Creamed

After Brooklynn left with Cam, Oliver once again dislodged the glass lid of the Belle Vie jar and pulled himself onto the lip. Flipping over the edge of the jar, he dropped onto the polished surface of the vanity, cream slick feet slipping out from under him on depositing him abruptly on his behind

“Son of a gun,’ he murmured, trying to use the side of the jar to steady himself as he struggled to get to his feet only to drop back flat on his bottom again.

Rolling onto his stomach, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees but only for a moment before everything slipped and he unceremoniously flopped onto his belly. “This must be what Bambi felt like on the ice,” he cracked sourly looking at his hands caked in cream before looking at the far end of the vanity where there was a tall floral patterned box of Kleenex. Pushing himself up slowly, he got back onto his hands and knees before rising to his feet. Painfully aware Brooklynn might return at any time, he hurried as quickly as he could to the box of tissues, clambering atop it before drawing out a single sheet. Wiping his hands and face first, he dropped down from the box and dragged the Kleenex back over beside the jar of cream and the mess he had made, doing his best to try and mop it up. There was such much and the tissue did not seem particularly absorbent as he smeared the cream around.

“Come on,” he urged after several more minutes, examining his feeble attempt. It was far from perfect, but might pass a cursory inspection. Either way, it would have to do. Folding the tissue in half over on itself, then again, and again like a wide canvas tarp, he decided he would stash it at the back of the vanity. Grabbing the tissue under his left arm, he grabbed his machete in his right hand and started toward the rear where the vanity abutted the wall, pausing to look at the enormous hairbrush, or more accurately, the strands of golden hair intertwined amongst the bristles of the brush. Walking over, he set the tissue and blade down, taking one of the loose finger width hair between both his hands and giving it a couple of sharp tugs to test its strength. Disentangling the hair from the brush, it turned out to be easily six or more times the length of his body. Was it strong enough to support his weight? He thought so, but was not completely sure. Quickly removing two more strands, he tied them together and looped it around one of the bristles, hastily braiding them into a rope, slicing off the uneven ends and knotting it.

Pleased with himself, he smiled, coiling up the makeshift rope and looping it over his shoulder. Retrieving his blade, he collected the tissue. Making his way to the gap between the piece of furniture and the wall, he bent down and wiped his hands one more time before dropping the paper into the crevice. Task complete, he returned to where he had stashed his other peanut heart, only to find it gone. Letting out a sigh, he went returned to the rear of the desk.

Descending the electrical cord was not too problematic, given there were still parts of his body slippery from the face cream. Once down on the floor, he stayed close to the wall, scurrying over to the back of the desk. Having watched how Sersei and the other two girls tore Brooklynn’s room apart looking for him, he knew there was nowhere to hide at floor level. If they came back, they would find him in a cinch.

Would there be any suitable spots on top of the desk? Only one way to find out. Securing the blade, he used the thick black cord to the desk’s lamp to get up to the top. Brooklynn’s desk was tidier than the one in Maeve’s room, but there was still enough clutter on it he could keep himself concealed as long as the girls did not do another mega thorough search.

Rather than immediately hole up, he decided to explore the surface of the desk to see what other potentially useful items he might find and add to his inventory. Aside from an elastic band, he spied a small lump of something perched at the corner of the desk near the bed. Walking closer, he stared at it. Was that a piece of chicken? Bending down, he picked it up and gave it a sniff, tummy rumbling. It was chicken, the meat still cool in his hands. It was right out in the open. Was it a trick of some kind, maybe something dosed with some of their knockout shot?

Returning to the rear of the desk, tucked away behind a stack of hard and soft cover texts books, he set the chicken down, studying it. Although he had had some peanut heart earlier, he had lost his second one and was feeling hungry. Should he risk it? Paranoia told him it was a trap. Hunger bade him eat and keep up his strength. Hunger won. Bringing the meat to his mouth, he nibbled at the tender piece of chicken, the delicious flavor filling his senses. It was so good. Throwing caution to the wind, he devoured the entire morsel ravenously, nourishment filling his body.

Although out of sight behind the pile of books, Oliver knew it would not withstand the scrutiny of another power search. Eye balling the books, he scrunched up his face, contemplating the notion of using the blade and cutting out an Oliver-sized hollow in some of the pages, stashing himself inside. It would make an awesome place to hide. Two problems though. One, what to do with the cutout paper, and two, what if Brooklynn put another book on top of the stack? Almost being trapped inside the jar had taught him a lesson.

During his investigation of the desk, he had seen a plastic holder containing frosted Scotch tape. What if he wrapped it sticky side out around his forearms and lower legs, was it strong enough to support his weight? Should be. In a worst case scenario, maybe he could use it a la Spiderman style and stick himself to the back of the desk or the wall.

With nothing else to do but wait, he went to the tape and cut off five goodly portions of tape. One for each of his extremities and the fifth to test the potency of the adhesive.