Stone Walls Do Not A Prison Make {Charm}

[chase]

STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON M A K E
...nor iron bars a {cage}.

Chase had a way of getting himself into interesting situations.

It all started when he was wandering about in places he probably shouldn't have been. In retrospect, that thought alone should have been enough to deter him, but Chase wasn't thinking very clearly. See, he had been at the Wall earlier. It was the one place that was simultaneously easy to find and known Fallen territory. Chase was still having trouble recognizing the lines these people had drawn in the sand and often wondered why there had to be lines at all. It would all be so much easier without them. Then they could all just be like neighbors, fixing each others' roofs, and bringing the new people fresh apple pies, and having weekly potlucks and the like, with games of monopoly, pin-the-tail, hide-and-seek and potato-sack racing.

As far as Chase understood, there was little, if any potato-sack racing here.

In any case, he had been by the wall, mulling about self-consciously as a bird (because that way he kind of felt like he was covertly spying on the people outside the wall instead of vice versa, which was infinitely creepier, probably), when he was caught by something both pleasant and unpleasant at once. It was something he thought he would never hear again, something he was sure would never happen and that he even hoped would never happen just because of his pride, his feelings, and the worries that fluttered in his stomach ceaselessly whenever he was alone long enough to be confronted by his own thoughts. But it was there. Chase heard it.

Chase was nearly positive he heard his sister in the crowd.

He couldn't be sure. He didn't even know if he would recognize Aida's voice anymore and if that was just wishful thinking upon hearing some teenage girl's voice and knowing without a doubt that his sister was both an adolescent and a female. But he thought that it might be her. He thought that throughout the noise, maybe his sister was there looking, and he wondered, if she was there, if she was looking for him, or just looking for something to do. Chase hoped it was the latter. It'd be too sad if she was still looking and kept trying. She'd end up mentally distraught. Psychologists would have a field day and she'd go on to be on a first-name basis with her school counselor. It would be like a bad commercial fiction novel written by a ghost writer with a famous counterpart earning half of the profits for the ghost writer's archetypal formula. Tragic. It'd be better if she could just forget and he couldn't.

But then he saw a flash of reddish-blonde hair and upon only catching a couple words of Aida's voice, Chase flew away. She wouldn't recognize him, but all in an instant, he didn't want her to see him like that. Better a martyr than a freak. At least for social purposes.

So that was when he started trying to distract himself by flying about the place, not paying too much attention to where he was going. Eventually he ended up at a place where he saw very few people and thought that perhaps this would be a good place to make an ass of himself with little to no consequences. He started walking, grasping the first idea that came to mind and trying to remember all that he could about it. The prince's part in Swan Lake; he knew it once. He could dance all of it before. How did it go? As he walked he made little skips and hops, absently focusing his mind on his ready-made distraction.

Then he saw a thing.

It was a weird type of thing. A shelter? Some sort of shelter maybe, made out of bits and pieces of buildings; the windows were blue and red and car doors, he thought. The door was metal and looked strong, but somehow he thought that getting in might not be a big issue. Not for stronger animals, at least. It looked like something you'd see in a post-apocalyptic movie, that the mutants would put together in an attempt to form some type of independence from the overlords and their guns, thinking in their delusions of freedom that rusty car parts and wind-chewed lumber were enough to defeat firepower. Kind of poetic, thought Chase with a smirk. But this was not the end of the world. Probably.

He walked around, looking at it curiously as his attention was riveted by the different scraps and garbage surrounding the place. Yes, he thought. This is what the world would look like if there was a nuclear bomb or something. He half expected to see the shadows of people burnt into the walls, but instead, his eye caught on something else. Something shiny. Something familiar. A bottle.

That was when a deliciously tempting idea crept into his brain and he instantly wished it out. The bottle was fairly big. It was glass, and the neck itself wasn't so think as most were. In fact, he thought a small animal could probably fit inside. Most insects, like caterpillars, or butterflies... maybe a mouse, or a squirrel. Maybe a bird.

That was it.

The 'Don't Push' button big and red, slammed down in front of him, just waiting for him to crack. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. It would be so stupid to even try. What could he gain from that? Nothing. He might even get hurt. It was just a bottle. Just a stupid idea. A silly thought. He shouldn't do it. He wouldn't. He wouldn't try to go in that bottle. He just wouldn't do it. He had self-control. He was composed. He wasn't going to go in. Nope. Never.

Naturally, five minutes later he was stuck. Somehow, as a bird, he had managed to wiggle his way in and felt a keen sense of delight when he found that he fit. Then, when he realized he couldn't get out, that delight quickly shifted to horror. Horror and guilt for being so stupid. Great. Now he would starve to death in a little glass bottle in the middle of nowhere next to a giant hovel thing where no one would find him. Wonderful. Just peachy. He had always known that the end of the world would end with not a bang, but a whimper. He hadn't imagined such a setting though.

"Help?" he tried meekly, all too aware that it was to no avail. "Anyone?" For a genius, he really was an idiot sometimes.

Word Count:// 1,098
OOC:// 8D
Credits:// "To Althea From Prison" by Richard Lovelace

[Charm]

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[bg=000000][atrb=width,350,true][atrb=border,0,true] Arrows were a pain to make. The wood, the fletching, the weight. All had to be just so, or it wouldn’t fly true. Stone heads were serviceable, but difficult to find and shape, and made for a heavy arrow. Soft metal was easier to work with, and more versatile. While it didn’t carry the power of a stone tip, it was perfect for small game and inflicting wounds. Unless trying to cause a great deal of damage, or for hunting large prey, stone arrowheads were unnecessary. Charm jogged through the mess of broken and discarded trash, searching for bits and pieces that she could pound or warp to fit her needs. Spring was approaching, so while still cold, the sun had melted most of the snow off the piles, making her job easier. She meandered deeper into the junkyard, long legs maintaining an easy lope while she kept a sharp eye out for smaller pieces of metal. Those she found she plucked gingerly from their resting place and tucked into the pouch at her belt, wary of slicing a finger. As she straightened from retrieving one such piece, a glimpse of a regular pattern among the chaos caught her attention. Curious, she forged her way toward it, shouldering aside a rusted pipe and pushing an old barrel out of her path. The Hovel grew out of the ground, order forced into the tangled fabric from which the rest of landscape was made. Heaps of trash spilled into the once-cleared area around the makeshift building, a sad travesty of a dark, wild forest reclaiming an abandoned castle. Charm dropped slowly, absentmindedly to her knees, out of respect for the effort these people made. Someone, the Bestia, had dared to make a home out of the discards of others’ lives, defying the belief that they would die like a broken, beaten old dog. They had taken what they were given and made it work, a bold claim that they still had fight left. Perhaps it had been futile in the end, but she could appreciate the courage it had taken to try. As she knelt, contemplating the Bestia’s fate, a small voice rang out in the silence, startling her out the reverie. “Help? Anyone?” She rose deliberately to her feet, hand falling automatically to the sword belted at her hip, gaze scanning around the improvised clearing. While not inclined to think the worst of people, strangers in the Menagerie tended to attack first, ask questions later. “Hello?” No one was in sight. She quirked an eyebrow. “Uh... Marco?” A flutter of motion flickered in her peripheral vision, prompting Charm to turn toward it. Her gaze dropped low as she paced closer, searching for the source, only to land on... a bottle. With a bird inside. She stared for a long moment, not bothering to fight the grin that was slowly edging onto her expression. “Don’t tell me. You’re stuck.” It was like those ships inside the glass bottles, only so much more ridiculous. Letting her hand fall from the sword hilt, she padded over and crouched beside the bottle to examine it, pulling off her fingerless gloves. A Nightingale was trapped inside - or at least, she assumed it was trapped, as the opening looked just a bit too small. However, it must fit somehow, if it had gotten in there. Unlike model ships, living creatures couldn’t be reassembled. Eyeing the situation consideringly, she brushed her hair, cropped just above her shoulders, out of her eyes. “Hmm.” Switching to a cross-legged seat, she gently lifted the bottle to rest on her knee, cradled carefully in her hands. “What we have here is a Górdios desmós, a Gordian knot. What’s your name, little bird? You’d best not be a Carna, or I’ll be tempted to leave you here.” Good humored amusement colored her tone. She couldn’t imagine a Carna, always portrayed as twisted and dangerous, the stuff of nightmares, to be caught dead or alive in such a predicament. If the Nightingale was of the Carna, it would make the situation all the funnier, but even so, she couldn’t leave them to starve to death, trapped in glass with freedom inches away, the subject of mockery. It’s like all of us, living under this wall, but on a smaller scale, she realized with a great deal of merriment. “Now let’s see about getting you out of there, eh? I’m reluctant to just smash the bottle - it could hurt you.” Leaving one hand to balance the bottle, she hunted through the pockets of her borrowed jacket with the other, pulling out a heavy pair of pliers. She’d thought she might need them to retrieve one of the scraps of metal she searched for, but hopefully they’d work in this instance as well. Fitting the clamp on the rim of the bottle opening, Charm tried to snap off a piece of glass, but it slipped right off. She cursed in a muttered mix of Greek and Latin, and tried again to the same effect. With a sigh, she returned the pliers to her pocket. “I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Here. Scoot down to this end.” She placed a fingertip on the bottom of the bottle to indicate which she meant. “This will be loud, and it will throw you around. Brace yourself.” Picking up one of her gloves, she worked it into the mouth of the bottle, then shoved it inside, putting a barrier of cloth between the bird and the damage she was about to cause. Taking the bottle in both hands, she twisted at the waist and brought it down hard on the old wheel frame beside her, striking the edge right where the neck widened to the main cavity. Glass broke with shatter, showering her with shards, though she had possessed the sense to turn her face away when she brought the bottle down. Plucking her glove from the now jagged opening, she glanced down at the Nightingale. “All right? Nothing broken?” Gently, she tipped him out onto the ground, then stood and backed away to give him room to shift. She swung an arm across her waist and gave an elaborate bow. “Charmeia - Charm - Antoni, bird rescuer extraordinaire, at your service.” ooc; sorry this took a few days! let me know if you want anything changed. xD words; 1,044

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[chase]

OUR CARELESS HEADS WITH ROSES B O U N D
...our {hearts} with loyal flames.

So basically, this was the end. Chase contemplated shifting in the bottle and thought that he would probably end up hurt, or maybe even dead. He didn't know the exact science of shifting; it wasn't as if there were even any books published on the scientific aspect of it yet, at least to his knowledge. He could blow up. Literally blow up. He wasn't so sure that he would just break the bottle if he shifted. How could he know? He could be a person crammed into a bottle by mysterious forces and then he would explode.

Was it better to starve to death or explode?

Ooh. Tough. He'd never actually thought about it before.

"Hello?

Maybe he wouldn't really have to. Chase looked up, fighting to peer through the slightly misted over glass from the cold, only to see a very, very large figure looming over head of him. His heart sunk and chills ran down his spine. It was like being a grown-up confronted with the giants that your role-models constantly told you over and over again did not exist, and besides, would they fit in your closet? Here was a giant. At least, that was what he thought initially until he recognized just how big a perfectly normal person would look to a bird. The world was filled with giants and monsters.

Still. The silhouette above his head was really big.

"Marco?" Marco? Who was Marco? Oh, right.

"Here! I mean, Polo! Look down!" he called, all too aware of how quiet his voice was in comparison to the giant's, loud and thundering. Manners slipped into his thoughts and after a moment, he added a meek, "Please?" Peering through the frozen fog of the glass encasing him, it suddenly occurred to him that this person was female. For some reason, that settled him. The giants that generally ate children and birds in his stories were usually male. This was a good sign. The ground shook as she knelt down and he hopped in the bottle to keep balance.

"Don't tell me. You're stuck." She was grinning at him. He was grateful that she couldn't see him turn red. This was entirely his own fault. As she crouched further down, he saw her face a little better, but mostly her eyes. They were so dark... but in a good way. In a 'depth' implying sort of way. He stayed still as she examined the bottle, apparently figuring out how to help him out. He wondered if she was the type to get frustrated and abandon projects. He really hoped not. Suddenly the bottle was in her hands and in the air and he let out a surprised little chirp despite himself, carefully held in her hands and on her knee. He was alarmed, but only for a second. She was being cautious, he thought. That probably meant that she was thinking before acting - something he should do more often.

"What we have here is a Górdios desmós, a Gordian knot. What’s your name, little bird? You’d best not be a Carna, or I’ll be tempted to leave you here." It instantly struck Chase that she was smart. Smart or knowledgeable about random myths, which was possible, but still. He was impressed and yet absent, staring at her vacantly until he snapped back to attention upon hearing the last bit - the suggestion of leaving him there. Wait, Carna? "I-I..." His head tilted just slightly. "Uh... Fallen? Fallen. You wouldn't really leave me if I were a Carna, would you?" he asked suddenly, a little alarmed. Chase completely missed the mirth in her tone. He bit his tongue. "Not... not that a Carna would really get into this situation..." he mumbled. She was either Fallen or... what was the other one? Fulsi. One or the other, because she didn't like the Carna. He was betting on Fulsi for the simple reason that even though he couldn't see her very clearly, he was fairly certain that he had never heard her voice before. He was pretty good with that sort of thing.

"Now let’s see about getting you out of there, eh? I’m reluctant to just smash the bottle - it could hurt you." At least she was caring for his safety. As she tried with the pliers , who couldn't help but recognize just how much more terrifying pliers were when you were only a few inches tall. When they soon failed and she told him to scoot down to one end, he was skeptical, but he did was he was told. She seemed like she knew what she was doing, even though he didn't. When she shoved her glove in to create a barrier, he was instantly alarmed. "This will be loud, and it will throw you around. Brace yourself." Ah. Ahhhh. No, no, no, those were not good words to hear. "W-why, what are you going to- ahh!"

All at once his petite little frame had slid down to where the cloth was, held up only by a woman's glove as she picked up the bottle and smashed it against a wheel frame. It was kind of like a roller coaster. A roller coaster that was over in five seconds with no seat-belts and the threat of either death or being forever imprisoned if everything didn't turn out so hot.

For a moment, Chase was shell-shocked into silence. Light peeked into the bottle as the glove was out and he only came back to himself when she tipped him out. Out of the bottle. Fantastic! Amazing! Free without even a single spontaneous combustion! He hardly waited for her to back away before he shifted back, relief flooding into his chest as suddenly the world looked normal and those pliers were just pliers and oh... oh, he wasn't going to explode. He wasn't going to explode.

He was looking at his hands with a wide grin, half-forgetting that she was there until she spoke. He watched her bow with a blink.

"Charmeia - Charm - Antoni, bird rescuer extraordinaire, at your service."

He stared at her for only a moment.

Then he grabbed her into a tight hug despite his better instincts, just so grateful, and in that, he wasn't thinking right. Her in his arms, he waved back and forth in the playful way that one might hug a small child. Mostly he was just happy to have arms. "Oh - oh thank-you, you, you have no idea how worried I was, 'cause 'cause I don't know what would have happened, you know? i could have died. Died in a bottle! A bottle, I..." The full implication of this hit him in a moment and he paused, suddenly shaken. His fell. "Died..." he mumbled. He looked at her, still in his arms, and hugged her again. "I - I just don't even have the words for this. You, you're - you're just-" That was about when he really looked at her. Big brown eyes, dark hair, pixie-like features. His eyes didn't hide his impression. "...really pretty." A pause. He thought for a moment. "And shorter."

It took a while before he realized that he was latched on to a total stranger. Like most things that occasion, this thought struck him quickly enough that he left go as if burned and stepped a good two and a half feet away. He turned red. Smiled.

"Uh..." He should copy her introduction. That was snappy. "Chase - uh, Cha...se... Thompson. Um. Guy-who-needs-his-ass-saved-regularly extraordinaire." Well. That didn't sound nearly as good as it did in his head. He held out a hand stiffly. "Uh, thank-you, uh, Charm." He pursed his lips awkwardly. "I really appreciate tha - oh hey, are you okay?"

The idea of glass shattering everywhere when she was at least partially exposed managed to creep into his mind at the last minute. He scanned her over, searching for cuts. "I mean, did the glass cut you? There are all sorts of things that could happen if that happened, you know, ranging from a simple infection to many other types of infections, like tetanus, and depending - depending on where that glass has been, you could even get something like-" he paused. He shouldn't finish. For some reason his mouth thought that that was the cue to lower his voice into a whisper, though. "...AIDS." Chase coughed. He shifted awkwardly. A thought suddenly struck him. "You're not a hemophiliac, are you?" he asked. He could feel the blank look coming. "Just cause... cause that would be bad."

Smooth.

Word Count:// 1,421
OOC:// Haha, don't worry about it. We all have school and such. Besides, that was quick! =D
Credits:// "To Althea From Prison" by Richard Lovelace

[Charm]

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[bg=000000][atrb=width,350,true][atrb=border,0,true] As she stepped back, bird morphed upward into man. A good looking young guy, about her age and a few inches taller, with dark blond hair and... gray eyes. Damn. She was a sucker for gray eyes, a fact she’d neglected to mention to Tarrik for the simple reason that he’d never let her live it down, cheeky, gray-eyed bastard that he was. The man in front of her possessed a darker shade, as opposed to the Graywalls’ silver. The expression of intense relief he wore made the effort to free him more than worth the trouble. When he only stared in response to her introduction, Charm started to prompt a reply, only to have a laugh startled from her as she was pulled into an enthusiastic hug. She returned the gesture lightly, more amused than anything else, bracing hands on the backs of his shoulders to keep her balance as he swung from side to side, thanking her fervently. With her cheek pressed against his shoulder, it was easy to confirm that he was Fallen - the distinctive smell clung to him, but not unpleasantly so. The scent was dry and light, reminiscent of the desert where they lived. “I could have died. Died in a bottle! A bottle, I...” He trailed off, processing this with a degree unsteadiness, so she briefly tightened her arms around him in a gesture of consolation. Realizing the imminence of death was never a pleasant thing. She pulled back to smile reassuringly at him, only to be hugged tight again. "I - I just don't even have the words for this. You, you're - you're just-" He looked at her and blinked, those gray eyes widening. "...really pretty. And shorter." Charm grinned up at him, resting as casually in his arms as if they were close friends, instead of complete strangers. “Thank you. And, well, the ‘shorter’ thing was bound to happen, sooner or later. Unless you planned on staying in that bottle?” she asked archly, eyes glimmering with amusement as she teased him. She had just finished the sentence when awareness flashed across his face and he sprang away, turning red even as he gave an embarrassed smile. Taking this sudden distance with good natured resignation - he was warm - Charm tucked her hands into her pockets, fighting a smile as he introduced himself. At the thanks, she waved dismissive hand, then clasped his outstretched one with a grin. “It was nothing, just breaking a bottle. Pleasure to meet you.” At the sudden change of topic, she blinked. “What? Oh! No, I’m fine, I think.” She freed her hand from his to brush it over face and neck, searching for any glass that pierced the skin. While she did so, Chase chattered on about the potential dangers of cuts. There was a sense of scrambled intelligence to him. As if he knew what he was talking about, but the words tumbled out of their own accord. "You're not a hemophiliac, are you?” She tilted her head in a gesture of puzzlement, for the word was unfamiliar, but her grasp of languages - Latin in particular - made it easy to guess what he was asking. The condition wasn’t unfamiliar, she just hadn’t ever placed a name to it. “Nope, last time I checked my blood clots just fine. Though I’m not extraordinarily keen on testing it. But-” She held up her hands to forestall him before he could worry any further, a grin tugging at her mouth. “Your concerns are thankfully unfounded, for I am perfectly fine. Covered in glass, perhaps, but unharmed.” She dusted some fragments carefully off her jacket. “So.” She looked up with a winning smile, folding her arms across her stomach to keep them warm. “Are you out here for a certain reason, or just wandering? Did you have Bird versus Bottle in mind all along?” A grin took any sting out of the teasing words. This guy was a little odd, but interesting, and friendly. Charm was tired of people who were constantly suspicious, always rushing somewhere, or simply uninterested in conversation. She wasn’t one to pass up the chance to chat with an attractive, intriguing man. As a rule, she found people fascinating, and she found herself liking this one. ooc; good? let me know if you need more content. o3o words; 711

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[chase]

WHEN I LIE TANGLED IN HER H A I R
...and {fettered} to her eye.

"Thank you. And, well, the ‘shorter’ thing was bound to happen, sooner or later. Unless you planned on staying in that bottle?"

Chase stared at her with unmasked surprise. He blinked. "I... are you crazy?" he murmured, barely above a whisper and just below an octave higher than his normal pitch. Stay in the bottle? Stay in the bottle? Who would do that? Crazy people, that's who. Masochists. Lunatics. Probably some dentists and tax collectors and lawyers too because it must be hard, Chase thought, to know that so many people disliked you and even hated you without ever really getting to know you. There were probably even some dentists and lawyers and tax collectors with charming, intriguing personalities. Like Hitler. But Hitler wouldn't have stayed in the bottle, because he was a sadist and not a masochist, which Chase supposed that you had to be to an extent, a masochist that is, in order to be a dentist, a tax collector, or a lawyer. But he was no masochist. Or dentist, tax collector, or even a lawyer really, and so, he wouldn't have planned on staying in the bottle at all. Not even for a second.

...did that make him Hitler?

It didn't matter. Segue over. It was just a ridiculous question. Statement. Questatement. Ridiculous. Preposterous. Even...

...ah. Not serious.

Chase smiled unsurely, hoping that instinct was right and he was supposed to smile. "Ha... ha. I guess. Only a dentist would've stayed in the bottle, you know, and I... I'm not a dentist." It took him a moment to realize that that reference was only amusing to him. His mouth opened and abruptly shut. "Which is... to say, that, you know, a masochist. Because dentists have to be masochists, don't you think? I mean, to willingly have so many people hate them, you would have to... you know..." Chase pursed his lips. "...like that sort of thing."

He was honestly a little shocked that she hadn't gone away yet. She was so modest too, which, he knew from books and T.V., was a very attractive quality in a person. "Just breaking a bottle"... it was so much more than that, really. She took his outstretched hand and he found his cheeks heating up at the feel of her strong grip; stronger than his, he thought absently. More confident. He fumbled with his words for a moment before grinning lazily, perhaps a little dazed at the sudden contact that he - he! - initiated. "Pfft..." he scoffed, taking his hand back reluctantly to rub the back of his neck. "...was more than breaking a bottle," he mumbled awkwardly. His voice rose slightly. "It was a bottle with a bird inside, so, you know... I think that's probably harder. Not that I've tried myself," he admitted under his breath.

As she checked for injuries, proclaiming she was fine before even really examining herself, Chase got the feeling that she was probably the type of person to say that she was fine even when she wasn't or had no idea whether she was nor not, just to stop people from worrying about her. She was like Harry Potter, or Sarah Connor, or Sigourney Weaver's character in Avatar. She had saved him. That had to be good for something. The idea of her being a hemophiliac suddenly popped into his head and mid-rant, she said, "Nope, last time I checked my blood clots just fine. Though I’m not extraordinarily keen on testing it. But-" Chase's brow furrowed in confusion. "You check that?" he asked, tilting his head just as she had before. Then, a frightening thought struck him. His eyes widened slowly. "Should I be checking that?" And then - then a grin. She was joking. A joke. Was she teasing him? Slowly, upon the realization that yes, she was teasing him, Chase grinned back. Oh. That... that was kind of refreshing.

"Your concerns are thankfully unfounded, for I am perfectly fine. Covered in glass, perhaps, but unharmed."

Chase's grin faded into a look of gentle doubt as she brushed remnants of glass from her jacket. He bit his lip and glanced her over. "I think that you'd probably say that even if you weren't." he said after a moment, utterly serious. "Heroines in all the old movies do that," he explained. His hands slipped into his pockets. Chase balanced on the heels of his feet for a moment before landing back on the ground. "You seem like the type, I think. He looked at her somewhat timidly. "So you know... be sure and all before you say you're fine, because, I mean, you never know, right?" Chase paused for a second. Then, as an after-thought, "Cause you know, if you stop checking for hemophilia, one day it could just creep up on you. Bam! Blood clot issues. It's happened. Probably."

He smiled crookedly because he'd made a joke and he hoped that she got it.

"So." He liked the way she looked up at him and he wasn't sure why. He noticed her crossing her arms and made a mental note, not entirely paying attention to what she said next. "Are you out here for a certain reason, or just wandering? Did you have Bird versus Bottle in mind all along?" "Hm - what? I - oh, I," Chase quickly glanced at her face and then back at her arms. "I thought I heard Aida and got distracted and was remembering how to play the prince when I saw the thing - are you cold?" Chase looked up at her, blinking innocently enough. "You're holding your arms against your chest," he said bluntly. "That usually happens when people are cold. You can use my sweatshirt if you like," he offered, taking off his sweatshirt before she could have the chance to accept. "I don't really need it. Well, I do need it, actually." He stopped himself, thinking about his words carefully and choosing them for accuracy rather than flow. "Just not now. Here - here, take it," he offered, smiling in a way that he hoped was warm and not creepy. "You shouldn't go out at this time of year without a coat. I mean, not if you expect to be out for a while."

An idea slipped into his mind and he felt guilty before it was even fully-formed. Chase hesitated. "Oh, uh... unless... unless you weren't planning to be out for a while. I... I didn't interrupt something, did I?" His look was all earnestness. He couldn't believe that he didn't think to consider that she might have had a previous engagement and he was just sitting there taking up all her time with haphazard clumsiness and near-constant babbling. "Um. You can leave if you want to," he flushed, rubbing his forearm awkwardly. "I can just... uh... get my sweater back later. It's no problem," he smiled sheepishly. "Really." It occurred to him that 'really' was about just as convincing as 'fine' a little too late. Only one other phrase immediately came to mind. "It's fine."

Chase inwardly smacked himself.

Word Count:// 1,181
OOC:// Sorry for the massive wait! School is kind of kicking my butt. ^^;
Credits:// "To Althea From Prison" by Richard Lovelace

[Charm]

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[bg=000000][atrb=width,350,true][atrb=border,0,true] Whoops. So much for her sense of humor. Apparently it didn’t translate well. He just stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. She would have to watch what she said, to avoid something meant in jest being taken too literally. "I... are you crazy?" Charm pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Not in the clinical sense, at least?” After all, didn’t everyone go a bit crazy while living in the Menagerie? Unfortunately, many did go insane in the clinical sense. It took him a minute, but after a pause he gave a hesitant smile. She grinned back encouragingly. "Ha... ha. I guess. Only a dentist would've stayed in the bottle, you know, and I... I'm not a dentist." Now it was her turn to blink, head tilting sideways in confusion. “Why a dentist?” Chase was quick to clarify, and once he did so the reference made much more sense. She’d never met a dentist - her family had avoided established health care clinics like the plague - but it was certain that they were widely unpopular. Who would appreciate metal tools scraping at their teeth? “I always assumed they were in it for the money,” she mused. When he protested that breaking the bottle was not such a small feat, she shrugged off the compliment good-naturedly. It really hadn’t been a big deal, though she appreciated the sentiment. “I’m sure you would have figured something out on your own. I just sped up the process,” she countered blithely. Charm looked up from dusting splinters of glass from her clothes to meet his doubtful gaze as he expressed a lack of conviction in her claim of good health. "I think that you'd probably say that even if you weren't. Heroines in all the old movies do that." Amused pleasure glowed in her eyes at the flattery, a faint grin lighting her expression. “I probably would. In this case, though, I really am fine.” None of the glass had hit with enough force to break the skin, and surely she would have felt it if it had. The grin grew as he joked, playing off his earlier confusion over ‘checking for hemophilia.’ It was a nice quality, being able to laugh at oneself. She nodded with mock seriousness. “Exactly. It’s a sneaky condition like that. Although it’s easier to just, you know, not bleed to begin with.” Wasn’t it genetic? Either way, she was relatively certain it wasn’t something that could develop unexpectedly, giving her confidence to banter about it’s danger. In answer to her query, he gave a distracted response which provided more questions than answers. Who was Aida? What was he referring to when he said, ‘play the prince?’ A game, a theatre production? She could summarize that the ‘thing’ was the glass bottle. “Are you cold?” Once again the sudden change of topic caught her off guard, but she was beginning to realize it was normal for him, and managed to accept the new direction with a modicum of grace. He offered his sweatshirt, and she started to protest - “I couldn’t, you’ll freeze...” - only to trail off as he pulled it over his head. He wasn’t dressed for the weather any better than she was, but he was already proffering it with a smile, and she had no wish to hurt his feelings with seeming ungratefulness. Charm bit her lip in a moment of indecision, wavering, then relented and smiled up at him. “Thank you.” She slid her bow and quiver off and set them by her feet, then closed her fingers around the soft fabric, resisting the impulse to bury her nose in it and inhale. Pushing that thought from her mind, she pulled it on. It was loose, but not terribly so, considering that he wasn’t excessively broad and only a few inches taller than she was. She had to pull the sleeves up a bit to free her hands, and by the time she’d finished Chase was onto a new concern. She suppressed a smile, not wanting it to be mistaken for mocking when all she felt was affection for this odd, caring person. “I’ve got nowhere to be,” she reassured, aiming to put his worries at rest. It seemed that there was genuine reluctance to see her go, and it was touching. “I was out collecting metal,” she explained, pulling a piece from the pouch tied to her belt to demonstrate what she meant, “to shape into arrowheads.” She cast a wry glance toward the quiver by her feet. “I need them by the dozens, because they break so easily.” Tucking the metal bit back into the bag, she looked up at him though her lashes. “Are you sure you’re not cold? I don’t want to keep your sweatshirt from you if you need it.” The air was chilly, but not unbearably so, with suitable clothing. ooc; no worries, I know how that is xD words; 811

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[RUMOR]

Archives, please. xP Thanksmuchly.