In Beth's Room
She almost fumbles the key in the lock, her hand is shaking so goddamn hard. After all these years of walking and struggling and disaster and death and amazon cunts and kidnapping nuns and ninjas and tracking devices and plague and plague and more plague, she can hardly fucking believe this place. It's a dream and she knows it.
The apple juice must have been bad, that's it.
But regardless of what kind of drugs it might or might not have been laced with, the door to this room opens. Hero blindly reaches to first the left and then the right, looking for a light switch; her hand meets one and a light she has to blink against goes on; it looks like... any hotel room anywhere in the fucking world. It has a bed and it has a bureau and it has nightstands, one with a little lamp on it, and it has a closet and a chair and a door that has to lead to a bathroom, and she can't remember the last time she was in a place like this but it was a long fucking time ago.
The only weird thing -- well, weirder than the concept of this place being at the end of the fucking universe -- is that there are no pillows on the bed. But it's a bed, and she hasn't seen one of those since that crappy makeshift hospital place that Dr. Mann had going for her in San Francisco. And that was no king-sized bed like this one. It's a little bit strange that there aren't a lot of personal things in here, but maybe they're all put away. She won't go snooping through the drawers or closet or anything. This is Beth's room.
At the end of the goddamn universe.
Wriggling that heavy fucking pack off her back and putting it aside, she takes off her hat and jacket and scarf and holster, setting them all on the chair. Next, she sits on the edge of the bed and toes off her boots; it feels so good. There's carpet underfoot and it feels so fucking good. This place, this place..
Exploring it's unavoidable: she pushes open the door to the bathroom. It's clean and white and there's a bathtub and towels on the rack, and it looks like fucking paradise, it's been so long since she saw a place that wasn't covered with three years' worth of death and dust and despair. Running a finger over the lip of the sink, she tests the water like she has in every single hell-hole she's visited.
Clean water runs out.
"Holy fuck."
Almost automatically, she tests the bath too; that water works as well, so she plugs the drain and runs the bath. Stepping out of her clothes, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror: she's hardened and chiseled and one-breasted and for the first time in ages, she steps closer to the mirror to examine that scar on her chest.
"How could I have been so fucking stupid?" But there's no critical other voice at the moment, no Victoria reminding her of everything, and for that Hero's mightily grateful. Quickly, she steps over to the tub and lowers herself into it feeling like she could wash away every last fucking transgression if she only stays in the water long enough.
Then she notices a bottle on the side of the tub and reaches for it: the label says Bubble Bath in bouncing blue letters. With a smile -- Beth did say she could use whatever the fuck she wanted in here -- she pours some in under the still-running water. As bubbles spring up around her, she tilts her head back and laughs into the empty room.
She laughs until she cries.
The apple juice must have been bad, that's it.
But regardless of what kind of drugs it might or might not have been laced with, the door to this room opens. Hero blindly reaches to first the left and then the right, looking for a light switch; her hand meets one and a light she has to blink against goes on; it looks like... any hotel room anywhere in the fucking world. It has a bed and it has a bureau and it has nightstands, one with a little lamp on it, and it has a closet and a chair and a door that has to lead to a bathroom, and she can't remember the last time she was in a place like this but it was a long fucking time ago.
The only weird thing -- well, weirder than the concept of this place being at the end of the fucking universe -- is that there are no pillows on the bed. But it's a bed, and she hasn't seen one of those since that crappy makeshift hospital place that Dr. Mann had going for her in San Francisco. And that was no king-sized bed like this one. It's a little bit strange that there aren't a lot of personal things in here, but maybe they're all put away. She won't go snooping through the drawers or closet or anything. This is Beth's room.
At the end of the goddamn universe.
Wriggling that heavy fucking pack off her back and putting it aside, she takes off her hat and jacket and scarf and holster, setting them all on the chair. Next, she sits on the edge of the bed and toes off her boots; it feels so good. There's carpet underfoot and it feels so fucking good. This place, this place..
Exploring it's unavoidable: she pushes open the door to the bathroom. It's clean and white and there's a bathtub and towels on the rack, and it looks like fucking paradise, it's been so long since she saw a place that wasn't covered with three years' worth of death and dust and despair. Running a finger over the lip of the sink, she tests the water like she has in every single hell-hole she's visited.
Clean water runs out.
"Holy fuck."
Almost automatically, she tests the bath too; that water works as well, so she plugs the drain and runs the bath. Stepping out of her clothes, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror: she's hardened and chiseled and one-breasted and for the first time in ages, she steps closer to the mirror to examine that scar on her chest.
"How could I have been so fucking stupid?" But there's no critical other voice at the moment, no Victoria reminding her of everything, and for that Hero's mightily grateful. Quickly, she steps over to the tub and lowers herself into it feeling like she could wash away every last fucking transgression if she only stays in the water long enough.
Then she notices a bottle on the side of the tub and reaches for it: the label says Bubble Bath in bouncing blue letters. With a smile -- Beth did say she could use whatever the fuck she wanted in here -- she pours some in under the still-running water. As bubbles spring up around her, she tilts her head back and laughs into the empty room.
She laughs until she cries.