dizzy_land | Not the girl next door or a girl from France (Open RP)

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Not the girl next door or a girl from France (Open RP)

It was early in the morning, perhaps an hour or so past sunrise (two hash marks on the Fantasyland sundial), and ~~Miss~~ ~~Mrs~~ Una Persson was out looking for ... something. She'd woken up from a vivid dream with the conviction that she really needed to find a Royal Albert gent's bicycle. Of course, as the dream faded, she couldn't remember why that could possibly important. But by then, she was already halfway across the park.

Well, sod.

Nothing for it, she decided, but to get something to eat and figure out what to do with the new day.

((Any and all are welcome to chat with or bother her at any point in the day.))

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"I'm afraid I was rather too in awe of his strange police box to raid a wardrobe, at the time. But he did seem like an awfully nice gentleman." She smirked, as it was entirely true, "Do you have any idea how that might work? I just sort of shrugged and accepted it." Or...why he might need snow globes, which was the one thing confusing her.

"The size of the interior, you mean?" Una shrugged a little. "Frankly, it's a bit baffling even to me. Shrugging and accepting it does seem to be the easiest approach, unless one wants to let oneself in for a lecture that one most likely won't understand the half of."

"Mm, you mean like the one I got when I asked him what he wanted snowglobes for?" That was still baffling her to a great extent. She shoved her hands in her pockets and shrugged, "I wondered if you might know, being a time traveller too." She still wasn't quite used to that concept either, but she was getting there, the longer she spent here.

"Snowglobes? Could be anything, really." She smiled fondly. "Could be that he needs a glass sphere for something or other ... or maybe he just wants it to brighten up the TARDIS."

"I remember diodes being mentioned. The rest, I was drowning in a huge puddle of technical words I have very little hope of understanding." She shrugged with a slight laugh, "It could probably do with some interior decorating, I suppose."

"You never know. Although I suspect he might be a trifle affronted at any suggestion that changes needed to be made to her. Are you headed anywhere in particular? I was on my way to get something to eat, and you're welcome to join me."

"Her? It...seemed rather building and 'it' like to me?" Something else she probably missed easily, and it was possibly a mistake to start questioning pronouns. "I was just out for a wander, seeing if there's any places I've not come across in the park before, to be honest. Food sounds like a vast improvement.

"There's a bakery down on Main Street. Pastries, coffee, tea." Una said, and started to lead the way in that direction. "Well, she is a ship, after all. Hang around him long enough and you'll eventually hear him refer to her as 'old girl' or some such."

"Sounds delightful." She wasn't actually being sarcastic and walked in that direction with Una, "I think I've been past there once or twice." Kitty nodded, following, "Ah, then that makes sense. I never really thought of it like that."

"It's a pity we're so stuck here," Una said a little wistfully. "I'd love to see what travelling in her properly is like." She shrugged a little. "So it goes. Listen, on a completely unrelated subject, would you be at all interested in putting on some kind of show here? We've got Tamaki, who plays the piano, and I was thinking some kind of variety act might relieve the boredom somewhat."

Kitty was impressed enough with the strange dimensions of the TARDIS, and hadn't even thought what travelling in it would be like. That was a little terrifying. "I would be very interested, actually. I'm ridiculously bored myself, and would have suggested it myself, if I knew more people, or had met this Tamaki fellow, for that matter." Of course, part of the entertainment was the fact she was in drag, but nobody had to know that...really.

"Brilliant." Una grinned. "I'll contact a few people and ask around. I'd imagine that among the lot of us, we should be able to put on a respectable show. Although I somehow doubt Tamaki knows 'A Bit of What You Fancy Does You Good'. We'll have to teach him."

"We'll teach him, it can't be that difficult, if he can play the piano, though." She hoped. She'd never been particuarly good at the instrument side of the whole thing, but she knew the tunes well enough. "I'm sure there's plenty of people around here who have enough talent to keep us entertained."

"Or people who think they have talent," Una said, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Kitty burst out laughing, "Oh, quite probably. I think that'll actually make it more entertaining, people who haven't got a clue how awful they are." She felt a bit sorry for them, but more than anything, she'd seen some god awful acts go before her, and it was alright when they were humble enough to admit it. But...acting just doesn't work like that.

"We could have our very own Florence Foster Jenkins (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florence_Foster_Jenkins),*" Una mused. "Bit after your time, that one: an enormously wealthy lady with a legendarily abominable singing voice and an endless amount of nerve. Sort of admirable in a way; she didn't care what anyone thought of her and sang at Carnegie Hall in New York a month before she died."

She pushed open the door to the Blue Ribbon Bakery and, without thinking, held it for Kitty. Which, she realised belatedly, ought to have been the other way around, if they were really acting in their proper roles. Oops.

*((The sound sample has to be heard to be believed.))

Kitty laughed, "I could imagine some people doing that. Not many I've met, as my sort of crowds don't have much tolerance for the really wealthy or the untalented, but I could see it happening."

She paused and gave Una a glance out the side of her eyes when the door was held open, presuming this as a sort of confirmation that she knew. "Where I'm from, that's my job. Never mind, none of that matters here anyway."

"I've gotten used to the late twentieth century, I suppose," Una observed. "Where it's a matter of whoever gets to the door first, really. Manners and mores around here do seem to follow that standard, more or less." A small, cryptic smile. "Roles and characters change; they're what we make of them, really."

"I doubt anyone actually races for it. Everyone just lets themselves in all over the place." She caught that smile and looked down at the floor between her feet, "Who isn't really a character anyway? Nobody's really themselves."

"Mm. Isn't that the truth." Una, of all people, could appreciate the fluidity of one's character. She'd built her career on it, after all. Most of her careers.

She went behind the counter to try and persuade the coffeemaker to make some kind of decent pot of coffee. "I quit the theatre some time ago, myself," she said. "I told my friend Major Nye that I did it because I wanted something more substantial. Of course, from a certain point of view, everything I've done since is still acting of one form or another."

"World's a stage, really." She wandered over and looked over Una's shoulder at the coffee maker, doing her best to help out, which wasn't much, as she was about a century behind. "What did you do instead, then? It's an odd thing to go to anything else from, really."

"Politics and warfare, mostly. Could you pass me the filters? The box of white papery things up there. Thanks." She measured out coffee. "I travel across the multiverse and I meddle. My friends and I monitor the flow of Time—well, we try to—and sometimes I help people who get displaced in Time. Help them get their bearings and either settle in, or teach them to travel as well."

Kitty grabbed the filters and passed them to her, "They're interesting jobs for a lady, I am very sure. But I'm certainly not judging by any means." She shrugged and looked for some cups, then passed them to Una, "I bet this place is a bloody nightmare, if that's what you do."

She couldn't help smirking a bit at the not judging.

"The worst part about this place is being the one who needs rescuing instead of the one who's doing it," she said as she started the coffeemaker running. "The lack of anything significant to do only compounds it. The whole thing was something of a holiday at first, though."

"I suppose everyone has to be the one stuck every so often to understand what it means to be rescued." Not that she would really know, and held a more poetic view of things she didn't really understand than was perhaps practical, "I can imagine, if your version of busy involves rescuing people and dramatic things like that, this really is a holiday."

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