian clothing when he comes back in.
Now, as he walks back into the Inn, he sees a man seated at a table doing what looks like scribework. Curious, he walks over to the table and, craning his neck, peers at it. It resembles a chariot, in a way. At least, it has wheels.
"We would be pleased to know," he says in an interested voice as he points at the picture, "what that item is."
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(Not that he plans on explaining how, if he can help it.)
"It's a remote-control car, at least generally. Sort of... your time's got chariots, right? Cars are like those, only they don't have to be pulled by horses. And this is a much smaller version that's steered from the outside."
That'll cover the basics, at least. Anything more complex will have to be explained some other way.
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"Why are you drawing a much smaller version of a...car? And why do you wish for it to be driven from the outside?"
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"Most people use these for the entertainment value. I'm trying to rework the concept into something people might find a valuable use for - if I can work out the kinks in the idea, they'd be good for keeping people's pets entertained."
One of said kinks is 'what happens when the thrill of the chase doesn't cut it anymore, and the dog/cat/whatever actually catches the thing the car's towing?'
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For once, he's got an idea that doesn't sound dumb when he goes to explain it. (Well, and that isn't likely to have its thunder stolen by someone else.)
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He thinks about the notion of a stick being tied to the car and a dog chasing after it. "It could work well," he says at last. "But the car would have to be able to move very, very fast to evade the dog." Cats are better at pouncing than dogs, but even dogs pounce on things occasionally.
"We would be interested in knowing your name."
He's really hoping that this man isn't a priest. He's not overly fond of priests.
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"Oh, right, sorry. I'm Larry."
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Before he got the museum job, the biggest association Larry could have made was that song Steve Martin did on Saturday Night Live. Fortunately, he won't be subjecting the inn to a rendition of said song any time soon.
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"Oh, you know Kysen!" That gets a huge smile. "It is possible that he mentioned you. If so, I regret that I did not recognize your name. Do you craft such things"--a glance at the sketchbook--"as a profession?"
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"Not as such. I'm good at coming up with the ideas, but... less good at getting to the making-a-profit step. Granted, this idea did sort of come up on the job, but I haven't had much time to poke at it until now. I work in a museum - basically, they're places for keeping old things so the public can come see them."
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"You should try it. It does look as if it would be entertaining. And not only for the pets." A thought occurs to him. "How did the idea come up on the job?"
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"You are fortunate," he says, taking a deep breath. "Are skeletons habitually alive in your country, or is that the influence of the artifact?"
It's a reasonable question from someone who believes that the dead have to be mummified so that they'll live again in the afterlife.
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He's settled into it, since then, but still.
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