i. Arrival; [ She's been around long enough to get the hang(ish) of things. This place sure as hell isn't New York City, but at the very least she actually sort of fits, fashion wise. After claiming the house she woke up in--and it'd had been strange, not hearing Zelda prattle about, making her family breakfast--and spending the better part of half of the getting oriented and letting the fact that she was in a completely different place sink in, she's ready to take on Deerington properly.
First thing's first, though: she's got to humour whatever weird dream this is, and the device she's been given is obviously important, so it's time to shuffle onto the porch of the quaint little house and spot someone looking just as out of place as her walking to God-Knows-Where. ]
Heya! [ It's cheery and pleasant: Midge is dressed to the nines (she'd rather die than leave the house looking nothing less than a proper lady) and she lifts a hand to flag them down like one would a taxi. If they stop she'll meet them on the sidewalk, Fluid in hand. ]
Please tell me you're not busy. I have no idea how to use this. [ She's got a distinct New York accent, heavily rushed but properly enunciated--people familiar with it can easily pin her down to the borough of Manhattan, if they're sharp. ] I actually have no real idea where I am. I know who I am, at least, which I suppose isn't a very promising thing to say, but what can you.
[ Somehow, she's managed to say all of that in 15 seconds or less without stuttering or swallowing a single word. ]
ii. Spinning Wheels; [ She may not like it, but she's here, and because she's still incredibly in denial that she'll never see her kids or family or friends, she's decided to keep as busy as possible. This means walks, both because it keeps her from losing her mind and also helps her get a lay of the land. It's strange not being in New York--everything seems flat. Bland, even, and far less busy than she's used to.
Those spinning wheels are a neat little local decoration. Quaint, she thinks, and eventually curiosity gets the best of her when she walks by one, which turns into a prodding poke, which means she pricks herself.
The first person she'll see she'll follow--the clicking of her high heels is unmistakable and loud, and if they turn back, they're met with a 50s housewife-esque girl smiling broadly at them but otherwise not saying a single word. ]
iii. Network: un: Mrs. Maisel To whom it may concern,
I have no idea how to start this: I'm looking for the best club or bar that does comedy. The BEST, not a variety. If there's even a variety here. While you're at it, if someone could point me to what passes as a deli here, that would be a huge help.
Miriam Maisel | The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel
[ She's been around long enough to get the hang(ish) of things. This place sure as hell isn't New York City, but at the very least she actually sort of fits, fashion wise. After claiming the house she woke up in--and it'd had been strange, not hearing Zelda prattle about, making her family breakfast--and spending the better part of half of the getting oriented and letting the fact that she was in a completely different place sink in, she's ready to take on Deerington properly.
First thing's first, though: she's got to humour whatever weird dream this is, and the device she's been given is obviously important, so it's time to shuffle onto the porch of the quaint little house and spot someone looking just as out of place as her walking to God-Knows-Where. ]
Heya! [ It's cheery and pleasant: Midge is dressed to the nines (she'd rather die than leave the house looking nothing less than a proper lady) and she lifts a hand to flag them down like one would a taxi. If they stop she'll meet them on the sidewalk, Fluid in hand. ]
Please tell me you're not busy. I have no idea how to use this. [ She's got a distinct New York accent, heavily rushed but properly enunciated--people familiar with it can easily pin her down to the borough of Manhattan, if they're sharp. ] I actually have no real idea where I am. I know who I am, at least, which I suppose isn't a very promising thing to say, but what can you.
[ Somehow, she's managed to say all of that in 15 seconds or less without stuttering or swallowing a single word. ]
ii. Spinning Wheels;
[ She may not like it, but she's here, and because she's still incredibly in denial that she'll never see her kids or family or friends, she's decided to keep as busy as possible. This means walks, both because it keeps her from losing her mind and also helps her get a lay of the land. It's strange not being in New York--everything seems flat. Bland, even, and far less busy than she's used to.
Those spinning wheels are a neat little local decoration. Quaint, she thinks, and eventually curiosity gets the best of her when she walks by one, which turns into a prodding poke, which means she pricks herself.
The first person she'll see she'll follow--the clicking of her high heels is unmistakable and loud, and if they turn back, they're met with a 50s housewife-esque girl smiling broadly at them but otherwise not saying a single word. ]
iii. Network: un: Mrs. Maisel
To whom it may concern,
I have no idea how to start this: I'm looking for the best club or bar that does comedy. The BEST, not a variety. If there's even a variety here. While you're at it, if someone could point me to what passes as a deli here, that would be a huge help.
Warm regards,
-Midge