2.02 Reflections

2.02 Reflections

It was past dark when the outpost came into view. Zoey’s legs ached from the walk. She hadn’t been an inactive person back home, but she’d been exerting herself (in more than a few meanings of the word) constantly since waking ten hours ago, and the activities had taken their toll. Fortunately, she had magical assistance to lean on. The murky-yellow potions they’d looted provided a supernatural boost in stamina which eased her pained muscles, and the blisters she had started to collect were washed away by their red counterparts, the health potions.

Magic. Super convenient stuff.

They had stumbled on a dirt path after an hour of walking. Whether by providence or luck, Zoey didn’t know. Rosalie said it was faster than usual, but most ventures back to town were short things. From there, a two hour’s trip led them to the edges of a tiny outpost. She meant tiny; there were six or seven buildings in total. Outposts were scattered all throughout the Fractures, ready to host people in her and Rosalie’s situation, and since the Fractures were already less populous than Haven—where the bulk of this world’s society lived—these outposts usually held less than twenty people, and much of them were migratory.

Zoey admired the architecture as Rosalie beelined to the inn, where they’d be resting for the night. The buildings were well-made but distinctly medieval-European. She intuited a few answers to her earlier musings: the world’s technology level wasn’t quite caught up to Zoey’s. That was bizarre to think about. She hoped she wouldn’t be lacking too many modern amenities. Zoey would miss cellphones and being able to look up whatever she wanted, when she wanted, but it wasn’t something she’d die without. Running water, plumbing, air conditioning, and such? She hoped Rosalie’s world had figured out magical alternatives to those, because she’d feel those absences much more sharply.

Entering the tiny inn (at a guess, it could host up to four; these outposts weren’t meant to be stayed at for long, or see traffic in general) Zoey saw they had at least figured out pseudo-electrical lighting: warm yellow lights hummed in the ceilings, some—what appeared to be—arcane symbol carved into the glass, and only visible because Zoey had squinted up at it in curiosity. The lantern left a black afterimage. Zoey briefly, and humorously, wondered if a health potion would make it go away faster, but she didn’t test it; she simply blinked the imprint away while Rosalie greeted a heavyset innkeeper at the counter.

Emphasis on heavy-set.

For, uh.

A couple reasons.

The man was made of granite.

What the hell, Zoey thought. She had given thought to the possibility of other races existing in this world, but she’d forgotten about it, truth told. Until here, now, with an animated piece of rock hunched over the counter and speaking to Rosalie.

“One night, and a meal in the morning, if you please.” Rosalie spoke to him with the dismissive nature of someone used to making these professional arrangements. The fact he was a person composed of chunky, interlocking blocks of stone didn’t provide the slightest reaction; this was an utterly mundane sight to Rosalie.

The innkeeper didn’t seem offended for Rosalie’s brusqueness. He was blinking sleep out of his eyes, with her and Rosalie having arrived past when he’d settled down for the night. The bleariness was seriously odd for how humanizing it was. Zoey shook away the disorientation; she didn’t want to be caught staring. This should seem normal to her, even accounting for amnesia.

“Two rooms or one?” the rock-man asked.

“Tw—” Rosalie barely started, before being interrupted by Zoey.

“One is fine.”

Rosalie narrowed her eyes at Zoey, but after Zoey grinned at her, she conceded. “One is fine.”

Coins passed hands, and the innkeeper handed them a key and gave directions. He ambled off through the door behind him. To his own quarters? Zoey stared at his enormous back as he went. The rock-man was built like a boulder, forgive the pun.

Rosalie and Zoey walked up crickety stairs and retired in a small but well-furnished room. Zoey explored the space, interested. With her first impression of the old building, she’d expected using the restroom would include an outhouse, but she quickly found that wasn’t true. There was a bathroom in the inn room, their own, and it was furnished with running water, a sink, toilet, and a metal tub. There was even a shower head sticking from a pole. Zoey released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She wouldn’t have to be dealing with medieval-times bathroom procedures. Maybe not quite up to modern standards, but there was plumbing. How? Magic, Zoey was sure. She didn’t care. Hot water, and a shower, sounded heavenly.

Zoey sighed, then turned away from the mirror. Most people would be happy about this, wouldn’t they?

The body changes, at least, and the face. Not the ‘memories stolen, transported to a different world’ part.

She wandered over to the metal tub and played with the handles and knobs until she figured out how to get water pouring from the shower head. She tugged the curtain around so water wouldn’t get everywhere, waited for it to heat, then stepped in.

Like she’d predicted, the spray of steaming water on her skin was orgasmic. She scrubbed herself down with the provided bar of soap. She hesitated before using it for her hair, but she was in a beggars-couldn’t-be-choosers situation here, so quickly lathered her hands up and scrubbed that down too. Don’t think hair-care matters much, anymore. Seeing how it had been glossy and perfect after a full day of filth, she suspected Ephy’s blessing would keep Zoey looking beautiful regardless of what was happening. No conditioner and some less-than-ideal soap usage wouldn’t be the breaking point.

She flicked off the water knob and stepped from the tub. A glance in the mirror showed her skin red and flushed from the heat. She’d always preferred steaming showers. One of her girlfriends had complained about it. A girlfriend whose name or face she couldn’t remember, scrubbed from her memories like the filth had just been from her skin. Her stomach twisted, and she shied away from thinking about it.

“All yours,” Zoey called out, stepping from the bathroom, having wiped herself dry with the towel. She wore her underwear and her shirt, but not her pants. She’d dropped those into her inventory.

Rosalie’s eyes shied from Zoey’s bare legs, which she grinned at. Hadn’t Rosalie spent an entire day staring at Zoey’s naked body? Enjoying her naked body? And now some bare legs had her blushing and looking away. The reaction was, in a word, adorable.

Rosalie had been writing in a journal when Zoey walked in, but she closed it, and it vanished a second later.

“You keep a diary?” Zoey asked.

Rosalie snorted and didn’t clarify. Not a diary, she could assume. Knowing Rosalie, some kind of mission log, perhaps a listing of what items they’d gathered, or some other practical venture. Rosalie stood.

“Sure you don’t want company?” Zoey asked as she passed.

“Quite positive.”

“Okay. I’ll get the bed warm for us.”

Rosalie shot an irritated look over her shoulder. “I’ll be sleeping when I’m done. Don’t get your hopes up. I’m tired.”

Zoey collapsed back into the soft sheets and stared up at the ceiling. The water turned on and pounded in the background, through the wall. She debated on whether she’d try anything with Rosalie when she came back. She sounded serious about not wanting to, but if she had been uncomfortable with intimacy, she’d have declined Zoey’s suggestion to share a room. Her earlier words were probably to save face. Rosalie could never be outwardly suggesting having fun together. Zoey had learned that much about her. So it’d be on Zoey to initiate.

But as the minutes ticked by, Rosalie taking her time in the shower, Zoey’s eyes started to sag.

Asleep before the door clicked open, she didn’t get to see Rosalie’s disappointed frown as she stared down at Zoey’s sleeping form. Or hear the soft sigh that escaped her lips.

“Idiot,” Rosalie whispered. “I even shaved.”