ladyfirestarter (
ladyfirestarter) wrote2007-08-26 11:30 pm
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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.
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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"Where are we?"
Something's certainly off, though he can't quite pinpoint it yet.
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Charlie looks around.
"I don't suppose you have any way of telling?"
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"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..."
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She's studying his face. He doesn't seem distressed, but ... it sounds like something that should be disconcerting, at the least.
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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!"
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"Hi."
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Perhaps an anywhere he could tag along?
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Her eyes suddenly go very bright.
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That's a kind of shine that makes him very, very curious.
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"Recall some time ago I said I'd like to show you something you've never seen before?"
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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."
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And then it fades into a more serious smile.
"So about this clay."
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Her free hand spreads in a questioning gesture.
"How would it work?"
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"The clay is old, and untouched. It remembers its purpose is to shape and be a shape; that's why it worked so well when my brother and I were using it, the first time. When you put purpose in it through the work and intent of your hands, it learns it, and learns but good. You infuse it with your will and give it life of its own.
"That's how you build a new being. We would be after something different, though: we would want to teach your body not to take harm from the fire. Give it armor, in effect. The clay, when it touches a mortal, it alters them. That's what I meant by potent: it's will turned into reality."
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"And that's the only thing it would alter?"
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He's looking straight ahead.
"We'd cover you and let it dry. It wouldn't hurt, as far as I can guess, and I know the stuff pretty well." A pause; he doesn't alter the quiet in his voice. "You'd have to trust me enough to let me be the one putting it on."
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"I'm going to need to think about it." Swiftly: "Not about the trusting you part. About the whole idea. It's ... I don't know."
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He should know; it's what he's named for.
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