greatoldjohn | Open RP

[There's a sign that says "motel" and an arrow pointing straight.
Break in three, two- perfect. ]

There are lights here, after all.

[We should search the car for money and supplies. Maybe there's something in here.

"Good idea. Then we can sell it - we might get a couple hundred dollars, that'll get us to New York easily." His face turns fractionally towards Willa, glancing on instinct even if he can't see. "Even with unexpected expenses. See if there's anything about used cars, o-or something that looks like a parking lot, maybe behind a chain fence."

She winces at the unexpected expenses part.

"Do child labor laws exist yet? I could do... something." It is half a joke. She's trying not to let her mind explode over the idea of getting a couple hundred dollars for a fancy car. And that being plenty to get three people to New York.

She clears her throat, remembering how it was before Arthur got his eyes back. The things she'd do then to tru amd respect his space. "Can I hang onto your sleeve until we park?"

Not just grabbing and clinging without asking. No matter how much she just wants a hug and for this to be a weird breach or flood or something.

[ We should sell it anyway. It's something that could get us in trouble. ]

John doesn't know much about the law, but he does know that stealing things (like boats) has police coming after you and being caught with it in hand is a bad idea.

[ What's a 'child labor' law? ]

"I'll explain later." Easier than going into any of that just yet.

But his arm moves closer to Willa, his hand nudging gently against her arm. "Right now- let's park in that motel. We'll strip the car for supplies, get cleaned up, sell it - work out shopping from there."

His head shifts like he's glancing askance at Willa. "You'll need to decide now, Willa. Pretend to be a boy, or dress properly as a girl."

She's going to hang on to Arthur as low-key-ly as possible but she is still very much hanging on.

"Dress prop--" For a second she's both confused and affronted, and then it clicks. "Oh. Fuck. I mean uh--"

It's probably not girly to say fuck. She remembers her dad's face when she used it in front of him (What. It's a word. People use words to communicate.) and gets a pang of anxiety and homesickness that she does not want to deal with.

"Boy. I can stuff my hair in a hat or something?"

It's not the curse that surprises a soft laugh out of Arthur, a brief warm huff - it's how she tries to walk it back despite how much she's been cursing already.

"Alright. Then for now you're my nephew. Paul Henley. Cutting would be simpler but we can- w-we'll- braid your hair, later, make sure it doesn't come loose if you lose the hat."

[ Henley? Who the fuck is that? ]

He's familiar with the concept of a fake name, he remembers them picking up the false ID after all, but he would like some context, Arthur! Don't leave him out of it!

She mouths the name Paul and wrinkles her nose, but something else occurs to her.

"Uh, don't know who Paul Henley is other than maybe a guy who invented a kind of shirt, but I can't really fake a deeper voice that well. Trust me I've tried. ...Would I have to wear a dress?"

"Just clear your throat, and talk as low as you can without forcing it. It's called the bottom of your register. With any luck people might think you're younger than you are, just- tall, for your age."

And they'll be mostly focused on him anyway, he's sure. A ferocious-looking Brit with too much money for his blood-stained clothing. There'll be too many questions in their minds to even notice her.

"And- look, the best fake name is one you've already got committed to memory, which is why I'll be Will Henley. You're my brother's son, er- wait, how old are you?"

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