(Untitled)
Angua and Sally had been put in the same bedroom. Angua tried to feel good about that. The woman wasn't to know. Anyway, it was nice to get between clean sheets, even if the room had a slightly musty smell. More must, less vampire, she thought; look on the bright side.
In the darkness, she opened one eye.
Someone had moved silently across the room. ( Read more... )
In the darkness, she opened one eye.
Someone had moved silently across the room. ( Read more... )
He'd been happy as a damned clam with his sheet and blanket, all sprawled out on the narrow cot. It was pretty cozy, comfortable enough to drown out Richie Rich's snoring -- not that Richie would ever admit to snoring, though Sawyer was contemplating trying to bogart a boom box from somewhere to record it for posterity.
Anyway, all of a sudden some chick appeared out of thin air, all sleeping on top of his arm, his sheet, and his blanket.
Because Sawyer couldn't figure out which movie character of Gwyneth's the chick was by just looking at her, he didn't call out a name. Instead, he grinned down at her, just waiting for her to wake up. This would be fun -- unless she was that chick from Se7en -- then it would just be damned annoying and there was no way Sawyer would be able to restrain himself from asking her what was in the box.
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The sea, and sweat, and...herbs, or...well, she couldn't exactly tell, and that was a problem. The other problem was that this was not how Carrot smelled. First and foremost Carrot smelled of soap, and there was very little of that happening here.
With a heavy sense of foreboding, Angua opened her eyes.
He was staring at her, some man she didn't even know, and he looked smug. "Who are you?" she growled, rising in a vaguely wolf-like position without realizing it.
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"I'm Papa Bear," he drawled, "and you've been sleepin' in my bed, Goldilocks. I don't mind havin' sleepovers, but next time give a man some notice, won't ya? Least I can make sure I've got porridge on hand then."
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She tried...and nothing happened. She couldn't change, she couldn't smell properly, and she was in a strange room with an even stranger man.
"Alright, what's going on?" she demanded, getting off the bed, her body tense. "Are you a wizard? Does this have something to do with Koom Valley?"
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The question was just too damned amusing, especially considering he shared a room with a damned wizard. "Who do I look like, Harry Potter?" he asked, chuckling. Pressing his hands down firmly on the edge of the mattress, Sawyer pushed up and then practically poured himself out of the bed. Scratching his bare stomach, just above the waistband of his denims, he half-yawned as he said, "I don't know no Koom Valley, sweetheart. You're on a crazy-ass island and there ain't no way of gettin' home, so get your panties untwisted 'fore I tell the rest of the tale, won't ya?"
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Her nose wrinkled and she made sure to keep her distance. "Don't call me sweetheart," she muttered. She glanced around the room. "And don't lie to me." She could smell it if he was, just...not at the moment. Her hands clenched around her arms. It wasn't like a scent bomb, and it wasn't quite like a cold, but something was very wrong.
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His hands made a slapping motion as they came down against his sides. "Listen, lady, I wouldn't lie about somethin' like this. It's how this place works. One minute you're livin' your life and the next it's like some diabolical Scotty's beamed ya up to freaky island central. That's how we all got here, present company included. You're standin' in the compound, but once you leave the building, you can only go so far before you hit sand."
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"Everyone here was kidnapped. To an island?" she said in summary, her eyebrows lifting higher up her forehead with each word. "What the hell for?"
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Now that the idea of having been kidnapped was put into his mind, Sawyer was pissed off. Kidnapped. If it wasn't The Others, it was a Fucked Up Fantasy Island. And if it wasn't a Fucked Up Fantasy Island, well...Sawyer didn't wanna think about what could be comin' up next.
"If I knew what for, maybe I'd have some idea of how to get the hell outta Dodge. But I don't know, and neither does anyone else. We're just here, that's all. Quaint, ain't it?"
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"No one knows how to make a boat?" Angua said dryly.
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Crossin' in front of her, Sawyer opened up a drawer and pulled out a t-shirt. After slipping it over his head, he tugged the hem down and cocked a brow at her. "If there were a way to get off of this place, I would've done it a long time ago."
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"Where are you from, before you ended up here?" she finally asked. He didn't sound like he was from Ankh-Morpork, but she had to know for sure.
* Which, with how she was feeling at that moment, probably wasn't that far at all.
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"Before I was here, I was a castaway on Gilligan's Island. They told me it was only a three-hour tour, but I got me booked on the Survivor edition. Wasn't doin' such a bad job of it, either."
If he didn't count sleepin' with Ana Lulu, losin' his gun, and a whole mess of shit happening because of it.
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