thinking of babea au again…
bea going to the movies for the first time with mary and it’s like 2008, so they’re going to see Star Wars: The Clone Wars.
bea frets and spends daaaays agonising over it because she wants to go see the film in her padawan robes that one of the sisters helped her sew and she wants to bring her toy lightsaber, but she’s also terrified of standing out. doesn’t want people to stare at her, because it’s not very jedi-like to hide in mary’s jacket while she orders popcorn.
and it’s shannon who finds her haunting the chapel, coming in barefoot, sore, a little dab of blood still on her neck, which bea points out to her with a soft fingertip as shannon settles into the pew next to her.
“that was ketchup,” she tells bea, swiping at it with the heel of her palm.
“you shouldn’t lie in a church.”
they sit in silence, votive candles and their soft puttering, casting spear-tip shadows up the stone walls.
eventually, shannon yawns, “so hey, sister agatha said you disappeared before lunch. it’s 7pm.”
“i know what time it is.”
“never doubted you for a second” - shannon reaches out to tuck a rebellious strand of hair behind bea’s ear - “but my point was more about you and me maybe going to the grocery store to get some stuff to eat? we can get those instant noodle pots and add M&M’s. have you ever tried that?”
a perturbed frown, “noodles with M&M’s?”
“yeah, the pretzel ones.”
and bea senses, then, that shannon’s trying to rile her up and slip through the cracks formed by her frustration, so she settles back against the pew, folds her hands in her lap, “no thank you.”
but a moment later she’s clenching and unclenching her small fists, staring fixedly at one of the crucifixes. it’s her favourite, apparently, because instead of nailing his feet to the cross, the sculptor gave jesus a little shelf to stand on. ‘that’s actually a little cruel,’ beatrice told her once. ‘without the asphyxiation, it would take him much longer to die, unless the centurions were feeling merciful.’
“bea,” she says, soft. “you know you can tell me what’s wrong. i’m not saying i can fix it, but i’m not going to say it’s stupid.”
bea’s silent for a minute. “but it is stupid.”
“more stupid than noodles with M&M’s?”
her brown eyes are almost blackened by the shadows in the chapel, irises laced with faint impressions of candlelight.
“mary’s taking me to a movie tomorrow.”
“i know,” shannon reaches into her pocket, produces two slightly-crumpled pieces of paper. “i picked up the tickets this morning.”
“oh.” bea squeezes her eyes shut, like she’s trying not to cry. “it’s just… i don’t think i want to go.”
and she tells shannon why, taking out her plastic lighsaber (blue, of course) from under the pew, holding it.
shannon kisses her forehead and takes her through the convent to her room, where her armour rests on its stand in the corner. someone’s already cleaned up the blood.
she lets bea touch the gauntlets, the links of the mail bumpy-smooth under her fingers. tells her, “i felt ridiculous wearing it, in the beginning, but then it saved me from a stab to the chest and i realised” - she huffs a laugh - “that i’d rather be alive, and myself, than one hundred percent comfortable all the time.”
she puts a hand on bea’s shoulder, “you should wear what you want, bea.”
so she does. holding mary’s hand with the sleeve of her padawan robe slipping up her arm, passing kids wearing darth vader helmets and carrying lightsabers just like hers. a couple of them wave at her and say “hi Obi-Wan!” and she buries her face in mary’s jacket, but she’s hiding a smile.
she has a short lightsaber fight with another kid in the lobby while mary’s ordering popcorn; a girl who shows her a pack of Top Trumps cards and tells her she thinks C3PO should be more powerful. bea gives a soft sigh of appreciation whenever Obi-Wan appears onscreen, and afterwards shannon picks them up in the van and bea falls asleep against her ribs as mary drives through the dark streets.
S.O.S. not shannon showing bea her armour and getting her even more invested in warrior nunnery
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