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hh_mirror((Another Hero? SAY IT AIN'T SO. :P Spoilers for the episode 'Unexpected', just to be safe. And approved by Sylar-mun. ^^)
The first thing Dale did, when she felt able to move again, was bring her hand quickly to her forehead. Which was whole and smooth and blissfully devoid of, say, blood and bits of brain matter. Not that this state of affairs wasn't infinitely preferable to, you know, having bits of leftover brain sticking out, but it would be nice to know how she had gotten from one state to the other.
She put her hand shakily back down, aware of her own heart dancing away at triple the rate it should be. She didn't try to slow it, though, not yet. It wasn't nearly long enough ago that some unconscious part of her had heard it stop.
On a slightly less urgent note, her iPod had stopped working. That was annoying.
Mental once-over thus completed, Dale gradually became aware of her surroundings: the slightly-too-small chair she was balanced on; the cavernous, castle-like room; the footsteps and murmurs of conversation beyond the walls; the piece of paper rustling loudly as it fluttered in front of her face.
--Wait, what?
--Yes, there was definitely a piece of paper there, with fresh writing shining on it, and a quill in a pot dancing alongside it. What the hell?
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
"My favourite cheese?" she said aloud, bewildered. "I die and the first thing I'm asked about is cheese?"
The paper continued to float, unapologetically.
"...Um," said Dale. "All right, what the hell." She captured the paper in one hand and pressed it to a handy table, then retrieved the quill with trepidation. She'd never written with anything more archaic than a Biro: it'd been her brother who was into all that Dungeons-and-Dragons, I-am-Flagon-of-Hemsgard stuff. The paper was covered in blots before she was done, as were the sleeves of her blue overalls, and the landscape in general.
Cheddar, I guess. Strong cheddar. But not the dry, stinky kind. Because there's no gormet cheesemonger in Bozeman.
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
Again with the brain-flailing. What the...?
Barney, she scritched out hesitantly. Though to be brutally honest, it wasn't so much a considered decision as the first one that popped into her head.
3. What time is it where you are?
She glanced at her wrist out of habit, but there was no watch there, and hadn't been for a month or more. The ticking was too distracting. But she did remember it being late, and the moon almost high enough to see by.
A little after midnight.
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
"...You're not serious."
The continued existence of the writing on the paper seemed to indicate that yes, it was.
"What kind of question is that?"
The kind of question, it appeared, that would not go away simply by being glared at.
After a few thoughtful seconds, Dale scrawled an inkblotty: I don't know who any of them are. It seemed a useful loophole.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
She skimmed down the list of possible... whatevers, and didn't have a clue what any of them meant. Just to be safe, she decided to answer all of them. They all sounded as cracked as each other.
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
"Why would I bartend in the dark?" she wondered aloud. "Uh..."
The Bluebottle, she wrote at last. Whether it was witty or not was up to whoever had written the questions; she'd admit that she wasn't the greatest judge of that, though it did seem funny to her.
B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
...
Was it just her, or were the questions getting exponentially weirder?
Whichever he loves more. I don't have the first clue who any of them are, so I'm hardly the best person to ask.
C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
At last, an easy one. Because paperwork comes in faster than it goes out. You could try getting someone to help. Or a really big paper-shredder.
D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.
Dale grinned. Because where I come from, if you don't have a working car you're pretty much screwed. People can give or take artists and actors and so on, but they'll always need mechanics.
She felt that summed it up fairly well.
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
...Well, she got from the context that being 'squibbed' was a bad thing, but it still struck her as annoying to expect a perfect stranger to have to bribe their way out of having it done to them. So she frowned at the paper, and poked it with the quill, sending yet another blot spreading across its surface.
It'd suck to start making enemies about the place, though. She still didn't know where the hell she was, or what had happened to her to get her here and in one piece.
Thus: If you have a broken car or bike or something, I can fix it, she conceded. If I can find my tools, or if you have some.
Who was going to be reading this, anyway?
"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. D.S.
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. D.S.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. D.S.
One day, marmalade will rule the world."
Blink. Blink.
" ...D.S.?"
The first thing Dale did, when she felt able to move again, was bring her hand quickly to her forehead. Which was whole and smooth and blissfully devoid of, say, blood and bits of brain matter. Not that this state of affairs wasn't infinitely preferable to, you know, having bits of leftover brain sticking out, but it would be nice to know how she had gotten from one state to the other.
She put her hand shakily back down, aware of her own heart dancing away at triple the rate it should be. She didn't try to slow it, though, not yet. It wasn't nearly long enough ago that some unconscious part of her had heard it stop.
On a slightly less urgent note, her iPod had stopped working. That was annoying.
Mental once-over thus completed, Dale gradually became aware of her surroundings: the slightly-too-small chair she was balanced on; the cavernous, castle-like room; the footsteps and murmurs of conversation beyond the walls; the piece of paper rustling loudly as it fluttered in front of her face.
--Wait, what?
--Yes, there was definitely a piece of paper there, with fresh writing shining on it, and a quill in a pot dancing alongside it. What the hell?
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
"My favourite cheese?" she said aloud, bewildered. "I die and the first thing I'm asked about is cheese?"
The paper continued to float, unapologetically.
"...Um," said Dale. "All right, what the hell." She captured the paper in one hand and pressed it to a handy table, then retrieved the quill with trepidation. She'd never written with anything more archaic than a Biro: it'd been her brother who was into all that Dungeons-and-Dragons, I-am-Flagon-of-Hemsgard stuff. The paper was covered in blots before she was done, as were the sleeves of her blue overalls, and the landscape in general.
Cheddar, I guess. Strong cheddar. But not the dry, stinky kind. Because there's no gormet cheesemonger in Bozeman.
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
Again with the brain-flailing. What the...?
Barney, she scritched out hesitantly. Though to be brutally honest, it wasn't so much a considered decision as the first one that popped into her head.
3. What time is it where you are?
She glanced at her wrist out of habit, but there was no watch there, and hadn't been for a month or more. The ticking was too distracting. But she did remember it being late, and the moon almost high enough to see by.
A little after midnight.
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
"...You're not serious."
The continued existence of the writing on the paper seemed to indicate that yes, it was.
"What kind of question is that?"
The kind of question, it appeared, that would not go away simply by being glared at.
After a few thoughtful seconds, Dale scrawled an inkblotty: I don't know who any of them are. It seemed a useful loophole.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
She skimmed down the list of possible... whatevers, and didn't have a clue what any of them meant. Just to be safe, she decided to answer all of them. They all sounded as cracked as each other.
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
"Why would I bartend in the dark?" she wondered aloud. "Uh..."
The Bluebottle, she wrote at last. Whether it was witty or not was up to whoever had written the questions; she'd admit that she wasn't the greatest judge of that, though it did seem funny to her.
B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
...
Was it just her, or were the questions getting exponentially weirder?
Whichever he loves more. I don't have the first clue who any of them are, so I'm hardly the best person to ask.
C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
At last, an easy one. Because paperwork comes in faster than it goes out. You could try getting someone to help. Or a really big paper-shredder.
D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.
Dale grinned. Because where I come from, if you don't have a working car you're pretty much screwed. People can give or take artists and actors and so on, but they'll always need mechanics.
She felt that summed it up fairly well.
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
...Well, she got from the context that being 'squibbed' was a bad thing, but it still struck her as annoying to expect a perfect stranger to have to bribe their way out of having it done to them. So she frowned at the paper, and poked it with the quill, sending yet another blot spreading across its surface.
It'd suck to start making enemies about the place, though. She still didn't know where the hell she was, or what had happened to her to get her here and in one piece.
Thus: If you have a broken car or bike or something, I can fix it, she conceded. If I can find my tools, or if you have some.
Who was going to be reading this, anyway?
"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. D.S.
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. D.S.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. D.S.
One day, marmalade will rule the world."
Blink. Blink.
" ...D.S.?"
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Date: 2007-08-08 10:28 pm (UTC)