Welcome To Fabulous Las Vegas

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Where: The Moulin Rouge

When: August 21, 1955;Afternoon

What: The Company Agents make their arrival in Vegas Past.

On the other side of the hole, Finn finds Amelia standing there among racks and racks of what appear to be costumes. There's no sounds nearby, nothing to suggest there's people nearby. At least not right now. "Oh, and the science boys said we might beat him here. Something about a time flux. It sounded a bit sci-fi to me."

Says the telepath.

But she steps forward in the dark room to slowly push open the door at the other end. "Looks clear out here. Looks like we're in a hotel, Finny," she says, her tone playfully suggestive.

"Everything sounds sci-fi to me," says Finn, raising a brow at the costumes. "Yeah? Which one of these you going to wear? They say a bit of dress up and role play is good for a marriage. And while I know we're not really married, who knows how long we have to pretend to be? You wouldn't want our faux matrimony to be a boring one, would you?"

Despite the teasing words, he picks up the suitcases and moves forward, closer to her. "So how long til he shows up, do they think?"

"Got a thing for sequins, do ya?" Amelia does glance back to the costumes, as if seriously considering it. "I promise, our fake marriage will be the most exciting relationship you ever had. It's me."

She pulls the door wider open to let him through into a backstage hallway, a shoulder lifting at his question. "Not sure. He could already be here and wandering the Strip. But I did promise you a nap, didn't I? We should get a room."

"Hold on," Finn says. Best to get out the ID kits before speaking to people. He drops to one knee to pop open the suitcase to find the paperwork and hopefully money that has dates that are appropriate to their Pleasantville era. "A nap would be divine. Is it still the middle of the night here?" It's hard to tell in a hallway after all, and he stifles a yawn.

"Doubtful. If it was night, there'd be people here. Vegas hotels were unstoppable in this era," Amelia says, her voice hushed to match the quiet of the hall. "Party till you drop. But if we're just in from a long road trip, well, I'm sure a nap is acceptable."

"Hey there, you two," comes an unfamiliar voice from down the hall. It's followed by your typical tall, dark and handsome man striding in their direction. Amelia straightens up from looking at Finn, to look toward the voice. "Oh, my. Look, darlin', someone to get us turned the right direction," she says, falling flawlessly into a copy of Finnegan's own accent, if a more feminine version of it.

"Thank the Lord. This place is a veritable maze. Could you tell us how to get to the main lobby, sir?" Finn says, his own accent growing just a touch thicker as if encouraged by Amelia's. "We got ourselves all turned around, didn't we, sugar?" He smiles broadly at the other man, without his usual sarcasm turning it to a smirk.

"We did," Amelia says, leaning over to slide an arm sheepishly around Finn's waist, "It's my fault. I was having a bit of a look around." But the man smiles, a chuckle following her explanation. "First time in Las Vegas? The front's just this way," he says, gesturing first, but he steps in that direction a moment later.

"I told you it was that way," Finn says with a little bit of a whine in his voice in a loud aside to Amelia, "but you had to go second guessing me." A little louder, he addresses the other man. "Yessir, first time past the Rockies. Beautiful country, but it makes for a long few days of driving." He lets Amelia follow first, then takes the rear while lugging the two suitcases.

The man gives Finnegan a sympathetic look. Women. And Amelia seems to only be able to blush at the admonishment. Of course, the fact that her grip on his side has turned far too tight for comfort probably means she's planning on smacking him later. But when in Rome and all that.

She only breaks away after a moment to follow the other man, who slows his step to let the lady walk beside him. "It's just this way, Mrs…" "Finnegan. Amelia Finnegan. That's my husband, Jamie." "You can just call me Doc, Mrs. Finnegan." Doc turns to look back toward Finn, smile coming more easy. "Best to keep a close eye on yours, here, Mister Finnegan. Las Vegas makes for a good vacation spot, but easy to find trouble."

"Doc," says Finn, with a little bit of amusement in the glance he gives Amelia. "Oh, I've already found trouble and married her, sir. But you're right, I'll keep an eye on her and everything else. Especially my wallet. Mellie here, I know she's keen on making her way to those one-armed bandits, but we got ourselves a budget."

Finn might be enjoying the act just a little too much.

Amelia glances to the Doctor, who looks at her with a little surprise. "It's only, I've never been in a casino before." The other man gives her a smile that can only be considered condescending, especially given that he pats her on the shoulder to top it off.

You are so not getting laid tonight, hubby, Amelia says into Finn's mind, with just a glance back his way that is incongruently sweet. "I can't help a bit of curiosity," she adds, her smile widening. And it's just then that the archway to the front lobby comes into view, and Doc points in that direction. "Right up there, they'll be able to help you get squared away."

"Me, I want to hit the poker tables," Finn adds, then nods when he sees the front desk. "Thank you very much for your time, Doctor," he says, setting down a suitcase to offer a hand to shake.

Are you saying there was a chance of it? And if not tonight, maybe tomorrow? Finn sends back, a little wink sent in his "wife's" direction before he picks up the suitcase again to head toward the concierge.

"Anytime, Mister Finnegan. And good luck," Doc says, although he isn't talking about poker, not with the flick of his glance in Amelia's direction. She doesn't say goodbye to him, all things considered, and opts to follow Finn toward the front.

We'll see how you behave yourself, she replies, but a smile spreads on her face all the same. Her part of getting them a room is to point out where she 'packed the money', which ends up being in an illogical place completely, but at least it was safe. Luckily, it's a lot less hassle, getting a room in 1955.

The transaction completed, Finnegan jingles the key before handing it to her, looking a little amused at the fact it's actually a key and not a plastic card, before picking up the two suitcases again. "C'mon, Trouble," he murmurs with a grin.

I feel a little gypped. It's the 1950s and there's a guy named Doc, but where the hell's my DeLorean? he teases mentally. So what's the plan? I know it's not quite as big as it is now but it's still a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack. Split up and search after the nap?

And it gets a laugh, that it's actually a key. Those around them eye their apparent excitement, of course. Tourists. "Right behind you," she says as she follows him along. Do you think he'd mind if we started calling him Brown? I mean, it seems only fitting. And sadly, instead of elevators, there's just stairs to take them up to their room. But luckily, it's not such a bad climb. I think we can take shifts watching here, and looking elsewhere. Keeping an ear to the ground, trying not to get distracted by the Fifties just outside the door. That sort of thing. And the room, when they get to it, is sprawling, comfortable and has this view of the city out a pair of wide windows. Once they're inside, though, Amelia lets out a heavy sigh and starts to peel off layers. Her jacket is hung up by the door, shoes discarded nearby, and she flops onto the bed, just to test it out. "Man, what did they make mattresses out of back when?"

Suitcases are dumped unceremoniously by the door as Finn kicks off his shoes as well before moving to the bed. "Apparently out of awesome and win," he says, the accent a little less thick than it was downstairs, touched as it has been by his years in Los Angeles.

He lets his eyes close and just breathes a few moments, then speaks again, though drowsier now. "Is anyone making sure no one from here makes it back to 2012, by the way? I mean, aside from those of us who are supposed to go back?"

Rolling over to her side, head propped up on one arm, Amelia smirks over at him. "Don't worry. We have eyes on that house twenty-four-seven. Have had since we discovered it there. Everything's being monitored. Except us." She adds that last with a grin. It might be a rare thing, at least for her. "Makes it tempting to dash off to misbehave."

She doesn't, though, not this moment. She might be tired as well, given that she lets her head drop back to the pillows after a moment. "I'll set an alarm or something. Just a little sleep and then we're off to work. Right?"

Finnegan smirks at her words for a moment, but then grows more somber and nods once. "A couple hours'll do me good enough," he says, more businesslike, if it's possible to be while sprawled on his back. He turns away to face the wall with a bit of a melancholy sigh. After a moment, his breathing grows slow and deep, his side rising and falling in the regular pattern of slumber.

There's a moment or two before he really drifts off where he can feel Amelia's arm slide around him, and the press of her up against his back. She might be staying 'in character', but it's possible she isn't quite sure how else to help a guy when he's letting out melancholy sighs. But other than that, he gets to sleep undisturbed.

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