Here You Are, Stick Figure and a Busted Grin [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

The first thing that the dreamers of Manhattan might notice is that the ground is a good deal closer than it normally is. The second thing they might notice is that their surroundings are larger than they might expect. The playground looks almost daunting. Of course, there are other ways for the dreamers to occupy themselves on this hot summer day: a charming fountain bubbles away a little distance from the playground. There's an ice cream stand with treats free for the taking. Beyond the paved area is a meadow, covered in wildflowers and dominated by a huge, sprawling tree, perfect for climbing.

It's all prime entertainment for children. So really, it's just as well that 'children' is what the dreamers will find themselves to be - once more, for those who had childhoods, or for the first time, for those who didn't.

Perhaps you'll remember everything: the Rift, Manhattan, the friends (and enemies) you've made since your arrival. Or perhaps you'll only remember who you were when you were young, and find this an opportunity to forge new friendships - or new (and probably pettier) animosities. Run around, get dirty, have a good time. It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

[ooc: usual dream party rules apply. All are welcome, whether they've been apped to the game or not. Characters will remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. Mental and emotional regression is optional, but physical regression is mandatory: your character is in the body of a little kid - human, or human-ish - regardless of who or what they are in the waking world.]

Comments

[lostthebeansagain]

A pretty young girl with rich blue hair climbs down from the crown of the giant, twisting tree, her elegantly arranged curls fraying from the activity and gauzy skirts and blouse looking in need of a wash. But her mother isn't here to scold or punish her, and so she's free to do as she wants, where she wants, and in any case she's still very pretty, so she's less concerned about her disarray than she is interested in the sweet song being sung below her.

She follows the branches as far out as they'll bear her weight, and crouches to watch the other girl, looking at her braiding the flowers and planting the circlet on her head.

"That's very pretty," she says, voice a little loud and brash and not near as elegant as her hair and clothes. "The flowers. Who taught you that?"

[enter: The Witch, age nine. Hi.]

[andhiswife]

[eeeeeeeee!]

"The sea will-- oh!" Greta starts a little mid-verse, but not badly enough to mar the second circlet, still in progress. She has to twist round to spot the older girl up in the tree, and then she spends a few seconds gawping at her fancy clothes and blue (blue!) hair. Should she get up and curtsy? Part of her suspects she ought to, but that would mean upsetting all the flowers she's gathered - and right after this other girl's asked about them. That would look foolish, she thinks, so she stays put and hopes she's not getting herself into trouble.

"Thank you," she says politely, because at least some manners are still available to her. "Um. My mother taught me. I could show you, if you like."

[lostthebeansagain]

"I would like," she declares, and hops off the branch fearlessly, skirts gathered in one hand to keep them out of the way as she lands on her grass-stained toes, her shoes or slippers apparently left behind somewhere. "My mother doesn't let me touch her flowers unless I'm helping her," she adds, and sits before Greta, skirts spread neatly about her out of habit and almost definitely gaining more grass stains in the process. "They're very precious, she tells me. But those are just wildflowers, right?"

Probably wildflowers have different rules from the flowers in Mother's Garden, she thinks to herself, and leans closer to peer at them.

[andhiswife]

Well, at least she's not angry. Greta wants to ask what sort of flowers her mother's growing, if they're so precious she's not even allowed to touch them... but then she considers the girl's hair and decides against it. It might just be blue because of an odd enchantment or something, or it might be because of something else - the sort of thing that would make mother grip her hand extra tight when they walked by.

Not that Greta's mother would approve of her tearing up the herb garden to make crowns, of course. No mother would stand for that sort of thing. Maybe she's just a normal girl with a normal garden. She's being nice, so there's no reason to fuss.

"Yes," she nods, carefully scooping up a handful of flowers and dumping them onto the other girl's outspread skirt. The material looks terribly fine, and she's careful not to touch it even though she wants to. "I just gathered them from around the meadow. No one will miss them." She picks up a blossom and twirls the stem between her fingers. "Have you ever made a daisy chain? This is a bit like that."

[lostthebeansagain]

Greta's mother would be completely right to clutch her hand, if they passed in the street; that makes it much better that they're meeting like this, surely, as... well, clearly not equals, but with no mothers hovering to tell them to come away.

"I haven't," she says, and takes up two of the flowers, pressing their stems together so their blooms are paired together. They look like a couple dancing, she thinks, when she twirls them. "Is it like braiding? Or like knitting? Or like a crochet chain? I know how to do all those things."

Perhaps she should be embarrassed to let this little girl know how little she knows, but she can't find it in her to care when she's curious and the other child is willing to tell her things, freely.

[andhiswife]

"Like braiding," Greta says with a pleased little smile. If she already knows how to do that, then this should be easy. "You start with three, like this," she picks up two more flowers and holds them all together, the blossoms in a cluster and the stems more or less parallel, "and braid the stems. And then when you start to run out of room to braid, you just add in another one, until the whole thing's long enough to go around your head."

This is sort of exciting, teaching an older child how to do something - especially an older child that she suspects she wouldn't be allowed to talk to if there were grown-ups around to stop her. Greta hopes she doesn't muck it up. "Look." She sets down the flowers and picks up her half-completed crown, instead. "You can see where I put in new ones if you look carefully," she says, holding it out for the other girl to see.

[lostthebeansagain]

She leans forwards to see the crown presented to her, tracing the stems with a fingertip with a soft little hmm. It made it very pretty, but perhaps even prettier would be if the stems were long enough to braid five or six across, make it a proper crown...

She'll have to ask her mother about gardening spells when she gets back home, and if she can start a plot of her own. Her mother had always said no before, but perhaps if she had a purpose to it, she'd get a yes this time?

"I've got it," she says, with a smile edging close to a grin. "Three together--" and she adds a third blossom to the two she was holding, "and then braid." Easy!

She starts, clearly used to the motions of braiding, keeping the strands close and tight, and instantly breaks a stem between her fingers.

"Oh," she murmurs, bewildered, and tucks the broken flower into her hair instead, starting with a fresh one, still braiding the stems as tightly as she would a rope or cord; another one breaks, and the bewildered look deepens.

Maybe this isn't so easy as it seems.

[andhiswife]

Greta draws the half-completed crown back into her own lap and resumes working on it. Another finger-length or so, she thinks, and it will be long enough for her to weave it back on itself. She works slowly, like her mother does when she's teaching her how to do something new. That way, the other girl can more easily see what she's doing, and it gives her time to catch up if she's quick about it (which Greta assumes she will be - new skill or not, she sort of figures older girls will be better at things than she is).

But it seems the other girl is having some difficulties. Greta glances up at the first little sound of dismay, then watches as another stem breaks. "Oh," she echoes. "It's just too tight. Stems break easily, so you have to be gentler with them." She sets down the crown in progress and starts afresh with three flowers of her own, weaving them back and forth a few times demonstrably. "See?"

[lostthebeansagain]

Alas, Greta's new friend is not the gentle type, but she watches and nods and leans closer, so the younger girl can watch her as she makes another attempt.

She goes slower, and more gently, and suddenly it's much easier than using severe force. This would be an excellent metaphor and/or life lesson for her, if she wasn't nine and mostly concerned with making a pretty crown for her hair; since she is nine, she starts to smile again, slipping in fresh flowers as the braid lengthens. "Thank you," she says, and turns her smile on the other girl, eyes bright. (They are blue, too, but a plain, everyday blue-grey, like you might find on anyone.) "This is fun."

All of this is fun, aside from the bit where she failed at crown-making-- but she can tuck the lost flowers into her hair, and there's no one to scold her or drag the other girl away, and she can bury her toes in the grass under her skirts.

"Do you have a name?" she asks, carefully braiding.

[andhiswife]

The other girl's second attempt is much better than the first, and Greta nods in approval - and then blushes a little, at the thanks. An older girl is thanking her. Not just older, either, but of an unmistakably higher class. All the grass stains in the world couldn't hide the fine quality of the clothes she's wearing, after all. Greta's own dress is far more plain, though at least she's managed to keep it reasonably tidy.

Oh, dear, she hasn't even introduced herself. Her blush deepens. "It's Greta," she says sheepishly, ducking her head and focusing on her own work for a few moments. But her gaze flits inexorably back up to the other girl, and she ventures, "What's yours?" Then, because she can't help herself, and in a tone that wavers somewhere between complimentary and merely observing, "Your hair is very blue."

[lostthebeansagain]

Not getting much chance to interact with other children leaves her a little baffled at Greta's blushing, but she answers, "Celosia. And it is, isn't it?" She pauses her braiding to preen a little, patting some stray curls back into place (they promptly fall again) and tossing her head so they bounce, shining even in the tree's shade. "Mother tells me it won't ever be as pretty as hers, but I don't think that's true. Blue is my favorite color," she adds.

Celosia's mother is not a good or nice witch; she might well not even be a witch who's right.

"What's your favorite color?" she asks, because she assumes all girls must have one; her mother certainly does, and she does, and that's surely a pattern.

[andhiswife]

Her own hair doesn't curl so much as frizz, and Greta watches Celosia's curls bounce with a wistful expression. She's not quite sold on the color - it's just so odd - but there's no denying that it's nicely styled. Or that it was, before she got untidy.

"Red," Greta replies. If she hesitates a little, it's not because she has to think about the answer, but because she knows it's not a very common one - at least not for girls. Most of her friends would say yellow or violet or pink. But she likes red. It's strong, and alive, and it makes her think of sweet things that still have an exciting sharpness to them, like strawberries and apples.

Blue is a nice color too, though. Greta glances up at Celosia's hair again. Maybe she shouldn't ask, but Celosia seems nice, like she wouldn't mind answering. "How'd it get blue? Was it always like that?"

[lostthebeansagain]

"Like blood and berries and roses," Celosia says, approvingly, and grins at the smaller girl. "That's a good color, too." Greta should have a crown of red flowers, then.

As for her own hair, she shrugs, and tells the other girl without fanfare, "My mother changed its color when she took me, and it was supposed to be violet, like hers, but my magic turned it blue instead. So it's been blue as long as I know." She bows her head back to the flowers crown, and asks with intense casualness, "I can change the colors of all kinds of things, though Mother doesn't let me do it in the house. Would you like to see?" It's a small magic, but she never gets to show off to anyone, and she's almost certain Greta would appreciate it.

[andhiswife]

The quiet pleasure Celosia's approval gives her is quickly snuffed by 'when she took me.' It's followed closely by 'magic,' and Greta might be young, but she knows what that means. Only Witches or Fairies take children and keep them, and if she'd been taken by Fairies, they wouldn't have let her out like this.

Celosia's mother is a Witch, and so is she.

Greta definitely shouldn't ask to see any magic. It could be dangerous, even if it's just a little thing. If her own mother was here, she'd be grabbing Greta's hand and hauling her off.

But her mother isn't here. And she's never actually seen someone do magic before. And how much harm could it really do, just changing the color of something? She chews her lip for a few moments, then says, "All right," before hastily adding, "As long as it's not my hair." Mother would notice that for sure.