[RL w/ Bertie--Tied up! =OOO]

[dragon_scholar]

Philomel's room in Marta's house was not a room proper--it was a converted study, covered in papers and art supplies, the bed a cot tucked against the wall. It was a rather nice cot, as such things went, and she was well used to it by now, but it was a narrow berth when there was just one person in it

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[bertiewwooster]

Bertram Wilberforce Wooster was in the middle of a rather lovely dream which involved neither aunts, nor engagements, nor any chums attempting to sponge him for spare cash. He was basking particularly in the lack of Madeline Bassett when he was suddenly rudely awoken by a shriek, quickly followed by a jerk on his wrist which tugged him halfway across the bed and left him hanging halfway off the edge.

'What- Jeeves? I- what the deuce is-'

He halted suddenly as the realisation sunk in that he was very much not in his own bed, much less his own flat, and that he was being stared at by a young woman, who looked very much as though she'd just received as rude an awakening as he. Bertie blinked at her, opened and shut his mouth a few times, and then turned his gaze to his left hand, by which he'd been dragged to the edge of the mattress.

His brow furrowed. 'I say, that's my tie! Rummy, I thought Jeeves had got rid of it; says lavender doesn't go with the natural Wooster colouring, you know. Well, I'm not the sort of cove who goes about bowing and scraping to the whims of his valet, you know, but given the soup he'd just-'

He cut himself very suddenly, shaking his head and looking around himself. There were, he rather felt, more pressing issues to discuss at the moment. 'Er...' He looked around himself, taking in the piles and piles of books and manuscripts, the paintings and studies of what looked like dragons on the walls and shelves. It was, all in all, a decidedly queer little room, and certainly like nothing he'd ever seen before. It wasn't really the sort of thing a chap liked to wake up to, this, and he shook his head, trying to clear it.

'Er,' he started again. 'Where precisely are we, old fruit? And who are you?'

[dragon_scholar]

Philomel took that in with a blank sort of expression on her face, trying to encourage her brain to operate, really, that would be lovely if you could just work with me here, thank you. She shook her head, an decided this would be easier to handle could she see clearly--she reached for her glasses with her right hand, then paused. Right. Tied. Her left hand rose instead, groping on the floor next to the cot, and...ah! There they were.

That was much better, being able to see clearly. She looked up at him again, but didn't recognize him. "This is Brazil--outside Cananeia, sir, and my name's Philomel St. James." She spoke rather calmly, taking refuge from her confusion and distress in formality. Her fingers fell to the tie, fumbling to unknot it. "And you would be...?"

[bertiewwooster]

He grimaced slightly when the filly mentioned where they were- Brazil, of all places! They spoke Spanish in Brazil, didn't they? Well, whatever language they spoke, Bertie was fairly positive it wasn't English. He brightened, though, when she gave her name.

'Ah! Philly, marvellous! Surely you recognise self, do you not?'

It would seem, however, that she, in fact, did not, and Bertie shrugged. 'Bertram Wilberforce Wooster at your service, old thing. Now, how the deuce did I end up here? I'm fairly sure it's not the done thing to hop halfway across the bally globe whilst taking one's forty winks, what?'

And that was a fair question, when it came down to it. Bertie had fallen asleep the night before quite contentedly in his own bed, after having returned from a few glasses of this and that down at the Drones. Indeed, he was still clad in his favourite pair of heliotrope pyjamas. And yet now, he was apparently in Brazil, tied at the wrist to Philomel St. Whatsit with a tie he would've sworn Jeeves had got rid of just recently. Sent on the way to some poor fish in China, for all Bertie knew.

[dragon_scholar]

"Oh!" As soon as he said it, she recognized him, of course, and felt rather the fool for not having connected the living face to static images before. "I'm quite sorry, Bertie; I seem to be somewhat, er...well." Her fingers were still attempting to pry loose the tie, and she was failing spectacularly. Oh dear.

She shook her head, vehemently enough for a lock of dirty blonde hair to fall into her eyes. "I'm afraid I have no idea how this came about," she muttered, mind working, "but I suspect I would not be surprised to find out at all that it's something to do with that community online." She gave up on untying it and used the hand to push the hair out of her eyes.