gleamingly: (♪ play guitar and knit and cook)
rapunzel. ([personal profile] gleamingly) wrote in [community profile] towerofanimus2014-03-07 02:26 pm

first song ♪ not quite the beginning she wanted.

Characters: Rapunzel ([personal profile] gleamingly) and you!
Setting: Room 1-01, floor three, floor six, and floor twenty-two.
Format: I'm starting with prose, but I'll match you.
Summary: Rapunzel wakes up in the Tower of Animus after an argument with her mother. Worst time-out ever.
Warnings: Nothing so far.

Room 1-01.
When Rapunzel wakes, it is with a start, and it is not because it's too loud. Rather, it's because there is a distinct lack of noise. Where is the rustling of the leaves in the trees, the chirping of the birds, the (rather obnoxious and unattractive) snoring of her (ridiculously attractive) traveling companion? She remembers the argument with her mother and her heart nearly drops into her stomach. Had she been brought home?

A look around the room answers that question. No, she hadn't, but she also isn't in the woods on her way to see the floating lanterns. She is also not wearing her dress, and -

Are those other beds? She gasps and pulls her covers up over herself, self-conscious about the strange white jumpsuit she's found herself in, before peeking out.

"Who... who's there?" She calls out shakily. "If someone else is in this room, tell me now...!"

Floor Three.
She has never seen so many books in her entire life. It is all she can do not to drop her mass of hair and run among the shelves to find something to read; instead she keeps her long hair gathered up in her arms and steps off the staircase so that she can explore the library at a brisk pace.

If she had something like this in her tower, it would have been so difficult to get bored.

One might find her peering curiously at a book with pictures of automobiles, or with two novels in a trilogy resting on the frying pan and the pile of hair in her arms while she rushes about looking for the third, or maybe even eyeing a book perched precariously on the top of a shelf as she twirls her hair like a lasso and throws it to pull it down.

Floor Six.
Anyone passing by the forest floor may see a peculiar sight: A barefoot, long-haired blonde in a dress that seems too short for her, clutching a frying pan and staring down a deer with too-sharp teeth. The deer is growling; Rapunzel is glancing uncertainly between it and the chameleon perched on her shoulder.

"Deer aren't supposed to growl, are they, Pascal...?"

The chameleon chitters at her and points insistently at the staircase with his tail, but she shakes her head. "No, I don't want to just run away!"

Floor Twenty-two.
She is somewhat more relaxed now, but only because she hasn't yet gone very far into the gallery. For the moment she is just looking at the paintings and chattering to about them to Pascal, who is now perched on her other shoulder.

"Whoever painted this must have been very skilled! Look at the reflection in the water," She's saying, brushing her fingers against a painting of a young man staring into a pond. The plaque below it reads Narcissus, but she doesn't know what that means. "It's identical to his face! And look at the way the water catches the light. Can you believe this was made with paint, Pascal?"

The chameleon does not look very impressed. Rapunzel is undaunted; she'll continue her tour of the gallery.

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