| Date: 21 December 2007
Characters: Rowan Tyler, Anne Miles Location: outside Link to IJ: thread #15683 |
 Rowan stretched out on the grass and watched the sun move through the sky, the duel moons pale and white against the blue blue sky. It looked like Earth. Some earth, at least. Until you looked at the sky and saw it was nothing but. "I really should have paid more attention to astronomy." |
 Anne settled onto the grass near the young man looking at the sky, running one hand through hair that had started to come loose from the intricate windings she'd put it into for her father's funeral. Just that morning, and now... she wasn't sure where she was anymore, and the few people she'd run into hadn't given her any help.
"Shouldn't have we all?" she asked, responding to his question, even if it hadn't appeared to be aimed at her specifically. "Though... astronomy in which century, which planet?" |
| "Ah, a few different ones. What about you?" he asked her, turning a little to look at her. |
| "Primarily the fifty-first, though if you're asking which ones I've lived in, there's rather a long list. Most of them, for at least a few weeks." Anne leaned back on the heels of her hands, legs streached out in front of her, ankles crossed. "Not that I've done that in the last three decades." She tilted her head, cheek against her shoulder, so she could meet his gaze. |
| "You can't be that old." |
| Anne arched an eyebrow, an amused smile on her face. "Oh?" She shifted so she was on her side, propped up on one elbow. "How old would you think I am, then?" |
| "Thirty?" |
| Anne chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're sweet." She plucked a blade of grass, twirling it in her fingers a moment. "You're what, nineteen, twenty?" She studied him a moment. "Or thirty? Someone from my century could be, and still look as young as you do now." |
| "Twenty," he smiled at her, "How long have you been here?" |
| "Hours." Anne shrugged. "Not a full day." She tugged at a fly-away lock of hair with the hand not propping her up. "This would have all fallen out of the knots at that point." |
| "What?" he asked, confused. |
| Anne tilted her head back as she laughed, the sound light and delighted. "Oh, it's been positively ages since I've run into someone entirely clueless about the styles of my homeworld." She looked back at Rowan, her eyes sparkling with amusement, relaxing into the moment. "If I use the styles and products from home, I'll be able to tell how long I've been somewhere, regardless of access to a clock, because the hold in them breaks down predictably, regardless of atmospheric conditions. The rest is all rather dry and boring, unless you really want to know about the intricacies of hair-dressing for a funeral." |
| "I'm sorry you were a funeral," he said because that was the only thing he got without being offended. |
| Anne looked down at her hands, fiddling with another blade of grass, the smile fading into a faintly regretful expression. "It's not that funeral I regret having to go to. He was an old man, had lived a good life, a long life." She looked up again, masking the spark of anger at another recent funeral behind a bright smile. "I neglected to introduce myself. Anne Miles." |
| "Rowan Tyler," he held his hand out. |
| Anne took the proferred hand, squeezing it briefly, and brushing her fingers over the palm as she let go. "A pleasure, Rowan." She kept the smile on her face, letting some of the brightness fade into a more flirty expression. "You said you were from a few different centuries. Which ones have you visited?" |
| "5.5/Apple/26, 19th, 21st, 2001st , 20th, 12th..." |
| "Quite the traveler, you are." Anne tucked an escaped curl behind her ear, watching Rowan. "Any one of those your native time?" |
| "Yep," he grinned, "21st, actually. Ever been there?" |