Re: Petty Squabble [ROUND 1] [Fort Ayers, New Atlantis]
07-03-2011, 02:18 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Een.
There had been lots of very official-sounding questions posed to Nancy when she interviewed to be a secretary at the New York City police department. They wanted to know, how swiftly can you type? How would you rate your skills of organization? And so on. But Nancy quickly learned that these weren’t the sorts of questions they should have been asking. The interview should have been composed of queries such as, do you have a strong stomach? Can you handle the notion of your coworkers being in incredible danger on a daily basis? Can you keep your tears down at their funerals? Can you walk properly in high-heeled shoes?
They should have asked, because in response to all of them, Nancy would have said yes.
Especially to the bit about the heels.
Good lord, could Nancy Little get around in heels. She proved it now as she skittered down the halls, led by John Smith, her sleek black Herman Delman shoes click-clacking noisily as she went. She hadn’t minded his rough handling of her wrist at first. It was becoming a theme as far as Nancy could tell thus far, what with Six toting her around like a rolled-up rug, and that soldier leading her about with a gun to her back. How much more roughhousing was she supposed to tolerate? It had been nice of Six to rescue her and all, but this was just getting ridiculous. She had no idea where John was taking her, and Nancy had just about had it! What would Henrik have thought, if he saw her scampering around dark corridors with strange men? Nothing good, she sure was. Suddenly feeling rather rebellious, Nancy dug her heels into the floor like brakes on a Chevy and tugged her wrist away from John.
“Quit draggin’ me around like I’m some creep joint kitten!” She shouted up at him, standing on her toes to appear a bit taller, like a startled cat that fluffs out its tail. Though one hand was still occupied by her typewriter’s carrying case, the other was free to point accusingly at John. To make matters even more confusing, she simply couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she knew him from somewhere. His mannerisms and face sang with familiarity, but she simply couldn’t place it. This only served to frustrate Nancy even further, who had, up until this point, handled all of this nonsense pretty well.
“Break it up! What are you, a sharper? Bracin’ some dame like it’s eggs in the coffee! Take a quick tick and spill it, what the heck is goin’ on here?”
Unlike Nancy, John had found little recognizable about his current cohort. Not only was her face as unmemorable as a pack of peanuts, but he had been enough places and met enough people to cover several lifetimes. There wasn’t enough space in his head for an extraordinarily lucky yet exceedingly boring police secretary. There was, however, something familiar about her uniquely twenties dialect. It made what she was saying easy to decipher, if anything:
“Break it up! What are you, a sharper?” Cease this nonsense immediately! Are you some form of swindler and/or con-man?
”Bracin’ some dame like it’s eggs in the coffee!” You are treating a woman you barely know rather rudely, and are acting as though that is an acceptable way to behave.
”Take a quick tick and spill it,” Pause a moment, if you will, and explain our current predicament to me.
He never thought being stuck in the twenties for couple decades would actually turn out to be useful.
Still, he didn’t have time for this woman’s yammering. He and Nancy viewed the world from opposed ends of the spectrum. Where she shied away from danger and excitement, John embraced it wholeheartedly. There was not much exciting about sitting in an empty corridor, theorizing with a silly girl from an obsolete era. Besides, where was the fun in keeping her informed? Watching her flounder and grapple with the situation at hand seemed a much more interesting way to interfere with his new acquaintance.
“You heard the Charlatan!” he replied with a grin, unaware of how little Nancy had been listening during the Charlatan’s little introduction. “We’re supposed to kill each other. Not sure how you’re going to manage that, though, so you may as well stick with me.” John hadn’t been time travelling all of those years for nothing, and he was no idiot. Parsley had obviously survived the explosion, otherwise something would have happened. Unless the Charlatan had been lying about that bit, but there didn’t seem to be any motivation for him to do so. It was reasonable to deduce that so long as they were here, it meant all of the contestants were still among the land of the living.
Which meant John had plenty of time to cause as much of a ruckus as humanely possible. His grin grew more mischievous at the thought and he clutched Nancy’s hand once more, tugging her in the direction of what he thought might be an exit. He’d already bested Parsley once. That game had grown boring. But there was still an entire roomful of contestants just waiting for him on the surface.
There had been lots of very official-sounding questions posed to Nancy when she interviewed to be a secretary at the New York City police department. They wanted to know, how swiftly can you type? How would you rate your skills of organization? And so on. But Nancy quickly learned that these weren’t the sorts of questions they should have been asking. The interview should have been composed of queries such as, do you have a strong stomach? Can you handle the notion of your coworkers being in incredible danger on a daily basis? Can you keep your tears down at their funerals? Can you walk properly in high-heeled shoes?
They should have asked, because in response to all of them, Nancy would have said yes.
Especially to the bit about the heels.
Good lord, could Nancy Little get around in heels. She proved it now as she skittered down the halls, led by John Smith, her sleek black Herman Delman shoes click-clacking noisily as she went. She hadn’t minded his rough handling of her wrist at first. It was becoming a theme as far as Nancy could tell thus far, what with Six toting her around like a rolled-up rug, and that soldier leading her about with a gun to her back. How much more roughhousing was she supposed to tolerate? It had been nice of Six to rescue her and all, but this was just getting ridiculous. She had no idea where John was taking her, and Nancy had just about had it! What would Henrik have thought, if he saw her scampering around dark corridors with strange men? Nothing good, she sure was. Suddenly feeling rather rebellious, Nancy dug her heels into the floor like brakes on a Chevy and tugged her wrist away from John.
“Quit draggin’ me around like I’m some creep joint kitten!” She shouted up at him, standing on her toes to appear a bit taller, like a startled cat that fluffs out its tail. Though one hand was still occupied by her typewriter’s carrying case, the other was free to point accusingly at John. To make matters even more confusing, she simply couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she knew him from somewhere. His mannerisms and face sang with familiarity, but she simply couldn’t place it. This only served to frustrate Nancy even further, who had, up until this point, handled all of this nonsense pretty well.
“Break it up! What are you, a sharper? Bracin’ some dame like it’s eggs in the coffee! Take a quick tick and spill it, what the heck is goin’ on here?”
Unlike Nancy, John had found little recognizable about his current cohort. Not only was her face as unmemorable as a pack of peanuts, but he had been enough places and met enough people to cover several lifetimes. There wasn’t enough space in his head for an extraordinarily lucky yet exceedingly boring police secretary. There was, however, something familiar about her uniquely twenties dialect. It made what she was saying easy to decipher, if anything:
“Break it up! What are you, a sharper?” Cease this nonsense immediately! Are you some form of swindler and/or con-man?
”Bracin’ some dame like it’s eggs in the coffee!” You are treating a woman you barely know rather rudely, and are acting as though that is an acceptable way to behave.
”Take a quick tick and spill it,” Pause a moment, if you will, and explain our current predicament to me.
He never thought being stuck in the twenties for couple decades would actually turn out to be useful.
Still, he didn’t have time for this woman’s yammering. He and Nancy viewed the world from opposed ends of the spectrum. Where she shied away from danger and excitement, John embraced it wholeheartedly. There was not much exciting about sitting in an empty corridor, theorizing with a silly girl from an obsolete era. Besides, where was the fun in keeping her informed? Watching her flounder and grapple with the situation at hand seemed a much more interesting way to interfere with his new acquaintance.
“You heard the Charlatan!” he replied with a grin, unaware of how little Nancy had been listening during the Charlatan’s little introduction. “We’re supposed to kill each other. Not sure how you’re going to manage that, though, so you may as well stick with me.” John hadn’t been time travelling all of those years for nothing, and he was no idiot. Parsley had obviously survived the explosion, otherwise something would have happened. Unless the Charlatan had been lying about that bit, but there didn’t seem to be any motivation for him to do so. It was reasonable to deduce that so long as they were here, it meant all of the contestants were still among the land of the living.
Which meant John had plenty of time to cause as much of a ruckus as humanely possible. His grin grew more mischievous at the thought and he clutched Nancy’s hand once more, tugging her in the direction of what he thought might be an exit. He’d already bested Parsley once. That game had grown boring. But there was still an entire roomful of contestants just waiting for him on the surface.