Auz
Qia
BangoSkank
Rockette
AlteredTundra
Lemons
ButtsnBalls
Festive
Lord Wraith
Roman
Part II
The Next Day
Bea’s eyes opened to spoiled and cloying sunlight that shifted through every corner of her apartment. Those sequins that usually sparkled decadently around the place, fired at her now like daggers. Her head hurt. She was still in her dress - freezing. Everything hurt, but especially her face.
As she brought a hand to it, she saw the blurring image of a bruise all the way around her wrist come into focus. It hurt too, once she acknowledged that it was there.
“You on drugs or something?”
The voice startled her initially as she was coming to, she almost jumped, but kept her composure. Bea soon came to recognise it as the voice of her neighbour, Shelby, and all of her apprehension slipped away and she relaxed back into her bed with a groan.
“No.. What do you mean?”
“Last night!” Shelby began, incredulously. “There I am, getting ready for bed and I get a call from Aurora who found you to get me to help her bring you to bed!” The woman sighed and paced the apartment. Cookie watched her, wagging his tail slightly. “And you just kept prattling on about the Sugardoc, the Sugardoc - ”gotta find the Sugardoc”. He some coke dealer? You know if that’s what you’re into I know a few better ones…”
“Ew. Aren’t you pushing 90?…” Bea said acerbically. She dragged herself up from the bed, feeling that pulsing ache in her head again.
“Yeah, but I was your age once, and already divorced 3 times by then. You think I got through all that shit on wishful thinking?” Shelby paused, and softened her scowl. “You sure you’re okay?”
The blonde made her way to the mirror, finding the source of the pain - a gash across her eyebrow that had already started to form bruising around the socket. Damn… she thought, unsure of where it had come from. Nothing came to mind. “Yeah… Just a migraine and too much booze….. I got… Pretty out of it, it just really hurt. Thanks Shel…”
Shelby folded her arms and sighed, walking towards Cookie, who still lay on the floor lazily. Unbothered by the presence of the older woman. “It’s from the staircase - you slipped and hit your head.”
I remember… Bea suddenly thought, reliving the moment her shaky legs fell from under her and brought her crashing onto those damn steps. She’d been running. From what?. “Hmmmm…”
Shelby finally materialised into Bea’s view from the dim morning haze in the room. A figure carved by the harsh brushstrokes of time. Her hair, once a cascade of honeyed waves, had surrendered to the relentless march of gray, a testament to the years etched into the lines of her face. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, held the wisdom and wit of the thousands of punchlines she’d delivered through a vast career.
“You really had a migraine attack then?” Shelby asked, disbelief laced the words and she raised a brow, folding her thin arms across her chest. She knew the kind of lifestyle Bea led. She’d led the same one too, once.
Bea nodded sincerely, dropping her facade. “I’m telling the truth. I… Saw some strange things, but it was all from, well…. Pain, up here.” She pointed, glancing at her wrist again. The more she looked at it, the more she felt that the bruise had the shape of a handprint. Crash, she recalled. He’d grabbed her - the weight behind his cyberware had been too much. She was brought back to the nightclub. His face came to view. That stare… His eyes, piercing and green. His words, a warning. She’d missed a show. An important one.
He’d never touched her before though… No… More memory. She saw a glimpse of her own hysteria. Visions of Militech….. That woman with the gun chasing her down.
Bea remembered falling, Crash grabbed her to help her and she’d fought back when his face changed to that of a child. Right in front of her eyes. STOP IT.
“You know, maybe I need to sleep it off, Shel” Bea said softly, as a wave of urgency to be alone, to move. To do something. Anything... She had to find the Voice... She feigned some absent-minded poking and prodding at the gash across her eyebrow - the bruise darkening into shades of purple and blue like splodges of watercolour dye.
Shelby sighed again and made her way to the door, stopping to place a friendly hand on Cookie’s head. “Well if you want some dinner tonight, give the wall a knock or something. But I’ll tell you this - no vodka for you,” she scoffed, shaking her head before leaving.
—
Later that morning…
Suitcase stuffed full with clothes, comforts and… the gun. Cookie was at her side. Bea left her apartment. Locking the door, glancing left and right - hiding her face behind a pair of sunglasses - a brimmed hat. Her hair was fashioned differently. Long and dipped with bright pink at the ends. The two began making their way quickly away. Bea, as if by instinct, looked at her phone. Willing it to ring, to flash - anything.
“Go on then.” She hissed under her breath. “I dare you to tell me something Mysterio. I double dare you. I’ll play along.” She closed her eyes, biting her lip. Hating what she was about to say next… An admission that she’d been wrong, that she needed help.
“I’ll get in your damn van.”
The Next Day
Bea’s eyes opened to spoiled and cloying sunlight that shifted through every corner of her apartment. Those sequins that usually sparkled decadently around the place, fired at her now like daggers. Her head hurt. She was still in her dress - freezing. Everything hurt, but especially her face.
As she brought a hand to it, she saw the blurring image of a bruise all the way around her wrist come into focus. It hurt too, once she acknowledged that it was there.
“You on drugs or something?”
The voice startled her initially as she was coming to, she almost jumped, but kept her composure. Bea soon came to recognise it as the voice of her neighbour, Shelby, and all of her apprehension slipped away and she relaxed back into her bed with a groan.
“No.. What do you mean?”
“Last night!” Shelby began, incredulously. “There I am, getting ready for bed and I get a call from Aurora who found you to get me to help her bring you to bed!” The woman sighed and paced the apartment. Cookie watched her, wagging his tail slightly. “And you just kept prattling on about the Sugardoc, the Sugardoc - ”gotta find the Sugardoc”. He some coke dealer? You know if that’s what you’re into I know a few better ones…”
“Ew. Aren’t you pushing 90?…” Bea said acerbically. She dragged herself up from the bed, feeling that pulsing ache in her head again.
“Yeah, but I was your age once, and already divorced 3 times by then. You think I got through all that shit on wishful thinking?” Shelby paused, and softened her scowl. “You sure you’re okay?”
The blonde made her way to the mirror, finding the source of the pain - a gash across her eyebrow that had already started to form bruising around the socket. Damn… she thought, unsure of where it had come from. Nothing came to mind. “Yeah… Just a migraine and too much booze….. I got… Pretty out of it, it just really hurt. Thanks Shel…”
Shelby folded her arms and sighed, walking towards Cookie, who still lay on the floor lazily. Unbothered by the presence of the older woman. “It’s from the staircase - you slipped and hit your head.”
I remember… Bea suddenly thought, reliving the moment her shaky legs fell from under her and brought her crashing onto those damn steps. She’d been running. From what?. “Hmmmm…”
Shelby finally materialised into Bea’s view from the dim morning haze in the room. A figure carved by the harsh brushstrokes of time. Her hair, once a cascade of honeyed waves, had surrendered to the relentless march of gray, a testament to the years etched into the lines of her face. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, held the wisdom and wit of the thousands of punchlines she’d delivered through a vast career.
“You really had a migraine attack then?” Shelby asked, disbelief laced the words and she raised a brow, folding her thin arms across her chest. She knew the kind of lifestyle Bea led. She’d led the same one too, once.
Bea nodded sincerely, dropping her facade. “I’m telling the truth. I… Saw some strange things, but it was all from, well…. Pain, up here.” She pointed, glancing at her wrist again. The more she looked at it, the more she felt that the bruise had the shape of a handprint. Crash, she recalled. He’d grabbed her - the weight behind his cyberware had been too much. She was brought back to the nightclub. His face came to view. That stare… His eyes, piercing and green. His words, a warning. She’d missed a show. An important one.
He’d never touched her before though… No… More memory. She saw a glimpse of her own hysteria. Visions of Militech….. That woman with the gun chasing her down.
Bea remembered falling, Crash grabbed her to help her and she’d fought back when his face changed to that of a child. Right in front of her eyes. STOP IT.
“You know, maybe I need to sleep it off, Shel” Bea said softly, as a wave of urgency to be alone, to move. To do something. Anything... She had to find the Voice... She feigned some absent-minded poking and prodding at the gash across her eyebrow - the bruise darkening into shades of purple and blue like splodges of watercolour dye.
Shelby sighed again and made her way to the door, stopping to place a friendly hand on Cookie’s head. “Well if you want some dinner tonight, give the wall a knock or something. But I’ll tell you this - no vodka for you,” she scoffed, shaking her head before leaving.
—
Later that morning…
Suitcase stuffed full with clothes, comforts and… the gun. Cookie was at her side. Bea left her apartment. Locking the door, glancing left and right - hiding her face behind a pair of sunglasses - a brimmed hat. Her hair was fashioned differently. Long and dipped with bright pink at the ends. The two began making their way quickly away. Bea, as if by instinct, looked at her phone. Willing it to ring, to flash - anything.
“Go on then.” She hissed under her breath. “I dare you to tell me something Mysterio. I double dare you. I’ll play along.” She closed her eyes, biting her lip. Hating what she was about to say next… An admission that she’d been wrong, that she needed help.
“I’ll get in your damn van.”
