capeandcowllogs | but all hope's not lost

Entry tags:

but all hope's not lost

WHO: GIL and SHARON
WHERE: the penthouse
WHEN: night of 9/15
WARNINGS: talk of death & violence / spoilers for PH abound
SUMMARY: a reunion
FORMAT: tagger's choice

[ It hasn't quite sunk in yet that someone from home is here in the City, confirming again for Gil that he hasn't been under some insane delusion he's been in another universe for over a year, despite sitting next to the young Rainsworth heir in a small taxi with the driver peering into his mirror at every stoplight to examine the dated clothes she wore. Despite inclining his head every so often to ask her if she was alright and listening her response and a voice he hasn't heard in months (but could never forget). He finally stopped when she smiled, polite and gentle, but foreboding and leaving a terribly cold feeling that slid down his neck.

By the time they exited the taxi, having made it to the building he had been staying at for months now, the moon had taken its place in the sky for the night and the temperature dropped a few degrees. He paid the fare and allowed the man to keep the large amount of change as a tip ("Wha -- Thanks, mate!" he put on a fake accent for show, but it was terrible and Gil said nothing more.) ]

Let's get you inside. The apartment's a few floors up, but there's an elevator so we won't have to walk.

[ He waited for Sharon to take the first step forward, although a doorman was waiting for the both of them, wearing a large smile although his eyes drifted from Gilbert, a grown man, to Sharon, who was "not" a grown woman.

He opted to say nothing... yet. ]

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( The way Sharon paused after a half step forward, part of her still dazed from the ride in the taxi (what an odd name), likely did nothing to help Gil's case with the doorman. She seems all her apparent lack of years with how wide her eyes get for just a moment, craning her head back to look up the length of the impossibly tall tower.

Seeing the ones earlier, and those they drove by, didn't make it any less stark a reality to swallow. Or to smile over, once she jerks her head down, tucking her chin in and taking a resolute few steps forward toward the doorman. )

A few floors up, Mister Gilbert? You make me wonder what a few could mean in a place like this.

( Then she is nothing but manners and a nod of her head to the doorman, poised and collected and still ribbonless. The moon was full enough that had she seen it for itself, she'd have been startled into some sort of exclamation over it's peculiar qualities.

Thankfully, she doesn't see. )

[ He let out a weak chuckle in the back of his throat. ]

There's forty floors to the building, but they have this box -- an elevator -- that moves between them that you enter so you don't have to walk all the way.

[ He's forgotten about that particular aspect of the moon, preoccupied by Sharon's presence and what she might have to tell him when they're finally in the privacy of the apartment. He's barely managing to keep his questions at bay, desperate for answers and now knowing he might be able to retrieve them from Sharon.

The lobby is spacious and bright, and again, the concierges look from Gil to Sharon. They know Gil is an imPort, so they begin to assume Sharon must be one herself. Who else would Gil, who often comes in and out of here alone, be with?

They greet him politely and he returns the favor, directing Sharon toward one of the elevators. ]

This is really...

[ "Happening" is what he wants to say, but he trails off, a sudden sense of overwhelming gripping his head. He runs a gloved hand through his hair as he waits for the elevator to reach the lobby so they can enter. ]

( She lets herself be directed, raising both eyebrows a fraction of a centimeter as she glances around the area they move through. Decadence isn't particularly new to her, but affluence has a certain classic ring to it throughout the ages. )

Fascinating? I agree. I find myself entirely fascinated how it is you ended up here, of all places.

( An invitation for explanations later, even as they came to a stop before the wall with stranger looking doors set back deeper rather than flush with the wall itself. She waits, expectant, avoiding the urge to turn around and take in what she could far too obviously for her tastes. Sharon contents herself with observing from peripheral vision for now. )

... It's a long story.

[ It's partly true and partly a ridiculous tale that he's not sure he wants to be mocked for. Sharon might have been a proper lady and of course, a good friend, but the Rainsworth were frightening and often confusing women.

Besides, it's difficult to forget the times Sharon's prodded him along with Break or outright made fun of him with that clown.

The elevator lets out a soft ding and the thick doors slide open with very little noise. It's just as Gil said earlier: it's a box. A fancy looking looking box, but a box nonetheless. There's enough room for several people, but it appears empty. Again, he leads her inside and presses one of the buttons for the floor the apartment is situated.

The doors shut and it's only a blurred reflection of the two seen against cold metal. ]

It's a lot to take in, I know. I'm still learning about many things. The technology of this world is far beyond our own.

( It's either a good degree of trust or lasting effects of shock that keeps her quiet at first, examining this box they walk into without hesitation from Gil. Really, as she shifts her scant burdens to one hand, letting the other reach out to brush the burnished metal with something approaching a frown, Sharon has to pull herself back around and pay full attention to what Gilbert says. )

So I'm beginning to learn. What kinds of technologies -- ( pluralizing the word, almost tasting it with how it rolls off her tongue ) -- will I have to familiarize myself with first?

( How much of it is there, hiding in plain sight? The elevators hadn't seemed to be much.

Then they were.

The cars, the buildings, whatever constructed them aside from the ingenuity of man... )

Technology wouldn't be the only thing to change. Fashion is much different than what I can recall ever seeing hinted at in any of my magazines.

( The unasked 'What else?' following at the end is rather broad, as far as questions go. )

[ He shakes his head at first, trying to figure out what he should teach her. There's so many things and some are more complicated than others.

But then he feels in his coat pocket for the communicator, fishing it out so he can hold it out in the light for Sharon to see properly. ]

Did you pick up one of these at the Porter building?

[ He doesn't turn it on, not wanting to accidentally post an audio or video clip of the two of them, not when he has so much to go through with her. He makes a mental note to thank Natasha properly after Sharon's settled in. ]

It's not just fashion. The food, the landscape, the people are much different. Society in this world is much more, ah, casual than ours.

[ And sometimes rude and indifferent to things that are usually cause for concern. ]

Casual is one way to describe what I've seen so far.

( Casual isn't a word she's entirely sure how she feels like working with, going forward. She eyes what he holds out in the light, ultimately turning her hand over and letting it peek out from behind the pamphlets she still held. )

What exactly does this do?

[ The elevators dings once more when it comes to a full stop, the doors sliding open to reveal a long hallway and various doors. Gil presses a hand against the frame of the elevator door and again, waits for Sharon to move out. ]

It functions like a telephone, but you can also see those you speak with. You can also send letters and photographs... all sorts of things they call "files". I can show you later.

( She steps out and swooshed forward, moving to one side and glancing over her shoulder as she waits for Gilbert to follow. It all sounds so improbable, but not more so than the rest so far. Of course, they'd have such things. Picture sharing, letter sending, file carrying devices the size of her hand.

Poor couriers. She wonders if the exist outside of a capacity of bringing missives that needed to be trusted to an absolutely solid source. )

I should like that very well, Mister Gilbert.

( She keeps her pleasant smile on when she scans the hall, taking note of the layout and doing what she can to familiarize with what she sees. Doubtless she'll need to be able to recognize this all again later. )

Do you see much of your neighbors?

[ The walk to his door isn't long. The keys in his pocket jingle when he digs in and pulls them out. He slips the key into the hole, turning the lock and then the knob, pushing the door wide open for them to enter. ]

Not often. It's... a bit of a long story, but I was living elsewhere sometime back. Not to mention a lot of these people keep to themselves.

I should think we have plenty of time for long stories.

( She says, congenial enough as she pauses behind him, watching his back as he opens the door rather than his hands. It's still odd, seeing him in clothing that isn't at all what she's used to, particularly because this is Gilbert. It's part of the dogpiling of jarring relaities she's smoothing over in an effort to stay perfectly functional. )

After all, what do friends ( sounds like such a fun word when she says it ) do but spend time listening to each other' stories?

[ The apartment screams Gil's opposite: flooded with lights and a modern day sleekness he isn't accustomed or generally too fond of, but the place was virtually a gift, so he can't take it for granted.

At least he keeps it tidy, so everything is laid out for Sharon to inspect as she likes. Gil isn't going to stop her from taking a look around. ]

I'll prepare some tea and food. There's some extra clothes left from when Sue lived here. They'll be loose and long, but it'll have to do for now.

[ He sounds a bit embarrassed and there's faint blush on his cheeks. He stands rooted to his spot for a brief moment before he moves toward the hall where the bedrooms are. He also flicks a light on in the bathroom and beckons Sharon. ]

You can wash up in here.

Sue?

( If there is anything to draw her attention away from examining the strangeness of this opulence, Gil has hit upon it. She follows after him, eyes bright and hands clasping in front of her chest. )

Why Gilbert, do you mean to say you lived here with a woman?

( She's poised to make the wrong assumption, and perhaps all the more willing to for the distraction opportunity it offers. It's not precisely, ah, characteristic of Gilbert. What did he do without Xerxes Break to chase off those woh might pursue him?

... Get caught? It's enough of a thought to make her smile. The bathroom gets a cursory glance -- presumably there's a pitcher of water and a proper basin inside to use for washing up, if Gilbert's managing to point it out for her. Questions on the quality of the lighting (so bright! so effecient!) would wait for now. )

[ Before he can enter the bedroom, although the light's been flicked on, he freezes, shoulders hunching as if he's been struck on the back of his head and quickly he whirls around on his heel to look at Sharon, absolutely flabbergasted by the idea.

And highly embarrassed, which goes without saying. ]

N-Not like that! And I never lived here while Sue did! I moved in long after she was gone...!

( Sharon almost looks as if she's pouting when she sighs, slipping into the bathroom proper with a backward wave of her hand, she exclaims: )

I hope you're not chasing ghosts again, Gilbert!

( Or waiting for people to return. She suspects this may be, indeed, a place people can return to. If peoplemay be brought once...

However, any thoughts she had on those lines, or any teasing words she might have tossed out, are forgotten as she stares around the bathroom. There's no pitcher, though she does look. Just this spigot in the counter, with handles to either side.

Hmm. Sharon lean in close, tugging on the right side handle. It gives under her pressure, turning and starting a hissing through the spigot.

Ah-hah! She straightens up as a thin stream of water comes out into the basin set in the counter. She trails her fingers under it, feeling the coldness, wondering what the other handle is for.

Of course she turns it too, about as much as the first. The flow of water into the basin increases, all of it draining down the hole with the strange cover in the center. A drain? Surely! But why two handles for water? Ingenious, and yet -- she runs her fingers under the water again, brow furrowing in puzzlement. )

Is it warmer?

I'm not chasing anything!

[ Certainly not women! He frets over whether or not she's aware of the things Break's done in the past to exacerbate situations with potential suitors, but the worry is put aside when she's entered the bathroom. ]

[ Again, this all feels highly inappropriate -- the bathroom a private room and Sharon, being a young woman, in it with Gil hovering about.

But given her situation, he swallows his dignity and enters the bathroom after a moment's hesitation and points to the taps. There's a letter engraved on each handle, C and H. ]

This one runs the water cold and this one hot. You need to be careful with this one because if you turn the knob the entire way it'll burn.

[ He runs both of them at the same time, pulling off his glove and running a hand beneath the stream of water to check its temperature. ]

Like this it'll come warm. It's the same for the bathtub... but the water comes from above.

[ He wants to rush through all this, like some sort of crash course to the future, but if Sharon is here it means she might be in this world for quite some time and who knows if Lachesis will port Gil or Sharon elsewhere and leave them to their own devices?

Sharon's always been clever, she'll figure it out. ]

... There's some brushes you can use and you can use the towels in here. They're clean.

( There's not enough room in this bathroom to disrobe properly, but nonetheless, eyes bright with the promise of something new and interesting to play with (hot water came from spigots as easy as all that?), Sharon turns and shoos Gilbert out of the area. She's far too pleased looking as she makes the shooing motions. )

You may lay out as suitable a change of clothing as you may find among your Sue's things on the bed.

( She'll have more questions once she's explored the extent of the shower, thankful for the moment she can get out of her clothing without a maid. Fiddlesticks if she has to get back into half of it! )

[ He takes his leave quickly and pulls the door shut after him, but not before sniping: ] She's not -- wasn't --

[ A failed sniping, ahem.

Flustered but trying to gather his bearings as he reminds himself Sharon's the only one he has to inform him on what's been going on at home, he marches off into the bedroom to look for something for Sharon to wear in the house. There aren't a lot of nightgowns (and he doesn't want to know what women in general wear to bed in this era), so he has to opt for a simple blouse. It'll be long on Sharon, but they'll have to make do.

As the skirt is probably too short to her own tastes (but he's not about to go looking for any stockings or undergarments), he finds the skinniest pair of pants he can for Sharon and lays them for her.

He sighs and heads into the kitchen to prepare the kettle and some food. It's impossible at this point to not allow his thoughts to drift to Oz, Break, and the others. Is Sharon from an earlier timeline? Did something bad happen? Did they stop Leo and the Baskervilles?

Is Oz okay? Thoughts, concerns, pound his head. ]

Edited 2013-09-30 05:05 (UTC)

( Her own fair share of thoughts kept her distracted, from the mundane (where to put her dress so it doesn't end up hopelessly wrinkled?) to the immediate, more grim thoughts of back home. There's little doubt in her that plans won't go as smoothly as Glen expects, regardless of how difficult seeing the particulars of it may be. Still, there's been a familiar feeling coming back when she'd first come to, and not just the disorientation of being held up by Break's side.

The toilet was another strange discovery, but between it, the shower, and the sink, Sharon feels fresh and more distinctly clearheaded, for all she'd been finally able to wash away some of the hurt surrounding the injury on her head. It's a tender bump her fingers explore before she wrings out her hair, stepping out of the cocoon of warm air into the bathroom proper, avoiding looking at the mirrors lining one wall. A lady did not always favor seeing herself, let alone done up in towels as she dried off and set about an industrious progress across the hall to the bedroom festooned in whatever towels she deems necessary.

Sharon finally emerges feeling like she missed signing up for Latowidge Academy, making herself stop fussing with the skirt and stop thinking about the particularities of what she isn't wearing. She'd be red in the face if she thought about those, and she has no need for that now. Gilbert's unprepared to be hosting anyone of delicate sensibilities, or more correctly, anyone from their own time. World? Probably both.

Adjusting her blouse one more time, she makes barefoot progress down the hall to locate him in the heart of what must be something like a kitchen. All of this feels like an edge of the scandalous. What's more annoying is having Gilbert star unintentionally in the strange play this is turning out to be.

But she has questions, and not time for silly thoughts, and so those are placed to the side. )

How long have you been here on your own, Gilbert?

( It's a soft question from where she appears in the door, hair combed but damp, hanging down her back. She looks like she's playing dress up in someone else's clothes. )

[ It's strange seeing her in such clothes that don't fit her frame or her demeanor in the slightest, although he's reminded of the difficulties he faced when purchasing clothes from this world when he was still relatively new. He had spent countless hours trying to find simple trousers and shirts and sweaters without the silly logos or texts printed on them.

The tea is nearly ready by the time Sharon emerges from changing and he pulls out a seat for her by the kitchen table for her to take, already sliding up a hot bowl of soup. They've come in from slightly nippy weather and he'll want to take precautions so Sharon doesn't wind up with a cold. ]

This is the second time I've been here. [ His shoulders droop, weighing down heavily with obvious discontent at the mere fact. ] I was here for about two months or so and then I found myself ported back last April.

[ He quickly looks to her, desperation bright in those gold eyes. ]

Sharon, tell me, what's going on back home? Do you know what's happened to Oz or Break? Or the state of Pandora... the Baskervilles. [ The words come rushing out of his mouth and he finds his heart racing faster with each question. ] Did the Baskervilles do that to your head?

( Her feet no more touch the ground here than they do in half her chairs at home. Such a strange thing to have be reassuring, but after the careful arrangement of far too little fabric for her state of dress, or the uncomfortable unfamiliarity of all the rest around her, that piece of annoying normalcy is grounding.

Gilbert's fretting is in its own way. One she does wish he'd cease. )

What month are we in?

( She waits for his assistance in her doing what math she needs to, one hand coming up to rest fingers lightly against the sides of the bowl. Her other reaches up, brushing over the hair partially disguising the blow to her head. She must have scrubbed the scabs out, for all she'd tried being careful. )

Did they? ( Yes, but she manages to sound mystified. Watching Gilbert's reaction is tempering her own. )

It must be the blow to my head. I can't quite seem to remember... What were the state of affairs, last you recollect?

It's September. [ Quickly, he adds: ] The year is 2013.

[ He lets that hang in the air for a moment, fully understanding how overwhelming the date alone can be to people like them.

Her casual response only heightens his own paranoia and concern, filtering heavily through his expression and actions and -- without any doubt -- his voice. ]

Was it the Baskervilles?

[ He takes a few steps to her side to look over her head if she grants him permission. He knows Sharon's wanted to make a stand on her own and he can never forget her raising her voice on Duke Barma. She's proven to be hardly the delicate young woman most expect her to be, but none of it helps to ease his anxieties. Not with his brother on the side of the Baskervilles, the Nightray dukedom practically destroyed, Leo gone insane and trying to harm Oz. ]

Does it hurt? Here, let me get some ice for it. I have a first aid kit --

[ He pauses after her inquiry and shakes his head. ]

We were in the city and Leo -- [ He cuts himself off again, gritting his teeth and fingers digging into his palms at the memory of Vincent on Leo's side; the usual mischievous smile spreading across his features as the Jabberwock appeared to target Oz. ] He summoned the Jabberwock and I called Raven, but that's all I remember. I don't know if I was able to stop it from doing any more damage.

Edited 2013-10-02 03:10 (UTC)

( Her fingers still. That's a startling number, startling enough to have her breathe in more sharply than she intends. The numbers roll through quickly: collectively, nineteen months. )

On your own?

( She asks, because she has to ask. It's enough of a point of consideration that she doesn't blink twice at his offer, waving the hand which had been on her head in a negligent, "do as you will" gesture.

He doesn't know. Sharon considers that as she looks to him, trying to catch his eyes with hers. )

The city's unharmed.

( For the most part. )

We called young Master Oz, Miss Alice, and yourself back to Pandora. Leo had his own business to attend to -- ( on the lawn, but that's beside the point ) -- which called the Jabberwock away.

[ He doesn't stay focused on her eyes for long, his own darting to the side quickly. For a few seconds, his feet feel heavy and rooted to the floor before he remembers the ice and marches over to the large fridge, prying open the freezer box and digging inside.

He barely lets out a sigh of relief, still anticipating bad news from Sharon. It's been nearly two years without any contact from home. Nearly two years he's had to plow through life without Oz, without knowing anything for certain.

Gil steps back to Sharon, offering the ice pack. It's a bit heavy and cold to the touch, but he gestures for her to take it. ]

Oz is fine? What happened at Pandora? What about Leo and --

[ A sharp intake of breath. ]

Vincent. He was there, too.

[ Of course he was. They had known about him running off with Leo a couple of days before. But it still hit him like a sack of bricks, to see his flesh and blood related sibling opposing him and doing all this. It didn't make any sense to him. ]

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