Tinker Bell

Mail! How very strange, Miss Tinker Bell had mail. Not those boring bills they sent her, either. A hand-written note!

( A Note, And Its Effect )

And with that, Miss Tinker Bell was gone.

(OOC: thank you all so, so much for making Tink's time in Fandom such a blast. OOC is love. ♥)

The part of Tinker Bell has been recast. To a six-foot-tall human with no wings, no dust, and a gorgeous speaking voice.

Tink stretched in her luxurious bed in her wonderful mansion and sighed contentedly. Another wonderful morning of her life as a model, award-winning actress, Nobel physicist and heiress. Being fabulously wealthy and intelligent and beautiful didn't take away all of one's problems, but it helped.

Was today a day in the lab, or a day at the photoshoots? Her schedule was so confusing. But trying to cure polio was important, so the photographers understood, and all of the lab assistants were so generous about letting her take time for her modeling. They should be, since Bell Enterprises had funded the lab.

For now, she would go into town. Perhaps she could eat breakfast at one of the chic new places, before her shift.

(OOC: mostly establishy but do feel free to knock if you want to pester Tink. Real!tink is German model Nadja Auermann. I have four billion slots free on Tink's account, and I'm gonna use all of 'em.)

( Roster )

( Syllabus )

( What to Expect )

( Tink's Speech (Or Lack Thereof) )

Questions? Comments? Attitude? Pie?

Exactly 23 minutes after that announcement went out, a much-ruffled pixie could be seen zooming out of the front door of 13 Griffin Way, a trail of luggage flying after her.

Honestly, who gives a diva thirty minutes to pack!? It was cruel and horrible and she was certain she'd left behind some of her very favorite pretty things.

It could be worse. She could be one of those idiots who seemed to be staying.

(Establishy only - Tink has seven minutes to get the *beep* out of Dodge, and she's not sticking around for chit-chat. Screw y'all, Tink's going home.)

This post is for any students in Kerrigan's Tactics class, who might want to try for swiping some of Tink's sweet, sweet liquor in exchange for an easy A.

( Three options! )

There was a lovely little secluded spot in the park, with trees and flowers and a huge orchestral sweeping sound! And among it all, a tiny pixie, waving her wand and swooping through the trees, flowers bursting into bloom behind her, and the trumpets were building, and the violins were building, and she pirouetted several times and the music hit its peak! And all of the pixie dust shot out in a rain and the blossoms filled the air and the music sweeeeeeeeeeelled ...

And Tinker Bell opened her mouth, expectantly, and nothing at all came out.

The unseen orchestra made a disappointed "PFFFFUTZ" sort of noise, as though a very large man were farting. The blossoms fell to the ground, shriveled.

Tink stomped her foot angrily. Damn this stupid town anyway! And sauntered offscreen, in a full snit.

(Forgive me, I couldn't resist. NFI, but OOC is love.)

Teaching was even more fun than she had imagined possible. And her co-teacher, the rather excellent Barney, had made room in his office for two. It was ever so chic! And cozy! And filled with liquor and posters about how other people sucked much more than they did.

So now, Barney and the lovely Ms. Bell were having a post-mortem on how their class had gone, and setting about the busy task of choosing a Teaching Assistant to guide their endeavour.

Or, really, they were tacking up names of students to a dartboard, mocking them, and drinking heavily. But it sounded so much nicer the other way, didn't it?

(For the co-teacher of awesome!)

( Things to know about Tink/Pixie Dust )

Tink was in her store, running an inventory check.

By which we mean, Tink was in her store, looking for hidden bottles of booze.

The store was closed, but it would be obvious to anyone walking by that the pixie was inside.

(For the evil employee giving his not-exactly-two-weeks'-notice)

There was booze. There were streamers. There were signs up pointing out that if you were sick you were ABSOLUTELY NOT ALLOWED IN HERE WITH YOUR GROSS, DISGUSTING SELF.

The Sick People Are Gross party was on.

(Weetiny OCD!)

Never fear! The fabulous Isabel opens today, and while Pixie Dust is usually closed on Fridays, Tink's going to man the shop tomorrow for any last-minute fashion requirements.

Because even procrastinators should look chic.

I should have clarified this before. This was supposed to go in the last OOC note and I forgot.

Tink can't talk. Tink will only resort to wand-writing for seriously important things that can't be communicated any other way, such as her name.

Most of the time, Tink is miming, and I state her general gist narratively because that's easier than going "Tink mimed" or "Tink gestured" at the end of every sentence.

You are, of course, free to pick up as much or as little as you would like. Misinterpret as you will, or follow along closely; however it goes is fine by me.

Tink can't read your narrative, because I'm assuming if you're talking, then your narrative is your inner thoughts. If you want to gesture back, please say so.

Sorry for any confusion.

Pixie Dust will be opening for the first time later today. So I thought now would be a good time to give everyone a little info on it, and on its tiny bitchy proprietress.

( About Tink )

( About Pixie Dust )

And of course the OOC icon is Margaret Kerry, the girl who posed for all of Tinker Bell's scenes against enormous props. Tink totally needs a fairy icon, but I have no idea of what, since wow, meta.

Any questions? :)

You have reached 5-5-5, D-U-S-T. The person you are trying to reach -

More jingling.

- is not available. Please leave your message at the tone.

A computerized voice announces,

You have reached 5-5-5, T-I-N-K. The person you are trying to reach -

There is a pause, and then a very distinct jingling.

- is not available. Please leave your message at the tone.

DEAR FANCY-TALKING BOY WHO IS VERY PRETTY AND WORKS AT MY STORE:

I am going home!!! The funny-smelling pirate says I can come watch the stupid Peter-boy die. Maybe he caught a Wendy-bird, too! YAY!

Please tell the gay boy who is so pretty and stupid and the British girl who is wonderfully bitchy and slutty that they can keep working here. You can, too! You'll be Manager except give yourself a prettier job title than that. I don't have time to think of one. If I'm late, I'll miss it!!!

Give yourself a raise and please promise me that you will only hire people who are chic and bitchy and fabulous. And that you will burn all of the terrible and ugly clothes. Oooh, and give the other two raises, while you're at it. Hooray!!!

Gotta run! Wish me luck!!!

Please get my character into this fabulous outfit! S/he'll never pick it themselves, but isn't it sweeeeeeeeet?

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