[There is a statement outfit and then there is a statement. Rosamund and her medieval sensibilities are stupefied by the strange woman and her skin-tight underwear, the dip dyed hair and the white painted face.
All of which are immediately forgotten when she spots the animal at her side.]
My goodness! What a lovely dog you have! [Rather unusual one at that, but she loves animals! Very very much. It's a princess thing. Rosamund bends to address the creature at once.] Hello there, sweet thing! What's your name?
[ROSAMUND... SWEETIE... if she had a nickel for every time someone called her hyena a dog, she would have two nickels. she isn't going to bother to correct her. bud is a dog now, sure. why not.]
Ain't he just the cutest lil' angel? [cooing. the hyena laughs, snuffling. how close is rosamund getting?] His name's Bud.
[It's near evening, and Rosamund chances a trip to the showers in hopes that everyone's occupied with dinner. She just wants to splash her face a little.
Unfortunately, the room is very much occupied.]
Oh! Miss Harley! [She puts on a tight smile.] Hello...sorry, should I come back later?
[She's been waiting for someone to pass by, bouncing on her heels and taking the woman by the elbow the moment she's in range. As an effect of the planet Rosamund now sports slender doe ears, which twist towards any errant sound or flick at sudden breezes.]
Listen, I know well be taking off quite soon, and there's a chance something terrible might happen tonight, so it's our last chance to relax a little. Right?
[she's currently sporting a pair of doggy ears, which flatten back momentarily when she's taken by the arm — and then perk right back up when rosamund explains herself.]
Oh, hell yeah! [LITERAL TAIL WAGGING.] We may or may not die tonight, but forget about that. Let's tear shit up!
[It doesn't matter where Harley was before now. The shift is complete and consuming: she's on a battlefield, except the combatants are all quite strange.
There's the Fairy Godmother, necrotic, mad, glass shard impaling her chest. Her loyal servants, half-formed or less from furniture and with the ravenous minds of beasts, unthinking, unyielding.
Then there's the losing side. A puppet, arm broken off. Dead. An old man with a great book, a little girl with wolfen ears, both dead. The cat cannot be seen. The frog prince makes a last stand against the fairy godmother.
And then there's Rosamund. Less thorny, less scarred, but still ravaged by briars. Dead. Her eyes fixate on nothing. Her bow has fallen from her grasp. A half-barrel man stomps over her corpse, ignoring the dead to chase the last of the living.
Then suddenly it's gone. They're in a tower, and Rosamund is waking in bed. There's no thorns or scars at all. It's exactly like the tower he'd seen before. She looks around, starting at a voice from the door beyond. She opens it to a emptiness. Just a voice.
"Oh! Oh, my apologies. You're awake."
"Yes, good morning. Who do I have the pleasure of talking to?"
"Sorry."
There's a clinking, then a helmet is removed and the invisibility dispelled, revealing a beautiful woman in glass armor. Older than Rosamund by a few years, armed with a glass shield and polearm, looking relieved to see this young woman.
"Are you Cinderella?"
"I am Cinderella. Are you Sleeping Beauty? Rosamund?"
"Yes."
The woman gives a sigh of relief. "It worked."
"What worked?"
"We managed to catch you before you were completely gone. Or, rather, midway to where you are going."
rosamund can find harley laying upside down on one of the lounge sofas, legs up with her head hanging over the edge of her seat while she scrolls through the iris. her hyenas are also here, playing tug-of-war with a sad slice of pizza. globs of congealed cheese and sauce are on the floor. try not to step on one.]
[Okay well hello to the hyenas first. Rosamund has been packing pet treats for all the good boys and girls on board, and so tosses the two a slice of jerky each.
By which point she hopes they're mollified enough that she can take an (upright) seat on the couch, a polite distance from the older woman. She always strikes her as vivacious, and it's odd to see her so...reticent.]
[they're playing a weird uno reverse of the last week. Now it's Rosamund catching Harley in the hallway, post-treatment and post panic. She's got a box of chocolates in hand and a bouquet of flowers.]
Honestly? I have no idea. [These fucking nerds set up the world's lamest afterlife. Rosamund also has a margarita, there are no age limits when you are dead.] There's so many labs and libraries and a few truly terrible bars, but otherwise this place feels like a lot of waiting around for things to happen.
I guess there's the creepy beach and that garden where you hear creepy whispers...
[Holy shit indeed. Rosamund gapes at the screen. Then sets to hunting amid the pillows.]
Are we sure that's real? Is there one of those...oh for heaven's sake. The TV wand? With the buttons. What if we changed the television to show something fake, like all those CEM waves show us?
[Unwisely, Rosamund has filched a bottle of Jack Daniels from somewhere and also a sheet cake from the omegamart, which is NOT totally destroyed. The packaging is just dented.]
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WEEK 0: First Saturday
All of which are immediately forgotten when she spots the animal at her side.]
My goodness! What a lovely dog you have! [Rather unusual one at that, but she loves animals! Very very much. It's a princess thing. Rosamund bends to address the creature at once.] Hello there, sweet thing! What's your name?
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Ain't he just the cutest lil' angel? [cooing. the hyena laughs, snuffling. how close is rosamund getting?] His name's Bud.
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week zero, monday.
You gonna take them up on any of this?
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[Her mouth twists as she rereads the posts for the third time.]
It might be a good chance to get a little information...but they're so cagey. Why can't they show their faces?
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WEEK 0: Second Sunday
Unfortunately, the room is very much occupied.]
Oh! Miss Harley! [She puts on a tight smile.] Hello...sorry, should I come back later?
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What would you do that for? The shower's empty.
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WEEK 2: Thursday
[She's been waiting for someone to pass by, bouncing on her heels and taking the woman by the elbow the moment she's in range. As an effect of the planet Rosamund now sports slender doe ears, which twist towards any errant sound or flick at sudden breezes.]
Listen, I know well be taking off quite soon, and there's a chance something terrible might happen tonight, so it's our last chance to relax a little. Right?
[She grins bright.]
Want to take the ELCs out for one last spin?
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Oh, hell yeah! [LITERAL TAIL WAGGING.] We may or may not die tonight, but forget about that. Let's tear shit up!
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WEEK 3: Monday
There's the Fairy Godmother, necrotic, mad, glass shard impaling her chest. Her loyal servants, half-formed or less from furniture and with the ravenous minds of beasts, unthinking, unyielding.
Then there's the losing side. A puppet, arm broken off. Dead. An old man with a great book, a little girl with wolfen ears, both dead. The cat cannot be seen. The frog prince makes a last stand against the fairy godmother.
And then there's Rosamund. Less thorny, less scarred, but still ravaged by briars. Dead. Her eyes fixate on nothing. Her bow has fallen from her grasp. A half-barrel man stomps over her corpse, ignoring the dead to chase the last of the living.
Then suddenly it's gone. They're in a tower, and Rosamund is waking in bed. There's no thorns or scars at all. It's exactly like the tower he'd seen before. She looks around, starting at a voice from the door beyond. She opens it to a emptiness. Just a voice.
"Oh! Oh, my apologies. You're awake."
"Yes, good morning. Who do I have the pleasure of talking to?"
"Sorry."
There's a clinking, then a helmet is removed and the invisibility dispelled, revealing a beautiful woman in glass armor. Older than Rosamund by a few years, armed with a glass shield and polearm, looking relieved to see this young woman.
"Are you Cinderella?"
"I am Cinderella. Are you Sleeping Beauty? Rosamund?"
"Yes."
The woman gives a sigh of relief. "It worked."
"What worked?"
"We managed to catch you before you were completely gone. Or, rather, midway to where you are going."
"Catch me?"
"Yes. May I come in, if that's all right?"
And the scene fades...]
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and then—]
Hey, what the fuck?
[WHAT IN THE FAIRY HELL WAS THAT]
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week three, thursday.
Did you let someone take a look at you?
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Rosamund plasters on a smile at once and waggles some bandaged hands for perusal.]
Yes! Shu was very persistent, even though it was just a bunch of scratches. The rest of the blood didn't belong to me.
[Which sounds ominous. Ahem.]
How are you!
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week three, friday.
rosamund can find harley laying upside down on one of the lounge sofas, legs up with her head hanging over the edge of her seat while she scrolls through the iris. her hyenas are also here, playing tug-of-war with a sad slice of pizza. globs of congealed cheese and sauce are on the floor. try not to step on one.]
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By which point she hopes they're mollified enough that she can take an (upright) seat on the couch, a polite distance from the older woman. She always strikes her as vivacious, and it's odd to see her so...reticent.]
See anything interesting on there?
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week four, monday.
I swear, if any of you take a shit on me...
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🎵Aaah-ah-ah, ha-aah! 🎶
[A sizeable flock of birds are summoned immediately.]
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WEEK 4: Thursday
Harley? Up and about already?
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Eh... Lost an eye, not a leg.
[she says this, but she still looks pretty hecked up. she's changed out of the outfit she arrived in, though! only the black collar remains.]
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week four, saturday.
anyway, harley is poking her head into the medbay. what is the state of the rosamund...]
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anyway hi, the state is rather vegetative. Voluntarily! She is awake she is just refusing to vacate the pod.
She grimaces when she senses company though. Movement from the corner of her eyes. It's been non-stop since she woke up.]
Who is it...
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week five, sunday.
What do you guys do for fun...?
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I guess there's the creepy beach and that garden where you hear creepy whispers...
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week six, friday.
Holy shit, they fuckin' lived.
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[Holy shit indeed. Rosamund gapes at the screen. Then sets to hunting amid the pillows.]
Are we sure that's real? Is there one of those...oh for heaven's sake. The TV wand? With the buttons. What if we changed the television to show something fake, like all those CEM waves show us?
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WEEK 7: Saturday
Haaarleeeeey!
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Rosamund! [she grins!!] Ya know, I was thinking of popping some champagne bottles but I think you've got the better idea.
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