Her most notable exploits involve a new way to grill cheese, losing over 10,000 pairs of socks and her own surname, which she was allowed to retake after vigorous testing of her magical proficiency.
At some unfortunate point during her extensive research, a lab accident gone wrong seems to have muddled her mind, explaining her current condition and habit of subbing through the house in her dress robe, giggling at strange things and an unreasonable fear of pie.
Born to Thatchers
Yes, ha ha. The pun was intended. I personally don't know much about this time: I had just been born, after all. Though for all I know, my parents- may they rest in peace- took good care of me the first years of my life. They taught me mostly everything I know that I didn't have to discover for myself: things like walking, talking, chess (Yes, even that, though my father stopped playing with me when I began to continually beat him) and all the other small things that are so crucially important to being a human. Going into detail really shouldn't be all that necessary.
Now, once I came into the reading age, my parents naturally introduced me to the art. Lo and behold, I got pretty good at it. While my penmanship- as you can see here- never reached the same high standard as my mother's, it remains legible even in these, my older days.
There are numerous stories I could pen here, delivered to me by my parents, my grandparents or my aunts and uncles. For example, the story of the book shelter.
I had been reading a book about architecture- there was a time when I was maybe seven when I just loved to build things out of anything I could find (And my parents would spend hours looking for a vital thing that they required, which they later found carefully built into a tiny house, or a doll, or a creature)- book about architecture, yes, and a few days later, my parents had left me to a local babysitter to go to a local night market. They always loved visiting those, and I almost invariably loved the hidden treasures they brought back for me when they came back in the morning. This afternoon, however, which I would usually spend playing hide-and-seek with friends, or attempt to convince my sitter to play chess with me on, I decided to surprise my parents with something as spectacular as they wanted to surprise me with the next day.
Soon, the house was buzzing with activity. Once I had managed to convince my sitter (she later said she had no idea why she agreed to it), I invited a few of my friends over, and we began to erect a shelter made entirely out of the books from our private library. I vaguely remember the process- I was sitting on the sitter's back, instructing a teeming horde of young girls how to stack up books for maximum efficiency and stability.
The next morning, my parents ventured into my bedroom and were amazed, yes even frightened, to find it empty. Stumbling out again, they began to search the entire house for me, their missing child. My father found me first, and he alerted my mother to this with howling laughter. When she joined him in the library, it took her little time to join in, because the sight was something to behold.
Leaned up to our biggest suitcase, the small castle constructed entirely out of books made an impressive stature. Especially the arching doorway made a nice touch, or so I like to think. Either way, I must have looked terribly amusing, curled up in a blanket together with Maria, my best friend.
Rising to the reasonable height of five feet and ten inches (5'10), Tilly is of moderate, even slightly tall height and capable of carrying herself to appear taller. Her fair skin has begun to show signs of her progressed age, as has her hair, yet this seems not to have diminished her looks- rather the contrary. In her sharp, yet frequently unfocused hazel eyes, one can catch a shimmer of her past brilliance, now muddied and hidden by a layer of neglect, dizziness and forgetfulness.
While in the confines of her house, Tilly will often opt to remain dressed in simple, wide robes. Her hair ranges daily from well-kept, to shaky, to completely tangled. The colors of her clothing frequently range into vintage, rich wine reds or dark forest greens.
Skills and Abilities
Despite her progressed age, Tilly appears to be in peak physical condition. If required to, she would likely be capable of both lifting objects of mediocre weight and running smaller stretches. Despite this, she will frequently complain about having headaches and a stinging pain in her knee.
Other than her purely physical attributes, Mathilde Lansing is also considered to be quite bright- that is, when she is not on one of her paranoia-induced rants of forgetful sprees through the house. Often, it is said that playing chess with her is a bad idea because she will either
- Win in a cruelly efficient way
- Forget what she was doing and walk away
- Spot something odd on the checkerboard and set it on fire
- Talk endlessly about your mother or
- Start rearranging the pieces in an esthetically pleasing way, turning them into other figures in the process.
Mathilde Lansing, a most extraordinary case. Once a brilliant researcher, now nothing less than herself, and yet so much less focused. Quirky might be the best word to describe her nearly constant deviations from normal human behavior. For the most part, she appears to be able to function normally, capable of standard self-care such as standing up, dressing herself, making food etc. When it comes to anything beyond these base functions such as maintaining a straight line of thought or, god forbid, an argument, however, she fails- immediately and spectacularly.
- Tilly is possibly aware of the penguin invasion, as she is very suspicious of boxes, toadstools, cacti and barrels. As well as snowmen ("They look at me the wrong way.")
- Tilly has an inexplicable habit of refusing to sit at a table during meals, opting to instead seat herself under it. On occasion, she will attempt to convince the other family members to do the same.