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Post by The First Doctor on Oct 19, 2011 21:50:41 GMT -5
(OOC: Open by invite only.) The Venice-Simplon-Orient-Express
August 7, 1938"Two hours to Milan!" the conductor called as he tapped at the door. Robert Goodall woke slowly. He was lost in the pleasant torpor that comes from a restful sleep and the pleasant sensation of warmth from the body wrapped around his own. For a second, that startled him. Then memory began to filter through the haze of contentment. There had been a drink or two in the club car. A snarky debate about the merits of extraditing a mad archaeologist that believed in Atlantis. A debate that had generally branched out into their standard routine about the merits of mysticism versus science, that had continued through the hallway to the adjacent carriage compartments. And then..? Then, everything was a little fuzzy. Oh, he was well aware of what had happened. It was just the little details that were unclear. Who had kissed who first (and was that why his tongue was sore)? How had they gotten the door open, and shut again? For that matter, whose room were they in? Trivial matters like that. Those details were usually a little unclear. "Celia?" he said, gently. "Time to wake up, love. We've just enough time to make ourselves decent and have a spot of breakfast before we arrive."
36 Hours Earlier...Charles Gaskell, President of the Torchwood Institute, shook their hands and gestured for them to be seated. "Cigarette?" he asked. Robert took one. Gaskell handed over a manilla folder. Robert glanced inside, studied the photograph on the first page, then handed it over to Celia. Drawing on the cigarette, he waited. "Doctor Leo Viktor Frobenius, late of the University of Frankfort." He smiled at Celia. "I believe you are acquainted with him, Miss Sionnach. Through your correspondence on his proofs of the location of Atlantis?" Robert snorted derisively. "And what does he have to do with Torchwood?" "We want him," answered Gaskell. "And so you two - or, more specifically, Miss Sionnach - are going to persuade him to defect. He has no particular love for the current Nazi government, and his views on the African people have left Berlin with no particular love for him. So I wouldn't imagine it would be too difficult." Robert drew on his cigarette again, and blew a cloud of blue-white smoke through his nostrils. "And why us? We're the Belfast office." "Because, Mr. Goodall. Miss Sionnach knows him, so she's the obvious choice. And you're her partner, so you go with her." Gaskell leaned back in his chair. "Your tickets, as well as passports and travel expenses, have already been arranged." He frowned, just a little. "We're not at war with Germany or Italy. Not yet. But this is still potentially dangerous. So stay close, and keep an eye on each other."
Celia grunted something incoherent, tightened her grip around his chest, and snuggled up closer. Under most circumstances, he'd be perfectly willing to indulge her. "Come on," he said again, "We're due in Milan in less than two hours." A pause, as he looked around the room. "And where, exactly, did my trousers end up?" |
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Post by Sisilaya Vulmecura on Oct 20, 2011 6:01:56 GMT -5
The warm and hazy world around her started to thin out as she slowly started to wake from slumber, woken by a gentle voice coercing her to wake up. The body was warm though, and his bare skin soft and she ignored the voice and snuggled closer to the warmth, her arm tightening around his chest.
Wait, his chest.
Her eyes opened immediately, her hand flexing over his skin. She groaned softly then, closing her eyes. She had so told herself she'd stop sleeping with him, would stop waking up in his bed. Problem was, the man was an amazing shag and his presence on her body was like a moth to a flame. It irritated the hell out of her. Men were supposed to grovel over her, not the other way around.
That and the man was a good for nothing know it all, she was often in a deep conflict between wanting to shag him right there against the wall or run her long nails over his eyes before scratching them out. Try and make your formula's now with no eyes, bastard. He had ridiculed her abilities mercilessly and she had snapped at his long-winded mathematical explanations. Boring! She could get to the same conclusion from just intuition and it annoyed him to no end. She gifted herself another cig when she did, just to draw out the victory in his face.
But oh Lord when he kissed her she was certain she could hear her ovaries sing. Talking of ovaries, she was going to have to keep a close eyes on her periods if this kept happening. Accidental pregnancies were not in her vocabulary and she usually was very professional in her ways of wooing, no correct that, interrogating a man. Just not when it came to the man currently beside her.
Argh!
She sat up, scratched her scalp as she yawned, her hair cascading in thick copper curls down her back not caring the covers fell down to her waist. Nothing he hadn't seen before.
Wait, had he said 2 hours?!
"And where, exactly, did my trousers end up?"
She was too busy swearing colourfully in Gaelic and jumped out of bed, the cold hitting her body as she left the warmth of his. Darn it. She pulled on a robe and hobbled over to the small sink the cabin shared. With a smug look on her face she noticed her own toiletries were there. At least she had managed to get them to end up in her own cabin this time, through her obviously drunk stupor. First thing she did was throw back a glass of water, get rid of the fuzziness of the hang over. When she looked in the mirror she realised she was a mess. Her mascara had gotten under her eyes during sleep, her scarlet lip paint smudged from kisses. She smirked as she realised his must looked the same.
With a quick rinsing of her face the traces of make up were gone. Leaving a pale and lightly freckled skin behind with eyes that didn't look so sensual behind their mask now. She took a deep breath, it reminded her too much of the fears of her childhood. When she hadn't gotten to terms yet with what she was, a Seer, constantly running from the Hunt.
"You should go back to your cabin, Robin. I need to get dressed and I think you've had enough of a show already last night. Now beat it."
Oh it felt fantastic being the one to cast him from her bed this time, instead of the other way around.
She looked back at herself in the silver mirror, she would have to pull out all the card this time. She had known Doctor Frobenius from an official dance when she had been on duty with Robert, he had already eyed her like a she was a tasty morsel and she had made a mental note of that. It could come handy in the future.
And indeed it did.
She had a talent for getting the right information out of men, they loved it when she batted her eyelashes prettily at them, made them feel like the were the smartest man in the world and all she wanted them to do was educate her on their brilliance. Worked every time, fools. Okay, the perfume laced with pheromones helped as well, that and the fact it drove Robin absolutely insane was a fat added bonus.
"Come on, shift it!" She called to the man still in her bed.
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Post by The First Doctor on Oct 20, 2011 11:07:28 GMT -5
Robert blinked as she rolled over him, swearing, and watched as she half-walked half-staggered to the sink, pulling on a robe as she went. A glass of water later, she was fumbling with her toiletries.
Well, he thought, that answers the question of whose room we ended in.
He watched as she cleaned the last of the makeup from her face, revealing pale freckle-dusted skin. Still lost in his comfortable reverie, he realized with some interest that he liked her like that. In fact, he decided, I think I'll tell her... And then her voice broke in on his thoughts.
"You should go back to your cabin, Robin. I need to get dressed and I think you've had enough of a show already last night. Now beat it."
He snorted, half-formed thoughts and fancies blown away like smoke. There it was. That imperious, bossy tone that rode the pleasant Irish lilt like... like...
An image from the previous night flitted through his mind. No, that wasn't quite the analogy he'd been looking for. Although, in fairness, there'd been a bit of an expectation of obedience there as well...
"Come on, shift it!" She called to the man still in her bed.
He laughed, and tried to locate his trousers.
Several minutes later...
He scraped at his face with the straight razor, watching as the auburn-haired reflection stared back at him. The man seemed almost a stranger, a part assumed in a stage production or Hollywood motion picture.
He flicked soap and stubble from the blade, and shook his head. "It is too early in the morning," he laughed at the mirror, "to tolerate existential crises."
Besides, he knew the figure in the mirror all too well. The strong nose and jaw that came of the Goodall line, softened by his mother's eyes and smile. The scars on torso and arms - far fewer than he probably should have, by rights, but more than he cared to think about - a roadmap of desperate fights and hairs-breadth escapes over a decade in service to the Crown.
Hell. After the time he'd spent in Afghanistan and Arabia and Egypt, Major Holland's invitation to join a new office of the Torchwood Institute had sounded like a vacation: Go to Belfast. Look for Martians. Get paid for it. How hard could that be?
Of course, nobody had warned him that his boss would be an Irish hellcat that believed in faeries and insisted she had the Second Sight (although, in fairness, she did make a fair number of lucky guesses). Or how real the Martians would turn out to be (although, in fairness, he'd never met one that actually hailed from the Red Planet).
Nobody had warned him just how damnably attractive his Irish hellcat of a boss would prove to be, either.
He scowled at himself, and wiped his face off. Woolgathering, he thought.
He dressed quickly. A white Oxford of Egyptian cotton with gold cufflinks, a dove-grey linen suit (London Drape cut), and a black and gold diamond-pattern tie. He packed away the rest of his kit in his suitcase, perched his grey fedora on his head, and headed for the dining car.
Breakfast was black coffee (with just a splash of brandy in the first cup), porridge (salted, without milk or sugar), and buttered croissants. And a dossier. He was on page three of the information about Herr Doktor Leo Viktor Frobenius, when Celia joined him.
"I'm torn," he said without preamble. "Just when I've decided this man is utterly mad, I turn the page and encounter legitimate research."
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Post by Sisilaya Vulmecura on Oct 20, 2011 11:55:50 GMT -5
Her shoulders relaxed as soon as the man had left her cabin. She took a long look in the mirror before her, she had not missed his face at seeing her without the usual enhancements. She had quickly blown his coming compliment off with the demand that he'd leave. Compliments from the older man was still something she did not know how to respond to. She usually just brushed it off if she got the chance.
Freshing herself up with some water and soap, she soon was in a long emerald green flapper style dress, showing off just enough cleavage to be decent yet enticing. She might have to woo the man, but she wasn't a common whore. The morning ritual of the make up then followed, following the typical style of the era. Face powder blending out the freckles was followed by a hint of copper colored eyeshadow which was contrasted with black crisp eyeliner and eyelashes accentuated with dark mascara. With care she finally applied the scarlet lipstick she'd been wearing for years now. She decided to go for the innocent look today and put in dangly pearl ear hangers to her ears, a dainty necklace of pears resting around her neck.
She looked at the perfume on the stand, one in particular, a product from Torchwood itself, she was the one to have produced it. Perfume with pheromones. She wasn't supposed to use it until they got to the appointed target. Yet, she smirked and sprayed a tiny bit behind her ears and at her wrists.
She loved to see Robert squirm.
With that she took her black silk shawl, draped it around her shoulders and made for the dining car with her purse in hand.
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Breakfast contained some toast with some marmalade and a cup of hot brewing tea with lots of milk and sugar. She loved her things sweet. Taking a seat beside her partner she gave him a curt nod, not meeting his eyes. She gave a sidelong disapproving glance to his breakfast, she had made the mistake of nibbling from his porridge once. Never again. The man put salt in everything where it shouldn't belong.
"I'm torn," he said without preamble. "Just when I've decided this man is utterly mad, I turn the page and encounter legitimate research."
She gave a small snort at his words, spreading the jam over her toast.
"You're one to tell, you give legitimate research on a good day while you're stark raving mad too." She said pleasantly, taking a sip from her tea.
She leaned in to have a look at the file with him, in close enough range for him to smell the perfume, a small smile gracing her lips.
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Post by The First Doctor on Oct 20, 2011 15:54:30 GMT -5
She gave a small snort at his words, spreading the jam over her toast.
"You're one to tell, you give legitimate research on a good day while you're stark raving mad too." She said pleasantly, taking a sip from her tea.
"I'm serious. I mean, look at this." He stabbed at the page.
She leaned in to have a look at the file with him, in close enough range for him to smell the perfume, a small smile gracing her lips.
She smelled... intoxicating. Peppers and sandalwood, and the faintest touch of something that electrified his nerves. For a timeless moment he was aware only of her - the way her dress clung to her, the way her jewelry accented her, the way her lips parted as she drew breath...
He tore himself away and picked up his coffee, letting the bitter black brew distract him. It didn't work very well.
"Look at this," he managed, gesturing to the dossier. "One minute, I'm reading about the remarkable work he's done with sub-Saharan African history. The next is either filled with drivel about sacred kings straight from Frazier, or incoherent ramblings about Atlantis."
He sipped his coffee. "Atlantis," he said again. "In this day and age! And we're bringing him in? Who's next? Crowley? Gardner? Valiente?" He shook his head. "Why aren't we recruiting real scientists? That Einstein chap, for instance?"
He paused as the conductor entered the car. "Twenty minutes to Milan," he announced.
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Post by Sisilaya Vulmecura on Oct 20, 2011 17:25:49 GMT -5
A slow smile spread across her mouth as she felt Robin grow still beside her as she leant in to study the file in front of him. That's right, take a good whiff Scotsman. She chucked softly and leaned back, watching as he threw back a rather large splash of coffee. They both decided to let it rest.
The dossier in front of them was more important.
"Look at this," he managed, gesturing to the dossier. "One minute, I'm reading about the remarkable work he's done with sub-Saharan African history. The next is either filled with drivel about sacred kings straight from Frazier, or incoherent ramblings about Atlantis."
"I wish you had a broader mind sometimes like this man does, you've seen the extraterrestrial and still you act as if there is nothing beyond what science has discovered up till now. Don't be ignorant Robert, there might be something to what this man is saying. At least try and keep an open mind." She said as she leaned back, sipping her tea as she pulled the dossier in front of her, flipping through it.
"Twenty minutes to Milan,"
She looked up from the file to the conductor, her eyes then sliding back to her colleague beside her, placing her tea down and handing him the file back.
"I'm going to get my belongings together. Meet me on the train platform as soon as we've arrived." With that she gave a curt nod and got up from the table, leaving the dining room, her hips swaying as she walked due to the black strapped heels she wore.
The Scotsman's eyes weren't the only one who followed her out of the dining room. Without the perfume men already had the urge to stare after her.
She gave a soft chuckle as she disappeared through the door.
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Post by The First Doctor on Oct 20, 2011 21:15:16 GMT -5
"I wish you had a broader mind sometimes like this man does, you've seen the extraterrestrial and still you act as if there is nothing beyond what science has discovered up till now. Don't be ignorant Robert, there might be something to what this man is saying. At least try and keep an open mind." She said as she leaned back, sipping her tea as she pulled the dossier in front of her, flipping through it.
He rolled his eyes. They were back to this, again, and it wasn't even ten in the morning. "The extraterrestrial is just science we haven't explained, yet." He gestured vaguely at the dossier. "But Atlantis? It was a Greek metaphor, back when Pliny invented it."
"Twenty minutes to Milan,"
She looked up from the file to the conductor, her eyes then sliding back to her colleague beside her, placing her tea down and handing him the file back.
"I'm going to get my belongings together. Meet me on the train platform as soon as we've arrived." With that she gave a curt nod and got up from the table, leaving the dining room, her hips swaying as she walked due to the black strapped heels she wore.
Robert watched appreciatively as she walked away, chuckling at the way the rest of the men in the car tried not to look like they were staring and the way the rest of the women tried not to look annoyed. Then he paid the check and went to collect his luggage.
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Post by The First Doctor on Oct 21, 2011 13:29:04 GMT -5
The Italian Alps
Piedmont, Italy
August 7, 1938
The train chugged its way through the verdant hills, occasional whistles of steam serving as a counterpoint to the rhythm of the wheels.
Robert shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then put his book (Grundzüge der theoretischen Logik, second edition) down and stared out the window. He shifted again, rested his chin on his hand, and sighed. He was feeling guilty.
He sighed again, and looked at Celia. "All right," he said. "You're right. I should be more open-minded, you're right."
Leaning back in his chair, he continued. "I'll try. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, and assume that he may very well have found proof of the existence of some unknown Bronze Age civilization that correlates well with the writings of Pliny the Elder. That's not unreasonable."
He spread his hands. "Fair enough?"
Arona
The shores of Lake Maggiore
Piedmont, Italy
August 7, 1938
About an hour and a half later
"I never want to hear you complain that I don't take you anywhere nice," Robert said with a grin.
The view was spectacular, even from the train station. Arona, it turned out, was one of those picturesque little towns nestled in the foothills of the Italian Alps, on the northern shore of a lake that followed those same mountains for nearly forty miles.
He checked their reservations, and sniggered. "You'll find this interesting," he laughed. "Apparently, the Institute has arranged for us to stay in a church."
He paused. "A deconsecrated church, on a farm, run as an inn by a local farmer."
Another pause. "I swear, though, that if this one has a bunch of idiot Hellfire Club wanna-bes conducting a Black Mass, I'm just going to shoot them all."
The memories of his second week in Belfast were still vivid.
"Anyway, it's close to noon. Why don't I hail us a cab? We can check in, get some lunch, and then figure out how to approach Herr Doktor Frobenius?"
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Post by Sisilaya Vulmecura on Oct 22, 2011 12:06:06 GMT -5
She had calmly been looking out the window, chin resting on the back of her hand. Her partner was quietly reading a book, a rare moment of calm between them. Her green eyes looked over to his lazily, drawn away from the spectacular view outside as he put the book down.
He sighed again, and looked at Celia. "All right," he said. "You're right. I should be more open-minded, you're right."
Leaning back in his chair, he continued. "I'll try. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, and assume that he may very well have found proof of the existence of some unknown Bronze Age civilization that correlates well with the writings of Pliny the Elder. That's not unreasonable."
He spread his hands. "Fair enough?"[/i]
It remained silent for a moment when he finished talking, his hands spread but her not really answers. She seemed to mull on what to tell him. Thoughtful. She finally did answer.
"Ignorance is a flaw that will cost you your head sooner or later when working for Torchwood. Dealing with impossible is something we do on a regular basis, Robert. Not everything we see can be explained away by science, perhaps in a hundred years yes, but not now. There are civilisations far more advanced then we are, so if you want to learn I suggest you'd keep your eyes and mind open. It's also very helpful to do so so you know when to run away."
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Arona
The shores of Lake Maggiore
Piedmont, Italy
August 7, 1938
About an hour and a half later
"I never want to hear you complain that I don't take you anywhere nice," Robert said with a grin.
She gave a snort at his words, she had to admit the view was spectacular but dang if she'd let him know. Her lips spread in a smirk though as she took in the view and replied airily "I've had better" chuckling as she side glanced at their reservations. An interesting place indeed.
Another pause. "I swear, though, that if this one has a bunch of idiot Hellfire Club wanna-bes conducting a Black Mass, I'm just going to shoot them all.".
"In times of poverty people then to lose their grip on reality, superstition is a strong element in the history of Éirinn so Satanism is the easiest and most obvious way out. If we're going to burn in hell regardless, might as well try and get on Lucifer's good side."
Her face broke into a grin then.
"Though, feel free to shoot them all."
"Anyway, it's close to noon. Why don't I hail us a cab? We can check in, get some lunch, and then figure out how to approach Herr Doktor Frobenius?"
She placed her hand, manicured to perfection, inside the crook of his elbow as the wind blew her elaborately done up hair gently. It was going to be a sunny day, she mused.
"Sounds like a plan, gentle Sir. Lead the way." She said with a smile.
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Post by The First Doctor on Oct 22, 2011 17:41:10 GMT -5
"Ignorance is a flaw that will cost you your head sooner or later when working for Torchwood. Dealing with impossible is something we do on a regular basis, Robert. Not everything we see can be explained away by science, perhaps in a hundred years yes, but not now. There are civilisations far more advanced then we are, so if you want to learn I suggest you'd keep your eyes and mind open. It's also very helpful to do so so you know when to run away."
"Perhaps," he agreed. "But there's no call to ascribe the supernatural to those things, simply because we don't understand them yet. That's medieval thinking..."
He realized that he was starting to climb back up on his soap box again, and forced himself to stop. "Obviously," he said with a grin, "this won't be easy for me. But? Keeping my eyes open, so I know when to run?" A shrug. "Been doing that for years, Celia."
"I never want to hear you complain that I don't take you anywhere nice," Robert said with a grin.
Her lips spread in a smirk though as she took in the view and replied airily "I've had better"
Surprisingly, he nodded in agreement. "So have I," he said with a smile. "Don't get me wrong," he added, "this is magnificent. But I find that I'm developing quite an appreciation for the Irish countryside - the hills and valleys, the hidden mounds with their deep wells, secret paths that offer moments of exquisite wonder to those willing to explore them with dedication..."
A smile. "Yes. I find that I much prefer Ireland, now that I think of it."
After a moment, he tore his eyes away from the lake and the Alps beyond, and explained about the nature of their accommodations, ending his explanation with: "I swear, though, that if this one has a bunch of idiot Hellfire Club wanna-bes conducting a Black Mass, I'm just going to shoot them all.".
"In times of poverty people then to lose their grip on reality, superstition is a strong element in the history of Éirinn so Satanism is the easiest and most obvious way out. If we're going to burn in hell regardless, might as well try and get on Lucifer's good side."
"Bah," he said. "I mean, your argument makes sense. In a backwards sort of way. But it always seems that it's the bored and wealthy that turn to that sort of nonsense, as if they're attempting to justify their generally bad behavior. Any of the poor that end up in it, are usually lured in."
A sigh. "Or, at least, that's been my experience with devil cults and 'black magicians'. Remind me to tell you about the Brothers of the Golden Peacock, one of these days."
Her face broke into a grin then.
"Though, feel free to shoot them all."
He smiled back. "You say the sweetest things, Celia. Anyway, it's close to noon. Why don't I hail us a cab? We can check in, get some lunch, and then figure out how to approach Herr Doktor Frobenius?"
She placed her hand, manicured to perfection, inside the crook of his elbow as the wind blew her elaborately done up hair gently. It was going to be a sunny day, she mused.
"Sounds like a plan, gentle Sir. Lead the way." She said with a smile.
"As you wish, good Lady," he answered. "Follow me."
The former church was on the grounds of a working farm, some five miles outside Arona proper. The building, now a hotel, had some dozen rooms for let. All were booked - even with war brewing, vacationers had still come to the picturesque town.
At the front desk, Robert and the owner were arguing in rapid Italian, their furious gestures adding a note of pantomime to the heated words.
"Well," Robert said, "This is interesting. Our landlord here," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the thin, balding man, "tells me that he has no record of reservations for two adjoining rooms. That only a single room was reserved, under the name Sionach-Goodall."
He smiled, thinly. "Personally, I believe that he deliberately lost the reservation and pocketed the money." A pause. "Want me to beat a confession out of him?"
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Post by Sisilaya Vulmecura on Oct 22, 2011 18:14:21 GMT -5
The building was rustic and has a sort of cottagey country side feeling to it. She liked it, really, she only just wished it had a bath in there. After the cramped ride in the trains she was dying for a good soak.
Robert's Italian was better then hers, which is why he had been assigned on this trip with her in the first place. Celia's specialities were the more the older languages, where as Robert seemed to be fairing better with the modern ones. Where had he learned Italian so fluently anyway? Her words were silence before they ever came, the man himself interrupting her thoughts.
"Well," Robert said, "This is interesting. Our landlord here," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the thin, balding man, "tells me that he has no record of reservations for two adjoining rooms. That only a single room was reserved, under the name Sionach-Goodall."
He smiled, thinly. "Personally, I believe that he deliberately lost the reservation and pocketed the money." A pause. "Want me to beat a confession out of him?"
She looked at him for a moment, her eyebrows raised in surprise. It took a moment, but then she growled softly, grabbed one of the lapels of his jacket and opened it to pull out the reservation from the inside pocket. Pulling it open she went to the far back, and indeed a small note was added to the bottom in curly writing, her eyes narrowing.
I booked you a room together, have you got any idea how expensive those rooms are? She highly doubted it, really, seeing at to the fact it had been a farmhouse. But regardless, I figured you two could use some time together to warm up to each other. Have fun! -Moira
"That little.."
Oh and PS, please don't kill each other.
Be careful I don't kill you when I get back. She thought bitterly.
Showing the note to Robert she rolled her eyes "I think I found the culprit, in the shape of our meddling medic."
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Post by The First Doctor on Oct 22, 2011 20:37:06 GMT -5
Out of all the responses he could have imagined to the question, Celia grabbing him by the lapels was not one of them. He watched curiously as she pulled the reservations out, flipped through the folder, and narrowed her eyes.
"That little.. I think I found the culprit, in the shape of our meddling medic."
He glanced over the note attached to the reservation. Then he read it again. And a third time, just to make sure he'd read it right.
"We can fire her, right?" His tone was exasperated, but humorous. "I mean, I've picked up the odd bit of medical knowledge over the years..."
He thought about that for a moment. "No. I guess we can't. I can't, anyway - I'm not the station chief."
A sigh. "Right then. I'll just apologize to the landlord, then. And then, we can see what Moira booked for us." A pause, and a sly grin. "Ms. Sionnach-Goodall."
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Post by Sisilaya Vulmecura on Oct 23, 2011 7:27:43 GMT -5
"We can fire her, right?" His tone was exasperated, but humorous. "I mean, I've picked up the odd bit of medical knowledge over the years..."
He thought about that for a moment. "No. I guess we can't. I can't, anyway - I'm not the station chief."
"I'm afraid your knowledge on the medical is about as good as mine is on the subject of advanced mathematics. None, in other words." She said with a barely contained smile on her red lips. Robert always managed to amuse her on moments like these.
But he always had to ruin it.
A sigh. "Right then. I'll just apologize to the landlord, then. And then, we can see what Moira booked for us." A pause, and a sly grin. "Ms. Sionnach-Goodall."
A well shaped eyebrow rose in surprise, a hint of a tremble going up her spine. Her green eyes zoned in on his sly ones, a glint of fight showing in them as she clutche dher hand tighter on the handle of her purse.
"In your dreams, Mister Goodall." She hissed.
Oh she wanted to smack him with the purse in her hand, possibly put a brick in there first. But causing a scene just wouldn't do. So, instead she drew a deep breath, controlling herself, shooting daggers at the older man before her. Sometimes, even she forgot she was his superior.
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Post by The First Doctor on Oct 23, 2011 12:15:55 GMT -5
"I'm afraid your knowledge on the medical is about as good as mine is on the subject of advanced mathematics. None, in other words." She said with a barely contained smile on her red lips.
"I don't know about that," he protested. "I can stitch up cuts, and more or less set broken bones."
He sighed. "Right then. I'll just apologize to the landlord, then. And then, we can see what Moira booked for us." A pause, and a sly grin. "Ms. Sionnach-Goodall."
A well shaped eyebrow rose in surprise, a hint of a tremble going up her spine. "In your dreams, Mister Goodall." She hissed.
The sly smile didn't waver. "Dream manfully and nobly," he quoted, "and thy dreams shall be prophets."
With that he collected the key from the landlord, hefted the suitcases, and headed up the stairs. Let her stew on that, he thought.
He certainly would.
The room was nice. Not fancy, but good sized and filled with comfortable, high-quality furnishings. A king-sized bed dominated the room, simply decorated but finely crafted, with a wardrobe and dresser of similar style. Two small chairs sat next to the window, and door led into a small private bath.
Interior plumbing, Robert noted, but no electricity. Could be worse.
He placed the suitcases on the dresser. "So, yeah," he said, feeling oddly embarrased about the whole situation. "Uhm. One bed." I'll strangle Moira for this.
He glanced at Celia then busied himself with arraigning the suitcases, realizing with some irritation that his cheeks were burning. "I can sleep on the floor," he said quietly. "It wouldn't be the first time I've slept rough."
He was silent for a moment. "Did you see anywhere that looked good for lunch?" he finally asked, trying to change the subject.
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Post by Sisilaya Vulmecura on Oct 23, 2011 14:59:40 GMT -5
Her eyes narrowed at his come back. "Dream manfully and nobly," he quoted, "and thy dreams shall be prophets." She did not know what to make of this man's intentions. Had he just with avoiding words asked for her hand in marriage? She shook her head and followed him up the stairs wordlessly. She'd get back at him for that later.
The room was indeed nice, of even better quality then the Oriental Express. The King sized bed made her cheeks grow pinkish slightly, it's dominant presence in the room making her head go just a bit beyond of what she'd like to do around Robert. Luckily, it seemed to have the same effect on him too. She sat down on the side of the mattress, placing her purse on the soft duvet next to her.
"So, yeah," he said, feeling oddly embarrassed about the whole situation. "Uhm. One bed."
"Indeed, one bed." She said, her Irish accent crisp.
"I can sleep on the floor," he said quietly. "It wouldn't be the first time I've slept rough."
"Don't be ridiculous Robert, I need you on your best attention while we're here. Besides, we slept in the same bed last night that was not even half the size of this bed." She gave him a sidelong glance, pursing her lips slightly. "What would it matter, if all we do is sleep." She said with a soft chuckle.
Perhaps this who marriage arrangement by Moira would come in handy later when they'd be facing Doctor Frobenius.
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