(no subject)

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie's walking out by the lake. Remembering meeting Rachel Gray there, over two years ago.

Still getting used to this. It's like ... she can't think what it's like.

Comments

[walking_napalm]

The nice thing about having a friend with powers that you can sense: you know, the second you come through the door of the bar, whether or not she's around.

Liz steps through the back door a minute or two later, still dressed from getting coffee with Myers; this time of year, that means a heavy coat with a hat and scarf (all black), which is ideal for this time of year at Milliways, too.

She crosses her arms comfortably and heads toward the figure walking down by the lake.

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie ... doesn't seem to be wearing anything like enough clothes for this weather; no coat, let alone hat or scarf or gloves. A heather-grey sweater and faded black jeans, both of which blend into the pewter and steel shades of the winter sky and lake. Her hair's the brightest color anywhere near her.

She turns before Liz is quite within earshot, and waves -- a big sweeping gesture, meant to be seen at this distance.

[walking_napalm]

Liz smiles faintly and waves back, less broadly but still visible.

Her smile eases up as she approaches; a small furrow between her eyebrows grows with every step that she takes.

"Hey," she calls out, coming closer. She tucks her hands into her pockets. "Aren't you cold?"

[ladyfirestarter]

"Liz! Oh, I was so hoping to see you."

She laughs, the faintly unsteady laughter of disbelieving joy, and spreads her arms.

"Do I look cold?"

[walking_napalm]

"Yeah," says Liz, shooting her a wary look. "You're not wearing a coat."

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie catches the wary look, and stops -- then shakes her head at herself.

"...Sorry," and there's still laughter in her voice but there's also a genuinely contrite note. "It's okay, I haven't gone crazy. I'm just heating the air around me, that's all."

[walking_napalm]

Liz's expression is less wary this time and more curious, her eyes narrowed.

"I thought you couldn't do stuff like that."

[ladyfirestarter]

"I could, I just couldn't keep it up for very long without the fire trying to spread."

Liz is probably close enough by now to see the look of faintly dazed joy in Charlie's eyes. (It's been there for days.)

"Not before now."

[walking_napalm]

Liz stops a foot or two away; comfortable conversational distance.

"What's different?"

She can feel it. She doesn't know what it is; her fire isn't reacting to Charlie's any stronger than it usually does, but it's reacting differently.

She can feel it.

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie holds out a hand, turns it palm up.

(Remembers the gesture, even as she's making it.)

And fire flowers up around her fingers.

[walking_napalm]

The second that Charlie begins to lift her hand, turning her wrist, Liz recognizes the gesture. Her eyebrows shoot up.

Without the joy clear on Charlie's face, in her voice, Liz would be unsure of how to react to that. But with it -- it's pretty clear how Charlie feels about this turn of events.

"Okay, that, you definitely couldn't do before," she says, and she's half-smiling, which says something about just how infectious Charlie's happiness really is. "Jesus, Charlie, what happened?"

(Liz tends to be suspicious of sudden changes of fortune or supernatural abilities without proper explanation. They're not always good things.

But Charlie's clearly thrilled, and Liz is smiling.)

[ladyfirestarter]

"Prometheus," she says simply.

The fire's reflecting in her eyes.

"Almost a year ago, we talked about this, and he said that maybe he might be able to ..."

[walking_napalm]

There is no spark of recognition in Liz's eyes, literal or otherwise.

"Prometheus," she says; "--what, the Prometheus? Chains and liver and all?"

(One did not earn one's GED under the tutelage of Professor Bruttenholm without knowing the classics.)

[ladyfirestarter]

"Yes, the -- well, he's not bound now, but yes. The Titan who stole fire and gave it to humanity."

Her smile, warm and fond and just a little awed, is probably unmistakable.

"We met here about ... mm, about a year and a half ago. Recognized each other, kind of the way you and I did when we first met."

[walking_napalm]

It's definitely a familiar sort of expression.

Well, Liz thinks, score two for being with somebody who's just as different as you are.

Maybe more.

(Her other thought is: You're dating a god? but after a second's consideration, Liz realizes she doesn't really have much of a leg to stand on, with that one.)

"I didn't know you were seeing anybody," she says, and her smile is crooked. "So he -- took your fire and gave it back to you?"

[ladyfirestarter]

"A little more complicated than that, but --"

It's weird; she's feeling shyer about discussing this than she would be about sex.

"-- effectively, yeah. I can do this now," nodding at the fire wreathing about her hand, "and I can do this --"

She pulls the fire back in, and it coils down comfortably within her and settles, and the flames vanish.

[walking_napalm]

When the flames disappear, an almost imperceptible line between Liz's eyebrows smooths out. She's growing better at control, slow but sure. It's still an effort, though, and it's still easier when Charlie's fire isn't on the outside.

"The important part," says Liz. "So. Your fire doesn't burn you." Her smile brightens suddenly; she offers her hand. "Welcome to the club."

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie beams, and grasps Liz's hand.

And giggles, suddenly.

[walking_napalm]

They shake on it and Liz shoots Charlie a funny look at the giggle, though her own grin broadens in response.

"What?"

[ladyfirestarter]

"I was just. Remember the last time we talked? -- Or no, not the last time, the time before that?"

[walking_napalm]

"How could I forget?" says Liz, and she's on the verge of a laugh herself, though hers is rueful.

[ladyfirestarter]

"It, um. Came to mind at a kind of delicate point? And I couldn't explain to Prometheus why I was laughing."

[walking_napalm]

Liz blinks at her for a second.

Replays what Charlie just said, in her head.

It came to mind at a kind of delicate point--



And she laughs, and almost immediately covers her mouth with her hand.

"You didn't set anything on fire, did you? It's -- pretty easy to do."

(She's still -- and here is a word that is never used in context with Liz Sherman -- giggling.)

[ladyfirestarter]

"Not, um. Not exactly? Though ..."

Faint color stains her cheeks, but she's still smiling.

"I was going to ask you, um." Half a beat. "Where do you get your fireproof clothes made?"

[walking_napalm]

She grins, still against her hand, and lowers her fingers.

"Honestly, I'm not totally sure," she says, rueful. "I don't buy them myself. My clothes aren't fireproof; the ones that come through the Bureau, that I wear on missions, are."

(She's just started wearing those pretty much all the time.

She's trying to embrace the fire and allow it to burn more often instead of wrenching it back all the time, which makes wearing non-fireproof skirts and tights and sweaters kind of difficult.)

"I'm pretty sure it's the same company that makes most of Red's on special order. Considering they haven't gone to the media yet about making pants that'll go over hooves and have tail holes -- I think they're pretty discreet.

"I can find out the name and if they take non-government orders, if you want," she offers.