HIT ME LIKE A TOM ( will )

[PASCAL FISCHER]

★ He was lost.

No, no, that couldn't possibly be right. He was Pascal, after all, and a man like Pascal simply did not get "lost"– the word didn't exist in his vocabulary and, in his favor, Pascal had a marvelous vocabulary (the best, really). No, Pascal was not lost because, you see, Pascal could not get lost. It was simply impossible, couldn't happen, didn't happen, and hadn't happened.

Central Park was just so big, a labyrinthine amalgam of woods and water and who-knew-what-else; how could Pascal, alone in such expansive, foreign land, possibly not get lost? Not to say that he was– no, Pascal thought it more true to say that he was merely... wandering. Taking it all in, the scenery and the people and, best of all, the fresh air. The wind wasn't blowing, the snow wasn't falling, the sun was shining. It was the ideal day for wandering, and so Pascal wandered. (After all, he reminded himself, there was plenty of time to worry about how to un-lose himself and return to Baum before curfew.)

Unlike any of the harsh wintry days Pascal had yet faced in New York City, it was pleasantly sunny– even warm, compared to the usual weather. Real nice, in fact. Skinny rays of treasured sunlight shone through the boughs of the trees, glistening off the remnants of snow and ice that littered the ground. In fact, the reason the sun was shining at all was because of Pascal– yes, of course that made sense. He was so fantastic, so undeniably sexy and god-like that he managed to bring the very sun peeking from behind the clouds. Pleased with his own magnificence, the teenager grinned to himself, flashing white teeth as he made his way through the scattered trees of the Park's woods. Now, how in the hell did he get out of there?

WORDS 348
TAGS molly , willow
NOTES Pascal is not lost in the woods, and decides that he's the reason the sun is shining. Blah blah blah, Will sees him and says hello or something, he thinks she's a cutie and eventually asks her out, yes? Yes~ /shitty first post but whatever

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[WILLOW FAYETTE]

OUTFIT OF A LITTLE FOREST FAIRY!

Will liked the woods in Central Park. There was something... homey about them. Sometimes when RJ and Freds were busy with whatever RJ's and Freds' did with their lives, she'd wander over to the woods and just sit up in a tree, and let any acquired homesickness just wash off from her. Like today! Today she sat perched in her favorite tree, playing her game boy (pokemon red, bitches) with her satchel hanging from a nearby branch.

It was warm for winter, as barely any of the fallen snow had stuck around to be more than slush. Her converse were soggy and muddy from the wet ground, the bright yellow dimmed with dirt. She wore wool tights that were a warm olive green, and hugged her slenderly athletic legs. She wore denim dungaree shorts, which did little for her figure, but were comfy and worn thin with love, as was her Green Lantern hoody which substituted a coat. Despite wearing a green deep v, the yellow lace trimmed tank top prevented much cleavage to be seen. The darker yellow scarf was draped lazily around her neck, and the star stud earrings were hidden under tousles of wavy brown hair that knew not the meaning of order.

Dark, tigers eye brown eyes watched as her shimmery gold nail polished fingers had her trainer travel through the land in search of more pokemon to capture and love. Yes, the forest was quite peaceful, wasn't it? Almost too peaceful....

Pausing her game, Will stopped to listen.

The birds had gone silent, and the squirrels had become still. Like they too were listening, and watching. An intruder! Will's eyes searched the forest floor, able to see but remain unseen in her cozy little hiding space. And there he was! The intruder! Will grinned, her dark eyes growing more mischievous as he drew closer. A lost intruder! Oh, there were few loves Will had more than a lost boy. (lolgeddit?)

Putting her game boy safely in her bag, Will climbed down lower as he passed under her tree. "What are you doing?" She inquired, being sure to stay out of sight. "Don't you know it's not safe to get lost in a forest?" Even if he looked up, even if he tried to get a look at her, he wouldn't be able too. The warm weather hadn't let the leaves die for winter, only wilting them a little, and her cloths offered a bit of camouflage. He might see a flash of yellow or a bit of blue, but she moved so nimbly through the branches, it would not be a lasting glance. Her bell like voice and teasing little laughs offered no help to her location, as they echoed through the forest almost ethereally.

Crooking her legs on a branch for balance, Will hung upside down behind his head, a mischievous grin playing on her lips as she reached forward and plucked a hair from the nape of his neck. "What are you doing here?" And swoosh, back in the tree, out of sight.

Oh, what a naughty sprite she could be, when she wanted to be.

[PASCAL FISCHER]

★ As he traversed the woods of Central Park, weary and disoriented, Pascal couldn't help but consider himself akin to any great explorer of the eras. Here, in the throes of jeopardy, in the depths of wildly unfamiliar territory, he was a real adventurer– here, amidst the exotic flora and fauna of Central Park, Pascal figured himself to be some sort of marvelous combination of all of them, the famous adventurers; an allegorical union of Don Quixote, Great Odysseus, and even Captain Kirk himself– maybe throw in a snippet of the Latina vagabond Dora, and there you had Pascal to a T.

Yes, that sounded like a grand and suitable role for Pascal Fischer, and the thought alone of his magnificence in playing it was enough to once more bring a broad smile to his features. There was something oddly comforting about realizing that you were the absolute shit, a beautiful revelation that seemed to strike Pascal a great many times a day.

Inspired by his awesomeness, Pascal continued his adventure with a Cheshire Cat grin, ducking cheerfully between a pair of arched trees, oddly still adorned by the leaves typically shed in the throes of brutal wintertime. Even despite the unhealthy season, Central Park was an unlikely beauty of New York City, in its viridescence so starkly dissimilar to the intrepid metropolis that contained it. Lionhearted adventurer that he was, Pascal focused on appreciating this and disregarding the troubling fact that his sneakers were waterlogged from the slush and his hair was a mess from the wind; sure, he could desperately use a hot shower and a change of clothes, but such were the calamities of the wilderness! As an explorer, he was obliged to face these with bravado, as anyone would expect of Pascal Fischer, wondrous concoction of Captain Kirkysseus Quixodora!

It was her voice that interrupted the polyphony of the woodland sounds, shattering his thoughts of grand adventure and ushering a grimace to Pascal's countenance. "What are you doing?" Disgust was quickly veiled by tired curiosity, and the blue eyes of our hero fruitlessly darted to and fro his surroundings. There was nothing– he may as well have imagined the speaker, had she not continued, soubrette voice complemented by tinkling laughter. She was above him, so much Pascal was sure; he raised his gaze to the entwined boughs overhead, an earthly combination of green and brown that didn't divulge his vocal assailant in the slightest.

"Not safe?" His own, keenly masculine voice sounded ugly in comparison to that of the unseen girl, light and convivial as it resounded in the woods. "I think I can handle myself, thanks; and besides, I'm not lost." He smiled up to the sky in a mute intimation that he indeed required no help from the impish girl, and then hesitated– truthfully, there was nothing Pascal wanted more than to get away from those goddamn woods, but still there was nothing Pascal wanted less than to submit himself to the help of another, much less a stranger. In hindsight, it would have seemed much more feasible to turn and depart, but there was something madly intriguing about what he couldn't see, something about the energetic girl (or, at least, he presumed and hoped it was a girl) that fueled Pascal's curiosity.

And then– just when he was about to say something further– he allowed a pitchy yelp to escape his lips, inspired by sharp pain from the back of his neck. Had she plucked a hair off of him? "What the fuck was that for?!" A hand shot to the source of the pain, gently rubbing the area from which she had snatched his hair. "What am I doing here? I'm... I'm going for a walk, is all. What are you doing here? And hey, come down from there." Feeling the need to elaborate– God help him if she thought he actually cared to find out what she looked like (oh, how he cared)– Pascal added quickly, "I mean, you might get hurt."

WORDS 715 ;o
TAGS molly , willow
NOTES Okay, so I rambled a bit here. >> /has to work on his rambling. Sorry this took so long lmao!

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[WILLOW FAYETTE]

He was really making it funnier by denying it the state of his lostness, though Will didn't hold it against him. Mostly because the prideful indignation that was in his voice reminded her so much of Freddie. "Sure, you've been passing that Oak on purpose, right? Three times, I counted?" Moving from branch to branch with nimble steps, Will was vigilant not to let Bonney Sweet Robin below get a good angle. The mystical abstruseness of a faceless voice in the trees was too becoming for Will to give up just yet, especially since it bothered him so.

His yelp made her giggle again, the noise echoing around the trees around them given her height. "Fragile, aren't you? It was only a couple of hairs. No need to cry, boy." She goaded, having a strong, intuitive, feeling that he would be torqued by her badgering, much how Freds was. Why, they could be brothers, couldn't they? How pulchritudinous his profile was, and his robin egg blue eyes caught her interest, as they gazed up to try and locate her. Climbing further up to retrieve her bag, she chewed over the predicament her lost compadre had found himself in. "But isn't walking without a destination being lost in itself, Sir Invader? I mean, if you don't know where you're going, how do you know where you'll be." With a graceful step, she balanced her way across the branches, moving to the tree next to the one he thought she was in, letting the acoustics of the forest shield her.

He was really too much fun. She could hardly understand it, but there was something about the forest that provoked her inner imp. Especially when she came across those less savy in its confines. "Maybe you enjoy being lost. The adventure of it all. Never knowing where you'll end up... It's quite romantic, if you think about it, isn't it?" Her voice was contemplating and musing, as she settled lazily in her new tree, out of sight.

The surroundings fed her sprightly nature, and her voice continued to be melodically frolicsome at his expense. "I'm spending time in my forest." Her response was haughty and dignified, but childish, like a little princess in her castle. "And it is mine. I listen to it, and that's why I'm never lost in it." Nanana booboo. With another chiming laugh, Will rolled off from her branch and climbed a little lower down her tree. The imperiousness left her, instead left by curious excitement, her pitch changing directions like the wind, and hopefully not bamboozling her compatriot too bad. "That's why it won't hurt me. Or you. It likes us." Will informed, mahogany brown eyes sparkling with delight. "I can show you, if you'd like. I could show you my forest."

[PASCAL FISCHER]

★ Pascal's breaths were soft and low as he turned aquamarine eyes on the snarled branches, glancing this way and that in search of his flawlessly concealed persecutor. Who did she think she was, laughing at him, so overtly ridiculing him? Who did she think she was, this girl who so exasperatingly evaded him, dancing between the tangled limbs of the trees like some devilish leprechaun? Well, Pascal would right tell you who she was: she was a child, playing a child's game as she entertained herself with her disoriented victim. And he would have none of it, not Pascal, for he certainly was no child. In a fruitless attempt at maturity, he willed himself to turn, to ignore the puerile taunting and get away from the woods and the trees and the occult young women that they concealed.

But to no avail; Pascal's limbs refused to move, refused to carry him away from that dreadful situation. Like the fly in a spider's silky web, Pascal was trapped, immutably drawn to the girl and all the mystery that she entailed. But however intriguing the fairy in the branches, she too was infuriating, a puzzle that refused to be solved when Pascal had been so sure that he could solve just about any puzzle. Far below, buried knee-deep in the unlikely mix of inquisitiveness and discontent, Pascal Fischer couldn't quite decide whether or not he liked the girl in the trees. High above, from her unknown vantage point, Willow Fayette was an enigma in every sense of the word.

"You've been passing that oak on purpose?"

Her mocking words hit him like a train on tracks, fast and hard and painful; as if Pascal was actually lost. Really, as if! Three times, she said? Three times he had passed that oak? Well, fuck yes he had done it intentionally! Oh, how this invisible elf underestimated him– if she knew who he was, if she knew who he was, Pascal could only imagine how fervently she would then apologize. "Oh, Great Pascal, what a fool I was, to actually imply that you, of all people, were lost!" And Pascal would pause, thoughtfully look the girl over (hard to imagine, as he still didn't know what she looked like), and then say, "while your attempt to apologize is honorable, I'm afraid I just can't forgive you." And then she would wail and cry and fall to his knees, bring sweet lips to kiss his boot in one last desperate expression of her wholehearted regret. But Pascal would shake his beautiful head, tell her that he was sincerely sorry, but it was far too late, what was done was done.

Pascal's cheeky grin reformed across his face, confidence and wit provoked by such pleasant thoughts. "Well, yes, it's a particularly nice oak," he insisted in the most matter-of-fact tone he could muster. (And, as Pascal could muster only the highest quality of tones, his was very matter-of-fact indeed.) "I know how to appreciate beauty, is all." He tentatively regarded the surrounding trees, wondering which tree exactly she had been referring to– in fact, what did an oak tree even look like? All trees were the same to Pascal.

She was really very annoying, in an oddly fascinating way. "Who said I had no destination?" With a flourish and a wink, Pascal casually sat himself down into the slush, using the conversation with his odd new companion as an opportunity to finally rest his legs. In his opinion, he deserved a rest– merely speaking to this girl was exhausting, when she spoke in riddles and he had to constantly crane to show he was still paying attention to her. Honestly, he had long since given up trying to identify her location above, discarding it as an impossible task when she seemed to be so weirdly talented at hiding up there.

She mentioned something about adventure, and suddenly Captain Kirkysseus Quixodora was all ears, shedding any facade of disinterest. The prospect of adventure was irresistible, alluring, one of few things that appealed to Pascal besides himself, women, and stealing; suddenly, his opinion of the woodland woman had doubled, his fascination with her tripled. "Romantic. Yeah, I guess. But I'm not lost." He adjusted in the slush, futilely trying to prevent his ass from going numb from the cold– fucking nature, always fucking things up. "I'm Pascal, by the way."

Why the hell had he introduced himself? For all he knew, he had just told his name to some sort of maniacal serial killer who found its victims by harassing them from the trees. But there was just that something about her– Pascal decided that, yes, he did like her, the girl in the trees. There was just something about her, something inexplicably likable.

And then she went and spouted some bullshit about the forest, and Pascal's feelings retrogressed right to irritation.

"You're very possessive, you know," he mumbled, once again scanning the trees for a glimpse of her. She was so strange, speaking her nonsensical bullshit like she was some sort of elfish royalty. God, he had almost gotten to be just as bad as her, pulled into her vortex of immaturity, lured into her childish game. What was he even thinking, playing pretend with this silly little girl who thought she was some sort of forest princess? He didn't have time for games. He was an adult.

WORDS 972
TAGS molly , willow
NOTES what the fuck is this length? will happily summarize for you if you want :]

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