multiversallogs | the tickets are now diamonds

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the tickets are now diamonds

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.

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There is a guy on a horse.

Buffy is still learning her way around. The city is not an easy one to navigate, but she's learning, and she's on foot to boot, drawing a mental map in her head as she wanders around the city. Safe to say, it is like nowhere she's ever been before -- magically transported or otherwise -- and she's learning quickly.

She has to. If you don't, in her experience, you tend to get dead.

She is making her way through one of the less crowded areas when she finds the aforementioned guy on a horse. And she just stands there in surprise for a moment. Of all the things she's expecting -- guy on a horse is not one of them. She continues to stare, completely in Horse Guy's way.

She hopes he's a nice guy on a horse, at least.

What is with this place and people on horses? It seems to be a pattern, and while patterns are comforting to the human mind, etc etc etc, this is a weird pattern to develop.

Of course, this is also a city with miniature PADDs for communication devices and honest to god stitches coexisting, so weird is probably going to be a factor regardless.

He's out for an early morning jog now, more to burn off the excess energy that's been building up than to exercise, and he stops for a moment, and watches.

Horses. Honestly.

Sometime notably after dawn - and this startlingly late for the otherwise nocturnal guild leader - Integra makes her way from the southmost part of the city's farmlands back up to Sobek Croix, her horse all but flying over the ground. She doesn't often have time to go killing time out in the middle of nowhere; she should be asleep, or working, but unlike certain members of her staff, she actually needs fresh air.

She slows when she sees another rider, both polite and aware.

Horses and other beasts of burden are kind of a thing around Baedel, what with the lack of fossil fuel powered transport, and the El train and Sky Rail having very set courses. If Buffy hasn't seen them around the city, then it's probably something she better get used to.

In the meantime, Boromir is wondering if the young woman in front of him is all right. She could be lost, or she could have recognised him as someone else (it's a common enough occurrence in this city). Either way she's sort of in the way, so he reigns the horse out of its steady trot to address her.

"Can I help you at all, miss?" He doesn't have his Hellsing badge on right now, but you just know he's that type of guy, and probably makes the definition of chivalry feel self-concious about itself on his good days.

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."

Boromir is only going at a steady canter at this point, but slows the horse into a trot when he sees the other rider, trailing off whatever he had been quietly singing as the other person approaches. Which he is especially grateful for when he realises who the other rider is.

"Good morning, Sir Integra," he says, greeting her with an amiable smile and a low nod. "And I hope a fine morning for riding."

She snaps out of it when she hears his voice, shaking her head quickly, and looking up to flash him a quick smile. "Yeah. Fine. It's just -- been a long time since I've seen a guy on a horse."

She then sheepishly steps to the side, gesturing for him to continue ahead. "Sorry. Didn't mean to get in your way."

Here, man on a horse, have a cowboy.

Raylan feels like a cliche, some days, working out his frustrations about imprisonment by running and working out. But he was still looking for a job, and a better place to live, and a way out. (Not in that order.) And though all three take energy, they aren't great outlets for his temper. Physical activity is best for that, with drinking a close second. Running was best in the early morning or at dusk, and he is a morning person when he isn't hungover, so he runs.

He slows up as he sees Boromir; a man on a horse isn't so unusual, but it's not what he's used to. Still, he raises a friendly hand in greeting.

She's pleasantly surprised to see that it's Boromir, and Integra actually smiles - slight, but still there. Riding agrees with her.

"Good morning, Captain. I see you've done well enough in your search."

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.

"I see." He doesn't really know much about auto-mobiles, since there aren't any in Baedel and no one has really bothered to mention them to him. To see someone out riding and consider it an unusual sight is a strange idea for him.

"Not at all. Still, I feel I should introduce myself; I'm Boromir." Since it's a little less abstract than 'guy on a horse' and because courtly manners are something not easily broken out of, even if his introductions have become less formal.

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."

"He's a fine specimen," he says, slightly proud in that he's glad to have such a familiar staple in his life amongst all the new upheaval. "Although I must admit, I've still to choose a name."

And Boromir nods back in greeting, both hands on the reins while he slowly trots by. The horse in question is giving a few snorts and shakes of its head -why are all these two-legged things running nearby- which means Boromir is issuing a few stern words, and a tug.

"Good morning," he says to the man, polite and out of assurance that he still has control, while moving away a little. So far temperamental huffs have been seldom.

"Buffy," she says with a nod. Less abstract than 'guy on a horse' is good. Names are good. Names mean that later, she can see them and not open the conversation with 'Hey, you were that guy on a horse.'

... She's very glad that she's not rambling all this out loud right now.

"Nice to meet you."

"Good morning. Didn't mean to give your animal any offense." Raylan's at ease around animals, but he doesn't approach uninvited. "He's good-looking one. You get him here, or you get an unusually generous plus one on the arrival policy?"

"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?"

"Mine was 'horse' until the blacksmith took issue with it," she says, unconcerned, though she gives her mount a pat on the neck. He's a good animal - deals with explosions and fire and all manner of horrors quite well. "Althalus." ... The horse doesn't seem to notice.

"Pleased to meet you, too," he says, with a smile and a nod. The horse, on the other hand, gives a snort and a little clip-clop on the street. Impatient thing.

"Well, if you're quite all right then I suppose I'll be on my way."

"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."

"Did he tell you what it means?" It's a curious sounding name, and there's something of an interest in naming conventions where he's from (like no one could ever guess).

"None taken -he can be a little bit fussy." To which the horse gives another snort, intentional or otherwise.

"From the Inora Farms, in the south of the city. He's broken, but not used to being ridden, or being amongst crowds. It's something I've been trying to get him into the habit of." Which is extremely necessary, given the nature of Hellsing's work.

Edited 2011-09-06 08:57 (UTC)

"It's the name of a man who stole a war, where he's from," she says. "Some kind of mythical warrior and trickster." She thinks it's a little interesting, though names with any great meaning behind them are something she finds herself shying away from a little. (She idolizes her father, but it's difficult to get around the blaring fact that he bought her from her mother and then named her 'necessary'.)

"Of course, yeah," she nods, before getting out of the horse's way. If she had an apple, the horse could have it.

She's not sure if real horses actually eat apples, but the thought is there.

"Thanks for not ... plowing me over."

"Fair enough. Least you won't be overrun, this early in the morning." He tilts his head back at little. "Seems like the transportation of choice."

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.

The man on the horse is a familiar face. Cindy remembers Boromir from the ant mission and even though they haven't spoken any since then, she never forgets a face. Her walk over the shoe store for another boring workday is a long one and Cindy has nothing but time to say hello.

"Who does a girl have to blow with to get a ride around here?" Not quite a hello in the classic sense of the term, but this is Cindy after all.

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the tickets are now diamonds

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