Dollface (
got_your_tongue) wrote2009-03-31 11:33 pm
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For Sweetheart
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.
(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.
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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?"
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"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."
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"Now that just brightens my day."
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"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."
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(wide enough to swallow you whole)
She tops off her glass; it's not much comfort, but it beats sobering up.
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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.
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"There's no 'just' about being a contractor, Sweets."
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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."
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(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."
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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.)
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Doll almost startles herself by how needy it sounds.
"Where do you want to go?"
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Doll doesn't keep a room here, but she's starting to think she should. She hauls herself out of the booth, making it to Bar and back with a minimum of stumbling.
One hand is clutched tight around a key; the other she offers to Sweets.
"C'mon."
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She laces her fingers with Doll's and leads the way towards the stairs.
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Doll gets the door unlocked and heads inside. The comforter has a thin, red and blue pinstripe, and she isn't the least surprised.
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"Better?"
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"Yeah, a little."
(You could almost pretend you were live. Alive.
That way lies madness, though.)
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"Good."
(she was you and wasn't you so I loved her and wanted to take her apart and see if I could find you inside her
if I could have, would that have been enough?)
She presses her face into Sweets' hair.
"We're gonna be fine, you and me."
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Her arms tighten a little, and she nuzzles Doll's shoulder. "Fucking Milliways. I'm sorry you have to deal with all this."
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"If the place didn't sling crap like this at me, it'd be just another bar; I could stay home and get trashed for a lot less trouble."
Judging by her tone, she doesn't mind the trouble too much.
Mostly.
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"That's my girl."
(and no one else, whatever face they wear)
(if I took it from her, would that change everything?)
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"You okay?"
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I think the room might be rotating," she adds.
"But I'm okay.
You?"
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