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Once Upon a Time
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So many newbies lately! Here is a very important PSA about one of our most vital content policies! Read it even if you are an ancient member!
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"You see anything up there, Alan? C'mon! Tell me!"
The voice called from down below, well out of sight from the top of the large Oak tree, of which Alan had climbed up to the tallest branches. It was a beautiful summer evening, and had Alan not been squinting to the horizon to look for hostiles, he might have enjoyed the scenery a little more. When the last sun-rays of the day kissed the heathland, when the greens and purples melt into grey under the first moonlight, that's when the warren emptied and the rabbits were out to forage and play. They move slowly, lolloping in their ungainly way, grazing as they go. At the slightest noise, they were up on their hand legs, black eyes staring in more direction that predators could. For a moment, Alan just watched a pair of them in the field in front of him. They scatter at the sound of Warren's voice and the pasture remained eerily still thereafter.
Digging his nails a little deeper into the bark, Alan reached up for one higher branch and pulled himself up. His head poked out of the canopy and his eyes swept. The countryside beckoned. It was an evening of warmth and rambling, the fields were no longer swathes of rutted mud, each one softly verdant, the new stems ruffled by the light breeze. The hills rolled like a casually laid eiderdown quilt, rising and falling in soft waves. New Jersey was a beautiful providence, he noted, but he wasn't admiring the distance horizon (terrifying without a single tree to tie it down for miles aside from the one he was in) for its charm and quaintness; Alan was looking for red.
They had received intel that Hessians were sweeping in across the Delaware. Pinned between the British forces assembling in New York City and the Hessians being deployed at the Delaware, the Continental Army was beginning to sweat. It had been General George Washington himself who had appointed two promising young men—Lieutenant Morgan and Private Warren—to investigate the matters. For several days, they had trekked on horseback across the New Jersy countryside, taking in a whole lot of nothing except for country homes, farmland, and disinterested bovines. They had passed the two of Princeton only two days past, and Alan had truly been hoping something would happen—anything of interest… Hessians, Brits. Hell, at this point, he would have preferred to see another human being that wasn't the ever-nagging Warren bouncing down at the bottom of the Oak tree like a forlorn puppy.
As they passed through villages and farmlands, citizens had quickly boarded up their homes and cowered away from their trademark blue coats, rifles, and white breeches. Regardless of how they felt about the revolution, the everyday citizen was afraid of war—of battles—of what it meant for them, and they took none to kindly to soldiers, red or blue. It was for that reason alone that Alan's stomach was so empty and painful; they had run out of rations a day and a half ago, and he hadn't eaten since.
"I see nothing," Alan called back down to Warren after a moment. It was just more green, rolling hills. Their colors were being desaturated slowly by moonlight until every took on a shade of grey. The skies were clear and a blanket of starts winked, illuminating the atramentous curtain of sky. "No soldiers, anyways." Just as he was about to turn away and begin to swing down to regroup with his comrade, something caught his attention. It was just a small something, a blur of light hovering over the top of the fields that he caught from his peripherial vision. Pausing, he looked back. The light, whatever it was, went out of focus whenever he looked directly at it, like it was trying to evade capture. It was several yards out from the tree, perhaps fifty—far enough away that he had to squint to try and make it out.
"Warren," Alan hissed, finding his voice going quiet unintentionally, "Do you see that?"
"See what?"
"The light there."
"A light?" Alan could practically hear Warren rolling his eyes in his tone of voice, "You really are bloody well losing it! Come down here would ya? We'll rest and continue in morn."
But Alan was entranced, he leaned further on to the branches to try and get a better look. The light remained, a hesitant glowing orb hovering a few inches over the grasses. Clamoring down the branches as quickly as he could, Alan's swung off the last branch and landed neatly onto the grass below. "You don't see it?" He motioned towards the light he saw and Warren could only shake his head.
"You're absolutely lunatic," the shorter, pudgier man turned away and began to shuffle through his saddlebags, "Now, before you begin to completely lose your mind, I'm going to retire. I suggest you do the same." He pulled his woolen blanket from his bag and settled himself up against the trunk of the tree.
Alan couldn't though, he looked back to the light and it pulsed like it was beckoning him. Every movement was hesitant, but he couldn't deny it. He approached it slowly and it didn't move. He was inching closer and closer and nothing changed. It gave off a pale yellow light that was enchanting, warm, and comforted him. Once he was close enough, he bent at the waist, stretched himself out to touch it… to figure out what it was when suddenly, it snapped back and wrapped itself around his arm. Alan screeched in fear and surprise as the light clamped down on him, beginning to consume its way up his arm. It didn't hurt, but it was terrifying the way it seemed to be swallowing him whole.
"Alan?" he could hear Warren rustling, "Bloody hell, ALAN!"
But the light was taking over. Like a solid thing, it continued to wrap itself around him. It closed around his arms, his legs, rose up his chest. He couldn't move. He yanked his head up, holding his chin up as high as he could as it continued to stole itself. The last thing the light swallowed was his eyes. He could see a slit of Warren rushing towards him before it all went black and, just like that, Alan Morgan was gone.
He awoke and it was daylight. Smells swarmed his nose and he groaned, rolling on to his side and finding cement below him. The alleyway was quaint and cobbled. The buildings each side have walls that wobble ever so slightly, apparent in the strong morning light. He reached up and scratched his head, fumbling to sit up and stand before his eyes forced themselves open. Where he expected to see New Jersey fields and grass, he saw buildings… buildings taller than he had ever seen before. At the end of the alley were giant monsters rushing past. They looked like carriages one would attach to horses, except there were no horses. His heart raced and the first thing Alan did was turn and vomit. He hadn't eaten in days, so there wasn't much to expel except mucus and bile.
Fumbling his way forward, he fell into the middle of the sidewalk. People pushed past him, giving him annoying sighs and eyerolls. One woman (who had her ankles exposed!) tossed change at him. Another slapped him on the shoulder and grinned.
"Wicked costume, bro."
The voice called from down below, well out of sight from the top of the large Oak tree, of which Alan had climbed up to the tallest branches. It was a beautiful summer evening, and had Alan not been squinting to the horizon to look for hostiles, he might have enjoyed the scenery a little more. When the last sun-rays of the day kissed the heathland, when the greens and purples melt into grey under the first moonlight, that's when the warren emptied and the rabbits were out to forage and play. They move slowly, lolloping in their ungainly way, grazing as they go. At the slightest noise, they were up on their hand legs, black eyes staring in more direction that predators could. For a moment, Alan just watched a pair of them in the field in front of him. They scatter at the sound of Warren's voice and the pasture remained eerily still thereafter.
Digging his nails a little deeper into the bark, Alan reached up for one higher branch and pulled himself up. His head poked out of the canopy and his eyes swept. The countryside beckoned. It was an evening of warmth and rambling, the fields were no longer swathes of rutted mud, each one softly verdant, the new stems ruffled by the light breeze. The hills rolled like a casually laid eiderdown quilt, rising and falling in soft waves. New Jersey was a beautiful providence, he noted, but he wasn't admiring the distance horizon (terrifying without a single tree to tie it down for miles aside from the one he was in) for its charm and quaintness; Alan was looking for red.
They had received intel that Hessians were sweeping in across the Delaware. Pinned between the British forces assembling in New York City and the Hessians being deployed at the Delaware, the Continental Army was beginning to sweat. It had been General George Washington himself who had appointed two promising young men—Lieutenant Morgan and Private Warren—to investigate the matters. For several days, they had trekked on horseback across the New Jersy countryside, taking in a whole lot of nothing except for country homes, farmland, and disinterested bovines. They had passed the two of Princeton only two days past, and Alan had truly been hoping something would happen—anything of interest… Hessians, Brits. Hell, at this point, he would have preferred to see another human being that wasn't the ever-nagging Warren bouncing down at the bottom of the Oak tree like a forlorn puppy.
As they passed through villages and farmlands, citizens had quickly boarded up their homes and cowered away from their trademark blue coats, rifles, and white breeches. Regardless of how they felt about the revolution, the everyday citizen was afraid of war—of battles—of what it meant for them, and they took none to kindly to soldiers, red or blue. It was for that reason alone that Alan's stomach was so empty and painful; they had run out of rations a day and a half ago, and he hadn't eaten since.
"I see nothing," Alan called back down to Warren after a moment. It was just more green, rolling hills. Their colors were being desaturated slowly by moonlight until every took on a shade of grey. The skies were clear and a blanket of starts winked, illuminating the atramentous curtain of sky. "No soldiers, anyways." Just as he was about to turn away and begin to swing down to regroup with his comrade, something caught his attention. It was just a small something, a blur of light hovering over the top of the fields that he caught from his peripherial vision. Pausing, he looked back. The light, whatever it was, went out of focus whenever he looked directly at it, like it was trying to evade capture. It was several yards out from the tree, perhaps fifty—far enough away that he had to squint to try and make it out.
"Warren," Alan hissed, finding his voice going quiet unintentionally, "Do you see that?"
"See what?"
"The light there."
"A light?" Alan could practically hear Warren rolling his eyes in his tone of voice, "You really are bloody well losing it! Come down here would ya? We'll rest and continue in morn."
But Alan was entranced, he leaned further on to the branches to try and get a better look. The light remained, a hesitant glowing orb hovering a few inches over the grasses. Clamoring down the branches as quickly as he could, Alan's swung off the last branch and landed neatly onto the grass below. "You don't see it?" He motioned towards the light he saw and Warren could only shake his head.
"You're absolutely lunatic," the shorter, pudgier man turned away and began to shuffle through his saddlebags, "Now, before you begin to completely lose your mind, I'm going to retire. I suggest you do the same." He pulled his woolen blanket from his bag and settled himself up against the trunk of the tree.
Alan couldn't though, he looked back to the light and it pulsed like it was beckoning him. Every movement was hesitant, but he couldn't deny it. He approached it slowly and it didn't move. He was inching closer and closer and nothing changed. It gave off a pale yellow light that was enchanting, warm, and comforted him. Once he was close enough, he bent at the waist, stretched himself out to touch it… to figure out what it was when suddenly, it snapped back and wrapped itself around his arm. Alan screeched in fear and surprise as the light clamped down on him, beginning to consume its way up his arm. It didn't hurt, but it was terrifying the way it seemed to be swallowing him whole.
"Alan?" he could hear Warren rustling, "Bloody hell, ALAN!"
But the light was taking over. Like a solid thing, it continued to wrap itself around him. It closed around his arms, his legs, rose up his chest. He couldn't move. He yanked his head up, holding his chin up as high as he could as it continued to stole itself. The last thing the light swallowed was his eyes. He could see a slit of Warren rushing towards him before it all went black and, just like that, Alan Morgan was gone.
He awoke and it was daylight. Smells swarmed his nose and he groaned, rolling on to his side and finding cement below him. The alleyway was quaint and cobbled. The buildings each side have walls that wobble ever so slightly, apparent in the strong morning light. He reached up and scratched his head, fumbling to sit up and stand before his eyes forced themselves open. Where he expected to see New Jersey fields and grass, he saw buildings… buildings taller than he had ever seen before. At the end of the alley were giant monsters rushing past. They looked like carriages one would attach to horses, except there were no horses. His heart raced and the first thing Alan did was turn and vomit. He hadn't eaten in days, so there wasn't much to expel except mucus and bile.
Fumbling his way forward, he fell into the middle of the sidewalk. People pushed past him, giving him annoying sighs and eyerolls. One woman (who had her ankles exposed!) tossed change at him. Another slapped him on the shoulder and grinned.
"Wicked costume, bro."
B
Bears
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One finger tapped incessantly against the counter of the coffee shop. Natalie stood there dressed classically in a flared dress, a light leather coat and flats. Her brown hair was tied into a messy bun and a pair of expensive sunglasses were utilized to hide the fact that she was dead inside. The marketing manager snorted at the thought. Her morning had been an unpleasant one to say the least...both Natalie and her eager--if not somewhat eccentric--assistant got an earful from their superiors after submitting their reports a day late.
Now it was lunch and the thought of not reporting in for the afternoon was so damn tempting. Her dreams of insubordination were interrupted however, when the barista finally brought her two drinks. The espresso was Natalie's and the macchiato was for Marvin, her aforementioned assistant. Natalie was fully aware that it was a little odd that she was the one buying their afternoon refreshments but she insisted.
Marvin, who was the only person in NYC that Natalie knew who used the word 'wicked' to regularly describe something as cool, always managed to mangle her order whenever he was the one bringing coffee.
Stepping outside onto the street, Natalie took a sip of the black bitter drink her mood had a tendency to hinge on. Her blue eyes scanned the faces of her surrounding and was annoyed to see that Marvin hadn't waited by her car like she asked. Moments later she spotted her assistant, a chubbier man groomed and dressed like your typical hipster, speaking with some oddly dressed man sprawled out further down the sidewalk.
A small frown found her lips as she quickly walked over. As she approached she heard Marvin complimenting the man's costume but personally Natalie was less than impressed. He looked absolutely ridiculous dressed like that. Tapping Marvin's shoulder lightly when she got close enough, Natalie than nodded at the man on the sidewalk.
"What's his deal?" She asked casually. Natalie had seen worse during her years in the big city. The woman took another sip of her espresso before she continued -- her nose crinkling at the smell of vomit. "He's probably just really hung over..."
Now it was lunch and the thought of not reporting in for the afternoon was so damn tempting. Her dreams of insubordination were interrupted however, when the barista finally brought her two drinks. The espresso was Natalie's and the macchiato was for Marvin, her aforementioned assistant. Natalie was fully aware that it was a little odd that she was the one buying their afternoon refreshments but she insisted.
Marvin, who was the only person in NYC that Natalie knew who used the word 'wicked' to regularly describe something as cool, always managed to mangle her order whenever he was the one bringing coffee.
Stepping outside onto the street, Natalie took a sip of the black bitter drink her mood had a tendency to hinge on. Her blue eyes scanned the faces of her surrounding and was annoyed to see that Marvin hadn't waited by her car like she asked. Moments later she spotted her assistant, a chubbier man groomed and dressed like your typical hipster, speaking with some oddly dressed man sprawled out further down the sidewalk.
A small frown found her lips as she quickly walked over. As she approached she heard Marvin complimenting the man's costume but personally Natalie was less than impressed. He looked absolutely ridiculous dressed like that. Tapping Marvin's shoulder lightly when she got close enough, Natalie than nodded at the man on the sidewalk.
"What's his deal?" She asked casually. Natalie had seen worse during her years in the big city. The woman took another sip of her espresso before she continued -- her nose crinkling at the smell of vomit. "He's probably just really hung over..."
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His brain had shut down.
He was clammy and there was a glisten of a cold sweat. His eyes were wide as if someone was coming to deliver a fatal blow. Funny, considering he had seen the inside of several battles but had never felt such a fear pulsing through him as he did in that moment. Alan, who was no small man, squeaked in pain when his shoulder clapped and he cowered away. A gaggle of goosebumps laminated his exposed skin, even though it was plenty hot underneath his wool rebel uniform. Then, there was another woman there and he wanted to scream, but the insides of his mouth lacked any moisture and a croak was all that issued from his gape. Of course, he had left his rifle down at the base of the tree when he had pursued the light and now he wished he had it.
These strange creatures, whatever they were, seemed violent. They smacked and hit him, they bumped into him and threw little metal rocks at him (it looked like momey, but not any money he had ever seen before). His heart was racing so fast in his chest it was liable to explode, and had he not been such a healthy young man, it might've. The woman caused him to blush on top of it all as her dress was painfully revealing. Never before had he seen an outfit like hers, or like the mans, but seeing a woman so willing to let it all just hang out like that was rather shocking to him system, even when he was also trying to take in skyscrapers, cars, and neon bulletin boards.
His system was just beginning to shut down. It was too much to take in, so his senses just stopped. Going numb, he continued to shake in his well-worn field officer petty boots. "Hungover?" he echoed, his ton but a shallow yelp, despite the deep fullness of his voice, "Miss, I haven't a clue what you intend by that," he explained, his voice heavily accented by a British suggestion and unusual pronunciation of words, "But I am Lieutenant Alan Morgan of the Continental Army, currently stationed in New Jersey… this is…?" he looked around, motioning towards the city scrawling above him. "This is some kind of jest then? I followed a light here you see. My officer and I were out scouting," if either of them were looking lost, Alan didn't seem to notice. "And somehow I ended up here. Wherever here is."
Was this a trick of the British? Did they have such advanced armaments? He could recall chasing after the light and he could only imagine that it was some sort of hallucinatory substance. He had heard of people using things like Peyote in the far south, anyhow.
"I must return to General Washington at once."
He was clammy and there was a glisten of a cold sweat. His eyes were wide as if someone was coming to deliver a fatal blow. Funny, considering he had seen the inside of several battles but had never felt such a fear pulsing through him as he did in that moment. Alan, who was no small man, squeaked in pain when his shoulder clapped and he cowered away. A gaggle of goosebumps laminated his exposed skin, even though it was plenty hot underneath his wool rebel uniform. Then, there was another woman there and he wanted to scream, but the insides of his mouth lacked any moisture and a croak was all that issued from his gape. Of course, he had left his rifle down at the base of the tree when he had pursued the light and now he wished he had it.
These strange creatures, whatever they were, seemed violent. They smacked and hit him, they bumped into him and threw little metal rocks at him (it looked like momey, but not any money he had ever seen before). His heart was racing so fast in his chest it was liable to explode, and had he not been such a healthy young man, it might've. The woman caused him to blush on top of it all as her dress was painfully revealing. Never before had he seen an outfit like hers, or like the mans, but seeing a woman so willing to let it all just hang out like that was rather shocking to him system, even when he was also trying to take in skyscrapers, cars, and neon bulletin boards.
His system was just beginning to shut down. It was too much to take in, so his senses just stopped. Going numb, he continued to shake in his well-worn field officer petty boots. "Hungover?" he echoed, his ton but a shallow yelp, despite the deep fullness of his voice, "Miss, I haven't a clue what you intend by that," he explained, his voice heavily accented by a British suggestion and unusual pronunciation of words, "But I am Lieutenant Alan Morgan of the Continental Army, currently stationed in New Jersey… this is…?" he looked around, motioning towards the city scrawling above him. "This is some kind of jest then? I followed a light here you see. My officer and I were out scouting," if either of them were looking lost, Alan didn't seem to notice. "And somehow I ended up here. Wherever here is."
Was this a trick of the British? Did they have such advanced armaments? He could recall chasing after the light and he could only imagine that it was some sort of hallucinatory substance. He had heard of people using things like Peyote in the far south, anyhow.
"I must return to General Washington at once."
B
Bears
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"Oh...wait. I was wrong, Marv. He's not hungover he's just actually batshit insane. Like literally, insane." Natalie quipped lightly while she took a sip from her espresso. She wasn't as amused when he turned with his cheeks flushed at the sight of her, however. Whatever drug this guy was smoking it was something fierce. He was committed to the act but she Natalie wasn't convinced. She rarely ever was.
Natalie made her way around to his other side and moved closer to him, a single curious eyebrow raised in response as both she and Marvin thought of how to go about the outlandish situation. "General Washington? Er...continental army?" The marketing manager asked aloud -- she barely pay attention during history class but the words he spoke had meaning...as dated as they may have been.
"Let's just leave him Marvin. People are always coming off of bad trips and this is no different." She suddenly said, her cynical nature coming through in full effect. Natalie sipped her espresso once more and realized that she had already subconsciously burned through half of it. "C'mon Marv our lunch break done in half an hour."
Marvin shot her a glare from behind his circular frame sunglasses, speaking with an inflection in his voice more feminine than masculine. "C'mon Nat, just look at him. The lieutenant here is obviously in need of some help."
"Do you hear yourself right now? Like literally hear yourself? The lieutenant??" Natalie was flabbergasted, really. The determined look on Marvin's face she got in reply caused her to sigh tiredly. Dropping down and perhaps a little to quickly than a typical person would, Natalie positioned his arm around her shoulders and helped the 'Lieutenant' get back to his feet. Marvin quickly followed in suit.
"Jesus, Marvin and I thought that your vomit smelled atrocious." With little compassion from the woman, the disorderly trio than made their way down the street. Natalie made sure that Marvin promised to pay for cleaning if Alan puked in her car before unlocking the door of her vehicle. The contemporary car then pulled out from its parking spot and soon enough they were driving through downtown. Natalie simply rolled her eyes as Marvin played along with the crazy man's story in the back of the car. He was way to amused, in her mind.
"This is New York City." Marvin spoke slowly before repeating once more. "New. York. City. Ah-mer-ica"
Twenty minutes later, Marvin and Natalie were ushering the Lieutenant through the lobby of her apartment complex. The trio took an elevator up to her spacey loft and Natalie quickly tossed the Lieutenant on one of the couches. Utterly annoyed by this point, Natalie just hoped he wouldn't get vomit on her designer fur carpets.
Marvin quickly brought the deluded stranger some water and bread from her kitchen while Natalie simply watched on angrily from the dining table.
"Congragulations, Marv. You've literally brought a druggie into my home." She jabbed sarcastically.
Natalie made her way around to his other side and moved closer to him, a single curious eyebrow raised in response as both she and Marvin thought of how to go about the outlandish situation. "General Washington? Er...continental army?" The marketing manager asked aloud -- she barely pay attention during history class but the words he spoke had meaning...as dated as they may have been.
"Let's just leave him Marvin. People are always coming off of bad trips and this is no different." She suddenly said, her cynical nature coming through in full effect. Natalie sipped her espresso once more and realized that she had already subconsciously burned through half of it. "C'mon Marv our lunch break done in half an hour."
Marvin shot her a glare from behind his circular frame sunglasses, speaking with an inflection in his voice more feminine than masculine. "C'mon Nat, just look at him. The lieutenant here is obviously in need of some help."
"Do you hear yourself right now? Like literally hear yourself? The lieutenant??" Natalie was flabbergasted, really. The determined look on Marvin's face she got in reply caused her to sigh tiredly. Dropping down and perhaps a little to quickly than a typical person would, Natalie positioned his arm around her shoulders and helped the 'Lieutenant' get back to his feet. Marvin quickly followed in suit.
"Jesus, Marvin and I thought that your vomit smelled atrocious." With little compassion from the woman, the disorderly trio than made their way down the street. Natalie made sure that Marvin promised to pay for cleaning if Alan puked in her car before unlocking the door of her vehicle. The contemporary car then pulled out from its parking spot and soon enough they were driving through downtown. Natalie simply rolled her eyes as Marvin played along with the crazy man's story in the back of the car. He was way to amused, in her mind.
"This is New York City." Marvin spoke slowly before repeating once more. "New. York. City. Ah-mer-ica"
Twenty minutes later, Marvin and Natalie were ushering the Lieutenant through the lobby of her apartment complex. The trio took an elevator up to her spacey loft and Natalie quickly tossed the Lieutenant on one of the couches. Utterly annoyed by this point, Natalie just hoped he wouldn't get vomit on her designer fur carpets.
Marvin quickly brought the deluded stranger some water and bread from her kitchen while Natalie simply watched on angrily from the dining table.
"Congragulations, Marv. You've literally brought a druggie into my home." She jabbed sarcastically.
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"A bad trip? Oh no, I don't think you understand, my boots are laced just fine, miss." Alan snorted that he had to correct her. Did he look as though he had stumbled? He had most certainly not. What astounded him most deeply was that the woman seemed entirely ignorant of General Washington and the Continental Army. Everyone knew of General Washington—news of his army and the British backlash reached every speck of land known at his time. So he scoffed at her ignorance with a deep-seated annoyance. He did pause when his eyes glossed over her face. She looked more decorated than a tart Sunday cake. Was she born like that, he wondered to himself, then felt a pang of pity for having such a terrible disease that left her in such a state. The big dark glasses must have been covering some kind of terrible deformity, he noted.
In fact, he was surprised how deformed all the people were around him. The man whose name he had picked up to be Marvin was grotesquely overweight. He had certainly seen some men who had gone soft in the middle, but nothing quite like Marvin. "Truthfully, I just wish to go home. You see, Warren—" but he caught himself before he continued. They hadn't known of General Washington, how would they ever know of Private Warren? The despair that fell over him was a heady blackness; he began to pull on a loose strand at the edge of his left cuff, his eyes averting down to it. The woman was dreadfully unkind. Though he could only understand about a third of the words coming from either of their mouths at any given time, her inflection was enough to inform him that his presence was quite unwelcome.
Swallowing hard, Alan rolled his tongue against the back of his teeth. The smell of the city swamped him and his eyes watered, not from tears of grief, but from the burning he felt. His lungs had never known anything but fresh, crisp air, so the sudden pollution making its rounds around his body caused him to feel nauseous and uncomfortable. Still, Marvin gave him a tug and Alan stumbled behind. What else was he to do?
"What is this?" he asked as he stepped up to the towncar, both brows rising up his forehead with curiosity. "Is it some kind of coach?" He was pulled in with taste and he more flopped, as opposed to sat, on the leather seats inside. He jolted in surprise when the leather squeaked and the car began to accelerate. In just moments, he had gone from horrified to fascinated. His fingers, rough from knowing hard labor and charred from gun powder, gently caressed the car door, around the ashtry, across the door handle, over the lock. He didn't press down on anything to cause anything to happen, but his eyes were gleaming.
"America. Did you say America, sir?" Alan's eyes, the same shade of green that pushed its way through piles of gritty snow to remind you that spring was coming, turned to Marvin. "America—are you not engaged in warfare with the Brits and Hessians?" he inquired. If he had been sick earlier, it didn't seem to show now. In fact, he seemed quite bright eyed and bushy tailed. They drove, they stopped, and they got out… Alan seemed just fine following the pair all the way. He was directed to another sitting device and offered water and bread, which he inspected quite curiously.
"And I'm not entirely sure what a druggie is, miss," he trotted behind the pair like a kid late for a school bus, rolling some of the bread around between his pointer and thumb until the squishy bread became dough-like, "But may I say that you seem like a very unhappy person?"
In fact, he was surprised how deformed all the people were around him. The man whose name he had picked up to be Marvin was grotesquely overweight. He had certainly seen some men who had gone soft in the middle, but nothing quite like Marvin. "Truthfully, I just wish to go home. You see, Warren—" but he caught himself before he continued. They hadn't known of General Washington, how would they ever know of Private Warren? The despair that fell over him was a heady blackness; he began to pull on a loose strand at the edge of his left cuff, his eyes averting down to it. The woman was dreadfully unkind. Though he could only understand about a third of the words coming from either of their mouths at any given time, her inflection was enough to inform him that his presence was quite unwelcome.
Swallowing hard, Alan rolled his tongue against the back of his teeth. The smell of the city swamped him and his eyes watered, not from tears of grief, but from the burning he felt. His lungs had never known anything but fresh, crisp air, so the sudden pollution making its rounds around his body caused him to feel nauseous and uncomfortable. Still, Marvin gave him a tug and Alan stumbled behind. What else was he to do?
"What is this?" he asked as he stepped up to the towncar, both brows rising up his forehead with curiosity. "Is it some kind of coach?" He was pulled in with taste and he more flopped, as opposed to sat, on the leather seats inside. He jolted in surprise when the leather squeaked and the car began to accelerate. In just moments, he had gone from horrified to fascinated. His fingers, rough from knowing hard labor and charred from gun powder, gently caressed the car door, around the ashtry, across the door handle, over the lock. He didn't press down on anything to cause anything to happen, but his eyes were gleaming.
"America. Did you say America, sir?" Alan's eyes, the same shade of green that pushed its way through piles of gritty snow to remind you that spring was coming, turned to Marvin. "America—are you not engaged in warfare with the Brits and Hessians?" he inquired. If he had been sick earlier, it didn't seem to show now. In fact, he seemed quite bright eyed and bushy tailed. They drove, they stopped, and they got out… Alan seemed just fine following the pair all the way. He was directed to another sitting device and offered water and bread, which he inspected quite curiously.
"And I'm not entirely sure what a druggie is, miss," he trotted behind the pair like a kid late for a school bus, rolling some of the bread around between his pointer and thumb until the squishy bread became dough-like, "But may I say that you seem like a very unhappy person?"
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"Tell me something I don't know, petty boots." Natalie jabbed sharply with a roll of her eyes. This whole situation was abnormal and she wanted nothing but for it to end as soon as possible. Standing up straight she moved back towards the front door where she slipped off her jacket slowly, pinning it on a coat rack before kicking off her flats. A thought occurred to her and suddenly Natalie moved closer to the Lieutenant.
He was committed to...whatever this whole thing was and she figured that maybe she'd be able to bend it towards her favor. Crossing her arms underneath her bust she sat on a plush couch across from the strange man. Marvin watched on with a sense of dread as he realized that the Lieutenant wasn't receptive of their bread and like the fussy mother hen he was, he then scurried off into the kitchen to make something warm for everyone to eat.
Meanwhile, Natalie seemed intent on interviewing the man now sitting in her apartment dressed like he just hopped out of a history channel special. As annoyed as she had been during the whole process, Natalie still had a good ear and listened to plenty of the comments he made on the way to her apartment. He was either from the past, lived under a rock and miraculously survived for the past few centuries, or was on drugs. Despite his attempts at claiming otherwise, she was still betting on the latter.
"So. Let's just start with America then." Natalie began, slipping off her sunglasses and holding it against her bottom lip as she continued. "You asked Marvin earlier about Britain...yet your accent tells me that you're from Britain yourself. Care to explain that or are you just outright insane? "
He was committed to...whatever this whole thing was and she figured that maybe she'd be able to bend it towards her favor. Crossing her arms underneath her bust she sat on a plush couch across from the strange man. Marvin watched on with a sense of dread as he realized that the Lieutenant wasn't receptive of their bread and like the fussy mother hen he was, he then scurried off into the kitchen to make something warm for everyone to eat.
Meanwhile, Natalie seemed intent on interviewing the man now sitting in her apartment dressed like he just hopped out of a history channel special. As annoyed as she had been during the whole process, Natalie still had a good ear and listened to plenty of the comments he made on the way to her apartment. He was either from the past, lived under a rock and miraculously survived for the past few centuries, or was on drugs. Despite his attempts at claiming otherwise, she was still betting on the latter.
"So. Let's just start with America then." Natalie began, slipping off her sunglasses and holding it against her bottom lip as she continued. "You asked Marvin earlier about Britain...yet your accent tells me that you're from Britain yourself. Care to explain that or are you just outright insane? "
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"I do not sound British," he scoffed yet again, this time reaching for the supplied glass of water. He sipped it down only to crinkle his nose and very nearly spit it back out again. As water went, it had the vilest taste he had ever encountered. Their air smelled bad, it stung his eyes, and even their water was terrible. What sort of hell had he found himself in? Just barely managing to gag down the water, he very neatly put the glass back on the coffee table, refusing to touch it again. "You sound more like a Hessian, though you're speaking English, which makes me inclined to believe I shouldn't trust you but I'm not sure I have much of a choice in the matter." He cleared his throat, still trying to get the terrible taste of softened water from his tongue.
"As for your question," he squirmed in his seat and vehemently wiped the sweat from his palms off on the knee of his breeches. She had taken off her sunglasses to reveal the horrible disfigurement he had already figured she had: her eyes were lined darkly and her eyelashes were abnormally long. Of course, it was quite a pretty disfigurement and it helped bring out the lovely shade of her eyes, but he could also understand why she was embarrassed by it. She was different, indeed. "My family are apple farmers just outside of Boston. My great-grandfather and mother on my father's side came from England, Liverpool, to settle the colonies, but now we are in war against the British… how do you not know this? America is attempting to get its freedom, that is awfully important."
Where ever he was, he didn't know, but surely everyone knew of the revolution occurring in the colonies. Leaning back against the couch, Alan tilted his head back and looked up to the vaulted ceilings. He had only ever seen ceilings so high in a church before. Had he died and gone to heaven? Or worse, this seemed more like hell. "Wait," he perked up again, his head snapping back so his eyes were level with her, "Did you say New York, earlier? As in New York City? How on earth did I traverse so far? I was just west of Princeton just a short while ago." It had been October of 1776, on the eve of the Battle of Princeton where Lieutenant Morgan would have lost his life.
Shaking his head, he looked away, his eyes finding a lamp and curious inspiring him. He had lamps that looked similar back home, but when he pressed the button, the lamp immediately ignited. "Fascinating!" he scooted closer to it, "How does it light a fire?"
"As for your question," he squirmed in his seat and vehemently wiped the sweat from his palms off on the knee of his breeches. She had taken off her sunglasses to reveal the horrible disfigurement he had already figured she had: her eyes were lined darkly and her eyelashes were abnormally long. Of course, it was quite a pretty disfigurement and it helped bring out the lovely shade of her eyes, but he could also understand why she was embarrassed by it. She was different, indeed. "My family are apple farmers just outside of Boston. My great-grandfather and mother on my father's side came from England, Liverpool, to settle the colonies, but now we are in war against the British… how do you not know this? America is attempting to get its freedom, that is awfully important."
Where ever he was, he didn't know, but surely everyone knew of the revolution occurring in the colonies. Leaning back against the couch, Alan tilted his head back and looked up to the vaulted ceilings. He had only ever seen ceilings so high in a church before. Had he died and gone to heaven? Or worse, this seemed more like hell. "Wait," he perked up again, his head snapping back so his eyes were level with her, "Did you say New York, earlier? As in New York City? How on earth did I traverse so far? I was just west of Princeton just a short while ago." It had been October of 1776, on the eve of the Battle of Princeton where Lieutenant Morgan would have lost his life.
Shaking his head, he looked away, his eyes finding a lamp and curious inspiring him. He had lamps that looked similar back home, but when he pressed the button, the lamp immediately ignited. "Fascinating!" he scooted closer to it, "How does it light a fire?"
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Things went from annoying to confusing and outlandish rather quickly. She cleared her throat as she observed him, he was a full grown man and conducted himself as such but at the same time his naivety was youthful and innocent. To top things off he also thought that the fucking revolutionary war was still going on. Excuse her french, but Natalie was astounded. If he was an actor than he played his part with utmost dedication.
Still, apple farmers, colonies and America fighting for freedom that it won centuries ago was a bit much. Looking to see if she could test his act further in order to determine it's authenticity Natalie stood up at his question...walking around the coffee table and joining him on the couch where he stared at her vintage lamp with absolute fascination.
The marketing manager reached over him, using her finger to trace the wire that ran from the lamp to an outlet in the wall. "Electricity does all the work...as to how it does that specifically well I guess you can google it." She stopped herself in her tracks, realizing that he wouldn't know what that meant. Another idea occurred to her and she shot up. "Hey petty boots what did you say your name was again?" She asked as she lightly jogged across the loft and into her bedroom.
She came out moments later from her bedroom with a laptop in her hands. She grinned geekily at the thought of how he'd react to this piece of technological advancement. Then she frowned realizing that that thought actually ran through her mind. Feeling like she was buying into it a bit too much she reminded herself to dial it down a little before dropping herself next to him on the couch.
She opened up a search engine. "Hm. Tell me something that you've always wanted to know."
Still, apple farmers, colonies and America fighting for freedom that it won centuries ago was a bit much. Looking to see if she could test his act further in order to determine it's authenticity Natalie stood up at his question...walking around the coffee table and joining him on the couch where he stared at her vintage lamp with absolute fascination.
The marketing manager reached over him, using her finger to trace the wire that ran from the lamp to an outlet in the wall. "Electricity does all the work...as to how it does that specifically well I guess you can google it." She stopped herself in her tracks, realizing that he wouldn't know what that meant. Another idea occurred to her and she shot up. "Hey petty boots what did you say your name was again?" She asked as she lightly jogged across the loft and into her bedroom.
She came out moments later from her bedroom with a laptop in her hands. She grinned geekily at the thought of how he'd react to this piece of technological advancement. Then she frowned realizing that that thought actually ran through her mind. Feeling like she was buying into it a bit too much she reminded herself to dial it down a little before dropping herself next to him on the couch.
She opened up a search engine. "Hm. Tell me something that you've always wanted to know."
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His eyes followed the invisible line her hand drew across the wire to the outlet. His looks was one of being generally perplexed. He looked back to her and shook his head, "Electricity?" Electricity was only just being discovered in his era, though a simple soldier knew nothing of the sort—even if he was educated and literate. "I don't know what either Google or electricity are but…" he couldn't help but chuckle. The laugh coming from Alan was like a newly sprung leak—timid at first, stopping and starting, but eventually opening up into something more hearty and warm. His smile was divine, a surprise for a man of his era, but he had been blessed with naturally white and mostly straight teeth, though it had been a luck of genetics, not any sort of dentistry. The fact he still had all of his teeth was another wonder, as most people his age back home did not.
"Google—what a unusual and silly word!" he announced, "Google, google, google…" he liked how it rolled off his tongue, his eyes bright with excitement, much like a child would have looked on Christmas. "My name is Alan Morgan," he called after her, "What is yours? I believe I've already acquired Marvin's name… but yours? Did he call you 'Mat'? Are you a type of rug, then?" She returned and his eyes followed her.
When the woman joined him, he sat down properly. He felt a little uneasy being so close to a woman who was so improperly dressed (would her father blame him for ruining her chastity?) but he did his best to keep his eyes from wandering in surprise, but still allowing him to peek over her shoulder at the strange gadget in her lap. It took a second or two for the new information to sink it, even though it was right before his eyes, larger than life. He felt his lips stretch wider into a gaping grin and his eyebrows arched up. Amazement couldn't quite cover it. He felt as though someone just took his spark of wonder and poured on kerosene. The smile he showed on the outside couldn't adequately reflect what he felt on the inside; it was like every neuron of his brain was trying to fire in all directions at once—the best kind of paralysis.
"It's like a book? But it glows like… like the light?" the light that had taken him here. It seemed to be everywhere: the lamp, the magic book in her lap, the fan. Perhaps this was the light's world. Perhaps it had taken him somewhere where it was everywhere, "It will truly tell me everything I wish, then?" He looked to her "Alright, very well. I've always wished to know General Washington's birthday. He outright refuses to tell me. So, what is it, then?" he reached over and poked the side of the screen.
"Your google seems to not be working," he said when it didn't automatically give him an answer. He could read what was on the screen, but it didn't make much sense to him. There were certainly a whole lot of words he was not familiar with… like what was a Microsoft? Or an Adobe?
"Google—what a unusual and silly word!" he announced, "Google, google, google…" he liked how it rolled off his tongue, his eyes bright with excitement, much like a child would have looked on Christmas. "My name is Alan Morgan," he called after her, "What is yours? I believe I've already acquired Marvin's name… but yours? Did he call you 'Mat'? Are you a type of rug, then?" She returned and his eyes followed her.
When the woman joined him, he sat down properly. He felt a little uneasy being so close to a woman who was so improperly dressed (would her father blame him for ruining her chastity?) but he did his best to keep his eyes from wandering in surprise, but still allowing him to peek over her shoulder at the strange gadget in her lap. It took a second or two for the new information to sink it, even though it was right before his eyes, larger than life. He felt his lips stretch wider into a gaping grin and his eyebrows arched up. Amazement couldn't quite cover it. He felt as though someone just took his spark of wonder and poured on kerosene. The smile he showed on the outside couldn't adequately reflect what he felt on the inside; it was like every neuron of his brain was trying to fire in all directions at once—the best kind of paralysis.
"It's like a book? But it glows like… like the light?" the light that had taken him here. It seemed to be everywhere: the lamp, the magic book in her lap, the fan. Perhaps this was the light's world. Perhaps it had taken him somewhere where it was everywhere, "It will truly tell me everything I wish, then?" He looked to her "Alright, very well. I've always wished to know General Washington's birthday. He outright refuses to tell me. So, what is it, then?" he reached over and poked the side of the screen.
"Your google seems to not be working," he said when it didn't automatically give him an answer. He could read what was on the screen, but it didn't make much sense to him. There were certainly a whole lot of words he was not familiar with… like what was a Microsoft? Or an Adobe?
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Natalie hadn't notice his discomfort at how close she sat next to him, it simply wasn't something that occurred to her. He needed to be able to see clearly what she was preparing to search. But still, she took a few moments in secret to observe the odd man as he meandered around on the couch like an eager puppy and for someone who allegedly was alive during the 1700s he definitely could've aged worse. Natalie could admit, if not somewhat gingerly, that Alan did have a handsome smile.
In a rapid fashion she typed out his inquiry into the search bar then quite abruptly she took her laptop and placed it on his lap. "He called me Nat, Alan...as in Natalie." She corrected with a hint of her annoyance resurfacing. Natalie wondered what she was doing exactly, letting some outlandish stranger who still had a hint of vomit lingering on his clothes into her apartment but then she thought...eh Marvin already got her this far she might as well go with it.
"Go ahead and press that button - that one right there." Natalie commanded pointing a light finger at one of the larger keys on the board. Suddenly a call from her assistant in the kitchen demanded her attention and the marketing manager quickly stood up. Adjusting the strap of her dress that had gone slightly astray as she walked over to the kitchen she was a little stunned to see what Marvin had prepared so far.
It was your typical contemporary lunch with cooled lemon water from her fridge, a light vinaigrette dressed salad and a main entree of BLTs. Marvin was still in the process of cooking the bacon but he was eager. "Can you go ahead and set up the table for me hon? I'm sure our cute little time traveler is just starving." Marvin asked sweetly.
"Did they even use silverware back then?" Natalie rolled her eyes as she went into the cupboards. Marvin's gave her a bewildered look and she just groaned. "I'm kidding, Marv. I passed high school history." The impromptu chef snorted in response.
"When was the last time you served a man a meal anyways?" Marvin asked as he began constructing their sandwiches with utmost seriousness.
"I hope you know how sexist you sound right now."
"Whatever honey. You know what I mean."
Natalie chose not respond, she simply just took the plates and silverware before leaving Marvin in the kitchen. Quickly, she set up the table only stopping when she saw Alan hadn't moved from the spot on the couch. Was he scared of something? Confused? Was the drugs finally wearing off? Natalie didn't know but curiosity soon took over. She approached him from behind, quietly glancing over Alan's shoulder to see the search result:
President George Washington's birthday...as well as his date of his demise.
In a rapid fashion she typed out his inquiry into the search bar then quite abruptly she took her laptop and placed it on his lap. "He called me Nat, Alan...as in Natalie." She corrected with a hint of her annoyance resurfacing. Natalie wondered what she was doing exactly, letting some outlandish stranger who still had a hint of vomit lingering on his clothes into her apartment but then she thought...eh Marvin already got her this far she might as well go with it.
"Go ahead and press that button - that one right there." Natalie commanded pointing a light finger at one of the larger keys on the board. Suddenly a call from her assistant in the kitchen demanded her attention and the marketing manager quickly stood up. Adjusting the strap of her dress that had gone slightly astray as she walked over to the kitchen she was a little stunned to see what Marvin had prepared so far.
It was your typical contemporary lunch with cooled lemon water from her fridge, a light vinaigrette dressed salad and a main entree of BLTs. Marvin was still in the process of cooking the bacon but he was eager. "Can you go ahead and set up the table for me hon? I'm sure our cute little time traveler is just starving." Marvin asked sweetly.
"Did they even use silverware back then?" Natalie rolled her eyes as she went into the cupboards. Marvin's gave her a bewildered look and she just groaned. "I'm kidding, Marv. I passed high school history." The impromptu chef snorted in response.
"When was the last time you served a man a meal anyways?" Marvin asked as he began constructing their sandwiches with utmost seriousness.
"I hope you know how sexist you sound right now."
"Whatever honey. You know what I mean."
Natalie chose not respond, she simply just took the plates and silverware before leaving Marvin in the kitchen. Quickly, she set up the table only stopping when she saw Alan hadn't moved from the spot on the couch. Was he scared of something? Confused? Was the drugs finally wearing off? Natalie didn't know but curiosity soon took over. She approached him from behind, quietly glancing over Alan's shoulder to see the search result:
President George Washington's birthday...as well as his date of his demise.
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"Natalie? What a strange name. Nat is even stranger," he declared without recognition that someone might take offense to his poor referencing of her name. It wasn't so much that he didn't like it necessarily, he had just never really heard it before. If she had gotten upset at him, he hadn't noticed as his eyes were gleefully planted on the computer monitor in front of him. She told him to press the button, though the only button he had ever known were the type currently sewn into the handsome blue jacket he was wearing. Still, the instructions were easy enough to understand and he pressed down on it. The computer thought for a moment before loading up.
Had he not been so fascinated by everything that was happening, he might have overheard the words 'time traveler,' but he had not. Once Natalie—Nat—got up, Alan scooted over and looked down at the laptop resting on the coffee table. Again, he reached out to touch it and explore it harmlessly. His fingers ghosted across the keys, feeling how they could be depressed down. It was something like a typewriter, he decided… but with light. He had only had the pleasure of writing on a typewriter but a few times in his life, as they were expensive and generally out of his reach as a foot soldier, but he did enjoy the computer. It wasn't until his eyes lifted to the screen and saw the painting of the hazily familiar George Washington with his day of birth… and death… that Alan's stomach fell hard.
He just stared at it. The picture was wrong in many regards, first of all, but the day of death couldn't be correct, could it? The year was only 1776. 1799 hadn't even closely come to pass yet. His heart twisted and sunk with nerves as he sat in front of the computer. The white light painted shadows across the lines and planes of his face as, coldly, he shook a little. His breaths came in sharp pants and he tried to regain control of himself, but nothing was working. "It is only 1776," he whispered, though more to the computer than to Natalie who had now returned to hunching over him.
Following Natalie's motions from earlier, he managed to figure out how to type in the little search box. In place of General Washington's name, he put in his own. He pressed the 'enter' button Nat had showed him, but upon viewing the results he immediately wished he hadn't.
The Death of Morgan at Princeton Hill was the name of the painting that came up with the search. Though just a painting of a man dying in a battlefield, surrounded by men in both red and blue, it was hard to deny the uncanny resemblance of Alan to the man, also named Lieutenant Alan Morgan, in the painting scanned into the google search. The burnt sienna of Alan's skin, tanned from many hours in the southern sun, went pale.
"It… it tells the future?"
Had he not been so fascinated by everything that was happening, he might have overheard the words 'time traveler,' but he had not. Once Natalie—Nat—got up, Alan scooted over and looked down at the laptop resting on the coffee table. Again, he reached out to touch it and explore it harmlessly. His fingers ghosted across the keys, feeling how they could be depressed down. It was something like a typewriter, he decided… but with light. He had only had the pleasure of writing on a typewriter but a few times in his life, as they were expensive and generally out of his reach as a foot soldier, but he did enjoy the computer. It wasn't until his eyes lifted to the screen and saw the painting of the hazily familiar George Washington with his day of birth… and death… that Alan's stomach fell hard.
He just stared at it. The picture was wrong in many regards, first of all, but the day of death couldn't be correct, could it? The year was only 1776. 1799 hadn't even closely come to pass yet. His heart twisted and sunk with nerves as he sat in front of the computer. The white light painted shadows across the lines and planes of his face as, coldly, he shook a little. His breaths came in sharp pants and he tried to regain control of himself, but nothing was working. "It is only 1776," he whispered, though more to the computer than to Natalie who had now returned to hunching over him.
Following Natalie's motions from earlier, he managed to figure out how to type in the little search box. In place of General Washington's name, he put in his own. He pressed the 'enter' button Nat had showed him, but upon viewing the results he immediately wished he hadn't.
The Death of Morgan at Princeton Hill was the name of the painting that came up with the search. Though just a painting of a man dying in a battlefield, surrounded by men in both red and blue, it was hard to deny the uncanny resemblance of Alan to the man, also named Lieutenant Alan Morgan, in the painting scanned into the google search. The burnt sienna of Alan's skin, tanned from many hours in the southern sun, went pale.
"It… it tells the future?"
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He looked like a ghost. It had taken the woman a moment for her to register what he had searched up. While she still didn't fully believe his whole man from the past shtick there was something undeniably unsettling about the painting. The likeness between the man sitting right there and the man depicted in the painting was haunting and Nat could feel her stomach sink.
With her head just over his shoulder, Natalie turned to Alan when he asked her his question. For a moment she stared at him with confusion--her head searching for a rational way to justify this entire act of his. There was something earnest about him...but what he was asking her to believe was simply too out there. She shook her head while a small poignant frown found her rose tinted lips. "No...Alan, it can't."
She stood up straight before walking around the couch and back next to him. With one hand she closed the laptop shut. "It can only tell you things that already happened..." Natalie paused to wonder how'd he react to the coming information. "Its 2017 Alan. That painting...that painting was done nearly hundreds of years ago."
Perhaps she had been buying into it too much. Looking at his reaction to what he must have thought was his death suddenly had Natalie feeling an uncomfortable amount. The woman couldn't help it. She forced herself to turn and walk away from him quickly. "The bathroom is over there, why don't you freshen up before eating?" Natalie suggested, a palpable iciness in her tone now.
She didn't care if he did or not really--Nat just needed a break from the craziness. She stood at the door frame of her bedroom with crossed arms and watched as Marvin set up the salad and sandwiches on her dining table. Her life was already stressful enough...she didn't need some crazy guy adding to that.
With a reluctant feeling in her chest, Natalie decided that after lunch Alan had to go.
With her head just over his shoulder, Natalie turned to Alan when he asked her his question. For a moment she stared at him with confusion--her head searching for a rational way to justify this entire act of his. There was something earnest about him...but what he was asking her to believe was simply too out there. She shook her head while a small poignant frown found her rose tinted lips. "No...Alan, it can't."
She stood up straight before walking around the couch and back next to him. With one hand she closed the laptop shut. "It can only tell you things that already happened..." Natalie paused to wonder how'd he react to the coming information. "Its 2017 Alan. That painting...that painting was done nearly hundreds of years ago."
Perhaps she had been buying into it too much. Looking at his reaction to what he must have thought was his death suddenly had Natalie feeling an uncomfortable amount. The woman couldn't help it. She forced herself to turn and walk away from him quickly. "The bathroom is over there, why don't you freshen up before eating?" Natalie suggested, a palpable iciness in her tone now.
She didn't care if he did or not really--Nat just needed a break from the craziness. She stood at the door frame of her bedroom with crossed arms and watched as Marvin set up the salad and sandwiches on her dining table. Her life was already stressful enough...she didn't need some crazy guy adding to that.
With a reluctant feeling in her chest, Natalie decided that after lunch Alan had to go.
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Alan was glad the laptop had been slammed shut. Like a book, she had closed it and it was gone—the picture, the text, all of it, but it wasn't enough to stop his hands from shaking. A slow breath seeped out from his lungs, expelling through lips that were opened only millimeters. It was the blankness in his stare that bore into the wall that was probably the most unnerving, though. For a moment, he wasn't in wonder of the electronics or gadgets he could get his hands on, he was just… blank. If he had heard what Nat had said, it certainly didn't reflect in his face, at least not immediately. It was like he was completely unconscious, but his eyes were open.
After a moment, he seemed to shake out of it. "2017?" he echoed with uncertainty, computing the difference. She was right, it truly was hundreds of years difference from the dates he knew to be true but he could only stare at her. It wasn't in disbelief or shock, but a look from a man who was purely overwhelmed. So overwhelmed, in fact, that he seemed entirely unable to even register any emotion towards new information. The dates, the electronics, the... whole nine yards… it was just too damn much all at once. Every emotion he had ever experienced was remote and unobtainable; he wasn't sad or happy, excited or scared, or anything really—just blank. As blank as a man could be without being dead or carved from marble.
Again, his gaze returned to the wall in front of him. He was given an instruction and robotically he rose to his feet, following her motion to the door. He wasn't sure what the use of a bathroom was, but he did as he was told and turned the knob before stepping inside and closing it quietly behind him. The bathroom would have made him giddy had he been capable of feeling anything at all. His eyes wandered around for a moment, trying to figure it all out until he found his reflection in the mirror. The vomit he had expelled earlier had missed his coat, thankfully, but he was rough and pretty scraped up, though he painted an intimidating picture all the same. A scruffy five o'clock shadow had begun to fill out along his jaw and bruises dappled his left cheek and down his temple.
Stumbling forward, his hands fell against the vanity and he looked into the empty washbasin. He wasn't ever revered by anyone as being a smart man, he had never been born wealthy enough to be a properly educated man, but he figured out the sink without much trouble. The warm water gushing over his hands delighted him and the clear water quickly rinsed away the emptiness, allowing something of a smile to return as he watched the water flow across his hands and swirl down the drain in a murky brown shade. He quickly scrubbed the dirt from himself and rinsed off his face before taking a few sips. The water still tasted absolutely terrible, but he was too thirsty to decline.
"You have controlled a river!" he called from behind the bathroom door, "How brilliant!" It looked something like the wells he had remembered from back home, but the water could be hot, cold, or warm… any temperature he very well desired! Chuckling softly with amusement, he shut the water off and went to dry himself off on the towel, which proved to be luxuriously soft and inviting on his calloused hands. Suddenly, he had forgotten all about the news of his death in the fluffy folds of warm cuddlements.
Bringing the towel with him, he stepped out of the bathroom again. "What animal's fur is this fabric pulled from? I've never felt something so soft!"
After a moment, he seemed to shake out of it. "2017?" he echoed with uncertainty, computing the difference. She was right, it truly was hundreds of years difference from the dates he knew to be true but he could only stare at her. It wasn't in disbelief or shock, but a look from a man who was purely overwhelmed. So overwhelmed, in fact, that he seemed entirely unable to even register any emotion towards new information. The dates, the electronics, the... whole nine yards… it was just too damn much all at once. Every emotion he had ever experienced was remote and unobtainable; he wasn't sad or happy, excited or scared, or anything really—just blank. As blank as a man could be without being dead or carved from marble.
Again, his gaze returned to the wall in front of him. He was given an instruction and robotically he rose to his feet, following her motion to the door. He wasn't sure what the use of a bathroom was, but he did as he was told and turned the knob before stepping inside and closing it quietly behind him. The bathroom would have made him giddy had he been capable of feeling anything at all. His eyes wandered around for a moment, trying to figure it all out until he found his reflection in the mirror. The vomit he had expelled earlier had missed his coat, thankfully, but he was rough and pretty scraped up, though he painted an intimidating picture all the same. A scruffy five o'clock shadow had begun to fill out along his jaw and bruises dappled his left cheek and down his temple.
Stumbling forward, his hands fell against the vanity and he looked into the empty washbasin. He wasn't ever revered by anyone as being a smart man, he had never been born wealthy enough to be a properly educated man, but he figured out the sink without much trouble. The warm water gushing over his hands delighted him and the clear water quickly rinsed away the emptiness, allowing something of a smile to return as he watched the water flow across his hands and swirl down the drain in a murky brown shade. He quickly scrubbed the dirt from himself and rinsed off his face before taking a few sips. The water still tasted absolutely terrible, but he was too thirsty to decline.
"You have controlled a river!" he called from behind the bathroom door, "How brilliant!" It looked something like the wells he had remembered from back home, but the water could be hot, cold, or warm… any temperature he very well desired! Chuckling softly with amusement, he shut the water off and went to dry himself off on the towel, which proved to be luxuriously soft and inviting on his calloused hands. Suddenly, he had forgotten all about the news of his death in the fluffy folds of warm cuddlements.
Bringing the towel with him, he stepped out of the bathroom again. "What animal's fur is this fabric pulled from? I've never felt something so soft!"
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Natalie watched him walk out like a child with a towel in his hands. While her frown remained, Marvin seemed to find their time traveler's act absolutely novel. The marketing assistant was giggling like a little school girl and Natalie just wanted the other man and his petty boots out of her apartment. Rolling her eyes as Marvin quickly relayed the ingredients used to make a towel from his phone, she walked past the both of them and was the first to sit at the table.
She had already gotten her own serving of salad by the time Marvin enthusiastically escorted Alan to the table. The lunch was relatively nice...Marvin had a way of filling up silence and with the way Natalie was beginning to feel about the situation, there was a whole lot of that coming from her. Marvin asked him questions about what it was like living in the 1700s and seemed to accept whatever Alan answered with great trust.
If he wasn't asking questions than the fashion assistant was trying to explain how the world had developed over the past four hundred years. Pfft. As if it could be explained over the time span of a single luncheon. He started with electricity and at some point brought up slavery...she had no idea if Alan had even been paying attention. She sure as hell wasn't. Her assistant had been in the process of trying to explain how music had evolved when he brought up Natalie's piano however and the glare the woman shot at him was as sudden as it was intense.
She had a black classical piano tucked away into the corner of her bedroom. Natalie first bought it a year ago with the help of her ex-fiancee but for the past seven months it been relegated to a dust magnet. Before Marvin could even utter a suggestion of her playing it, Natalie changed the subject...possibly for the worst.
"What angle are you playing at exactly?" Her words were directed to Alan and they came out harsher than she intended. She was this far already though so there was no turning back. "What's the whole point of this whole man-from-the-past act you're playing?" The table went silent until Marvin conveniently excused himself to toss a little bit more salad.
She had already gotten her own serving of salad by the time Marvin enthusiastically escorted Alan to the table. The lunch was relatively nice...Marvin had a way of filling up silence and with the way Natalie was beginning to feel about the situation, there was a whole lot of that coming from her. Marvin asked him questions about what it was like living in the 1700s and seemed to accept whatever Alan answered with great trust.
If he wasn't asking questions than the fashion assistant was trying to explain how the world had developed over the past four hundred years. Pfft. As if it could be explained over the time span of a single luncheon. He started with electricity and at some point brought up slavery...she had no idea if Alan had even been paying attention. She sure as hell wasn't. Her assistant had been in the process of trying to explain how music had evolved when he brought up Natalie's piano however and the glare the woman shot at him was as sudden as it was intense.
She had a black classical piano tucked away into the corner of her bedroom. Natalie first bought it a year ago with the help of her ex-fiancee but for the past seven months it been relegated to a dust magnet. Before Marvin could even utter a suggestion of her playing it, Natalie changed the subject...possibly for the worst.
"What angle are you playing at exactly?" Her words were directed to Alan and they came out harsher than she intended. She was this far already though so there was no turning back. "What's the whole point of this whole man-from-the-past act you're playing?" The table went silent until Marvin conveniently excused himself to toss a little bit more salad.
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Listening was an idle task and Alan was quite good at it. In fact, it was with great enthusiasm that he absorbed everything coming out of Marvin's mouth, never once having to hesitate to respond to the man's questions. Alan took a great deal of delight in it, actually, as he loved to talk about all the things from home. The weight of knowing his life back there was not much longer didn't seem to settle to heavily on to his brain or his heart, not yet at least, and he went on his chipper path with the same upbeat tune playing a note in his tone.
All of the questions asked of him could have probably been answered by an excellent historian of the modern age, but Alan's ease with which he discussed it was quite unusual. He spoke of his family home and farm, the war, the Generals, the battles. In grizzly details, he explained how families were torn apart, including his own, between separatists and loyalists. Speaking of the revolution seemed to please him a great deal, so much so he hadn't taken a single bite to eat. It wasn't because he wasn't hungry, but he was too involved in their conversation to be bothered. More importantly, the salad somewhat resembled vegetables he used to grow back home, but there was a strangeness to them—like they weren't quite real at all.
The snappish change in mood happened so quickly, Alan all but recoiled back in his seat in surprise. He looked to Nat with shock, surprised a woman could be so rude to her husband. He had assumed, of course, that she and Marvin were wed. Why else would they be in the same home together? But the sudden change in her mood was crumbling to Alan's morale, though that shouldn't have been surprising. "Excuse me?" he asked, realizing quickly that she didn't believe him. He wondered if she thought he was some kind of actor or minstrel, though he could have scoffed at the idea; he was a good soldier and no career as a lowly minstrel would have suited him.
"I am not entirely sure what you are trying to get at, miss, but I assure you I know where I come from. You seem to believe me untruthful, but why should I believe you're not the one trying to deceive me?" his eyes darted quickly to Marvin as he rose and scampered off like a dog with his tail tucked. What an unusual and weak-minded husband, Alan confirmed in his own mind.
"I have no reason to lie," Alan continued, "If I wished to have tried to trick you and steal, surely I would have just slipped this fine piece of fabric away and you never would have noticed!" he held up the hand towel that he had still been wringing, "But I had no intention of taking it. As far as I see, I have no reason to be lying to you." Setting the towel onto the table, he shuffled through his leather belt pouch before producing a handful of bronze, gleaming coins.
"If you were concerned I wasn't to pay you for your hospitality, I wish to inform you you are wrong. You must be familiar with the Continental Dollar, yes? It's not worth much, currently," he lamented without knowing that in the modern day and age, such a beautifully minted piece of currency from history would have fetched top dollar.
All of the questions asked of him could have probably been answered by an excellent historian of the modern age, but Alan's ease with which he discussed it was quite unusual. He spoke of his family home and farm, the war, the Generals, the battles. In grizzly details, he explained how families were torn apart, including his own, between separatists and loyalists. Speaking of the revolution seemed to please him a great deal, so much so he hadn't taken a single bite to eat. It wasn't because he wasn't hungry, but he was too involved in their conversation to be bothered. More importantly, the salad somewhat resembled vegetables he used to grow back home, but there was a strangeness to them—like they weren't quite real at all.
The snappish change in mood happened so quickly, Alan all but recoiled back in his seat in surprise. He looked to Nat with shock, surprised a woman could be so rude to her husband. He had assumed, of course, that she and Marvin were wed. Why else would they be in the same home together? But the sudden change in her mood was crumbling to Alan's morale, though that shouldn't have been surprising. "Excuse me?" he asked, realizing quickly that she didn't believe him. He wondered if she thought he was some kind of actor or minstrel, though he could have scoffed at the idea; he was a good soldier and no career as a lowly minstrel would have suited him.
"I am not entirely sure what you are trying to get at, miss, but I assure you I know where I come from. You seem to believe me untruthful, but why should I believe you're not the one trying to deceive me?" his eyes darted quickly to Marvin as he rose and scampered off like a dog with his tail tucked. What an unusual and weak-minded husband, Alan confirmed in his own mind.
"I have no reason to lie," Alan continued, "If I wished to have tried to trick you and steal, surely I would have just slipped this fine piece of fabric away and you never would have noticed!" he held up the hand towel that he had still been wringing, "But I had no intention of taking it. As far as I see, I have no reason to be lying to you." Setting the towel onto the table, he shuffled through his leather belt pouch before producing a handful of bronze, gleaming coins.
"If you were concerned I wasn't to pay you for your hospitality, I wish to inform you you are wrong. You must be familiar with the Continental Dollar, yes? It's not worth much, currently," he lamented without knowing that in the modern day and age, such a beautifully minted piece of currency from history would have fetched top dollar.
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"What...what in the hell?" Natalie had wanted to call him insane, she wanted to tell him that he was actually bat shit crazy for thinking he was from the past. But the sudden jingling of bronze coins against the dining table's surface stopped her in her tracks. Marvin, who had a tendency to move very quietly, suddenly rejoined them in the dining room.
At the same time a phone call rang through on the landline. Natalie let out a frustrated grunt before leaving the two history fanatics to their own thing to answer it. When she did an immediate wave of regret ran through her however. It was Andrew...her CEO. The conversation that followed was quick and rather one sided. He told her the actor who they had previously cast to appear in their chocolate spread commercial backed out. She had to organize another test screening with a brand new set of actors in the next few days.
Her eyes shifted over to Marvin who was too invested in the Alan's coins to realize what was going on. Thinking just about the opposite, she wished Andrew a good day and hung up before rejoining them at the table.
"We're fucked, Marv." Natalie cursed. She placed her head in her palm and sighed, her problem with Alan seemingly losing priority now that this had arose. "That one guy we hired for that Nutella off brand commercial? He threw a fit."
Marvin frowned. "Well...I mean he wasn't that good anyways, Nat. But look at these coins if they are rea-"
"I don't care if they are real Marvin. I care about my job." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't forget your ass is on the line too." Marvin stood straight and placed his hands on his hips. Years of being friends with Natalie taught him that she got awfully snappy when she was stressed...which unfortunately for people like him, were all the time.
"We need to get test viewers, camera men, a whole new group of actors-"
"Oooh! Why don't we let Alan here try it?"
"Er? What? Excuse me?"
Natalie stared at her homosexual friend with great confusion. She looked back at Alan who might as well have been just as confused by the notion as she was and turned back to Marvin. She repeated--almost exasperatedly at this point. "What??"
"I mean look at the guy" Marvin motioned over to Alan's face like the other man wasn't even there listening to their conversation. "You can't tell me that's not marketable. He's handsome, has pretty eyes, and an accent like that is guaranteed to get received well by ladies ranging in age from eighteen to forty." He spoke with enough confidence in his words that the idea was briefly plausible in her head. But she quickly shook her head.
"You're telling me this guy...who claims to be from the 1700s...can be the next face of our Nutella off brand." What an absolutely outrageous idea.
At the same time a phone call rang through on the landline. Natalie let out a frustrated grunt before leaving the two history fanatics to their own thing to answer it. When she did an immediate wave of regret ran through her however. It was Andrew...her CEO. The conversation that followed was quick and rather one sided. He told her the actor who they had previously cast to appear in their chocolate spread commercial backed out. She had to organize another test screening with a brand new set of actors in the next few days.
Her eyes shifted over to Marvin who was too invested in the Alan's coins to realize what was going on. Thinking just about the opposite, she wished Andrew a good day and hung up before rejoining them at the table.
"We're fucked, Marv." Natalie cursed. She placed her head in her palm and sighed, her problem with Alan seemingly losing priority now that this had arose. "That one guy we hired for that Nutella off brand commercial? He threw a fit."
Marvin frowned. "Well...I mean he wasn't that good anyways, Nat. But look at these coins if they are rea-"
"I don't care if they are real Marvin. I care about my job." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't forget your ass is on the line too." Marvin stood straight and placed his hands on his hips. Years of being friends with Natalie taught him that she got awfully snappy when she was stressed...which unfortunately for people like him, were all the time.
"We need to get test viewers, camera men, a whole new group of actors-"
"Oooh! Why don't we let Alan here try it?"
"Er? What? Excuse me?"
Natalie stared at her homosexual friend with great confusion. She looked back at Alan who might as well have been just as confused by the notion as she was and turned back to Marvin. She repeated--almost exasperatedly at this point. "What??"
"I mean look at the guy" Marvin motioned over to Alan's face like the other man wasn't even there listening to their conversation. "You can't tell me that's not marketable. He's handsome, has pretty eyes, and an accent like that is guaranteed to get received well by ladies ranging in age from eighteen to forty." He spoke with enough confidence in his words that the idea was briefly plausible in her head. But she quickly shook her head.
"You're telling me this guy...who claims to be from the 1700s...can be the next face of our Nutella off brand." What an absolutely outrageous idea.
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Alan was quite pleased that someone appreciated his monetary value. Sure, the coins weren't worth much, especially when he felt as though he was surrounded by such explosive examples of wealth. Marvin seemed to marvel at the coins though and Alan eagerly held them out for him to look over. They weren't hard to come by—they were just his monthly allowance given by the Continental Army; they probably would hardly buy a bushel of apples back home, but the plump husband seemed engrossed with them. Naturally, Nat was blatantly the obvious; he wondered if anything impressed that shrew of a woman.
She was speaking to someone or, rather, something and Alan chose to ignore her until she snapped back into the conversation like a bear looking for supper. She did nothing short of growl, discussing at length her distress over matters Alan knew nothing about. He politely rescinded himself from the conversation until he heard his name. At which point, Alan finally perked up again as he closed his fist around the measly coins he still held out in a sweaty palm.
"I am not sure I understand," he tried to get in edgewise, but the unusual couple who had taken him in continue to bicker back and forth. Whether they ignored him or merely failed to hear him, he didn't know.
He continued to attempt to listen in, but none of the words being spoken were making any sense—Nutella? Was that some kind of exotic fruit? Test Viewers? Camera Men? He blinked, looking a little alarmed. It wasn't until Marvin began glossing over his physical traits like he was a horse at auction did Alan shift a little in his dried mud-caked leather boots.
"I don't believe I understand most of the words that left your lips but moments ago, but…" he squeaked into the conversation again, "Would it help? If I did the off… breed… fruit thing? I understand how difficult helping me must have been for you, judging by your reaction," perhaps the people of the future—as Alan was convinced that must have been what had happened, he had gone to the future (he didn't doubt much)—didn't readily help others. Perhaps he was some great burden to these kind people and that weighed considerably on his noble heart. If he had been such a burden to them, as Nat clearly expressed to him in her words and actions, the least he could do was try and repay the favour. After all, he couldn't imagine just anyone sharing their find cuddlements from the bathroom.
"What is it I must do for this off breed fruit?" he asked definitively, "I will do what I can."
She was speaking to someone or, rather, something and Alan chose to ignore her until she snapped back into the conversation like a bear looking for supper. She did nothing short of growl, discussing at length her distress over matters Alan knew nothing about. He politely rescinded himself from the conversation until he heard his name. At which point, Alan finally perked up again as he closed his fist around the measly coins he still held out in a sweaty palm.
"I am not sure I understand," he tried to get in edgewise, but the unusual couple who had taken him in continue to bicker back and forth. Whether they ignored him or merely failed to hear him, he didn't know.
He continued to attempt to listen in, but none of the words being spoken were making any sense—Nutella? Was that some kind of exotic fruit? Test Viewers? Camera Men? He blinked, looking a little alarmed. It wasn't until Marvin began glossing over his physical traits like he was a horse at auction did Alan shift a little in his dried mud-caked leather boots.
"I don't believe I understand most of the words that left your lips but moments ago, but…" he squeaked into the conversation again, "Would it help? If I did the off… breed… fruit thing? I understand how difficult helping me must have been for you, judging by your reaction," perhaps the people of the future—as Alan was convinced that must have been what had happened, he had gone to the future (he didn't doubt much)—didn't readily help others. Perhaps he was some great burden to these kind people and that weighed considerably on his noble heart. If he had been such a burden to them, as Nat clearly expressed to him in her words and actions, the least he could do was try and repay the favour. After all, he couldn't imagine just anyone sharing their find cuddlements from the bathroom.
"What is it I must do for this off breed fruit?" he asked definitively, "I will do what I can."
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"No." Natalie was direct and merciless in her response to the proposal, while her annoyance had been mostly directed at Marvin it wouldn't have been surprising to know that Alan had been affected by her response. For the longest time she's been this way...there was no point in believing in fantasies or alleged time travelers. Unsurprisingly, Marvin frowned. But with his hands on his hips he stood his ground.
"Look at him Nat! He's willing to do the job." Marvin continued. Natalie was unsuprised to see her roomate fawning over the handsome man like a lost puppy. Because admittedly, Alan was playing the part well...and if he could put the same dedication into a commercial shoot then maybe...no. Natalie could not believe she was considering it.
The woman stood up with her plate in hand. "I'm going to just do it all by the books tomorrow. I'm gonna call up some 'actors', rent out that warehouse over by the docks and just...figure something out."
She left them for a moment to wash her plate, the dejection in her tone causing Marvin to frown. He turned over to Alan and patted the soldier on the shoulder lightly. "If it's any consolation you're not the reason why she's acting the way she is. In fact Nat's actually been acting pretty tame compared to normal." Alan didn't get a chance to respond as the subject of the conversation rejoined them.
Placing both hands on the table she nodded over to Alan. "Where do you plan on going after lunch?"
"Look at him Nat! He's willing to do the job." Marvin continued. Natalie was unsuprised to see her roomate fawning over the handsome man like a lost puppy. Because admittedly, Alan was playing the part well...and if he could put the same dedication into a commercial shoot then maybe...no. Natalie could not believe she was considering it.
The woman stood up with her plate in hand. "I'm going to just do it all by the books tomorrow. I'm gonna call up some 'actors', rent out that warehouse over by the docks and just...figure something out."
She left them for a moment to wash her plate, the dejection in her tone causing Marvin to frown. He turned over to Alan and patted the soldier on the shoulder lightly. "If it's any consolation you're not the reason why she's acting the way she is. In fact Nat's actually been acting pretty tame compared to normal." Alan didn't get a chance to respond as the subject of the conversation rejoined them.
Placing both hands on the table she nodded over to Alan. "Where do you plan on going after lunch?"
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He might have gotten his offer shot down, but Alan wasn't nearly as disappointed as Marvin seemed to be. Instead, his face brightened with a smile and a laugh bubbled up through his chest like carbonation in a soda. "I wish you all of the luck, mrs. Nat," he concluded, "On your actors and warehouse, then." At least he knew what both of those words meant, as many of the things she said he did not understand. Actors and warehouse, however, were verbiage they shared. Alan seemed content with the fact that she didn't want his help. After all, he had just been trying to help the poor shrew, but his father had always told him.
Alan, nuns and married women ae equally unhappy, but in different ways. It was a shame too, because her husband seemed nice enough. Sure, he was a little round and plump looking. To Alan, Marvin more closely resembled a peach (squat, round, pink in the cheeks and a little fuzzy) than he did a man, but he seemed to be a good enough man. At least, he seemed to care about Nat in all the ways she didn't care about him. Not that Alan was in any position to judge anyone's relationship, as he was well beyond his prime and had never married.
Marvin gave his shoulder a pat and he quickly turned to smile back at the man, though just as he was about to reply, Nat returned in her usual whirlwind of activity and cut into the conversation with an abrupt change of topic. Ignoring her for just a moment, Alan continued to keep himself turned towards Marvin.
"Consolation? But why would I need consolation? I am not unhappy," he explained, opening his closed fist out towards Marvin to hold out the coins to him, "Here, you should take these. Perhaps you can buy your wife a small present; I do hope it makes her feel slightly happier." The coins in their modern-day worth could have bought considerably more than just a 'small present,' but had he known how much they were worth, Alan probably still would have offered them to Marvin.
Finally, when he felt like their conversation had been properly concluded, he let his eyes shift to Nat. The sight of her was enough to make the hairs along the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably. "I am not sure," he announced plainly, "Where do you think it best I go? Would the Google be able to tell me, perhaps?"
Alan, nuns and married women ae equally unhappy, but in different ways. It was a shame too, because her husband seemed nice enough. Sure, he was a little round and plump looking. To Alan, Marvin more closely resembled a peach (squat, round, pink in the cheeks and a little fuzzy) than he did a man, but he seemed to be a good enough man. At least, he seemed to care about Nat in all the ways she didn't care about him. Not that Alan was in any position to judge anyone's relationship, as he was well beyond his prime and had never married.
Marvin gave his shoulder a pat and he quickly turned to smile back at the man, though just as he was about to reply, Nat returned in her usual whirlwind of activity and cut into the conversation with an abrupt change of topic. Ignoring her for just a moment, Alan continued to keep himself turned towards Marvin.
"Consolation? But why would I need consolation? I am not unhappy," he explained, opening his closed fist out towards Marvin to hold out the coins to him, "Here, you should take these. Perhaps you can buy your wife a small present; I do hope it makes her feel slightly happier." The coins in their modern-day worth could have bought considerably more than just a 'small present,' but had he known how much they were worth, Alan probably still would have offered them to Marvin.
Finally, when he felt like their conversation had been properly concluded, he let his eyes shift to Nat. The sight of her was enough to make the hairs along the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably. "I am not sure," he announced plainly, "Where do you think it best I go? Would the Google be able to tell me, perhaps?"
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