(no subject)
Laying on a small, sandy beach of the empty world, dolled up in a 'maternity bikini' and firmly under an umbrella, Hips is splitting her time between staring at her rapidly swelling stomach and reading a thick novel. Today is her day off from chores around the castle, such as getting the baby's room remodeled and ready. (Stone walls are gorgeous, but not for a toddler. Soft wood paneling is being installed.)
She just wants a little time to herself, is all. And an opportunity to unwind. Since Gale is so very ill...and Ramon is still so very nervous.
Her next ultrasound is due tomorrow. She's been having them every single week, simply because of the nature of her pregnancy, and so far everything was showing green. Right number of limbs, head developing apace, bone structure appropriate...although there was a small 'bud' of something at the baby's spine last week. The doctors weren't worried, and thus neither was she. She was sure it'd turn out to be something harmless and easily correctable.
Haw. Smegging. Haw. Secretly, so secretly that she hasn't even really admitted it to herself, she's terrified.
Her mind thus occupied, she doesn't notice the Jetsons-like puttputtputt of a ship homing in from the west until it was practically on top of her. The glare from the sun behind the ship makes it just a sparkling black mass, until it's completely passed...and then landed nearby. Downwind. Considerate of her.
Hips knows what's coming, and she'd been avoiding the Empty World for weeks because of it. It would figure, out of a planet of thousands of square miles, her alternate would manage to be scanning the area where she, Hips, was.
The blonde figure that strides out of the purple ship is gorgeous, tanned, thin as a rail and willowy to boot, has perfect hair, a perfect outfit...she's perfect.
Hips hates her on sight.
She tries not to, she really does. The moment she heard of her alternate, Hips was determined not to dislike her, to give her a chance. But that cocky grin and that arrogant posture makes her hackles stand right up on end.
So she's scowling as Daphne approaches her, not even realizing it. Nor is she conscious of the protective hand over her bulging belly. The dislike becomes smug dislike, suddenly, as Hips feels vaguely superior for being pregnant. Then that deflates, as she realizes that the alt is probably feeling the exact same thing, only in reverse. Smug for NOT being pregnant.
Hips jumps to conclusions a lot.
All this is thought through in the time it takes for Daphne to get within talking distance of Hips, and everything goes quiet and still as the two women regard each other.
What do you say to somebody that has your face?
"Were you raised by your parents?"
...Well. That's something. Hips is rocked back on her heels by the out-of-the-blue question, those six simple words ripping off her mental scabs again. Hips notices the completely American accent, the height difference, the casually self-respecting look on her face.
"Yes. I was."
And those three simple words seems to rock Daphne right back. The two of them stand there, staring at each other, stunned beyond words as each of them work out the implications of nine words total. Just as Hips is coming to the (proper and deeply disturbing) conclusion, something seems to click into place with Daphne, and a dazzling, entirely fake smile appears. Hips knows it well, since she's used it herself occasionally.
Daphne Hollister's mask is back in place, and Hippolyta Salazar resents her even more for it.
She just wants a little time to herself, is all. And an opportunity to unwind. Since Gale is so very ill...and Ramon is still so very nervous.
Her next ultrasound is due tomorrow. She's been having them every single week, simply because of the nature of her pregnancy, and so far everything was showing green. Right number of limbs, head developing apace, bone structure appropriate...although there was a small 'bud' of something at the baby's spine last week. The doctors weren't worried, and thus neither was she. She was sure it'd turn out to be something harmless and easily correctable.
Haw. Smegging. Haw. Secretly, so secretly that she hasn't even really admitted it to herself, she's terrified.
Her mind thus occupied, she doesn't notice the Jetsons-like puttputtputt of a ship homing in from the west until it was practically on top of her. The glare from the sun behind the ship makes it just a sparkling black mass, until it's completely passed...and then landed nearby. Downwind. Considerate of her.
Hips knows what's coming, and she'd been avoiding the Empty World for weeks because of it. It would figure, out of a planet of thousands of square miles, her alternate would manage to be scanning the area where she, Hips, was.
The blonde figure that strides out of the purple ship is gorgeous, tanned, thin as a rail and willowy to boot, has perfect hair, a perfect outfit...she's perfect.
Hips hates her on sight.
She tries not to, she really does. The moment she heard of her alternate, Hips was determined not to dislike her, to give her a chance. But that cocky grin and that arrogant posture makes her hackles stand right up on end.
So she's scowling as Daphne approaches her, not even realizing it. Nor is she conscious of the protective hand over her bulging belly. The dislike becomes smug dislike, suddenly, as Hips feels vaguely superior for being pregnant. Then that deflates, as she realizes that the alt is probably feeling the exact same thing, only in reverse. Smug for NOT being pregnant.
Hips jumps to conclusions a lot.
All this is thought through in the time it takes for Daphne to get within talking distance of Hips, and everything goes quiet and still as the two women regard each other.
What do you say to somebody that has your face?
"Were you raised by your parents?"
...Well. That's something. Hips is rocked back on her heels by the out-of-the-blue question, those six simple words ripping off her mental scabs again. Hips notices the completely American accent, the height difference, the casually self-respecting look on her face.
"Yes. I was."
And those three simple words seems to rock Daphne right back. The two of them stand there, staring at each other, stunned beyond words as each of them work out the implications of nine words total. Just as Hips is coming to the (proper and deeply disturbing) conclusion, something seems to click into place with Daphne, and a dazzling, entirely fake smile appears. Hips knows it well, since she's used it herself occasionally.
Daphne Hollister's mask is back in place, and Hippolyta Salazar resents her even more for it.