(Untitled)

[stoicsidekick]

For the first time in six years, William Bush didn't feel out of place with his uniform coat draped about his shoulders. Not only did the solid, heavy wool keep out the London damp that had descended upon Tabula Rasa along with the scenery, British naval blue also fit perfectly the cobbled streets, and billowing smokestacks, and smokey pubs that

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[ringwinner]

Hobbits may not have been meant for city life, but Bilbo Baggins was fast adapting to it. Of course, it helped a great deal that the city he was in, odd and baffling as it may have been, was full of many things like he had left behind in Hobbiton. There was good tobacco for his pipe, familiar clothing, every variety of tea he could think of, all the food he could desire, and beer. Not only was there beer, there were taverns.

The only problem was that none of it was built for someone of his stature.

"Excuse me," he called out, standing on tiptoe in an attempt to see over the bar and catch the spectral barman's attention. "Excuse me! Over here! I would like an ale please!" So far his tries had been in vain.

[stoicsidekick]

At first, William assumed that the fellow trying to catch the ghostly bartender's attention was a child, but a longer look at him proved otherwise. This was a man grown, and a perfectly normal one at that, save for the fact that he could barely have been three feet tall.

William took pity on him.

He went over to the bar and called the barkeep over. "Another round, please. For me and for him." He nodded slightly to the little man whose head just peeked over the counter.

[ringwinner]

"Thank you very much," Bilbo said with a grateful smile for the man who had stepped forward to assist him. It was always so very nice to meet someone as pleasant and helpful as that and the hobbit could no more help showing his appreciation than a dog could help wagging its tail at an old friend. "You've no idea how difficult that can be, especially in this place. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Bilbo Baggins is my name and I suppose you ought to know it after helping me like that."

[stoicsidekick]

Bush inclined his head slightly and offered the miniature man the pint once it had arrived. "No matter. I can imagine it would be a bit of a trial." And he could, for all the bloody oddness of the situation. "William Bush." He took a sip of his own pint and leaned back against the bar, eying Bilbo. "If you don't mind me saying so, I've seen my fair share of odd things 'round here, but nothing quite like you."

[the_subjunctive]

Dakin was enjoying his visit to Victorian London a lot more than he thought he would when he arrived. It was one thing to study history, but quite another to experience it first hand, even the obviously different version of it that he found himself in. He'd even made an informal list of things he wanted to accomplish before it all presumably disappeared. Today's mission (though it was more a guideline than a set in stone plan) was to acquire some authentic, historic drugs of the recreational variety. It was all in the name of research really. So far unsuccessful, but undaunted, he stopped into the nearest pub to warm up a bit and for something to raise his spirits.

"Is that any any good?" Dakin asked, glancing at the older man's wineglass before heading to the bar for his own drink.

[alittleofboth]

Anthony slowly looked up from his book with mildly quizzical eyes when the young man addressed him. He took a sip of his wine in order to test it and be sure of his opinion. "A touch flat for my taste, but better than anything I've had in quite a while." With a grim sigh, he sat back in his chair. "Tragically, that isn't saying much."

[the_subjunctive]

"I was told to expect little more than palm wine of dubious quality when I got here." Dakin shrugged out of his coat and watched the older man. There was something vaguely familiar about him in a strange sort of way. Perhaps he had passed him briefly while he and Scripps had been going round to the different colleges, or seen him on the television talking about one posh thing or another. In either case, there was something there that reminded him of Oxford and Dakin was almost desperate to hang on to as much of that as he could. "Nice to see he was wrong about that."

[alittleofboth]

"Don't get too used to it," Anthony warned with an arch of his eyebrow. He nudged out a chair slightly and tilted his head to the side, a silent invitation to join him at the table. "All of this will be gone by the end of the month, I expect."

[unbellegeste]

Marie is holding her cape tight around her shoulders, her cheeks pink from the cold and her hair dusted lightly with snow. Walking around London has become something she generally very much enjoys, but along with it being cold, her feet and back are aching and she wants to sit down.

"Bonjour," she says breathlessly as the door thuds solidly shut behind her, and makes her way to the bar. "Just a cup of tea, please," she says, and the landlord gives a gruff nod and sees to it.

[alittleofboth]

"I hope you have more luck with the tea than I have with the wine," Anthony said in French from a table near the bar. Ever observant, he had missed neither her breathless greeting nor the lilt of her accent, and saw no reason to pass up the opportunity to exercise a language he did not have many opportunities to speak anymore.

[unbellegeste]

Marie turns to smile at him, wearily. "The wine is appalling," she agrees. "But I just want something warm and to sit down for a while." She keeps finding people who speak French unexpectedly. It's promising.

[alittleofboth]

"One would think that if the island so wished to send us to an entirely different place for a short while, the least it could do was make it a place with a decent vintage available," Anthony said with a dry smile. "Tea, though, they can probably manage."

[happy_dsign]

Daphne looked around a little nervously, feeling completely out of place in a pub, but she'd decided it was time to investigate something other than the clothing shops and bakeries around this place. Besides, it was cold and getting colder, and she wanted something to counter that.

"Excuse me. Do they have warm drinks?" she asked the nearest (real) patron, hoping he didn't mind his reading being interrupted long enough to answer her question.

[alittleofboth]

Never one to put much stock in charm, Anthony did not bother to hide the annoyance that flickered across his face when his reading was interrupted by a girl asking what was, to his mind, a rather silly question. But it was gone in a moment and he answered politely enough, though a touch dryly. "I imagine so. A cup of tea for the young lady?" he called in the barman's direction, and then returned his gaze to his book. "Though 'warm' may be relative."

[happy_dsign]

Daphne bit her lip briefly, blushing faintly as he looked less than pleased by her interruption. She leaned as unobtrusively as she could as he turned away, trying to see his lips as he spoke, but missing most of it, other than 'lady'.

"...Thank you. I'm sorry I disturbed you," she said politely and moved to take a seat at a nearby table to wait for her mystery relatively warm drink.

[alittleofboth]

Anthony glanced sideways at the young lady and sighed. He was far from gallant, but a certain amount of gentlemanliness had been bred into him against his will. "No need to apologize," he said mildly enough. "I imagine the tea will do you good."

[phoinikothrix]

Francis winced, embarrassed, as the door slammed against the wall. "Sorry," he apologized ineffectually to the room at large, before grabbing for the doorknob and shutting the door with exaggerated care.

Picking his way past the tables--and with a brief nod to Anthony--he reached the bar, flashing Camilla a wry smirk. "Never let it be said I don't know how to make an entrance," he laughed, pulling off his gloves. "What are you drinking?"

[artemiodes]

"You wouldn't have it any other way, cheri," Camilla shoots back playfully, eyes full of mirth. Her grand cloak she has disbanded with, for the fire in the grate warmed the pub with surprising efficiency, and it sits folded on the seat next to her. Beneath it, her hair is damp but drying quickly, her dress pristine, pale green with a pattern of lace on the bodice. "Mm, some kind of punch, I believe. Nice hat."

[phoinikothrix]

"Thank you, darling," he says, removing the shining black top hat from his head and placing it on the counter alongside his gloves. Waving the barman over, he places his order--red wine, please--before turning back to Camilla.

"I overheard someone saying once the island goes back to normal, everything goes away--even the clothes." At the thought, he purses his lips in a jokingly petulant pout. "I hope they're wrong--it took me ages to find a coat like the one I had back home."

[artemiodes]

"Ah, poor Francis. Relegated to dressing like the plebes once again. Have you found a monocle yet?" Her eyes twinkled. Though no one could top Francis for foppishness and Camilla had never much thought about her clothes, she found that she had taken well to the Victorian garb. The cape, especially, she secretly relished. "I've heard the same. Too bad, really."