Who? Hemingway, Bumby, various other NPCs, OPEN. Where? Pamplona When? This afternoon What? Hemingway discovers which version of Pamplona this is. I will be using dice as I go to determine an outcome. Potential for character injury. Rating? Potentially high, language, possible violence Status? OPEN, ongoing.
Hemingway had spent most of his time in Pamplona since the door had opened, and why wouldn't he? It was an opportunity he wasn't going to pass up-a chance to spend July there without the need to really travel or spend too much money. He had discovered that items from the island could be pawned for money- although he had to be careful not to bring anything from the future or a different planet. So far he had done just fine.
The running of the bulls was over, and it wouldn't be until the evening that the fights would start. So, Hemingway was sitting outside a restaurant with many other foreigners, although the waiter seemed to be giving him a little better service since he had at least basic Spanish to work with.
The waiter weaved through the crowd with a tray above his head, before placing down wine, a basket of breads, and little dishes of tapas. Hemingway thanked him, and turned his attention back to his son who was already dribbling olive oil down his chin. Hemingway reached over and wiped it with a handkerchief, much to Jack's annoyance. He stuck his tongue out, his mouth full of food. "Don't be rude!" Hemingway told him, trying to conceal his amusement. His baby was turning into a proper little boy.
As they ate, a new group arrived, squeezing onto the end of their table as Hemingway nodded that it was free. He was mostly focused on Jack, but little bits of their conversation started to stick out to him. How odd, they sounded so very familiar.
"You're a rotten drunk. Oh, don't get sore about it, you know it's true. It makes me uncomfortable," the female of the group was saying, and Hemingway found that he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He knew her- he had to-
"-don't you think so?"
Apparently the women had still been talking, and Hemingway had missed the question. But he nodded thoughtfully, despite his look of confusion.
"Where are my manners- they call me Brett, this here is Jake, Bill, Robert and- oh, don't mind the rotten drunk-"
Hemingway laughed despite himself. How odd. How curious. But it couldn't be-
"Ashley?"
"Oh- god, we've already met? My mind is all over the place, it's the heat, it's so damn hot, isn't it just so damn hot?"
At that moment, a firecracker went off in the nearby square, and Jack screamed as if someone had just taken a shot at him. Olives went flying from the table as his little legs kicked at it in fright. "It's all right, it's just like a firework, it's all right-" Hemingway insisted, reaching out for him.