Who: Rosmerta Baines and OPEN What: Rosmerta arrives, get her first glimpses of the place When: Thursday afternoon Where: Bungalow #8 and the beach Rating: Low Status: Incomplete
Sand. There was sand everywhere. In that odd room with all the baggage, outside, on the floor of the bungalow and thanks to the particularly annoying red trunk in her bra and hair as well. All she had done was stop to take in the amazing view of the white white beach and the azure water, and the sodding trunk had bumped her in the back, sending her sprawling face-first into that white white sand. Rosmerta had learned two lessons then. First; that sand wasn’t nearly as soft or pleasant as it looked, no, that sand was hard and able to get everywhere like her mouth, hair and... underwear. Second; her wand didn’t work. If it had, that trunk would have been a small pile of tiny pieces, most likely smouldering.
Sliding her finger under the edge of her bra to keep the sand from chafing her skin, she took a look around. Such a beautiful place. Whoever the manager here was really was wasting its potential. What a shame. Just a few simple screens to ensure a bit of privacy for each occupant would have gone a long way. Maybe then the lumpy looking beds would be acceptable. At least there was a bathroom, with a door and a shower. Thank Merlin for small pleasures.
Different levels of thuds and thumps around her drew her attention; the baggage that had bullied her here suddenly dropped to the floor... and stayed there. Another thing to be thankful for, she realised as she began looking around. When she found a journal with her name on it, she assumed the bed it lay on was hers, and after a bit of tucking and pushing, she had gotten the offending baggage stowed away, just in case she wasn’t alone in the bungalow. It looked lived in, so she doubted it. She flipped quickly through the journal, though didn’t take time to read – she’d do that later – and instead read the parchment, clearly also for her.
Tailor?
How in Merlin’s good name was she supposed to be a tailor? Rosmerta ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it up, and with a sigh decided to leave baggage be baggage, and instead take a look around.
Making herself comfortable in the sand, she once again began flipping through the journal, this time reading more closely, hoping to find some answers as to where she was and why she was here. Didn’t work. The first several pages in the journal were all filled with people talking about their insecurities about being trapped in the wrong body. Wait. Was that why she was here? Had she been somehow transported to a place to deal with any gender preference issues she had? She looked down at herself, pulled out the neckline of her shirt and looked down at her breasts. No, she wasn’t trapped in the wrong body, and she never had been, she knew that the moment she saw her boobs and remembered just how proud she was of them. They were nice boobs, and she would never wish them off.
Clearly this had to be a mistake, but she didn’t know how to find the management. Maybe...