taxonomites | four --> into and through the yellow pine [location: at Hermes' altar at the crossroads]

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four --> into and through the yellow pine [location: at Hermes' altar at the crossroads]

One of the things that most people ought to know about Penelope Lane is that she has, probably, the world's worst luck. Which world that may be is somewhat foggy at this point given her current 'Trapped In A Crazy People Zoo' status, but the bad luck is just as vivid as ever. If getting blown up wasn't enough, the quiet disappearances of the only chicks she could conceivably call friends pretty much hammered the point home. It would be just her luck if Bruce went next, and then her business would fail due to competition from a psychotic guy that looks like her father, and then... well, what the hell, why not get blown up again. Not much else to lose at that point.

So, despite how unfriendly she finds much of the outdoors of Taxon to be and despite how much work she's got to do on her own line, Penelope has taken a walk. A walk with a bottle of rather expensive champagne tucked into her gloriously massive purse, but a walk nonetheless, to a little spot at the crossroads just outside the forest.

At the altar, she carefully kneels down and goes... sort of blank. Is she supposed to say something? She's pretty sure she's supposed to say something. After a huff of breath, she pulls the bottle out of her purse and holds it in her lap.

"Okay, so, I've never been a very religious person and I don't know the first thing about... praying, or anything, but I'm pretty sure that this place having its very own Commerce Deity rolling around can only be a good thing, so..." She sighs, and pops open the bottle. The cork goes flying off somewhere and ricochets off a tree; thankfully she doesn't intend to put it back. "...I need all the help I can get. This shop I'm starting, and just... I don't know, surviving here, I guess. Anyway, where I'm from, you pour out a forty in respect. I figure upping it to Cristal couldn't hurt."

The bowl at the altar gets filled with the fizzy golden alcoholic magic, until some of it splashes over the side and soaks the ground, at which point Penelope sticks the half-full bottle next to the herm and just... waits. Because she's not sure what's supposed to happen now.

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"Is that supposed to do something, then?" the Doctor asks.

He's standing not far off from Penny, leaning against a tree. His stomach hurts still, but he's healed up fairly well, all things considering.

If Penelope knew that the Doctor's stomach was still hurting him, she'd try her damnedest to plant her twelve hundred dollar TAO boots directly into his breadbox. At least, thankfully for him, she doesn't.

"The fuck do you want," she says, obviously annoyed he's interrupted her from... whatever it is she's doing.

"Oooh, a new set of socks, I think," he says, scratching his sideburns. "More maple syrup. About ten microwaves. Very little to do with you."

"Great. Fuck off."

Despite the fact that she's kneeling down at a crossroads on the edge of the woods, she appears to have no time for him. Why waste time on banter that's going to sail straight over his head? A simple 'go away', repeated often enough, should suffice.

And if that fails... it's been said before, she's pretty sure a swift kick to the jewels ought to suffice.

"You're shorter than I thought you would be," he says, not even thinking about moving. This is far too much fun.

"Yep. Go away."

Penelope is now outright fantasizing about putting the boot to his jubblies. And they are extraordinarily nice boots, too. God, it'd be so satisfying. Maybe she'd ask Hermes to give this tool an atomic wedgie, too. Can you actually do that thing where the underpants gets pulled up so far it wraps around their forehead? If you can, Hermes can probably figure out how.

"Pretty sure getting crushed by all that concrete took about half an inch off." Not that she had much to start with, but you know. She's proportioned well.

"No, I'm pretty sure you're proportioned that way," the Doctor says, amused. "Small brain, walk right into the middle of a bomb." He likes that he makes her this uncomfortable. He doesn't like being reminded about the concrete, but that's not important.

"Do you make a habit of interrupting people when they're praying and calling them names? Because if you do this for fun, that's basically why everyone hates you."

Since he apparently doesn't get that, for some reason.

"You're praying with Cristal," the Doctor says, looking really unimpressed. "There was a time when only the blood of virgins would satisfy a proper god."

"Cristal is two hundred dollars a bottle and there aren't any virgins in Taxon."

That... she knows of. Not that she cares.

"I don't have to justify myself to you. What are you, the prayer police? Fuck off."

"What, did you check?" the Doctor asks, again with the smugly amused.

"Are you going to continue to say that to me, or just accept the fact that I'm not leaving?"

"If you hate me so much, why won't you leave me alone?"

Because she would be perfectly okay with never seeing him again, ever.

"You're the one who bothers me half the time," the Doctor pointed out. "I was just returning the favor. And I figured we should finally actually meet, conisdering how much you despise me."

"Great. Job done, now you can get out of my life."

Penelope stands, dusting off her knees and hauling her purse up to her shoulder. Grumbling, she turns on her heel and starts marching off down the road, back the way she came.

"This is why we don't leave the apartment anymore, Penelope. This is why we stay the fuck indoors. Taxon is full of fucking crazypeople."

"We being you and your cat, then?" he asks, watching her walk off.

"You can't just walk off! I went to the trouble of actually talking to you! Haven't you got horrible things to say to me?"

He's clearly far too amused for his own good.

The best way to be infuriating, in this situation, is to stay silent and just keep walking. Penelope being who she is, knows how to be infuriating. So she does.

And the Doctor knows the best way to be infuriating is to take away dramatic exits. So, he follows.

"So, where're you going?" he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Somewhere else."

The obvious answer is also an excellent way to annoy people. Tell them what they already know, they'll get bored and wander off. Valid strategy.

Of course, if that fails, she does have a great big honking can of mace in her purse.

"Brilliant," the Doctor says. "I've always wanted to go there."

"If you don't stop following me," she calmly replies, "I'm not going to patiently ask somebody who might be in a slightly higher position of authority to grant me a restraining order or some bullshit like that, because I don't actually care about whether or not there's law here. What I am going to do is hurt you until you do stop. Okay?"

Fair warning, and all that.

"Really?" the Doctor asks, looking more amused than worried. "And what will you do to me, exactly? Step on me with those shoes of yours?"

"More like this," she says, and abruptly turns to the right and, using the heel of her hand, basically assaults him in the nose as hard as she can. Not that that's very hard; she is a stick figure with boobs, after all, but it gives her enough time to reach into her purse and grab her can of mace, which takes her a second or two to fumble into the correct position (namely: Pointing Away From Penelope And Towards The Doctor).

The Doctor holds his nose and looks offended at the slap to it.

"Really?" he says, looking very offended. "Just trying to keep you company and this is how you react? Also, that's still actually pointed at you."

"Oh. Well, in that case."

She knees him in the crotch instead.

He lets out a rather loud "OW" sound to her kneeing, and grabs her by her shoulders in an effort to keep her back.

"Stop it!" he snaps.

Women in general don't appreciate having their physical personal space violated by someone without express permission of one kind or another. Penelope is not an exception to this, and in fact takes quite a lot of offense at being grabbed, even if it is meant just to steady the poor bastard on his feet. So she shoves him backwards and quickly checks which way round her mace actually is pointed.

"Now I know it's pointed at you. I am not kidding. I am not trying to be cute or funny or play hard to get. I hate you, I want you out of my life and away from me, and I am not going to change my mind because you decide stalking me until I get Stockholm is fun. Leave. Me. Alone."

What happens next is that a slightly fizzy around the edges deities peeps out from behind a tree before walking over to kneel beside Penelope. "I'd be more than happen to help. More than happy. What do you need? Luck? Enthusiasm? A very small miracle? Or someone who can do wonders when it comes to balancing books?"

Well. Suffice to say that Penelope was not expecting a response that was quite so.... prompt.

"Oh. Hi. Wow. Okay, um. Was that... did I do that right? With the champagne? Okay." She clears her throat. "I need luck. And um, a little help on the capitalist front wouldn't suck either. Can you do that? I mean, this isn't like one of those things where you have to be careful what you wish for because it'll come back to bite me in the ass, is it? 'Cuz I can get you more Cristal."

Hermes is always rather prompt. God of speed, you know.

"You did and it was lovely," he replies before grinning like a doofball. Look, it's been a while since he's had a bit of bubbly. Would Penelope care for a glass? He's got a handy-dandy mug nearby if she'd like.

"It can sneak around and bite your ass -- which is lovely -- but I've no desire to actually do anything even remotely difficult. Unless, of course, you're going to try and keep me in a bottle or something. But, if you just want a little good luck and some help cooking your books, that's easy as pie, as Sunday morning, as pie on Sunday morning."

Well, she wouldn't say no to a... mug of Cristal, but she's not going to ask for one. She had just basically given it to a god, after all!

"That'd be fine, the... Sunday morning pie." Penelope looks around, as if she's waiting for the other shoe to drop out of a tree somewhere. "I mean at this point, basically any good luck would be better than what... I've had. I mean I can't just sit in my apartment here for the rest of my days; bitches gotta make a living."

With a little waggle of the mug, he's going to offer her a drink. C'mon, he might as well share the bounty.

"I understand, I really do. What you need to know is how it works: I'll help you set up a small altar and then, on a semi-regular basis you leave some offerings there, and I'll keep the good luck going. If you don't make offerings, I won't actively harm you and yours, but I may not offer additional protection."

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four --> into and through the yellow pine [location: at Hermes' altar at the crossroads]

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