Quistis sighed happily as the warm water slid over her head. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the light spray. I could get use to this, she thought, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms above her head. Vaguely she wondered if all of Martin Rueday's...employees...were treated this well. Or was it just an honor received by the female population, of which she'd seen none? That didn't exactly comfort her.
Frowning, but still enjoying the massage of the shower, Quistis reached for the soap and began to wash herself. Abruptly she stopped and brought the soap to her nose. A familiar scent washed over her, and she stared at the bar of soap in a combination of dismay and delight. The exact same soap occupied her bathroom at Garden. She bit her lip, but went ahead and finished washing with it. Immediately she reached for the shampoo, before drawing her hand back. There was none. Resigned to having dirty hair-oh! Did that thought disgust her!-she started to turn the water off. A sound behind her made her turn around and she stared in disbelief at the bottle of her brand of shampoo that now stood in the corner. She debated over whether or not to use it-it just appeared out of nowhere! Do you really want dirty hair? There might be something wrong with it! Do you really want dirty hair?-but eventually the idea of dirty hair disgusted her enough to pick up the bottle and use it. Breathing with pleasure, Quistis ducked her head under the shower spray again.
Grabbing a plush white towel, Quistis stepped out of the shower cubicle and dried herself off. A white slip on the floor caught her attention, and she picked it up, confusion written all over her pretty face. It wasn't a slip, but rather a nightgown. Her brow furrowed. What happened to the pink slip? She'd dropped it right there! And where did the nightgown come from? Casting a suspicious glance around the room and making sure the bathroom door was locked, Quistis pulled the nightgown over her head and slung the used towel over the curtain bar.
She emerged into the bedroom and took another look around. Smiling, she had to admit that Rueday certainly knew how to treat his guests, even if things did randomly appear and disappear. The smile disappeared, and she prowled around in search of sustenance. A strange sound caught her attention as she looked in the drawers of the vanity-maybe there was an order unit-and she looked up into the mirror to see behind her. Her mouth dropped open in shock and she spun around. Everything was as it was. Bewildered, Quistis glanced behind her at the mirror again. Everything was fine. She frowned. Why had she seen a narrow bed with leather straps running across it?
"Just my mind playing tricks again," she decided, though she wasn't close to being convinced. "Now if I could just find an order unit, so I can get my tea!"
Almost immediately, the scent of chamomile tea filled the room, and Quistis stared at the small table with the pot of tea and a cup on it that hadn't been there before. Her eyebrows raised, Quistis smiled for the benefit of the cameras. "I could get used to this," she murmured, but she approached the table slowly. Things that appeared on command were not to be trusted, especially by a natural skeptic. She sat down next to the table, tucking her feet up under her, and watched the teapot distrustfully for a long while. Eventually the smell grew too much for her, and she grabbed the pot and began filling the cup, muttering,
"Oh, what the hell?!" The tea went down, and she sighed contentedly. Then she felt the wrongness filling her stomach. Her eyes widened as her lungs began to burn, and she doubled over when it rose to her throat. Her eyes rolled back into her head, but not before she saw that she was wearing a black slip close in style to the pink one she'd worn before.
She collapsed in a heap on the soft-hard?-floor, limbs at odd angles to her body, and not one breath of air escaping her still form.