TESTING STUFFS NO POASTY PLEASE

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Felipe sauntered away from the pair, taking the chance that they wouldn't attack him as soon as his back was turned. Not in front of all these people. Not when their plan was still safe. He sort of hoped it didn't include killing anyone he liked; that would be disappointing. If they were planning on offing the prince, well....he hated to say it, but maybe the world would be better off. That man was nothing but a pathetic excuse for a human being. The Duke, however, now there was a man worthy of everything he had. They had been friends for awhile now--ever since the business that occured between Nicolao and Felipe's father, the pirate captain of a ship that had captured Nicolao's merchant fleet. They had a tactful agreement between the two of them, and by extension many of the other pirates that traveled in their circle respected the Duke. He was something like a King of Pirates; he was off limits, and the pirates helped to protect. It wasn't just a monetary thing, it was genuine comradeship between Felipe and the Zerbino heir. Thick as thieves; it was the best way to describe them. He was glad to see his friend had joined the party finally, and was motioning to the seat beside him. Bowing mockingly he slipped into the seat with relative grace.

"Good afternoon, sir. I'm glad you could make it to the party." It was amazing to be able to slip into their native tongue again; he had not met anyone here that spoke his language, and so it had been a relief to be able to converse with the Duke. "Well, Dezi, have I missed anything important while I was…While I was oversleeping?" He pretended to think about his answer before responding, but he really didn't need to. Right now was not the time to tell the Duke; and honestly, he wasn't sure he ever would. Zee didn't need to be dragged into these little intricacies. Sometimes there were situations that were not a place he belonged, and this was one of them--best to keep his friend's name clean while he could. If things got bad, maybe he would tell him, when he needed help and absolutely couldn't handle it on his own. It wasn't likely to happen, but it was always best to have a back-up plan if you were going to engage in a dangerous dance like this one. He didn't know his enemy well at all, and that made his situation even more dangerous than it would normally have been. It only took him a few moments to hink about it, and he shrugged as he drummed his fingers slowly and methodically on the table top.

"Nah, no worries Zee. Just the same old routine. New occassion for me, I suppose, but you must be accustomed to attending parties and luncheons and brunches and the like. Are you going to get any food, though? I'm a huge fan of this cook, whoever they are. And free food, of course. You know, a lot of people are very particular about their foods. I'm not. I like all the cultural inspirations; someone once told me the food of Arcandus is bland, but it's just another kind of richness of flavor if you give it a chance..." he sighed. Felipe had a tendency to ramble on when he was thinking about something--the deeper the thought, the more frivolous the topic. "I am glad you could make it though; I was sitting all alone, you know." he said reproachfully, though he was obviously joking.

"So, I saw you talking with, what’s her name? A'Sibylla? And her knight friend as I walked in. What was that about? New conquest?" It seemed it was Nicolao's turn to tease. He shifted in his seat, wondering again if perhaps he really ought to tell Zee now--but he decided against it all over again. This room, filled with the two devils from Al-Saruna--it was not a good setting for disclosure of these facts. "Oh yeah, well, you know....she's exotic and she can't stand me. You know I like what I can't have. As for the knight, he just keeps getting in the way. Hates me, you know? Just a bit of fun playing about though." he gave Zee a look, hoping that he wouldn't ask any more question just right now. He was glad for a chance to change the subject when Nicolao continued on with a statement bringing up the gypsy. "I could have sworn I saw you checking out that Tayla before though. She reject you, or are you trying to grow a harem now?" He scratched at his temple, grinning and chuckling to himself.

"Ahh, yes......the gorgeous Natayla...." he sighed, leaning back in the chair and lacing his fingers, resting them over his stomach. He stared off to the ceiling, bringing up an image of the beautiful young gypsy from his homeland. Tayla was a fiery spirit, though she didn't often express it he knew there was more beneath that maid exterior. She seemed so familiar; sometimes he thought he knew, but then he would realize he had no idea where they could have met before. He'd heard she had spent only very little of her childhood in Mytera, so it was rather far from possible that they could have met that way. No matter, he would figure it out eventually--he never forgot a face and it was rare for him to forget the history that bound them together. A shadow crossed his lap and he looked up to see the Al-Sarunan knight, Ranajay. Ah, so I see they've finished their conversation. Delightful. Wonder what he wants right now? He felt suspicious. As he had previously thought, it was unlikely they would try anything here in the open, where the Arcandus guards would be on them in a second. He spotted the lethal young bodyguard of the Carinthian princess, who would probably be on Ranajay quicker than you could say "holy crap". He grinned and shrugged at the duke sitting beside him.

"Let's go." he commanded, seeming very sure that Felipe was just going to jump up and follow him to wherever he wanted to go. He obviously didn't know Felipe very well at all. Scoffing, Felipe dug himself further into his seat. "Sorry, sir, but I only agree to clandestine meetings with women. I hate to disappoint, but I'm not interested, mano a mano." Ranajay gave him an odd look--it had a frantic anger to it that was rather akin to a rabid animal, the sort that put you on edge because you weren't sure just what they would do the moment they snapped, but you knew it wouldn't be pretty. Just to play along, and because his curiosity got the better of him, he followed Jay off to the side, though he made sure to stay within view of everyone--especially the duke. "Wellll...." he drawled, rolling his eyes and acting extremely impatient. "Here I am, what was so important that you had to take me away from my friend? Well, get on with it man, I haven't got--" he recoiled as his words were rudely interrupted by the bony knuckles of a fist as they connected with his face.

The sound of a fist connecting with a nose, blood began to dribble down his face. In a split second he had an insight; he had to play this up, or people really would get suspicious that he had done something to provoke it. He fell backward, and shouted in alarm. He put a hand to his nose, and it came away fingertips sticky red. "Oh my--you hit me!" he exclaimed loudly to capture everyone's attention. "You mad beast! Get away from me!" He scuttled back a few inches before hauling himself up, stumbling some steps away from Jay for added dramatic effect. To tell the truth, the punch had not hurt quite so much, though his face was certainly throbbing. He didn't think his nose was actually broken; it had happened before and it generally hurt a lot more. He definitely had split his lip on his teeth, though. Ahh, well, it was time to sell it.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

SIRIUS BLACK

To be honest, Andy looked a mess; mascara running through the streams of tears, her eyes red and glistening with the continual issue of tears. But it was a beautiful sight; though he pitied her the despair she must be feeling, to see something other than irritation or seriousness was a blessing in disguise. To see her, all the barriers between them cut down. To see her humanity, some weakness. He felt a little bad wanting to see her weakness, but it wasn't that he wanted to feel superior to her or anything--he just wanted to know that she wasn't this marble statue up on a pedestal. She just sat there, staring at him until he approached her, and she offered him the first smile he'd seen in weeks. He refrained from making eye contact because even if she couldn't tell it was him underneath the glossy coat, he felt guilty for deceiving her all the same. He was content to just sit at her side and provide the physical comfort he could, in the only way he could. He imagined what would have happened if he had come as Sirius--probably she would punch him in the face or something. Not that he didn't deserve it in some small way; he had treated her rather poorly lately. Though perhaps it is a bit too egotistical to believe that I had anything to do with her breakdown...? he was hesitant to admit fault in any situation, so it was a big step for him to even consider it.

He decided he really enjoyed having his ears scratched, and he resolved to go around as a dog more often. It was like getting a massage! He leaned against her, pushing his head against her fingers. That was when she began to open up to him. Even if he couldn't voice his opinions and responses to everything she said, perhaps it was for the best anyway. He carried out a conversation with her in his mind, however...
and it went something
xxxxxxxxxxxxxlike this...


“You’ll keep my secrets, right? After this, I’ll be okay, I can pretend this never happened, at least I hope so.”
xxxEr, well yeah I guess...who would I tell, anyway? And pretending it never happened isn't very healthy, you know, Andy.
"She got drunk, when I was little…all the time."
xxxWait...she? Who are we talking about?
"I guess it was easier for her to ignore something so inconveniencing when she was drunk."
xxxOoh, you know what, I think I just got it; you must be talking about your mother? Yeaaaah....I've got a mum like that. Kindred spirits, us...
"And now she goes and sends me this letter, full of complete bullshit. 'I love you, I love you more than the world'."
xxxAh, so that would be what happened. At least it wasn't a curse, my mom has sent me those before. Count your blessings.
"Maybe I'm being stubborn, or stupid, but I just can't do it. I won't do it."
xxxWell, it's a tough situation....I wonder what I would do if my mom sent me a letter like that....my brain would probably explode, actually.
"Not to mention that I haven’t the guts to talk to Sirius."
xxxWait--why are we bringing me into this?!
"He’s got a pretty new girlfriend, who hates me, but that’s not unusual."
xxxAhem, ex-girlfriend, thank you very much. And yes, she did hate you, didn't she? Yikes.
"When I kissed him, it was great. You know, the perfect moment."
xxxWell....I'd blush if my fur wasn't in the way. You weren't so bad yourself ;D
"Practically ran away from me, the second afterwards, as if I was the plague."
xxxThat's what you thought? It didn't have anything to do with you--well, not in that way at least. I'm sorry, I didn't realize that's how you had felt...
"This whole thing, though—all of this, is his game—he wins, every time."
xxxWhat game? I might have played games with you many times in our friendship, Andy, but never like that. But yeah, I do win every time, huh?
"So I’m pretty much not even allowed to feel hurt, because I know what I was getting into."
xxxOkay, now see, these are the kind of secrets I didn't want to hear. I'm pretty sure I'm never supposed to hear these kinds of secrets.
"But, God, I miss him."
xxxUHHHHHHHH. I'm not sure I know how to respond to that...
"I never thought I’d admit it, but I miss talking to, joking around, teasing, fighting with, even just seeing the infamous Sirius Black.”
xxxOh, well.....that's all right. That's okay. That, I'm comfortable with....I'd go back to that in a second if you just asked me.
"Where did you come from, huh?"
xxxEr....time to make my escape, methinks.



In a rare moment of psychological insight, he observed that perhaps part of this reaction was his fault--that the anxiety he had placed on her shoulders, with what must have been a lot of needless analyses of his behavior leading to self-doubt, all of it building up--the stress of it and the catalyst of the letter from her mother, bringing back all those feelings from her past. It would've been too much for anyone to handle, and a lesser person would have broken down completely. She might be crying, but she was strong, and he knew Andy--she was overwhelmed but not defeated. Though he knew it would take further consideration on her part he knew that she would sort this situation out and come out on top. He felt guilty all over again--a rather new sensation for him. Not that he had never felt guilty before, but he usually tried to avoid accepting any kind of blame--and guilt was just a different form of admitting you were wrong about something. He felt guilty for a different reason this time, though, than in the past; because he had, in a way, tricked her into telling him things that she would never tell Sirius Black in a million years, and some of the secrets she departed to him made him feel a bit uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how he felt about knowing how she felt about him--though he was glad she missed their previous weird sort of friendship, because that was what he missed most as well. He wasn't ready to make any assessment of romantic emotions, however. He'd rather stay away from those for now, it was safer that way.

He had no idea that her childhood had been so hard, but he wasn't going to give her any pity or special treatment. His life hadn't been all sweets and flowers after all. At least it seemed that her mom didn't actually hate her, like his mom. There was absolutely no way she would ever change her mind about hating him. She had never been particularly loving in any way, and a reprimand meant harsh punishment. She used torture as a training tool. No, that woman was certainly the devil. That was an entertaining thought; if that was true, he really was devil spawn. Pity wasn't something that he had ever wanted--it made you feel shameful and weak, and if Andy was anything like him she wouldn't have appreciated nor wanted his pity. Support and empathy, perhaps--that was how he and James had become such great friends. They didn't really talk about Sirius' family, except for when James got that look on his face that spoke of the shared thought they had of how wonderful it would be to take revenge on people like that. James would smack him in the arm and tell him to lighten up, go break something, it would make him feel better. To be honest, it did most of the time--knowing he had someone who genuinely wanted to spend time with him and had his back, that was worth enduring all the piteous glances. It also was the reason that he understood and respected her decision not to share her past with everyone--it just wasn't something that was easy to share. It was easier to pretend like nothing got to you. The toughest people were usually the ones with the heaviest hearts, and the funniest people often had despairing souls.

Everyone had their own defense; you just did what you could to control your world.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪ L A T E R ▫ T H A T ▫ N I G H T

Pacing back and forth in his room, Sirius looked like a mess. His hair was ruffled and sticking up in all directions from continual tousling as he absently scratched his chin. His tie was pulled to hang loose around his neck, shirt unbuttoned at the top, and his shoes discarded and lying beside his bed. He was more unsettled than that time they had kissed out on Hogwarts Grounds at night. It was so long ago; their relationship was so much like a rollercoaster. When they had first met, they were neutral acquaintances. Then, they had become enemies. They had become something like friends that constantly were trying to annoy each other, compete with each other, and trample the other into the ground with each passing chance. That had changed as of recently, where they had crossed the boundary from hate to love, with the kisses and the heartfelt comments and serious moments. Then, they had gone from everything to nothing. Not even acquaintances. Ex-friends, ex-enemies, ghosts. Just ghosts. Now what? He knew he couldn't seriously stay away from Andy for forever, that wasn't his style.

Once a girl walked into his life, she often turned around and left right away. He never really realized it, but Andy had been a consistent part of his life for all his past Hogwarts years, and that was impressive--she'd lasted longer than he'd lasted with his mother (he didn't count the years after he turned 6 and she stopped playing the role of mother). Now that she was gone, he really felt like something was missing. Somehow along the way she had become just as important a part of his life as James. He realized that he wasn't prepared to have to deal with losing such a good friend, though he certainly didn't want a relationship beyond that with her. At least not yet. Well, maybe he did. He wasn't really sure. Was befriending her even a good idea? Should he just walk away? Every other second he would have an epiphany and follow it up with doubts and contradictory thoughts.

Sirius Black was not the type of man to stick with his decisions. He was constantly changing his opinions and repealing his decisions, always changing his mind and second guessing himself. He was also the type to plunge into something without a moment's consideration, impulsive and inconstant. He knew he could never be a good boyfriend, and sometimes that didn't bother him and he didn't even want to try; sometimes it made him feel depressed and inadequate, as if his future was bleak and destined to be lonely because he could not change his ways. Despite all this, he did know that he had to do the right thing; he had to resolve things between himself and Andy and at least try and fix the damage that he had done. Even if they were never anything more, he still wanted them to be friends.

He didn't get much sleep that night as he lay awake with his mind running at full speed.

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

xxxxxxxxxιes rσses eт ιes ρrσмesses ❁
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Lounging in the silken folds of her luxurious bed, Isra realized she was awake and there was nothing else to do about it but get up out of bed. It had been almost a week now that she had been back at her parents estate in England, leaving her beautiful penthouse apartment and bustling city life in London for the serenity of the countryside. Although she did love living in the city, there was something magnificent about the countryside. The person that said life here was slow and calm, however, never met her mother. She had urged Isra to come out as quickly as possible to help her plan the birthday party. And by plan, she meant attend dress fittings, because by the time she arrived almost everything was set in motion. All that was left to do was complete the decorating and food. Invites had been sent (luckily she had emailed her mother's assistant with a list of her own friends) and with her dresses finally made, this was the morning she had been waiting for. Isra had always held a child-like enthusiasm for her birthday--she didn't generally love throwing parties for socialites, but her birthday was different. The entire day felt special, and nothing her mother did could drag her mood down, not even if it meant that every meal she would lecture her about how she was growing old and needed to find a husband as quickly as possible. Mother isn't fooling anyone, she mused as she pulled her slippers on and stood up. She next pulled a fuzzy white robe over her nightgown.

I know why she wanted to throw this enormous ball. That was the only word that described it well--a ball. There were so many people she didn't know on the invite list, but she had seen that there was a chunk of all-male invitees, and that meant one thing. She's hired a match-maker, hasn't she? she sighed as she entered her bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth before going down to breakfast. Normally her mother demanded that she dress before dining at any hour, but today was her birthday--and she wasn't going to get dressed until she was ready. After running fingers through her hair to settle it so she didn't look like a wild animal, she made her way down the spiral marble staircase, passing by a few servants who gave her hidden looks of curiosity, she hummed to herself as she walked into the dining room, head held high and looking like a queen in a fur-trimmed cloak as she smiled defiantly to her mother and took her seat at the long mahogany table. A servant arrived to pour her a glass of water and orange juice, and hand her a vitamin. She downed it and half the glass of water, and so the servant refilled it for her. "Darling, don't drink your water so fast." her mother admonished with an upper-class drawl of a curious mix of a British and Russian accent. She responded with a small smile as another servant settled on her plate a bowl of mixed fruits and some toast with a very light spread of butter. She frowned, but knew that someone had given instructions that she was to have light breakfasts. Since she did love fruit and toast, she didn't argue and tucked in while her mother began to go over the plan for the day.


→ → → → → → → → T I M E → → S K I P → → → → → → → → ❤

It was just an hour before the guests would be arriving for her party. Her mother had arranged a dramatic entrance for her once a majority of the invitees were arrived, so she had longer than just an hour to prepare, which was convenient considering everything that had to be done. There was no skimping on the expenses for her mother, who had hired a hairdresser, make-up artist, manicurist, and diverted several servants to the task of helping her get dressed, coiffed, and beautified. There were many layers to her dress, and she felt like a veritable princess with attendants in tow. After a shower, she sat in her underwear and bathrobe as her nails were painted and her hair styled--a bit of a loss, she thought at first due to how short her black hair was, but she was delighted none the less when she looked in the mirror to see the woman had managed to make the style look completely different. "You are a magician, madam." She received nothing but a smile from the woman, who was too polite to agree, and to conscious of her talent to feign modesty. The servants stepped forward with the different layers to her outfit. First was the sheer stockings, then a slip, followed by the dress itself. It was marvelous, all black and white silk with a side swept ruffle that left one shoulder exposed. The hem of the skirt fell just above her knees, and she sat down as a girl stepped forward to place black high heels at her feet. Thanking her, Isra slipped her stockinged feet into them and extended her legs to admire the sheen on the polished shoes. Next was jewelry, and they came forth with pieces for her to pick from. Going with her favorite pink diamond and silver ring, pink and silver pearl bracelet with a heart clasp, a ring her grandfather had given her, black ribbon earrings, and a black and pearl choker necklace, she settled back as she slipped on the rings and bracelet and the make-up artist stepped forth to work her magic.

After an hour total, she was ready and prepared to make her entrance. Unfortunately, she had to wait for her mother's pre-prepped schedule, which meant lounging about for half an hour. She walked along the small bookshelf in her room--in London she had an entire room dedicated to books, and there was an impressive library here. This little shelf was her very favorites, so that as a young girl she could just grab a book and jump in bed and read before she went to sleep. Now it came in handy; she ran a finger along the worn and well-loved spines before settling on a retelling of some Arthurian tale. It was done in a style for young adults, but no matter how old she grew she always loved going back and reading it. It wasn't dumbed down, just recounted with vibrant settings and eccentric characters--and lots of humor. It always made her laugh! She sat down on her bed and leaned back to read. Sooner than she expected, the thirty minutes were up and a servant poked her head in the room and asked Isra to follow her. Sighing, she marked her place and set the book down on her bed. She glanced at the mirror as she left, and prepared herself mentally. Time to make her entrance. She had manged to convince her mother not to make her do a speech at the beginning, or to be announced by anyone--but she conceeded to arriving after almost everyone else. It was the little victories that counted. She marched behind the servant and pushed open the heavy oak doors to the ballroom, greeting the people as she moved through the room to find her place by her mother. She was stopped many times to converse with people she had not seen in a long time; old friends, family friends, and family members alike--to be introduced to strangers, and make new acquaintances. When she finally met up with her mother, she told her that her job was to mingle. Go talk to everyone, make new friends. "Why, look at that handsome young fellow. Did you know, his father is the duke of--" she cut her mother off with a curt glance, and set off in the opposite direction.

She would make friends, but in her own time.

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

outfit

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

POST

“Hold on a moment! I will be there soon!” A concerned voice called out, and he saw the delicate Arcandian princess rushing toward him at the fastest pace she could manage. He almost laughed; she was so comical without trying, her clumsy nature contrasted with an innocent naivety paired with a compassionate heart made him almost feel guilty for pretending to be hurt if it resulted in her exertions to help him. It really did look worse than it felt, but he wasn't about to let this opportunity to improve his image pass by. Also, he liked interacting with people in interesting situations, and this was certainly an entertaining situation from his end. Jay probably did not feel the same amusement. As Winnie began wrapping the fabric around his head, a slightly strained smile belied the fact that he was desperately trying not to laugh at how serious she was. She had no idea what she was doing. The bandage was stretched every which way across Felipe’s face, and he felt rather like a mummy. Winnie had wound it around his throat, then over his nose. She tried to wrap it over his nose once more, but jammed her fingers into his eyes. “I AM SO SO SOOO SORRY!” A hand flew to press against his eye, which was immediately tearing up. Okay, now I really am injured. he noted with further amusement. He dropped his hand and hesitantly opened the other eye. He flashed her a reassuring smile--he wanted her not to freak out, because the last thing he needed was the protective ambassador to come over and ruin his style. She yelped and stood up, calling for help. “Use your gypsy magic to heal him!” Confused, he wondered who she was calling for. As he stood up, he saw Natayla making her way over at Winnie's summons.

“I’m sorry for stabbing your eye. Can you still see alright? Oh, was a frightful day this has been. Why did he punch you, good sir? That knight does have a strong arm, doesn’t he. Oh! What a horrible, horrible way to end an engagement brunch!” He didn't offer her much of a response, but a small frown crossed his face as he saw the red stains on her palms. "Please, your highness, allow me." He spoke in measured tones, calm to help reduce her anxiety for his well-being. His pride was suffering more than anything else, but that too would not last long. He caught her hand up and grabbed the extra handful of fabric of his shirt and wiped his blood off of her hands. "I apologize for sullying your hands. Would someone be so kind as to fetch the princess a damp cloth to clean her hands?" he asked in general, hoping one of the servants would go and fetch something for her. A small smile crossed his face as she turned on Jay, her innocence was endearing. She could not think of anything that would cause Jay to punch Felipe? Well, he supposed the foreign knight put on as good as show as he did for everyone. "Do not be too cross with him, your highness. I suspect he believes I slighted the Princess A'Sibylla. I was remiss in my manners; I forgot that etiquette in situations with royals is much different in his country as it is in my country. I did not mean to offend you, sir knight, please forgive my ignorance." a small smirk was shown only to the knight as he stepped forward and bowed. "Hopefully we may start over, and you can show me the correct manner of conducting myself in the future. I would be beholden to you, sir." He straightened and turned back to the princess.

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

"Elia." A light smile graced Leela's face as she leaned out the window. "I had one sale so far. Things won't pick up until later. How are you, ready for your show?" Elia shrugged one shoulder, a small smirk on her face expressing the fact that she felt today like she felt every other day: a neutral kind of contented 'blah'. "Yeah, I'm ready to get it over with. I need to come up with something new, I'm getting bored with my routine now. It just a pain because it means I have to submit a whole new routine to Mr. Trout and wait to get it approved. You'd never think to find bureaucracy in a circus, but I suppose it worms its way in everywhere across the world. I bet even civilizations that don't use paper have some form of bureaucracy. You just can't escape paperwork." she grinned, trying to make a joke. She leaned her back against the wall and stared out at the crowds milling about. Leela was right; there wasn't much foot traffic going on right now because it was too early. There were a couple families out with their kids, most of the parents looking tired and the children exuberant and ready for a full day of excitement. "I suppose during my lunch break I could try and work something up. Any requests?" she grinned at Leela, referring to the fact that most of her act was fitting herself into unusual objects such as suitcases or boxes and the like. It was hard to choose a new item; it had to be of a certain size and shape to be believable for a normal human being to achieve, and yet interesting enough to be spectacular. It was more difficult than it seemed.

"Elia, I made a potion earlier, would you mind trying it for me?" Turning around again so she was facing the booth, she arched a brow at the prospect. "Ooh, is it a new one? Of course. I'd love to. What is it?" she waited, drumming her fingers excitedly on the window counter as Leela turned around to search for the bottle. She turned back and handed Elia a small glass vial filled with liquid; she took it and held it up to the sun to watch the sunlight refracted through the glass and liquid. It looked beautiful, but she had a feeling it was possibly dangerous. If she was asking her to try the potion, it wasn't because she just wanted to give Elia something--her words implied some sort of experimentation upon Elia. Either it was a new potion or she just wanted to see the effect of a familiar potion upon a non-human being. She didn't know which option sounded better, but she wasn't the type to pass up something exciting just because of a vague possibility of repercussion. It was the first magic she'd ever really come in contact with, too, and that was also exciting. She slipped the jar gingerly into her clutch purse and heaved an eloquent sigh. "Well, thanks Lee. I gotta go get ready for my performance! I'll stop by later today and let you know how the potion goes!" she laughed as she walked away, waving behind her without turning to look back again.

She dreaded her performance each morning--it wasn't the standing up in front of everyone that bothered her, she didn't mind the audience even if she wasn't exactly always looking to be in the center of attention. She didn't like being forced to get up and do a routine day in and day out, it became work and not pleasure as it had once been. As she approached the tent, she spotted Zepher talking with Pierce, the firebreather, and Jae, the resident ghost. She waved and called out to them. "Zephe-riiiiine." She closed the distance between them and cast a smile to Pierce and Jae--she knew of them, naturally, and they had talked before, but never much at length. She had a tendency to not seek out people. Not because she didn't like them but because it simply was not in her nature. She certainly had her moments of being a conversationalist, but generally she stuck to those she was friends with already. "How was your act, you two?" she hadn't heard what had happened yet in the tent. After stopping for awhile to greet them, she checked her watch--she had to be on her way. "All right, well I've got to get a move on. I'm up next, and I need to get my costume on!" she made her goodbyes and headed off for the changing rooms, though she paused a moment as she glanced back over her shoulder at the sound of a voice that sounded like bells. Shaylee went skipping by, friends in tow like ducklings, and she shouted out to Pierce and Zepher that they weren't invited. Invited...to what? She wondered, then shrugged and went on her way.


T I M E >> SK I P >> HER >> SHOW

She stood in a triumphant pose on stage, sweating slightly under the lights and from the physical exertion. Holding the pose until the curtain dropped, and then she let her arms fall to her side. "Augh!" she exclaimed, wiping the sweat from her brow with the towel someone backstage tossed her as she walked to the dressing room. All of her outfits were relatively skimpy; they had to be skin-tight with as little amount of extra fabric as possible, but stretchy enough to allow free movement. It had to feel like just a second layer of skin, or it would be too distracting. This outfit was more like a dusty pink leotard than anything else, and she wore sheer leggings underneath. Although she wore heels as she entered on stage, she always took them off while working--just a hindrance. At first Trout had wanted her to wear spectacular outfits, without understanding how her powers worked. When he had realized that it really did affect her skills, he allowed her more simple versions. She felt naked and exposed sometimes, but at least her performance took her mind off it. She didn't feel like everyone was focusing on her so much as what she was doing, and that certainly helped. She had seen what happened when Kassi took the stage to sing, and at least she didn't have a sea of men shouting lewd things at her. Showering quickly to clean herself up, she donned her skirt and blouse, fixed her hair and make-up, and then set out to go and get her lunch.

She had about a half an hour before she had to go and meet up with one of the siamese twins, Zane Alders, for their jointly-run booth. Hopefully, the more amiable of the brothers and her good friend Chad, would meet up with her for lunch. She hadn't seen him yet this morning, and she wondered where he was off to. She didn't have many real friends here at the circus, except Chad. Zepher was a friend, and Leela was a friend, but she didn't feel as close to them as Chad--probably because she hadn't known them as long, spent as much time with them, nor did she have Zane as a foil for the others.
lunch break w/ chad? ~
works on a new routine....

As for Zane, although there were some people she hated (such as Lore), no one got under her skin like he did. He knew how to push all her buttons, and although she was prone to mood swings as a natural part of her personality, just the thought of him was enough to ruin her good mood. Not that she thought he was a bad person, he simply applied his talents in the wrong way. She hated to admit he had any good virtues, but it was easier when he wasn't around to ruin everything. Sometimes he was funny, and he was fairly good at his shapeshifting, though he is certainly not as talented as I am. After all, wasn't it she that had the solo shapeshifting act? She who could change her entire body. She who taught the unicorn Troy to master his skill. Armed with the self-knowledge that she was better than him in every way, it reinforced her defenses.

as she goes to meet up with him, thinks about how she hates him
when they are working together she's like FML
'zane i hate you. see this luck potion? maybe today's my lucky day, and an asteroid will fall on your head and kill you. finally.'
drinks it; turns out to be a love potion!!
"SPEECH"
THOUGHT
"NPC SPEECH"

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

❝ think you've seen it all? think again. ❞


xxx▷▷▷▷▷▷▷▷▷▷
xxxw i b b ly w o b b l y t i m e y w i m e y
OUTSIDE THOSE DOORS
WE MIGHT SEE ANYTHING.
WE COULD FIND...


"So long." he waved to a group of Martians while just barely restraining himself from completing the offhand good-bye as a quote from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He was on top of a mountain range on the inhospitable (to humans) surface of Mars after having just spent a week among the locals. It had been their mid-summer festival, one of the most unpronounceable things he had ever heard before, and he had heard some doozies: Rewk'tcwrijeasoi. Luckily, not only did he have a great love of learning new words in other languages but the TARDIS translated everything for him, so he just sort of winged it and hoped it worked. So far, no one had gotten annoyed at him. He had never been here during any of their festivals, but it was something he had looked forward to experiencing. The Martians were extremely hospitable peoples despite living on a world that was incapable of hosting many other species without special equipment. A group of people stood around the TARDIS, waving goodbye to him and trying to force some food on him for the travel. He politely refused and quickly made his escape. He was pretty sure he had never eaten so much--it contended easily with the feasting he had experienced in Ancient Rome. It might not have been pleasant, but the vomintorium was an interesting concept: emptying your stomach contents to prepare for the next round of food--he certainly could use some purging right now, before he exploded. He had never heard of it happening to a Time Lord before, but that certainly didn't mean it was impossible.

The first time he had ventured into this solar system, it had been in search of intelligible life. He didn't often have to look far, for his definition of 'intelligible' was quite broad. There were a number of planets and planetoid objects, moons, asteroids, etc. There had been a surprising number of hospitable planets with atmospheres for such a small solar system, and he had systematically visited each and every planetary object orbiting around this young star. There wasn't much that captivated his interest for long on most of the planets (aside from his scientific inquisitiveness, of course) excepting a few. The most remarkable by far, however, was Earth. He had arrived in the early 1960s, England. Ah, but he had been much younger then. And much older. The inconstancy of a Time Lord; you could never count on them to look their age. Despite the fact that he was over 900 years old, he had every appearance of a human male in his late thirties to early forties. Less than a century ago, he had held the appearance of a grandfather in his late sixties. Through the regenerations, he grew younger and younger. He had allowed his appearance to grow older to see what it was like--both personally and socially. Reversing the aging process was easy enough with his successive regenerations, and that was interesting too--growing younger in visage as he aged in years. When your lifetime spanned the millennia, it was easy to grow bored with yourself, so some change was necessary once in awhile.

Although sometimes he just got tired--tired of the succession of days, tired of losing his friends, tired of running, tired of the world moving on around him. One thing he never got tired of was traveling. His home was the TARDIS, now that Gallifrey was gone, so wherever he went his home came along too. The wonders of the universe were open to him, and would fill the rest of his life with activity and wonder. It was impossible to be bored when an entire universe lay at your feet. He had seen over a thousand different planets at various times in their chronological timeline, met hundreds of thousands of people, and he still knew he had seen not even ten percent of what was out there. He was really a people person, preferring to interact with others--instead of experiencing just the dramatic landscapes. There was something to be said for humans; they were the most impressive species he had ever met with. As he stood on the deck of the TARDIS he decided he would take a trip to Earth now. It had been awhile since he had been back there. He climbed up the spiral staircase to the TARDIS library. He had an extensive collection from all the past years, building up an impressive library and closet full of memorabilia. Some of it was useful, some of it wasn't. He pulled down a heavy leather-bound tome. It was one of hundreds of similar books lined along the wall, delicate words etched in gold along the spines. They were in impeccable condition, and there was one book per decade, all record of world history events on Earth. He had picked at random, dropping the volume on a table. He flipped it open to a random page, closed his eyes, and jabbed his finger at a random point on the page. It was the year 1888, the year London was set afire by the Jack the Ripper killings. He wasn't generally one for morbidity, but the moving finger had writ. Who knows, maybe he'd find out the answer to the millenia-old question: who was Jack the Ripper? The man was devious. All their technology in Earth year 5000, and they still had no idea who was behind it.

He replaced the book in its place on the shelf and fairly jumped down the stairs onto the deck. "To London, then!" his voice rang out, echoing off the metallic walls, accentuating the emptiness. He ran around the control board, flipping some switches, pulling certain levers, and pushing a bunch of buttons. The whirring sounds of the working technology began, and he grinned to himself as he maintained the coordinates. As everything settled down, he tugged on his long brown coat and pushed open the front doors. He stepped out into the brisk cold air of London. Stepping away, he noted that the TARDIS was nestled in an alley way. He shuffled out to the main street, taking in his surroundings.

"Newspaper, if you please." he handed the boy a coin that he had left over from his last trip to Victorian England. The young child handed him the newspaper he had been displaying, and picked up a new one and began his vocal advertisement again. Sitting himself down on a public bench by the side of the streets, he opened up the newspaper to take in the front page. His first mission upon arrival to a new place, especially in earth's past, was to make sure of the date. "December 12th...1887." He frowned, doing a double take at the printed date. "Wait, that's....ah." his confusion cleared as he realized what had happened, to be replaced with slight disappointment. I'm over a year too early! Here I was hoping to see if I could find Jack the Ripper... He shrugged; his hobby as a private investigator would have to go unsatisfied for now. Working the TARDIS was a precise science that he had never really bothered to learn much less exercise. In dire circumstances he could figure it out, but mostly he just hoped it got him to the exact time he wanted. There was bound to be something interesting going on at any rate, and often the TARDIS seemed to choose its exact landing point of its own volition--usually something required his presence, even if he didn't get any notice from the psychic paper.

After leafing briefly through the rest of the newspaper, he stood up and tucked it under one arm. He took off down a random set of streets, deciding to just wander about and take in the sights; the architecture, the stench, the people, the clothing, the wealth, the poverty, all the bustling activity that spilled through the narrow winding streets of this dirty, lively city. He took a deep breath; the air certainly wasn't as bad as it had been in New New York in the underground highway, that's for sure. He had had to breath in the toxic fumes, thick as fog, when he was trying to find Martha. As he meandered through the lanes he took a little stroll down memory lane. Even earlier than Martha; Rose. They had come to London many, many times in different eras, and it was always hard to stifle memories of her. She was off in an alternate universe with an alternate Doctor, happily living a life full of love, action, and constancy. Here he was, doing the same thing he had done for over five centuries; wandering alone, so alone, despite the hundreds of people surrounding him for miles. He didn't know why he did this to himself; sometimes he would return to the places he had visited with his past companions. All of them, lost to him--some were gone forever from his reach and some remembered nothing of their escapades together, but no matter what--they had all moved on. The world continued on and the Doctor always stood in one place.

He heaved a sigh, tearing his thoughts away from the dramatic, self-pitying turn they had taken. This wasn't what he wanted to do; spend his time wallowing in depressive thoughts. Save the memories for later, he was here in a new day. Shaking his head and smushing his face about with his hands, he cleared his throat and his mind. He whistled and tucked his hands into the pockets of his pinstripe pants as he walked, earning him a few open odd stares, but the crowds were thinning out and there weren't so many people lounging about in the streets. He wasn't sure where he was going to or what he was going to find, so he just went wherever his feet took him. He found himself wandering through the outskirts of the town. He realized why he didn't completely recognize this part--because he'd never really been here before. There wasn't much going on, but he heard a muffled exclamation coming from his side; it wasn't anything to worry about, the sounds were mostly happy. He turned and stopped in front of the cozy house nestled in alongside its neighbors. He quirked an eyebrow; it was not the many voices shouting in unison that baffled him, but the odd sensation that crept down his spine and left him bemused. On a whim, he pulled out the psychic paper and flipped it open. He nearly dropped it on the ground, but his eyes were locked in horror at the paper.

Written in smudged blood was a single urgent word:
hidehidehidehidehidehidehidehidehidehidehidehidehidehidehideH I D E

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT


xxx◁◁◁◁◁◁◁◁◁◁
xxxw i b b ly w o b b l y t i m e y w i m e y
NEW WORLDS AND
TERRIFYING MONSTERS
xxximpossible things

❝ if you come with me...nothing will ever be the same. ❞

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

❝ ʀɑρuɴɀεʟ, ʀɑρuɴɀεʟ, ʟετ doѡɴ τʜɣ ʜɑiʀ τo ϻε ❞
▅▅▅▅▅♔▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

ℬlinking in the sunlight that streamed through the slit of a window, a young woman awoke to the familiar surroundings of her small stone chamber. There were cloths and tapestries woven by her own hand adorning the walls, meant to keep in the warmth. A petite dresser stood against one wall and a small table with a basin stood in a corner. At the foot of her four-poster bed lay a heavy wooden chest, and next to the bed was a small set of shelves that held a minor assortment of books. Sitting up, she stretched and pulled aside the blankets of her bed and pulled on her slippers before stepping out onto the chilled stone floor. She took up the candle that perched in an iron holder set into the wall. She blew gently on the wick, which took light. A small smile graced her face as she replaced it--the magic never grew old. The witch had provided for her throughout the years, bringing her whatever she asked for. This candle was one of four--three stationary in each of the rooms, one that she carried about with her. The candle wax never melted, the wick never burned, and the flame never held any heat. The light it cast was brighter than any normal candle, because this was not a normal candle--it was magic in its entirety. Aside from the candles, everything in this tower--and even the tower itself--was provided by the witch who was her guardian, Galiena. Every day she came to check on Rapunzel and bring her supplies--food and embroidery thread, cloth and needles, and most importantly...books.

In the yellow glow of the magic candle she sought the one that stood free upon her dresser. She drew it up and lit the flame, then proceeded to wash her face in the cold water of the ceramic basin. After washing up, she changed out of her night gown and into a white linen shift, pulling a simple brown gown over the shift and began pouring a wash onto her hands and running her fingers over her scalp, working it into the roots of her hair. Like any other young girl she had her very own morning beauty regimen. Rapunzel, however, was not a normal maiden of any kind. Not only did she live isolated from the world in her high tower, but her hair was so voluminous and long that she had to plait it into two braids and twine it thrice about her head and twine it again before it could be gathered without dragging too far on the floor behind her. She was currently wearing her hair in multiple braids all knotted up and in a bit of a mess. When she had finished getting dressed, she took up the candlestick and moved out to the hallway. This tower was about six stories tall, and two of them were taken up with her rooms. She had her tiny bedroom that shared the floor with a small kitchen, and the top floor was where she spent most of her day. There was no window in the bottom floor except for the small slits to allow for circulation of air, but there was a rather large window in her sitting room. It was what served as the 'door' for the witch; on the window sill there was a metal loop. She would feed the braid around the loop to secure it and allow her to pull back on her hair so it didn't rip out of her scalp as the witch scaled the stone wall. She made her way into the sitting room, and picked up the sturdy comb sitting on a side table by the doorway.

She sat upon her cushioned stool and systematically brushed her hair, combing out all the knots from her golden tresses until they shined. She wove them into separate plaits and then wound them into a crown that sat pinned atop her head, a sculpture of fantastic proportions. Her hair was so voluminous that it literally stretched for yards, and if she had let it down it would stretch around the room twice. Her hair didn't naturally grow that long, although she had never had it cut in her entire life. In order to aid it in its length, the witch provided her with a potion that she was required to rinse her hair with during her morning ablutions. It helped her hair grow faster and stronger, kept it clean, and helped prevent knots and breakage. The witch didn't care a fig about any of the obstacles that Rapunzel encountered when trying to live out her every day life with all this hair dragging behind her, so long as it was convenient for Galiena. It weighed enough that her neck muscles were sore from holding her head up, like walking with a stack of books atop your head. It took a hundred hairpins just to keep it all in place, and several yards of ribbon to help keep it from dragging too much on the ground. She sometimes left her hair in simple braids, no artful hairstyling, but not often because it was too difficult to handle if she left it piled about her.

Once that was finished, she picked up the book she had started yesterday. It was a historical narrative about the ancient Romans. It was highly interesting, and she was glad to have read about their deities previous to picking up the tome, because otherwise she may have gotten a bit lost. The wording was a bit odd and archaic, and it was in Latin, but she had studied multiple languages in her youth to occupy her time. Greek, Latin, and French. She didn't always read informative books, however, for she really preferred fiction. Stories with princes and dragons, princesses and goblins, anything exciting and romantic. Books were her one salvation, keeping her days from becoming so monotonous that she wanted to toss herself out the window. This room held everything that helped tick away the hours; her sewing, a loom, and shelves stretching along an entire wall, floor to ceiling, brimming full of books. She had a desk that held an inexhaustible inkwell and never ending roll of parchment. There was a drawer in the desk that housed all of her notes. She liked to write down her thoughts after reading a book, and it helped greatly when she was learning a new skill or language, or when she was reading a book (such as this one) that had so many characters it was difficult to keep track unless you took notes. After an hour's reading, she set down her book and carefully arose so as to not disturb her hair, and descended the small staircase to the kitchen. She sliced extra pieces off of a loaf to add to her meal, and took it all up on a small wooden tray to break her fast in the sitting room. There was a small table that she set her tray on, and a stone cut bench at the window. She knelt on the cushioned bench and stuck her head out the window, leaning on the sill as she slowly ate.

She took a deep breath of the sweet forest air, scented with pine and leaves and soil. The sunlight warmed her skin, and she hummed to herself as she chewed. She noticed two spots circling closer, and with an exclamation of glee she turned back into the tower room and grabbed the extra slices of bread. she began to crumble them on the sill, and she mimicked the bird-sounds that they would understand. A blue jay alighted on the window sill, standing on the metal loop. It cocked its head and tweeted at her. "Why, good morning Billie!" she exclaimed, and he hopped around a bit before leaping down onto the stone. He didn't begin to peck at the crumbs--instead, he looked at her and twittered. "Hey. Hey hey! Rapunzel, good morning! Are these for me? Can I eat some? Hey." He sounded like a child, hopping from one foot to the other, trying desperately to restrain himself from attacking the crumbs without politeness. With a smile, she nodded. "Yes, of course Billie, enjoy your breakfast." Rapunzel wasn't completely certain if she had gone insane--it was entirely plausible, from an objective point of view. Being isolated and without any companions, you lost your ability to converse if you didn't practice it. She had started off talking to the walls, pretending there was someone else sitting in the room. Then, one days, a bird came to her window; she had been singing as she brushed her hair, and it had stayed, tweeting in its little harmony. She had fed it some of her breakfast, and it returned the next day, and the next, and then one day it spoke back to her. They were joined, later on, by another bird and a squirrel. They claimed that the magic rubbed off on them after awhile. There was so much magic power invested in this tower, that it affected anyone in contact with it long enough. She accepted this premise without question, because it suited her greatly.

She never finished her breakfast all at once, preferring to nibble on it throughout the morning as she did something else. She fetched her embroidery and began her stitching. She was working on a handkerchief for herself, with a pattern dusting of stars surrounding an R, all in muted golds and pinks and browns. She heard a scrabble and a chirrup and glanced up to see a squirrel pulling himself up onto the sill. He flopped down on top of some of the crumbs, getting them stuck to his underbelly. "Oh, Sebastian. You should be careful! It's dangerous climbing up the tower." Sebastian merely sat up and began cleaning himself off, eating the crumbs. When he was done, he addressed her. "What, am I not supposed to come up here? Is that your way of saying 'Sebastian, please leave us alone'? I like climbing up here!" She bit back a smile, knowing that if he had been a child he would be pouting up a storm right now. "Of course not, Sebastian. I just don't want to fatigue you on account of my selfishness." mollified, he made short work of the rest of the bread sitting out. There was a derisive snort shortly followed by a fat brown swallow. "Fran! How kind of you to visit." although the other two were much less formal, Fran the swallow was much older than they and had pretensions to civility. "Please, join us in our meal!" she gestured to the bread, which was mostly gone by this point. "Move over." She spoke in cultured tones, though it was needlessly spoken. She alighted upon the metal loop, her personal throne. "You cannot expect me to share in the dregs of their meal!" she harrumphed, and so Rapunzel took up more of the bread and crumbled it to the other side of the metal loop. "I hope that is agreeable to you, Fran." she spoke in all seriousness. It was easy to tease Fran, but she didn't do it often. She liked all of her friends, despite their faults, and she knew that Fran liked all of them--even if she never seemed to show it, her continual presence here showed that. "Hey, hey. Rapunzel, sing us a song!" Billie stared at her, waiting. She cleared her throat and improved her posture, and tried to think of a song. When none readily came to mind, she decided to wing it and create her own song. She started softly and then as her song swelled, she leaned out the window to gaze around the landscape surrounding her in the distance. Her song was full of desperate hope, all of her desire to see the world outside.

In a flurry of feathers and fur, her friends dispersed crying out a non-verbal warning to Rapunzel, whose song stopped short as she withdrew out of reflex. The words that wafted up to her were so ritualistically familiar that she did not even have to see who it was. She leaned out the window as the witch called out "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair!" Sighing, she pulled out all of the pins and ribbon, threading her hair through the metal loop and then tossing it down. It just reached to the ground when unbraided, and she took hold of her hair above the loop to help resist the tug on her scalp. She felt little pain as the witch labored to climb up the tower. Once she was in, with a flick of her hand Rapunzel's hair was up in its usual style. It was so easy for her, everything was so easy. Rapunzel stared at her with a wary gaze as the witch circled her, inspecting. Rapunzel had tried many ways to escape, from weaving a ladder to cutting her hair. Scissor blades broke on her hair, and when her weaving got to a certain length it stopped, and the loom no longer would work. The witch had punished her for all of these futile attempts, mostly by derision and verbal attacks, sometimes by withholding something she needed or wanted. For a couple days after one failed attempt, Rapunzel had been without the candles, and that was enough to keep her from attempting any more. She had given it up, but she was not broken. Just waiting for an opportunity to arise.

She handed off a large basket to Rapunzel, and she didn't have to peek inside to divine its contents. Food and water, soap, more potion, a new book, and some more embroidery thread and cloth. She thanked the witch in monotonous tones, and waited until she left. That meant having to undo her hair again, thread it through the loop, and go through the entire process again. She put the basket off to one side and began the process of combing out her hair again. She sat by the window this time, staring out the window with a longing expression on her face, going through the repetitive motions of brushing her hair without paying attention to it.


"SPEECH"
THOUGHT

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

❝ think you've seen it all? think again. ❞


xxx▷▷▷▷▷▷▷▷▷▷
xxxw i b b ly w o b b l y t i m e y w i m e y
OUTSIDE THOSE DOORS
WE MIGHT SEE ANYTHING.
WE COULD FIND...


It was highly unusual. No, more than that, it was, to his knowledge, impossible. An impossible event. My three favorite words. he observed with bitter irony. What the Doctor was referring to wasn't the presence of words continually drawing themselves upon his previously blank piece of paper, erasing themselves to be drawn again. The fact that it was written in blood; he gingerly touched a finger to it, and what he hoped was red ink stained his print-less fingertips. He hesitantly licked his finger, and then scraped his tongue against his teeth in an attempt to get the metallic tang out of his mouth. It was blood. Not only was the psychic paper generally only capable of retrieving thought missives and projecting images into other people's minds, but when it did so it was wholly insubstantial, something that you saw because your mind told your eyes you saw it. In reality, there was nothing ever written on there. This message, however, was real. It was so real that it boggled his mind. He had never heard of anything like this happening before with psychic paper, and he wondered who had left the message--and why in blood? It was all too morbid for his tastes, although it did promise an interesting adventure lying ahead.

His personal drama was interrupted by some shouts, though his attention was not immediately engaged. Usually quite perceptive and quick to respond, this odd occurrence with the psychic paper had startled the Doctor enough to throw him off his game. "Señor, I do not wish to bother you but by the time my son pulls his winter things on she'll not only be hurt but frozen." He heard a pleading voice that crackled with age, and he looked up to see the pitiful scene of a young child on the ground in the snowy yard, held in the arms of (presumably) her grandmother who was wearing a beautifully fabricated gown in a style traditional to this era, but with fashion elements not indigenous to this local area. The motion she made to grasp the locket around her neck did not escape him, but he didn't have the time nor inclination to dwell upon the manner of her dress and the child's tears caused him to come to his senses. "The gate is not locked, could you please help me get her inside?" Her attention was drawn off of him, but his attention was now fully engaged by them. He snapped the little wallet holding the psychic paper and slipped it back into an inside coat pocket. He rushed over to the gate and pulled it open, not bothering to snap it shut behind him. "Please señor." She looked up at him, helpless in her worn joints and restrictive dress. He knelt down beside the girl and smiled at her. "Hello there. I'm the Doctor. Let's get you inside..." he gently slid his arms under the crook of her knee and around her shoulders, easily hoisting her up into his arms. As he cautiously climbed the steps up the porch and into the house, surreptitiously sliding his screwdriver into his hand to allow it to work its magic on the door--the latch clicked and opened the door on its own, allowing him to pull it open with easy application of the toe of his trainers. Nudging it open further behind him, he entered the house. "What is your name?" he asked the girl, attempting to keep her distracted from her tears.

She sniffled, staring up at him. "C-Carmen....you're a doctor?" She didn't smile at him, just stared. Sometimes children unnerved him...out of all the humans there were, children were the most complex. Impossible to fathom. Another young girl and a young boy stood near him, and he stood awkwardly with their sister in his arms. "No, I'm the Doctor. Capital letter D." The boy frowned at him. "The Doctor? Doctor who?" Ah, yes, of course, one of his many nicknames, though perhaps not the most heroic it was a constant question in his life. "Just the Doctor. That's my name." He shrugged as best he could. "Where should I bring you then, Carmen?" Silently she pointed through a doorway, and he walked toward it. He was not a particularly muscular man, and although she was as light as any other child, the weight in his arms was beginning to tire him out. Soon he wouldn't be able to hold her at all, and he didn't want to just put her on the ground. "That's a weird name." He heard from behind him. Always appreciative of candidness, he responded with equal frankness. "Yes, I suppose for normal people it is. Why, what are your names?" He asked without turning. The two children trailing behind him barely had time to respond with "Francis." "Karin." before he almost collided at the foot of the stairs with a man who was attempting to pull on his coat as he skipped a few stairs. Stepping back so that he didn't ram Carmen into the man, they recovered themselves and the Doctor suddenly found his muscles tensing briefly as the girl's body was lifted out of his arms and into those of the man that must be her father, who was glaring at him as if he had personally kicked her in the leg. "Who are you? What are you doing with my children? Where is my mother?" He asked angrily, stepping backward from the Doctor to place his daughter on the welcoming cushions of the couch.

The Doctor merely arched an eloquent brow, but didn't have to say anything. Francis pushed forward. "Papa, he's the Doctor." his tone was one of someone who held superior knowledge--another thing that fascinated him about human children. So capable of impertinence and inconstancy of opinion, they could contradict you one moment and then turn around and tell someone else your argument as if it had been their own. "Oh? How did you get here so quickly?" The Doctor grimaced. This was a common mistake, assuming he was a medical doctor. Not that he couldn't, with the right instruments, engage in similar skills--but he didn't have an extensive working knowledge. He did know a fair bit about minor wounds, however--a knowledge he absolutely needed for all of his escapades. It was hard to avoid getting hurt when you sought out adventure and trouble like he did, and although he healed rather quickly he often had other beings alongside him that did not. He plucked his glasses out of his chest pocket and slid them onto his face. Squinting, he walked forward and with a "May I?" proceeded to carefully pick up the girl's leg without waiting for a response. After firm but gentle prodding and more than a little whining complaints from the girl, he ascertained that it was nothing more serious than a minor sprain of her ankle, something that would heal in a few days if given rest, ice, and elevation as well as support. He unlaced the shoe she was wearing and carefully pulled it off so as to not irritate the over-extended musculature. "She'll be fine in a few days. Fetch me some bandages and I will bind her ankle to help give it support. She should not walk on it for awhile. Apply ice, or I suppose snow, wrapped in a towel every once in awhile to help numb the pain, and keep it elevated above her heart. Prop it up on some pillows as she reclines." he sniffed, even impressed with himself, and stowed his glasses away. "She's just sprained her ankle, nothing too serious. Just remember to watch where you place your feet and lace your boots up tight, Carmen, and you'll be fine in the future." he grinned. Now that he had time, he glanced around the room. Her father, whose priority was making sure Carmen was okay, turned to the Doctor and held out his hand. "Thank you, sir, for helping my daughter. My name is Alessandro. Alessandro Silva." The Doctor quirked a smile and grasped Alesandro's hand. "I'm the Doctor." As they dropped hands, Alessandro looked at him, confused. "Doctor....who?" he inquired, and again as the Doctor opened his mouth and drew breath to answer, Francis provided the response for him. "No, not doctor, Papa. His name is Doctor." Ignoring his son's words as childish folly, he stared at the Doctor, still waiting for his answer.

"He's right. I'm the Doctor. Capital D and all that." He took a deep breath through his nose and allowed his gaze to travel around the house. There was something that made his hearts pick up their beat, and he tried to conceal his curiosity. He didn't know what was bringing on this feeling of anxiety, but as he lingered in this well-lived in room he felt something akin to an atmospheric pressure closing in on him, stifling his breath and quickening his pulse. It wasn't enough to outwardly affect him, but he was beginning to feel restless. There was something strange about this place, something...not right. There was a familiar presence like the ghost of a friend at his back, a song devoid of sound striking the nerves in his spine, a niggling sensation, a feeling that felt like the sound of a fizzing drink. He was pretty good at working through things, so until he could try and figure out what was going on he pushed the feelings aside. He smiled around the room at the people gathered there. "I was passing by, looking for a friends house. I think I went to the wrong square....but I'm glad the mistake happened if it means I might have been of help. It looks like you were having a party! I hope I did not interrupt..." he tried to fish for information as subtly as possible--and small talk was a surprisingly lucrative approach.

"SPEECH"
THOUGHT


xxx◁◁◁◁◁◁◁◁◁◁
xxxw i b b ly w o b b l y t i m e y w i m e y
NEW WORLDS AND
TERRIFYING MONSTERS
xxximpossible things

❝ if you come with me...nothing will ever be the same. ❞

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

ℐt was late one afternoon, as Rapunzel sat singing to herself at the window, wen she heard the dulcet tones of a young man--his voice projected to carry to her ear. She set down her needlework, surprised. Glancing about herself, she realized it was coming from outside. Leaning out the window to look down below, her eyebrows flew up toward her hairline and her jaw dropped. Lips parted to form an "o" she stared at the strange sight. A real human male! No one visited this tower except for the witch, and aside from descriptions in her books, she knew not what a man looked or sounded or acted like. She had naturally met her father, but that was before the years that her memories took hold--this, however, was not an old man. He was young, and though it was far away he seemed pleasant enough to look at. She had nothing to compare him to, and she had fancied herself in love as he shouted up to her. He introduced himself as a Prince Richard, and as he began to serenade her, she leaned her elbows upon the rough stone and stared down at him, her stomach fluttering. Knights and guards and servants came into sight if she turned her gaze from the Prince (which for the first few minutes she was loath to do)--such a momentous occasion in her life that it would forever be imprinted upon her memory. There were at least ten in his retinue, and that didn't include anyone that may be just out of her sight--they had different colored hair, different clothing--the knights wore armor that gleamed silver in the sunlight, a phenomenon that caused her to squint as it directed the light to her eyes. They had brought with them horses, and she could hear the faint noises as they whinnied, neighed, and stamped their feet. Oh, how she longed to join them all, so small down upon the ground like the dolls she had played with as a little child. They still sat in the bottom of her trunk--they had never served as her replacement friends and family but their own little social circle. She would control their actions, but to her they always had each other; and she was always the one on the outside, looking in.

So here she stood, leaning out the window and taking in this life-changing moment. She had never been completely content with living in the tower, but in recent years she had become desensitized to the desire to escape. Giving it up as futile, she had ceased bashing herself against the bars of her cage early on. She had never accepted her situation as permanent, however, and a volatile energy simmered just below the surface, waiting for an opportunity to unleash itself. She came to the sudden realization that perhaps the prince could help her, though she wasn't completely sure how just yet. She didn't quite trust him completely--she knew from her reading and philosophical contemplations that trusting without caution was a dangerous way to go about your life. If this was her one chance, she wasn't going to let it slip out of her hands for lack of caution on her part! Through her circumspection she began to pay close attention to the people below her. She watched their habits, most especially the prince; though at first she had been dazzled by his presence and attentive demonstrations, she quickly saw through his vacuous words. His oblivious stupidity amazed her, and she needed the stone to prop her head up to keep it from slamming on the stone sill from falling asleep out of boredom. She had read bad poetry before, but this...this took the cake. He had never met her, didn't know what she looked like, and didn't know her personality! "And yet he presumes to know me well enough to produce this...drivel dedicated to my supposed features! What a boor." she commented, smiling to herself at the half-hearted pun. With a sigh, she decided she could no longer stand listening to him, much less waste time sitting at the window watching him.

After about an hour, he finally left, taking his noisy men along with him.


------------------------ O N E ----- W E E K ----- L A T E R ------------------------

What had started off briefly as a thrill soon became an irritation. One week passed by, and now she considered the Prince a common nuisance. She was beginning to wonder if she ought to let him up just so she could sort this out, face to face--Or perhaps fist to face. She giggled at the thought; how violent! She had never been violent before. There was no need! All she knew was that she was annoyed and frustrated enough that if he ever came near, she would give him a piece of her mind, and all the knights in the land couldn't stop her from repaying the favor ten-fold back to him. She sat waiting for the witch absently brushing her hair. They went through the same routine, and the witch commented on how distracted Rapunzel seemed. Not wanting to converse with the witch any more than was necessary, she omitted the visits by the prince. She didn't want to give away anything that could help her in the future--she was certain that the witch, armed with that knowledge, would do something about it. By force if needed, she would drive the Prince away--and for a moment after she realized that, Rapunzel almost told her, but her spirits sank again as she admitted that it wasn't worth potential harm to another human being just for her mental comfort.

What she didn't know was that this was all part of the witch's plan.

Later that day, the Prince and his retinue arrived. Again, he stood at the foot of her tower and began to attempt to lure her out with his vapid poetry. It was a little pitiful that he had written them himself. “OH HEAVENLY MAIDEN! BEWITCH ME WITH YOUR SONG!” With a groan, she appeared in the window. Her hair was still down, and it tumbled over her shoulders framing her face like a veil. "I begin to wonder if he will ever give up." she sighed, feeling as though her ears would begin to bleed. If it had been her, she would have given up a long time ago. She had given him absolutely no encouragement; this was probably the first time that he had seen her since the first day. At this rate, she didn't care if he would help her escape--if it meant having to spend more than five minutes in his presence then it wasn't really worth it. "Oh, horrible horrible noises! The squealings, they don't stop!" an irritated high-pitched voice chattered at her side. She looked down to see that Sebastian had joined her on the sill, having woken up from his nap in her cloth scraps basket. "Oh, Sebastian...I just don't know what to do." she said plaintively. "I don't know how to get him to go away. Any ideas?" the squirrel cleaned his fur carefully before answering. "I know, I know. I'll make him scatter." and with that he made his treacherous descent. She leaned over to watch him, focusing intensely on the small furry blotch that shrunk as it descended. The prince threw his arms up toward her, continuing his sappy soliloquy. She wondered just what Sebastian was playing at. He had said he would take care of it, and yet the prince was still there, conversing with his men. All of a sudden, the prince shrieked and dropped his useless peacock feather which he had been waving about like a madman. “NO BEAST SHALL EVER STOP ME, FAIR MAIDEN!” A hand flew to her mouth as she let out an unmaidenly giggle as she saw a brown flurry scampering back to a tree and into safety.

Oh, Sebastian! I hope he is as flaky on his promises as he looks... and with that she retreated to her kitchen to make her dinner for the evening, beginning to wonder if she'd have to throw down unpleasant things upon his head before he would leave. She simply couldn't understand why he came back, day in day out. It wasn't as if she was even a princess! No dowry, no title. Nothing to attract a prince save the promise of a legend...


❝ ʀɑρuɴɀεʟ, ʀɑρuɴɀεʟ, ʟετ doѡɴ τʜɣ ʜɑiʀ τo ϻε ❞
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This morning had started out like any other. She woke up, ate breakfast, read her book, practiced her french, and was about to start her sewing when the witch Galiena arrived. She suffered through another visit from the witch, who again asked her if anything was amiss. Glad that she could answer no (the prince had not come yesterday) she was beginning to grow irritated with being questioned. After the usually short visit, the witch left, and Rapunzel picked up her embroidery to work on another handkerchief. She didn't have the patience for long, laborious projects with embroidery--that was one craft that she expected immediate gratification for a finished job. Weaving was different--just a little each day and you could see the progress. She hummed to herself, Billie feeding from the crumbs she had scattered out for him. She set down her embroidery after awhile and picked up her brush to fix her hair.

Just as she was beginning to braid her hair, she heard a voice call out to her. "RAPUNZEL! RAPUNZEL!" It sounded urgently. She was more than surprised; this was highly unorthodox. Normally there was nothing for the witch to forget, and no reason for her to return. A bit confused and worried that something was wrong or she was somehow in trouble with the witch (perhaps she had found out about the prince!) that at the request of “LET YOUR HAIR DOWN!” she immediately un-braided her hair and threaded it through the metal loop, pulling it all through and tossing it down over the ledge without looking at who was standing below. She felt the heavy tug on her hair and she began to pull up on her hair--it didn't help too much, but it was better than nothing. The person climbing up was certainly not as swift as she was accustomed to, and that was her first clue that it might not be the witch. She was not quite ready to accept that as a fact until she had seen the person, but she slowly began to draw her hair back in as the person scaled the wall. She didn't want to have her motions restricted because her head was nearly stuck against the wall. Her hair was half in as the figure pushed himself over the sill and tumbled into the room. He seemed to be a bit out of breath--she wondered if he was physically incapable of exercise. She had no idea how much energy it took to climb up that wall by her hair, for the only person that accomplished the task was the witch--who had practice and magic on her side to help. The young man seemed to be preoccupied with something so he hadn't even met her. She was initially indignant because of this lack of propriety, the omission of politesse--to say thank you, and hello. Instead, he leaned out the window--she wondered what it was that he was running from, how he knew her name, and everything. As his attention was taken, she reeled her hair in slowly until it was fully inside the room. “HIIIYAHHHHHHHHHH!” She was almost surprised to see Billie coming to her rescue, but she was glad for the extra distraction--and the display of friendly loyalty. He slammed his small body into the stranger, who stumbled back a step in surprise. “Who are you?! What are you doing here?!” Billie flew about his face, buffeting him with his small wings. It would have been a comical situation if she had not been so frightened. She wasn't about to smash him over the head without recourse, but she wasn't going to stand there like a deer caught by a hunter. She slowly edged away and picked up the stool she had been sitting on. If need be, she would attack him before he attacked her. Perhaps she had read one too many adventure novels, but any man in close quarters with a young woman was never a good combination. “Why are you being so rude?” he retorted, waving his hand to try and get Billie to stop attacking him. “Hey! Watch where you wave that thing!” Indignant, he flew back to perch on her shoulder. She took what in her mind was a warrior's stance, though she had never seen even an illustration of one. She attempted to look fierce, something that was not very well achieved, and brandished her stool like a lion tamer. He seemed harmless enough, but you could never trust a handsome face.

“I just climbed all the way up there! And someone had let down the hair for me.” He seemed to recall that he was, in fact, in the room with another person. He did not take notice of her immediately, which she could forgive him for--his gaze traveled over her voluminous hair, which sprawled messily about the room. She had not taken pains to arrange it nicely--priorities had to be in order when an intruder was about, after all. She narrowed her gaze as she sized him up with an untrained glance. “Nice hair, madam. Allow me to introduce myself, Flynn Roeland.” She paused, her expression relaxing a bit though she did not put down the stool. She dipped into the semblance of a curtsy, graceful despite the cumbersome hair and stool working against her. “And who might you be, my fair lady?” he asked, and she couldn't say she wasn't pleased. He seemed to remember his manners, and he was really quite charming--not at all like the Prince had been. She had not seen the prince up close, but already she could tell that this young man was much more pleasant--of face, and hopefully of character. She had unwittingly made the mistake the first time of being swayed by a pretty face and fancy manners and the novelty of the human male. Again, she was entrapped by him though she personally would not admit it. As he spoke, she put down the stool. She was not about to let him walk all over her, however; she did remember to try and not trust him. The look she gave him, however, was just the same sort of look he had cast about when he saw her hair. Keeping her eye on him, she found her brush and began to put her hair into an organized state. It was hard to keep her eyes off him; he was so close, so...different. This was a second momentous occasion for her--to be feet away from a young male, it was--she didn't know how to explain it. Like seeing your reflection for the first time in a mirror, or finding out that a truth you had believed all your life was in fact false. Unsettling and a bit awful in the archaic sense of the word. Her personality struggled to master her shock, shining through in a bit of a quip.

"I believe you already know my name, sir. The real question is why are you here?"