Application for Victoria Metcalf (Due South)

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((Done with permission from the relevant DS-muns.))



There weren't a lot of things that could surprise her anymore. More was the pity, really; life was supposed to be one big wonderland ride, full of unexpected moments. But once you figured out the little secrets, once you'd peeked behind the curtain and seen up the dress of the wizard, it all got a little too mundane.

Victoria Metcalf strode into the Sorting Room, bag in hand, every hair in place, thanks to the washroom in the train station, coat clutched tightly around her. She was always cold, it seemed, but at least she could blame the Scottish winter for it now. She walked in and she didn't blink when the quill started writing out her answers for her, didn't show a flicker of surprise at the unusual questions. Because even if you didn't know what was going on, you had to act as if you did.

1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?

Voice smooth and with a calculated edge of whimsy, Victoria tapped the edge of the table with one finger and said, "Is it out of place if I say whatever you use for baked macaroni and cheese? I know that I'm probably supposed to say something like Brie or Royal Blue Stilton, but I guess I just have simple tastes," she smiled, a little shyly, and shrugged.

2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?

A little blink, a head tilt, the slightest widening of her eyes and Victoria looked up at the room, confused. "I'm sorry," she said, tone apologetic. "I'm afraid I don't understand the question."

3. What time is it where you are?

Pushing back the sleeve of her black coat, Victoria peered down at a simple gold watch before shaking the cuff back down over her wrist.

"Quarter past three."

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.

For a moment, she was quiet. Then, head tilting back a little to expose the curve of a pale neck, teeth flashing slightly between upturned lips, Victoria laughed. There was really nothing more to say to that.

5. If you are pushing to be in:

A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.

"The Purple Rose." The answer came a little too quickly and Victoria shrugged, pushing her finger slowly along the top of the desk, eyes lowered to watch its path. "I like the flower."

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.

This elicited another laugh, though this one was slightly bitter. Pausing, formulating her response, Victoria tapped her nail against the wood lightly. A frown creased her forehead just for a second before smoothing out, and she answered quietly, "In Alaska, there's a legend of a race of giants who once inhabited the land. There was a woman who loved a warrior, and he loved her. But on the day they were set to be married, a battle broke out, and he had to leave her. So the woman lay down by the river to wait for him. She fell asleep, and when the news came that her love had died, no one in the village had the heart to wake her."

Victoria took a breath, smiling sadly. "She's there even now. Never stirring, turned to stone, still waiting." One slim shoulder lifted slightly and she looked up. "I supposed Harry should be with the one that he'd turn to stone without."

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.

Wrinkling her nose a little, Victoria waved her hand. "Oh, I'm worthless at paperwork, really. I suppose it's just one of those things."

D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

"Ah." Leaning back a little, as if she'd been waiting for this question, Victoria smoothed her coat over her knees as she thought. "Well, how would one prove that, really? You'll probably have to take my word for it, no matter what I say. Unless," she chuckled a little, amused, "you're running background checks on my answers."

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.

Reaching into her pocket, Victoria smoothly pulled out a pocketbook. "So, this is where I write a check?" she asked innocently. "I was lead to believe that there was no tuition, but I can manage a small donation. Or..." She paused, considering. "Well, I do have a few books with me. And I'm a decent cook, if you wanted something homemade? Other than that," she spread her arms a little and smiled awkwardly, "I'm sorry, I don't know what else to offer."

"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. ___VM_________
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. ___VM________.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. _____VM______.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ____VM_________"

Comments

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(( unless the Fraser/Victoria smooch (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1521312.html?thread=77042592#t77042592) was warded, or unless you'd like Cooper not to have seen it, in which case I'll happily delete! ))

Cooper had arrived just in time to witness a most alarming event.

Constable Benton Fraser, his international colleague in law enforcement, seemed to have fallen prey to another supernatural being!

The last time, it had been Cooper's own doppelganger, who'd actually bitten the Constable, much to Coop's own chagrin and embarrassment when he learned of the event.

This time it appeared to be a succubus trying to, yes, eat Fraser's face.

Now, Cooper knew very well that humans could turn into face-eating cats, because Cooper had been one. It stood to reason that face-eating cats could disguise themselves as human. (Coop always did wonder about the Rumpleteazer girl. Also, Miss Swan, who liked catnip far more than any human should.)

He might have leaped in to rescue the Constable had not Fraser wisely and bravely torn himself free of the cat-woman's grasp. Fleeing could be the better part of valor in a case like this. Fraser would have to regroup!

In the meantime, Coop would help out by doing a little groundwork.

He approached the cat-woman with his usual serious-quirky open expression. His coffee mug, as ever, was in his hand. He wouldn't use a notepad much less his handheld tape recorder for this conversation; he didn't want to tip off the cat that he knew something was afoot. He'd rely on his excellent memory.

"Howdy," said Cooper.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

Greeting Cooper with a polite smile, Victoria nodded. "Hello."

Nothing given away, nothing held back, just the type of greeting you might give anyone waiting for the subway or waiting in line at a cafe. Speaking of which, though...

Eyeing his mug with a quick little quirk of her lips, Victoria then pointed to it. "I'm sorry," she said, sounding slightly apologetic to be bothering him, "but is there some of that around here anywhere? I'm afraid I'm horribly jet lagged, and there is nothing like a good cup of coffee."

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Cooper's thoughts:

Diane, I've had a thought.

(Yes, sometimes his mental narrative ran the way his tape-recordings would. Addressed to Diane, his secretary at the Bureau. Because in David Lynch's world, FBI agents have their own secretaries. Or else Diane was a figment of Coop's imagination, maybe his anima, the feminine side of himself. Maybe she was both. Who could say? This was a universe in which evil spirits fed off the fear and agony of the living, as manifested in bowls of creamed corn.)

Hypothesis: Addition of roasted catnip to ground coffee before brewing might create a catnip-coffee. Humans would be immune. Face-eating cats would experience euphoria. While the stratagem is somewhat underhanded, the risks of interaction with face-eating cats may just outweigh that factor.

To Victoria he said: "You can get anything you want any hour of the day or night." Except a sweet toothsome mouthful of face. "Think of it as a medieval Scottish diner-equivalent. How about we sit down later for some coffee and a slice of pie?"

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

"Well, that's a relief," she laughed a little, smiling. "I've gotten too used to things being open late. Not like growing up in Anchorage; everything there was shut down by the time you got around to needing it."

Giving Cooper a quick look up and down as if trying to assess his agenda (because everyone had an agenda and the only way to not fall victim to it was to stay ten steps ahead), Victoria then shrugged. "I could go for pie."

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"Anchorage, Alaska. Population roughly 175,000. (http://ca.encarta.msn.com/encyclopedia_761565955/Anchorage_(Alaska).html)" Cooper's mental fact-file was rather outdated, considering he'd been in the Black Lodge since the early '80s. "Industry based around petroleum, natural gas, and fish. What's your favorite fish, ma'am?"

Fancy Feast.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

It was rare to find someone who had stats on her home city at his fingertips like that, and Victoria just started at Cooper for a few beats, a quizzical half-smile on her face. But then she laughed and nodded, one eyebrow quirking up. "Yes, ah, although I think we were closer to 250,000 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anchorage,_Alaska#Demographics) the last I heard. Running out of land." It was a serious problem, actually; for anyone lower middle class or below, affordable housing was an increasingly scarce commodity. The neighborhoods that people could find were riddled with crime, multiple families living under the same roof, and people were desperate to escape.

Desperate enough to believe when a man told her there was a better life to be had. That all she had to do was trust him and she could get out. Anchorage was, in the end, nothing more than a town unto itself. One road in, one road out, and nowhere else to go, really. The surrounding towns were no better, and then there was just the miles upon miles of wilderness. The only escape was to become a millionaire (although then you were just a millionaire in Anchorage, which was still a trap, albeit a gilded one) or to get out.

Jolly had offered the exit map.

"Um," shaking herself from her thoughts, Victoria frowned a bit in confusion, but offered her answer with a slight shrug and a laugh. "Salmon, I suppose. When they're running, there's this bridge right in downtown Anchorage, over a river, and you can practically walk across the water on their backs, there are so many." A brief flash of teeth as Victoria smiled, drawing her coat more securely around herself. "My sister and I used to go watch them fish. All the brightly colored lures dancing against the flash of silver in the water - it was like a moving abstract painting, amazingly lovely. It felt like if you watched it long enough, you'd see something you could make sense of, not just the whorls of random light and dark and metallic sheen and too-garish colors."

That was...rather a long answer to a simple question. Well, perhaps she was just a little homesick. No, that wasn't right. She didn't miss Alaska, didn't miss the life there. She missed her sister. Missed some of the simpler times they'd had, away from their father, before their mother had died. She missed watching the salmon runs or Saturday Markets or seeing the Northern Lights over the snow brushed mountains. That was home, those memories with Patricia, that closeness.

"It's also really good baked."

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As Cooper studied the woman's face, as she told her tales of Anchorage and its picturesque scenic bridge during the season of fish spawn, a profound verse sang through the echoey corridors of his brain:

I want chicken
I want liver
Meow Mix, Meow Mix,
Please deliver (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meow_Mix#Jingle)

Salmon. A flavor any cat would love. And yet nothing like the taste of a human face. Or the taste of a human soul, sucked between her lips. Thank goodness the Constable had broken free just in time. Cooper had never seen an actual soul consumed.

He wondered if it would emerge in the form of creamed corn. No, no, that was just the fear and pain of the victim. Their soul might be a different vegetable entirely.

"It sounds like a beautiful place, Anchorage. Never been there, myself, though I'd like to go someday. Why did you leave?" If it were so pretty, and if it offered such a wealth of fishing recreation!

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"It's..." How did you explain it? Even taking out the bank robbery, the fleeing, the ten years in prison, how did you describe the place to someone who'd never set foot in the town?

"It's very closed in (http://camera.touchngo.com/)." That was one way to put it. "You drive only so far before the road ends and then you're stuck. It's...it's stifling."

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(( ... almost posted this as Kathryn, which would have been Interesting :PPP ))

Cooper caught the meaning at once. Mind like a steel trap, our Coop. A steel trap very, very easily triggered!

She'd been human once. She'd been stifled. Small-town girl with big-city dreams. Story like Laura Palmer's in a way, except Laura had turned to cocaine and promiscuity for an inward escape. Laura had been offered a different life by evil BOB, and she hadn't wanted to take it. She preferred to die.

Victoria Metcalf, though, had taken the devil's bargain. Much like Cooper's onetime mentor (et tu, Windom Earle?), she'd exchanged common humanity for a dark power many would find irresistible. Coop himself liked the life of the common man. Whittling, wearing flannel shirts, eating cherry pie. The occasional trout in the percolator wasn't too high a price to pay. But some men and women couldn't content themselves with these humble pleasures. They followed their dark dreams and those dreams wound up in one place -- a place Cooper knew better than he thought any man should have to, and worse than he thought necessary.

Oh, yes. Cooper had long suspected an affiliation between the face-eating cats and the Black Lodge.

"I understand your feelings, Victoria," he said quietly. Understood, though did not share. "Sometimes a woman wants more than a dead-end town can offer."

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She smiled at Cooper, a bit sadly. "It's rarely the town, I've found. It's easy to feel trapped. Location doesn't really matter."

Funny that she'd felt most free when near death, when the cold and the snow closed around her like a shroud. When his voice was in her ear, his breath against her cheek. When everything had been gone but the white and the freezing air and him.

And now she was in the middle of Scotland where no one knew her - no one was supposed to know her - and Victoria felt the walls closing in again.

"What about you?" she changed the subject with a tilt of her head, focusing wide brown eyes on Cooper. "You aren't from around here, that's easy enough to tell. Small town, yourself?"