InsaneJournal

Who: Iris (and Bruce W)
What: Adjusting to her life in ye olde Italy.
Where: Bruce's villa in Italy
When: Right around now.
Warnings/Rating: None.

Everything was different.

That probably should have gone without saying, that Italy in the 1400s would be different than anything she'd known before - California, Seattle, Georgia, Las Vegas. ...Gotham. But she was finding that it was the small differences that were catching her the most. She expected there to be no running water and no electricity. She expected that no one else spoke the same language as she did (though Lucia was learning things, even as she taught Iris a few words in return). But she woke up to birdsong and the smell of the fields near the villa. Her new clothing sat different against her skin, layers of material that were no longer the soft fleece and knit cotton she'd grown accustomed to. If the villa truly belonged to Bruce, and the deference that people here gave him seemed to indicate that it did, he still had enough money even here to afford fine things. Like the loose, oversized chemises she wore beneath her other dresses - they were of a delicate material that was nearly sheer with the superior spinning of the thread and the weaving of it. The outer dresses and sleeves were just as lovely, though she had no idea why the dresses were being kept at the villa, as she'd seen no one else wearing such things.

The first few days after she'd arrived were filled with strangeness and adjustment, and she let herself be guided around as she grew accustomed to things. Lucia was so often there to help, even when Bruce couldn't be found (not that she went looking for him - even if it were something she might normally do, and it was not, she had a suspicion it would be frowned upon here). She was given a room to sleep in, a wardrobe filled with those fine dresses that didn't allow her to do much more than sit, for fear that she would ruin something. Her hair was braided up by Lucia's skilled fingers every morning before she was allowed to sit in rooms and on porches, out of the rich golden sun that might burn her skin and redden her cheeks. And she simply existed as the rest of the household went about its daily business.

That lasted only a few days before Iris realized that she couldn't continue on like that.

The next morning, she stopped Lucia when she was still only in one of those sheer chemises, preventing the woman from lacing her into yet another lovely dress. With pantomime and shakes of her head, pointing at Lucia's own clothing, she tried to make it clear that she wanted something more like the other woman's dress - something that she could breathe in, move in. More importantly, something that she didn't have to worry about ruining. The woman looked more than a little scandalized, gesturing to Iris and then a sweeping motion that encompassed the house around them. Without shared language, Iris could only guess at what she was trying to say, but it was clear enough that she was able to shake her head. The villa didn't belong to her, it belonged to Bruce. And since arriving, Iris had allowed herself to find some of that quiet stubbornness that she so often hid. It wasn't a demanding sort of thing, but she tried to smile and keep shaking her head until Lucia tossed up her hands and left the room to find a different dress for her. She returned with something that was still nicer than the clothing Iris had seen the other members of the household wearing (and where was she finding these things?), but that was far, far less than the dresses Iris had been laced into for the first few days. And she could tell when it was on - she wasn't quite as worried about ruining the entire thing if she so much as breathed the wrong way. She was still sat down to have her hair braided, and Lucia added a dark sapphire ribbon, as if stubbornly maintaining that Iris should have something rich about her appearance.

And then she left the rooms that she'd kept to for the past few days. She moved slowly enough, but explored farther than she'd been able to before, Lucia at her side even though Iris was certain that the woman had other things to do. They did their best to continue their strange sorts of conversations as they walked, pantomime sometimes enough to explain different things about the house and land around them. They passed other members of the household, and each one barely reacted at first as they glanced over, but just about all of them did a double-take upon seeing her, causing Lucia to launch into what was obviously some sort of explanation for Iris' presence and appearance. Each of them gave her a wary smile at that point, like they weren't quite sure how to deal with her, and she did her best to smile back, though she knew they were small as always. It seemed to be enough to reassure everyone, at least for the moment, and they all went along their way.

She didn't know what was being said about her, didn't know that the household found it very strange that she would be dressed as she was. She didn't know that they were talking about the pale slip of a woman that couldn't speak the language, that they were coming to their own conclusions about who she was (since she wouldn't understand the questions even if asked, and no one had yet worked up to asking Bruce). She didn't know that there were women at other manors that sometimes walked the grounds as well (though in finer clothing), observing the people that lived and worked there. She didn't know that those women could be prone to cruelty, to treating the members of the household with a mean disregard. She didn't know that those women were mothers and sometimes sisters, but most often the wives to the men who owned the property. They were the Ladies of the house. Had she known, she likely would have stayed hidden away in her rooms, made a greater effort to find the door back to the hotel, but her curiosity and the energy that came with the fresh air, kept her exploring and learning about what this place was like.

Between walking, Lucia sat her down with food, strange but simple things, things she was unused to. The bread was heavy and darker than she was used to, but there were always things to put on it. Oil and fruit, drippings from roasted meat, cheese and honey. Iris didn't want to eat at first, knowing how ill it would make her and attempting to make this known through hands pressed to her stomach and likely strange faces, but Lucia continued to insist, to push plates in front of her and stand there until at least some of the food was gone. It was, surprisingly, never enough to make her truly sick. And between the fresh, warm air, the walking, and the food, by the end of the week she was sleeping better at night and had just a hint of pink to her cheeks. She was still too thin, no curve at all to the body under the borrowed dresses, and those members of the household that saw her still spoke with worry about her health.

And then one day, on one of her slow walks, she found a dog. More accurately, she supposed she should say that the dog found her. He'd been lounging in the shade under one of the manor's trees, but his attention sharpened at her approach and his ears quirked at the soft sound of her voice as she tried to speak with Lucia. It was only a matter of moments before he was crossing the space between them, wagging his tail as he circled close to her legs. She stopped at first, staring down at him as Lucia did her best to find words, 'good' and something that Iris assumed likely meant 'dog'. She remembered what it was like to have a dog, and the memory hit her sharply how much she missed hers, how he'd been one of the things she'd left behind those years ago when Ian entered her life. She reached down a hand for the dog to sniff, and smiled at the cold, wet press of his nose to her fingers. He didn't stop wagging his tail, but he never jumped up on her, and it seemed to make perfect sense to go to her knees in the dirt of the path and bury her fingers in the fur of his neck, murmuring soft things to him. That wet nose pressed to the shoulder of her dress and then to her cheek, and she actually laughed as she carefully pushed his nose away from her face. Lucia stood next to her, shocked at the difference in the quiet woman, her own voice quieter with surprise as she said the dog's name, accompanied by a wag of his tail. Iris repeated it and earned a lick to her hand in return, which only made her laugh again quietly.

After a while of that, others passing by and staring at the woman (the "Lady", in their minds) making friends with the dog, Iris finally stood again and did her best to beat some of the dust from her skirts. When they began walking again, the dog accompanied them, staying close even if he hurried ahead to explore for them. He always returned to walk close to Iris' skirts, and she would occasionally reach down a hand to scratch at his ears as she talked with Lucia.

Before she was even aware of it, weeks were passing with her in Italy. And while there were things she missed about modern life, she found that she wasn't as homesick for those things as she might have expected.