iterumrp | Open: Roman Holiday

It's more than adjustment. Aside from the shock of being in a new realm, it is meager compared to the culture and time, both something she struggles to adjust to. English is a fourth language and at least manageable, but after the 17th century, there's a number of things Kosem stumbles over. Coffee shops are at least something she understands, even if it isn't strong enough. Restaurants require more help and if you notice her struggling, please assist. The Coliseum District is where she's been assigned and that is where she sticks out the most. A woman in a sweeping dress with a veil over her hair.

It is the Highgarden Shelter where she lingers, glad to find something to occupy her mind. She cooks along with others in the Mitchel, she helps arrange supplies and, very happily, tends the gardens, basking in the sunlight and flowers around her. Company is always welcomed and met with a smile.

Michael was on his way to his new job. While it wasn't idea, it would help keep him supplied in what he needed to live. And if he won, he'd be well off for a few weeks. Either way, he'd still pull an income just working as a medic. Being a fighter, well, that's where the money was. There was likely some irony to the Hippocratic oath there, but money was money. And Money was needed to get the blood substitute to keep him sane.

He was walking with a backpack over his shoulder, a white button up shirt on with the top three three buttons undone, black slacks, tucked into calf high boots. He was early of course, the sun was still up, but he was less tired now than he was most days. It was while walking that he very nearly bumped into the woman passing by. "My apologies." He spoke up quickly, shifting quickly out of the way. That thick Grecian accent came out strong in that moment. He must have been in his own head to miss someone that close.

There were warnings about demons at night, but there is no word about that during the day. The word comes automatically to her mind when she first looks at him. His appearance is enough to catch her off guard. He's a bit disheveled, dressed improperly, but everyone seems that way to the 17th century woman.

She's in a flowy dress with hanging sleeves. There is a long veil in her hair, secured by a gold headdress. It's currently all she has until she earns more money. There's less concern for how she looks in this abrupt meeting. It's his accent she recognizes, emotion threatening to surge over her for a childhood long lost.

In Greek, she asks him, "I hope I didn't hurt you."

The way she was dressed certainly caught his attention, like the women in the books his mother often shared with him. Or the dramas Martine would watch when she wanted him to stop working so late. Like someone displayed in time.

All of that forgotten as she spoke. His mother's tongue, both figuratively and literally. No one had spoken to him in Greek since he killed Nikos by accident. He couldn't help that smile that crossed his features. It was rare, but it reflected the happiness. "Oh, no, no. I am perfectly fine, madame. I am very hard to hurt. Are you quite alright?" Despite all, his mother had raised him right. Everyone else was on him.

She catches the smile on his face and responds in kind. The last she can recall even speaking her mother tongue was when she saw her father, that final parting. Since then, her childhood disappeared from her mind. It's overwhelming, enough for emotion to choke her. This is a glimmer of the past and she's eager to clutch it tightly.

"As well as I can be in this place." There's at least a means of communicating with someone, a language that is natural to her and familiar. "Are you assigned to the Coliseum District?"

Seeing her respond in kind, helped ease some of the constant worry that people would run from him due to his monstrous appearance. His pale skin, and the sunglasses hiding his red eyes. His fangs sometimes visible when he spoke.

"It's better than some I have been spirited away so far. I can at least offer that comfort." He answered with ease. "No, sadly, I belong to The Gardens of Pleasure. I work here in the Coliseum District though. You?"

Caius hasn't been back in the City that long, though perhaps long enough that he's been to OHM and Liam's to check on the establishments since they've been inactive for nearly half a year. But there's one other place he's made a mental note to get to quickly if only to see if someone else he knew had returned like many others had.

He comes through the back way and almost immediately spots the woman in the garden.

"Excuse me," he greets by way of grabbing her attention first. "Are you working here?"

She looks up from the garden, quick to wipe her hands on a towel as she approaches the stranger. The days are easier with this work to occupy her and Kosem has always wanted her finger in the pie. Between gardening, cooking and cleaning, she's found her mood is rather amiable despite being brought here.

"I am," she sets the towel to the side and folds her hands in front of her. "Can I help you?"

"Maybe," he answers, offering a friendly smile. "I was wondering if there was someone here by the name of Margaery Tyrell. She'd be running the shelter, or at least co-managing it with someone else."

Caius is hopeful to see his friend again, but he's also aware that not all the people he once knew in the City didn't return beyond a handful of familiar faces.

"I have heard her name spoken I'm sorry to say that she is not here, at least so far as I have seen." Her smile is sympathetic, understanding full well the loss of friends and family. Was that not what she suffered at night?

She could at least offer this: "The way she's spoken of, she sounds like a kind woman." An angel in disguise, perhaps? "She's well loved here."

Hearing all of that brings a wistful smile to his lips. Her legacy with the shelter is very important to him and it's clear in his expression that he is quite fond of the woman that they are talking about. Gods, he misses her so much. Misses their talks and her smile.

"Yeah, she was pretty extraordinary," he nods and after a brief pause, he extends his hand. "I'm Caius, by the way. If you ever need any handy work done, give me a call. In fact, I see some of the stuff I've done is still holding up pretty well."

No, no, no. Yeah, a party can only do so much to soothe Blair's mood. When the morning came, she felt the same cringe and anger one might have after drunken hate sex. The loft looked...acceptable, but needing a job and a lack of funds didn't put her in a happier state of mind. How far she's fallen. At the very least, none of her friends are here to see this. She might never come out of her loft.

Wandering is the best she can do. Bars promised some booze and a coffee shop was familiar. She'll hang around there for now, contemplating over a drink what to do and where to go.

She's not at her most friendly, but she's open to some company, if only to commiserate.

Harley meets her new neighbor on accident. Harley is coming back from a shopping trip to get the essentials, a loaded paper bag balanced on her hip, just as Blair is coming out of her apartment and there's nearly a collision. Harley pivots out of the way and looks between the apartment doors, eventually landing her gaze on Blair and nodding her head toward the grocery bag.

"Well hey there, neighbor. I'm having a Bloody Mary for breakfast. Want one?"

Uh, so the weirdness keeps happening. She's not really expecting someone like Harley here and it's a bit of a shock, taking her in. Blair does her best to plaster on the smile she used at NYU, but still feels the same sense of hopelessness and lack of direction.

A Bloody Mary. That's enough to make her relax. She might be dressed like the 80s heaved over her and is begging to die, but at least she knew a good way to greet her neighbors. "Sure." That style will take some time to get used to, but maybe Blair's feeling starved for someone to talk to. Desperation makes odd friends.

"I'm Blair."

Open: Roman Holiday

Kosem Sultan | Magnificent Century

Coliseum District - July 7th or 8th.

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Highgarden Shelter

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Blair Waldorf | Gossip Girl

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