A Man of Feeling and a Storyteller - Chapter 3
---
As they ate, Slightly (ever the gentleman) asked Wendy politely, "How did you sleep last night?"
Wendy, busy looking introspectively at her thoughts, blinked as she realized he had asked her a question. She replayed it in her mind before replying, "Very well, thank you. How about you?"
"Oh, not bad, not bad," Slightly said arily. "I think Curly knocked me out again, but otherwise the night was thoroughlly uneventful."
Wendy chuckled. She ate a few bits of breakfast and then asked, "So, what do you have planned for today?"
"Adventures!" Peter cried, having overheard her question. "We shall kill Hook today!"
At this superb choice of the day's activities, the Lost Boys broke into cheers; they lept up from the table and scampered out of the Underground Home, leaving Wendy alone to clean up the mess.
Sighing, she surveyed the destruction. Plates of half-eaten food sat around the table, and it looked as though somebody had spit all over his so as to make sure that nobody would touch it except for the owner himself. Somebody else had apparently forgone the use of a plate entirely - a damp pile of scrambled eggs lay on the table, a fork in the middle of them.
"Oh dear," she sighed, sensing a long day ahead.
Wendy worked all day. It seemed like an absurdly long day, to her mind, though possibly it was just her choice of activities that made it so. She wiped and scrubbed and swept the Underground Home, erradicating all manner of fungi and mold from the cupboards and unearthing a wooden floor.
After what seemed like an age, she finally felt satisfied with the cleanliness of the cabinets and floor, and looked around for a new project to tackle. Her eyes roamed, flitting towards the dark corners of the room, and then she saw it: an immense pile of bedding.
"Oh, good," she murmured to herself. "It was cold last night; I saw Slightly shivering. This should help." She crossed the room and lifted up the top layers of the blankets. The stench was almost unbearable, and she suppressed her natural gag reflex as she gathered the bedding into her arms to wash.
Wendy lugged it outdoors to the stream, along with a few pieces of lye soap and a washboard. She tucked her skirt into her waistband, removed her shoes and stockings, and rolled up her sleeves, preparing to attack the mountain of unwashed laundry which loomed before her.
About three hours later, she had finished. Every piece of linen was clean and drying over bushes, and her back ached like she had never felt it ache before, not even after she had scrubbed her entire flat down in one day. Wendy stretched her sore muscles, placing one hand in the small of her back.
A shriek of, "Hey, man! Leave me alone!" echoed through the woods, and Wendy blinked. She could have sworn that was a woman's voice, but that wasn't possible.
"I, girlie, am Captain James Hook," declared Hook loudly.
"I don't care if you're God himself, you can just put me right back where you found me," she said.
"I could," Hook agreed, "But I don't want to, do I?"
The voice - which Wendy positively identified as female - used some words which Wendy didn't understand and doubted that she wanted to.
Hook stalked out of the forest into the tiny clearing, a young woman slung over his shoulder. He stopped short when he saw Wendy, emmitted a very rude word, and backed up hastily.
"No, stay here," Wendy implored.
Hook glared at her.
The woman over his shoulder managed to get an arm around his neck and he spluttered incoherently as her arms choked him. She kicked him squarely on the shin and dashed away, mumbling to herself. Unfortunately, she spent most of her brain-power in relief and none of it watching where she was going, with the result that she ended up in the creek, completely drenched in cool water.
"This is wet," she noticed.
Hook, massaging his throat, fixed the woman with a stare that made Wendy want to cower and die, but had no effect on the soaking wet woman.
"Hey," she said vaguely to Wendy. "Peace and love, girl. Peace and love."
Wendy coughed politely, trying to think of something intelligent to say. This failing, she greeted the woman. "Good afternoon," she said, extending a hand to help her up.
The woman grasped her hand and stood up, wringing out her sodden shirt. "Thanks," she said.
"You're welcome," said Wendy, happy at finally understanding something she said. She addressed Hook: "Why is she here?"
Hook looked distinctly shifty. "No particular reason," he said.
Wendy raised her eyebrows at him. "Is this a back-up plan?" she inquired.
"No!" Hook denied brusquely. "This is . . ." he looked puzzled, "Actually, I never asked her name. You, girl," he said to the woman. "Who are you?"
"Amy," the girl said. "You?"
"I'm Wendy," said Wendy, "and this is - "
"Nobody," Hook said quickly.
"Captain Hook," Wendy finished, ignoring his protests.
"Oh, hey, like from Peter Pan! Cool. I love that story, man," Amy said happily. Wendy wondered why Amy kept calling her a man, but decided that not thinking about it was safer for her mental well-being.
Wendy picked up the washboard, climbed from the stream, and frowned at Hook. "He won't ever want her," she informed him. "The only reason he ever liked me was for my stories."
"Love stories," Hook reminded her. "You will garner his affections or I'll plunge my hook in you," he added to Amy, feeling the need to threaten someone.
"Oh, I'm all about love. I love everyone, man," Amy said contentedly.
"You see? No difficulties at all," Hook told Wendy confidently.
Wendy shrugged and gestured at Amy with the washboard. "Come on," she said. "I think some new clothing would be in order."
As Amy clambered out of the stream, Wendy came closer to Hook and whispered, "Can we talk later about why you suddenly decided to bring a very ill-dressed female to Neverland, Captain?"
Hook looked absolutely astonished at her nerve. "You dare to talk to me!" he hissed.
"Well, yes," Wendy said patiently. "You barged into my clearing while I was doing my laundry and began conducting a shouting match with a very dreamy woman. I think I have every right to discuss the matter with you."
Hook turned on his heel and stalked out of the clearing just as Amy clambered clumsily from the stream bed.
"Let's go," muttered Wendy. She took flight and went through the hole in the ground, followed by Amy after many hesitations and muttered exclamations.
---
Wendy offered Amy some tea (which she refused, saying that she only drank organic green tea) and then gave her extra dress which she had brought from home. Amy disappeared behind a curtain to change, and Wendy quickly donned her own dry dress and waited for Amy, wanting to talk to her.
When Amy didn't appear for over fifteen minutes, Wendy went to investigate. She discovered her behind a curtain, struggling to fit her head through the arm hole of the dress. Wendy helped her on with it, wondering why Amy didn't already know how to dress herself, and then the two women talked.
"What exactly happened to bring you here?" Wendy inquired, genuinely curious.
Amy sighed. "I'm not sure," she said. "I was with my friends, we were out at a party, and I don't really remember very much."
Wendy suppressed an aggrieved sigh and tried to not roll her eyes. Did nobody pay any attention to their surroundings anymore? "Do you remember being taken?" she asked instead.
"Nope," Amy replied positively. "I think I went unconscious at one point, but I'm not too sure."
"Ah," Wendy said. "Why were you dressed so oddly?"
Amy gave her a very strange look. "I wasn't. These are strange pieces of clothing, man," she said, gesturing to her current attire.
"Noo . . ." Wendy protested. "Women do not wear pants. We wear dresses."
"Not since forever, girl," Amy said, varying her name of choice, much to Wendy's relief. She could deal with being called "girl," but "man" was harder to bear. Perhaps Peter felt this way sometimes.
"Um," said Wendy, showing her great intellect. She decided to move on to a more sane conversation topic, and asked, "Do you remember coming here at all?"
Amy looked at her, surprised. "I haven't gone anywhere," she said. "I'm just unconscious. This is all from the drugs, dude, didn't you know?"
"No," Wendy said exasperatedly. "I'm not even quite sure what you're talking about."
"Well," Amy said soothingly, "That is a side-effect sometimes."
"I don't think so," Wendy said. "I live in London in the 19th century, and I'm positive that I have lived there almost my entire life, except for a few months when I was a little girl."
"Oh," Amy said. "Inventing histories . . . I've never done that, dude. Unless my entire life has been my imagination. Awesome."
Wendy barely suppressed the urge to scream. She decided that this day could be very, very long indeed.
Words: 1552
