Just Give Me an End, Baby
If there are eons of war when I die,
On your sword, I already know what I’ll do
Let them keep their sorrow, I’ll come home tomorrow
And I’ll spend the end here
With you
She’s never not been a nun.
Even when they were on the run, and she’d shed her robes for civilian clothing, carefully picked out for her by delicate fingers (you’ll look so good in this one Bea, very sexy--she shakes her head to clear the memory), it didn’t count, not really. It was still the mission, still a disguise. Even before she’d taken the vows, before she even knew what a sister warrior was, it hadn’t been like this. Back then she hadn’t noticed, but she’d still been cloistered. Cut off from the world, from herself. Closeted behind walls put up by her parents, and later, by herself. She’s never not been a nun, until now.
And yet, she’s never felt more holy.
She’s connected. She finally found something to worship. Someone rather.
Saying her goodbyes to her sisters was hard. She knows she’s coming back, as much as she knows anything anymore, but walking out the gates feels liberating in a way. Suddenly the wide world opens up before her, full of all the things she’s never allowed herself to do before. She could do anything, go anywhere, kiss anyone. Well, not anyone, not anymore.
She goes to a bar instead.
Itss there, halfway through her second cocktail (it’s a Bea’s Knees, get it? C’mon try it you’ll love it) that a woman sits down at her table. She looks up, startled. It shouldn’t be this easy to sneak up on her, but her instincts are dulled right now. Have been, if she’s honest, ever since the portal closed.
“You look like someone who’s trying to find Hell in the bottom of that glass.” The woman says, a gentle smile on her face.
Beatrice considers her. Dark skin, hair woven into braids trailing down her back, a gentle smile. This woman is objectively hot, yet something keeps tickling the back of her mind.
“Do-do I know you.” She slurs out. Was this her third drink or her second? She can’t remember.
The woman laughs softly, “Me? I get around a lot, though it’s rare I’ll see the same person twice.”
Beatrice gets a sudden memory of an adorably disgruntled expression, eyes glaring daggers across another bar, and it connects.
“You-I remember you! You talked to me about friends. And Girls.”
“Girlfriends even,” This followed by a wink that leaves Beatrice blushing, “How’d that work out by the way?”
“She-“ Suddenly the difficulty forming sentences has nothing to do with alchohol. “-I kissed her. But she’s gone now.”
Her mysterious visitor smiles softly, almost wistful.
“Sorry to hear that. Seems like you two were made for each other. Still, better to have loved and lost, as they say.”
“I’ve pretty much given up hope for love anymore.” She doesn’t remember being this maudlin the last time she was drunk, but she finds this woman a surprisingly sympathetic listener. “Besides, apparently it’s the apocalypse or something.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, in my experience the end of days can be the perfect time to find love.” The stranger pats her hand. It doesn’t feel flirty, just comforting. “I bet this girl finds her way back to you soon. Just have faith.
“With all due respect,” because she is not going to be lectured about faith from some strange woman in a bar, no matter how insightful she is, “You don’t know a fucking thing about me, or my faith.”
If she was expecting an affronted reaction, she doesn’t get one, just a soft smile. “I suppose that’s true, but I do know that it’s important to believe in something, even if it’s not god. Keep believing Beatrice.”
Then she’s gone, and it takes Beatrice’s alcohol addled mind another five minutes to wonder how the woman knew her name.