Unwelcome Attention (For Loki)
As Hester sponged herself down in front of the bathroom mirror, it struck her that she'd been on the Island for seven months. Not a particularly auspicious anniversary, but perhaps that was what had grabbed her attention. She squeezed the sponge in the sink and wiped the soap from her left. She looked in the mirror at the woman looking back at her: beautiful and mature, but with only one eye and that hideous scar. She squeezed the sponge again and wiped the soap from her right arm.
This was her life, now. Seven months ago, she was ready to jump from Cloud 9 onto the shifting sands of the Sahara to make what she could of her life among the scavenger towns of northern Africa. She'd rebuked Wren and Tom and their boring life in Anchorage. And then all at once, she'd been here. Not enough room to roam. Not enough things to occupy her time, except maybe dinosaurs and the occasional bit of supernatural Island excitement.
She'd been bored in Anchorage. She was less bored here, but it was much different from what she'd expected on the Sahara. Here, she was reminded again and again that she couldn't fit in. And there simply wasn't enough room to just walk away. The two facts were not compatible, and she was going to have to do something about it soon, or go mad.
She squeezed out the sponge and dropped it in the sink.
Then she heard something outside. Footsteps. She hadn't heard footsteps other than her own around her hut since finding this abandoned place a week after arriving. Years of life on the Great Hunting Ground told Hester to take nothing for granted. She strode quickly but quietly out of the bathroom, pulled on a shirt and wrapped a scarf around the lower half of her face. She looked for her sunglasses but realized with a growl of frustration that she'd left them in the bathroom. There was no time for that. She picked up the sword beside her bed and stepped to the front door, opening it wide.
"Who's there," she said, grim.
This was her life, now. Seven months ago, she was ready to jump from Cloud 9 onto the shifting sands of the Sahara to make what she could of her life among the scavenger towns of northern Africa. She'd rebuked Wren and Tom and their boring life in Anchorage. And then all at once, she'd been here. Not enough room to roam. Not enough things to occupy her time, except maybe dinosaurs and the occasional bit of supernatural Island excitement.
She'd been bored in Anchorage. She was less bored here, but it was much different from what she'd expected on the Sahara. Here, she was reminded again and again that she couldn't fit in. And there simply wasn't enough room to just walk away. The two facts were not compatible, and she was going to have to do something about it soon, or go mad.
She squeezed out the sponge and dropped it in the sink.
Then she heard something outside. Footsteps. She hadn't heard footsteps other than her own around her hut since finding this abandoned place a week after arriving. Years of life on the Great Hunting Ground told Hester to take nothing for granted. She strode quickly but quietly out of the bathroom, pulled on a shirt and wrapped a scarf around the lower half of her face. She looked for her sunglasses but realized with a growl of frustration that she'd left them in the bathroom. There was no time for that. She picked up the sword beside her bed and stepped to the front door, opening it wide.
"Who's there," she said, grim.