5th Floor Common Room, Sunday Morning

[doesnotkneel]

It wasn't unknown to Edward, this strange feeling he'd woken up with: as if he was aware of the entirety of the room and the world beyond it. The last vestiges of a dream, no doubt, which left things looking and smelling more roselike than they really were. But with his groggy head on he'd stumbled out of the room, driven in some sense by purpose embedded in that dream.

There was a large white cupboard sitting in the middle of the common area that drew him to it. It seemed as if it were the most important object in the room, and in his dream-drunk state he saw no reason not to pursue the feeling.

It lasted until he'd opened the cupboard and seen its contents. A blast of air as cold as winter smashed him right in the face, leaving him blinking and squinting. "What--"

Then he realized three things: one, that he was hungry; two, that this cupboard seemed to contain at least some food; and three, that he wasn't able to identify a single bit of it.

So's if anyone on the fifth floor woke up to find a bedraggled Welshman taking various objects out of the fridge and putting them back in again, well, that was why.

[[ open! ]]

Comments

[not-called-icky.livejournal.com]

Ichabod had had a similar experience when looking for something to eat, and perhaps making a cup of tea, in the fourth floor common room. He had chosen a different strategy however, which was to seek out someone who could explain how a kitchen in this time worked. It certainly wasn't obvious for an educated 18th century gentleman.

This was the reason why he entered the common room on the fifth floor, unfortunately finding someone equally confused as himself.

[doesnotkneel]

The uneducated 18th century gentleman he found standing there would definitely be no use - Edward couldn't even read the bloody labels. "Oi," he called. "You wouldn't happen to know what any of these are, would you?"

[not-called-icky.livejournal.com]

"I'm afraid not," Ichabod replied. "I came here looking for someone more familiar with the kitchens here. But I believe the containers labeled milk do contain milk." Ichabod could read labels, after all.

The Welsh accent and the style of clothes not too dissimilar from his own didn't go unnoticed. "Perhaps we are from places not too far apart, both in time and space."

[doesnotkneel]

"You talk like a proper Englishman," Edward said, which made him about twice less likely to mention the fact he couldn't actually tell what was and wasn't labeled milk. "And you dress like one. When are you from, to borrow a favorite question from the locals?"

[not-called-icky.livejournal.com]

"Oxford, 1771. My name is Ichabod Crane. And yourself?"

[doesnotkneel]

"Bristol, 1709," Edward said, grabbing a random jug and hoping it was one of the milk ones. "The name's Edward Kenway. Sounds like I'm still a bit out of your way, mate."

[not-called-icky.livejournal.com]

"I'm not quite sure what 'semi-skimmed' is though, but milk should still be milk," Ichabod said, referring to the jug Edward was now holding. "But I have no idea how to boil water for tea.

[pasunereveuse.livejournal.com]

"Cereal's quite good," Celia offered, after watching the man poking through the cupboards for a moment. "There's usually some on top of the refrigerator. D'you mind if I make some tea?"

She would have stuck to her own common room, all things considered, but there was some girl making overly-sugary treats down there, and all Celia wanted was some damn tea, thank you. She was still at least a quarter asleep, though she'd managed to dress herself in one of her gowns from her own time and piled her hair at the back of her head, at least -- and good thing, too, since she was just running into people even further out of time than herself left and right these days.

[doesnotkneel]

"So this is what they call a refrigatory in this day and age," Edward mused. "Makes an awful lot of sense." He reached for the box at the top of the object in question.

He turned 'round, supporting a shameless grin (in hopes that the girl was attractive, whoever she was). "And minding's the last thing I do."

[pasunereveuse.livejournal.com]

"Thanks," Celia said, arching a brow and smiling as she wandered in to put the kettle on. "I remember my first morning here, I spent entirely too long trying to figure out how everything in this stupid kitchen works, until someone showed me cereal. Safe enough for someone who's never had to cook on a modern stove before, right?"

Or at all.

"I'm assuming you're new, sorry. Maybe I'm just terribly unobservant."

[doesnotkneel]

"No, I'm guilty of that, if nothing else," Edward said, setting the cereal down on the counter besides the refrigeratory. "I'd been hoping they would keep up giving us the like of yesterday's spread, but apparently I'll need instruction after all."

[pasunereveuse.livejournal.com]

"Usually, there's something to nibble on in the common rooms," Celia told him as she set the kettle to boil. "And if you're really lucky, you might be able to find someone cooking or who's ordered too much food for themselves. I've not had to do more than boil my own tea since I arrived, which is good, since that's about the extent of my culinary abilities."

She actually took a moment to look him over, feeling that her suspicions that he might also predate her own time were fairly confirmed. "I'm Celia, by the way. Welcome."

[doesnotkneel]

"Edward," he said, adding a bit extra to his grin. She was a lovely woman, at least by all current accounts. "Thank you. It's been a bit of adventure here so far, but thanks to the likes of you, I think I'll manage the next few days if nothing else."

He reached into the cereal box and pulled out... a translucent bag, within which were contained chips of some description. "...Now what've we got here?"

[pasunereveuse.livejournal.com]

"I have no idea," Celia replied, watching with interest. "That's...new. Usually it's just sugary flakes of some sort, or colored loops -- I don't usually care for those -- or...something. You seem to have found treasure, Edward. Congratulations."

It was dry, but she was also fairly curious as to what that could be.

[not-called-icky.livejournal.com]

"Good morning, Miss Bowen." Ichabod looked up from rummaging though the kitchen drawers, pleased to see someone he at least had met before. "Apologies, but I heard you mention tea. I can't seem to find a way to boil water in this kitchen."

[pasunereveuse.livejournal.com]

"Apologies are appreciated but unwarranted, Mr. Crane," Celia replied with a bright smile. "It's fairly tricky the first few times." She'd managed to fill the kettle with water by now and was carefully turning on the stove. "They use this contraption to heat food in this time, and these burners on top are all each connected to a coil that will heat up anything you place on it -- such as a kettle, or a pot of water." She glanced over at the coffee pot on the counter, and added, "And that thing makes coffee, somehow, but I've not figured it out yet. Tea's a bit easier."

[not-called-icky.livejournal.com]

"Perhaps I will work my way up to the coffee making contraption eventually, but tea will be fine to start with," Ichabod said, paying attention to what Celia was showing him. He paused a moment. "The electric lighting is most impressive. It makes reading easy at any time of day or night, I assume." He had been playing with it this earlier this morning, in fact.

[pasunereveuse.livejournal.com]

"It does!" Celia gave a firm, pleased nod. "That I was a bit less fazed by, honestly -- we have gas lighting most public places where -- when, I suppose -- I'm from, but the electricity is still incredibly convenient. And my eyesight's all the better for it," she added with a little laugh. "I don't have to rely on the nub of a candle if I can't sleep and wish to read instead."

[not-called-icky.livejournal.com]

"Are there any other inventions that you have come to appreciate?" he asked. Clearly miss Bowen shared some of his views of what was important in life.

[voiceoverdue]

Cecil was still getting used to his new room and new roommate; he hoped the common room wasn't too different up here.

Foucault was being grumbly and sleepy on his bed, so he wandered in on his own, yawning.

"Oh! Hi; are you one of the new folks? I'm Cecil."

[doesnotkneel]

"I'm Edward," Edward supplied, ducking his head briefly out of the refrigeratory. "Good morning."

[voiceoverdue]

"Morning," Cecil answered. He made a beeline for the coffee machine and started setting it up. "How do you like it so far?"

[doesnotkneel]

"There's plenty of food and I'm told the schooling's free," Edward surmised. "It could be much worse."

He put a jar of... something... on the counter and squinted at it. "So you're another old student, aye?"

[voiceoverdue]

"Yep!" Cecil answered to both questions. "I've been here...gosh, almost a year now." He started the coffee brewing, then glanced over at what Edward was doing. "That's grape jelly," he explained. "Anything you don't have back home, just ask!" he added. "A lot of folks get pretty confused, it seems like."

[doesnotkneel]

"Well, according to one of the other things I keep being told, I've a few hundred years to make up for," Edward said, decided the grape jelly would be the better part of valor, and shut the fridge. "I'll get there in all due haste."

He probably would, too. He was a fast learner.