(no subject)
Who: Neil McLaughlin (the Caterpillar); Marie Bouchard (the Gingerbread Witch)
What: Neil gets smacked down hard by Marie with Jacob's blessings - Part One
When: Monday, February 18 - afternoon
Where: To Bed studios
Rating: PG
Neil: In his dressing room, Neil sat wearing a light blue robe in front of the brightly lit mirror, using a cosmetic sponge to remove the makeup from his face. The curly gray wig he wore as his character rested on a stand upon the counter beside him, while his real hair was still under a stocking cap. He had just finished shooting his scenes for the day, but was hurrying along so he could pick up the revisions to the script and head on home where he planned to relax for the rest of the day and memorize his lines.
The sound of the door opening caused him to look up into the reflection of the mirror to see who was entering. There were only a few people who would come in without knocking first, so Neil guessed, "Kilroy?"
Marie: "Not quite."
Marie wasted no time. She'd come to the studio under the pretenses of discussing some last-minute touches to the bridal attire with May and Kilroy, and after a meeting with the particularly obnoxious bride-to-be, excused herself to make the necessary phone calls. It was a short walk from offices to dressing rooms, and getting some whinging little intern to show her the way was hardly an effort. She had business to attend to, after all; she couldn't be expected to waste any supplies on some little twit. Anser had better appreciate this particular work. She was going to be ill for days with the powder she had in her pocket.
The door had been unlocked. Unsurprising. She had never really viewed Neil as a clever sort. Reaching in her pocket to pull out the little sachet of powder, she pushed down on the handle and slipped in, shutting and locking the door behind her in one swift motion. The words were out of her mouth and she was taking a quick step forward, powder transferring from sachet to palm, and before Neil could say another thing, blowing the iridescent black cloud into his half-made up face.
A concentrated dose. Without flour or eggs or ginger to dilute it, the man would hardly be able to speak full sentences, let alone form coherent thoughts. Perfect.
Neil: "What the hell?"
Neil had turned in his seat when he saw it was Marie, of all people. He was about to say something insulting, but instead he threw up his hands to shield himself from the cloud. Particles of powder were tasted in his mouth when he breathed it in, and he blinked rapidly against what had gotten into his eyes, but there was nothing he could do to protect himself from the magic that swiftly took control. Actually, Neil had experienced this feeling before, and if he had the power to think, he would've been able to compare it to being completely stoned.
For a moment, Neil teetered in his seat as if he were about to fall off, and a blank expression came over his face. His glazed eyes saw, but his brain barely registered the fact that Marie was standing in front of him.
Marie: Which was, in fact, just was what Marie wanted. She folded up the little sachet and tossed it back in her pocket, scanning the room for some sort of sweeping device--a small broom and dustpan kept in a corner; every room had one, and it was highly undignified to get down on hands and knees, but there was nothing for it. When she spoke, it was swiftly and decisively, but soft. Practiced. A few well-aimed sweeps of the broom and the dust was in the pan, scooped into a little plastic bag she'd brought with her for the purpose. Evidence was a no-go. Marie, she had everything planned.
"Now, Neil," she said smoothly, once that part of the job was done, "you're gonna do me a little favor, sugar. In about ten minutes, you're going to be violently ill. Food poisoning, hungover, your time of the month, I don't really care as long as it's believable. You're gonna need to go on home when it hits you, so you let Kilroy know. And when you get home, you're gonna get all those prints and copies of that nasty little photo you have of Anser, and you're gonna leave 'em on your front table for me to pick up. I'll be by around 8, so you make sure to keep your front door unlocked 'round then, understood?"
She wasn't expecting an answer. His glazed stare was enough.
One more furtive glance around the area--all the dust was gone, back into the little bag in her purse--a quick check of Neil's face to make sure everything had gotten through (it had, of course), and Marie was listening at the door, sliding out into the hall once it cleared and exiting the building, cell phone pressed to her ear as if she'd been on it the entire time. Two minutes, tops, had she been in there. That was all it took.
What: Neil gets smacked down hard by Marie with Jacob's blessings - Part One
When: Monday, February 18 - afternoon
Where: To Bed studios
Rating: PG
Neil: In his dressing room, Neil sat wearing a light blue robe in front of the brightly lit mirror, using a cosmetic sponge to remove the makeup from his face. The curly gray wig he wore as his character rested on a stand upon the counter beside him, while his real hair was still under a stocking cap. He had just finished shooting his scenes for the day, but was hurrying along so he could pick up the revisions to the script and head on home where he planned to relax for the rest of the day and memorize his lines.
The sound of the door opening caused him to look up into the reflection of the mirror to see who was entering. There were only a few people who would come in without knocking first, so Neil guessed, "Kilroy?"
Marie: "Not quite."
Marie wasted no time. She'd come to the studio under the pretenses of discussing some last-minute touches to the bridal attire with May and Kilroy, and after a meeting with the particularly obnoxious bride-to-be, excused herself to make the necessary phone calls. It was a short walk from offices to dressing rooms, and getting some whinging little intern to show her the way was hardly an effort. She had business to attend to, after all; she couldn't be expected to waste any supplies on some little twit. Anser had better appreciate this particular work. She was going to be ill for days with the powder she had in her pocket.
The door had been unlocked. Unsurprising. She had never really viewed Neil as a clever sort. Reaching in her pocket to pull out the little sachet of powder, she pushed down on the handle and slipped in, shutting and locking the door behind her in one swift motion. The words were out of her mouth and she was taking a quick step forward, powder transferring from sachet to palm, and before Neil could say another thing, blowing the iridescent black cloud into his half-made up face.
A concentrated dose. Without flour or eggs or ginger to dilute it, the man would hardly be able to speak full sentences, let alone form coherent thoughts. Perfect.
Neil: "What the hell?"
Neil had turned in his seat when he saw it was Marie, of all people. He was about to say something insulting, but instead he threw up his hands to shield himself from the cloud. Particles of powder were tasted in his mouth when he breathed it in, and he blinked rapidly against what had gotten into his eyes, but there was nothing he could do to protect himself from the magic that swiftly took control. Actually, Neil had experienced this feeling before, and if he had the power to think, he would've been able to compare it to being completely stoned.
For a moment, Neil teetered in his seat as if he were about to fall off, and a blank expression came over his face. His glazed eyes saw, but his brain barely registered the fact that Marie was standing in front of him.
Marie: Which was, in fact, just was what Marie wanted. She folded up the little sachet and tossed it back in her pocket, scanning the room for some sort of sweeping device--a small broom and dustpan kept in a corner; every room had one, and it was highly undignified to get down on hands and knees, but there was nothing for it. When she spoke, it was swiftly and decisively, but soft. Practiced. A few well-aimed sweeps of the broom and the dust was in the pan, scooped into a little plastic bag she'd brought with her for the purpose. Evidence was a no-go. Marie, she had everything planned.
"Now, Neil," she said smoothly, once that part of the job was done, "you're gonna do me a little favor, sugar. In about ten minutes, you're going to be violently ill. Food poisoning, hungover, your time of the month, I don't really care as long as it's believable. You're gonna need to go on home when it hits you, so you let Kilroy know. And when you get home, you're gonna get all those prints and copies of that nasty little photo you have of Anser, and you're gonna leave 'em on your front table for me to pick up. I'll be by around 8, so you make sure to keep your front door unlocked 'round then, understood?"
She wasn't expecting an answer. His glazed stare was enough.
One more furtive glance around the area--all the dust was gone, back into the little bag in her purse--a quick check of Neil's face to make sure everything had gotten through (it had, of course), and Marie was listening at the door, sliding out into the hall once it cleared and exiting the building, cell phone pressed to her ear as if she'd been on it the entire time. Two minutes, tops, had she been in there. That was all it took.