talentsgirl | [ Action, Video, and Voice! ] Good Golly, Miss Molly .001

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mixing allusions is a talent

[ Action, Video, and Voice! ] Good Golly, Miss Molly .001

[Molly woke up on her side, in pain, and cold.

That's strange. I wasn't asleep a moment ago. Was I?

Also, her brain felt fuzzy. That wouldn't do. Deep breaths, Molly, and she remained still and safe for a moment - movement was a tell, and until she had her focus back she wasn't going to do anything until she was sure she could hide. Then slowly, Molly sat up.]

Woah.

[She was on top of a tree house. In what looked like a tree village, no less. And where the heck were her clothes?]

Let me guess. I'm not in Kansas anymore.

[Molly twisted around to try to see the source of pain on her back, only for bright pink to meet her eye - a single pink wing! With a blue one to match. Oh. Hahahahahaha, this must be a dream. She gave a light tug on one of her wings and the dull pain turned into a shooting one which made her grit her teeth against the sudden flare behind her eyes. OK, girl. The wings stay on. And if this was an illusion, it was a hell of one to sustain that much pain. She glanced around, found, and opened the journal.

Huh.]

...a magic book with my name on it. That's not at all suspicious. Well, I guess I'm already through the looking glass...

Hello, in the book! I'm looking for a white rabbit, he was supposed to give me the time. Or maybe the place? Either way, I'm late for an important date.

[No time to say hello, goodbye... either way, she couldn't sit around waiting for the magic book to talk back. Magic didn't work that way. And it was still here, she could feel it humming but... faint. And very much like it was through a looking glass. Strange.

Either way, she wasn't one to just sit around in a tower - or a treehouse - and wait to be rescued. She held the book carefully opened by inserting one finger in it and closing the book around it in case of a response, not knowing that flashes of video could escape through it as well, and began to make her way down as best as she could in a dress entirely too short for her long legs and thin enough to hint at just how low the thorn tattoo starting high at her neckline curved down. Time to wander the forest in hope of... something. Some kind of clue or direction.]

[Part the Second: Or if you'd rather not rescue/inform a New Feather]

[Clothed in jeans a light jacket, and boots, one tall young lady is poking about all the shops in the square. Maybe you'll run into her there?]

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Molly felt the hackles on the back of her neck raise at that term: 'keepers.' There was nothing good about that word, and every bad connotation she could think of clouded her head for a moment, the strongest one being of the White Court and how they kept people like cattle to...

Focus, Molly.

"A guide?" Her voice was a little high. Breathe. "That sounds useful. Almost downright considerate. Does everyone in here live in tree houses?"

She distracts, deflects while she processed this whole 'kept' thing.

With tentative, careful hands -- rough and powder-burnt as they were -- he reached for her journal. "Nah. There are great houses back in the village. And the guide says...'ere, let me show you."

"Village," she repeated, extending and relinquishing her grip on the book without second thought.

Village. Dungeon-town.

Oh Lord.

"I really have fallen through the looking glass," her eyes were a little wide, but Molly was starting to get her feet under her again. She'd faced impossible things before. She could do this too. After all, she had a good teacher.

Sharpe flipped through the book; it took him a long while to find his way back to that lengthy piece of why they were here and where here even was. He had tried to pour over it, last night, by lamplight as he didn't trust the electricity. But he had been too drunk to make sense of the words.

He pushed the open pages back into her palms. "There. See? It was written by one of the people held here."

Okay, wow. His coat slid off on to the edges of her shoulders as Molly reached out to take hold of the book. "You're right about it being lengthy."

But Molly was a champion reader, had to be in order to keep up with her studies, and so she skimmed it quickly, taking in just the headings and the times and general references... she'll study it more later, but right now just the confirmation that these things were happening -

Drafts, experiments, spirits, school, clinics...

-that was what she needed.

"...wow. This is... extremely strange. Possibly off-the-charts weird."

She took a deep, controlling breath, her chest rising up and down with the depth of it.

Keep your emotions under control, Molly. You're a wizard, you can't afford to freak out. People could get hurt.

And she really didn't want to hurt this man.

Whatever his name was. Okay, wow, rude Molly Carpenter, she could just hear her mother telling her that she had been raised better than that. Charity's mental voice is oddly comforting at the moment, and so Molly turns a beaming smile on poor Sharpe. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean to be rude, especially with you being so helpful. My name is Molly, Molly Carpenter."

"Not rude at all, Miss Carpenter."

He's been on the receiving end of much worse. So he affected a half-bow. It looked laughable without the full uniform, he's sure. "Major Richard Sharpe. At your service."

Edited 2012-03-14 17:32 (UTC)

Major. Okay, so - army? And British at that. But... Miss Carpenter?

"People only call me Miss Carpenter when I'm in trouble," her grin turns wry and inviting. "Call me Molly."

Unless I'm in trouble, but she bite back the flirting banter due to the situation, but it's there, flashing in the corner of her eyes.

You were in trouble. From the elements. From this odd place. He scowled a little and sought the pommel of his sword for some sort of reassurance. Just resting his palm on it. That's all.

"Miss Molly, then."

She gave him a look that signaled she wasn't done talking to him about that 'miss' moniker, but she wasn't about to argue nonsense with a man who had his hand on the hilt of his sword who wasn't her father. She recognizes that tell - familiarity, reassurance, readiness.

Okay, to business, then. "So there's a village somewhere near? Would you mind if I borrowed your coat until I get some more decent clothes?"

"I wouldn't have it another way."

He turned to face the direction he'd come from. "As long as you wouldn't mind the company."

"Not at all," she smiled at him. "Just - excuse me for a moment, will you?"

And then she turned around, giving him her back. There wasn't a lot of this dress to rip, but it was made of fairly flimsy material and Molly was a strong girl.

At least, the hemline was just a few inches short of decent on the Charity Carpenter scale. It would be a few inches short of decent on the Molly Carpenter scale by the time she was done, but she'd have strips that she could tie around her feet for however long the walk back to the village was. And when she was done, she could just button up his coat.

And so the sound of ripping material filled the forest.

He craned his neck a moment. Curious -- and free to exhibit curiousity outside of her sight.

But then came the noise. "Bloody hell, woman. What are you up to?" The sound of it shocked him straight out of his decorum.

"I'm going to make socks," her tone is perfectly matter-of-fact. "Or - moccasins, or whatever wrapping strips of cloth around my feet should be called. Don't worry, I'm not using your coat."

There's no way her feet wouldn't be a bloody, bruised mess after five minutes of walking on a forest floor, otherwise. And she didn't want to risk an infection or not being able to run in a strange place like this.

One last rip and Molly was satisfied with the length of material she has in her hands. She sliped her arms through his sleeves, which flop a bit uselessly as although they're nearly of a height he's still a sight broader than she is, but she shoved up the ends of the sleeves and got to work fastening the coat. She winced when the coat came into more direct contact with her wings, but gritted her teeth against the pain.

Edited 2012-03-14 18:08 (UTC)

Gently, even with his rougher accent: "I could've just carried you, Miss."

That startled a laugh out of her, and Molly turned her head over her shoulder to stare at him, smiling and a little wide-eyed. "Seriously?"

...he did look serious. Oh dear. Um. Wow-but-no. She gentled her tone. "Thank you, but I never would have thought to ask that of you - or anyone. I can walk."

She waved the white strips of her dress at him with one hand. "This will just help."

"I can hardly think of a finer sacrifice for such undergarments."

Because that was what the little white dress was to him, you see. And perhaps he could indeed think of a better sacrifice.

Pokerface.

She wasn't sure she quite liked the thought of him thinking she'd just waved her undergarments at him, but Molly just decides to douse the whole thing with practicality. So she shrugged, "Whatever works, right?"

And after returning to buttoning up his coat, though she does leave the button closest to her neck opened, Molly goes to find a friend log or something to sit down. She takes a moment to settle the coat around her before she does, since the dress is now very short underneath the coat and she wants to make sure she's still sitting on it instead of his coat when she sits... and success!

"You're a resourceful one, Miss Molly."

"Molly," she said, tossing her hair over one shoulder, a cascade of green and blue, so she can look up at him as she bends down to wrap her feet. "And what should I call you, Major Richard Sharpe?"

She did her best not to say it with his inflections. Names - true names - had power. And he had so carelessly given her all of his, she could taste it on her tongue.

Decoum dictated that he remain Major. Most likely. But she was so vibrant, he could barely help himself: "Richard'll do. If Molly will."

A short nod, "Richard, then."

And finishing tying the scraps of cloth around her feet, Molly stands, brushing her hands against the side of his coat in a business-like manner before reclaiming her journal. "All right - which way to the village?"

"I shall take point."

He jerked his head in one direction and began a slow, easy step. Accommodating for her foot situation.

"All right."

This was - better, if not entirely painless. She winced a little. At least his coat was warm.

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wow my typo.

hardly noticed!