Not a pearly gate in sight. Heaven, Meche decided, could use a better interior designer.
She was lagging behind the nurse, taking in the view of her surroundings with an increasingly disappointed eye (she had eyes again. Being alive reopened up a wealth of metaphors that had been kind of awkward for the last four years). At least the DoD building had had good upholstery. The cafeteria she was standing in now was all too earthly--the muted green walls and lines of tables could have come straight out of any hospital where she'd ever volunteered.
But if this was a hospital, where were the monitors, the IV drips, the gurneys? Quite a number of the other...patients?...in the room were obviously injured, but things still didn't quite fit. If she didn't know better, Meche would've said she was in a mental hospital.
And that just didn't make any sense at all.
Domino, she thought a little wildly. This must be one of his little games. But Domino was dead (in at least two different ways), and surely even he and Hector, with all their machinations, couldn't have brought her back to life. She wanted to believe in this place--to trust it--but she was a lot more cautious now than she'd been the last time around.
"Go on," the nurse prompted, seeing her charge standing still in the doorway. "Go get yourself something to eat."
So Meche moved forward mechanically. As she walked, she scanned the crowd--and realized that if she was alive, of course Manny would be too. She wondered what he'd look like with skin. Come to think of it, she hadn't even seen her own face yet. Maybe he wouldn't think she was pretty enough, especially not without at least a touch of makeup. Her old instincts were coming back.
But there.
Starting to pick his way through the crowd, not all that far from where she was standing. Still shorter than she was, even without the heels. Brown hair, just beginning to go gray. And it would be hard to miss the shape of that skull. She couldn't see his face, but even so. Had to be, had to be.
Suddenly makeup didn't matter; she was tearing through the room.
no subject
She was lagging behind the nurse, taking in the view of her surroundings with an increasingly disappointed eye (she had eyes again. Being alive reopened up a wealth of metaphors that had been kind of awkward for the last four years). At least the DoD building had had good upholstery. The cafeteria she was standing in now was all too earthly--the muted green walls and lines of tables could have come straight out of any hospital where she'd ever volunteered.
But if this was a hospital, where were the monitors, the IV drips, the gurneys? Quite a number of the other...patients?...in the room were obviously injured, but things still didn't quite fit. If she didn't know better, Meche would've said she was in a mental hospital.
And that just didn't make any sense at all.
Domino, she thought a little wildly. This must be one of his little games. But Domino was dead (in at least two different ways), and surely even he and Hector, with all their machinations, couldn't have brought her back to life. She wanted to believe in this place--to trust it--but she was a lot more cautious now than she'd been the last time around.
"Go on," the nurse prompted, seeing her charge standing still in the doorway. "Go get yourself something to eat."
So Meche moved forward mechanically. As she walked, she scanned the crowd--and realized that if she was alive, of course Manny would be too. She wondered what he'd look like with skin. Come to think of it, she hadn't even seen her own face yet. Maybe he wouldn't think she was pretty enough, especially not without at least a touch of makeup. Her old instincts were coming back.
But there.
Starting to pick his way through the crowd, not all that far from where she was standing. Still shorter than she was, even without the heels. Brown hair, just beginning to go gray. And it would be hard to miss the shape of that skull. She couldn't see his face, but even so. Had to be, had to be.
Suddenly makeup didn't matter; she was tearing through the room.
"Manny!"