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Gretel (_gretel) wrote,

She believed him on that point, too- he probably had Hell behind him in whatever world brought him to the hotel. She didn't blame him for thinking that way. So many had been just like him- herself included. She just nodded, noncommitally; watching him, she drank a bit more, then rolled her lips of the honey and smoke residue of the whisky.

Then he asked his two questions, both seemingly simple. Gretel had had this conversation enough times to know better. Her jaw tightened a bit, like she was ready to take a punch.

"It's not one worst thing," she told him, trying to find a way to word it to convey the point as simply as possible. Not an easy thing. "Everything in this place doesn't work like it's supposed to- time, food, rest... and death. If you die in these walls - and you will - you wake up again later." The weight of experience had entered her voice, lowering it. She quickly tossed back the rest of the booze in her glass, and started pouring another. "- the memory of how you died still fresh as if it happened five minutes ago. Maybe when we have more time, I'll tell you my top five."

After she set the bottle back down, she pushed it lightly back toward him. "And my name is Gretel."