![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[oom] Wandering the Halls
Feb. 21st, 2009 06:54 pmFi manages to make her way back up the winding stairways, empty bottle of whiskey in her hand, grey sweatshirt tied by the arms around her hips. Her jeans are soaked through to the skin from standing in the surf. She got chilled, she thinks.
Miami made her soft, somehow.
She's standing on the bridge, looking out over the patchwork of rooftops, thinking of how this reminds her of Cairo. She can't bring herself to go any farther. Eventually she realises, she doesn't want to go back to the apartment at all. Too many fresh memories.
She realises she wants to go home. Back to Michael and Sam. Madeline would be glad to see her. Maybe she could pretend none of this ever happened. It was a dream. It was beautiful and fun while it lasted, but it was just that. A dream. She walks away, fully intending to go back to the bar and back through her door. That's where she heads, a little unsteady on her feet. She thinks she'll come back for the rifle and the other things. It'll keep. And if it doesn't, she's walked away with less and survived.
The hallways here look different. Nothing looks right. She tries going down a few floors. Again, the passage shifts and she walks, one hand on the wall, counting the rooms. She lost the whisky bottle somewhere. She keeps walking, forever it seems.
Great, she thinks. I've gone and got myself lost.
There's a light flickering at the end of the hallway. A will o' the wisp, she thinks. She follows it. She wonders if this is a wise thing to do, following the will o' the wisps in Milliways, but she's drunk and bored and wandering. Maybe it'll lead her back to people and her door. The light disappears down a hallway and she follows. It hovers just a few doors down and then flickers into nothingness.
The door, she thinks. A back way into the bar? No. There's a brass plaque beside it, shiny and new. She has to lean in to read it, as the letters are blurry and not at all helping with the being read part.
Indiana Jones, Assistant Bar Manager.
She laughs, her forehead coming to rest on the cool wood. Figures.
Miami made her soft, somehow.
She's standing on the bridge, looking out over the patchwork of rooftops, thinking of how this reminds her of Cairo. She can't bring herself to go any farther. Eventually she realises, she doesn't want to go back to the apartment at all. Too many fresh memories.
She realises she wants to go home. Back to Michael and Sam. Madeline would be glad to see her. Maybe she could pretend none of this ever happened. It was a dream. It was beautiful and fun while it lasted, but it was just that. A dream. She walks away, fully intending to go back to the bar and back through her door. That's where she heads, a little unsteady on her feet. She thinks she'll come back for the rifle and the other things. It'll keep. And if it doesn't, she's walked away with less and survived.
The hallways here look different. Nothing looks right. She tries going down a few floors. Again, the passage shifts and she walks, one hand on the wall, counting the rooms. She lost the whisky bottle somewhere. She keeps walking, forever it seems.
Great, she thinks. I've gone and got myself lost.
There's a light flickering at the end of the hallway. A will o' the wisp, she thinks. She follows it. She wonders if this is a wise thing to do, following the will o' the wisps in Milliways, but she's drunk and bored and wandering. Maybe it'll lead her back to people and her door. The light disappears down a hallway and she follows. It hovers just a few doors down and then flickers into nothingness.
The door, she thinks. A back way into the bar? No. There's a brass plaque beside it, shiny and new. She has to lean in to read it, as the letters are blurry and not at all helping with the being read part.
Indiana Jones, Assistant Bar Manager.
She laughs, her forehead coming to rest on the cool wood. Figures.
