First an old fart, and now a goose....maybe that Newton guy was on to something with that "survival of the fittest" garbage.
There are three things a woman has a god-given right to have: the power to take shit from no one, a gorgeous set of tits, and cigarettes. And when I woke up, I had a nasty hankering for that third one. I remember Lyra saying before I left her last night that there's not a single pack in the entire facility, the cheap fucks, so it looked like these hands of destruction would have to create something for a change: I'd make my own smokes. I went from the Archives to the Arboretum, where John...Final....Whateverthefuck was lying in a pool of his blood, knocked clean out. Damn fool probably bit his own tongue trying to say his own name. I picked some tobacco leaves, why they have this but drugs are apparently a no-no is beyond me, and went to the Botany Lab to grind it up with a mulcher. All there was to roll them up in were some random documents lying around. Not ideal, but I wouldn't care if it's fucking sandpaper, as long as it's functional. After I put them together, all I needed was a flame. I went all the way through the Waiting Room to the Cafeteria, forcing myself to not demolish the cake that was suddenly there, and I found a lighter behind the buffet table. Yippee-ki-yay. There was probably some kind of hi-tech anti-smoking system inside that would send the catbot up my ass if I tried lighting up, so I went over to around the Boathouse. Standing out there, raindrops thrumming against my umbrella like liquid bullets slamming against a barricade, taking a drag of my cig one minute at a time.....really makes a gal nostalgic for the simpler days.
Of course, who the hell am I to deserve simpler days?
The Pea guy was chatting with Dexter and Lyra nearby, about what I couldn't tell or care. Jack of Spades went into the Boathouse, and soon after, Pea left, and Dex shot me a nice, dirty scowl that just
screamed "fuck me" before heading over towards the Fountain. Lyra, on the other hand.....I just
had to pick her brain. Our conversation wasn't anything for you to alert the paparazzi about. She didn't seem to have an inch of fear about being stuck in one of these murder games, though considering all she's ever done was read about them, I wouldn't be surprised if she was lying through her teeth. I break off eventually, there's only so much of a scientist's breath I could stand at a time, and went off to look for Giffany, since I had business with her as well.....except I had no friggin' clue where she would be. I'm out of touch when it comes to knowing where little tykes these days hang out, especially if they have pink hair and....pixels.....I was heading into the Cafeteria when some
cocksucker came out of the bathrooms and threw a beer bottle towards my head. By the time I ducked and tried to find my attacker, they went back inside. Goddamn coward, if you want to have a drink with me, say it to my face. I run into that raw piece of meat Dex when I head down into the Lounge, and I search all the way over to the Control Department, where the blonde slut and her crow-masked boytoy were bowing down at Morgan's feet. Embarrassing. As I get out, seeing the Hustler come in at the same time, I decided I had enough and gave up searching for the schoolgirl. For some reason, when I came back to the Facility Lobby, I had to get jumped by a mutt. Not even a killer one, it was just a normal golden retriever. Weird, he reminded me of the dog I had as a kid, back when...
...Anyway.
I went all the way up to the Library, because surely, even if this place was too high and mighty to have smokes in the vicinity, surely it had to have at least
some smut. But no, I couldn't even have that much. If you were to tell me all of these researchers were Mormons, I wouldn't be surprised in the fuckin' slightest. The best I could find was lousy romance novels about buff, shirtless pirates, the kind of stories 45-year-old wine drinkers are chronically addicted to. It was entertaining tripe, but tripe, all the same. I'd sure love to get in the head of the writers who thought piracy had more swashbuckling adventure than it actually does, but at least losing my pearly whites to scurvy's off the cards isn't a risk anymore. Oh, and that Astrid chick came by to get some books while I was reading, or whatever. And then, I pretty much went to bed right after. Christ in a handbasket, I'm bored....