balletrat: (Default)
Meg wouldn't have even thought to stop by Andrew's door . . . if she hadn't seen the sign while on her way to Lilly's apartment.

When your ex-boyfriend puts up a notice telling everyone to go away - well, there's really only one logical thing to do.

Meg steps up to the door, frowning, and knocks.
balletrat: (amyandmeg)
There are lots of pleasant things to do in Ambergeldar, and while she's there, Meg intends to take advantage of all of them.

So today, she and Amy are out picnicking. It's a lovely day; the food is delicious; there is coffee and tea enough to satisfy both of them, and Susan is safe with her nursemaid in the castle.

All is extremely well.
balletrat: (lookingoutmeg)
*Meg's spent some time checking the main room for Sam Winchester, without a great deal of luck.

But Meg Giry doesn't give up very easily, which is why she's now heading up the stairs to wander through the maze of hallways. She doesn't know if the Winchesters have a room, but there's always an off-chance - and besides, she'd like to see Lilly before she goes back.*
balletrat: (nervousmeg - Shati)
It's late, late at night by the time Meg is standing in front of Lilly's room, and she doesn't knock loudly.

It doesn't seem quite fair to wake her up. And there's always the Threshold. But -

Well. Just in case she is up.

Just in case.
balletrat: (lookingoutmeg)
Meg's fairly small. It's difficult to see her, sometimes, when she's curled up in an armchair - reading, asleep, or just staring at the fire.

But she's there all the same. And when she catches sight of the big X-Man, she straightens in a hurry, turning around to wave to him.

He's what she's got of news.
balletrat: (pensivemeg - Shati)
In the time since a certain conversation happened, Meg has had time to think.

Time to think, in particular, about how very complicated this is going to be to explain to - certain people.

Which is why her knock on Andrew's door is possibly a little tentative, as she stands outside, fingers fidgeting.
balletrat: (warymeg - shati)
- Lockheed?

*Meg's voice is quiet, and a little worried. She doesn't want to disturb the dragon - but Kitty did ask her to watch out for him, and she intends to do her job.

Anyways, she needs his help.*
balletrat: (armchairmeg)
*Meg's been shuttling between the Threshold and the House of Arch, mostly, for the past few days, with occasional stops to check about her lost coffee mug; it's only this morning that she's stopped by the bar long enough to receive a letter.

An executive decision: Family politics might make it awkward to read in the Threshold, and the main bar is a little less private than might be hoped.

A half hour passes; and now Meg is sitting at the chair behind Andrew's desk, frowning down at the letter open in front of her and twisting a pendant between her fingers.*
balletrat: (smallsmilemeg)
*Meg's only been to New York once before, and that time she entered through Midtown.

The section of town that holds the empty warehouse where Angel makes his headquarters is a little different - a little shabbier, less neon, less crowded, less noisy. Most of the street corners have a resident, and the shops are smaller and more eclectic.

It's the future, still, and there are cars and traffic lights and all manner of things that set it apart from 1884. But it looks a little more like the cities that Meg's used to, nonetheless; and as she walks through, her face breaks into a small, half-wistful smile.*
balletrat: (helpfulmeg - shati)
*Meg had some trouble, at first, figuring out where exactly to hold Alanna's dance lessons. The House of Arch school was officially on break for the summer, Meg's room at the bar had barely enough space for one person to stretch, and removing Alanna from the current space-time continuum (such as it was) to go to the Threshold for every lesson seemed a little extravagant.

However, there are the newspaper offices - and one of them has a smooth wooden floor that was just about perfect for practicing.

Which is why Meg's currently busy taping up a sign over the door:*

Do not disterb. Lesson in progres.
balletrat: (humoringyoumeg)
So Cooper says that every man has a secret longing to be Humphrey Bogart, *Meg announces, flopping backwards onto the bed as Andrew heads over to the DVD player.*

Is it true?
balletrat: (shadowdancer - shati)
Meg Giry grew up speaking French, but for months now almost all she's heard around her is English, in all its variations. Hello, hullo, hey and hi; how are you, what's wrong, it's okay; alive and dead and later and bye. All over the bar, people speaking in English, spitting out their consonants like they're going to choke on them. Even her classes are held in English, every flowing French term carefully explained to her students in the heavy, stuffy tongue they understand.

She's even started to dream in English, from time to time.

The Threshold is quiet - often unnervingly so; Meg's used to cities, and unused to solitude - but when her father speaks to her there, he speaks to her in flawless French. For that reason alone, it serves sometimes as a refuge. It's serving as a refuge now.

Meg practices for hours, allegro et arrondi et arabesque, the French phrases passing smoothly through her mind as her body enacts the motions, and in the times between - when she's stretching down or warming up, or simply resting and letting her body recuperate - she thinks about language. About French.

In French, the words all end lightly, so lightly you can hardly tell when one's over and another's begun. The word mort, just to take an example: the English feel the need to tack a vowel onto the end to express almost the same sound, more.

They have the word mort in English, too, but it ends on a clomping t, and it means 'a great number'. Meg's a little amused by that fact, when she remembers it during one of her stretches. It's sort of accurate, after all.

She still prefers the French, though. And perhaps thinking it through completely in French - the language in which mort means death, and le petit mort, the little death, stands for its opposite - will help her to make sense of the caisse, and the rose noir, and Anthy, and the ville des morts.

After a few days, of dancing and thinking and dancing again, she decides it doesn't make much more sense in French after all.

But she feels better all the same.
balletrat: (pensivemeg - Shati)
*Meg generally doesn't stay in the Threshold more than a night at a time.

She keeps the basics there; a change of clothes, a hairbrush, some paper and a pen to scribble down ideas that come to her in the night. (Not that you need to brush your hair out of time, or change your clothes, for that matter, but it feels normal, and normal is a feeling that Meg clings to very dearly, from time to time.)

She thinks maybe she'll need more than a single change of clothes this time. And so she's slipped into Andrew's room - knocking first, to see if he's there; if he had answered, she would have slipped away, but he doesn't answer and so she goes in.

She's trying to figure out what she will need to bring, because taking too much feels like running away, and that's not what she's doing. She just - wants to think.*
balletrat: (smirkmeg)
*It's a beautiful day.

The sun shines down brightly on the vibrant green grass, the rippling blue of the lake, and the shocking pink of the teddy bears on the carpet on which Meg is currently sitting.

When she sees Lilly heading towards her, she jumps up, waving enthusiastically - but considering, she probably isn't terribly difficult to spot.*
balletrat: (faintingmeg - shati)
[OOC: After this]

*Meg's been missing Andrew in the bar for the past few days, so tonight she's decided to give up on the shortcuts and wait for him in his room.

Of course, this has the drawback of - well, involving waiting. So by the time Andrew gets upstairs, Meg's dozing at his desk, cheek pillowed on her history book.*
balletrat: (schemingmeg)
*The television's been sitting in the room for a while; someday Meg and Andrew really will finish the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

This is not that day.

Today, Meg is perched on the bed with a huge bowl of popcorn, lots of chocolate, and a bottle of wine, waiting for her cousin.*
balletrat: (lookingoutmeg)
*Ahhhh, indoor plumbing. The greatest amenity of modern civilization, Meg feels.

Graffiti, however, is as old as time, or older.

Which is why, after washing her hands (and enjoying the running water immensely, even after all this time) she's paused in order to read the words scrawled on the bathroom door behind her: 'I wolde I knewe how of thee I mi3t be quitten'.

[OOC: Post open to everyone, and will remain open for the foreseeable future. After all, who's going to say there can be a limit to the available space in the Milliways stalls?]
balletrat: (smirkmeg)
*Meg's grinning happily as she eases the door to Andrew's room open. This may have something to do with the fact that her head and hair are currently bedecked with tiny shining stars.

Her smile fades, a very little, once she gets a good look inside, and sees Andrew busy packing into a small overnight bag - but she rallies quickly.*

Hey, Andrew -
balletrat: (almostnormalsmilemeg)
*Meg is sitting at the desk in Andrew's room, bent over a piece of paper on which she is scribbling on this week's lesson plan.

She looks occupied, and happy; she glances up as she hears the door open.*
balletrat: (closedeyesmeg)
*Meg's had a long night, and the room is dark when she comes in.

She switches on the light, automatically - it was dark enough outside - and glances around, but she already knows it's empty.

She goes over to the bed, and sits down on it, rubbing her arms absently. They're a little cold - Lilly, she remembers, still has her cloak.

She should probably go to the Threshold. There's no reason to be here. Andrew may not even come back tonight.

Same club, she thinks, unbidden; and leans her head back against the wall, and closes her eyes, and attempts to banish it with a not yet.*
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