the tickets are now diamonds

[ofminastirith.livejournal.com]

Who: Boromir & you.
What: Horse riding and stopping to chat to whoever he meets.
Where: Around the less central areas of Baedel.
When: Veerdi morning.
Warnings: None.

Boromir has had a lifetime of early rises and can be found up before the birds most mornings, unless the birds were actually unspeakable horrors that trawl around at night, and then he has to be up earlier still.

No one who actually knows him would be surprised to see him awake at the wee hours, saddling his horse and preparing for a slow, easy ride around the calmer areas of the city to get the creature accustomed to hustle and bustle. The horse in question was a fine specimen, somewhat broken but unused to crowds or being ridden on a regular basis.

It wouldn't be too unusual, in the moments it seems the most skittish, to hear the rider humming or else singing a little in Sindarin.

Comments

[ofminastirith.livejournal.com]

Welcome to Baedel, Bones. For Boromir it was the opposite: he started off knowing only about very low-level technology (clockwork, really), and everything else seemed hundreds of years ahead. At least he's been here longer and gotten used to it by now.

He turns to glance at the man when he notices him watching, and then double-takes, a hand going out to steady himself on the horse's neck. No, no it can't be. The man's colouring is completely wrong.

Realising he's maybe been staring a bit, he calls out, "I beg your pardon. You bear an uncanny resemblance to someone I used to know before I came here."

[aviophobia]

And now the dude on the horse is staring at him. McCoy has to resist the urge to look down and see if he's got any stains on his t-shirt or if there's a huge embarrassing hole in his pants. He just puts his hands on his hips and stares back, because he's not going to get stared at and not give it back.

"Sorry?" he calls back, eyebrows lifting. "I look like someone you knew back home?" That's ... weird. Judging from his clothing and bearing, he's not from the Atlanta area - at least, not in any time it was called Atlanta.

[ofminastirith.livejournal.com]

He unmounts with expert quickness, both to meet the other man on the same level and really check. This is the first time this has happened to him and he's trying to figure out how to socially navigate it.

"It's not unheard of in this city to meet people you know from different points in time, or someone who shares the same face, or a likeness at least." The defiant stance is...eerie, that's for sure. "He was Éomer, third Marshal of the Riddermark, from a country named Rohan. I passed through that land on my travels a little more than a year ago."

He smiles, shaking his head. "But I see you're not him. Forgive me; I'm sure you can understand the surprise of thinking you'd found an old friend in a city as strange as this."

[aviophobia]

"Yeah, I can imagine." He shakes his head, trying to piece together the words the horseman has told him. Eomer, Riddermark, Rohan - it all sounds like something out of a fantasy novel. And whoever this guy is ... it looks like him? Fucking weird.

"I'm gonna go ahead and guess you're not from Earth?"

[ofminastirith.livejournal.com]

"No, although it seems to be similar to a certain period of Earth history, from what my friends here have told me." He's playing down what narratively some have termed 'the LARPer look,' but it wouldn't be too difficult to guess 'something that passes for Medieval' given he has a sword and a horse. "I'm from Middle-Earth, a continent in a world we call Arda."

[aviophobia]

Medieval-ish is McCoy's best bet; history has never been his strongest suit except for medical history. He can tell you all about the hilariously inaccurate and ineffective medical practices from that time period, but fashion? Stuff like that? Not so much.

"Never heard of it. Any idea what quadrant you're in?" It's a long shot, given that the dude is on a horse, but hey, maybe they know that.