The Straw Hats Drawing Lots to Dress Up as Each Other
So, I was thinking - what if the straw hats had a costume party where they drew lots and dressed as each other?
Word count: 269
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Brook - draws Robin. Is trying to keep up a corset and show off his curves. But he's a skeleton, so he has no curves. Yo ho ho ho!
Chopper - draws Franky. Does the super pose, can't stop shouting "SUPER"… Until he remembers he's wearing a speedo, and hides (the wrong way around).
Franky - Draws Chopper. Has crafted massive antlers that shoot fireworks. Is stuffing his face with Cola-flavoured cotton candy.
Luffy - draws Sanji. Has swirly eyebrows drawn on with Nami's eyeliner (Nami punches him for stealing it and messing it up). Wears his hair over one eye, looking grumpy while puffing on a stick. Wears a suit. Keeps accidentally choking himself with the tie. Wants food, but is confused who's supposed to make it now.
Nami - draws Ussop. Complains about his sense of fashion. Wondering if she would look good with a perm.
Robin - draws Brook. Is rocking the suit and top hat. Jokingly asks Zoro and Brook to see their panties.
Sanji - draws Zoro. Walks around looking all groggy, with a heap of grass or some scraped off moss on his head ‘cus he "wants to look authentic".
Ussop - draws Luffy. Proclaims himself captain of the ship and king of the pirates. Keeps shouting for Sanji (and bugging Luffy, who is dressed as Sanji) to make food.
Zoro - draws Nami. Is stuck wearing a miniskirt, and is constantly complaining about how impractical it would be in battle. Tries to segment the Clima Takt and use it as santoryou, but ends up accidentally electrocuting half the crew. Nami screams at him to put it back where he found it. Zoro disappears for 3 hours.
In the annual elections for praetor that summer, Cicero topped the poll. It was an ugly campaign, fought in the aftermath of the lex Gabinia, when trust between the various factions in Rome had broken down completely.
Yet, despite the constant threat of violence in the city, the eight newly elected praetors gathered in the senate in mid-September to draw lots to determine their responsibilities for the coming term. The most coveted office, of course, was that of praetor urbanus, which in those days ranked third in the state – only behind the two consuls.
The election itself had played out much as Cicero had expected, and, apart from my master, there were only two men of obvious ability.
The most talented, of course, was Aquilius Gallus, a respected lawyer and jurist who would certainly be one of Cicero’s rivals for the consulship when his turn came.
Then there was Sulpicious Galba, a member of an old and distinguished aristocratic family. While he was an honest man with a good name, his privilege had made him harsh and arrogant, which limited his appeal among the people when it came to his potential for the consulship.
Fourth in ability was Quintus Cornificius, a rich religious fundamentalist who spoke incessantly about the need to revive Rome’s declining morals. Cicero jokingly called him “the candidate of the gods.”
Then came four men who lacked either means, character or both, and included Varinius Glaber, Caius Ochivius, Cassius Longinus and, in last place when it came to intellect, the patrician Gaius Antonius Hybrida – a heavy drinker who was known as one of the stupidest men in Rome.
Cicero, of course, counted himself head and shoulders above his fellow praetors – excepting, perhaps, Gallus. But the gods have a way of punishing such hubris, for Cicero's boni enemies got the best of him. Catulus moved to call each praetor-elect to draw their assignment from the ancient urn in reverse alphabetical order, and the motion passed. This left Cicero to draw last, dashing his chances of drawing praetor urbanus.
First up was Orchivius, who unluckily drew the dreaded embezzlement court. Then Longinus, who drew the treason court.
Hybrida, he with the least ability, evoked a collective gasp upon drawing the lot for praetor urbanus. As the presiding consul, Manius Acilius Glabrio read the assignment aloud, and the house rang with laughter at the absurdity of it. Poor Hybrida, fool that he was, laughed along, thinking his fellow senators happy for him.
Once the house had settled a bit, Glaber stepped up to the urn and drew the electoral court, followed by the talented Gallus, who drew the criminal court, and Galba, who drew responsibility for hearing cases of violence against the state.
As Cornificius stepped forward to draw, only two possible roles were left. So when he drew the position of foreign praetor, Cicero heaved a heavy sigh of relief. The new foreign praetor would serve as Hybrida’s deputy – which would have been a grim fate, indeed, for the cleverest man in Rome – so Cicero was satisfied.
The extortion court wasn’t praetor urbanus, to be sure, but there was a certain symmetry to his oversight of the very court in which he had launched his political career with the prosecution of Gaius Verres. He would make the best of it.
Most days in the orphanage were uneventful. Most days consisted of the same repeated actions for all parties involves. At the start of the morning was breakfast. Dozens of young boys and girls would gather in the main hall of the old, repurposed castle. Breakfast usually consisted of oats and milk, with an occasional egg for protein. After breakfast, everyone was fast at work, doing chores and tidying up the mess made by the children the night before. Everyone cleaned: the Madam, who always started her morning bright and early, no matter what time the sun rose; Mezzey Scott, Madam’s daughter, and rule enforcer, round up the children to usher them to the table and oversaw all the children's activities to ensure no one got hurt; Harold Chambers, the grouchy old many that acted as security to make sure none of the children wandered off into the surrounding woods, and no one wandered up to the property; Mrs. Galleon, the head of the kitchen, who woke at least two hours before everyone else in order to make breakfast; and all the little children who were assigned chores by lots. They always woke up early to draw lots before the Madam and Mezzey rushed them from the room to start the day.
Of course, not everyone was happy with the lots they drew. The easiest job to do was egg collecting from the chicken pin around the back of the old castle, followed by water fetching. Never mind the cold winter air or freshly fallen snow. Anyone who drew lots for the chicken's pin or the walk to the well was lucky to escape the more time-consuming chores that the other children had to endure throughout the day. Other chores like laundry, window washing, snow shoveling, and food preparation took up most of the light hours of the day. And when the sun went down, everyone was off to bed.
Always being the unfortunate one, Celeste had never drawn lots for the chicken's pin or water fetching. She usually found herself hard at work in the kitchen, which was the most dreaded chore. Although the food and supplies to cook were delivered straight to the kitchen with no need to go out into the cold winter world, kitchen duty usually took up the whole day, leaving no time for play. When she wasn’t in the kitchen, she was doing laundry. While the laundry didn’t take that long to wash, it was the folding that she dreaded most. She’d be released from chores for, at most, an hour before she was forced to return and start folding and washing another batch of clothes to hang. The chore was never-ending.
But today would be different. Celeste was sure she would be the lucky one today. She had to be after so long, right? Each of the girls rolled out of bed, a little over a dozen small bodies nearing the door to await the summons of Mezzey while they drew lots. The lots were wooden chips that had numbers carved into them to symbolize a chore. 1: egg collecting. 2: water fetching. 3: meal preparation. 4: laundry. 5: window washing. There were six chips for each chore, and half of them were given to the boys so they could draw lots in the mornings as well. The wooded chips were tossed into a bucket kept by the door and used as one of the many water fetching pails once everyone had their numbers tucked in their pockets. In the night, once everyone was finished with their chores, the wooden chips would be retrieved from everyone's pockets and discarded back into the pail as they passed through the door.
“Gather ‘round. Gather ‘round,” Megan, the oldest of the girls called as everyone sluggishly made their way to the door. She peered inside the bucket, obviously looking for an up-turned wooden chip with the numbers 1 or 2 carved into it. Because she was the oldest, she demanded the first pick. And she always got the job she wanted, no matter how unfair it seemed. She reached her hand into the pail and pulled out a number 1, showing it to the rest of the girls who muttered bitterly and sighed sadly.
“Stop yer whining!” Megan hollered at the younger girls as they voiced their disapproval. “If yer all gonna whine about it, I’ll tell Mezzey yer misbehavin’.”
The other girls quickly stopped their complaints as they exchanged sour looks. Morgan was Mezzey’s favorite. Everyone always assumed it was because she was older and had been there a lot longer than the rest of the girls. She could do anything she wanted to the other girls and was never punished for it. Those that didn’t listen to Morgan were likely to be her subject of torture. And it was important to note that if Morgan didn’t like someone the other girls usually followed her lead, singling out the offender of her pride. But, of course, she never showed her horrible behavior in front of the Madam or Mezzey. Others often took the fall for her actions and whenever she pointed a finger at another child in the orphanage Mezzey Always took Morgan’s side.
Morgan peered down at the other girls as if trying to determine which of them was worthy enough to draw their number first. Finally, she held the bucket out of Shirley, a small brunette that was about the same age Celeste. Shirley peeked over the rim of the bucket, peering inside at the chips before she quickly reached in to grab one.
Celeste’s eyes narrowed. No doubt she draws a 1 or a 2, Celeste thought to herself. The bucket was drawn back as Shirley showed her chip: 2. Celeste huffed, unsurprised by the outcome of the draw. As she glanced to Morgan, she noticed the older girls gaze locked on her. Celeste and Morgan silently eyed each other for a few seconds and Morgan stood before her. Was it her turn? Celeste started to reach for the pail to draw a wooden chip. Before she could get her hand inside, Morgan pulled the pail back.
“I didn’t say it was yer turn,” Morgan hissed at Celeste.
A few of the girls muttered bitterly about Celeste’s impatience and disrespect. Celeste couldn’t resist allowing a scowl to curl across her face. That made Morgan grin. It appeared that Celeste was the target for the day. Morgan moved around to each of the other girls, letting them draw their lots before she finally came back to Celeste.
The little redhead fumed, already knowing which of the numbers was left in the pail. She glared down into the bucket, with her fists clenched at her sides.
“Are ye stupid or somethin’?” Morgan asked, shoving the pail towards Celeste. “It’s yer turn, brat.”
Celeste refused.
“It’s not fair,” she growled under her breath.
“What was that, brat?” Morgan asked, daring her to repeat herself.
Celeste’s rage boiled. “It’s not fair!” she yelled, stomping a food on the hard, stone floor.
The other girls looked on in horror as Celeste challenged Morgan, the leader of the pack. Silence consumed the room as Celeste and Morgan glared at each other. Then, Morgan took a step forward, forcing the pail into Celeste’s chest.
“I’m gonna tell Mezzey yer refusin’ to do yer chores,” Morgan threatened.
“Oh yeah? WELL, I’m gonna- gonna…” Celeste fell short of her threat.
There wasn’t much she could do against someone who was much older and larger than her. There was no way she could force Morgan to listen to her. There was no one Morgan feared in the orphanage that could bend her will. And with Mezzey behind her, there was no way to force Morgan to be fair. That’s what most of the girls had thought anyway. But there was one person who was above even Mezzey in the orphanage hierarchy.
Celeste shoved the pail away from her and ran to the door, rushing to the hall. From the room, she could still hear Morgan mockery.
“Oh no! She’s gonna cry!” Morgan taunted, prompting the giggles of the other minions still lingering in the room.
“Madam Vivian!” Celeste cried through the hall.
And like that, the laughter had stopped, and Celeste could hear the sound of bare feet slapping against the stone floor behind her. Morgan frantically chased after Celeste as she rushed to find the Madam. She was the only person who could put both Mezzey and Morgan in their place. But, alas, Celeste wasn’t fast enough.
“Madam Viv-”
Morgan grabbed Celeste by her hair and pulled her backward before shoving her into the stone wall to their left. Celeste’s continued to kick and scream wildly as she attempted to escape Morgan’s grasp. And Morgan tried desperately to shut her up before one of the adults heard her. Even as one side of Celeste’s face was pressed into the wall, she could see the boys that had emerged from their room to see what all of the fuss was about. Celeste couldn’t help but feel a ping of embarrassment as they all stared, including Warren whom Celeste always feared would catch her in the act of something stupid. He watched Celeste as she watched him and Morgan tossed her to the floor.
Morgan stepped over Celeste before she knelt down to begin striking her. One of Morgans fists was curled into a fist, still holding to a wooden chip she had drawn. The other had a tight hold of Celeste’s hair so she couldn’t turn away from her strikes. Celeste could no longer keep her eyes open to stare, but she knew the other children were still watching as Morgan slapped her and pulled on her hair. Celeste continued to scream; her palms pressed into her face as she attempted to shield herself from Morgans blows. It had felt like an eternity before someone finally intervened.
Morgan was wretched off of Celeste and Celeste was grabbed by her wrist before she was jerked up into the air and dropped on her feet.
“What is all of this?” Madam Vivian demanded as she looked down at the two girls with bewildered eyes.
Celeste’s eyes darted from the Madam to the lonely Warren who stood behind her.
Before Celeste could get the words out, Morgan raised a hand to point a finger at Celeste accusingly.
“She started it, Madam! She threw the bucket at me!”
It was an obvious lie and Celeste knew that none of the girls who had seen the events that transpired in the room would try to defend her. It was just her word against Morgans.
Celeste’s face wrinkled as her anger continued to grow. “No, I didn’t!” She screamed. “Morgan threw me into the wall!”
Just as the words left her mouth, Morgan began to sob. She cried loudly, opening her mouth to holler as though she had been struck. Her eyes clenched shut as tears rolled down her face. Celeste couldn’t help but feel disgusted. This wasn’t the first time that Morgan had attempted to get her way by crying in this way. And if Celeste learned anything from experience, she knew that Morgan would get her way yet again. Madam Vivian’s accusing eyes moved to Celeste.
Celeste exploded.
“Madam Vivian, Morgan always gets the easy chores!” Celeste cried, stomping her foot on the stone floor once more. “It’s not fair! I always have to be in the kitchen! I never get to do anything!”
“You’re not always in the kitchen,” Mezzey hissed from behind Celeste.
Celeste felt her blood run cold. She was in dangerous territory for an eight-year-old.
“Morgan always gets the easy chores and it’s not fair,” Celeste continued.
Madam Vivian’s eyes remained fixed on Celeste for a few moments longer before they transferred to Mezzey. “I’ve never seen Morgan so anything besides egg fetching,” the Madam acknowledged.
Mezzey sputtered. “They draw lots so it’s fair!” Mezzey insisted. “It’s not her fault she always gets that job. It’s just luck.
“No!” Celeste interrupted, forcing both of their eyes back on her. “Morgan always picks what she wants first.”
Celeste could hear the muttering of the boys and girls behind her in the hall underneath all of Morgans senseless sobbing. Madam Vivian raised her head to look at the other children. The long silence of the Madam raised Celeste’s hopes. Had she won?
“Then there’s just one way to solve the problem,” Madam Vivian insists. “Bring me a bucket.”
Moments later the pail was brought forward. Madam Vivian accepted the pail and looked inside. Her hand disappeared into the bucket for a few seconds before she pulled out the last wooden chip that was left inside, baring the number 3. After seeing the number of the wooden chip, she dropped it back inside.
“All right, ladies, let us try this again,” Madam Vivian voiced with an exhausted sigh. She held the bucket out for the girls to throw their numbers inside. “You’re all going to redraw your chore numbers.”
Each of the girls walked up the the Madam, some walking briskly and some trailing behind with dreadful looks on their faces. While there were a few girls who didn’t want to risk drawing an easy chore a second time, but many were excited for a second chance. All of the girls willingly surrendered their wooden chip except for Morgan.
“It’s not fair!” Morgan screamed, tears and snot still streaming down her face. “She’s lying! She always lies!”
“Morgan, but the chip in the bucket,” Vivian demanded, reaching the bucket out to the girl. When Morgan refused to listen, Madam Vivian straightened and her eyes narrowed threateningly. “You’re getting too old for this sort of behavior, Morgan. You’re nearly thirteen… If this behavior continues I sell you to live with the Gypsies.”
Every girl in the hall had frozen in place. The boys looked down at their feet awkwardly, including Warren who still stood behind Madam Vivian. Madam Vivian always threatened to sell girls to the Gypsies when they misbehaved. At the age of sixteen, a girl was then considered a woman and expected to leave the orphanage for one reason or another. The Madam often used the threat of sending young girls to the Gypsies to put them in their place because no one knew what happened to the children that were sold to the Gypsies. They were simply never seen or heard from again.
They were far from the most terrifying magic users in the world, but they were a close threat in the next city over, and therefore the largest threat to small children who knew nothing of their activities. But, to Celeste’s knowledge, Madam Vivian had never sold anyone to the Gypsies. It was an empty threat, but one that terrified every child in the orphanage. They would all listen to the Madam’s every order after hearing the threat on the off chance that one day she might keep her word and send them away.
Morgan dragged her arm up in the air slowly before dropping the chip into the bucket. Madam Vivian shook the bucket and then began reaching inside, picking out a chip for each of the girls herself. Celeste was the first to receive a chip… but it wasn't the well-earned victory she had hoped for. All the fussing had not changed her fate. The number 3 carved into the wooden chip seemingly mocked her efforts. And worse yet, Morgan’s eyes burned into her with silent rage. Once the Madam had finished passing out the wood chips, she handed the pail to one of the lucky water fetchers.
“There. Now it’s fair,” Madam Vivian stated with a clap of her hands, further solidifying that the conflict had been resolved and that would be the end of it. “Now, breakfast is waiting. Hurry on into the dining room to eat”
And that was it. There was no punishment for Morgan. Not for the hitting, not for slamming Celeste into the wall and certainly not for being unfair with the chores. They were excused and sent off to do their chores for the day. Celeste would likely bare the weight of her actions the second Madam Vivian and Mezzey were out of sight and Morgan could get ahold of her.
The best word to describe Celeste’s feelings towards the morning's events was: regret.
Breakfast went by slowly for Celeste, especially since she was alone. No one wanted to be seated next to the girl that invoked Megan’s rage no matter whether they were a boy or a girl. Although she sat alone, she did notice the lingering, sympathetic gaze of Warren from one of the other tables. Slowly, one by one, the children finished their breakfast and gathered in groups depending on their chores. The wooden dishes the children had been using for their breakfast had been left behind to be cleaned up by those on kitchen duty.
Celeste rose from her seat and started to gather the dishes located on the table she had been sitting at. She stacked the plates, then the bowls and set the utensils inside the bowls so she could carry everything with ease. Although she dreaded the kitchen work, she did it often enough that she knew the tricks to time and effort. When she turned to make her way towards the kitchen, she caught sight of Megan, who simply stood at one of the messy tables, staring as though she was unsure of what to do.
Celeste paused a moment to stare at her. She contemplated helping Megan for a few moments, but her spite towards the older girl kept her from approaching. Megan’s head tilted up and she looked at Celeste purposefully, threatening her with her gaze.
Celeste continued on her course to the kitchen, walking briskly. She was eager to make it to the same room as the cook, Mrs. Galleon. She was somewhat grateful that she was working in the kitchen, as long as she was working with Megan. She was lucky that she wasn’t stuck doing another chore with Megan, unsupervised and unprotected. At least in the kitchen, Megan wouldn’t be able to torture her as she pleased.
The kitchen was, at least, a familiar territory so it wasn’t all that bad. That’s what Celeste tried to tell herself. She knew where to look for every spice and tool. The large room always smelled like spice or burned meat. And Celeste could always count of Mrs. Galleon smiling face, no matter what sort of mood she was in each morning.
As Celeste entered the kitchen she was greeted by Mrs. Galleon at the doorway. The large woman stood a little over five feet tall with an apron tied around her waist and her hair knotted into a bun. She always had a smile on her face and was considered to be the most approached adult in the orphanage by the children.
“Goodmornin’, lass. I heard you caused quite a ruckus this morning.” Mrs. Galleon chuckled. “You should be nicer to your sister.”
Celeste’s face twisted up with disgust and confusion as she peered past the stacked bowls and at Mrs. Galleon’s face. “Megan isn’t my sister,” she insisted bitterly.
“Sure, she is,” Mrs. Galleon insisted, patting the top of Celeste’s head with one of her heavy hands. “We’re all family here because we’re all each other has.”
That was true. Each of the children in the old castle was sent there because they had no one left. No family to take them in and care for them. No one to bat an eye when they fall ill or begin to starve. The war had taken the lives of many, and each time a new child was delivered to the orphanage the night was filled with quiet sobs and pleas to return home. But they had no home to return to. And no parents to love them. Celeste considered herself lucky. She was left at the orphanage when she was two years old and had no memories of that time. If she had a family, she didn’t remember them and therefore couldn’t miss them.
However, even if she knew Mrs. Galleon was right, she refused to accept the idea of being considered Megan's sister. Megan wasn’t sisterly. Sisters were people who shared secrets, played together and loved each other. She couldn’t imagine having such a relationship with Megan.
“Megan isn’t my sister,” Celeste grumbled with insistence.
“Such attitude this mornin’!” Mrs. Galleon cried with an amused laugh. It was clear to Celeste that Mrs. Galleon didn’t see Celeste’s words as anything more than a tired girl’s spite. “Why don’t you get a fire started, lass? Everything is ready, it just needs your spark.”
Mrs. Galleon winked encouragingly.
Although Celeste hated working in the kitchen because she had no time to herself, she knew Mrs. Galleon preferred for her to be around. It made her work a lot easier since Celeste knew what was expected of her and did it promptly. Mrs. Galleon didn’t have to stand over Celeste and ensure she’s doing her work properly as she did with most of the other children.
She set the dishes on a counter and made her way over to the large fireplace that was built into the wall. The bottom of the stone fireplace was already filled with small pieces of chopped wood, as Mrs. Galleon had mentioned, along with some stray tinder that was tossed on top to encourage the flames.
Celeste collected the tinder to make a bundle and grabbed a piece of fungus in one of the baskets with the spices so she could use it to start the fire. She made her way back to the fireplace and got down to her knees to begin the process of making a fire. Celeste had a natural ability to spark up a fire that Mrs. Galleon had noticed the first time she had taught her to strike iron and flint. It only ever took Celeste two or three strikes of the stones in order to get a powerful spark onto the fungus. None of the other children could manage to make a fire on their own and Mrs. Galleon often became frustrated when she had to tend to the fire herself.
Celeste crouched low to the ground as she struck the iron and flint rocks together. In a matter of seconds, the fungus was smoking as an ember struggled to burn to life. Once the fungus was glowing with the bright ember Celeste transferred it to the tinder bundle and the flames were prompted to go wild as she blew on the spark. She set the tinder bundle into the fireplace to catch the rest of the tinder aflame.
Now she just had to wait. Celeste sat in front of the fire patiently and watched as the fire danced from the tinder to the small wood logs. Once she was sure the fire would continue to burn without her there to guide it, she rose to dust off her gown. As she did, she noticed that the other children on water duty were back with their first collection of water. They entered and exited through the back door of the kitchen that led out into the castle yard, carrying the pails to where the water was needed each morning. Pails of water were dumped into a barrel located near the countertop that was cluttered with the dishes from breakfast.
Celeste made her way over to the barrel, grabbing a rag along the way. It was time to wash the dishes she and the others had collected from the tables. She stood in front of the barrel, washing the collected dishes as Mrs. Galleon gave the other children's instructions of how to chop food and properly clean the dining hall before the next meal. Celeste had begun to lose herself in thought as she began working through the usual daily motions of kitchen duty. The icy water from the outside well began to numb her fingers, but after a few minutes, she no longer notices the cold.
After she had finished cleaning the dishes, Celeste made her way to the fireplace to ensure it was still burning brightly. As she walked around the island counters in the center of the room, she noticed Mrs. Galleon rushing through the doorway to the Dining room to holler at one of the other children. She allowed an amused smile to come to her face as she stopped in front of the fireplace. She knelt down in front of the fire and warmed her cold hands in front of the flames. Feeling the warm flames melt away the numbness of her fingers was a delight.
Her attention was dragged away from the fireplace as she noticed a shadow on the stone slab above the fireplace and the footsteps that approached. She turned to yell at the other child, afraid it was one of the pail carriers that was about to stumble into her and force her into the fireplace. Her words froze in her throat as her eyes met Megan’s.
Then she felt Megan’s hands push her into the fire.
Celeste used her arm to brace herself against the flames, feeling herself break through the blacked pieces of wood that were burning brightly. There was no pain, just pure panic. Celeste quickly drew herself back, fully away that her clothes and hair were flames. She waved her arm, attempted to put out the flames as she rushed by Megan and the other children who stared in shock. The flames spread from her arm and hair to cover her head and torso as she rushed through the kitchen in a frenzy. Water. She needed water. Never mind the barrel of dirty dishwater across the kitchen. Her first thought was to run to the back door where the pail carriers had been entering to deliver water to the kitchen. She pushed the door open with both hands, leaving black scorch marks on the wood as her burning palm pressed against it.
Celeste stumbled down the steps of the back door and out into the snow. She jumped into the snow, trying to put out the flames that refused to die. She heard footsteps stomping towards her, along with the swishing sound of water. Then she was soaked... but at least she was no longer on fire. The flames were finally extinguished.
Celeste looked down at her arms, expecting to see horribly scorched skin, but she was unharmed. The sleeve of her white gown, however, had burned away completely. There were black marks burned into the fabric of her dress where the fire had torn through the linen. But no burns anywhere on her body. And her hair? She reached up to touch her soaking hair that had been aflame only moments ago. It was all still there!
Celeste heard the frantic voice of Mrs. Galleon approaching but couldn’t focus on what she was saying. She lifted her head to see the large woman rushing towards her with her apron in her fists. Mrs. Galleon wrapped the apron around the shocked girl's shoulders and picked her up off of the ground as though she was a small child, rushing her back through the kitchen doorway. From over her shoulder, she could see Warren standing where she had been lifted off the ground with tipped pail at his feet. He had dumped the water on her and put out the fire.
That was twice in one day that the boy had saved her. And she would have thanked him if she could form words to do so. However, she was unable to speak and simply gawked at the boy until she was carried inside through the back door and back into the kitchen.
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Recensie Drawing Lots ★★★★ - vanaf 27-1 te zien op @IFFR en vanaf 2-11 in de bioscoop
Een fijne, kalme sfeer met een verhaal dat in eerste instantie contextloos lijkt. Vleugjes luchtigheid, drama, hoop en erotiek zorgen voor een menselijke film.
#IFFR
De dramafilm Drawing Lots gaat over een kustplaatsje, waar bij een flatgebouw een machtsstrijd tussen haar bewoners ontstaat. Iedereen begluurt elkaar! Wat wij van Drawing Lots vinden, lees je in onze recensie.
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