[[OOC: Double EP! Tell me who you're tagging, and for Gordon, I have NO idea where to put him. I'm thinking about putting him in Paradisa or possibly even di_namaste, but other than that, just go off where you want your pup to be!]]
"Hm. Interesting choice of armor, sir," comes a voice from up in the rafters. The Prince has found that there are days when things familiar grate upon his nerves, and Persia and India alike simply won't do at all. And why not the rafters? They're as simple to reach for him as anywhere else in the place. "Although I should say, you do look lost."
The Prince is in no particular hurry to eat himself; he can wait until the stranger's taken his portion. It's not as if he's been the one doing battle today, after all. Although he does wonder, a bit, just what land is capable of producing armor like that. It certainly doesn't look like enameled metal. Something would have shattered by now. Nevertheless, that can wait. "My apologies for not providing a fairer setting," he says, "but- this is as far from my own home as it is from yours, and I'm afraid I haven't the privileges here that I would in Babylon."
Gordon gives another smile, but this one's lopsided. It's the sort of smile a father gives his son after he loses his baseball--not pitying, not reproachful, just with an air of 'que sera, sera,' and 'it's alright.'
It's better than he's seen for pretty much his entire life.
"You may find, by the way, that there are quite a few people hereabouts who strike you as... how should I put it?" The Prince briefly steeples his fingers. "Exceptionally strange. Time does as it wills, and those who wash up on the timestream's shores come from all parts of its waters."
His eyebrows come up a little as he eats--he's perfectly aware that he probably seems very strange to the other man. Especially since his voice seems to have deserted him. And while Darius wouldn't have been out of place before the incident in the Middle East, people like him weren't common, either. But as the other said, this place is outside of everything else.
"Even the most innocuous-looking can be more than they appear, around here," says the unfazed Prince. "The young woman who first greeted me could tie an iron bar thick as a man's thumb in a knot. Some sort of warrior hero of her people, from what I recall, though born to a family of scholars. And as for the less ordinary looking, well- we don't have stories of anything at all like the men of metal in my country. Even the City of Brass is named that for its buildings, not for its inhabitants."
Gordon nods at the proper intervals, but gives the distinct impression that he's not going to be fazed at all by the supernatural... intimidated, maybe, but fazed? No.
(If only he had his crowbar. Then, he thinks, that last one would change.)
"I ought to note the same rules that were given me by the young woman of whom I spoke," the Prince adds. "So long as you commit no violent acts within the premises, carry out no grudge or vendetta from your homeland, and commit no acts in public that would be better done between a man and a woman in the bedchamber, you violate none of the rules held in common here."
Gordon really, really hopes he doesn't meet anyone from his 'homeland' that he'd have a grudge against. But other than that, each item gets a nod... until that last. It gets an embarrassed cough and a slight blush. Obviously it won't be a problem either.
The Prince flashes a smile at that. "I mean no implication by it, of course, but apparently there's been an incident or two along the way. They do say the rules apply to everyone."
Gordon's a little horrified at the thought, but he knows from personal experience that some people just have no sense of shame. (Catching undergrads together in broom closets wasn't on his job description. Ever.)
Food is good now, though. Food is the great communicator.
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It's better than he's seen for pretty much his entire life.
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(If only he had his crowbar. Then, he thinks, that last one would change.)
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Food is good now, though. Food is the great communicator.
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