route_1065 | She'll go from Nashville to Norway, Bonaire to Zimbabwe

Entry tags:

She'll go from Nashville to Norway, Bonaire to Zimbabwe

Who: Carmen Sandiego (

doitrockapella) and Heather Mason (

foolishwren)
Where: Cianwood City!
When: The evening of Saturday, April 28th
Summary: In which Heather Mason lives the dream of thousands of 90's kids everywhere by figuring out where in the world is Carmen Sandiego (but regrettably doesn't win a new computer and a trip to Space Camp).
Rating: PG at most?
Log:

Carmen likes Cianwood City.

She's seen a lot of Johto in the days since Sherlock's departure; it's always been her instinct to move fast, and this latest trip had been no exception. Once she'd woken up in their shared room in Violet to discover one forlorn Herdier occupying her traveling partner's bedspace, one familiar and oft-used PokeGear lying abandoned on the bedside table, and absolutely no sign of the aforementioned traveling partner anywhere, the conclusion had been a natural one:

Oh, blast, he'd snuck out to assault the wildlife again.

(Fortunately for her reputation as the world's greatest detective, she'd reached the correct but infinitely more bittersweet deduction not long after that.)

But with nothing to tie her down to Violet except her loss, her memories, and her near-complete inability to persuade Little John to get off of Sherlock's rented bed, her inclination to run quickly took precedence, and she was gone as neatly and completely as the Cheshire Cat — leaving nothing but a glimpse of her grin behind.

The waterfalls within Mt. Mortar might not have been a proper Reichenbach Falls, but they did the trick as tribute enough. She'd stood and watched as his Gear, wrapped in a bundle carefully knotted out of his scarf, had gone over the edge and crashed down into the mist and spray of falling water below.

It is, of course, a trifle, she'd thought. But there is nothing so important as trifles.

That tribute complete, her travels had turned more aimless, skipping from city to city as whim took her, pointedly avoiding Goldenrod as she made her way through the Johto countryside at rapid speed — as if to make up for the lost time she and Sherlock had spent lingering in the first legs of their journey.

And now she's here in Cianwood, and this is, perhaps, as far as she can run.

But she likes it here in Cianwood City, and that's why she's taken to walking the beach, musing and reflecting (and occasionally pondering what in the world she's going to do about that blasted dog). It is, after all, a nice night for a stroll, isn't it? Just the sea and the sand and a lady in red leaving footprints behind her as she goes.

This time, those are the only clues to her whereabouts she feels like leaving behind.

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It IS a nice night for a stroll.

The warm weather is a relief after a cool beginning to the spring, and what better place to enjoy warm weather than the beach? ... Especially one that's a little more deserted than the Olivine beach?

Well, it would seem that Carmen and Heather had the same idea-- although Heather is a great distance behind. Too far to see (or really care) about who the figure in the distance is.

But someone ELSE cares, and that someone has discovered the lone trail of footprints along the surf's edge and is steadfastly snuffling his way down the beach towards her. The beach was the one place Cujo was generally allowed to roam far and wide, and he was a GREAT TRACKER.

After ten years of being a thief, Carmen's developed a pretty good knack for being aware of her surroundings — and particularly at identifying the sound of an oncoming dog. Quite a few of the locales she's stolen from have utilized guard dogs, and she's learned to pick out a fair range of the familiar sounds: the whuffling of a happy hound, the snarling of an aggressive one, the rapid skitter of a tiny one's nails on a tile floor. She doesn't hear this one's footfalls in the sand, but she does pick out that snuffling, and so she turns, more curious than anything else, to watch it come.

She really can't escape dogs lately, can she? Though at least this one seems friendlier than the one she's inherited so recently.

"Why, hello there," she remarks aloud, slightly extending one gloved hand in a nonthreatening way, and waits to see what it will do.

Friendly is what Cujo does best.

At the sound of the beckoning voice, he lifted his head, tongue lolling out of his mouth on one side. There was sand all over his nose. His mane flopped sideways as he tilted his head-- and then promptly came hurtling down the beach at her in that happy floppy way that only the happiest of dogs can manage.

NEW FRIEND?

NEW FRIEND!

There are moments for elegance and composure, Carmen knows, but the moment when you're being charged by an overjoyed, enthusiastic pooch...nah, that's definitely not one of them. So she doesn't bother to hide the faint smile that crosses her face as the fuzzy missile comes hurtling toward her; instead, she just checks her stance so it won't bowl her over completely when it hits, and leans down a little to better scratch behind its ears and ruffle its mane in an affectionate way.

It's not often that someone's happy to see her, after all. Kind of a nice change from the norm, really.

However, those hands in its mane are serving a double purpose, at the moment — a dog this friendly implies a trainer of some variety, and so she's simultaneously checking for a collar to see if there's any indication of who it might belong to.

A wise move, Carmen. A wise move.

Because while Heather's tried her best to at least get Cujo SOMEWHAT manageable in public, she never did really manage to teach him that not everybody appreciated being greeted at high velocity by something the size of a St. Bernard.

The Growlithe promptly careened into the thief in a spray of sand and wet dog hair, entire body wagging furiously as he tried to reach her face with his long pink tongue.

Questing through that thick mass of shaggy tiger-colored coat would prove difficult and ultimately fruitless-- he had no collar.

All right, well, admittedly the sand and wet dog hair isn't the most pleasant of experiences (her coat has seen worse, of course, but wet dog hair, ugh), but it's hard to resist the rather ridiculous charm of an overenthusiastic dog, and so she spends a reasonable amount of time doting on him in response — though she is careful to keep her face out of his reach, both for prudent safety reasons (this is a strange dog, albeit a friendly one) and for the more personal concern of simply not wanting to be slobbered all over.

"You're a friendly one, aren't you?" she coos lightly, ruffling his ears and gently diverting his snout away from her face. "You certainly are. Yes, that's right, good boy. Now, where is your trainer?"

YES YES HE WAS FRIENDLY HE WAS THE FRIENDLIEST AND OH GOD YOU'RE PAYING ATTENTION TO HIM THAT MEANS YOU ARE OBVIOUSLY HIS BEST FRIEND NOW!!!

Snuffling in pure ecstasy, he eventually wound up upside-down at her feet and exposing a massively fluffy underbelly that was unfortunately soaked and sandy from running through the surf, but apparently that didn't occur to him because OMG BELLY RUBS? PLEASE?!

He had no answer for her (because belly rubs were more important), but Carmen's DEDUCTIVE SKILLS would likely tell her that the small blob way down there on the beach heading in their direction was probably the trainer.

Okay, well, there were limits even to Carmen's affection for animals, and wet sandy dog belly pretty much fit the bill, but she certainly wasn't going to let that stop her from continuing to dote on him — if only because she'd just spotted that blob on the horizon, too, and so much the better to keep the dog preoccupied than to take the chance that he might run away again. Particularly with no collar to grab hold of.

NO BELLY RUBS? :(

OH WELL THAT'S OKAY HE STILL LOVES YOU c:

Panting happily, Cujo was content to be lavished in affection and continued to roll in the sand at Carmen's feet, thoroughly coating himself in it. He was going to be a blast to clean in the hotel room later-- Harry would likely order Heather and Henry outside with Cujo and a hose to deal with it.

Meanwhile, the blob on the horizon seemed to have noticed the location of her wayward Pokemon-- and sped up. She had gotten herself into trouble more than once on account of her dog going and harassing strangers and she was not eager to deal with another individual yelling at her to train her Growlithe better, thanks.

Barefoot, with jeans rolled up to her knees and a pair of sandy boots in hand, Heather went from a jog to a sprint as soon as she was close enough to see that Cujo was currently GETTING SAND EVERYWHERE oh god.

"HEY! Cooj, get over here RIGHT-- now, fuck! Jeez, ma'am, I'm sorry, he's not--"

And then she cut herself off with a noise of general disgust, because as soon as she'd gotten close enough, Cujo had lurched upright and happily frolicked over to his trainer so that he could shake sand all over her. After a second or two, she lowered the arm she'd raised over her face, grimacing.

"... bugging you, is he?"

Did she notice the identity of the latest Cujo-victim?

Nope.

Too focused on whether or not her dog was about to get her read the riot act.

Well, fortunately for Heather's fears, her dog's antics weren't about to get her in trouble, but that was largely because it just wasn't Carmen's style to kick up a fuss with a complete stranger over something as inconsequential as a runaway dog. She did, however, allow herself a small moment of mild schadenfreude at the sight of the Growlithe being just as ridiculous toward his apparent trainer as he'd been over her, and in a strange way, it almost reminded her of Zack in one of his more comedic moments — energetic, rambunctious, and amusing despite his best efforts at being serious.

Still, the shaking and frolicking did come with the added bonus of giving Carmen a chance to look over this new person on the scene, and it was an opportunity she was more than happy to take advantage of. At first glance, the girl seemed reasonably ordinary and inconsequential: a teenage girl with short blonde hair and rolled-up jeans running along the beach with her dog. It wasn't until the second or third, when she'd been able to get a better look at the girl's face around that raised arm and general avoidance of the flying sand that the recognition really clicked.

"Not at all, Heather," she answered pleasantly, absently reaching up to adjust her hat as she waited to see if her gambit would have the expected reaction. "He's quite the enthusiastic one, isn't he."

After all, it's not as though she happens to have a super distinctive voice or appearance or anything, right? And it's not as though she was talking to the only person in Johto to actually know her name in advance. Nope, surely that course of action will elicit no reaction whatsoever.

Face still scrunched up from the flying sand, Heather shot Cujo (who had proceeded to sit down on her foot and lean heavily against her leg, staring up at her and panting happily with the full expanse of his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth) a dirty look.

"Yeah, he's a rampaging nutball. Sorry if he--"

.... ABUH?

Completely forgetting about the Growlithe's transgressions, Heather whipped her (equally-shaggy as her Pokemon's) head up to actually take a good look at the person she was talking to.

And she didn't need to look twice.

Heather gaped.

I... I don't believe it.

I FOUND CARMEN SANDIEGO.

Sometimes it was the little things in life that you ended up treasuring most, and as far as Carmen was concerned, the look on Heather's face at that precise moment was one of them. And with a little imagination — red hair instead of bleached blonde, khakis instead of jeans — that amusement took on a whole new level of fondness; how often had Ivy worn the same expression when she'd inevitably revealed one of the aces up her sleeve? They always came so close to catching her, and yet she always managed to surprise them with an escape (though sometimes, admittedly, she'd cut it much, much closer than others).

She didn't laugh outright, but there was no mistaking the humor in her smile, red-lipped and iconic as always.

"Oh, I've known my share of nutballs, believe me," she answered casually, brushing an invisible bit of sand off the fabric of her coat. "You should see Zack and the Chief doing their Marx Brothers impressions."

It truly was a Kodak moment.

Heather was pretty good at recovering from being flabbergasted, all things considered, but she was acutely aware that she was literally living the dream of every kid who'd ever grown up in the nineties, and... well, shucks, that sort of thing needed a moment's appreciation, you know?

"I... uh... nutballs, sure," she said, just a little weakly.

... And then abruptly turned her head to stare intently up and down the beach in the direction she'd come, as though expecting to see someone.

You know, it's never a good sign when someone meets you, stares at you, gapes at you, and then starts looking around as though expecting to see something — a fact that Carmen happened to be well aware of. Not that she was particularly concerned by it, exactly, since she was more than confident in her ability to handle just about any situation that might come up...but still, it was curious, and more importantly it wasn't something she was able to deduce on her own, which was mildly irritating.

So.

"Looking for something?" she remarked pleasantly, but with an underlying edge to her tone that almost sounded offended at the prospect that she was no longer the focus of Heather's attention. She did, after all, always like to be center stage.

Heather turned around to face Carmen once more, still owl-eyed.

"No, I uh..." Breathlessly, she gestured over her shoulder. "I was just expecting to see some dude in red and white stripes and a bobble-hat chilling on the beach somewhere back there!"

90's kid, 90's 4th-wall breaking.

Deal w/it.

"But-- uh... yeah. Hi."

She couldn't ever remember sounding lamer in her entire life.

Are you supposed to want to punch yourself in the face a lot while meeting celebrities? Because Heather found herself suddenly wanting to.

Oh, there was definitely no disguising the level of dork and fluster that Heather was currently emitting, but fortunately, it was far from the first time Carmen had elicited that reaction. Granted, people usually pointed and shouted at her in a negative sense, spotting her in the midst of some grand crime, but she could still remember a time, way back when, when the inspector at ACME had introduced her to the new partner that the science division had built her, and how he'd generally gaped and fawned and flustered just as much as Heather was doing now.

And to Heather's credit, she hadn't stepped in a garbage can and stumbled out a window yet, so she was still doing better than the Chief had on that score.

"I hate to break it to you, but I haven't seen anyone fitting that description all day," she answered instead, knowing full well that she was stating the obvious, but figuring she might as well address the inanity anyway. "Though I'll let you know if I spot him."

And then she shrugged a little and held out her hand to the Growlithe nearby, continuing easily, "Your dog's name is Cooj?"

Fortunately, there were no trash cans or windows nearby, so that was an impossibility for the moment.

Still fighting off the fluster, Heather knelt next to the Growlithe, hiding her embarrassment for the moment by taking the time to start brushing some of the wet sand and seafoam out of his cream-colored mane.

"Yeah, uh-- Cujo, actually. Y'know, after the... rabid St. Bernard ... that killed people..."

Cujo picked that moment to dip his head down, grab up one of the shoes that Heather had dropped in the sand beside her, and then lovingly present said shoe to Carmen.

c: PRESENT.

"Stephen King," she observed with approval, nodding slightly at the reference. And then — oh, hello, a...shoe. From the most delightful puppy in the world.

Why, in the face of such generosity, how could she do anything but accept?

Taking the shoe carefully from his mouth, she made a production of fussing over him, stroking his fur and scratching behind his ears in reward for the token of his appreciation. Admittedly, she was more of a cat person than a dog person, but such friendliness had its advantages.

Namely, that one of Heather's shoes now belonged to her, by gift of dog, and it was going to take some negotiating before she got it back.

"Yeah. I'm, uh, not normally really a dog person..."

They hadn't gotten along at first, needless to say.

She stood up again, laying her hand on the head of the happily panting Cujo.

"He ... grows on you."

... God dammit, Carmen, aren't shoes a little under your league?

Not when they come from a happy puppy, they're not.

"I like cats better, myself," she agreed, relinquishing the dog while keeping the shoe held loosely in one hand. "As a matter of fact, that's why I'm in town. I'm having one delivered here."

That was the trouble with deliveries, really. On the occasions when people insisted on using their own courier, it meant telling someone her physical location — which of course was something she never gave up easily.

"I was never really around cats enough to get much of a preference..." Though as a kid they'd certainly appealed to her more than dogs had... "I never had a pet before coming here."

Not that she hadn't ever wanted one-- what kid didn't?

But moving around a lot sort of made it harder to have anything bigger than a goldfish.

"What kind are you getting? I haven't actually seen too many cat Pokemon..."

Around this point, Cujo apparently decided that he wanted to be more involved in the conversation, because Carmen would find him happily shoving Heather's other shoe into her hands.

For youuuuuu~

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She'll go from Nashville to Norway, Bonaire to Zimbabwe

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