(no subject)
Well, this is unexpected.
Verity is reasonably certain she's dead. Really dead, dead-for-a-demon dead, not just dead-for-a-human dead, which she's been for centuries. And while she can't say she's ever given much thought to where you wound up when you were dead-for-a-demon dead, if someone had asked, she probably would have guessed, well, nowhere.
Not the bar at the end of the universe.
Then again, this may not be Milliways. It may just look like it. End of the universe, last stop on the way from somewhere to no where, final frantic blip of a dying consciousness, a place and a time that are in fact neither a place nor a time, who can say? That stuff gets determined way above her paygrade.
Well, above what was her paygrade. She does seem to have been recently terminated.
The place, whatever and however it is, is silent and deserted -- there's not so much as a waitrat to be seen. Even without looking, she knows there's no one else here. Just like she doesn't need a mirror to know that she's wearing her own face for the first time in . . . well, the years are hard to compute. Let's just leave it at ages.
On the other side of the observation window, the universe goes on ending, and with nothing else to do, Verity wanders over to watch it do so.
And then nothing changes but everything does. There's not even a whisper of sound, not so much as flicker to change the light, no telltale disturbance of the air. But she's no longer the only one here, and she knows it. Knows who she'll see if she turns around, too.
"I probably should have guessed you'd be here, darling."
Verity is reasonably certain she's dead. Really dead, dead-for-a-demon dead, not just dead-for-a-human dead, which she's been for centuries. And while she can't say she's ever given much thought to where you wound up when you were dead-for-a-demon dead, if someone had asked, she probably would have guessed, well, nowhere.
Not the bar at the end of the universe.
Then again, this may not be Milliways. It may just look like it. End of the universe, last stop on the way from somewhere to no where, final frantic blip of a dying consciousness, a place and a time that are in fact neither a place nor a time, who can say? That stuff gets determined way above her paygrade.
Well, above what was her paygrade. She does seem to have been recently terminated.
The place, whatever and however it is, is silent and deserted -- there's not so much as a waitrat to be seen. Even without looking, she knows there's no one else here. Just like she doesn't need a mirror to know that she's wearing her own face for the first time in . . . well, the years are hard to compute. Let's just leave it at ages.
On the other side of the observation window, the universe goes on ending, and with nothing else to do, Verity wanders over to watch it do so.
And then nothing changes but everything does. There's not even a whisper of sound, not so much as flicker to change the light, no telltale disturbance of the air. But she's no longer the only one here, and she knows it. Knows who she'll see if she turns around, too.
"I probably should have guessed you'd be here, darling."