> "All the same, I think you'll like it."
> "I'm turning in for the night. Hopefully this bruise Eileen gave me will sting a little less in the morning. Good night."
>"Alright. I'll be nearby, just call if you need anything," she says.
>You settle into bed, finding it good enough for your purposes. The comforter is nice and fluffy; you suppose they can do that when they do laundry every day. You're sore, but you're tired enough that your thoughts feel too leaden to really race through the things you've experienced today.
>A wind blows past you, strong and so pleasingly, deliciously slow. With each moment, it slows more and more. Paper, bits of leaves, plastic wrapping all catchin the window, gracefully twirling through the air as watching a video frame by frame. It feels good, it feels right. Rundown streets and buildings surround you, this is not home, but it resembles home. Cars travel along the streets, barely moving faster than one would walk; this is good. People are on the sidewalks; their steps coming at a snail's pace. The people are mostly black, some dressed shabbily, some dressed in flashy fashions. Your eyes are drawn upward, toward an apartment building. You see her, on a floor so impossibly high, you can see her clearly. A young black woman, her hair poofy and drawn into something like a ponytail. Her back is to you, she's several feet away from her window. Electricity sizzles ever so slowly in the air, like a leaf in a lazy breeze. There is music; her music, each note a lifetime apart, you're sure of it. There is a fight below, you can hear it. She is ignoring it, trying to drown it out. Each note comes slower than the last; you smile.
>You look away. Verdant green leaves fill the sky, a verdant forest canopy overhead. The leaves rustle, moving more slowly with each second, the rustling becomes a series of individual leaf noises growing further and further apart with each moment. This is good. You can hear women laughing, not far away. Looking toward them, you can see there are two. One is red-haired and shorter, smiling and laughing, dressed in leathers and a woolen cloak. Her hair is tangled, her clothing frayed, a bow slung against her back. With her is a smaller woman, with short, darker auburn hair, like a pile of feathers. She is smaller and slimmer,dressed much the same as her companion. They are working to pile up fallen boughs against the wooden frame. As you watch, their hands moving slower and slower, they construct a little hut, just large enough for the two of them, laughing and talking the whole time. With their hands barely moving now, their words hours apart, they blend it into the foliage. You look to the east; the sun is rising, written in pain.
>Your eyes snap open, and your body aches. For a moment, you can only stare at the unfamiliar wall and nightstand. You can hear Archer nearby, she's messing with your phone.
>_