other worlds than these

[dividedgirlofmine]

Who| Susannah Dean and anyone
What| Susannah thought she was going back to New York. This place is not New York.
Where| Tribute tower, all around.
When| Today!
Warnings/Notes| Possibility of Detta Walker showing up.

For gutless sons of bitches who were planning to send her into a death match, the people of the capital had been pretty cordial. They'd given her clothing--quality stuff, even if some of it wasn't really the kind of thing Susannah would wear outside of the bedroom--and even rustled her up an electric wheelchair.

She was riding it now, going from floor to floor and room to room in the tribute tower, trying to get the lay of the land--which definitely wasn't the Central Park, New York City, that her dreams had promised her lay beyond the door. Roland, she thought ruefully, had been right about it all being a trick.

What in the world was she going to do now?

Comments

[dividedgirlofmine]

They explained mentors to her, sort of. "So they make you babysit the rest of us? Oh honey." There's a sense of relief, though, that she won't be expected to have to kill him or be killed by him in the arena to come.

"I'm sorry. I asked you that twice, didn't I? It's been a long day. It's been a long year. And I didn't expect to come here anymore than I expected to come to Roland's world."

She wonders, suddenly, if where they are is something that Sombra and the Crimson King's people set up. She thinks it could be. They had those doors to Mr Lincoln's and Mr Kennedy's assassination--they had VISIT CIRCUS MAXIMUS--why wouldn't they have an interest in maintaining a regular death match like this?

"I'm not making much sense am I? But this isn't my first strange world. You know Cuthbert, don't you? He lives on this floor, I think."

[wiredup]

He wants to reach out, to lay a hand on her shoulder, but he has no idea what the protocol for that is. For her in that chair, for him as her sorta dead husband, for them as actually total strangers and this being too weird a situation to mack on someone with. So instead he laughs, awkwardly, and nods.

"It's rough. I'm sure. The whole damn thing...at least we're raised with it."

When she mentions his tribute, he latches on to that significantly more comfortable subject. Sucker.

"Yeah. He's one of mine."