It's chilly outside, and Kate has traded in Doc's winter coat for one of her own. After X-23 had explained that she retrieved both bags and kittens from the stables that morning, leaving the former with Miss Bar and taking the latter back to her apartment for safekeeping, Kate had decided to pick the bags up. The kittens, she told X, could stay with her for a little while longer. At least until she got back from a trip she was planning on making back home, to clear her head and give Ramon some space. She knew the man wouldn't be celled forever, and despite their newly-established truce, she felt more comfortable with making herself scarce before Security released him.
X had agreed that this was a logical plan.
One bag had gone to her room, for repacking. It's where she found her own winter wear (things she could have used over that cold Colorado season), and a few more things she would be needing for this trip. The other -- Doc's bag -- was brought up to Doc's room. Bar generously gave her a key, no questions asked.
She thought about packing up some of his things, to make the room available for another patron, but it became quickly apparent that she still didn't have the heart for that. Even in Doc's Colorado home, she left much of his things there; an unexpected inheritance for the new buyer.
So his bag was left by his dresser, his key pocketed, and his belongings untouched.
(Except for the little orange paper crane, which found its way between the pages of a volume of poetry, and placed with her things.)
She now stands in the stables, brushing down Beaut with numb fingers; words of affection for the horse are steamy little puffs of air in the chilly morning weather, which linger between horse and master before melting away. Her bags are against the wall, waiting with Beaut's tack.
If Ben's note was accurate, however, they won't be waiting much longer.
.
X had agreed that this was a logical plan.
One bag had gone to her room, for repacking. It's where she found her own winter wear (things she could have used over that cold Colorado season), and a few more things she would be needing for this trip. The other -- Doc's bag -- was brought up to Doc's room. Bar generously gave her a key, no questions asked.
She thought about packing up some of his things, to make the room available for another patron, but it became quickly apparent that she still didn't have the heart for that. Even in Doc's Colorado home, she left much of his things there; an unexpected inheritance for the new buyer.
So his bag was left by his dresser, his key pocketed, and his belongings untouched.
(Except for the little orange paper crane, which found its way between the pages of a volume of poetry, and placed with her things.)
She now stands in the stables, brushing down Beaut with numb fingers; words of affection for the horse are steamy little puffs of air in the chilly morning weather, which linger between horse and master before melting away. Her bags are against the wall, waiting with Beaut's tack.
If Ben's note was accurate, however, they won't be waiting much longer.
.
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
May. 17th, 2009 04:55 pm[Following this:]
( The hot burn of daylight sun on her skin shocked her motionless )
( Part Two )
( Part Three )
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( The hot burn of daylight sun on her skin shocked her motionless )
( Part Two )
( Part Three )
.