For Sweetheart

[got_your_tongue]

Doll's in the bar, doing her level best to take up an entire booth for herself.


(She went a few rounds with Donny--turned the tables on him this time--and worked a couple sentences. She thinks she's got the weirdness worked out of her system. She thinks.)


She's nursing a glass of bourbon, making liberal refills from the bottle on the table. There may also be some humming.

Comments

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

"Did -- she have a scar down her back? Neck to tailbone, about?"

[got_your_tongue]

"Can't say that I saw."

There's that mix of surprised and amused again. It fades.

"...although she did mention celling Jasmine. And--"

(something to remember her by)

"--yeah. Think she might have."

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

"Oh, Jesus."

She grabs for the bottle.

[got_your_tongue]

Doll empties her glass.

She is giving very strong consideration to bashing her head against the back of the booth until she passes out.

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

Okay, now she's done with the bottle.

"Sorry."

[got_your_tongue]

"Don't be."

(not for this)

She refills her glass to just beneath the rim and takes a careful sip.

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

She scrubs her hands over her face.

"Fuck. I -- I don't know what to say."

[got_your_tongue]

"And I don't...



Look, just to get everything on the table, I kissed her and I think I freaked her out but I apologized and I left and there are times I really hate this place."

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

She lets out a laugh. "Oh, don't worry about that. I dealt with weirder than being kissed by a woman. Oh, God."

She grabs for the bottle, discovers it has a couple swallows left at best, and flags down a waitrat.

"I'm sorry, if I don't get really drunk really fast I'm going to start thinking about dying."

[got_your_tongue]

"No, no, go ahead."

Doll hides her face in her glass for a moment.



"You--She asked. What that was like for me."

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

"What, dying?"

The waitrat returns with a bottle of whiskey. Sweetheart fumbles a little getting it open, but succeeds eventually.

[got_your_tongue]

"Yeah."

She still can't believe she told her.

Whiskey helps.

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

She winces, and takes a generous swallow of whiskey.

"Wonder what I was thinking. I remember myself being more tactful than that."

[got_your_tongue]

"I'm...pretty sure I had already destroyed all hope of tact from high orbit, so you were in good company."

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

"Ah."

What else do you say to that?

She rubs her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose.

[got_your_tongue]

"D'you..."

She has to ask.

She doesn't know if she wants an answer, but she has to get rid of the fucking question.

"...do you remember that? Was that really you?"

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

She's quiet for a minute, eying the whiskey.

"I'm not sure," finally. Quietly. "I don't have the greatest memory for everything that happened when I was live. Some, a lot, but . . ."

She looks up, shooting a wry smile across the table. "But I didn't get kissed by so many beautiful women that I'd forget being kissed by you."

[got_your_tongue]

Doll grins, crooked but sincere.

"Now that just brightens my day."

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

Her own smile widens a little, then fades.

"So I don't know what it means." She rubs her eyes again. "There weren't so many fucking alternate universes when I first started coming here. Not here, anyway."

[got_your_tongue]

"'S like the place is opening up, or something. Gotten stretched."

(wide enough to swallow you whole)

She tops off her glass; it's not much comfort, but it beats sobering up.

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

"Or something." She sighs. "I'm not a wizard anymore, I'm just a contractor. Not my problem."



Belatedly, she realizes that she hasn't said something that bitter about not being live in at least a century.

Maybe a drink will help that bitterness go away. Or at least the realization.

[got_your_tongue]

Doll had let her eyes fall closed, but she opens them now.

"There's no 'just' about being a contractor, Sweets."

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

"I -- no, but -- it's--"

Okay, she should stop drinking. At this point it's going to do more harm than good.

Pushing the bottle away, she sits back and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Fuck. Sorry. Forget it."

[got_your_tongue]

"'Kay."

(She wonders how many times she would have to open her own throat before this helpless feeling drained away.)

"'M sorry too. Shouldn't have said anything."

[notveryfearful.livejournal.com]

"Don't apologize, we'll just end up going in circles."

She rubs her eyes. "Fuck."

A pause.

". . . can we go talk about this someplace where I can hug you?"

(Part of her isn't sure that it'll help; Doll is very much of Downside, and the last thing she wants right now is to think about being dead in Downside earning her income by being tortured, when she could be dead in Timeheart.

She doesn't want to go back to Downside, she realizes abruptly. Not tonight.

All the other parts of her just want to cling to somebody.)