(no subject)
Alex Drake is disoriented in a way she hasn't been since she woke up in 1981 dressed as a prostitute. Her life's been one mess after another for the last few days, between Gene and Sommers and Chris and everything else that's been happening, but she's been getting better, too, sharper and stronger and clearer, and Molly's been so close she could practically feel it. And then consciousness had slipped away from her, Gene and Chris and Shaz all staring down at her as her vision grew fuzzy, and she'd hoped and prayed to wake up in 2008.
Well, it looks she's in the present now, but she'd expected to be in a hospital bed, with Molly by her side. She's in a city instead, one that is decidedly not London - actually, from the cars that zoom past her, she would say that she's in America, which doesn't make any sense at all. (And even her imaginary constructs have made some sense up till now - like being in locations where she's actually been, for one.)
She turns in a slow circle, her heels clacking on the pavement, and raises an eyebrow at the giant metal structure that looks strangely like a bloody great jellybean, if jellybeans were silver and immense and plopped in the middle of an expanse of concrete.
No, she's definitely not in London. And this fact alone brings tears pricking at the corner of her eyes from sheer frustration. She thought she'd beat this stupid thing, fought the infection off so she could go home. But now she doesn't know where she is or what the hell's wrong with her. She dashes the tears from her eyes, smudging her mascara in the process, and tries to figure out what to do next. Hopefully she won't have to get shot again in order to go home for good.
Well, it looks she's in the present now, but she'd expected to be in a hospital bed, with Molly by her side. She's in a city instead, one that is decidedly not London - actually, from the cars that zoom past her, she would say that she's in America, which doesn't make any sense at all. (And even her imaginary constructs have made some sense up till now - like being in locations where she's actually been, for one.)
She turns in a slow circle, her heels clacking on the pavement, and raises an eyebrow at the giant metal structure that looks strangely like a bloody great jellybean, if jellybeans were silver and immense and plopped in the middle of an expanse of concrete.
No, she's definitely not in London. And this fact alone brings tears pricking at the corner of her eyes from sheer frustration. She thought she'd beat this stupid thing, fought the infection off so she could go home. But now she doesn't know where she is or what the hell's wrong with her. She dashes the tears from her eyes, smudging her mascara in the process, and tries to figure out what to do next. Hopefully she won't have to get shot again in order to go home for good.