She stares into the mirror, and looks at what it brings.
She sees herself in Sickbay, dying. It flickers.
She sees herself in a ship being attacked by Romulan warbirds.
Her head hurts, and her throat is parched.
She looks around, and sees the gray, gray sky.
There is nothing here but mirror, and rocks.
She suddenly feels the oddest need for sleep.
Before she succumbs completely, a voice speaks.
Tasha Yar will not remember it in the morning, if there are mornings here in this strange place:
"I am the Guardian of Forever..."
--
The outfit has got to go. There's a cowboy theme at the club tonight, and while the boots and fishnets might look good on her, the tank top dress with the frou frou jangly things and the watchamacallits zig-zagging down her back do not.
Krista has taken her car for a drive; she wants lunch, she said, and has set out to find some good Mandarin.
Pink thinks Krista just wanted to go for a drive. And why not?
The fires have been put out. All of California is glowing from the rain.
Miracle Rain, which never happens in October.
The air is clearing, the smog is dampened, and, probably, Krista feels like she is being buried in the aftermath of publicity after officially being announced as Pink's new ....whatever. Maybe wrestling in chocolate syrup in her latest video hadn't been the best idea.
An extra had used a cellphone to take pictures of the couple after a scene. There were pictures all over the internet.
Pink does not shy easily.
As the Terminatrix, Kristanna Loken had made a name for herself. With Arnie winning the Governor's bid, it's not like she could keep much of a low profile.
Being a B-list actress, however, and being a fairly well off pop tart, are not quite the same things as being a Lesbo!B-list nudie!Terminatrix and being a Lesbo!Popstar second only to Britney and Christina, sharing the third tier with Mandy, and Jessica, and Willa (and, oh Jesus, Michelle/Vanessa- because weren't they the same person? and Hilary Duff now?) and Beyonce and her sisters and all the rest...
yeah, being nudie!Lesbos not-in-love was special.
People love you when you're famous.
Pink turns toward the mirror one more time.
A purple light
flickers- there is no other word for it, _through_ the mirror. And then...
She leans over, touches her fingers, then palm-- she *swears* she could see a greenviolet spark, so she reaches over, and then...
--
The other girl hasn't moved.
Woman. She's a woman, wearing a black jumper that merges into a kind of mustardy long-sleeved top.
Pink rubs her hands across her shoulders.
A wind is rising, which is just bizarre, in this place.
There doesn't seem to be much of anything.
It is gray, and dark. With a weak, weak light.
She can't find a sun anywhere on the horizon, although it seems as though every few minutes a sort of muck gray cloudlike swirl parts a bit for a flash that could be a lightning strike, or a shade of one.
There is a low half-rumble which makes her uneasy. She can't place the noise.
It's been hours since she's been here.
She is hungry for the Chinese that her not!serious girlfriend must have had to eat by herself by now.
She's wearing the ugliest-ass outfit that gets uglier with each passing minute she wishes she had anything else one besides it. The boots are curiously comfortable for the hard ground; she'd been pacing, then stopped.
She hasn't approached the woman lying unconscious on her back because at first glance she'd thought the woman might've been passed out on drugs or dead. A stirring moan and a hissing exhalation of breathe -does that mean pain?-- in the first fifteen minutes of her- what? Break? Trip? Crack hallucination? - in this place has confirmed life.
Good. Pink doesn't want to have to touch her, because she knows that Something Is Very Wrong.
After thirty minutes of finding nothing, she had wanted to shout out: "All right, you *fuckers* you got me, and I swear, Ashton Kutcher if this is you _again_ you just might live through it, but I'm definitely gonna make you regret it-" but. That had been a while ago.
There is nothing else besides rocks and the rocky ground and a round thing which may have been a mirror but is gray, like the terrain and the sky and the fuck-all-else, just gray, gray, everything is, drab and dark which includes this not!mirror and it's *gray* like putty and it feels like it's freshly dried clay and she's *not* scared, she *isn't*-
She knows there isn't anyone else here but her and this...strange, unconscious, moaning woman.
Suddenly Pink thinks that maybe the woman *is* dying. Maybe it's an overdose. And that maybe, somebody, quickly, must try and wake her up or else she'll really fucking die.
The woman moans again.
It is the second in hours.
It's the only other human sound Pink's heard since the same. She kneels hurriedly by the woman and grabs her wrists. They are warm.
She grabs the woman by the shoulders and shakes her, "Hey! Hey! Look, sweetie, wake *up*.."
Her efforts are rewarded with eyes fluttering open, and then the woman starts taking big, gasping breaths of air-- so violently it sounds like dry heaving, and she's looking at her- the woman is looking at Pink-- and Pink exhales a little hurried breathe of her own, because the woman is *alive* and she's concious, and that makes two of them aware that they are *stuck* here in this hard, freakish gray place, and she smiles.
"Who are you?"
She looks at the woman with a disbelieving expression. That was *her* line.
End
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