All I Want Is A Room Somewhere

As a very very clean sort of person, nothing sounded nicer to Eliza than taking a shower on a Saturday afternoon to freshen up before tea. It had become a bit of a habit with her, almost an expected part of her routine.

What wasn't expected when she made her way into the necessary was the sound of the water already running, and the sight of a closed shower curtain.

And when she -- no shrinking violet our Liza, after all -- ( yanked it open... )

You have never seen a woman dive for a broom as fast as you would have if you were in that flat today.

"OUT! OUT OF MY %$&^%)&_$%^$(&%^$#(^% SHOWER! OUT OF MY *(&*&%(*^&%(*(!!@@@@ FLAT! I'LL 'AVE THE COPPERS ON YOU, I WILL! THAT'S RIGHT, YOU'D BEST RUN, YOU SON OF A LIGHTSKIRTED ALLEY-CAT!"

You may or may not have ever seen a naked man run down the street as fast as you would have if you were standing in front of the flower shop today though - Fandom has a lot of that sort of thing, after all.

{A few minutes later...}

"3)%%3@ me blind, he's stolen my shower head too!"

[O:-)]

In the upstairs flat at 35 Mallard Way, the only inhabitant was sleeping the deep and unshakable sleep of the well-fed and satisfied with life -- but this isn't about her. It's about them:

How the decades old delivery van managed to make it across the causeway to the wee parking area was not nearly as interesting a question as would the poor engine start again once its death rattle was ended? It was probably due to the answer to this last question that the driver simply set the noisy claptrap of a van to idle (there would likely be complaints in the morning) and proceeded to unfold himself from the cab.

( Right! 'Ere we are! )

Then the van somehow shifted out of idle and set off coughing and spitting down the causeway, as the pair drove away from Fandom leaving behind a small amount of dust and debris and a ( bright and shiny new sign for the flower shop: )

[OOC: Eeeeestablishy-though-open-for-OOC, and the entire scene courtesy heromaniac, bad'uns included.]

This time, instead of gasping and glugging, Eliza woke clasping her mid-section. What in Heaven's na--- oh, Good Lord.

Anyone in the vicinity of Covent Garden Flow(e)rs this morning might very well witness an upper window sash thrown open, through which a pretty but irritated face soon emerged, followed by a fist being shaken at the sky. "BLOODY HELL, why is it always dead tarts with you?"

[Estaaaaaablishy!]

Well. Of all the oddness she'd experienced in the past few months, today certainly led the pack. First, someone had left a message trying to order ...something from her that she wasn't sure of, but she knew it wasn't any kind of flower, then someone else had told her to keep quiet! As if she'd been talking to anybody anyhow! And then. Well. The nerve. And it only got worse from there.

So now Eliza was doing what any sensible person would do in the face of a day full of pranksters and rudeness: having a nice hot cuppa.

Tea, dammit.

[So very establishy.]

The Boy: Xander LaVelle Used-To-Be-Harris Carson, alumnus
Xander is a normal human with no special powers, but he's spent years fighting evil supernatural creatures as part of a team, both at home and in Fandom. He's 28 (give or take 75 years, thx Weeping Angels), stupid-in-love with bridge_carson, BFF's with Willow Rosenberg (willbedone) and generally a laid-back, jokey kind of guy unless you're evil or mess with his People. He's also missing an eye; he wears a patch and is perfectly comfortable with pirate jokes of all colors. Not so comfortable with the prosthetic eye behind said patch, so not a lot of people know it's there. He also has a tattoo. That precisely three people have seen. ( But wait, there's more. )

The Girl: Helen Francine unless it's Francine Helen but anyway she goes by Francine Peters, student
Also normal, human, mostly unpowered**, tall, dark-haired, kind of goofy... Hunh, I know there was something she had that Xander doesn't... Two of them, in fact. *eyes icon* Oh yeah, right. Eyes. But in appearance, she could definitely be Xander's younger sister, at least until she opens her mouth. She's both much less sarcastic, and possessed of a soft Tennessee-by-way-of-Texas drawl. Her definition of normal is a lot more normal than his, too; Francine's canon, Strangers in Paradise, is for the most part a dramedy version of the real world, with very faint supernatural elements. And the Lesbian Mafia. ( But wait, there's more. )

The...Slightly Older Girl: Eliza Doolittle, townie
Eliza's only powers are a fierce temper when riled and the ability to look like Audrey Hepburn, but sound like Marnie Nixon when she sings. She's a scrappy twenty-one-year-old flower-girl off the streets of London who got turned into a proper lady by two experts in phonetics; she can still be snarky on occasion, but she's learned to express it in a ladylike manner. Since she's more self-confident now, she's less defensive and confrontational, and tends to be quite gentle with those who treat her the same way. In a pinch, though, she can screech like a banshee, and probably take out an eye in a catfight. ( But wait, there's more. In a different post. )


The Me: Pleased to meet you
Man, my Meez is freaky-accurate. Though much thinner. And taller. Then again everybody's taller than me, with a few gratifying exceptions. So availability: I'm on the crack-addled western edge of the Eastern timezone (srsly, we just adopted Daylight Savings Time last year), so despite being an hour and a half from Chicago, I'm on New York time. I work weekdays 8 to 5, more or less, and am sometimes available to play (and on IM) during those hours, sometimes not. I can usually answer e-mail, though, even if I'm busy. After 5 on weekdays, and most waking hours on weekends, I'm probably on IM. ( But wait, there's more. )

*I am not a ho.

Eliza woke up coughing and sputtering, vainly trying to swim to the surface of the... bedclothes.

Good Lord. What very odd dreams she had since coming to this town.

And why, when there was nothing she loved so much as to laze about of a morning when she didn't have to go down and open the shop, did she have the most awful urge to head to the kitchen and consume an entire steak for breakfast?

[OOC: Oh so very establishy]

"So much less scratchy than gramophone records - how wonderful! This is Eliza Doolittle. Please record a message for me, and I'll listen to it when I'm in, then return your call.

If you'd like to order flowers from the shop, there's a separate number to ring for that."