milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Alright, this has gone on long enough. More than long enough - she's proving the Gagas right, sulking about here instead of doing something. Just about anything would be better than this, afraid to go back, unwilling to move on from here without at least trying to tie up loose ends back on Planet Mall.

This totally explains why there's a rag-tag teenager in her old clompy boots storming back and forth in front of the door.

...

Look, there's armored gits on the other side of that door. It takes a lot of working up for, alright?

(Viva la tinytag: Scaramouche)

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"Madam?" Fury approaches and holds out a hand, "Is it time for you to go?"

"It's time for me to be doing something, anyway." She mutters, in quite a temper, but mostly at herself. There's a hefty slice of it set aside for the guard/jailer/git people on the other side of the door, though. Serves them right.

If she sounds scared, that's 'cause she is.

Sir Nicholas doesn't try to stop her. That would be stupid. He claps her shoulder and says, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Shove me out the door? Or tell me I'm being an idiot for going, one way or another." She decides, a very lopsided and wry grin making a brief appearance. "My last try at this didn't go off so well."

In the way that staring at the door all night really isn't productive.

"I will do neither." Fury says quietly, "You will leave when you are ready to leave. I will be waiting when you return."

"Oh right, I forgot, that'd go against the rules of doin' everything the hard way." She huffs, giving him a sour look.

Fury shrugs and says, "You will not thank me for saying so, but in my day and age it would be assumed that a man would go back in your place and take care of things for you. I am attempting not to be a slave to my upbringing."

"Well... you were right about me not thanking you." She observes tartly. "At least you're rising above it."

Fury spreads his hands "So I cannot push you. Not attempting to protect you is the best I can do."

"Just as well. It's all computers there." At least, the parts where it isn't armor-clad bruisers, it's all computers. "I don't think you'd get on well."

"Very unlikely." Fury admits, "Although computers do make fairly good blunt weaponry."

She fires a withering look at him.
"Oh, very good, why use thinking machines for their purpose when brute savagery will do just fine?"

"A tool in the enemy's hands is a weapon." Sir Nicholas says without shame, "If bashing someone over the head gets you out...do it. Computers can be replaced. Young ladies cannot."

"You're hopeless." She announces, rolling her eyes. "The whole plan is to not get in a fight, remember?"

"You should always have multiple plans. Including one or more for violence."

"No, you should have multiple plans for violence. I'll just have multiple plans for running away, right?" Because she knows her scrawny self will be worse than useless in a fight.

"As you will, child. So long as you do have more than one plan."

"Sure thing, oh ancient one." She snorts, in retort of the continued 'child'ing going on around here.

"Suppose I should go, then."

Anyone under forty-five is a child to him. Sir Nicholas kisses her forehead in benediction and says, "Go with God and return in safety."

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't ask. Somehow, she gets the feeling that asking what that's all about will only earn her one of his pained looks, and a very long, tedious explanation.

"Right, see you around." The 'hopefully' that sounds like it ought to be tacked on to the end of that sentence, she refuses to say. She figures that'll also earn her a pained look and a long, tedious lecture.

The hallway on the other side of the door has dim green strip lighting on the walls and along the floor, but nothing else.

"Oh, fantastic, mood lighting." She snorts, before the door closes behind her.

She's so screwed, yup.

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