16 January 2012 @ 04:24 pm

[Ramses groggily pulls himself out of bed when the telephone begins to ring. He's been here for a few days now, and has learned through observation that it's a communication device of some sort. Right now, it's been ascribed to "magic" in his book.]

This is Ramses...?

McIntyre!?! Where have you been?

Right here, trying to figure things out. I--

You haven't been in to the office in two days!


Don't try and be cute with me. Office. One hour.

How can I come in if I don't even know where it is?
14 January 2012 @ 12:04 am
First Chariot Race  
[Forward-dated to the 16th of January]

[Inside 7137 Brooks Lane]

[When had it been that he'd finally gotten to bed? Ramses can't remember, though from the splitting headache that signifies a definite hangover, it was some party. The shrill noise that pierces the air is strange, though, and makes him wince and cover his ears as he slowly wakes up. It's then that he realizes that this whole setup feels strange; the bed and headrest are both bizarrely soft, and he's wearing some sort of tunic that's far too warm. And his head. There's something wrong with his head. It itches like crazy. Bringing his fingers up to feel the fuzz on his head, he realizes that he has a full head of hair, instead of the single sidelock he's used to.

He's almost afraid to open his eyes...]

[Wandering down the street outside of 7137 Brooks Lane, early morning]

[Have a tall, broad-shouldered man with a bewildered expression on his face walking cautiously down Brooks Lane. He's managed to figure out loafers, and wears a pair on his feet, as well as a long wool peacoat. There's what looks to be a skirt peeking out from beneath the bottom of the coat. He's never been this cold in his life, and this whole snow thing is horribly confusing.]