Adjusting to life in this barbaric village has been quite the adventure for Tahani, and not the good kind, like the trek to Bono's Mountain Retreat in the Himalayas. Aside from the abhorrent lack of fashion-do's (she swore to herself that she'd never again be on the fashion-don't after that hideous blue and yellow zig-zag getup she was forced to wear in The Good Place), there's nothing even remotely modern! Nothing! Not a thing in sight! What she wouldn't do to get her hands on Chanel's full makeup line, a select number of YSL's skincare products, and a personalized hair treatment.
"Useless!" she shouts to herself as she fiddles with the strange device she's seen people using to feed themselves. A stove, she thinks it's called. She's never used one herself, of course, and so she's at a bit of a loss in how to .. make it make her food for her, like a robot chef (ugh, she'd adore one of those). She pouts as she turns this way and that, attempting to see if she can find someone to aid her - or, ideally, cook for her.
After realizing she's more or less on her own, she drags herself off to one of the food stores, hoping to find something she can .. borrow, for now. Or take for the time being, with all intentions of returning something later on as payment. She finds some kind of smoked meat, sprinkled with something that looks like paprika, or cayenne pepper. A fan of spicy food, her eyes glitter as she breaks off a piece and, with a final secretive glance, she pops the thing into her mouth.
She's half-way out the door of the Inn when the heat finally hits her. It'd been building slowly since she'd first chewed, but now, it was unbearable.
"Oh no! Oh no!" she shouts, tugging at the collar of her ridiculous scrub top as she attempts to fan herself. She can feel the beads of sweat trickling down her temples. "I'd be so much more devastated if I'd a full face of makeup on right now!" A second punch of heat hits her in the gut. "MILK!? DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY MILK?!"
Tahani Al-Jamil | The Good Place | Heat Wave
Oh, and a curling iron.
And her stylist, André, her collection of antique jewelry (some of which was handed down from her godmother, the late Princess Diana of Wales), some caviar, her Balenciaga handbags ..
"Useless!" she shouts to herself as she fiddles with the strange device she's seen people using to feed themselves. A stove, she thinks it's called. She's never used one herself, of course, and so she's at a bit of a loss in how to .. make it make her food for her, like a robot chef (ugh, she'd adore one of those). She pouts as she turns this way and that, attempting to see if she can find someone to aid her - or, ideally, cook for her.
After realizing she's more or less on her own, she drags herself off to one of the food stores, hoping to find something she can .. borrow, for now. Or take for the time being, with all intentions of returning something later on as payment. She finds some kind of smoked meat, sprinkled with something that looks like paprika, or cayenne pepper. A fan of spicy food, her eyes glitter as she breaks off a piece and, with a final secretive glance, she pops the thing into her mouth.
She's half-way out the door of the Inn when the heat finally hits her. It'd been building slowly since she'd first chewed, but now, it was unbearable.
"Oh no! Oh no!" she shouts, tugging at the collar of her ridiculous scrub top as she attempts to fan herself. She can feel the beads of sweat trickling down her temples. "I'd be so much more devastated if I'd a full face of makeup on right now!" A second punch of heat hits her in the gut. "MILK!? DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY MILK?!"