ladyfirestarter (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ladyfirestarter) wrote2008-01-13 09:59 pm
ladyfirestarter) wrote2008-01-13 09:59 pm
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The desert's chilly at night. She's brought a jacket.
Charlie sits on a particular rock a few miles from the Taos complex, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, looking at the moon.
I am looking for someone who can take as much as I give
And'll give back as much as I need, and still have the will to live
She hasn't been able to reach Prometheus for over a month now. Not from here; not from Milliways. She's still in the habit of taking out the little clay figurine at odd moments, running her fingers over its rough-smooth surface in something like meditation.
She's doing it now.
'Cause I am intense, I am in need, I am in pain, I am in love
But I feel forsaken, you know like the things I gave away
The fallout of things at Tet has left a bad taste in everyone's mouth. The security guy, Stuart, that's upsetting; the Board member, Adamson ... that's sickening. Treachery from inside. Treachery from above.
Lot of good people, she told Charles Wallace.
And blood and fire are too much for these restless arms to hold
Her blocks have to stay up while she's on the campus, for fear the kids will pick up on her negative emotions. She's alone now, and can let down the blocks and look at what's behind them: anger, and fear, and a bewildered sense of loss.
And I'm calling you, calling you, from ten thousand miles away
Over and over her fingers slide along the kouros, as though counting off prayer beads, and no answering warmth comes.
Charlie sits on a particular rock a few miles from the Taos complex, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, looking at the moon.
And'll give back as much as I need, and still have the will to live
She hasn't been able to reach Prometheus for over a month now. Not from here; not from Milliways. She's still in the habit of taking out the little clay figurine at odd moments, running her fingers over its rough-smooth surface in something like meditation.
She's doing it now.
But I feel forsaken, you know like the things I gave away
The fallout of things at Tet has left a bad taste in everyone's mouth. The security guy, Stuart, that's upsetting; the Board member, Adamson ... that's sickening. Treachery from inside. Treachery from above.
Lot of good people, she told Charles Wallace.
Her blocks have to stay up while she's on the campus, for fear the kids will pick up on her negative emotions. She's alone now, and can let down the blocks and look at what's behind them: anger, and fear, and a bewildered sense of loss.
Over and over her fingers slide along the kouros, as though counting off prayer beads, and no answering warmth comes.
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She shakes her head. "Just ... you'll keep me in the loop, in terms of fallout?"
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He folds his hands. "So, things."
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With a sigh, she pushes off the wall to come sit on the edge of the sofa.
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(One part of that seems rather unlikely.)
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She's leaning forward, arms resting on her knees, hands loosely clasped.
"And there hasn't been any official statement about keeping this quiet, but ... there really doesn't need to be. It's not something we want spread around."
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(About you?)
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"I can count on you not to spread this around," she says, and it (almost) isn't a question. "Not in my world, not in yours, not here."
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The eagle was after him for a long, long time because of a secret he wouldn't give up.
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"Christmas eve," she says tiredly, "a bunch of armed men tried to kill my boss and her family. And came too damn close to succeeding."
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The why doesn't matter quite so much as the fact they did.
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A small twist of a mirthless smile.
"The gunmen themselves are mostly very dead, so that was just a question of identifying the corpses. As for who organized them..."
And the smile's gone.
"That's ... kind of uglier."
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"Exhumed corpse uglier," she says.
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There's a lot of footwork to this conversation. It must be really something that's happened.
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A breath.
"About a week after the attack, a member of our board of directors came staggering into the lobby late in the night shift, stinking like a opened grave. He went walking toward the Rose shouting I cry your pardon, and ... before he could get near it, he."
She swallows.
"Burst into flames."
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He furrows his brow, staring.
"What the hell kind of thing does that to a man?"
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"You mean," very evenly, "aside from me?"
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He backs up a touch. "You didn't mention that part. It sounded like it just happened out of the blue."
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Her back's still stiff.
"I think the Rose did. And there's only so many reasons that would have happened."
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Cautious: "Charlie, I didn't mean to imply anything. I was talking about the stuff that happened before the spontaneous combustion."
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"Sorry," she mumbles. "It just --"
Deliberately matter-of-fact: "We don't know where he'd been in the meantime, but combined with some other evidence it looks like he may have been partly or wholly responsible for the earlier attack."
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Prometheus reaches out and pulls her to his shoulder.
He doesn't say anything, for the moment.
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