Moments; singular, siphoned, like grains of sand which fall restlessly, and build without limits...growing with increasing momentum, each step, beat, a steady staccato , marking down the minutes until the cold inevitability of the ...end ...death.
M...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I woke up back in the same bedroom I'd occupied yesterday, and yup, I was back in the Morticia Addams negligee. Walker and I needed to have a serious conversation about boundaries. But first... I slide out of the bed, happy to find that my legs are steady and I'm standing without shaking or stumbling. "All right...let's see..." I see a, you guessed it, a black wardrobe on the far wall and walk toward it. Somehow I'm banking on the fact that there are clothes in the wardrobe that will just happen to be my size and fit me perfectly. Maybe I'm being overconfident. But somehow I don't think I am. I open the wardrobe and yup, just as I had thought, it's filled with clothes, filled to practically overflowing. Had Walker really transmuted all these clothes for me? And if he had, just exactly how did I feel about that little strange tid-bit? I choose a silky black top, and some black distressed jeans with studs. At the bottom of the wardrobe I even find shoes, rows upon rows of shoes. Jesus. This was now crossing into the realm of mighty weird. Despite my misgivings I choose a pair of black steel toe boots with a myriad of silver buckle enclosures. I cant for the life of me find any "intimate garments," aka, bras or panties. Shit. Guess I was going commando today. I sigh, and dress as quickly as I can, and then study my appearance in the mirror. Not horrible. My hair could use a good brushing, I totally have bed head right now. But the clothes, the clothes looked good. I still wasn't exactly pleased that I didn't have a bra, but at least the top was black, so wouldn't "show" as much. "Princess!" Walker throws open the door and strides purposefully into the room. "Again, Walker, seriously, can't you just knock, please?" "But where would the fun be in that, darling?" It was too early for this. "I see you found the clothes darling. And once again, you look fantastic. Very goth chic." I roll my eyes. "I don't have a lot of choice do I?" "Whatever do you mean darling...I thought I provided an abundance of choices, a plethora of choices," he looks actually a bit crushed then, "did I not give you enough? I can—" "—No, no Walker, that is not what I mean. You provided more than enough garments...probably too many. But they're all, well, lets say the color palette is basically entirely the same, and the styles...they're all what did you call it, 'goth chic'?" I snort, "...So, yes, that's what I meant when I said I didn't have a lot of choice." "Do you not like them, darling?" Walker still sounds sad. "Walker, this is...this is...like beyond generous, perhaps even over generous. I'm not trying to be ungrateful whatsoever. I really appreciate it. I guess what I don't appreciate is continuing to wake up in negligee's ...whether you're using magic or not...and then having to find clothes that aren't mine and—" "—But they are, darling, they are yours! I made them especially for you!" "I don't know what to say, Walker. I mean, that's either incredibly uh, sweet of you, or incredibly creepy." I clear my throat. "And again, I really would rather not wake up in garments that aren't mine...I think that Segway's wonderfully into the topic of boundaries..." "Boundaries?" "Yes, you know, the thing you have absolutely none of." Walker looks perplexed. "Darling..." "No, no Walker. I know that this is kinda just...well...how you are...who you are. But if you want to have a working relationship with me, even a possible friendship, then we really need to establish some boundaries. And one of mine is that you stop dressing me in negligees." "But...but..." "No buts. This is a hard line for me, Walker. If I'm unconscious, passed out, whatever, you are not to undress me, eyes closed or not, and then re-dress me in something that I haven't approved of, heck, just don't undress me at all." Walker looks crushed and for a second I actually feel a little badly for him. He HAD gone to the trouble of making me an entire wardrobe (of course I'd never asked him to) but he had, and it had to have taken a tremendous amount of power and work to do so. "I...I suppose I understand." "You do?" I was a little surprised by his answer, I had sort of expected some resistance. "I think you look stunning, my dear. But I can understand, I suppose, your reticence, having gone to sleep in one thing, and waking up in another. I...I...I will work on this boundary thing you're talking about." That was probably the best I was going to get from him. I give him a small smile. "And I'll work on not being an ungrateful bitch, Walker," and I laugh, "...it'll be hard, but hey, if you can keep from killing Garrett, I certainly can try to not be a raging bitch." "Now THAT, that's what's going to be hard darling," but he says it with a smile to show that he's joking—I think. "All right, so, down to business. We now know what the assailant, or at least one of them, the worst of them, looks like," I say. "You saw him clearly?" Walker says clearly impressed. I nod. "Yes, clear as day. Let's take this conversation elsewhere though. And we should get Garrett." Walker grimaces. "I suppose if we must. We can talk in the kitchen. I'll prepare you breakfast, you need to eat after last nights Tread, darling." He was right. I definitely could use some sustenance. I nod, and smile, "Shit, Walker, if you have more of that liquid gold you call coffee, I'll follow you into hell." Walker smiles a sly smile and wags his eyebrows, "I'll remember you said that darling."
