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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And they remained averted. Would do, until she told him otherwise. "I suppose, ma'am, that you're in...Luceti."

His rough Yorkshire chords struck across the soft name. It felt so wrong. He disliked articulating it.

Edited 2012-03-14 15:59 (UTC)

"Where?"

She struck the ground with cold bare feet and winced a little. Okay, walking anywhere like this was going to suck.

"Luceti, ma'am." He shrugged his great coat off his shoulders. She would need it, he suspected. "It's a strange tale. And you seem as new as I was yesterday."

Molly noted the removal of the jacket, guessed who it was for, and immediately approved. Still, she approached him a little cautiously, in part due to the uneven wood ground on her bare feet. "All I know is that I just woke up here. And that I suddenly had wings and this--"

She gestured with her journal towards him.

Be warned, Miss Molly. The greatcoat was exactly that. Great. He held it out to her without looking at her.

"Aye. Same happened to me. Apparently, it's a sort of dungeon-town. I can't explain the wings. Be careful of'em, though."

At somewhere near 5"11, Molly was no shrinking violet. The coat would probably very nearly fit. She took the coat automatically with a small, "Thank you," part of her brain still very much occupied with dungeon-town.

Dungeon. Town.

Wow, they could write books about that one.

And you know what, she'd much rather read them then be in them.

She settled the coat around her shoulders carefully, wincing a little as it brushes her still-sore wings. "Okay," she said, still thinking about it and signaling him that it was all right to turn around.

He spun. Slow; regimented. Glad to see her not swimming in the grand jacket. It left him in his shirtsleeves. He didn't mind.

"They left you up in that tree, did they?" Stammer. He went for the obvious.

Upon closer inspection, Molly decided that she had been "rescued" - if providing a coat counts as a rescue - by a handsome man in his... late twenties? It was hard to tell without directly looking at him in the eye, which of course, she wouldn't for long.

"At least it had a ladder. Getting down without one would have been - ouch."

Especially in this dress.

An enterprising man would've come along to catch you, he thought. Believed. Would swear it to her but...alas, he wasn't sure quite was sort of woman he was talking to.

"And they didn't give you any shoes," he noticed. Sympathetically. He hadn't cared about his own barefootedness yesterday. But today? He cares a lot for hers.

Knowing Harry as well as she did helped Molly pinpoint exactly what that voiced observation meant, as if the coat wasn't enough of a clue. He was one of Those Types - the ones with chivalrous inclinations. She had a feeling he'd help her if she asked, and lost and confused as she was, she very probably would.

But she had a thing about taking advantage of Those Types, which meant she would be very careful about how she went about it.

"They didn't give me much of anything," that's said wryly as she draws his jacket closed a little further. "Speaking of - who's 'they?'"

"Our keepers," he said. Using the terms given to him by a helpful young woman. "I'm afraid I don't know much about'em, yet."

And then -- as a sort of litmus test: "There's a bl--awfully long guide in that there book, miss. Mayhaps you'll care to read it."

Did she read?

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)

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