ladyfirestarter (
ladyfirestarter) wrote2007-08-26 11:30 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
(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.
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.
no subject
Her fingers twine through his.
"Come on."
no subject
She leads him to the foot of a glittering tower. He pauses at the bottom to stare up the length of it. (For reasons he cannot clarify, it reminds him of his brother. A pillar of the world.)
They pass through a door, into the building itself. (Prometheus finds himself (thrumming) along with it.)
no subject
And in the center, by itself, the rose.
no subject
He slows down as they approach the rose. One hand migrates over his heart, the fingers folded in, an old, old gesture. The song shimmers, the words all decipherable at once.
There is a plaque set before them. He drops his eyes to read.
His chest rises and falls, his smile unfettered. "Hello."
no subject
Here also, for one with the ears to hear it, is a gentle welcome, son of Iapetos.
no subject
He murmurs in an ancient tongue, the first he ever knew. "I am a guest in your world. My thanks for so receiving me."
His fingers are still threaded into Charlie's. He slips them closer, the first of many thank yous.
no subject
no subject
Prometheus turns back to Charlie, then. "I like your completely new thing," he says softly. "Surprise doesn't begin to cover it."
no subject
"You asked me once," she says, and her voice is soft as his -- the hush of speaking in a library, or a cathedral -- "if I wanted to keep doing this. The work I do. And I told you yes."
She doesn't need to nod at the rose.
"This is why."
no subject
Something faint twists within him. Your work, it whispers, (but not mine. Where am I?) He squeezes his eyes shut, quick enough to make seem like blinking, and pushes it away.
no subject
"What is it?"
no subject
no subject
"Want to stay here a little longer, or should we ...?" She tilts her head at the door.
no subject
One last nod to the rose, and he turns to leave the lobby.
no subject
And there are words in it again, sweet and soothing: feel no fret, Firebringer. The way home will come.
no subject
The stiffness eases, replaced with a calm, like clay spun on a wheel.
"I trust you," he answers, though he does not face the rose again. Some tautness shakes itself free of his limbs. He goes with Charlie through the door, smiling.