(no subject)
When Hero walked from the east coast to the west, she had a receiver: she followed the path of a transmitter embedded under Ampersand's skin. It was the promise she made to her mother: I'll find Yorick. I promise, Mommy: I can do it, you'll see. And she did; she found him. And Ampersand, even though they've lost Amp since then.
Her mom will be proud of her when she gets back to D.C. to tell her. Of course, that could take years, especially considering how fucking slowly this is going. Beth was right; the cigarettes are worth ten times their weight in gold so far as trade goes. She's used them for rides and for food but she hasn't gotten so very far in the past week. It's slow going through the desert, and it isn't like there are a whole lot of options for getting around it. Still, thinking strategically helps, and trying to sleep during the heat of the day and walk at night helps a little. And at least once every hour she's longed for that goddamn motorcycle Sister Fucktard and her Rockettes gave them, but that's long gone.
At least once every hour, she pulls out the pictures: of Quinn, of her niece, of Beth, of Spike, and she looks at them with the greatest longing. At least once every hour, she tells herself two simple words: no regrets. No goddamn regrets about any of it. Just fond memories.
She doesn't expect to see any of them again. If it goes this slow just getting to Oldenbrook, who knows how fucking long it'll take to get back to Vegas, if she can even find that church again? Quinn said something about not being able to find his way back to the end of the universe on demand, so even if she does get back to Vegas and find that church, she doesn't know if it'll be what she's looking for. And out of either stubbornness or superstition, she didn't try opening that door again before leaving for Kansas.
Her feet hit the sandy dirt beneath her; it seems like a stupid fucking decision right now.
So.
Many.
Maybes.
When she closes her eyes in the dark, she can smell the smells of that other place and hear the sounds of it and they're frustratingly elusive, just out of reach. Maybe some day she'll get back there. Maybe by that time Beth Junior will be walking and talking. Shit, maybe she'll be in school. Maybe Quinn will have vanquished all the dragons, or maybe he'll have found someone else. Maybe Beth won't want to hear a goddamn word about Yorick, or maybe she and Spike will have split up and she'll have decided to go back to find her brother. Maybe none of that shit will have happened or maybe it all will have happened. Maybe there never was a Quinn or a niece. Maybe there never was a Beth and maybe there never was a guy from Mars. Maybe she dreamed the whole fucking thing.
Shut up, Victoria. It's an automatic response, even before she realizes the only disparaging voice in her head right now is her own.
Her mom will be proud of her when she gets back to D.C. to tell her. Of course, that could take years, especially considering how fucking slowly this is going. Beth was right; the cigarettes are worth ten times their weight in gold so far as trade goes. She's used them for rides and for food but she hasn't gotten so very far in the past week. It's slow going through the desert, and it isn't like there are a whole lot of options for getting around it. Still, thinking strategically helps, and trying to sleep during the heat of the day and walk at night helps a little. And at least once every hour she's longed for that goddamn motorcycle Sister Fucktard and her Rockettes gave them, but that's long gone.
At least once every hour, she pulls out the pictures: of Quinn, of her niece, of Beth, of Spike, and she looks at them with the greatest longing. At least once every hour, she tells herself two simple words: no regrets. No goddamn regrets about any of it. Just fond memories.
She doesn't expect to see any of them again. If it goes this slow just getting to Oldenbrook, who knows how fucking long it'll take to get back to Vegas, if she can even find that church again? Quinn said something about not being able to find his way back to the end of the universe on demand, so even if she does get back to Vegas and find that church, she doesn't know if it'll be what she's looking for. And out of either stubbornness or superstition, she didn't try opening that door again before leaving for Kansas.
Her feet hit the sandy dirt beneath her; it seems like a stupid fucking decision right now.
So.
Many.
Maybes.
When she closes her eyes in the dark, she can smell the smells of that other place and hear the sounds of it and they're frustratingly elusive, just out of reach. Maybe some day she'll get back there. Maybe by that time Beth Junior will be walking and talking. Shit, maybe she'll be in school. Maybe Quinn will have vanquished all the dragons, or maybe he'll have found someone else. Maybe Beth won't want to hear a goddamn word about Yorick, or maybe she and Spike will have split up and she'll have decided to go back to find her brother. Maybe none of that shit will have happened or maybe it all will have happened. Maybe there never was a Quinn or a niece. Maybe there never was a Beth and maybe there never was a guy from Mars. Maybe she dreamed the whole fucking thing.
Shut up, Victoria. It's an automatic response, even before she realizes the only disparaging voice in her head right now is her own.