(Untitled)
In the beginning, it was a nice day.
This is a word which here means 'pleasing', 'agreeable', or 'delightful', so it may come as a surprise to you, dear reader, to hear the day described as such, given the situation in Milliways these past two weeks. But then, 'nice' is such a relative term, don't you agree? And certainly it would be difficult for ( Read more... )
This is a word which here means 'pleasing', 'agreeable', or 'delightful', so it may come as a surprise to you, dear reader, to hear the day described as such, given the situation in Milliways these past two weeks. But then, 'nice' is such a relative term, don't you agree? And certainly it would be difficult for ( Read more... )
Charlie has to fight her impulse to throw fire at it, and instead drags the other woman two lurching steps out of its way.
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A larger thunk -- barely audible over the roar of battle -- sounds not too far away.
When Olivia straightens up to take a look, the glittering object sits a few yards from them, embedded halfway into the earth.
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A splinter of rock has scratched Charlie's forehead; she's bleeding, but not badly.
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A few wisps of hair have escaped Olivia's ponytail; she brushes them aside, eyeing the object with no small measure of wariness. Exchanging a quick glance with the other woman, she puts one cautious foot in front of the other.
There's an odd, almost-hum to it that she can't place.
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"Don't touch it," she advises.
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It doesn't appear dangerous. For all she knows, it could be a gemstone blasted out of the earth, or a benign piece of someone's armor. Except for that hum, right at the very edge, like a shimmer made audible: that intuitive sense she can't explain, and the need it drives to find out more.
Somehow she knows that, if she touches it, it won't hurt her.
Olivia reaches out, settles a palm on the gemstone -- and instantly stiffens, eyes flying wide.
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(Even though she destroyed it herself -- perhaps because she destroyed it herself -- the spectre of Black Thirteen is very much with her.)
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The memory roars over her like a forest fire, and suddenly, it's no longer a hum or an unexplained intuition: she knows, with her hand on the Elemental Star, how to access a power long forgotten. She can feel a distant rush of adrenaline, but no fear; she doesn't need the fear any longer. It's just like opening a door.
Just like flipping a light.
The realization happens within milliseconds, the burst of power manifesting fractional moments later. With a solid WHUMPH, a circle of flame billows out from Olivia, racing over the landscape like a tidal wave.
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For a beat, she only stares at the other woman in stunned recognition.
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Olivia wrenches her hand away, gasping. She stares at her fingertips.
All around her, the snow has melted, the grass scorched to black...except for a neatly-carved circle encompassing herself and the stone.
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She doesn't feel wholly steady. She doesn't look it, either.
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Before anything else, she says very clearly and steadily: "Do you have it under control? Can you keep it stopped?"
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She digs her hand into the snow -- her skin still feels too warm -- and, unsteadily, works her way up to standing.
"Are you all right?"
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Well.
At least the door won't be threatened for a while now.
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