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5th Floor Common Room, Sunday Morning

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.

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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.

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?"

"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."

"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?"

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

"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."

"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.

Edited 2014-05-04 15:37 (UTC)

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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.

"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."

"Surely there's a kettle someplace around here," Edward said, picking through the cupboards in search of a cup. "Or don't they teach you lot that sort of thing?"

"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?"

"If I had found anything resembling a kettle, as well as fire for heating, I would not be looking for assistance," Ichabod quipped. "Everything here seems to involve the pressing of buttons, so I'm almost expecting there to be a button for fire somewhere.

He turned the tap water on, because he had figured out water taps earlier this morning when examining the bathroom.

"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.

"Ah, now that's a grand surprise," Edward said, putting the odd bag aside. "How much would this treasure go for, do you reckon?"

Kidding. Mostly.

"I suppose you could always--"

Go outside and find firewood, he'd wanted to say, but the water had stopped him in his tracks. "...What manner of witchcraft is that?"

"You ought to get it appraised," Celia said, grinning. "It might fetch a pretty penny. Or...at least get it looked at by someone from this time or close to. That's what I do, when I find mysterious objects in my cereal or otherwise."

"So no idea what this is, then?" Edward asked, tapping the top of the bag, where none of the 'cereal' had collected. Perfectly see-through. It was strange.

"The box has no hints, I assume?" Celia asked, moving closer to peer at the bag. "It's certainly not cereal."

Helpful, Celia.

Ichabod looked up. "Water from a tap. I found it out this morning. A wonderful invention, I have to say."

"No, no," Edward said. The food was all alien to him - he didn't care overly much for what it was, as long as it was edible. "The bag? What's it made of?"

"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."

Edward looked dubious, but he came looking anyway. "How d'you suppose they push it up?" he asked.

How much would someone pay for such a thing, he wondered?

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5th Floor Common Room, Sunday Morning

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