((Mostly for the attention of Celticmystress- it's just a bit of a play around with her time-defying Lady Bones thing. Warning for swearing, mentions of sex and sexuality, nothing graphic- only posting it here because I'm having issues emailing it to her privately.

You really don't have to read it, if you don't want. Really...

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You're still reading. You sure you wanna do this?

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Alright. Your funeral...))

Charlie yelped as sound flooded her ears unbidden once more. Passers by glanced at her strangely as she stood, fumbling with the small device in her hands. The wind coming off the Hudson and coiling through the long boulevards of the city was crisp and chilly, and while others winced at the whip across their faces, Charlie remained unfussed as she dragged her index finger clumsily across the touch screen to furiously turn the volume down as she had been taught this morning. At least the noise assaulting her eardrums was pleasant, and comforting- The Irish Rovers, Bones had called it. It was all she could do to not burst into song along with the illusion of music, but at least she could step in time as she strolled around.
The culture shock was starting to wear off- replaced by unabashed, naked awe. She was just another tourist stumbling through the Giant Apple or whatever they called it. New York.
“Definately betteh than th’ owld one.” Charlie mumbled to herself.
As she turned to look up at the tall buildings surrounding her, she bumped sideways into a haughty woman coated in what the lost sailor would one day come to know as Gucci. There was no excuse- the cougar was dressed in every manifestation the brand came in. Despite her stylish attire, her voice raked at her above the loud chorus of Sloop John B.
“Ey-ey! I’m walkin’ ‘ere! Get yer goddamn mitts offa me!”
Charlie reeled.
“Beggin’ yer pardons missus-“
“Oh fer cryin’ out loud- late for the potater famine aincha paddy?” The woman sneered first, then ran her eyes along Charlie’s modestly dressed, and well disguised body. “Get lost before I like ya already. Go on, beat it!”
The redhead frowned, about to speak, until the woman raised her pink leather and diamonte handbag skyward to bean her with. She quite rightly scarpered.
Finding herself back in Central Park, Charlie rested beside the largest of the lakelettes. The act was practically instinctual after her time spent in Bones’ dream world. She took the opportunity to examine herself a little- the messily combed red hair tucked back into a ponytail- no ribbons, this time, a single unbroken fabric ring that snapped back when you stretched it kept it all neatly in place, slick with a strange gelatine substance that Bones had pushed into her palm as she stared at the sink. ‘Plumbing’ meant that water came to you. What genius this new world contained! A world she once walked, though very much further along. The shirt she wore was very plain. No frills or laces, no billowing cuffs. Just a blue check shirt, buttoned down the middle, made of a strange textured fabric - something she had called ‘Sear Sucker’. To Charlie, it sounded like a name for a strumpet. Well, if it was good enough for a Sear’s Prostitute it was good enough for her, she supposed. And a tie! Much like her old silk cravat, but as long as her torso, thin, and left sloppily outside of the shirt. It was blue paisley. The miracle that Bones had remembered that detail too made her grin. Underneath the men’s cut shirt her breasts were bound- much tighter than she had expected. Once again, this stretching fabric was responsible, bandages that rarely slipped from place, and much softer than the rough linen things from her past. Her legs were somewhere within her black brushed denim carpenters- selected for the amount of pockets they had. This had truely been a chore for her to understand. There were metal teeth closing them- the same that were dangerously close to her nether regions, to boot- and they were sealed together by a key-like object that one tugged on. A ‘Zipper’. Because of the sound it made. Charlie had spent at least thirty seconds delighting in the bizarre noise and how the device worked, this morning. And then, the biggest revelation of all- undergarments. Shorts. For beneath your clothes. Under-wear. It boggled the mind- but she understood when a pair of cotton boxers were pushed into her hands and she wriggled into them. She could move about without issue, she was provided extra ‘protection’ against her rough denim ‘jeans’, the wonders never ceased. Black leather boots, with hidden steel caps over the toes, adorned her besocked feet- They didn’t go to her calves, though, and the soles were much more sturdy- yet flexible. Not wood, not leather, but ‘rubber’. And gripped with strange grooves that stopped one slipping. How she could have used them back in the day. The flexibility of ankle-high boots would have served her well. And laces- they hadn’t changed in the centuries between then and now, at least. Topping it all off, a short black leather bomber jacket- the only coat of Bones’ that would suit her ‘drag king’ effect, and a ‘cap’. It sat atop her skull with a wide brim just at the front to block sun glare. Emblazoned on the navy fabric were white intersected initials- NY. Baseball. Another invention she wanted to discover.
Hunger called to her in the form of a pretzel cart. She cursed herself softly and stared at the folded object tucked into her back pocket, secured from thieves by a silver chain keeping it attached to her belt loops- some things never changed. She had thirty stags... no, no, thirty ‘bucks’, in paper. Paper, of all things! Had trees become so rare that parchment was a commodity to trade? They were formed of thirty ‘one dollar bills’. Pushing aside who ‘Bill’ was, perhaps that ‘Bill Washington’ she had heard about, She counted out thirty of them and double checked herself. Then she moved onto the ‘change’. Coinage, ahh, more familiar. Bones had been careful not to confuse her. She had one of each type of coin in there. A sure difference from the gold coins she had bartered with back in the good old days. Dimes, Nickels, Quarters, Pennies. She tried to order them by size, but damn it if she could read the values on their faces. She decided to stick to the paper. She didn’t need to worry about the fare home, luckily, as yet another piece of important paper was tucked carefully into one of the many pockets of the wallet that would grant her travel around the city for the next week. She had enough to buy a cup of coffee and a pretzel, and anything else she could afford. Which apparently, was not much.
It was at one of these stands that she discovered something horrifying.
“Dogs?!” She muttered as she heard a hawking roadside vendor.
“Aw haw haw, real funny, mister.”
“...I mean, are they kept like chickens or, did ‘e just dig up th’ missus’ flowerbed?”
The Italian looked at Charlie incredulously.
“Hot Dogs. It’s sausage, buddy. Where the fuck have you been for the last hundred years.”
Charlie wrinkled her nose.
“Sausage, ri’. Pig, then. Hot Pig.”
“Very nice. Thank you. Hot Pig for sale! Get your hot pig! Hey, you gonna buy one or not, buddy?”
“’ow much?”
The Italian struck the side of the cart.
“Ey, stop fuckin’ wi’ me pal. Can’t you read?”
Charlie’s face fell. So did the man’s.
“You can’t read? No wonder you’re such a dumb fuck.”
Then he did something surprising- he served up one of the phallic red hot dogs into a bun, coated it in onions, a bright yellow paste, and red sauce she had already encountered once. He handed it to her, and her hand went to her wallet.
“On the house. Dressed like that and can’t fuckin’ read... Go get a fuckin’ education, ai’ght?”
“Yeh swear like a damn sailor.” Charlie beamed at him, “Fank yeh kindly, sir.”
“Aight, don’t get all faggoty on me, go on. Get yer ass outta here, you’re bad for business!”

When she was a safe distance away, she dropped into a park bench and took a testing bite of the delicacy. Her eyes watered. The mustard was as weak as sin compared to the English stuff her dad used to knock up for gammon on Sundays, back home. But the meat itself... The most delicious thing she had ever set tongue on.
“Save Bonesy.” Charlie purred to herself and snickered darkly, eating the hot dog, bun and all, with hungry abandon.
“Say, Mister?” A soft, melodious voice rang out beside her a short distance off, and she lifted her head up from her meal, her mouth stuffed full. She swallowed painfully, and stood with a start, shuffling to the side so the lady could sit. She was quite surprised to see the girl was also surprised.
“Siddown, m’lady?”
“M’lady? What, you just come from the Ren Faire?”
“The what, sorry?”
The girl shook her head, sitting down on the bench, giggling as Charlie flopped back down herself.
“You’ve got a great accent. Where are you from?”
“Brizzle. Err- Bristol.”
“Which one?”
Charlie blinked, staring at her for a long time, to the point where the young girl was a little uncomfortable.
“There’s... more than one?”
“Oh! You’re foreign, right. There’s only one Bristol in England, right?”
“Y-yeh. Oh! Like how New York is York, but... New.”
The younger girl giggled.
“Wow. Some global villiage, huh.”
“Global What?”
“Global villiage.” She replied, matter of factly. “You know, they call the world a global villiage- because of the internet and stuff. We’re all one big happy family.”
“Intern- We are? Well, ah, if we’re somehow related I’d better learn yer name.”
She laughed again. Charlie briefly glanced at her attire. Her white denim skirt revealed much of her slender legs despite the sheer surface of her black coloured thin leggings- ah, tights as Bones told her. Her ankles were showing above her flat soled ‘sneaking shoes’, and more- her very knees were on display. Her torso was covered in a thin red zippered hooded ‘sweater’, though Charlie would protest this girl had never lifted a finger in her life to break a sweat with. Her dark brown locks were permed into curls. Even her face was done up with that aweful make-up stuff in light, natural tones. Charlie’s heart fluttered just a little as she regarded her.
“Angel.”
“I’ll say.”
Angel giggled again.
“By the way? Americans love pick up cheesy pick up lines like that. Just in case you needed to know.”
Charlie briefly wondered if Bones would cane her for asking this young strumpet her charge. Then again, she couldn’t tell if this was indeed a strumpet, or a high born lady. She decided to stick to simple conversation.
“Ca- ahem, Charlie Skinner, at yer service.” She extended the arm clutching her snack as she made a seated mock bow to Angel’s great amusement.
“Nice to meet you, Chuck.”
“Pardon?”
“Chuck. It’s short for Charlie... and you’re about to loose your dog to a dog.”
“My- Oh.”
Not a second later, a man upon bewheeled shoes skated by, his doberman running at leash-length, who snatched the entire half of the hot dog from her hand as he passed. There was a plaintive apology yelled over his shoulder, but she waved him off.
“Easy come, easy go. Mind I could do with a second. Them ‘dogs’ is crackin’.”
“I understood about half of that sentence but... alright.”
“...May I treat yer to one o’ yer own, miss?”
“Miss? Well aren’t you just the damn gentleman... I’m on a diet.”
“Diet schmiet!” Charlie beamed- what a clever catch-all retort she had been taught. “Why, lassie, yeh need ter loose weight like yer need a hole in th’ head.”
Angel appeared taken aback, a little blush appearing on her cheeks.
“Was that a compliment, or are you just screwing around with me?”
“My word is my bond, swee’art- Why, yer name is most befittin’ o’ yeh. Voice, waistline an’ awl.” Charlie replied cooly, and smiled to herself. Angel visably swooned, before tentatively standing.
“...Alright hot shot, you can buy me lunch. Ugh, I won’t eat again today, but... I think lunch with a hip foreigner that talks like sh- He’s from the seventeen hundreds is worth it.”
Charlie stood, switching from awkward tourist to gentleman in an instant, crooking her arm for her to take. She smirked as Angel’s arms coiled around the leather, and she walked close by her side, her hips swaying alluringly as Charlie led her back to the same cart as before.
“Hot Dogs, Ey, Hot dogs, right he-... Well fuck me, five minutes in New Yawk an’ yeh found yerself a goil, buddy? Ey, no more freebies, pay up this time.”
“Charlie’s buying me lunch, Archie. You know him?”
“Charlie, that’s this punk’s name? Fella couldn’t read the sign so I gave him one on the house. That good, ey, buddy? S’why I’m still here!” Archie rambled a little as he prepared two hot dogs, one with nothing on it by the ladies’ request, one with the works. “Fifteen years I’ve been runnin’ this spot and I’ve made a dime more every day ever since! Or, well, yeh know, kinda... ‘ere, take these. You kids go an’ enjoy yourselves, capish?”
“Caposh, Archie.” Angel replied with a grin as Charlie counted out two dollar bills and handed them over.

“Friend of yours?” Charlie asked as they walked through the park. Charlie admired the trees- though she had seen quite enough of them recently and would rather be wandering into the urban jungle- but Angel seemed all the more in love with them.
“Ah, I see him every day. I always come through the park on the way to work-”
“...Work?”
Charlie stopped dead in her tracks as she regarded the girl with a surprised, almost saddened expression.
“Yeah, I work in Starbucks.”
“You... work? For a living? For an earning?”
“Shit Charlie, doesn’t everyone?”
Angel shrugged it off and looked at her fondly, before taking a delicate bite of the hot dog. She took her time to brush her lightly painted lips against the sausage, before slowly taking just the tip into her mouth, bun and all. Charlie’s hand gripped slightly around her own one, a few onions dropping out as she watched, wide eyed, mouth slightly open. The girl punctuated the suggestive movement with a sharp bite. Charlie’s face fell and she winced, gulping.
“Hah! You look so cute! Sorry, Charlie, I’m terrible. I can’t help myself.”
It took a few moment for Charlie’s brain to reboot, her face flushed red. To pacify herself she bit into her own snack and savoured it, glancing occasionally to her right.
“Whassamatter?”
“Nuffink-” Charlie reassured her through a full mouth, receiving an elbow straight into the ribs. “Ow!”
“Don’t speak with yer mouth full. I thought you Brits were supposed to have good table manners.
“I ent seein’ no table, lassie!”
They walked on a little farther, still arm in arm, and Angel spoke easily about her recent days at work. Charlie did her best not too many questions- after all, she couldn’t really explain she was born at least four hundred years ago and couldn’t understand a telegram let alone a text message. She couldn’t help but duck her head at a passing plane, or yelp in surprise at the buzz from Angel’s mobile phone.
“So, what, you were raised on a farm or something?”
“Err... sort of. My father was a- a fisherman. An’ I’m, erm, likewise.”
“Oh- I guess that’s kinda cool. So this is your first time in the big bad world, huh?”
“Yeh could say tha’...”
They were overlooking the lake Charlie had visited earlier, though she had to admit it was nicer to view with a warm girl on her arm.
“Charlie?”
“Aye?”
Angel leant in dangerously close, and brushed a little kiss to her jaw.
“Thanks for buying me lunch. I should get back to work... How about I meet you later? There’s this neat bar I know... It’s for people like us, Charlie.”
“Like... us?”
She stood stock still as Angel’s right hand rested upon her left shoulder, bringing her much closer than before. Pulling away would crush the girl’s heart. Remaining there would break not only her own, but her precious, precious Scarlet Coat’s to boot.
“Angel-”
“You’re not a fisherman’s son, are you?”
“I... No. I ent.”
“I knew it. Damn it, Charlie-”
“Yeh’ve got ter understand, lassie, I didn’t mean-”
“-You’re a fisherman’s daughter.”
The breath of relief was very hard to stave off.
“...Sorry, what?”
Angel ran her hands down Charlie’s arms before looking up at her.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to hide- there are lots of transgendered people here in the city. I mean, I guess where you come from, you’re shunned for how you feel- for who you are... But it’s not like that here in New York- Okay, sure, you’re still kinda picked on, and believe me Charlie, there are places you just can’t go- but there are places you can. I know a nice place- a good place, nothing sleezy, where you can be yourself- and find other people like you. I mean, I ain’t all that good at doing the drag king thing, but you’ve got it down pat, actually.”
Charlie puzzled over this for a moment, her head tilted curiously to the side.
“Stop being cute for a second, you’re distracting me- anyhow... Please, Charlie? Just a couple of drinks... maybe, you know, we could see where it goes from-”
It was just then that Angel had pressed herself flush against Charlie’s body, doing the catty available schtick- when she felt the packer tucked away in her jeans. She recoiled for a moment, almost thinking she had made a grievous mistake in confessing her sexuality to a biological male, when Charlie caught her soft hand in her own rougher one.
“Easy, lassie- it’s fake.”
“S-sorry. I thought- wow. That’s a really good fake, Charlie... Say, what’s your real name anyhow?”
“Charlie. Charlie Skinner.”
“That isn’t just some handle for when you go out in drag?”
“Nay, lass- I dress like this all the time. Well... not this.” She indicated her baseball cap and Angel giggled again. “I... look, I’ll come see about this pub o’ yours, but-”
“Silly- it’s a bar, not a... ‘pub’. Isn’t that an Irish thing?”
“Nay, s’ a place yeh get drunk at.”
“That’s a bar.”
“Whateveh- I’ll come by this... bar, an’ I’ll ‘ave a drink wi’ yeh, but... Look, I’ve got-”
“A girlfriend. Shit, I shoulda known...”
Angel turned away from her, distraught, her hand going to the back of her neck.
“Now lassie, see here... Don’t cawl yerself a fool o’er me.”
“Does she know you flirt like a hound?” The anger in Angel’s voice was palpable and left a bad, bad taste in Charlie’s mouth.
“...She almost killed me fer cheatin’ her once before. I daresay I wouldn’t like ter test her patience again. I didn’t mean ter-”
“Don’t give me some shit that it’s normal for british chicks to get romanced for an hour-”
“Now see ‘ere!”
The suddenness of Charlie’s raised voice stopped Angel dead.
“...Let me speak. Lass, I does come from a different... place, an’ where I come from, women is treated kindly no matter who it is. It is common fer a lad to take a lady out walkin’ an expect nuffink from it.”
“Well let me tell you something then, Charlie. In America, If you go around buying girls lunch and being such a damn gentleman you’re going to leave hearts broken where ever you go, and girls, guys, husbands, girlfriends, chasing you down to find out what the fuck you want.”
Charlie’s face hardened, but she didn’t say anything. And this unnerved Angel greatly.
“Charlie, I... easy Charlie, don’t do anything stupid... I-i got mace on me. I go to work armed, I tell you- if I’m late they’ll send the cops out to look for me, you won’t get away with it!”
Charlie blinked, nose wrinkled, obviously the brief moment of anger had left her.
“Hush, lassie. I ent out ter hurt yeh. S’just...”
“I hit a nerve, didn’t I... Well it serves you right ya damn player!”
“Make up yer mind, gehl! D’yeh want ter take me out drinkin’ or do yeh want ter kick me in th’ bollocks till me bawls burst?!”
Angel laughed despite herself, her hand on her face.
“Sorry, Charlie. I... I guess I just- I flipped, I don’t know-”
“Yeh a gehl. Yer not supposed ter know nuffink.”
Charlie did receive a sock in the arm for that one.
“Hellooo, a little something called Women’s Rights? Yeesh, PBS was right- Brits are sexist. You’d think you guys were all still stuck thinking y’all still had an empire or something.”
Charlie blinked, but waved it off. Angel squeaked as she checked her watch.
“Fuck, Charlie, I gotta go, I’m gonna be late- Here...”
Angel took out her phone and asked for her number. Charlie shook her head and shrugged.
“No cell? What the.. fuckin’ backwards brit. Well, good old fashioned pen and paper.
Dipping into her handbag, Angel took out a purple ballpoint pen and a little pad of Hello Kitty note paper in bright pink. Charlie marvelled more at the sticky strip on the top edge of the note as opposed to the string of numbers.
“Is your girlfriend here too?”
“Aye- She lives not far from th’ city itself, actually.”
“...Long distance relationship, huh? That’s cute. Internet romance- ah, I never really got into it myself, but, I guess, if you’re happy with her...”
“Very, lass. Very.”
“Shit. All the good ones are always taken. Well- you should bring her along if she isn’t busy. Us three, we’ll go out and I’ll show you the best lesbian spots.”
“...Righ’. Well- heh, yeh’d be sittin’ wi’ two o’ England’s finest ‘eart breakers, I’ll tell yeh. Maybe th’ luck’ll rub off on yeh when yer out on th’ pull ternight, eh?”
“On the what now?”
“On the pull- out ter get yerself a lassie. Or at least a kiss. Or yer leg o’er. Yeh know.”
Angel shook her head, smiling fondly at her dim-witted new friend.
“Right. ‘On the Pull’. Well... catch you later, Charlie.”
“Tah-rah, lassie, I’ll... erm, call yeh later.”
Angel was just about to turn away, when she thought of something else, and turned around.
“Oh- and by the way?”
“Aye?”
“...I bet she appreciates that ‘realism’, don’t she, huh, stud?” She winked.
Charlie’s mouth dropped open and she made a soft ‘duh’ noise before snapping out of it with a wry grin.
“Ohh tha’ she does, lassie. Tha’ she does!”
“You better tell me where you got it, tonight!”
“Go on, get yer arse ter work afore yer boss belts yeh!”
Angel laughed and started walking again, and but a few short moments later, was out of sight.