Suite 132
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."