InsaneJournal

Who: Laurence and T’Challa
When: Earlier in the Year
Where: A Restaurant
What: Meeting for the first time by chance
Rating/Warnings: Low
Status: Complete



Dining out by oneself was hardly what Laurence would call entertaining, though he had to admit that it was slightly more so than dining by oneself in the comfort in his own home. At least while he was out, there was a chance of conversation, and failing that, he could always spend his meal watching the people around him.

He was doing so now, sipping on the glass of wine that he’d ordered with his dinner, and caught sight of another gentleman who seemed to be by himself. Laurence didn’t stare, though it didn’t seem as though the man was waiting to meet anyone. After a few moments when Laurence could be relatively sure, he flagged down one of the waiters. “Excuse me,” Laurence said. “Do you know if that man there will be meeting anyone?” The waiter indicated that he didn’t know, and Laurence continued, “If he is, would you be so kind as to tell him that he’s welcome to join me at my table if he is so inclined.”

T'Challa was not a social man. Not in this world or the dream one. He was happiest in a lab, dabbling with technology or investigating the mysteries of the universe. Tonight however, he was merely investigating the menu. His eyes had scanned over the entree selections at least three times. He hadn't been back to this restaurant since he and Bast had been together and the memories we're almost overwhelming. But he knew in order to move on he had to overcome such emotional obstacles. And so he sat, staring dumbly at a menu, the mighty King of Wakanda, unable to make a choice.

He felt a presence next to him suddenly and his brown eyes flickered up. A waiter stood above him, looking a little uncertain. “Sir, are you waiting for someone?”

“No.” T'Challa answered, “I merely am having trouble deciding on what I want.” The young man cast a quick glance over his shoulder then looked back to T'Challa.

“Um, that gentleman over there wanted to know if you'd like to join him.” T'Challa's dark brow furrowed a moment and he leaned forward to see past the waiter as to who it could possibly be. If it was Tony, he really wasn't in the mood.

The man looked familiar, one of the faces from the network it seemed. T'Challa rose and strode over to the other man's table, regal elegance and bearing with every step. As he got closer he realized he did know the man.

“Laurence?” He intoned, with a polite nod and a smile.

As the man approached, Laurence stood. For a moment, a feeling of dreadful embarrassment that came from being recognized while having no memory of the one who recognized you overcame Laurence. He had no memory of meeting the gentleman who was standing before him, and he opened his mouth to offer is apologies just as the memory came to him. Despite him, he couldn’t come up with a name, but relief filled him as he realized he recognized him from Valarnet.

“You’re the gentleman who enjoys curling, are you not?” he said, offering his hand. “My deepest apologies, I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, as I cannot recall your name. I was hoping that you’d be interested in joining me over dinner.”

“I am.” T’Challa smiled and shook Laurence’s hand cordially. “And it’s T’Challa. I would be most happy to join you.” He nodded to the waiter and sat down opposite his newfound friend. “Have you been to this establishment before?”

Laurence returned to his seat. “No, it’s my first time,” Laurence said. “I’m still rather new to the area, and I haven’t had much chance to enjoy dining out just yet. And yourself? Perhaps you might have some recommendations for me. I had been thinking on on the steak.”

T'Challa smiled, picking up the menu he'd carried over with him and flipping it open again. “Yes, I am familiar with the place.” He opted not to mention Bast. “The steak is delicious, the best around so far that I've seen. It goes well with their Petite Sirah.” He took a silent minute to reevaluate his food options and decided on the mussels fra diavolo and pasta. Skipping ahead he picked out his wine, his dessert and closed the menu. Setting it down on the table neatly he smiled at Laurence.

“How long have you been here? In Orange County, I mean.”

“With a glowing recommendation like that, it would be remiss to not order the steak with a bottle of Petite Sirah,” Laurence said with a smile, and chose the rest of his meal. When the waiter returned, Laurence placed his order.

“I have only just returned a few weeks ago,” Laurence said. “I lived here for a few months last year, but I was deployed again after not too much time. I’m not sure how long I will remain this time, but my time here so far has been pleasant.” Truthfully, Laurence was eager to be sent out again. He had always felt more comfortable at sea than he had on land, but being landed was hardly unpleasant. “Have you been here for long?”

T'Challa placed his order with the waiter and opted for just a glass of his wine choice. He wasn't entirely sure if Laurence's bottle was meant to be shared or not, and he wasn't one to drink much himself.

There was a nod as Laurence explained. “Ah. Well then you are fortunate to have missed some of the more... colorful aspects of this place. Which branch of service do you serve in?”

He sipped at his water before answering. “Yes. A few years now.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” Laurence said, frowning slightly. “I had had the dreams, of course, the first time I’d lived here, but I hadn’t realized that it this place could affect your feelings and perceptions.” Around Valentine’s Day, he had fallen in love with a young woman named Abigail, and the whole thing had been very deeply embarrassing once he had come to his senses. He was only happy that he hadn’t done something that he would have regretted, such as proposing to her.

Even thinking of it now was unsettling, and he was pleased to be able to switch tracks. “I am of the Navy. In your time here, has this place always been so,” he fumbled for the word for a moment, before settling on, “unusual?”

“Hm. Unfortunately that is the case. Some of these events can really take over one's person. There was a time I was suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of pride and aggression and fought rather fiercely with someone who really was actually a good friend. When it was over and cooler heads prevailed apologies were made, of course. But still, it was unnerving.”

T'Challa smiled. “Ah, the Navy. Well thank you for your service.” He nodded, tipping his water glass to him in tribute. “So then you emigrated here? You have quite the English accent.” Which wasn't much to say, considering T'Challa still held his own still rather heavy Congo one. “As to the O.C., yes it has always been unusual. We get used to it after a while. When you start to complain it's yet “another invasion” of some creature or alien or other thing, that's when you know you've been here too long.” And he chuckled, amused at himself.

“Rather, I was stationed here,” Laurence said. He wasn’t sure if America was a country he would have chosen to live in otherwise; he had always been quite happy to live in England when he’d been landed. “I’ve been appointed the liaison officer to the US Navy.”

When T’Challa mentioned that he had been forced to fight with a friend, his eyes widened slightly. “Good lord, that sounds awful. I’m glad to hear that it didn’t do irreparable damage to the friendship. I cannot decide if I’d rather not get to the point where these things are considered normal, or if I’m eager for all of this to seem less baffling.”

“Ah, and I see. How has it been then, so far?” T’Challa took a sip of his newly arrived wine and leaned back into his chair.

He chuckled and looked down at the wine in his hand, gently moving the glass in circles so the wine swirled around inside. “I can’t decide either, to be truthful. And as I said, I’ve been here for quite some time. There are events that I take in stride, but others that still give me pause as to what precisely is happening.” He gave Laurence a small smile and sipped at his glass again.

“I’m sure you’ve seen people posting about dreams they have. That is perhaps the most peculiar aspect of this place.”

“I am honoured to be given such a trusted position,” Laurence said diplomatically. He would rather be able to have kept his command of the HMS Reliant, rather than play at politics, especially as some of the military commanders he was forced to work under were men with whom Laurence had little in common, but he would neither complain nor shirk from duty.

“I have,” Laurence said. “In fact, I’ve had a number of dreams myself when I had first come to Orange County, the first coming before I had joined the Network. It was a relief to learn that I wasn’t becoming quite mad.”

T’Challa smiled knowingly. “It is bewildering, isn’t it? At first. Then it becomes more of a curiosity, until you wish to know more - provided the dreams you have are good ones.” His smile faltered a little, and for a moment his eyes returned to his wine. He had become an orphan in both this life and in the dreams, or one set of them anyway. “May I ask what your dreams consist of, Laurence? If you do not wish to talk about them, however, I would understand.” He didn’t want to pressure the man just for the sake of small talk and to satiate his curiosity.

Laurence noticed the falter in the smile, wondering if that meant that T’Challa’s dreams were particularly unpleasant. While he had not been disappointed by his dreams thus far, he knew that there were some whose dreams mirrored nightmares more than anything else. His own cousin dreamed of stalkers and murderers.

“I don’t mind in the least,” Laurence assured T’Challa with a smile. “When they began, I was a naval captain in His Majesty’s Royal Navy in the year 1805, during the Napoleonic Wars, though that particular profession did not last long. We took a French prize ship, and on board they had a dragon egg.” Here, he paused for just a moment to gauge T’Challa’s reaction. It could often be amusing to see how people reacted to dragons during the Napoleonic Wars. “Though at first I was loathe to give up my captaincy and my ship, it fell to be to care for the young dragon that hatched from the egg, and I became a Captain in the Aerial Corps, a division of the British military that road into battle upon the backs of dragons, much like the Air Force. It has turned out to be a rather pleasant, all in all. War is never pleasant, but it’s not unfamiliar, and Temeraire, my dragon, is one of the greatest companions I’ve ever had in that world or this one.”

T'Challa raised a curious eyebrow at the mention of dragons during an actual event in real world history. His dreams were of alternate timelines and histories and lands that did not exist in this world, including his own Wakanda. But to dream of the Napoleonic Wars with fighting dragons was definitely unique.

“No war is not unfamiliar,” T'Challa echoed in a sad tone. He was a survivor of multiple conflicts from the dreams and his youth here. Yet he smiled as he then said, “But I am glad for the most part your dreams seem to be good. I don't think anyone could complain about having dreams of being a dragon rider.” He paused, but before he could speak again their food arrived. Speaking around the server setting plates down between them he said, “Temeraire is an interesting name. I believe that was a ship, correct?”

“It was a ship,” Laurence confirmed. “I was rather at a loss when I found myself tasked with naming him, and the fighting Temeraire was the first to come to me. It suits him well, however. And no, I certainly cannot complain of riding dragons. It’s quite exhilarating, flying so high. There is nothing quite like it. I may even prefer it to sailing. Especially with the dragons of my Dreams. They’re quite intelligent; as intelligent as any man for sure. And Temeraire, he became perhaps my closest friend.”

“How interesting.” T’Challa smiled. “When you say they are intelligent, how so?” He started to politely curl the pasta up on his fork, holding a spoon to it. The smell of the spicy tomato sauce was mouthwatering. Sticking the forkful into his mouth he chewed contemplatively as he waited for Laurence’s reply.

“As you and I,” Laurence said, as he poured himself a glass of wine. “They’re capable of speech and conversation, which I had known in my dreams, but I had always thought it would be the speech of say, a parrot or the language capabilities of a gorilla.” Not that he, or anyone else from his dreamscape, was aware that gorillas were capable of learning basic sign language, but it seemed the most apt comparison. “But instead, they’re quite capable of a full conversation, and for learning strategy. Temeraire in particular seems to be especially intelligent. He may not know much, being less than a year from the shell, but he is clearly eager to learn and asks about nearly everything.” There was, perhaps, a touch of parental pride to Laurence’s tone, though even if he wasn’t predisposed to thinking highly of Temeraire for being his very own dragon, but he was certain he was being objective too in his assessment.

“Fascinating,” T'Challa remarked after swallowing his food. “Intelligent dragons capable of full conversation. They must have a complex social structure then. Perhaps like wolves?”

“I’m afraid I’m not too familiar with the social structure of wolves,” Laurence admitted. He knew they ran in packs, and that there was an alpha female and male, but that was about all he knew. “It is interesting seeing them interact. The bigger dragons take precedence over the smaller ones during feeding time. It seems to be a matter of assertiveness though. Temeraire is quite large - not as large as our largest breeds but he is a heavy-weight, and he had some trouble at first, perhaps because there are no others of his breed in England, but he eventually managed to earn his place among them.”

“That is essentially like a pack of wolves. Each animal asserts itself in order to gain rank and eating privileges. The order changes often depending on the strength and weaknesses of each wolf.” T'Challa had watched more nature documentaries than he'd ever admit.

“He is the only one of his kind in your country? How many different kinds of dragons are there?”

“He is, though as far as I’m concerned he’s the only one in his class in the world,” Laurence said proudly, regretting the words nearly as soon as he said them. It would hardly do to be boastful. But switching over to a conversation of dragons in general and their military use was something Laurence was quite keen on doing. Perhaps it was strange that, after a dream life time of caring of naught but ships, he had taken such a shine to learning of dragons, but, well, it was his duty to know the most of what he could of the career he’d fallen into, and, once he got to know more about them, he’d discovered that dragons really were quite fascinating creatures. “There are quite a number. Each country has their own breeding program, so there tends to be different breeds in each country. For instance, the British military makes use of…”