Slotine takes another splash of cold water to her face. Wearily, she looks upon her own reflection in the mirror and grimaces.
“You’re one sick puppy, you know that?” she says to the other woman in the mirror. “Moi? You’re the one who drank her blood,” was the reply.
A low sigh escapes her. “Well, what else was I suppose to do? I had to stall didn’t I? Who knows when the crazy lady was going to do her thing.” A pause. “Besides, it gave me a chance to give Tussa the gun…”
Her own voice interrupted, “cut the dramatics Slo, you and I both know that you gave her the gun so that she’d fight and end up dead sooner. A self-terminating solution, isn’t that the appropriate technical term?”
Slotine’s shoulders slump further, and in a low voice mumbles, “Maybe. Maybe. It’s all moot anyways. That Devils Advocate guy waltzed in and saved her. Now R.U.R. is in trouble once more, but this time, we can’t touch her.”