ladyfirestarter | (no subject)

(no subject)

Every so often, Charlie's called to the home office in New York. She tries to arrange a day or two extra before and after the scheduled meeting, just to walk around and see the city.

The desert has become her heart's home, but ... once or twice a year she starts to sicken for the sight of skyscrapers and yellow cabs, the way some people sicken for mountains or the sea.

It's a brisk day in early September, cool and breezy, ideal for walking.

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"Oh yes."

She can see him now, as pedestrians scatter before the noise.

Coincidence, as so often happens, has been cancelled.

"Prometheus?"

"I got a whole repertoire--" he starts.

"What?"

"Look across the street for a second and tell me what you see?"

He plants his feet and peers, shielding his eyes.

"I see a Starbucks, and somebody wearing a leopard-print jacket, and... and..."

If the passersby needed any more proof of this fellow's unhingedness, his sudden stillness is more than sufficient.

"I see a redhead standing there waving at me." He knits his brow. "But that doesn't make any sense."

Charlie keeps waving.

"The redhead's wearing jeans and a grey button-down shirt," she says cheerfully, "and she can see you now."

His jaw moves soundlessly for a moment.

"The redhead may not want to be seen with me, considering the ruckus I was making a moment ago. It's a very fetching look on the redhead, though, I've got to say."

"The redhead is currently occupied by bigger questions, such as how the hell is this even possible."

These questions evidently don't preclude an uncontrollable grin, though.

"Hang on."

Prometheus looks both ways -- it pays to stay safe, and provide a good example, after all -- and ventures out into traffic. A quick jog and a little darting later, he hops up on the curb beside Charlie.

"Hmm." An experimental poke at her shoulder, still disbelieving. "You don't seem to be an optical illusion."

She fists him in the ribs, gently.

"Neither do you."

He has to laugh. He has to. There's nothing else for it.

"Where are we?"

Something's certainly off, though he can't quite pinpoint it yet.

"New York, obviously -- but I don't know whose."

Charlie looks around.

"I don't suppose you have any way of telling?"

His eyes seem to lose focus for a minute. His gaze drifts somewhere over Charlie's left shoulder, before it snaps back into place on her face.

"Yours," he says wonderingly. "Radio silence from the old lady -- I don't hear a thing. That's so funny. I didn't notice any changeover..."

"From Gaia?"

She's studying his face. He doesn't seem distressed, but ... it sounds like something that should be disconcerting, at the least.

He nods.

It could be distressing, under different circumstances. It's unusual, to say the least. But he's not picking up on anything more malevolent than the average New Yorker. And Milliways happens like this, from time to time. And where there's no voice of Gaia, Prometheus is free from the rest of his family too -- always a bonus.

The thought cheers him immensely. He beams at Charlie. "Hi!"

The beam is contagious.

"Hi."

"I suspect we ought to keep walking. Were you on your way somewhere?"

Perhaps an anywhere he could tag along?

"Just sort of wandering, actually -- oh."

Her eyes suddenly go very bright.

"What?"

That's a kind of shine that makes him very, very curious.

Charlie links her arm through his, rather firmly.

"Recall some time ago I said I'd like to show you something you've never seen before?"

Oh, he's not going to fight that. "Now that you mention it, I do remember you saying something to that effect."

"So."

She's smiling, just a little smugly.

"We are right now in one of the few places in my world where I think I can do that. Or ... about ten short blocks and four or five long ones away."

"Then lead the way, madame. I am at your disposal and eager to be a sightseer." A beat. "Do I get any sort of warning, or is it all going to be a fabulous surprise?"

"Hmm." She considers that, as they start walking back uptown. "Do you have a preference?"

He gives the idea some pause. "I like surprises," he decides. "Real ones are very rare." He eyeballs the Empire State Building. "No giant gorillas, though, right? No giant unfriendly (or just misunderstood) gorillas?"

"No giant gorillas," she promises. "Unfriendly, misunderstood, or otherwise."