taxonomites | [holo] oh how sweet to walk in this pilgrim way

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[holo] oh how sweet to walk in this pilgrim way

[Mattie feels the ground give way under her feet, panic closing off her throat as she begins to fall, scrabbling uselessly at dirt and brush-]

The holo feed shows a small figure dressed in too-large, old-fashioned clothes appear in mid-air, then fall to the ground with a hard thump that knocks the wind out of her for a moment. She lies still, gaping up at what should be a blue sky or at least the darkness of earth over her head, and then hesitantly brushes the fingers of one hand against the unyielding surface of the floor.

“Mr. LaBoeuf?” Her voice is embarrassingly weak, and she takes a deep breath and tries again, more loudly. “Mr. LaBoeuf!”

There’s no answer, of course, and common sense tells Mattie that although she doesn’t rightly know where she is, it’s obvious where she is not, and she shouldn’t expect any response. That realization urges her to sit up, the hat falling off her head as she slowly pushes herself to her feet and looks uncertainly around.

“Hello? Can anyone hear me?” She approaches the nearest wall and runs her hand along it, then turns her head to take in the others, just as blank as this one. Raising her arm, she pounds her fist against it, voice taking on a more forceful (but also more desperate) tone. “Whoever’s out there, open up this minute! You have no right to hold me against my will, I’ve embarked on no wrong-doing.. I have a good lawyer, and I will write him and you will hear how the law looks on the incarceration of innocent children!”

When the wall doesn’t give way and door doesn’t appear, Mattie steps back with a sigh. “Papa, I believe I have found some trouble for myself.”

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It's then--at her obstinate insistence that she'll find a boarding house--that the full force of what she'll have to deal with hits him. Tablets, the extras, hatches--Don doubts she'll starve (there are stores, and the extras staffing them should be able to explain the credit system), but she will be irretrievably lost.

"Look." He sighs, heavily. "I'm six feet tall and forty years old. I have brown hair. I'll be wearing a bracelet like the one on your wrist. Wait outside the door."

Time to pour himself a drink.

Things might go easier with someone a little less independently-minded than Mattie Ross. It's admirable of Don to be willing to put in the effort it's likely to take.

"Bracelet?" She's been so concerned with her surroundings that Mattie hasn't even thought to check the condition of her own body. Now that her attention has been drawn to it, however, she can feel the unfamiliar coolness of metal against her skin, and shoves her sleeve up to investigate. "What is it for? I have no recollection of putting on any jewelry."

She realizes that his words might be interpreted to mean that the conversation is at an end, and grabs for the tablet. "Wait! You cannot expect me to meet with a stranger with only half a name to go on."

And that's when she sees the door reveal itself.

Don, the way he figures it, doesn't have much choice. If he had reason to trust the members of Taxon's fledgling police force--or a means of contacting them--he wouldn't hesitate to make the girl their problem.

He's left his tablet on--as he takes a welcome swallow of whiskey, a girl the height of a pencil snatches her tablet off the pedestal. Unhurriedly he finishes his drink, diluting his anger a little. He puts the glass down and crosses back to the tablet. "Donald Draper, at your service."

"I am Mattie Ross." She's holding the tablet gingerly, like she's afraid it will break (or burst into flames). "There is a door now, like you said. I expect I am supposed to wait for you outside there? I will not wait all day."

Can't sound too grateful, people might think she actually needs help.

It takes him twenty minutes--a span of time that, for some kids, might as well be all day, but he suspects either fear or good sense will keep her from straying too far. He looks as advertised: the hair's combed back, dark and glossy, and he wears a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal a watch on one wrist and a very fashionable shackle on the other.

"Miss Mattie Ross," he says, eyebrows arched expectantly. It's not really a question--there aren't two people in Taxon who'd answer to her description. "I'm Don--Mr. Draper."

Luckily, Mattie is just enough of the stubborn sort to wait without wandering (not patiently, but she'll wait nonetheless). Twenty minutes isn't much, though, especially not for a girl from an era when travel was measured in hours and days, so she's barely begun to feel fidgety when Don arrives.

"Yes, I am Mattie Ross." She's an incongruous little thing, severe dark braids and a young face, dressed in over-large men's clothes a hat that nearly covers her eyes. She has respectable manners, though, despite the sharp tongue, and she holds out her hand for Don to shake. "I will not say that it is a pleasure to find myself in such inconvenient circumstances, but I am grateful for your assistance. If you will direct me to a place where I might purchase lodging, I will not continue to be a burden on your time."

Don takes her hand--the corner of his mouth twitches, but it's a long ways off from a smile--and shakes at half strength. "You're welcome. Take that hat off, you're indoors." ("And you look ridiculous" is the unspoken addendum.)

He fishes a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket, lights up. "If you want you can live here--in this building--and it won't cost a thing." He exhales smoke, points to her tablet. "Can I see your..."

Mattie's handshake is strong and firm, for someone her size at least, and she meets Don's eyes with a frank gaze. His admonishment about her hat catches her off-guard, though, and she responds with the speed of a girl raised to respect certain types of authority (particularly the psuedo-fatherly kind).

"In this building?" She looks behind her and wrinkles her nose at the idea. It isn't the most welcoming building she's ever laid eyes on, with its cool blank walls and eerie quiet. "What kind of place is it that offers rooms for free?"

A suspicious kind of place, that's what. And that's a suspicious kind of request her eyes, Mr. Draper. Not that she's attached the strange thing, but he referred to it as 'hers', and she hasn't much else to hang onto in the manner of possessions at the moment. "Why?"

"So I can switch it off," Don says, matter-of-fact and a touch impatient, as if she's asked why he'd set fire to the end of his cigarette. He holds out his hand but otherwise makes no move for the device. "I'll give it back." He breaks into a smile then--an adult smile, amused but humorless, designed to keep the world at arm's length. "Believe me."

Cigarettes she understands (in fact she happens to be rather an expert at rolling them, thank you), mysterious devices that transmit pictures and sound, not so much. Mattie hands the tablet over with some reluctance, eying the man as he takes it.

Oh, the adult smile. She's seen those before, and she draws herself up ramrod straight, frowning. "And what reason would I have to trust a strange man I know nothing of except his name, and have no guarantee of that even being the truth? I do not know what sort of people you are accustomed to, Mr. Draper, but I am not some ignorant little child you may pat on the head and promise sweets for minding her manners."

Don busies himself with the tablet, his movements sure and practiced--in a matter of seconds it's off, although of course there's no promising it'll stay that way. "I can give you a reason, but it's the worst there is." He passes the tablet back, shrugs, his expression not unsympathetic. "You don't have a choice."

Still, she's right--he's offered nothing but a name, and that he acquired second hand. "I have a daughter," he says, jaw tightening a little. He brings his cigarette back to his lips, takes a drag, sighs out smoke. "She's younger than you. Ten."

Mattie watches, but as she has no understanding of how the thing works, she can't possibly speculate on what exactly it is that he's doing. Still, the picture and voices appear to go away, so at least that much he was telling the truth about.

"I am sixteen." Said with all the haughty self-assurance of someone still walking that fine line between girl and woman. A gesture of openness requires the same in response, however, and so after a pause she adds, "My father is recently deceased. Murdered, in fact, by an ungrateful scoundrel by the name of Tom Chaney, and I am going to see that he is brought to justice."

There's a good possibility he already has. But she can't be certain until she returns to the place she was snatched from, and sees the evidence herself.

He slides his hands into his pockets and looks her over again, consideringly, gauging her resolve, searching that young face for a sign it might falter.

"There's no law here." It's as good a starting point as any. "And no Tom Chaney."

Don half turns--it's as though his sense of purpose deserts him midway through--to stare down the empty corridor, shakes a hand loose from his pocket and puffs on his cigarette. "I'm sorry about your father," he says, glancing over his shoulder to meet her eyes. The words are spare, unadorned. He's relieved, too, in some measure--it's one less piece of bad news for him to break, one loss she's already borne.

He tosses the cigarette to the ground. "No point in putting this off any longer. Let's go."

"There must be someone keeping the peace." Mattie refuses to believe that any reasonable group of people would allow chaos to reign without someone stepping up to keep the outlaws in check. After all, it's not like the official law enforcement was much help to her, but she still managed to find and hire help.

The lack of a Tom Chaney is more distressing to her than Don might imagine. If he were here, she could see to his incarceration until she was able to return to Yell County. So possibly against expectations, she frowns at that piece of news.

"Go where?" She probably will follow him, but that doesn't mean she'll do it blindly. "I thought I was to take rooms in this place."

"The city has plenty of policemen. More than its share, from what I understand." Don hasn't met or spoken to any (not wittingly, at least) but he's caught the odd transmission and reassurance is the order of the day.

His eyebrows inch upwards--a reserved show of amusement. "You didn't seem in love with that idea," he remarks of the proposal that she stay in the Sanctuary. And then that trace of mirth is gone, swept aside by the knowledge of what she's about to confront. "There are things you need to know--about Taxon and how it works. Things I can't just tell you."

"That is good to hear." Mattie approves of Law, and of the proper application thereof, but she's willing to extend her definition to include the work of bounty hunters and, if necessary, private citizens with a mind to see justice served. So long as it's done in a proper fashion, of course.

"I am not keen to do it, of course, but I am not currently aware of what my other options may be. I have spent the night in less comfortable places." No really, she has. Much less comfortable places. "You plan to take up the task of introducing me to these things, then?"

Mattie figures she's amenable to that. Don lacks the facial hair and unwashed stink of too much whiskey, but there are subtle ways in which he reminds her a little bit of Mr. Cogburn.

He spreads his arms. "I wouldn't be here otherwise." 'Task' is the right word--Don brings to the undertaking all the enthusiasm he'd show an unpleasant but necessary chore. Beneath that, though, lies a certain grim determination. "You'll know more about your options once you've had a look at the city."

Now would be the time to offer some final piece of advice, but nothing he says can possibly prepare her for the shock of seeing Taxon for the first time--it'd be like advising someone, 'the water's cold' before shoving them into a freezing lake.

He nods down the hall. "After you."

Mattie sees no more reason to waste time standing about, seeing as she now has a guide who seems competent enough, if not especially congenial. She settles her hat back on top of her head and walks with purpose down the hall, taking a deep breath to squash the sudden sense of trepidation as she pushes open the door leading outside.

She stops only a step beyond the threshold, however, and simply stares. Down the rabbit hole indeed.

Don trails behind, allowing Mattie a few steps' lead. As she stands frozen just outside the door he squeezes past into the sunlight. "Take your time," he says quietly. Most of her face is lost in the shadow of that hat. "No one's going anywhere."

With a snap of his lighter, he starts on another cigarette.

Edited 2011-03-31 00:40 (UTC)

So she does, taking in the view before her with a solemn gaze. It's nothing like Fort Smith, and nothing like her father's stories of St. Louis. Mattie doubts even San Francisco, the most metropolitan kind of place she can imagine, could match the city she stands in now.

Suddenly she feels very small.

"Where am I to go now?" she asks, her voice softer and a little more faltering than she'd like.

He has ample time to consider the spectacle Taxon must make to her, to dredge up memories of his own less than graceful arrival. To wonder when he'd become reconciled to this--this view, this way of living.

"You hungry?" Don raises his eyebrows and glances her way but doesn't wait for a response. "I'll get you something to eat and show you how to work the...they call it a tablet."

Hungry? Yes, Mattie realizes she is. They'd had no breakfast, interrupted as it was by her discovery of Tom Chaney at the river.

"I am, but I have no money for food." Her thoughts of being able to put to use what she's learned from Mr. Cogburn and live off the land have evaporated, now that she's seen the city. "However, if you will buy me a meal, I will return either the favor or the price of it soon as I am able to raise some funds. And yes, please...it seems I had better learn to use it straight off, and not wait too long."

"Don't worry about that," Don says with a bemused shake of his head. "It wouldn't be a favor; it'd be my pleasure." He draws on his cigarette, gives her a look--reproachful, yes, but confiding, meant to enlist her aid. "So let's not haggle over lunch in the street."

He takes her to a deli a few blocks away, "Ruth's" scrawled in neon above the front window. A bell jangles and a blast of cool air escapes as he pulls open the door for her.

Mattie nods in agreement, and follows quietly, taking the time during their walk to collect herself (and to study her surroundings without too much obvious staring). She has a feeling this may be as much a challenge as her time on the trail with Rooster was.

The lit-up sign is fascinating, but her attention is pulled away immediately by the gust of cool air, and she steps slowly inside, almost expecting to see some kind of ice house or root cellar. Certainly not a cleany and...shiny is the only word she can come up...public house.

"Thank you, Mr. Draper. I very much appreciate your hospitality. It is a strange town, but I dare say it does treat strangers well."

He's keeping an eye on her--discreetly, stealing the occasional glance to be sure her expression hasn't strayed into panic. Upon entering the shop he looks not to the long glass case with its bundles of meat and variety of almost garishly bright cheeses, nor to the offerings chalked on the menu board. His gaze snaps to the extra stationed behind the counter, its face blank, innocent of anything like thought.

(Its cheery "hello!" goes unanswered.)

"Maybe so," he grants, thinking of Smecker surprising him in the sanctuary with a coat. "We all arrive here strangers."

He grabs a bag of chips off a rack, turns back to her. "Decide what you want then find a table."

[location: the sanctuary and its environs]

verylittlesugar - 2011-04-10 18:24 (UTC) - Expand

[location: the sanctuary and its environs]

selfmadman - 2011-04-13 22:49 (UTC) - Expand

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[holo] oh how sweet to walk in this pilgrim way

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[voice] shall we turn this into an action thread? :)

[location: the sanctuary] it'll be a non-stop thrill ride of a thread

[location: the sanctuary] you may really come to regret this decision, don ;)

[location: the sanctuary] Don isn't aware decisions come in varieties other than "regrettable"

[location: the sanctuary] then they should get along JUST FINE

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[location: the sanctuary and its environs]