all_inclusive | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Ichabod has never been particularly enamored of Christmas, which seems to be a larger-scaled affair in the hotel than he had ever experienced in his own Sleepy Hollow of two centuries prior. There were decorations aplenty, including the very German tradition of erecting a large fir tree in the midst of one's home and decorating it with little tokens and trifles. Ichabod thought this served only to get sap all over one's floors but it seems to have stuck with the people of the modern era, judging by the tree currently taking up residence in the entry hall.

A trip outside to see the gardens provides a bit of a respite from all the frippery of Christmas decorations and after a lengthy walk and a good amount of fresh air, Ichabod feels he is prepared enough to endure the onslaught once again. One of the things he recognizes upon entering is mistletoe, that bane of pretty housemaids everywhere, and he stifles a chuckle. He is not be getting caught unawares beneath it, vile weed, and pities anyone who does.

He supposes that he would be less melancholy if he had someone to indulge him in these holiday traditions, be that his beloved Katrina or even the company of Lieutenant Mills but the hotel provides no such company for him. He only knows Miss Smoak, charming girl that she is, and it is hard to feel festive and full of good cheer when he's so alone.

Still, he has enough coin to purchase a drink and he does, a thick dark ale that is the closest approximation to beer from back in his own era. It's not quite the same, but it will suffice, and hopefully it will bring warmth to his limbs and lightness to his heart.

[[Find Ichabod at the bar, being surly about Christmas.]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Okay. I'll keep an eye out for anyone," Felicity laughed a little, "and name drop when I see someone I don't recognize. If they react to your name, I'll make sure to find you. Not much, but without video feeds to scan, there isn't much else I can do."

"Any assistance is very appreciated, Miss Smoak," Ichabod assures her. "You are a very clever woman. I think my friends in the modern Sleepy Hollow would admire that quality in you."

Anyone should, of course, but Ichabod knows his own era often minimized the accomplishments of women, much to the detriment of society as a whole.

"I should let you talk to my boss," Felicity smiled back. "Maybe you can get me a raise or something."

"Are you not properly compensated? It is my understanding that men and women are meant to receive equal pay," he says mildly, intrigued by the prospect that she might not be receiving her due.

"I would speak to him if it seemed necessary but you seem to be an assertive woman who doesn't need my interference."

That made Felicity smile. "Actually, you're right about that. I don't have any problem telling Oliver exactly what I think, even if I sometimes bungle it with my ability to say the most embarrassing things at the very worst times. And he does pay me well, very well. Sometimes I just think there should be hazard pay in there, too."

"Is your ninernet searching very dangerous?" Ichabod has been under, perhaps a mistaken impression, that such an activity was quite safe. Miss Smoak is the expert in this arena and he defers to her judgment on the matter.

"Internet," she corrected, but gently. She'd spent too much time being condescended to, she wasn't about to level that onto anyone else. "The searching itself isn't. It's acting on what I find when I search it that tends to involved running, jumping and usually glass breaking somewhere."

Arrows, too, but she kept Oliver's secrets. Even in seriously strange alternate universes hurling through space.

"Ah. Not unlike research in a library, then, depending on what one researches. I have often found myself in a bind acting upon pertinent information at a whim," Ichabod says, flashing her a quick smile.

"I think you and I may not be terribly different, Miss Smoak."

"Whims are definitely something I should avoid," Felicity nodded, smiling warmly, "at least according to my boss, who usually has to come crashing in to save the day. I should really mind it, on a completely 'I am woman hear me roar' level, but don't. Probably because I've pull his ass out of the fire a time or two myself."

"I can imagine he does not mind saving you," Ichabod says wryly, grinning at her. "As many men do not mind coming to the aid of a beautiful woman. However, to say such discounts your vast intelligence and kindness. I hope your boss sees things on a deeper level."

Felicity thought about that one. "I don't think he sees me as a woman at all, not really. I mean, he knows I'm female, but that's about as far as he seems to have taken it. But I've never doubted that he prizes my intelligence. I think he sees that before he sees anything else."

"Then I suspect your boss may need spectacles to aid his vision," Ichabod says firmly. "For that seems impossible to me. Of course, I am outside the dynamic of your relationship and only know the bit I have gleaned from you so perhaps I am biased in my lofty opinion."

"Biased or not, I'm kind of fond of your lofty opinion. Don't stop on my account." Felicity beamed a smile at Ichabod for the compliment. "But in Oliver's defense, he has a lot going on in his life, not much of it good or happy, and it consumes him a lot. If he doesn't always notice the little things, there's a reason."

"There is always some larger matter," Ichabod says, completely empathizing.

"I suppose one must be careful not to lose oneself in pursuit of the mission."

That startled a snort out of Felicity. "Maybe I should have you talk to Oliver? Losing himself in his mission, as you call it, is almost Greek with the amount of fatal flawness he's got going on."

"I am guilty of it myself. I can only speak to that which I feel I must atone for," Ichabod admits softly.

"Which is very Greek of me, is it not?"

"We've got so much Greek around here, I'm starting to crave Gyros," Felicity smiled back. For all his Ren Faire and old speech patterns, the guy charmed her.

"Gyros? I am not familiar, though the word clearly has a Greek root. Gyros...to spin, I think. Possibly." Ichabod says, racking his brain to come up with the answer. His Greek was very good but limited mostly to Biblical translations of late.

"I have completely missed the mark, haven't I?"

"Not completely, and not by much now that I think about it," Felicity smiled good-naturedly and gave his hand a little squeeze on the bar. "A gyros is a kind of sandwich made in Greek delis or restaurants. Lamb meat is layered and roasted on an upright spit, then sliced into pita bread with vegetables."

She took up a pencil from the bar and made a quick sketch of the device.

"Clever," Ichabod says, tracing over her drawing. "And sounds delicious, now that you mention it. Have you ever been faced with a craving you are unable to slake? It is one of the worst feelings, knowing there is nothing you can do about it."

"I think that's why they call them cravings," Felicity pointed out, but she was nodding the whole time. "And yes, I have. When I was in college I used to dream about my mother's potato salad, of all things."

"I think you have given me one with your talk of gyros," Ichabod says, grinning at her.

"It is a terrible predicament."

"Maybe not," Felicity thought. "You know, there are doors all over this place that lead to some interesting places. It might not be home, but one of them has got to lead somewhere with a Greek deli."

"Would you care to escort me on a mission to find out?" Ichabod asks, tone light and hopeful.

He has not had many friends since waking up 250 years out of time and the few he had have not arrived here. Miss Smoak is the closest.

Felicity thought about it, even wondered for a second if she shouldn't tell Oliver where she was going. In the end, she just nodded her head at Ichabod and pushed out thoughts of Oliver. He didn't go around clearing his whereabouts with her, she wasn't about to clear hers.

"That sounds like an excellent idea."