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...hi! I'm Donna, I thiiiiink I'm kinda lost? I'm supposed to be in NYC right now? I was definitely in Bed-Stuy like, five minutes ago.
I have this tiny, itty-bitty emergency - the kind that needs a changing table as of approx. that five minutes ago - so if somebody could clue my ass in, that'd be great! And I would be grateful.
...anybody?
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There's actually something kind of exhausting about living the way Donna does - 150% technicolour dishonesty - and when you're starting from a baseline of tired and grieving anyway...well, a walk never hurt anybody. Clearing her head. Clearing Sirja's head, apparently, because her bright-yellow bundled-up baby is still on her hip, reaching for Mommy's hair and being prevented, because for such a tiny child she's got a hell of a grip.
...there is a lion. Looking at her.
Donna counts backwards from ten in her head. (Running makes you prey, she thinks.)
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Donna is not sure what to make of this, because...the lion is talking to her and she is neither watching a movie nor drunk off her ass. There were no illegal drugs involved in today. She's pretty sure. And yet: the lion is talking to her. In a voice that sounds vaguely familiar, actually, but there is enough crazy going on without trying to figure out what that means, anyway.
"Y'know people hurt each other all the time without...eating...each other." The lion is talking and she is talking back to it. What is her life. "Because that's fucking gross, mainly," she adds, as an afterthought, because not even fear can effectively leash this woman.
Sirja is much, much too young to be afraid of lions - she performs a baby manoeuvre known as the abrupt violent lean towards Scar and burbles something that in a future life will probably mean 'kitty!'
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"Oh, well, I wouldn't wanna make you debase yourself with my- what, no, it's not a fucking pet!" Donna's expression changes to suggest that maybe she is not convinced by this assertion that Scar is not an idiot, pulling Sirja closer to her. "She is not a pet. This is my daughter."
She's been here for one day and she's picking an argument with a talking lion.
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After thinking about it for a second...well, that makes sense. Who the hell takes their baby to visit a lion? A bitchy lion, even. "...well, we don't generally keep them as pets. There are laws against that."
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"I don't keep pets," Donna says, with the air that if she were having this conversation with someone else she'd probably be poking her tongue out at him right now. "I don't get it, I guess, so I can't explain it either, except that Sirja is definitely not a pet."
She scrutinizes him for a second. "Are you always this..." Groping for a word- "Prissy?"
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"...bitchy," she elaborates, although that's not actually what prissy means, Donna. "Inexplicably sounding like you should be wearing a suit and sipping, I don't know, martinis. Evil martinis."
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"Animals don't normally talk to me, but buddy, I know a jerk when I hear one." ...yes, let's reiterate: not even fear can properly make Donna watch her mouth, and she is still nervous. Especially since he's meandering closer, and expressing interest in her baby.
She's pretty sure right now that he's no more likely to hurt Sirja than anyone else here, but while Donna will take all kinds of risks with herself - sometimes she's a little more cautious (paranoid) with her only child. "She's a year old," she says, finally.
Sirja tries that sideways lunge again, since he's coming closer, but Donna's got a better grip than Sirja has lunging ability.
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"Evil martinis are different," Donna says, as the resident expert on ... Bond villains, yes that is what she's comparing him to. "And she is trying to get at you. She probably wants to pull your mane or whatever that is and ride on your back. Don't you, baby? You want to give that a tug, don't you? Not allowed."
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