Trooper Station; Monday [05/21].

[died8yearsago]

Was...was there a small squirrel somewhere, playing "Back in Black" from a tiny little speaker as Rosa walked into the station today? It certainly seemed that way, making her entrance and walk to her desk more dramatic, tossing her jacket over her chair, and giving her much-relaxed and dyed-to-normal hair a little bit of a shake before she sat down.

And the music cut out to the subsequent groans and boos and jeers from the Troopers.

And if looks could kill, that armor wouldn't be doing them much good right now. "What?"

"We liked your other hair better," Ralph explained.

Just when she thought they couldn't get worse. "You all have terrible taste."

"Your other hair saved lives," Calvin offered, because that's what they'd heard, that's what they all heard.

"It's not the hair, you rejects," Rosa scowled. "I save lives. This hair has saved lives, too, morons. Don't you guys have anything better to do than talk about my hair, anyway?"

Oh, Rosa. You knew the answer to that was a big, fat, resounding no.

[[open!]]

The parking lot at the end of the causeway, Monday morning

[deaddadsclub]

"Ugh, Mere, I can't believe you're making me leave you a voicemail." Cristina leaned back in the cab's back seat, closing her eyes and wishing she were on the plane already so she could inappropriately but gently mix xanax and alcohol for her flight to Switzerland. No, scratch that, she wished she'd already done all that yesterday, like she was supposed to, and that she was in Zurich already taking over her brand shiny new heart hospital with its brand shiny new heart imaging technology. "I'm still in Baltimore. My flight got canceled yesterday because of . . . something . . . I think they said frogs? But that can't possibly be right. They wanted me to spend the night in an airport hotel, but I wasn't going to be in Baltimore for that long and not go see Johns Hopkins so now I'm in a cab and it's taking forever to get there. And you're not answering your phone. And it's three hours earlier there, so you have no excuse, except maybe a surgery. You'd better be in surgery right now. You'd better be in a nasty, gory surgery full of intestines and — oh! Maybe someone's liver getting shoved up into their chest cavity. That'd be alright. My cabbie's making faces at me because I'm talking about liver and intestines." She pulled her phone away from her mouth a little and scowled back at the cabbie in the rearview mirror. "At least I'm not talking about bowels. You want gross, try a good bowel obstruction!" She put her phone back against her ear. "So now my cabbie hates me and that's all your fault because you're not even in a surgery, you're probably having all kinds of make-up sex with Derek. Which is rude."

The cab pulled to a stop and Cristina stepped out, dragging her suitcase with her and handing the driver a large wad of bills without counting them and telling him to keep the change, which at least got the guy to stop scowling at her. She gave him a bright fake grin, setting her phone on her shoulder to wish him a "fantabulous day!", then turned around with a roll of her eyes to look at —

"This isn't the airport." She turned around to tell off the cabbie and demand her giant tip back, but he'd already turned around and was driving down a long causeway away from the not-airport parking lot he'd dropped her off in. "Hey! Hey, come back! THIS ISN'T THE AIRPORT!"

The cabbie just waved. Cristina huffed and put her phone back to her ear.

"Mere, I'm going to have to call you back. The idiot cabbie just dropped me off in the wrong place." She turned, surveying the parking lot, the beaches on either side of the causeway, and the sloping cobblestones that lead up towards . . . a very European looking island. ". . . Or possibly I'm already in Switzerland. Anyway, I have to go look up if losing time a symptom of mixing anti-anxiety meds and alcohol. I'll talk to you later."

She hung up and frowned at the island again, then back at the causeway. That still looked like America over there. But this looked like . . . maybe France.

"What the hell is going on?"

[open! Come meet the cranky new heart surgeon!]

The Park - Monday mid-morning

[spectre_alenko]

Kaidan had seen the park during the realtor's tour of the island, but hadn't had a chance to check it out. He decided to rectify that Monday morning during his daily jogging routine. Wearing knee-length board shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, he tied on his trainers and headed out. Taking Godiva South, he noted the names as Serendipity became Galactica became Thunderbird. Heading South on Griffin, he caught up to Apocolypse Ave, grimacing slightly at that name. He'd had quite enough apocolypse already, thankyouverymuch. Turning up Minotaur, he transferred from sidewalk to park path, and once into the shade of the trees, increased his pace.

The air was lush in the greenery, and filled with birdsong. Some he recognized, some were entirely new, and some.. well, some sounded just plain odd. Could be unfamiliarity, could be an odd species of bird nobody had ever seen off-island. Kaidan was slowly adjusting to the new paradigm of 'normal' that his life had shifted to. Trilling peeps from further up the path indicated there was probably some form of pond or frog-harboring marshland he would need to investigate for the possibility of a fishing hole.

His feet hit the pavement with a steady, rhythmic stride. His gaze, like his thoughts, far away.

[OOC: Open for rp, may be slow through the day.]
[OOC2: Tags don't seem to exist for Peebee or I?]

Community Center Class: Gourmet Foods Around the World

[sharp_man]

"Welcome." Hannibal nodded at the people that showed up. They had been handwavily instructed to dress somewhat nicely today, and hopefully they had done so. "We will be indulging in some actual gourmet food today, as opposed to last week. In fact, a good bit of what we now think of as Western gourmet cooking is based in French recipes. We will be heading to Paris. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, France is a well-populated country on the continent of Europe; Paris is its capital city."

The portal dropped them off outside a restaurant; it was late afternoon. Hannibal ushered them all to the end of the colonnade. "These are the gardens of the Palais Royal, the royal palace. France hasn't been a monarchy for some time; it now houses some government offices and a library. But as you can see, it is still a lovely view." He smiled. "Today we will be dining at Le Grand Véfour." He read it to them, since the French pronunciation might be strange to some of them. "This restaurant has been here in one form or another for centuries, and is currently helmed by chef Guy Martin. The food is a mixture of traditional and modern French. The local language is French as well; many may also speak English, but if you have any questions, please let me know, as I am fluent."

And with that, he led them into the restaurant.


[Open to anyone who wants to drop by for food!]