[ Action, Voice ] Onions have layers, ogres have layers .002

[talentsgirl]

[Today Molly Carpenter is in your community buildings, exploring the floors and kitchens and opening (hopefully unoccupied!) random doors. Why is she doing this? She's not quite settled that Community Building Six is the best place for her and Harry to be, so far away from town, and collect evidence to present her case. Also - hey, strolling down someone's apartment corridor could be a great way to meet people!

And secretly, she's looking for thresholds. It makes sense that there aren't any here - five years, at most, being kept in a place against your will - could that even form a threshold? She didn't know, but it was so terribly contrary to her understanding of magic that she had to investigate.

Later in the day, a series of filters starting at 5 and not working their way up past 15 percent will appear in the journal followed by a voice post.]


[Filter at 5 percent]
Testing, testing... so you actually can do this.
[Filter at 10 5 percent]
Testing... drat.
[Filter at 10 7 percent]
Test, test - man, I thought for sure that would work
[Filter at 15 percent]
Ah-ha! Think I'm getting it now...
[Filter at 20 15 percent]
Test... nope.
[Filter at 20 15 percent]
Maybe this will--
[Filter at 20 15 percent]
Oh, come on!


Hi! So. Sorry if anyone bothered with that. I'm trying to get the hang of this "filtering" thing but it's just not like anything I've ever done before. If a couple wouldn't mind putting up some really low, easy filters in this post against me, I'd really appreciate it. That way I could try to sort of... learn it backwards? Thanks.

Comments

[greenjacketed]

"Oh, don't take it personally. I'm not a man for formal gatherings."

He tucked his sword away against his leg to avoid it tangling with the stool-legs, climbing up as well.

[talentsgirl]

But it was also disturbing to her that she didn't see him there. You'd think one of the few people she knows here would stand out - where was her head? She spoke simply.

"If I'd seen you, I would have said 'hi.'" And then she shrugged slightly, "I guess we missed each other."

[greenjacketed]

A twinge of guilt boiled in his belly. Aye, he had seen the woman across the room but hadn't been sure how to approach her for a second meeting. The men had been much easier when it came to striking up conversation.

"Honest to goodness," he insisted. "I didn't stay long."

Of course, there was a warmth to be found in the slight indication that missing him had bothered her. He selfishly held onto that. "Next time, eh?"

[talentsgirl]

"If we're here long enough for another party?" The more neutral look slid off her face as she tilted her head to give him a sidelong glance. "You'd better believe it."

Clearly, Molly was deeply offended by this oversight. It was indicated in the way the corners of her lips were quirking up.

[greenjacketed]

"A bottle of arack, if you have it," he asked of the bartender before the bewildered stranger sent themselves off to peer at scrawled labels and stamps on boxes. Sharpe glanced back at Molly.

"A'course, don't even have my proper uniform. Let alone a dress uniform."

He had felt rather naked without his shinier buttons on. Not that he preferred the official dress uniform. God, no. But there was propriety and it had to be maintained.

[talentsgirl]

She glanced down his outfit, taking in again the neatly brushed-down trousers and the clean, nearly pressed white shirt. "That must be strange - to be out of uniform."

Her gaze takes on a shade of concern as she briefly lifted her eyes to his. "Do you think it would be better or worse to have it without your-" what was the word? "regiment?"

Was that the word?

[greenjacketed]

"The green jacket is a matter of pride, Molly. My regiment wears British red with yellow facings. South Essex. But us riflemen what are left, attached to the regiment? We're allowed to keep our green."

So no, he didn't need his regiment to wear his uniform. In fact, his uniform often confused those who were expecting South Essex colours on a South Essex officer.

[talentsgirl]

Oh, so. It was personal. She wouldn't ask, then, what she was thinking of - the what ifs. What if his uniform meant something different to someone of a different world? A parallel world? What if it identified him as the opposite of what it was that he was, like with evil!Riker? What if wearing an army uniform just caused problems for him here?

Her left hand momentarily traced a brown whirl on the tattoo on her right hand.

He wouldn't mind. It was personal.

"I've never heard of a green jacket for a British uniform. I always thought they wore red." She bit her lip for a moment before remembering a name, "I think the revolutionaries called them 'lobsterbacks.'"

She considers, a moment later, that sharing this nickname may have been impertinent. Oh well.

[greenjacketed]

Not so impertinent. Not so impertinent at all. "The French call us Grasshoppers. Because of the green, I reckon. Or because we're too bloody fast for them. Us rifles have always worn green."

He shifted to face her and prepared to speak more than he usually did. "We're skirmishers. We don't advance in rank and file, y'see? Fight in pairs -- go in ahead of the British lines and pick off as many froggy officers as you can. Light companies, we're called."

It was a bit like a modern sniper, perhaps. "Green on green is a tougher target to hit than red on green." For, unlike the men in the musket ranks, the rifles weren't meant to be cannon fodder.

[talentsgirl]

Molly nodded, "Oh, I see."

And she did. So she was talking with a front-runner, who engaged the battle before the rest of the army, whose job called for independent decisions. No wonder she felt so comfortable.

"I always thought bright colors for an army uniform were ridiculous." Red. Blue. It might as well have been neon saying 'Shoot me!' "I'm glad that they gave you something with at least some camouflage, if you were meant to be front-runners."

[greenjacketed]

A shake of his head. Privates, he knew, were there to be shot. It was a gruesome affair but that was how wars were won. Men standing their ground and waiting out the bullets and the grazing cannonball.

"Apologies. I shouldn't be talking warfare, anyway."

[talentsgirl]

"What should you be talking about?"

She wasn't aware that there were limits on conversation, but if there were, it was probably something to laugh over. And she was more than willing to do that.

[greenjacketed]

"I imagine your work's less bloody...?"

[talentsgirl]

"Oh God, I hope so," she said, surprisingly fervently and equally impulsively. They were heading in to a battle, as soon as she returned, and the horrors Molly had seen were... significant, but she knew that they didn't compare to what she was about to experience. At least, not the ones she could remember. And Molly insanely, fervently hoped that she would come back with everyone that she went out with on that field.

...but then, saying anything like that would be near to Explaining and... she's not sure she's ready to do that yet. And that's why, not one heartbeat later, she turned to Sharpe, injected a slight impishness that she didn't feel into her tone, and asked, "Why? What did Harry tell you about our work?"

[greenjacketed]

"Detectives. He said the pair of you were detectives."

There was a twinge of...not quite disbelief, but at least uncertainty. Detectives made him thing of intelligence officers.

[talentsgirl]

So it was the standard 'it's not really a lie' cover. Molly nodded. "That's right. Or, well, he's the detective. He has the license. I'm still just learning."

[greenjacketed]

"...Didn't realize a man needed a license for that."

And now Sharpe sat back and wondered how he felt about a lady-detective. His gut reaction? Not bad at all. But then he wondered if it put her in the line of danger at all often and so he considered her for a moment.

And that's when the bottle of arack arrived, along with two glasses.

[talentsgirl]

Oh. Two glasses. She wasn't planning on having much, but it looked like she'd definitely be trying a little of it. What could she have just to keep him company if he wanted more to drink? It was early yet, and she had more to do, but for someone who hardly drank her alcohol tolerance was pretty good.

"Thank you," she said to the bartender with a smile. "If you could check to see if you have any mead back there, that would be great. I'm only going to try this."

The bartender responded positively to that smile, and went back to check. Molly turned that same smile on to Sharpe, "Do you want to pour or shall I?"

[greenjacketed]

"You'd best pour, lass. So none here get the wrong impression and suspect me of trying to get anyone drunk."

[talentsgirl]

"Oh, well, in that case," she opens the bottle and begins to pour it in the glass nearest him. "Say 'when.'"

[greenjacketed]

Oh, he allowed his to be quite generously filled before a soft almost-grunt to signify his when.

[talentsgirl]

She moved back to pour herself just under a finger in her own glass, the small charm on her bracelet glinting with the movement.

"I'm not that much of a drinker," she confessed. "I usually stay away from the harder stuff."

But soon the bartender will arrive with her mead and she'll be able to keep him company.

[greenjacketed]

He eyed the charm but said nothing on it. Yet. God-fearing, perhaps? Or superstitious? Catholic, maybe. Oh -- that made him think of Harper again with a pang in his chest.

"Army gives out rum rations. You learn to like it more than the brackish water left in your canteen after a few days of marching and kicking up dust."

He tilted his glass towards himself and sniffed. Pleased with the aroma.

[talentsgirl]

Molly nodded, swirling the liquid around in her glass before following his example. Huh.

"I guess you'd build up a tolerance pretty fast that way."

[greenjacketed]

"You do or you become the laughingstock of your company."