Chapter Text
The stern-faced cashier was getting tired of this.
“If you can't pay, then step out of the line.”
“It's just—I could have sworn I had…” Celia struggled with the loose pennies in her hand.
Shit.
Her eyes darted from her palm to the ruthless older woman behind the counter, then to the barely-meal she was trying and failing to purchase. But she really needed this.
Her mouth was watering, yet her throat felt parched. Just the thought of going hungry again was already bringing up some loose-strung memories.
Wrenched away and left here.
Someplace she did not recognize.
Frail, starving, barely alive.
Barely a person, just beginning to grasp at what was stolen,
Once again, at the mercy of something inhuman,
Feeling her insides lurch and buzz in a way she couldn't understand,
Pulling her back, back, Back There—
No, none of that. Not now.
If that woman sees her having a meltdown, she's not getting her food.
Having forcefully pulled herself away from the manifold Wound, Celia let amiable, but apologetic politeness settle over her like a blanket.
“I'm sorry, ma'am. Please, give me a moment.”
Thankfully, the elderly lady didn’t seem inclined to kick her out of the corner shop just yet. Celia was sure the nearly-natural smile helped.
It wasn't a lie. Not really a deception, even.
It was simply useful to act a certain way sometimes, and Celia was a blank slate. She wanted to believe there was power in that.
She could be anyone or anything she wanted.
Holding her expression, she locked onto the shopper in front of her—currently facing away, bagging her own groceries.
“Excuse me,” she started as the other woman turned around. “Do you have any spare change? I'm only short a few—”
Celia was met with her own face.
The rest of her sentence died in a wordless huff.
She knew that feeling.
Staring at—and being stared at by—those steel grey eyes woke up something visceral, something beyond mere recognition or likeness in her gut.
Something unfathomable, yet so, so familiar.
It felt Uncanny. Celia tried to suppress the shudder.
‘erm… sorry—’
Oh, of course.
Of course, she had a double here, why wouldn’t she? Celia cursed herself for not realizing it sooner. What was she thinking, strolling around the streets like that? She should have hid, made herself scarce to minimize the chances of this happening.
Now she had to do damage control. Quickly find something to say, to do, to be… But all of it seemed suddenly wrong and fraudulent in front of Her. Because there She was. The living monument of what Celia lost Back There. The breathing proof of what she is and what she never will be.
Celia’s not getting a normal life, is she?
What happens now? How does she act? Celia wasn't a ‘polite stranger in need’ anymore, she'd slipped and lost her footing.
‘hey, are you—’
She was falling, and there was no ground to land on. Where did that leave her? She could be sweet and bubbly; she could be blunt and candid; she could be quiet and reserved and none of it changed anything, did it?
It was happening again.
All the extra pieces she'd carefully stitched to the frayed edges of herself were being cut away by another sharp reminder. Without her little performances, all was laid bare.
There was no place for her here. She wasn't welcome. She didn't belong here.
She was just a Stra—
“HEY!”
Her-But-Not-Really's raised voice brought Celia back. Suddenly she was very aware of how quick her heartbeat had gotten, how long she'd been frozen still, staring straight through this woman, and—oh, She'd been trying to talk to her—
“You good?”
“…”
Hearing the bizarre sincerity of Her question, Celia managed a nod. What just happened to all of her assurances of being powerful and in control?
And how the hell what She so calm?
Without her defenses and deflections, she couldn't think to do much else but brace for whatever happened next.
“Kay. Soooo… Do you—
Do you need the cash or?..”
Not getting an answer, Not-Her stuck Her arm out and awkwardly placed a few pounds in Celia's waiting hand, still cupping the change.
“Keep the rest.”