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dianne

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Dianne goes up to the bar and asks for paper and pen. Upon receiving them, she scribbles out a note.

Dear Shaun,

Ash said he saw you around here, and I hope he's right. I also hope you can let me know how things are going at home. I don't know if I'm Bound here, but ~~I'm~~ ~~afraid~~ ~~not read~~ don't want to find out yet. This is Dianne, by the way.

If you get this note, I'm staying in Room 712. Don't hesitate to come knock on the door.

That's it, really. I guess all my questions can wait until I see you.

-- Dianne

When she's done, she asks tentatively, "Bar? Can you get this note to Shaun if he comes in, please?" The letter disappears, and Dianne blinks. ". . . oh. All right, then. Thank you."

She then takes a seat and leans back comfortably against the bar, just watching. She's always liked people-watching anyway, and it's infinitely more interesting here.

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The Feegle looks at the letter from where he's sitting on the bartop. The lady looks sort of trembley-like and Rob pities her--she must be afeared of somethin'. His curiosity getting the better of him, he walks over and stands on the letter (which isn't difficult as he's only a few inches tall, and says knowledgeably, "Them's words." He gives a knowing nod.

He is so smart.

Dianne gives the small blue man a startled look. "Uhm . . . yes. They are." A ghost, a man whose brother crashed on a magical island, and now a tiny blue person. Dianne wonders if people ever get used to this sort of thing.

Rob nods. "Aye, I knew they was."

He looks at the bigjob. "Why are ye scared?" he asks her. "And ye are. Ye breathe out fear."

"I . . . do I?" Dianne gives a weak smile. "And here I thought I was covering pretty well." She sighs. "It's kind of a long story." Which she's not all that keen on talking about, because she doesn't want to think about it. People-watching isn't the only thing that keeps her in the bar when she could go to bed and try to sleep.

"I bet I knew the story. There wuz something scary that tried to eat ye. It went arghityargh." Rob shrugged. "Ain't no reason to be skerred. Let'go the fear, lass."

Dianne's jaw drops at the little man's pinpoint accuracy. ". . . happens often, then, does it?" she manages.

"Aye, it does," Rob says sagely. "And some live and some dinnae, and some go on fearin' and others dinnae. It's better nae to, lass. It's better nae to go on fearin' cuz then ye might as well have nae lived."

Dianne looks guiltily down at the floor. This is true. Leaving a note for Shaun and hoping he'll find it is the passive way out. The braver, more direct way would be to walk to the front door, see if it opens, and work out a plan from there.

"Which would also be the potentially suicidal way," she says out loud. "You're right, sitting around here isn't doing any good, but it's not the worst thing I could do, either."

"The critters is outside for ye, are they? Ye can stay here, if tha's safest and ye cannae win leavin'. Just don't be afeared while ye're here," Rob says. "S'no point in being afeared where the monsters are nae." THat's what he understands least. What's the point of living in fear when you're safe? "There's no point in being afeared where they are, either--but if ye cannae be that brave, that's alright. Most other bigjobs cannae either."

Dianne's fears are a little more complicated than just the zombies, but she doesn't mention that. She has the feeling that the more intangible ones will sort of float over his head. She doesn't entirely understand some of them herself.

She recognizes the truth of his other point, though. "I don't suppose being afraid helps all that much," she muses. "It's not easy to control either, though, and I've never really had to before."

"S'a good place to learn," Rob says sagely, looking around. "And it is'nae tha' hard. Jus' don' be afeared. And hit things!"

Dianne laughs. "Now that I can do. If I go back, and there are things to hit, believe me, I will hit them."

"Tha's a good lass," Rob says, nodding. Something about her reminds him of the wee big hag. She's a little more afeared of things, but someday maybe she'll be braver, like the Witch of the Chalk. " Hittin' things always makes things afeared a ye...Or at least makes 'em not move anymore. And don't forget ta' give em a kickin'!"
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"Absolutely!" Dianne feels much more cheerful now, and oddly braver. Something about the little man's simple directness is fortifying. Not that she's about to leap off her stool and go running out the door, but if she does end up having to go out that door, and things are as bad as they could be . . . it might be a little easier.

~~Meanwhile, Dianne-mun has visions of Dianne going after zombies with an iron frying pan.~~

Rob nods and then says. "Are they good fightin'--the things yer afeared of? Cuz I could get the lads together if ye need help fightin' 'em. We like fightin'."

"Well . . . they're quite slow, and not very smart - actually, I don't think they can think at all, you know, they're not self-aware. I don't think one of them is much of a problem if you've got space and a weapon, or you can run. It's when you have lots of them that it gets difficult. And you have to give them brain injury to stop them," she adds, wondering if "the lads" could manage to get that far up, "because they're already dead."

"Ah," Rob nods. That doesn't even faze him at all, not when he's faced worse things, like things that aren't dead...like a hiver.

"Heds is easy to hit. we just do a little climbin'. There's lots of 'em, ye say?" This makes him look very happy.

"Uh . . . yes," Dianne says, slightly taken aback by the look of glee. "Loads. Thousands, probably, at least."

Now it's a look of rapture. Eyes sparkling, Rob says, "D'ye promise ye'll let me get the boys to go an' fight 'em if ye decide to go back?" he asks. "On your honor?"

Dianne hesitates. On the one hand, it seems rather unkind to let such small people - assuming they're all the size of this one - loose in such an alarming situation.

On the other hand . . . there's just something about this one . . . his spirit seems far bigger than his physical size.

Besides. What harm could the slow, shuffling zombies really do to them? They'd have a hard time grabbing up one of "the lads" to eat him.

"I promise," she says at last, "that if I have to go back, and I can find you in time, I will." It's the best she can do.

Rob nods and looks really cheerful. "Aye, much thanks, much thanks," he says. Odd that he'd be thanking her instead of the other way around, but that's how the Feegle are. A horde of monstrous enemies to fight = paradise.

". . . you're welcome," Dianne says, a little bemused. Still, knowing that she would have help if she needed to go back and fight means a lot.

[OOC: I have got to go to bed. Slowtime or wrap?]

"Ach, the keld might be needin' me, and the lads are prob'ly makin' a mess o' things wit'out me. I have to be gettin' back."

He looks at Diane. "What's yer name, lass?"

[OOC: Just have her tell him her name, and then I'll have him head off.]

"Dianne Davis," she answers. "It's nice to have met you."

[OOC: Okay. 'Sbeen fun! Goodnight!]

"Rob Anybody," he says, and then he gives her a little nod and says solemly, "Dree yer weird," before getting up and leaving (after a certain baby-stealing incident).

Smeagol is people-watching, too, and right now he's watching Dianne. Not in a malicious way, mind you. She just seems interesting at the moment.

Eventually, Dianne spots the man tucked neatly under the table. Seeing that he is looking back at her, she gives a friendly nod.

Dianne is distinctly nonthreatening, so Smeagol tilts his pipe-stem at her in a kind of smokers' salute.

"Good evening."

Dianne smiles. "Hello." Yes, she's wondering about the whole under-the-table thing, but figures it's best not to question these things.

Smeagol doesn't see why more people don't sit under tables. It's much safer than sitting out in the open where people can sneak up on you.

Realizing that he's managed to get himself into a conversation, he searches for some way to further it, and comes up with "Have you been here long?" If he's lucky, she won't have seen him Before.

"No. Maybe a week. Possibly." She's really going to have to ask someone how long she slept in that booth. Not knowing is a little jarring. "Yourself?"

He hasn't thought about it. "A month? Maybe two. I don't know."

"I'm Smeagol," he adds.

"Dianne. Nice to meet you. Is it easy to lose track of time here?" She can see how it would be.

"Yes," but then, he's lost track of time for most of his life. "It's a strange place," he says, exhaling smoke.

"To say the least," Dianne nods. "I've had some of the strangest conversations here."

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