001: [Action] I am the Cat who walks by herself, and all places are alike to me.
Parker is on the floor of a carousel. This would be fine for most people, but as Parker has a serious distrust of horses -- she used to loathe them but that’s tempered to unhealthy distrust -- she is not amused. They’re all too pretty and sparkly, and look like they’re hiding something. When she stands, she looks one straight in the eye, because intimidating an inanimate object makes perfect sense to her. Then again, her personal definition of horse is rather loose, in comparison to most.
Plus, in a strange place, where Parker doesn’t know the lay of the land, refusing to show fear -- whether it’s when facing a car thief, or a Russian mobster, or a carousel horse, is always the best plan for survival. If there is one thing Parker is, besides a thief, it’s a survivor.
First priority, find out where she is. Pulling out her phone she speed dials Hardison, but there’s no signal. For a moment, she stares at the phone like it’s inherently wrong.
With the immediate realization she’s alone, Parker’s instincts rear up. Get off this carousel and away from the horses; they’re creepy. Lift a wallet -- or 12. Find an empty warehouse. Find cereal -- and do all of those things in that order.
Walking off the platform as if the rules of centrifugal force do not apply to her in any way, shape or form, she doesn’t panic. This is a routine Parker’s gone through in the past, but what is truly different is that that she didn’t resort to it first. No, she called Hardison because she can tell him stuff. He buys her cereal. He doesn’t throw out the empty boxes and doesn’t snoop when she uses them to hide her emergency stash in their offices. This makes perfect sense, if one is Parker, to call him first, but there isn’t a signal.
Looking left, then right; she’s alone. She turns back to the carousel, waiting for the horse she intimidated to come back around. “Bad horsey,” is all she says, as if it is responsible for her current predicament.
Moving away, in search of a mark, she eyes that beast one last time. She could swear it was looking back.
[ooc: action only. Parker's not one to jump on the network and wave hello.]
Plus, in a strange place, where Parker doesn’t know the lay of the land, refusing to show fear -- whether it’s when facing a car thief, or a Russian mobster, or a carousel horse, is always the best plan for survival. If there is one thing Parker is, besides a thief, it’s a survivor.
First priority, find out where she is. Pulling out her phone she speed dials Hardison, but there’s no signal. For a moment, she stares at the phone like it’s inherently wrong.
With the immediate realization she’s alone, Parker’s instincts rear up. Get off this carousel and away from the horses; they’re creepy. Lift a wallet -- or 12. Find an empty warehouse. Find cereal -- and do all of those things in that order.
Walking off the platform as if the rules of centrifugal force do not apply to her in any way, shape or form, she doesn’t panic. This is a routine Parker’s gone through in the past, but what is truly different is that that she didn’t resort to it first. No, she called Hardison because she can tell him stuff. He buys her cereal. He doesn’t throw out the empty boxes and doesn’t snoop when she uses them to hide her emergency stash in their offices. This makes perfect sense, if one is Parker, to call him first, but there isn’t a signal.
Looking left, then right; she’s alone. She turns back to the carousel, waiting for the horse she intimidated to come back around. “Bad horsey,” is all she says, as if it is responsible for her current predicament.
Moving away, in search of a mark, she eyes that beast one last time. She could swear it was looking back.
[ooc: action only. Parker's not one to jump on the network and wave hello.]