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Steph almost doesn't realise she's slipped into Milliways instead of their hut of the moment. She's distracted, and way too tired. But then there are barstools and the lights of the Window and she grins, perking up, and slips upstairs to her room, intending to fall straight into bed and greet the world in the morning.
Steph nearly forgets Makita's presence as soon as the door opens to the suite they shared.
It smells like home. Even more than the bar. It's spacious and airy and Steph walks in slowly, footfalls soft on the floor.
There's a sword hanging over the mantelpiece. She goes to it slowly, lifting it down, running her fingers over the grip and admiring the balance of the blade.
This was made for her. In the smithy outside. It fits her weight perfectly, her height; it feels like an extension of her arm. She remembers patrolling the bar with it on her back, remembers endless hours training at the pells with it, learning manoeuvres and practicing until her arms were ready to drop off.
She puts it back up, after a moment. She's not sure it's really hers any more. That was a different life.
There are Mickey Mouse ears in the bedroom. And clothes in her size, looking well-worn. Pyjamas, silky ones she'd never have chosen for herself. A pair of ridiculous lacy underwear she'd never gotten around to giving back to Mel. Or Mike. Whoever's. Jeans, long-sleeved shirts, comfortable and lived-in. Silly pretty dresses, too nice for her ever to have owned them in real life. A green and a red bikini, both things she'd never have chosen.
She wonders where Goldy is, anyway. These are so Goldy Steph can imagine her friend looking over her shoulder already, laughing when Steph tosses them back into the drawers.
The bottom drawer has a silver bracelet, paired dolphins twining around each other. She looks at it for a second, trying to recall. It was important. There was a boy, someone she loved. But it's so hard to remember.
There are bits of a glass statue of something - a bird, a robin? - but Steph can't remember why.
There's cat food. She wonders what happened to her kitten, the little male named Cassandra. Probably someone looked after him. She hopes they did.
Under the bed, there's a short bit of carpet, about the same size as a skateboard. When Steph pulls it out and lets it go, it hovers in mid-air, waiting for her, and when she steps on she finds her balance as if she'd never been away.
"Talk about a walk down memory lane," she says weakly, looking up at Makita, strands of rainbow-coloured hair falling over her face. "This is - this is really weird."
It smells like home. Even more than the bar. It's spacious and airy and Steph walks in slowly, footfalls soft on the floor.
There's a sword hanging over the mantelpiece. She goes to it slowly, lifting it down, running her fingers over the grip and admiring the balance of the blade.
This was made for her. In the smithy outside. It fits her weight perfectly, her height; it feels like an extension of her arm. She remembers patrolling the bar with it on her back, remembers endless hours training at the pells with it, learning manoeuvres and practicing until her arms were ready to drop off.
She puts it back up, after a moment. She's not sure it's really hers any more. That was a different life.
There are Mickey Mouse ears in the bedroom. And clothes in her size, looking well-worn. Pyjamas, silky ones she'd never have chosen for herself. A pair of ridiculous lacy underwear she'd never gotten around to giving back to Mel. Or Mike. Whoever's. Jeans, long-sleeved shirts, comfortable and lived-in. Silly pretty dresses, too nice for her ever to have owned them in real life. A green and a red bikini, both things she'd never have chosen.
She wonders where Goldy is, anyway. These are so Goldy Steph can imagine her friend looking over her shoulder already, laughing when Steph tosses them back into the drawers.
The bottom drawer has a silver bracelet, paired dolphins twining around each other. She looks at it for a second, trying to recall. It was important. There was a boy, someone she loved. But it's so hard to remember.
There are bits of a glass statue of something - a bird, a robin? - but Steph can't remember why.
There's cat food. She wonders what happened to her kitten, the little male named Cassandra. Probably someone looked after him. She hopes they did.
Under the bed, there's a short bit of carpet, about the same size as a skateboard. When Steph pulls it out and lets it go, it hovers in mid-air, waiting for her, and when she steps on she finds her balance as if she'd never been away.
"Talk about a walk down memory lane," she says weakly, looking up at Makita, strands of rainbow-coloured hair falling over her face. "This is - this is really weird."
(no subject)
Feb. 23rd, 2008 01:07 pmThe living room of 132 is empty, as are both bedrooms. The suite is painfully clean, apart from the dumbbells in the middle of the living room and the handful of sweaty workout clothes tossed on the floor.
The entire bathroom is filled with suds, white and opaque. From within the foam there is the occasional vague watery noise, as of someone fairly small lolling about in an oversized spa.
The entire bathroom is filled with suds, white and opaque. From within the foam there is the occasional vague watery noise, as of someone fairly small lolling about in an oversized spa.
Suite 132 has that air of hushed tragedy that hangs over sites where something awful has happened. The stillness in the air, the silence of the grave, the anxious, desperate hope of the pale-faced woman waiting at home to hear the news...
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA! Oh man, that was great!"
Either that, or Steph is watching the Three Stooges.
What. It's not like there's anything else to do!
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA! Oh man, that was great!"
Either that, or Steph is watching the Three Stooges.
What. It's not like there's anything else to do!
(no subject)
Jul. 31st, 2007 07:13 pmSteph's ...
Okay, honestly, she's just bored. It's all very well gathering yourself to dump the boyfriend, but nobody ever tells you what to do after you're done with the crying and the eating-of-chocolate.
Not that Steph's ever particularly done with the eating of chocolate, mind. There's half a block of Cadbury's still on the table, and she reaches out to it absently every so often between flicking pages absently.
Jordan, by Katie Price.
Weird.
Okay, honestly, she's just bored. It's all very well gathering yourself to dump the boyfriend, but nobody ever tells you what to do after you're done with the crying and the eating-of-chocolate.
Not that Steph's ever particularly done with the eating of chocolate, mind. There's half a block of Cadbury's still on the table, and she reaches out to it absently every so often between flicking pages absently.
Jordan, by Katie Price.
Weird.
(no subject)
Jun. 28th, 2007 07:43 pmSteph is, in fact, sleeping. She spends a lot of time sleeping, because it's significantly easier than spending time thinking seriously about her life as it stands.
Today, the couch is the lucky host to Steph's sleeping. The TV is still on and the edge of the cushion has made a square red pattern in her cheek. She doesn't even hear the door open.
Today, the couch is the lucky host to Steph's sleeping. The TV is still on and the edge of the cushion has made a square red pattern in her cheek. She doesn't even hear the door open.
(no subject)
May. 15th, 2007 04:24 pmThe thing about working the graveyard shift Steph likes the most is that she gets to see the sun rise. It's not as lovely a sunrise as Gotham produces -- the air here is too clean, not enough pollution for light to refract from -- but it's still pretty awesome.
And then she gets to sleep all day.
There's really no downside.
However, today she's really tired for once; Mel's still downstairs, so she's signed off early and she's dragging her feet towards her suite at only two o'clock. It's been a long shift and a longer week, and she still can't quite shake the weird dreams. Not that she doesn't appreciate the change -- weird dreams are quite nice in comparison with the usual nightmares -- but they're weird, and knowing there's a reason doesn't make it any less so.
She shuts the door quietly, even though Tim's not here at the moment, and trudges towards the bedroom, already peeling off her shirt and boots.
And then she gets to sleep all day.
There's really no downside.
However, today she's really tired for once; Mel's still downstairs, so she's signed off early and she's dragging her feet towards her suite at only two o'clock. It's been a long shift and a longer week, and she still can't quite shake the weird dreams. Not that she doesn't appreciate the change -- weird dreams are quite nice in comparison with the usual nightmares -- but they're weird, and knowing there's a reason doesn't make it any less so.
She shuts the door quietly, even though Tim's not here at the moment, and trudges towards the bedroom, already peeling off her shirt and boots.
