The building to the left was made of glass, its middle bent in toward the first building, pressing up against it. A triangle jutted out from the glass toward the cylinder, almost like a hand, while it was supported by struts like legs.
Rohan watched me expectantly.
I bounced on my toes. "It looks like a couple dancing!" The glass building had a woman's shape, and looked like she was about to be swung around by her partner. The energy and dynamism in them was astounding.
"Dancing House. Nicknamed Fred and Ginger."
I pressed a hand to my heart. "Stop. I'm not going to be able to leave this city." I made him take a selfie with me in front of it then took one last fond look at Dancing House before we trekked back to Old Town Square, a huge cobblestoned space whose edges seamlessly blended into numerous restaurant patios. The square was anchored by a bronze commemorative statue of some guy standing on a large stone base. Tourist central on this sunny day.
Rohan dodged the many tour operators marching their charges from attraction to attraction. He might not have been recognized but he was certainly noticed. I was shot more than one dark look at my audacity in being with him.
He stopped in front of this crazy clock tower running up the side of a very old building at one end of the square. Two large clock faces, one a swirl of color, the other gold, were adorned with small figures and astrological symbols. "It's a medieval astronomical clock." He checked his watch. "Give it a sec."
The clock began to ring. Two small panels at the top slid open, revealing a parade of moving figures. Saints or something given the crosses some held. Rohan nudged me, directing my attention to the skeleton ringing a bell along the right side of the tower. "Death."
I pressed my hands together by my cheek. "A That's so sweet."
A minute later it was over. Rohan pointed at the twin gothic spires visible behind the small modern art museum at the opposite end of the square. "Tyn Church."
"It looks like the nightmare version of the Sleeping Beauty castle."
"Some say it was Disney's inspiration." He gazed up at it. "It inspired me. I wrote the song ‘Slumber' about it."
One of Fugue State Five's later hits. "‘Trapped in a limbo with no way out but down.'" I shook my head at the first line of the chorus. "Hard as it is to believe, you're a ray of sunshine now in comparison."
"I work my issues out in other ways."
"For which we are all thankful."
His eyes roamed my body like tiny licks of flame. "How thankful?"
My stomach growled before I could reply.
"Feeding time," he announced cheerfully.
It took me a second to get my feet to move. How he switched on and off like that was beyond me. Unless, of course, it was more game playing and didn't matter one way or the other to him.
Reset.
We wove our way through twisted streets, coming out at the foot of the Charles Bridge. Passing under a heavy, dark tower, we stepped onto the pedestrian-only bridge that was thronged with tourists taking selfies, browsing the photo and jewelry kiosks that lined either side, having a caricature drawn, or watching the occasional busker do a marionette performance.
It took longer than I expected to walk its length. "Malá Strana," Rohan said, waving a hand at the neighborhood we found ourselves in on the far side. "Lesser Town."
The architecture here was astounding as well. I could have happily wandered the streets for hours staring at the old church spires, red tiled roofs, and arched windows, but Rohan had a specific destination in mind. We entered a nondescript hole-in-the-wall. Dimly lit with rickety wooden tables and chairs, the restaurant was bustling with locals.
Rohan pulled off his knit cap. A lock of hair flopped into his eyes, so he raked his fingers through, pushing back the curl and tousling his hair further.
A harried waiter showed us to the last table, crowded into a back corner. He tossed down a couple of menus.
Rohan handed them back, checking with me. "Did I do well enough the last time I ordered for you that you situationally trust me to do it again?"
"Sure. But if you disappoint, you will be killed."
"Svickova." He held up two fingers. "I'll also have a Pilsner."
"You want a beer?" the waiter asked me.
"Lemon radler." Rohan looked horrified at my order. "Some of us are concerned about getting our daily fruit content," I said.
"Oh no. Not even you can convince yourself of that."