Voices from Heaven (
thespaceopera) wrote in
driftfleet2015-10-20 11:18 am
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Entry tags:
- !event,
- ahsoka tano,
- coil lenn,
- margaret "peggy" carter,
- nami,
- natasha romanoff,
- nelkeila tarid,
- nyssa al ghul,
- octavia blake,
- one,
- phèdre nó delaunay de montrève,
- r. daneel olivaw,
- rapunzel,
- remy lebeau,
- riku,
- robin redbreast,
- rogue,
- santanico pandemonium,
- shawn hunter,
- sokka,
- stefan salvatore,
- steve rogers (ou),
- steven quartz universe,
- stiles stilinski,
- syeira,
- tadashi hamada,
- tekhetsio,
- the vision,
- vash the stampede,
- vima sunrider,
- wanda maximoff,
- wrath,
- yamanaka ino
...And also these.
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supprose again
Really, someone sitting on the couch should have woken her up; it has every time before, usually to yell at them to get off. This time, the room seemed to accept Loki's place in things and let him be.
Now, however, that his focus was upon her, the little fire-figure stirred. There was no real transition between awake and asleep, one moment the flame was banked low - the other it was flaring to a respectable height. "Oh," and she smiled at him. "It's you."
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Of all forms she could have taken, this seemed quite appropriate. "Indeed it is. Hello, love."
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She stepped closer, flickering over the coals. She moved close enough to the glass that she could peer up at him, but the glass maintained its pleasant heat. "Hello, Loki."
She didn't need to say love in return. His name was enough.
"Have ya been here long?"
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Considering he was still crouching by the coffee table and all...
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It had been broken, she remembered now, a few months before he'd gone.
But he wasn't gone now, and the couch was here now, and she'd much rather focus on that, and on the way he looked, comfortable and lounging on that chair. She had a nice view of it, despite the table with the unfinished puzzle next to the armchair. The framework of the puzzle was complete, and there were a few pieces scattered on the table, but more pieces appeared to be simply... missing.
"Would ya like anythin' ta drink? Eat?"
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But then he touched the jigsaw puzzle and the room around them faded to a pasture. The air is heavy, heat and humidity, and your long hair is sticking to the back of your neck. You are on the ground, on your back, and the creature you had been staring at with such wonder has transformed to something huge and terrifying as opposed to large and marvelous.
The horse, its black coat gleaming, snorts at you.
Sore and jolted from your fall, you roll away, looking to run if you can make yourself move...
And then he was back in the armchair, the scene fading with the scent of crushed grass.
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But mentally, he cataloged the memory; Rogue had told him about it, he was fairly certain. Back when they'd still been circling each other, when he'd wanted to get her the horse and they'd almost argued about it. Nothing that new, but for the experience of it.
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There was a peculiar sort of fear that came with offering someone who already knew her so well deeper insight, but... it wasn't fair that others would have seen and he didn't, because he was respecting her privacy.
Who knew, it might even be good for them? When it came down to it, Rogue wasn't afraid of him.
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She was more important to him than to any of them, he'd wager.
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She smiled at him. "We could set a limit? Start with three? If it gets too weird, I'll tell ya to stop."
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He rose to his feet. Of course what he found most curious on first glance was the broken mirror. It was something that resonated with him.
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A quiet, crackling laugh. "You're already inside of me, so go right ahead."
He'd already seen more than enough that he could put together what he wanted, and she didn't currently see a reason to hide from him. That was not her current function. So she was not hiding, was not hiding =her purpose or even her perception. There wasn't room for anything false in the flame.
As to what he would see in the mirror, besides the cracks and facets and shattered reflection of the candles and his face, well... that depended on where he would touch. Would he reach for a shard? Or a crack?
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It was one of the shards he reached for first, wanting to examine it, though careful to not cut himself.
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[You are sitting with your back against the wall, breathless and trembling and so afraid and angry and scared, you didn't even know your body could hold this many feelings, this many voices...
You hear someone approach from the alley, and suddenly there is no more confusion - only anger.]
Abruptly, he was outside her body then - able to only watch as the confrontation with Mystique and Rogue played out. The scene would begin to fade after that, as Rogue assumed Sabertooth's form... though if he continued to hold on, he might make it to the rest of the night, right up until the time the professor began to deal with Rogue's psyches.
Though Rogue's mind was too confused, too angry for any clear thoughts about this memory to remain, the feelings were there. The anger. The hurt. The betrayal. The... slowly seeping in bone deep gratitude and relief as at last Logan reached out to her.
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And obviously much more disorienting for her.
His reaction was a sharp inhalation of breath and then a step back from the mirror.
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"Ya alright?" the fire said quietly.
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But interesting. Very, very interesting.
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Have you ever wondered what Rogue's powers felt like when she absorbed someone, Loki? Because that... that was very much like it.
"I'm not sure which one ya saw unless I try," again, simple, almost tour-guidey. "I just know all the ones in the mirror are important."
So he can try again... or move on. The guest's choice.
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He considered the question, but even in such strange circumstances, he was bound by his promise of honesty. "An alleyway. A confrontation with... Mystique." He wasn't about to just call her your mother even if he knew the relationship. Of anyone, he knew how sensitive such things could be.
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She sighed quietly, leaned against the glass that kept her from burning her own room down.
"Don't think many of the memories in there are real happy."
Of course, some of them probably were and she smiled a little at that thought. "Except for a few really good ones, maybe."
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"That is the way of things, is it not? 'Tis the pain that carves us into our current form. We are cut like diamonds." What else could a silver-tongued person hope to say about that? Though he was curious, what good memories there might be.
"I don't suppose there's a way to sort out one of the nicer ones."
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She was trying to exert more control over her mind, after all.
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