Vivamus, Moriendum est (Rorschach x oc)

32. Cat's in the Cradle

Mary's P.O.V.

Three days had come and gone that I'd been at the ranch. Maybe four. Maybe five? I couldn't really be sure as I hadn't left the room I'd been given much. My head still pounded, and my nose still throbbed. My thoughts were slowly becoming clearer but not much had been making sense lately.

I knew I'd left New York behind. But I couldn't remember why or how long ago. Or how either. I also wasn't sure where I was. Somewhere in the southwest. Hopefully, still in the U.S. I'd know if we'd crossed a border, wouldn't I?

Most of the crowd had come to me my first morning at the ranch. The man from the porch, James Oliver, and Roger. James didn't stay long. He handed me a guitar and informed me we'd have to get to business soon. Something about needing an album by spring? He left quickly after that. 

The man from the porch whose name escaped me still remained with Roger. Porch man seemed to have some sort of medical training. As he'd adjust the plaster on my nose and give me a mix of home remedies and medicine. 

Over the last few days, I'd seen the most of Roger. The two girls, the tall blonde and the cold redhead would come from time to time and bring me meals. But mostly it was Roger. He'd come with the others each time, but he also came by himself. He'd sit on the edge of my bed and hum songs or talk. Man, he could talk. For hours and hours. His voice though raspy came to have an odd soothing effect. He also would come often with his strange bitter tea, though I found it no longer put me to sleep. Instead after drinking it I'd feel oddly wired and more alert than I had felt in a while. I assumed it was another one of the porch man's home remedies.

This morning the door flew open a little while after the porch man had brought me a bowl of porridge. There was no knock preceding the door opening.

The tall blonde entered the room. She was stunningly beautiful. Her hair was long and thick seemingly always to be in perfect beachy waves. Her eyes were a clear blue that held a bit of coy mischief as well as cleverness. Her figure was perfect, and I often imagined her a pin up girl or a Hollywood actress. Her make-up was always perfectly applied and in great volume, but I doubted she needed it. She flashed a coy smile at me.

"Alright, duckie there'll be more sulking about in bed for you." Her accent was English like James and Roger but maybe a different region? She used similar broken grammar, but her accent was crisper somehow. Like how I imagined the queen would sound. 

"I like it here." I protested.

She laughed, a tinkling gentle laugh. "I highly doubt that. Besides you reek. It's high time you've cleaned up. How long's it been since you've bathed love?"

I thought for a moment. How long had it been since I left Irene? 

"Ah," The girl interjected, "you've thought too long. Up you get."

I could now manage getting out of bed on my own with minimal assistance. My tongue felt a lot less like cotton. But talking was still odd, my voice came out unusual and deep breaths still hurt if I didn't remember to take them from my mouth. The plaster over my nose was often uncomfortable and itchy. The swelling seemed to have gone down a bit though. My lip was no longer swollen and the areas peeking out under my cast were a lighter purplish green.

Slowly, I followed after the blonde. Once entering the washroom, I assumed she'd help me get a bath started and leave. Instead, she followed behind me and locked the door.

She did run the bath but once she had it going with pleasant smelling oils and such she turned to be expectantly. "Well, off with the jammies now."

"What?" I asked daftly. 

"Well, you're not about to get in the bath fully dressed now are you, love?"

"No, but I mean, no offense I'm not-well I can bathe myself." I stammered suddenly very self-conscious. 

She laughed again, "look at you, duckie. You're absolutely covered in filth. And that hair. You'll need all the help we can get you."

"But-" she seemed to register my nervous expression.

"Were all chummy, aren't we?"

"I'm not even sure I know your name." I admitted.

"Dior. See now were all acquainted and the best of friends. In you go."

It was slow going but I slipped out of the night gown I had been given and eased myself into the tub. My reflection stared back in the mirror. I hardly recognized myself. Dior's appeared beside me a moment later. Her make-up flawless already and her eyes sparkling. I looked like a trampled stray animal next to her. Quickly, I averted my gaze into the soft mounds of bubbles around me. Dior planted a loofah in my hands.

"Get scrubbing." She commanded.

I dipped the loofah into the water which admittedly was a bit warm for my taste and began to run it over me. Dior had picked up a few hair tools and ladled water over my head.

"You'll have to scrub harder than that." She sang pleasantly.

Looking down I saw she was right. I really had become disgusting hadn't I. I probably needed a dentist real bad. My teeth had begun to hurt a bit. I shuddered to think what they looked like and clamped my mouth shut tighter. Doing as I was bid, I scrubbed harder.  The water turned murkier and darker the more I scrubbed.

Dior had tried passing a comb through my hair in the meantime. It was no use. In the past few months, it had grown longer maybe to my knees, but you'd never know it because from my shoulders down it was a knotted clumpy disaster. "As I suspected, this is the only way." Dior murmured to herself.

"What? What's the only way."

"Shh sh." She gathered up my hair about to my upper back. I heard the snip of scissors. 

I tried scooting away from her in the tub, water splashing over the sides.

"Oh, see it was going to cut real nice if you didn't spoil it." Dior chided, "I was going to leave you some nice length too. Now it's all jagged. To the shoulders we go." 

She spent a lot more time on my hair, I suppose to make it even. By the time she was finished it fell just at my shoulders. I tried to restrain my sobs. But admittedly it had to be done. My hair had become unbearable and probably had all manner of things in it.

When she finished, she surveyed the progress I had made on the dirt on my skin. She frowned at the water.

"This'll probably take a few passes won't it."

She drained all the water cleaned out the tub and prepared a second scalding bath. This time, my hair freshly cut and washed she took the loofah. She scrubbed aggressively and hard. When she was done my skin was pink and raw. But it was clean. I had to admit I felt much better. Dior even gave me a much-needed mani-pedi. 

"We'll get around to colors later." She informed me as she shaped my nails into nice orderly rounded shapes.

By the end of it I was fresh as a daisy. All newly cleaned. A new haircut, which given the circumstances Dior had done quite well with. 

She wasn't done with me though. She slathered me with scented lotions and a rather expensive looking Creed perfume that I protested. But the combined floral and citrusy hints proved irresistible, and I gave in. It could be that I was still delirious, but I thought it even could have been the perfume that prince made for especially for Grace Kelly for their wedding. It was enough to make me swoon. A little over a week ago I was on the street and now I was being hosed down with Grace Kelly's perfume!

The only problem remaining was my face. It had improved but it was still a puffy discolored mess and the cast on my nose made it appear a thousand times larger than it was. But the thorough bath had been a start.

"Trust me we'll go to the shops after this."

For the time being Dior lent me a red and white striped shirt with black pants. Then she swiped a singular victory roll into my hair before gathering the rest into a high ponytail. For shoes I was provided red pumps. I would have much preferred saddle shoes or even flats. Or the boots that the redhead walked around in. But for the moment the pumps would have to do. Dior would allow me to pick my own items once shopping, at least I hoped she would.