(no subject)

[ladyfirestarter]

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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[notboundnow.livejournal.com]

Prometheus holds reverence for very few things. Power on its own, he does not respect, nor riches nor unconditional goodness.

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.

LIGHT OVER DARKNESS: THUS WILLS THE BUILDER.

His chest rises and falls, his smile unfettered. "Hello."

[ladyfirestarter]

To most humans, the song does not speak distinguishable words; no more than the human eye can pick out each molecule of water in a fountain. The countless soaring voices blend into a rippling fugue, an impression of benison: here is yes, here is white, here is always.

Here also, for one with the ears to hear it, is a gentle welcome, son of Iapetos.

[notboundnow.livejournal.com]

The sound, the sight, they're beautiful.

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.

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie looks up at him as he breathes the words. They're not in English, and she understands them anyway, and she squeezes his hand gently in quiet joy.

[notboundnow.livejournal.com]

Time passes in the service of gazing, and if there is more to be said, it is quiet and brief.

Prometheus turns back to Charlie, then. "I like your completely new thing," he says softly. "Surprise doesn't begin to cover it."

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie smiles up at him. Her eyes are bright.

"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."

[notboundnow.livejournal.com]

"It is." He looks again, the rose and the earth and the (pillar). "Yes."

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.

[ladyfirestarter]

She looks at him, and her smile falters a little.

"What is it?"

[notboundnow.livejournal.com]

He glances sidelong, surprised. "No no, it's nothing." He offers up a smile. "Just my brain at odds with me again."

[ladyfirestarter]

Her gaze is still a little searching -- after all, if his brain is at odds with him here, something is probably wrong -- but she lets it go, for now.

"Want to stay here a little longer, or should we ...?" She tilts her head at the door.

[notboundnow.livejournal.com]

"We can go." It's worth so much, a little more time won't add to the value.

One last nod to the rose, and he turns to leave the lobby.

[ladyfirestarter]

The song rises slightly as though in response to the nod.

And there are words in it again, sweet and soothing: feel no fret, Firebringer. The way home will come.

[notboundnow.livejournal.com]

For a moment, he stops, stiff with something he could not name.

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.