Counterclockwise

10: On the Social Norms of the Wild West

The first thing is the cold, and for a moment Simon wonders if they've created the Rift. Then, in the dusk light, Simon sees no snow, no ice. There are buildings of wood that are oddly familiar, even to an eye that has time traveled only thrice before and never here. Only thrice, Simon thinks to himself.

"Hmm," Lee mutters, as he drags himself to his feet. "Here again?"

The signs outside the buildings are written in English, burned into the wood. Horses stand tied to posts, looking at them curiously. There's a sharp smell of campfire smoke from some distant place in the desert, and they kick up orange sand as they move. Simon doesn't need to ask where they are.

"Again?" he prods, though, as he follows Lee to his feet. He brushes the dirt off of his Roman tunic- he wonders how they're going to get away with wearing that, exactly, but whatever. "You come here often?"

"Not often, but I was here not too long ago. A different town, I'm sure, and who knows how many years apart?" Lee fixes his cape. "First order of business might be different clothes, right?"

"Why are-" Simon is still fighting off the wine, although the cold is sobering him up quick. "Why are we here, again?"

Lee smiles. "Because we didn't want to be home. Right?"

Simon has to admit it's both concise and accurate. "I couldn't be."

"Neither could I," Lee says without elaboration. "Follow me."

The town is small, barely even a town; there's a post office, a saloon, a general store, a handful of houses cobbled together from wood and a few pieces of stone. Lee heads towards the general store, and Simon notes the metal bars on the windows as Lee pushes the door open.

There's a pleasant ringing of a bell, and Simon looks up to see the quaint little brass thing above the door. It's all the same as things that exist two hundred years later, but with the technology available now, and it's these connections through time that Simon finds so intriguing.

He looks at Lee; the connection from him to Simon's time in an empty grave beside his mother's.

There's an old man behind the counter, and he says in an accent that Simon wants to guess is Irish, "how can I help you folks?"

He's evidently too polite to comment on the outfits. Simon watches, impressed, Lee's complete confidence as he walks up to the counter and starts taking those gold earrings out. "We're from out of town," he states the obvious, "and we'd like some clothes that help us fit in a little bit. Will you take gold?"

The shopkeeper takes a magnifying glass out from under his counter, and starts examining the earrings up close. His face scrunches up, even more wrinkled than before, as he looks at the earring. "Can I ask where y'all are from, in a getup like that?"

Lee bites his lip, leaning on the counter. Simon comes up behind him, and Lee looks over, eyebrow raised, which Simon interprets as, do you know how to answer him?

"Uh," Simon mutters, "India?"

Lee laughs, and the shopkeeper just gives Simon a strange look. "Long way from home," he remarks, followed immediately by, "that's real gold alright. How many of those you got?"

Lee counts them out into his hand. "Six gold, some smaller than others."

"Full outfits for the both of you?" the man asks, looking to Simon like he's somehow in charge here. Lee gets his attention back by clattering the gold earrings on the counter.

"Thank you," Lee says with a little grin. The shopkeeper gives him an odd look, but he heads through a back door.

"I'm deliberating avoiding bartering," Lee leans over to tell Simon. "It's worth more than any clothes would be."