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Post by Erin Morgan-Harper on Oct 17, 2009 17:24:17 GMT -5
In the snow of 19th century England, as Erin ducked his head under the time turner that'd take Mairead and himself to a future where Albus, Ariana, and Aberforth Dumbledore had never been existed, a future where the Dark Lord would reign and clash with Grindelwauld, and where his Dark Mark would be more valuable than a nuisance, he'd never considered the danger of such a trip. Not the end result, no, Erin hadn't thought much on that either, but this part, the actual transportation. He'd been warned by Mairead, who'd been warned by a desperate Remus Lupin, that the time turner was unstable and untested. All sorts of messiness could result. Splicing, lost limbs, the "metaphysical side of magic," whatever the hell that was... really, turning up in an alternate reality version of Paris was lucky compared to what might have happened.
Of course, after the blinding dizziness and the nausea had subsided enough that Erin could look up and process their surroundings, this was not an opinion he was likely to share.
"The hell?" he said blankly. He struggled out from under the chain and stumbled away from Mairead, his head turning from side to side: white marble, gold gilt, a whole huge room of people dressed in their best Muggle attire, naked statues- naked statues? No, concentrate- there was no way this was Death-Eater London. It seemed unlikely this was even the right century. He moved closer to her again, almost uncertainly, without taking his eyes off the passerbys as he said, "Mairead, I think your pretty little toy malfunctioned...." There was a trace of a snarl in his voice.
Although they'd more or less just popped into existence in the middle of a busy foyer, no one was paying even the slightest attention to either one of them. It should have made him feel relieved, but really, it just made Erin even more suspicious.
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Post by Mairead ó Fearghail on Oct 17, 2009 18:14:19 GMT -5
The lurch - the gut wrenching physical distortion - the sudden wave of debilitating nausea. Only once before had Mairead experienced the unsettling displacement of the super-charged time turner but she doubted she'd ever forget the feeling. She even vaguely remembered the previous time jump being worse. The first time she'd draped the chain around her neck, she'd had the gravity of the task ahead of her as well as the fear of not knowing what to expect from the time turner (exacerbated by the multitude of worst case scenario stories provide courtesy of those that had tried to talk her out of it) hovering over her head.
This time, she'd been expecting the gut-expelling feeling and her mind had been settled by a general apathy towards the potentially disastrous 'what ifs.' There was no part of her being that looked forward to returning to the future she would have had a hand in creating. Contrary to her first trip through time, this time, the proverbial messy malfunctions didn't seem substantially worse than successfully returning to the modified future.
Much like their first jump, the effects struck her harder than they had Erin. The immediate disorientation ebbed away slightly and she wretched, stumbling a few steps, her eyes shut to block out any light that might exacerbate the nausea. She knelt down to steady her head, her hand closing around someone's arm but the voice that brushed her off was unfamiliar.
Erin's flat confusion cut through the dizziness and, finally, Mairead forced her eyes open. A bright light reflected off the slick marble floor. Glancing up and about, she surveyed her surroundings, only half aware that Erin had stepped closer to her. She reached out and grasped Erin's hand, using him as a support to help herself to her feet.
"I ... what?" she said, his growled assessment only starting to make sense as her head finally stopped spinning. "It - we aren't - Wait." Okay. The last time they did this, it was only time that had changed - they'd, physically, ended up in the same place. Her eyes widened as she looked at the signs overhead. "My little toy?" she spat, rounding on him. Sure, pointing fingers was bound to be useful here. Shaking her head, Mairead turned and intercepted a passerby's path. "Excuse me," she asked. "Can you tell me where we are?"
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Post by Erin Morgan-Harper on Oct 17, 2009 19:23:00 GMT -5
Erin braced himself so that Mairead could pull on him to stand up, eying everyone that came within a few feet of them narrow-eyed and a little unstable-looking. This included glaring at the plainly-dressed fellow Mairead had flagged down, a lanky red-haired man Erin might've been pleased to see in other circumstances.
"....the Opera house?" The man offered, looking absolutely unaffected by Erin's glare, much to Erin's displeasure. Then, catching Mairead's accent, perhaps, he continued after a short pause and with a French accent of his own so thick it could only be fake, "Paris, of course, the city of lights and love!"
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Post by Mairead ó Fearghail on Oct 17, 2009 20:46:02 GMT -5
The first few steps were a bit shaky, the effects of the jump through time still relinquishing their grip. She didn't give the plain manner of dress of the man any second thought - it was rather reminiscent of her own style of dress growing up. Nothing about the fellow seemed to indicate danger and, even if she'd misjudged him, her wand (she patted her pocket to be sure) was still tucked safely in her robe pocket.
"Opera house?" Mairead repeated, with a blunt disbelief (and to verify she'd heard correctly). The man's mode of speech seemed strange and she had to concentrate to decode the words. "You mean like-" Mairead started but her mouth flew shut as she concentrated on the fellow's elaboration.
Paris! Mairead looked pointedly at Erin. How in the bloody hell did they wind up in Paris? "As in ... France?" she asked slowly, looking back towards the red-haired man, her mind grappling for a reasonable though useful follow up question. It would be nice if Erin was proving to be more help as well, but he seemed to have occupied himself with watching anyone that passed by.
"I - would you tell me what the date is?"
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Post by Erin Morgan-Harper on Oct 17, 2009 21:42:59 GMT -5
Mairead was not the only one startled by the man's answer. Erin's head whipped 'round, and the only thing that kept him from drawing his wand was that they were surrounded by Muggles. His hand stayed on it, though- he was familiar enough with the idea of "don't shoot the messenger," but something about the lazy way this man smirked at him really scraped his nerves.
"September 16, 18 - ," the man replied, his eyebrows raising as Mairead drew attention to the wand in her pocket. Then his gaze flicked to Erin behind her, who was still holding his. "Is that a stick in your pocket, lovely lady, or are you just happy to see me....? Oh, and I see the fellow has one too- " Almost instantly, after that, as Erin bared his teeth at him, "Mademoiselle, please control your guard dog, he looks a tad tetchy."
It was at this point, figuring that Mairead would not want him to cause trouble so soon in this place by painting the man's intestines all over the lovey marblework, that Erin took Mairead by the arm and stalked past the man to the front doors. He pushed them open to a semi-busy street scene, complete with a light drizzle and 19th century carriages rumbling past.
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Post by Mairead ó Fearghail on Oct 17, 2009 22:52:04 GMT -5
For several long moments, Mairead stared, blankly, at the man. Something had gone very, very wrong. How did they get stuck here? They ... they were further back in time (not to mention further afield) then where they'd started. If Erin was fidgeting nervously behind her, Mairead wasn't aware of it. Her focus was fixated on the stranger.
Until his joke. "I ... what?" She asked, confused at first. Finally, she scowled and shook her head. "Girls ... they don't have -"
But before she could fully explain that girls didn't get sticks in their pocket when excited to see someone, Erin had grasped her arm and dragged her away. She turned towards Erin, opening her mouth to complain when he dragged her out the door. She froze, staring at the scene in front of them.
After several deep breaths, Mairead breathed, quietly, "Fuuuck." Quickly, she turned and stepped away from Erin, back into the Opera House. What had happened, she wasn't sure, but this was where it had happened. And, every part of her being said it was there it would be fixed. Moving quickly back to the middle of the foyer, she tugged the time turner from around her neck and turned it over in her hands. Had she turned it the wrong way? She hadn't thought so, but - did she try again?
What if it went even more wrong?
She shook that thought from her head and quickly draped the time turner back over head before lifting it, ready to spin it again, but waiting for Erin to catch up.
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Post by Erin Morgan-Harper on Oct 17, 2009 23:02:50 GMT -5
Erin scrambled very quickly after her when Mairead started to play with the time turner again. It would not at all be surprising to him if she left him.
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Post by Mairead ó Fearghail on Oct 17, 2009 23:10:56 GMT -5
A stronger wave of apprehension washed over her as she draped the chain around Erin's head and set it spinning. Another wave of nausea - another intense feeling of disorientation.
So close to the heels of the last trip, Mairead couldn't keep her footing when the disorientation passed. She stumbled immediately to the floor, the time turner's chain snapping as it was still wrapped around Erin's neck as well. This time, she recognized the shimmering marble under her knees immediately.
Again, she reached out to grasp Erin's hand to hoist herself back up, but at the sight of the likewise-now-familiar shock of red hair, Mairead realized, belatedly, it wasn't Erin she was grasping to. "Ahh, Focal leat," she grumbled, trying to push away from the fellow but grabbing him again, immediately, when the dizziness returned in full force.
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Post by Erin Morgan-Harper on Oct 17, 2009 23:24:07 GMT -5
Mercutio grinned at her as the dizziness faded, winding an arm about her waist in a supportive but probably alternatively-motived way. "Back so soon?" Behind her, Erin had also ended up on the floor, too momentarily ill to sneer at the red-head for his deliberately over-sweet words.
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Post by Mairead ó Fearghail on Oct 17, 2009 23:37:19 GMT -5
Preoccupied with keeping her footing, Mairead only spared a moment's thought for the arm that slipped around her waist. She clutched the arm as she glanced up at the fellow's face, quickly assessing the implications. With one hand on his arm and, briefly steadying herself with her other hand on his chest, she considered the fellow.
He wasn't surprised they had suddenly appeared here, yet again. So, presumably, he'd expected it. Glancing slowly at Erin, she shook her head. "Where are we?" she asked, looking at the red-head. "And, who are you?"
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Post by Erin Morgan-Harper on Oct 18, 2009 13:27:16 GMT -5
"Mercutio's the name," the redhead said flippantly, and then, "I told you. You're in the Opera House. What, you don't believe me? O, mine heart, it hurts at such a suggesti- watch it, man, 'lest you bring the wrath of the Opera stagehands down on yourself." This last bit was to Erin, who'd recovered enough to take Mercutio's free wrist in an extremely painful grip, judging from the way Mercutio was scowling.
"I don't think she meant for you to repeat yourself," Erin said idly, his smile twitching a little. Erin wasn't entirely stupid. That smirk meant Mercutio knew more than he was telling.
Unfortunately Mercutio was not easily intimidated, and certainly not by Erin. Blue eyes narrowed, head tilted, he withdrew his arm around Mairead's waist slowly, a warning of the forthcoming punch if Erin didn't let him go.
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Post by Mairead ó Fearghail on Oct 18, 2009 18:21:03 GMT -5
The name seemed vaguely familiar - but not enough to produce more than a feeling of confusion in Mairead. And, chances were, it was bound to be just some strange coincidence of similar sounding names. Mairead sighed patiently as the fellow readied himself to repeat, almost verbatim, what he'd told her moments ago. Assuming, perhaps naively, that more information would be forthcoming after the repetition.
But, before they could find out, Erin seemed to feel the need to intervene. Mairead scowled at Erin as she found herself supported by her own feet again.
Looking between the two men, Mairead slowly shook her head. "Look - look," she said, raising her hands in an attempt to placate both of them. She cast Erin an extra what's your problem glance before looking at Mercutio.
"Look, I'm sorry. He's a bit ... excessively protective. More so than he needs to be," she said, looking pointedly at Erin. "But, I'd appreciate it if you'd help me understand what's going on."
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Post by Erin Morgan-Harper on Oct 18, 2009 18:38:10 GMT -5
Erin let go of Mercutio's wrist with an eyeroll and an exaggerated "okay, okay" motion with his hands. First he was too violent, too unstable to be trusted, now he was too protective, fine, fine, let her handle the damned nuisance..... well, Mairead was pretty good at Cruciatus by now. Erin brightened at the thought.
"Wellll," Mercutio began slowly. "This here's the Opera house, see, and most people come to watch the operas.... then of course there's the other kind, stinking of drink, of dope, of forgotten hope; perhaps you're from another world? How exciting. Everyone who works here hears about that eventually. Other than that, my dear lady, I don't know what you mean."
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Post by Mairead ó Fearghail on Oct 18, 2009 19:01:48 GMT -5
As Erin let go, the tension in the situation seemed to diffuse some. There were times - like when Mairead was sinking in the English channel - when the protectiveness was valuable. Even, if she had to admit it, appreciated. But, if they were going to get along at all back in whatever that new world was, he was going to have to learn to gauge when the protection was needed and when it wasn't.
Mairead turned back to Mercutio. "From ... another world?" He'd said that so casually, so easily, it was a little disarming. He might have as easily asked if she was from Dublin. But, at least, it made asking the next question a little easier. "Okay. So, how do we ... get out of here and get back to our own world?" She glanced at Erin. "Do we just have to be outside?" Or say a magic word?
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Post by Erin Morgan-Harper on Oct 18, 2009 19:11:39 GMT -5
"Ah, didn't I tell you? No one believes these strangers are really from another world. Except, of course, for the strangers themselves. Perhaps you ought to ask the green fairy?"
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