She wasn't sure what she was expecting when she stepped inside. The neon green stomach had thrown her off enough last night. And it was still there, Soma noted, scanning the room with her flashlight before she shut the door behind her. The lines were faded, either because the paint didn't last much longer than a few hours, or because someone had tried to scrub it off, but its message was still clear. Her lips pressed together at the grim reminder before she tried to turn her attention elsewhere.
The old drawing aside, there didn't seem to be anything else unusual in the room, although there was a small pile of dried leaves on the floor. Soma dropped to her knees to examine them, but could find nothing out of the ordinary. If there had been anything there, whoever had been here first must have taken it.
She stayed seated on the floor for a moment, more to catch her breath than to ponder the unhelpful clue, and happened to glance up.
Her breath caught for a moment. Slowly, she got to her feet, scanning the painting and the glowing words below it. Salome with the Head of John the Baptist. The title held no meaning for her, but...
It's an ancient story, said Marie, unfolding quietly in her head. About a woman who pleased a king with her dancing and requested the head of a prophet in return.
Soma's expression hardened slightly. Useful as the information was--and she couldn't deny that--the idea of having some repository of information in her head she didn't have access to normally was jarring. And a little terrifying, if she was going to be honest with herself. "If they're saying I have to cut my own head off, too--" she began aloud.
Probably not, said Marie. I hope not. Maybe it has something to do with the leaves?
"You'd know better than I would," muttered Soma, for all that the words stuck in her throat. She took a single leaf and dropped it in her pillowcase, then slowly got to her feet. "If you figure it out, let me know. I think we've spent enough time here."
no subject
She wasn't sure what she was expecting when she stepped inside. The neon green stomach had thrown her off enough last night. And it was still there, Soma noted, scanning the room with her flashlight before she shut the door behind her. The lines were faded, either because the paint didn't last much longer than a few hours, or because someone had tried to scrub it off, but its message was still clear. Her lips pressed together at the grim reminder before she tried to turn her attention elsewhere.
The old drawing aside, there didn't seem to be anything else unusual in the room, although there was a small pile of dried leaves on the floor. Soma dropped to her knees to examine them, but could find nothing out of the ordinary. If there had been anything there, whoever had been here first must have taken it.
She stayed seated on the floor for a moment, more to catch her breath than to ponder the unhelpful clue, and happened to glance up.
Her breath caught for a moment. Slowly, she got to her feet, scanning the painting and the glowing words below it. Salome with the Head of John the Baptist. The title held no meaning for her, but...
It's an ancient story, said Marie, unfolding quietly in her head. About a woman who pleased a king with her dancing and requested the head of a prophet in return.
Soma's expression hardened slightly. Useful as the information was--and she couldn't deny that--the idea of having some repository of information in her head she didn't have access to normally was jarring. And a little terrifying, if she was going to be honest with herself. "If they're saying I have to cut my own head off, too--" she began aloud.
Probably not, said Marie. I hope not. Maybe it has something to do with the leaves?
"You'd know better than I would," muttered Soma, for all that the words stuck in her throat. She took a single leaf and dropped it in her pillowcase, then slowly got to her feet. "If you figure it out, let me know. I think we've spent enough time here."
[to here]