pencilcase | open rp post

[ In just one place, far away from where it's risky, she's Kitty Jones. On the network, she's Clara Bell (who's interested in meeting new people) or Lizzie Temple (who wants to know more about crossing between worlds) or Alice Fitzroy (who is furious about the tyranny in her home world and wants to know who's with her) - all smokescreens to keep herself safe. Because she knows that there's at least one magician out there, and she knows exactly who it is, and she wants to be able to get her feet under her in this world without him making trouble for her.

But this place is new, and exciting, and strange, and so she wants to face it as herself rather than as Clara or Lizzie or anyone else. So here, in this bar, she's Kitty Jones - not an imPort, not anyone that Mandrake could trace back, just a normal barmaid, but someone who gets called her real name and is quick-tempered and laughs and doesn't hide. She spent three years with her name hidden, keeping her face controlled and her voice level. Here, away from search spheres and Night Police, she's herself, and it's like stretching after a long sleep.

It's a daytime shift. She'll be off earlyish tonight. It's bad for tips, but good for reconnaissance: evenings, the network's most active. So she's finishing up her shift right then, bringing out the trash - a box full of empty bottles tucked under one arm, a sack of garbage in the other hand. She slams her hip into the lever as she goes, moving quickly in her impatience -

And then, the door stops suddenly as it slams - hard - into someone on the other side. She takes in a breath, and drops the bottles, as she hears whoever it is make some noise on the other side. ]

[Mandrake makes an extremely undignified sound as the door slams clean into him, hard. He doesn't quite topple over backwards, but it's a near thing. It got him mostly in the forehead and nose since he was hunched over the door knob, so he staggers backwards holding his head for a moment before looking up.]

What on--

[He doesn't get to finish that sentence because that's the moment when he sees Kitty and his brain short circuits. She's older, hair shorter, of course... but it is unmistakably her.]

Oh, no, oh, I'm sorry -

[ That apology is heartfelt, truly. Because she doesn't recognize him - not at first. She's not expecting him, after all, and he's in different clothes, and he's sort of clutching at his face, and even if he weren't you never saw that dumbfounded look on the pictures of the Great Magician John Mandrake that get splashed all over the front pages of the newspapers (and the Politics pages, and the Business pages, and the Society pages, and the Fashion pages, for some bloody reason). So she looks down, and she sees a boy who's just got a door slammed into his face, and so she's immediately tossing the garbage aside to go over to him.

She wrinkles her nose, trying to see: ]

Is it broken? Bleeding? Here -

[He had imagined this meeting going differently, truth be told. He would be calm and composed. He would call her Miss Jones. But here he is, clutching a hand to his nose in an undignified position and she's fussing over him and she's alive and she's older and she's here.

He has to take his hand away from his nose for a moment to make sure he's seeing properly, that he's not imagining things. (His nose isn't broken, thank goodness. Or bleeding. Just bruised.)]

Kitty...

[He doesn't mean to say that. He doesn't mean to call her by her first name, or for it to sound quite so pathetic, or reverent. It just sort of... slips out.]

[ That shouldn't have helped, really. That shouldn't have let her place him. After all, the Great Magician John Mandrake isn't going to come and act like this. He's not going to call her by her first name. He's definitely not going to call her by her first name like that, so...wistfully. If he came to her, he'd come smiling and arrogant, and archly inform her that he's informed the authorities here about her terrorist activities back home, and wait for her to break down in front of him. Him looking up and calling her that - No. That shouldn't have helped.

But it did. Maybe because the last time she saw him, he looked pitiable, just like now. Not the last time she saw him in the papers - but the last time she saw him in person, as a person, when she saved him. She knows him then: Mandrake. The Information Minister.

Calling her by her first name. Looking up at her with wide eyes. Confusingly.

She draws back from him at once, her own eyes widening just a bit as adrenaline lurches through her. Unfortunately, that reaction really destroys her initial plan - to pretend not to know him, to pretend to be some other girl from some other parallel dimension who happens to look just like the wanted terrorist and revolutionary. She...doesn't really have a plan B, though, not yet, and so she tries to stick with plan A. ]

I don't think I know you.

Edited 2014-11-05 02:51 (UTC)

[He has to regain control of this situation. He straightens in an attempt to regain what little is left of his dignity, rubs his nose once more perfunctorily before then dusting himself off. It's true that he isn't dressed in an expensive suit here like back home-- though nobody has yet succeeded in getting him into jeans either. He wears a crisp and clean collared shirt with brown slacks and loafers. It's as casual as he's willing to go, even if Billy and Stiles give him shit for it.]

... You're older.

[Thank you, Captain Obvious. He winces internally as the inanity of that statement occurs to him. What is he, a simpleton?

He doesn't even bother acknowledging her statement-- it isn't worth dignifying. Despite his current inability to form proper sentences, he isn't stupid. He didn't miss that look. She knows exactly who he is.]

[ She wavers for a moment, trying to decide whether to try to stick to that story or not - and then finally, with vicious gladness, decides not to. If she plays the confused girl, pulled through the dimensions and confronted with someone who seems to know her, maybe she'll be able to convince him - but then she'll have to spend hours being nice to him. Maybe it's stupid, maybe it's reckless, but if she admits to being Kitty Jones from his world then there's nothing stopping her from telling him what she really thinks of him.

Besides...What can he do to her, really? She's no more a criminal in this world than he is. And he doesn't have the power here. She doesn't fully trust the government here as of yet, but it's not a system that will take one look at Mandrake and decide his word is worth more. Here, she's just as powerful as he is. And she can take him in a fight.

So she crosses her arms and shifts her weight and stops trying to look innocently confused. He looks more like himself, too, dusting himself off like a ponce. It's easier to glare at someone acting like there's a photographer just waiting to snap his picture than at the boy asking quaveringly Kitty? The latter, she has no idea what to do with; the former, she's perfectly content to be annoyed at. ]

Could be an effect of having been brought here.

[ She says that aggressively. Bartimaeus had lied to Mandrake for her sake; Bartimaeus isn't here, but she's still not going to sell him out so easily. ]

Edited 2014-11-05 03:16 (UTC)

[He frowns, half in thought, half with annoyance that she thinks he can be swayed by such an obvious lie. He's spent years surrounded by nothing but liars, and she thinks he can't see through a hastily-thought up lie when he sees one? Please.]

... Somehow I doubt it.

[But on the other hand, it leaves him stumped, because this doesn't fit into his understanding of the world at all. Kitty Jones is supposed to be the girl who died at sixteen to save him. Did she get ported to Heropa years ago and has been here all this time? Surely not. It seems unlikely-- imPort presence here doesn't date that far back. But then... did Bartimaeus lie? That doesn't seem likely either. What could he stand to gain from it?]

Ms. Jones. I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't behave as if I am stupid. The truth, if you please.

Why?

[ She arches her eyebrows and purses her lips. She doesn't know what he can do here, whether the Porter gave him new abilities, but she knows that it gave her even greater Resilience, so she's pretty confident. And she has no problem with the thought of punching him in the face. Repeatedly. Hard. That would be a tiny repayment for all the people he managed to convince to go fight and die in America, wouldn't it? And satisfying.

This is satisfying, too, of course: ]

I don't owe it to you. And you can't torture it out of me here - you don't have the authority to do that sort of thing. So no, Mr. Mandrake - I don't please.

[He looks down at his cuffs for a moment, adjusting them-- though in actuality he's trying awkwardly to hide the fact that this isn't going at all how he planned and he really doesn't know what to do or say next. Why does she have to be so insufferably rude? It's not like he's going to arrest her. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. Which, he doesn't. Though, not that she knows that. Upon reflection, of course she should be hostile to him.]

... My apologies. I-- I did not come here to make your life difficult, Ms. Jones. It is only-- well. I was told that... you had died. So. I'm sure you can imagine my surprise.

[ She opens her mouth to speak; her brows descend precipitously. She closes her mouth again. Of all the things she'd expected - an apology wasn't at the top of the list. It wasn't near the top of the list. It catches her utterly off-guard, because she didn't know that Mandrake even knew how to give an apology. One that didn't sound smooth and confident, that is: she has no doubt that he can give politicians' apologies, the sorts that made him sound graceful and gracious and completely insincere.

That, though, sounded...sincere. It was halting and awkward. And she wants to be furious with him, for coming here and pretending to be genuinely taken aback, or furious with him for coming here at all, but when she tries to fixate on her anger all she can think about is him saying Kitty?

Why is that who I am to him? And why does her possible death make him stumble over his words like that? Why does he even remember her? She saved his life, yes, but his sort doesn't care about gratitude... ]

I didn't.

[ There. The truth. But, warningly - ]

And that's all I'll say about it, and do not ask me again or I will hit you. The door did well enough the first time; it'll work just fine for another go.

[ And finally, reluctantly, she sighs, and she says: ]

You should put ice on that.

[At the mention of the door, he rubs his nose again absently. His pride is possibly more bruised than his nose.]

--Ah. Yes, of course. You're right. I shall just summon some ice from my coat pocket here, shall I?

[ Please. She rolls her eyes at him immensely, then jerks her chin at the still-ajar door. ]

Inside.

[That gives him pause, and he blinks once. He expects her to tell him that it isn't her problem. He definitely doesn't expect her to invite him in, or to order him in that bossy manner-- his kneejerk reaction to which is "Do not tell me what to do." But he manages to suppress it.

So all that's really left is that awkward deer-in-headlights expression that only Kitty is capable of bringing out in him-- and it only lasts for a second. Blink and you'll miss it. It's gone in an instant, replaced by a somewhat stuffy and proper nod before heading inside without saying a word.

So far this has been a disaster from beginning to end-- at this point he no longer trusts himself to say anything.]

[ She can see that very brief flash of mulishness, and she's quite ready to respond to the inevitable haughtiness with a Fine, take care of it yourself, don't come back. But then he gets - For just a moment, he looks like a person. It only lasts for a moment, no more, and then he looks simply stuck-up and constipated again, but -

Well, he's not going on about how she doesn't have any right to tell him what to do. And he's not talking, which is a decided improvement.

So she pushes past him, scoops up some ice from their icemaker and drops it into a towel. She twists it expertly into an ice pack. She's done this plenty of times: she can't even count the number of times she's put ice on some injury or another, from her own skinned knees when she was a kid to the black eyes Fred and Stanley would get sometimes when there was a real fight to the blows patrons had been suffering lately from impatient Night Police officers. She knows what to do.

None too gently, she shoves the ice pack directly onto Mandrake's nose. Like hell she's not going to take the chance to cause a little bit of pain to him. All in the name of healing, of course. ]

Here.

[He lets out a sharp hiss of pain when she shoves the ice pack roughly onto his poor nose, but he knows better than to complain. He has never complained to anyone in his whole life, save to Bartimaeus. And he isn't about to start now. He doesn't want her to see him as weak or pitiable. Though that does prompt him to wonder why she's even doing this.

It occurs to him then that several moments have passed in silence and he hasn't said a word.]

... Thank you.

[ He doesn't say that sarcastically, or mockingly, or even grudgingly. It's awkward more than anything, and it sounds like he actually half means it. Kitty doesn't get it. She doesn't get what's going on here. Someone like him doesn't thank someone like her for her help. He just assumes that she's going to give it and then attacks her if she doesn't. There's no courtesy from someone like him -

Except that she's just heard it from him. Twice. Unprompted. Either he is playing some game here, a game that started with that quiet Kitty and has continued with niceties and decency, or being in this place has changed him. As much as it frustrates her to admit it...the latter seems more likely. The egotist she met those years ago wouldn't humble himself just to trick someone. Pride was everything to him. ]

You're...welcome.

[ She looks over at him, and reaches up and rubs her nose with her knuckles to hide her confusion. (It doesn't work well; her face gives away her uncertainty quite clearly, and just obscuring her mouth with her hand isn't going to help that.) Then she drops her hand, and tries to sound confident and brash again, but it's clear that his courtesy has thrown her off her stride. ]

You must really hate being here.

[Mandrake is usually a keen observer, but at this particular moment he's too wrapped up in his own problems to notice Kitty's confusion. He's thinking intently about how embarrassing this is and wondering again why she's doing this when he hears her second statement. It catches him off guard, and... actually startles a small, wry chuckle out of him.]

... Quite vehemently, yes. I feel I can confidently say it is one of the worst places I have ever had the displeasure of visiting.

Edited 2014-11-05 11:54 (UTC)

[ Kitty relaxes just a bit - not because it's a pleasant answer, but because it's something she can get angry at. A magician saying please and thank you and not once threatening arrest? That's strange and off-putting. A magician holding things in arch contempt? That's comforting, familiar, and something she can get her back up over. If she can just draw him into an argument, get angry, that will just be so much more familiar... ]

I have to imagine. A place does get much less nice when you're not the one who's in charge of it, doesn't it? So much better when you snap your fingers and everything rearranges itself just like you want it to. [ She leans forward; she's regaining momentum. ] I happen to think it's much better like this, of course.

[Mandrake's face flushes at Kitty's cutting remarks. That wasn't what he had meant at all-- if anything, it was an attempt at humour. Why must she turn everything into an argument, make everything so difficult? It even feels like he has been deliberately set up for that one-- what else did she expect him to say, after all? In the years he hadn't seen her, he had forgotten she was like this. This is what he gets for trying to be amiable. He regards her with a mild sense of frustration.

Strangely, a conversation he had some time ago with Edgeworth about the state of his own world pops back into his mind. Of all the things to remember now.]

... You are rather quick to jump to conclusions, aren't you.

[ Two years of keeping quiet and unnoticed had left her frustrated and angry. Two years of reading newspapers with headlines about the war, about the deaths, about Police Set Earlier Curfew and Prime Minister Declared Most Beloved In History and Minister So-and-So Opens Up About Being A Fashion Icon and Mass Execution of Traitors to Take Place Tomorrow have left her spoiling for a fight. Back at home, she didn't have the chance ever to engage. Here, though, with Mr Mandrake standing in front of her - He's a perfect target for her spleen.

Though it would be better if he were a little bit less...civilized. Less polite. More like what he used to be. Less apologetic and grateful. It would be better if he were easier to goad.

Still, it's good enough. ]

Was that the wrong conclusion, then? I mean, at home, we get to read all about how rapturously you all are treated when you go out to review the troops in America and how you love seeing your loyal subjects abroad. Or how you're all showered with adulation when you go to India. So it's can't be travel you dislike. Really, there's only one thing I can think of that's missing from this place, and that's obedience.

[That gets under his skin.]

If I it were indeed obedience I was missing, I certainly would not still be here talking to you.

[It comes out a little more peevish than he intended.]

[ That's -

Not a bad point. She looks at him, her mouth open as she tries to come up with some retort, but - It's sort of ignoring her point, because there's a difference between how you spend your individual moments and how you look at the world around you, but it does highlight what's strange. ]

Why are you here?

[ She comes up with a few uncharitable answers to that question. He's here because he want to talk with someone who knows just how impressive he is back home. He's here to feel powerful. He's here because she got away and he wants to figure out how to not lose again. But...He wanted to know why she's alive, and he asked it like he really cared. He called her by her first name, like they know each other. None of those explanations...None of them ring true.

So when she asks that question, it's not hostile like she wishes it was. It's honestly confused. She's really puzzled by him. ]

[He tries to keep his face impassive.]

... If I had ... if I had died that day, it would have solved a lot of your problems. And it would not have been your fault, either. Your disdain for me is plain. ... It is a puzzle I cannot work out.

[ So that's what it's about. She saved his life, he found out about it, he wants to...What? Recover his pride? Resolve having been at her mercy so that it doesn't reflect so badly on him? She thinks about lying again, about saying that she doesn't know anything about what he's talking about, that she just ran away, but he's got an irritating ability to see through her. No point in wasting time on it. She abandons the thought, and cuts to the quick of it: ]

It's not any sort of puzzle. You're a miserable tyrant, but that doesn't mean I'm about to leave you to die. It's not the right thing to do, no matter how I feel about you. [ But, trying once again to goad him into fighting her: ] Not that you've spent your time well.

fast and loose role-play

is this going to end up longer

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