paradisa | rule #1

Entry tags:

molly

rule #1

[Molly has found the journal.

'Calm' is not a good word for it. Neither is 'relaxed,' or 'adjusted,' or 'accepting,' but she is very good at putting on all four. Keeping her head is what keeps her alive.

She's gotten acquainted with the important bits: the magic, the wishes, the losses, the indefinite stay, the familiar faces. Also the really important bit: walkers. That is, lack thereof. Allegedly.

None of it seems real -- but then, options are limited.

She presses a crease into the corner of the journal's page with her thumbnail. The first thing it picks up is a mutter half to herself.]

Feet first, I guess.

[Then, louder:]

So, hey. Ain't I supposed to get a gift basket? That's what luxury places like this do, right? What kind of welcome wagon is this?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If anyone can, it'd be you. Fill me in when you do, huh?

[He sure knows that feeling. Maybe he'll eventually settle down here, maybe he won't, only time will tell]

Sure thing, kid. You helped get me this far.

[And she returns favors.]

I- really? I didn't think I was that much of a help.

Even the basics gotta come from somewhere. Probably better it came from a familiar face than anyone else in this place.

[because if a stranger did magic shit around her she might have taken their head off before they got through the first sentence.]

[He's going to take this carefully because pissing off Molly is never a good idea]

Y-yeaah. It's not that great hearing it from a stranger. They could probably make it sound worse than it is.

[There, managed not to bring up Hilda and the liklihood of her being burried in someone's skull at all]

[there you go, ben, keeping your foot out of your mouth. nicely done.]

Yeah. Doesn't sound like this place is very popular with the peanut gallery.

[She can't blame them, really, but she also can't bring herself to care much about people's distress over being trapped in a place with food, electricity, and high walls.]