As if sensing her unease, he inconspicuously led them out of the centre of the street, towards the overhanging drapes of many of the shops, and finally into the entrance of the place of the third block, which contained a large sign stating that it was the Lhasa Century Hotel, with the English added underneath in subtle lettering.
It wasn't a luxurious hotel by any standards, particularly if one was only viewing it from the outside, but it had a decent flow of passage and a greeter who welcomed them once they stepped in off the street.
"Ah... we'd like a room. Please," he tried in English, to the concierge. "Nous voudrions une chambre, s'il vous plait." Very little reaction. Dammit, he thought, his Tibetan was rusty, and even then he'd learned it in Kashmir ages ago, which was probably an entirely different dialect... ah, well. A little sign read 'Out to Lunch'* from what was apparently the head concierge desk, and the boy sitting in front of him looked as nervous as Aziraphale felt.
"A room," he said, in Tibetan. "Er... Tashi Phentso-la," he added, reading the nametag. The boy lit up and began passing him paperwork.
*The Tibetan equivalent thereof; when it came to the spoken form Aziraphale may be rusty but in the written he was not, having found the usage of the language surprisingly common in many ancient texts. Something to do with a relation between Shangri-la and Heaven, generally.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2007-06-30 03:58 am (UTC)It wasn't a luxurious hotel by any standards, particularly if one was only viewing it from the outside, but it had a decent flow of passage and a greeter who welcomed them once they stepped in off the street.
"Ah... we'd like a room. Please," he tried in English, to the concierge. "Nous voudrions une chambre, s'il vous plait." Very little reaction. Dammit, he thought, his Tibetan was rusty, and even then he'd learned it in Kashmir ages ago, which was probably an entirely different dialect... ah, well. A little sign read 'Out to Lunch'* from what was apparently the head concierge desk, and the boy sitting in front of him looked as nervous as Aziraphale felt.
"A room," he said, in Tibetan. "Er... Tashi Phentso-la," he added, reading the nametag. The boy lit up and began passing him paperwork.
*The Tibetan equivalent thereof; when it came to the spoken form Aziraphale may be rusty but in the written he was not, having found the usage of the language surprisingly common in many ancient texts. Something to do with a relation between Shangri-la and Heaven, generally.