Wesley had grown accustomed to certain occurrences upon the Island, though he was utterly at a blank when it came to explaining them. For instance, such a moment when he came nearly face-to-face with a woman who appeared quite out of sorts. He hadn't the foggiest where she was a moment before, merely that here she was now.
It confounded him and he did hate to be confounded. "Ma'am?" Wesley offered quietly. "Are you all right?"
Atia turned quickly to look at the man before her. Terribly dressed in the oddest sorts of garments, and wearing some sort of mask. Likely a pleb, or a slave. She squared her shoulders and stood, the look she gave him one of boredom.
"Fine. Of course I am fine." It would never do to show any sort of weakness. Just a mere moment of distraction, that's all it had been, or so she told herself, as she straightened her tunica and fixed her hair. 'I appear to have become lost. No matter. Direct me back towards the city."
It was not a question or a request, but a statement. In fact it was very near an order.
"I'm afraid that the largest city you're bound to find is right here," Wesley offered ruefully, with a wry note in his voice. He arched a brow, thinking on his odd luck at having to greet people.
As many a Slayer might be happy to say, Wesley wasn't equipped with the finest of people skills.
"Don't be preposterous," Never mind that he chose to speak to her as such, Atia fixed him with a disdainful look. "Stop with your lies or I'll have you whipped for your insolence. Come now, I cannot be far. I was just in my Villa. No matter what sort of trick Servillia may be playing at, we cannot be far from Rome."
"No one here is about to whip anyone else, my Lady, I can assure you of that." He was glaring at her in return, an icy look that he rarely used. "And we are very far from Rome, I assure you. We are on an Island by name of Tabula Rasa."
It was a look she could match easily, and she did, flinging her hair back over her shoulders as she stood to her full height. "Blank Slate? I've heard of no such island," She was confused, but her annoyance as this impudent man won over. "Where is your master. I am sure he will explain things better to me."
"I've my own Master and he is myself," Wesley announced, sounding rather weary as he took off his glasses to polish them. "If you would like my help, I'll show you around, but if not, I'll bring you to the Council."
"I have never been a slave, Madam," Wesley spoke tersely, his whole body rife with tension as he began to walk briskly towards the door. "I'll take you and you can unload that foul attitude on yet another someone utterly undeserving of it," he spoke archly.
Sparring with Cordelia had only given way to all too many terse arguments.
"My. This place is rather backwards, isn't it?" Atia still had no idea what was happening, but it wasn't going to show. If she showed her panic whoever had orchestrated this would win. "Yes, yes, you're one of those types, aren't you?"
Wesley took off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose, pinching it lightly as he debated whether or not he should argue still or let it be. "The first thing you might want to become used to, ma'am, is the fact that society is very modern here. No slaves to be had."
"Yes," Wesley mused, rather tight-lipped and hardly amused. "That is what's backwards." He made a living of studying ancient cultures and this woman's had to be lodged deep in the past. "What annum was it when you last looked?"
"Perhaps, but not of mind or body," he answered, taking intense satisfaction in the next words he was able to speak. "According to many calendars, the year is somewhere lodged about 2008 Anno Domini."
It confounded him and he did hate to be confounded. "Ma'am?" Wesley offered quietly. "Are you all right?"
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"Fine. Of course I am fine." It would never do to show any sort of weakness. Just a mere moment of distraction, that's all it had been, or so she told herself, as she straightened her tunica and fixed her hair. 'I appear to have become lost. No matter. Direct me back towards the city."
It was not a question or a request, but a statement. In fact it was very near an order.
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As many a Slayer might be happy to say, Wesley wasn't equipped with the finest of people skills.
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Sparring with Cordelia had only given way to all too many terse arguments.
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This was surreal. Unbelievable. Perhaps this was still the effect of whatever drugs Servillia had given her.
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