THE PARTY Okay. To say he’s confused is saying the very least that can be said, an’ he reckons he could say a lot about this whole waking up at a party thing. There’s light all around them, and it shows the food which… Well, it ain’t nothing like he’s ever seen before. The colours certainly ain’t like any he’s seen before, not on food at the very least.
Doesn’t stop it tasting nice though, he’ll cop to that at the very least. He ain’t sure why he ate. Well, no, okay, he knows why he ate, that gnawing hunger that always lingered, even if he’d managed to get something decent in his belly that day. It killed that feeling, an’ he always thought better when that feeling was gone.
Should he have ate? Eh, probably not, but right now, feeling full for the first time in a while? Hard to remember why he should have been more careful. It’ll come to him, at some point. Maybe.
Probably not.
That voice though… The way that it runs through him. It’s like it’s inside him, something filling his head in a way he ain’t never heard any music do before in his life. His face falls as the woman – grand fancy toff that she is – speaks.
He can’t leave? His people are dead? … Nah, nah, that can’t be, can it? Can it? He looks around, letting his panic show on his face for just a moment before he hides it away. No, he ain’t panicking, he’s the Artful Dodger. He’s… There’s going to be a way out of this. Always is some way to work things.
First things first… he had to work out where the bloody hell he actually was. Everything else could come from there. He had to just calm down and think. Use those brains people always said he had.
“Ain’t exactly the most upliftin’ thing I heard,” he mutters. “Still, c’n’t all be the St. Crispin’s Day speech, right mate?”
He speaks to whoever is near by, a grin on his face.
Time to get to work.
FEELING ON HEDGE Dodger looks up at the hedge with a general sense of… He thinks foreboding fits, but generally he would prefer to go with ‘what the hell have I gotten myself into now?’
There’s noises coming from inside that hedge. He can hear some poor sod crying, who knew what about? Maybe just ‘cause they got lost? He reckoned that could make anyone cry, gettin’ right lost and not know which way to turn. He’d been told a story once, ‘bout someone who found their way out of a big maze with string. Least he thinks that’s how the story went, it was years ago, an’ he’d only been half listening at the time. Not like it mattered much, anyway. He ain’t got any string, more fool him.
Wish that person’d stop crying though. Sorry, missus, he ain’t the one who’s going to be able to help. Everyone for themselves, an’ that meant the Dodger first.
He eyes the colourful little glasses. Liquid courage, was it? So… that meant booze? He nodded, he was good with booze. God knows he could use a decent slug of gin round about now. He considers the colours, reckoning through each of them. Red… well, that makes him think of one thing, an’ he ain’t downing that. Blue, Dodger don’t ever recall seeing a drink that was blue before. Water, maybe, an’ water wasn’t going to give him any sort of courage.
So… gold then? That was likely whisky, from what he remembers of seeing of it. He grabs that one, downing it in one go.
He coughs.
Bloody hell, that was stronger than he thought.
“Reckon I prefer the gin,” he mutters, sitting the glass back down. There’s a shake of his head, a slight face made from the aftertaste of the drink. “Oh, that’s got a kick, alright.” He shook it off, and sighed.
“Right then.”
He had to do this damn maze, so there was no time like the present to get started on it. He travels inside, wandering in whatever direction he wanted. Left, then straight, then right… then left again, and then… No. Wait, this wasn’t working. He stopped.
“I ain’t getting no where, here. It ain’t workin’.”
He turned to retrace his steps.
… Wait, there was a turn behind him, wasn’t there?
“...What the hell…?”
GEIS Dodger ain’t exactly sure what this… Leaf is. It’s nothing he’s experienced before. Still, he was going to learn it, prodding it with a finger slowly and cautiously. He frowns at the words on the screen, pushing at it like it might do something. Makes them bigger, at the very least. He mouths out the words, reading slowly.
What? He can read, it just… takes some work. Same with his writing too. How… He frowned, pressing the screen again. Oh, there was those letters again. Now, what was that they asked? A time he felt lost and wondering about…
Depends on what you consider lost. Gettin shipped off when I ain’t asked for it. That’s being lost alright.
Jack "The Artful Dodger" Dawkins | The Dodger Papers | OTA
Okay. To say he’s confused is saying the very least that can be said, an’ he reckons he could say a lot about this whole waking up at a party thing. There’s light all around them, and it shows the food which… Well, it ain’t nothing like he’s ever seen before. The colours certainly ain’t like any he’s seen before, not on food at the very least.
Doesn’t stop it tasting nice though, he’ll cop to that at the very least. He ain’t sure why he ate. Well, no, okay, he knows why he ate, that gnawing hunger that always lingered, even if he’d managed to get something decent in his belly that day. It killed that feeling, an’ he always thought better when that feeling was gone.
Should he have ate? Eh, probably not, but right now, feeling full for the first time in a while? Hard to remember why he should have been more careful. It’ll come to him, at some point. Maybe.
Probably not.
That voice though… The way that it runs through him. It’s like it’s inside him, something filling his head in a way he ain’t never heard any music do before in his life. His face falls as the woman – grand fancy toff that she is – speaks.
He can’t leave? His people are dead? … Nah, nah, that can’t be, can it? Can it? He looks around, letting his panic show on his face for just a moment before he hides it away. No, he ain’t panicking, he’s the Artful Dodger. He’s… There’s going to be a way out of this. Always is some way to work things.
First things first… he had to work out where the bloody hell he actually was. Everything else could come from there. He had to just calm down and think. Use those brains people always said he had.
“Ain’t exactly the most upliftin’ thing I heard,” he mutters. “Still, c’n’t all be the St. Crispin’s Day speech, right mate?”
He speaks to whoever is near by, a grin on his face.
Time to get to work.
FEELING ON HEDGE
Dodger looks up at the hedge with a general sense of… He thinks foreboding fits, but generally he would prefer to go with ‘what the hell have I gotten myself into now?’
There’s noises coming from inside that hedge. He can hear some poor sod crying, who knew what about? Maybe just ‘cause they got lost? He reckoned that could make anyone cry, gettin’ right lost and not know which way to turn. He’d been told a story once, ‘bout someone who found their way out of a big maze with string. Least he thinks that’s how the story went, it was years ago, an’ he’d only been half listening at the time. Not like it mattered much, anyway. He ain’t got any string, more fool him.
Wish that person’d stop crying though. Sorry, missus, he ain’t the one who’s going to be able to help. Everyone for themselves, an’ that meant the Dodger first.
He eyes the colourful little glasses. Liquid courage, was it? So… that meant booze? He nodded, he was good with booze. God knows he could use a decent slug of gin round about now. He considers the colours, reckoning through each of them. Red… well, that makes him think of one thing, an’ he ain’t downing that. Blue, Dodger don’t ever recall seeing a drink that was blue before. Water, maybe, an’ water wasn’t going to give him any sort of courage.
So… gold then? That was likely whisky, from what he remembers of seeing of it. He grabs that one, downing it in one go.
He coughs.
Bloody hell, that was stronger than he thought.
“Reckon I prefer the gin,” he mutters, sitting the glass back down. There’s a shake of his head, a slight face made from the aftertaste of the drink. “Oh, that’s got a kick, alright.” He shook it off, and sighed.
“Right then.”
He had to do this damn maze, so there was no time like the present to get started on it. He travels inside, wandering in whatever direction he wanted. Left, then straight, then right… then left again, and then… No. Wait, this wasn’t working. He stopped.
“I ain’t getting no where, here. It ain’t workin’.”
He turned to retrace his steps.
… Wait, there was a turn behind him, wasn’t there?
“...What the hell…?”
GEIS
Dodger ain’t exactly sure what this… Leaf is. It’s nothing he’s experienced before. Still, he was going to learn it, prodding it with a finger slowly and cautiously. He frowns at the words on the screen, pushing at it like it might do something. Makes them bigger, at the very least. He mouths out the words, reading slowly.
What? He can read, it just… takes some work. Same with his writing too. How… He frowned, pressing the screen again. Oh, there was those letters again. Now, what was that they asked? A time he felt lost and wondering about…
Depends on what you consider lost. Gettin shipped off when I ain’t asked for it. That’s being lost alright.