Two hours. Roughly. Give or take. Two hours, give or take, of people vanishing in threes and now here is another group. It's announced loudly, after the initial spluttering and cursing, because Miss Kate Kelly, Mrs Kate Kelly-Sorellin, is in an almighty temper.
She's back in those dreadful blouse and trousers, back feeling oddly naked without her proper underthings. Her hair is heavy and she can feel how knotted it is. Unlike so many others, it isn't any longer than it had been a few minutes ago, but the curls are a mess. It's tangling around her, snaring on her clothes and a strange bracelet, and that is what finally tips the balance.
While trying to untangle her hair from the strange, glowing bracelet, Kate stars to curse. Loudly, eloquently, mixing up peculiarly Irish-Catholic swearing with old-fashion Australian outback, she swears.
"- you wombat headed, big bellied, magpie legged and splawfooted complete bastard sons of inbred dingos," she shouts at their nameless, faceless captors, finally tearing her hair free. "Where the fuckin' bloody hell are we this time? And what on God's green earth is on my arm?"
Later, once she's calmed down enough to be sensible, she goes to the inn. The Inn. Hers. She's jangled, twisted up and frightened by it all, but everyone is wet and scared themselves, and they need shelter, food. She can do that.
At the Inn she's met by the outraged clucking of her flock of hens and Tomdicken Harry, her charming (to her, anyway) rooster. There is dust in their feathers, but from what she can see, their henhouse and pen is still there. She clucks at them soothingly, but moves back to the building itself. A cat launches herself at her, all cranky, shattered dignity and telling her, very loudly, that none of this is meeting with Miss Hoppity's understand of the world, and her human has been very lax in dealing with it all.
It's then that Kate notices the state of the main room. It's filthy. There is dust everywhere, as if she hadn't spent all that time sweeping and scrubbing and dusting. It's enough to make a grown woman cry, except...
Except there's a large crate. There's several large crates, in fact. Cuddling her annoyed cat, Kate makes her cautious way over.
"What is going on?" she mutters to herself and anyone following her.
Kate Kelly-Sorellin | Group 7 | OTA - Park & Inn
She's back in those dreadful blouse and trousers, back feeling oddly naked without her proper underthings. Her hair is heavy and she can feel how knotted it is. Unlike so many others, it isn't any longer than it had been a few minutes ago, but the curls are a mess. It's tangling around her, snaring on her clothes and a strange bracelet, and that is what finally tips the balance.
While trying to untangle her hair from the strange, glowing bracelet, Kate stars to curse. Loudly, eloquently, mixing up peculiarly Irish-Catholic swearing with old-fashion Australian outback, she swears.
"- you wombat headed, big bellied, magpie legged and splawfooted complete bastard sons of inbred dingos," she shouts at their nameless, faceless captors, finally tearing her hair free. "Where the fuckin' bloody hell are we this time? And what on God's green earth is on my arm?"
Later, once she's calmed down enough to be sensible, she goes to the inn. The Inn. Hers. She's jangled, twisted up and frightened by it all, but everyone is wet and scared themselves, and they need shelter, food. She can do that.
At the Inn she's met by the outraged clucking of her flock of hens and Tomdicken Harry, her charming (to her, anyway) rooster. There is dust in their feathers, but from what she can see, their henhouse and pen is still there. She clucks at them soothingly, but moves back to the building itself. A cat launches herself at her, all cranky, shattered dignity and telling her, very loudly, that none of this is meeting with Miss Hoppity's understand of the world, and her human has been very lax in dealing with it all.
It's then that Kate notices the state of the main room. It's filthy. There is dust everywhere, as if she hadn't spent all that time sweeping and scrubbing and dusting. It's enough to make a grown woman cry, except...
Except there's a large crate. There's several large crates, in fact. Cuddling her annoyed cat, Kate makes her cautious way over.
"What is going on?" she mutters to herself and anyone following her.