bakerstreet | (no subject)

The Bitty Meme

photo tumblr_lat5tl1OxK1qc1896o1_500_zps0cbc3040.gif

Time to re-explore that childhood (or get one for the first time). Rules are as simple as usual!

૪ Post up your character -- name and canon.

૪ When replying to someone's post, go and RNG for option one, and see just how conscious you'll be of the trouble you're in.

૪ You can hit it up further for options 1-11 of wat do, and then, let it rip!

૪ Cue crack, hilarity, fluff, angst- a full spectrum of genres.

૪ ????

૪ PROFIT!

You're Just An:

1. Adult mind in the wrong body - looks like you really shouldn't have drank that potion, after all! Better hope nobody sees you like this, and that the effects aren't permanent...

2. Adorable bitty all rounder - Maybe it was an accident, maybe not. But your size is your age, with all the mental attributes that come with it.

Okay, So Wat Do?:

1. Back to school! First day back, middle of term with a small bullying problem? Time for your bitty to get some edumacation. Play with some friends or get the teacher involved! If your adult instincts are still all there, maybe you could play yourself up as a child genius; who knows? Someone might catch you out...

2. It's adventure time!~ Them kids have all the imagination. Quickly! Your damsel in distress needs rescuing from the dragon! It's time to kiss the bride! Play time has no rules, and neither does this prompt- except for curfew. Mother dearest always said to be back before dark.

3. Gots a boo boo! Oh dear, looks like someone's gone and skinned their knee. This requires a serious operation of silly jokes and coddling, before those tears start to fall and never seem to stop.

4. I think I love you! Young love is just so beautiful. Maybe you're pulling pigtails, so to speak. Maybe you have a crush on your teacher, and you just HAVE to get it out there. The clearest sign of love is always a note, however- just make sure to make that 'yes' box really big, so they know exactly where to tick.

5. They went away. We all lose loved ones, sometimes. Maybe the rents have just split, maybe your best friend is moving away. Maybe the only reply that can really be given is that "they're in heaven now, sweetheart". Whatever the reason, they're just not there, and you want to know why.

6. Off to the circus! Or the theme park. Or the aquarium. It's babies day out, with all the crack, fluff, and panic inducing moments implied. Pet a lion! Go on the Ferris wheel! Just try not to lose your adult companion, or things could become dicey.

7. You're in big doo-doo, mister. You missed curfew by ten minutes. Your Sunday best is covered in mud and god knows what else, and you let rip that new swear word you picked up from that friend you're not allowed to play with. You bet your ass you'll be in the naughty corner for weeks.

8. Big ball of FUBAR. You went and got yourself lost, at no fault of your own. The big kids pushed you down the well, and left you there. All you know is you're in a huge amount of trouble, and a little kindness is going to have to go a long way to get you safe.

9. Go the fuck to sleep. Dreamland is good, trust me. No really- don't get out of bed, you're fine right. There. Its time for bed, or to prepare for it! Bath time doesn't mean run down the halls naked, but if you catch a quick break, I'm sure you can achieve great things.

10. Time to shine! This is your big moment, right here. That dance recital you've been working hard on, the Christmas play, and you're the tree. This is a big point in your life, a time where you can show off your skills and make history! This is it. You're making it happen.

11. Choose your own adventure! Re-roll, or get out another idea that appeals to you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He's not afraid. He's not afraid. He's not afraid. (Biting on his lower lip, face pale and wide-eyed where no one can see it.) How far down... he's never swum before, even if there's water down there what if it's really, really deep and the walls are way too slippery to hold on for long-- ]

I-I'm okay, I'm... g-get someone-- [ Voice cracking, echoing faintly in the hollowness of the well. A dry swallow. ] --please, you have to--

[Her nostrils flare. Get someone? She. She can't. She isn't going to go back out there, where things can see her and things can find her.]

No, I can-- I can pull you up! It's okay, I'm strong--

[ --but she's a kid, there's no way-- ] Don't be dumb, w-what if you fall in too--?!

[ His foot aches. His leg aches, trying to hold the rest of him up. His fingers hurt where he's jamming them between tiny cracks between the stones. His heart is beating really hard, so hard his chest seems to hurt, too.

It's only by virtue of a precaution by the well's builders that Chrys hasn't plunged into the water yet. The big wooden winch sitting between the support beams creaks with his weight, but hasn't unwound further at all; a safety mechanism, built to stop the rope should the end of it plunge far too quickly. Easily released by pulling the rope up a foot or so. There's a handle to turn the winch with, barely low enough for a child to grab hold of; the stretched rope itself hangs at the edge of Lenalee's reach, from the side of the well. ]

Be quiet! I won't fall! [A sharpish edge to her voice, adding years which don't belong there to it.] So just- stay still, all right?!

[And be quiet. The plants have ears. Everything does.

She takes a steeling breath for herself, though it doesn't much help, and lifts her eyes from the suspended figure to the support beam and the winch. Her hands are small, she thinks. But they're strong. She's strong.

...She can be.

Up onto trembling legs, then, knock-kneed at first. The stone scrapes beneath the soles of her shoes; crumbles at the very edges with bits of gravel tumbling down to plink into the water above/below Chrys' head. And, for a moment, Lenalee stays like that— standing stock-still and rigid on the edge of the well, dedicatedly not looking down, lips thinned so completely that they're all but white.

Then, waveringly:] I'm going to pull you up.

[ He stays still, still as he can. She doesn't need to tell him that, he wants to yell back, but somehow what comes out is different, in word and croaked tone. ]

...be careful.

[ He waits. And listens. And watches the silhouette moving where the mouth of the well should be, though it's hard keeping his head bent at that angle.

Those stones plink what sounds like an awful way below/above him. A few metres, at least, the height of a small house or that tree he fell off of once, except that time it just hurt a lot for a while and he'd almost, almost wanted to cry, but at least he couldn't (wouldn't) sink into the ground the same way he would with all that water, water down below. (He saw a bird drown, once, too late to do more than pick it up from the canal's edge and watch the water drip from its gaping beak. Did drowned people end up that way, too?)

Again: ] Be careful-- the rope's... slippery--

[By the time the warning comes, she's already talked herself up to it. Chest puffed out, a façade of bravado that no one sees.

The winch, or the rope itself...?]

It's okay.

[Breathed, not quite loud enough for him to distinctly hear, even with the well's damp walls acting as an amplifier. She takes an unsteady step to the side, swallows her heart back down when her heel slips into a crevice between the inlaid stones.

And stretches her hand out. Out and over. Don't look down. Fingertips brush the rope, curl once over empty air; she grunts, blinks a damp strand of hair from her eye, and stretches further. Don't look down--]

Gh...

[ ...she's so small. (He's totally bigger than her.) Small and she's got short arms and what if she falls over stretching an inch too far, straining like that (dumb, dumb, she's dumb, stubborn, what's she even thinking)--- isn't there anything he can do?

An inch. If he could just shorten that distance, by even that much...

He takes a deep breath, fills himself with it. Air's important. Air makes stuff move, like a gust of wind pushing a turbine. ]

Hnh...

[ And he tries to shift his weight to... lean, push his snared leg (his whole self) that bit closer to her side of the walls, hands creeping and straining against the stone. Just a few inches, from down here, that might be enough to move it an inch up there. Enough for her to grab hold of. ]

[Perhaps if dumb boys hadn't tripped and fallen into a well in the first place, she wouldn't have to risk stretching an inch too far.

She's breathcaught and sweating down the small of her back, only half aware of her surroundings (which is twice as distracted as she's comfortable being) and already panicking, just a little in the corners of her mind, of what might happen if she can't do this.

As Chrys moves, the rope creaks again, and Lenalee's heart plunges downward so fast it makes her feel sick. Impulsive, she swipes her hand, and this time her little finger curls around the rope for a second before her body weight rocks back onto her heels.

Vertigo. What if she falls. Don't look down.]

I said don't move! I can't reach it if you wiggle around!

[ Like dumb boys did it on purpose. Chrys flinches in surprise, a moment of terror as the rope twitches on its own-- and yells back, indignant, trying to drown out the shaking in his own voice and limbs. Steady. Steady and strong. ]

'm not wiggling, I'm trying to...

[ ...to hurry. To help. Because he has to do something, he can't just leave it all to her (alone, on her own), what if and there's no telling if (when) That Thing comes back, come back to find two instead of one, or just a different one instead of one, and he can't even do anything like this, stupid-stuck upside down and trapped and he hates this. He hates this. (If he's angry he can't be scared.) ]

[She regrets her sharp tongue, if only because she knows well how deep one can cut when you're already worn thin enough to crack. But she's not in the habit of saving people or carrying their well-being in her very tiny hands.

Very tiny hands which, as she stretches and strains and teeters so precariously, finally snag the rope and stay, and she lets out a soft sobbing noise of relief, only for it to turn to very real panic when she realizes now she can't lean back again without having to pull him up some.

Her arms feel like jelly.]

Ah--

[ he may not be able to make out quiet words, but he can make out quiet sounds with the well (the night itself) so quiet around him, that her hesitant voice catches his ear and wends its way in a quiver down his spine. ]

H-hey, are you--?

[ somewhere in the night's silence, a pebble scrapes against the ground, and one in Lenalee's place might

(were their senses sharp)

feel watched. ]

[They're sharp. Nail-filed, even; prickling, always anticipating hearing something, someone creeping up behind her (the someones were worse than the somethings).

She stiffens, arms trembling as she locks them, and the toes of her shoes scrape against the well. She feels like she has to swallow around her heart.]

W-hat did you say you were running from, again?