Madelyne Pryor

Madelyne is, at the moment, on the deck. Well, almost; she's actually balancing on the rail, putting her just a little closer to the stars. There's no struggle to balance, or bracing to jump.

When she hears Edwin, she twirls around easily. He may notice that she's using her limited telekinesis as a sort of buoy, keeping her light and steady.

"I know wardens don't get to choose much of anything beyond being here." Level, and quiet; if she did any shouting it must have been in private. She doesn't blink at the strange motion - if anything, it makes her shoulders ease slightly - but her gaze locks on that file. It takes her a moment to register the question.

"...I'd prefer that. Yes." She'd have - more of a voice in it all, then, but of course that isn't what she says. "I can't say I'm not curious."

From:

"We don't have to do all of it at once. I-- I wish I hadn't read mine all at once. It wasn't even long, I haven't existed that long, but it had things from before I was me, too."

He's rambling. Anyway-- "Where do you want to read? Or when, we don't have to do it right now."

From:

"The god you were," she murmurs, low and grim. She can't help but wonder - how much will it say about the Phoenix, and its crimes, and its death?

"I think...I'd rather rip the bandaid off all at once." She hops from the rail onto the deck, landing as light as a feather. "Let's go to my cabin."

It's not really the Embassy, not any true seat of power, but she still feels more like a queen there. Besides, the door locks.

Edited Date: 2024-06-12 03:03 am (UTC)

From:

He relaxes a little when she doesn't get upset, and then wonders immediately if she's hiding it. For once, though, it's not anxiety over whether or not she's upset with him. It's anxiety over the prospect of her being upset and alone with the feelings.

"Right." He looks down at the file in his hands, frowning at it, then looks at her again. "Where's your cabin?"

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"Level eight." She's never been sure if the assignment is random or not. Was it a gesture of trust, putting her on the same level as the engine room, or understanding, or -

"You ever see that tree, in one of the common rooms?" She starts moving before she finishes the question.

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"Uhhh." He's not sure if she means the crab apple trees he's trying to coax the barge into letting him plant or...

"Which one?"

From:

She pauses, glancing back with a sharp grin.

"Let's make a pit stop." Look, the thing is fascinating, and she's interested to hear his thoughts on it. It'll certainly tell her more about his perspective.

From:

"Okay."

He's curious, and he'll never say no to something plant related.

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As complicated as her feelings may be about the file, she doesn't drag her feet; in fact, whenever they reach she elects to float down it rather than walk, hand skimming the railing just in case the power fails her. (She trusts her own control; she does not trust the Barge's, or the Admiral's, or whatever is stifling her.)

Her steps slow only when they enter the common room, entirely for dramatic effect.

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He has a few mixed reactions that all express themselves as a soft gasp.

The tree is, first, beautiful in a strangely horrifying way. It's not the same horror as the chaos of the Dark World or things like Edwin himself, but it's there. A sort of unnatural perfection, the riot of growth broken into organization that it can't escape.

He doesn't forget he's with Madelyne, but he wants to see it closer. He's still got her file held close against his chest with one arm as he goes up to the - it feels wrong to call it a plant, but it's not a simple construct either. It's a natural unnatural. The kind of thing that could, he thinks, be a gateway to the Dreamlands in another universe.

Edwin very gently touches the trunk. "Who did this to it? And why did they leave it here and not take it to the greenhouse?"

From:

A smile plays at her lips as she watches, one she assumes is slyly intrigued but, frankly, looks far warmer than that.

"No idea; it was here when I first arrived, so it must be years old at this point." Just how many, she still isn't sure. "Iris probably knows. Lark might." They've been here the longest, she's pretty sure.

"And maybe it prefers to say where it was born."

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He looks over at her, eyes wide, then wonders if he could talk to the tree. He's never tried anything like that. Sure, he's talked to his plants, but never with expectation of an answer. It just felt nice.

So he rests his ear gently against the trunk, more for show than because he needs the ear to hear things in this body. He closes his eyes, lets his grip on linear time slide a little, until each second stretches out like taffy around him and he can hear the soft creak and shift of a plant quietly tending to its own needs. This at least he's done before.

"Can it talk?"

Slow as he's made everything feel to hear the tree's noises properly, his own voice sounds strange in his head.

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His eyes are closed, and no one else is here to see; her smile is a yearning and tender thing,

She wasn't there, as Nathan grew into his power, but she remembers it all the same. It's more reflex than resolve, the way she answers.

Probably not like people do, but I'm betting you'll be able to communicate on some level. She couldn't project into an average person's mind, as she is, but Edwin isn't one.

Edited Date: 2024-06-24 05:21 am (UTC)

From:

He doesn't think twice about her psychic voice as he answers the same way. He's not looking at her, in part to give her some privacy and in part because he's inspecting the tree more closely.

Why did you want to come here first?

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I don't get a file. I need to learn about you in other ways.

She thought it would make her feel more powerless than it does - more hostile and defensive - and maybe it would, if they'd met differently. But he's already seen so much, and so has she. There's always an instinct to level the playing field, but it simmers instead of raging.

Perhaps, one day, she'll realise that she also wants to act like a friend, sharing something wondrous and strange to enjoy together.

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Edwin looks over at Madelyne, studies her face, tries to see if there's anything there that inexperience means he missed.

Anything you want to know about me, you can ask. That only seems fair.

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There's an echo of that tenderness left as she arches her eyebrows.

Very few things, or people, are even slightly fair. But she's certainly seen the exceptions try. She's seen them try so damned hard it burned them out.

I'll ask. How much of his answers she believes, how much more she tries to see - well, they'll find that out as they go, won't they.

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"I know. That's why I want to be."

He smiles when she says she'll ask, strokes the tree in farewell, and looks back at her again. "Are you ready? Was there something else you wanted to do with the tree."

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Of course.

Madelyne stares at the tree a moment longer, expression distant and inscrutable, before shaking her head. "Let's head over."

Her door is impossible to miss; it's the one carved with flaming pentagrams and crowned with bone. Her nostalgic smile would probably unsettle many other people, but she doubts it will bother Edwin.

As she opens it she murmurs, "You know, I've had three of these, and this is the first time he got it right."

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"It's beautiful." No, he's not joking. He touches the wood next to one of the carvings as he goes by, not wanting to chance the decorations being something actually magical. "I only ever stayed in one place before the barge, an old inn, so that's the room that mine was at first. It's a greenhouse now--that was Hunter's idea, when he saw how much I liked plants."

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That startles a genuine smile out of her, earnest in a way that makes her look young. The Embassy has become a refuge, but she can tell how few people are comfortable there. (Alex tries his best, bless him, but he's as much a fish out of water as he ever was.)

Their limited tastes are hardly her problem, but having someone appreciate it is still refreshing.

"Hunter - that was your warden, right?"

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His own warmth at the topic of Hunter Tepes is obvious. "Yeah! Yeah, he was. He... He was the best. He is the best."

Edwin smiles at the floor. "He never forced me into things, even when he could have. Even when some wardens might say he should have. He always made sure we were working together, that I knew I had choices and that they'd make a difference, even when I'd fucked up something big. He-- There was a lot that scared me, a lot, and he never got impatient about anything, always let me have time to think, worked hard to help me calm down when I was upset so we could talk about it. And at the end of it-- at the end of it, he got me and my brother, the John in my timeline, bodies that we could actually use, that were ours, and could hold everything we are. He used his deal for that."

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She's listening with cautious optimism, brow furrowed as she considers what that could be like, how much it could have changed - could still change, if she just -

Then Edwin casually drops a bombshell, and she stares at him like he's just told her two plus two equals five, actually.

"He just - gave you his deal?"

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He practically radiates gratitude and enthusiasm.

"He did. I didn't even ask him, he offered. My brother was going to use his to get me a body, if he needed to, if he got it before I got one, but Hunter just... wanted to give his to me."

That's about when he realizes there's a precedent there that he was not primed to follow.

He looks up finally, to see the expression on Madelyne's face.

"There are some people I... hurt, killed, whose lives I want to save. But that doesn't have to be this deal. If there's something you need, something the Admiral could help with... I'll give you the deal from our pairing too. I was lucky. I don't want to be the only one who is."

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Her expression is, to put it lightly, viscerally stunned. That's not how it works, that's not how it ever works. Even when Jean shared her memories - well, she said it herself, giving them to Madelyne didn't mean taking them away from her. Illyana chose her to rule Limbo out of understanding, out of camaraderie, but she wanted to give it up.

Hunter gave Edwin his life back, and in exchange took nothing at all; in exchange he gave him an easier way to live it. And now Edwin wants to -

She's already shaking her head by time he finishes.

"I don't - look, contracts are something I can accept." Of course she doesn't realise, as she verbalises this, how many of her fundamental issues are bound up in it: that toxic, simmering blend of pride and despair. "I'll get them back myself. With a deal of my own, maybe, or some other way."

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There's absolutely nothing but sincerity to the question Edwin poses as he goes to set her file down on a surface they can share.

"Why?"

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Madelyne opens her mouth for an obvious answer, because it feels so obvious. Then she shuts it, looks vaguely baffled, and stalls a bit by taking a seat at her desk and resting her chin in her hand. (It's the obvious choice for the file, and has the largest chairs. At the moment they're cushioned in light green, with high backs that flare into bat wings.)

"An exchange...makes sense. Blood for blood, power for power, I can trust that." She gestures at the wall behind her, which showcases both painted vistas of Limbo (and one, in a far corner, of Alaska) along with a few mounted horns and claws. "That's how Limbo functions - no matter who you are, you're bound by your word."

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"This is the same, isn't it?" He sits, fusses the file into tidiness. "I'm giving you my word that you'll get a deal when you graduate. Malcolm always says the inmates are the ones doing the real work. So, you do the work and you get a deal."

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It's hard to distrust him, but that just makes her anxious. Her hand drops to curl on the desk, and with a sharp shake of her head, "And then I'll owe you. Because that's how it works if you want to survive. If you think you can be the exception, you'll only be destroyed."

There's more than bitterness in her voice. Dread creeps around the edges, because she'll be damned if she watches that happen again and because - "I'll never be beholden to anyone, ever again, no matter how sincere they think they are. Reality always comes calling."

There's more than one thing playing in her mind as she says all of this, clashing in a dissonant chorus. Her voice and the man who betrayed her; her voice and the man who created her to be betrayed.

"For better or worse, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part."
"You used me!" "Child, that's why you were made."

Then, the most quiet and distant, her voice alone:
"Where does it say that you have to be a mutant to believe what the X-Men stand for, to fight by their side?"

She doesn't mean to share any of that, but the door she opened in the common room was never actually closed.

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It feels like a test, like his first real test as a warden. There's a conflicted mishmash panic of What would Hunter/John/Jedao/Arthur do? Then another voice, quiet but firm: No, what do I want to do?

Edwin takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay. But it's yours if you change your mind."

From:

Hearing that gentler maelstrom makes her blood run cold and her nails dig into her desk, because she knows what it means - he heard her, he -

He's not calling her out on any of it. Just giving her another choice.

Madelyne closes her eyes, releases the breath building up before it explodes in her chest, and nods. "All right."

When she opens her eyes, they're locked onto her file. There's nothing in it she wants to hear, she's sure, but it's all something she knows. Something solid instead of treading uncharted waters. "So. Once upon a time..."

It starts where she thinks it will: in Nathaniel Essex's laboratory.

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He opens up the file with a deep preparatory breath, then remembers one other thing.

"If there's anything you want to say more about, or you think the Admiral didn't cover things fairly, or anything, tell me and we can stop and talk about it. And-- I know you said you wanted to do it all at once, but it's okay if we start and that changes. If it's not true any more, we can stop."

He tentatively reaches out, doesn't touch her, but puts his fingertips very close to her hand. A friendly presence on offer.

"It's your file. We'll read it how you want to."

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Her postures eases as he speaks, though it never quite reaches 'relaxed'; she's so used to ripping her power back with bruised and bloody hands, and having it simply offered is deeply disconcerting.

Still, she lets her fingertips skim that last scrap of distance, accepts at least a fleeting touch as she meets his eyes and nods.

"It will - " Her grimace is bleak and weary and frustrated. "It'll start in Nebraska, probably. I don't remember any of that, but I suppose no one remembers being - born." Made is so easy to fall back on, but then Sinister never actually gave her life. "...Tell me if it says anything about what the Phoenix did first?"

It doesn't; just that it finds her, and grants her something vaster and stranger than a soul.

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"Do you want me to read it out loud?" He's already skimmed part of the first page, and he's already decided that if Nathan "Mister Sinister" Essex ever shows up on the barge he's teleporting the guy down to zero and punching him into a cell.

From:

She immediately grimaces at the thought, which - says a lot by itself, probably.

"A summary is fine. Woke up, got memories suppressed or altered or implanted, started being a pilot?" Her voice softens on that last word, just a little. Joy and pride that was never quite tainted, not entirely.

She had time to live something of a life, before meeting Scott. However hollow it feels now, it did happen, and she was damn good at her job; the file will note her skill and dedication, and a man she risked her life to pull from the smoking wreckage of a crash - the same flavour of catastrophe that seemed to haunt her nightmares.

Edited Date: 2024-07-08 01:05 am (UTC)

From:

"I bet the enclosure can make a plane for you to fly. It's not as good as the real thing, maybe, but it's something?"

He flashes a tentative smile and keeps reading, pausing every so often to sum up what he's just gone over as he gets deeper into it all. The marriage, the Loki-given temporary powers, the child, the Marauders. And the more he reads about Scott Summers the more he wants to punch the guy into a cell next to Sinister. By the time he gets to the part about the nightmare where Scott and Jean walk away with Madelyne's son while she's a faceless mannequin abandoned and tricked into choosing to become a demon--

"I think. I think I need a break."

He is trying very hard not to be furious with pretty much everyone but Madelyne. She can probably feel it, through that door she opened that he hasn't shut, the way there's a psychic storm gathering around him.

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"...I - maybe." Not the same responsibility, the same trust, but - sitting in the cockpit again would be nice. Soaring over the countryside, even if it wasn't truly brimming with life. "I could teach you, if you want." She's not sure when he'd need to know how to fly a cargo plane, but the Barge puts you through all kinds of bullshit, and she has no idea what his native reality is like.

She keeps her composure through the downward spiral of her life, though a loose page or wisp of hair will flutter here and there - the lonely birth of her son, the attack by the Marauders that ripped him from her arms, the dream that doomed her.

Feeling someone else's righteous anger is almost like an anchor, one she's never quite felt the shape of.

"Yeah, I did too." It's flat and dry, but not truly hostile. She hasn't slammed that door, after all.

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He does it slowly, tentatively, so he won't startle her and she can indicate if it's unwelcome--that's the sense she'll get first, the impression of psychic request. If and only if he feels consent, he'll wrap her in the protective warmth of a young god only half aware of its own power, a firm metaphysical hug, a shield.

"No one here will treat you that way, and if they try I'll--" He stops himself. Death threats are not a thing he does any more. "I'll scare the fucking shit out of them and throw them into the nets."

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She shies away from the mental contact, at first, sullenly instinctive. But he isn't pushing, and he feels like - like the hearth that was Jean's soul, before it was snuffed out.

So, after a beat of strained hesitation where he doesn't push her, she closes her eyes and lets herself sink into it.

Still, she murmurs low and sharp, "Careful. I'll always encourage bloodshed on my behalf."

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"I won't make them bleed a lot," he says, with pointed innocence. After a second he adds, "I'd like learning to fly. It's something my brother hasn't done yet, I think."

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"Papercuts only, I can work with that." Despite herself, that darkly playful smirk broadens into something warmer as she nods.

"It's a lot to focus on all at once, it took - " The smile drops abruptly. Mostly to herself, she mutters, "Stupid."

And then, when she meets his eyes again, "I didn't really learn, did I. All that knowledge was pre-implanted."

She never tried to figure out which flight was actually her first. Which cargo she was actually responsible for, which people she actually ferried safely.

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He studies her face, trying to sort through his thoughts as carefully as possible before he says anything. He doesn't want to mess this up, he doesn't want to upset her or hurt her or say something that will make her not want to talk to him.

"Why..." A pause, to see if he's phrasing it properly in his own head, which doesn't mean that it's phrased right, but he's trying. "If you love the memories, why can't they be yours, no matter who put them there? Someone else isn't the one who has them. They don't own those memories. They're yours now."

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Her expression had gone flat again, but as he speaks the edges begin to soften; she can't help but think of other memories that weren't quite hers, that she was so desperate to reclaim, that she was given instead.

But there is a difference, and her gaze drops as she pulls her hands back and crosses her arms, trying to articulate it.

"He still designed them. He still chose them to make me the - the perfect bait. He chose what and who I would love." Her nails dig into her arms, hard enough to draw blood if not for the mystically resilient fabric of her sleeves.

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He nods slowly, not wanting to contradict her, even if he has ideas about... that. It's early. He doesn't need to say everything right now, when he's just learning the details of the story he knows in broad strokes.

Still, he reaches out a tentacle to brush against her fingertips, to draw her attention to how tight her own grip is if she hasn't noticed already.

"Well, you can teach me about something you love, and those memories will be completely yours. You--"

He pauses, frowns at the table. Finally looks back at Madelyne. "When I was... made, I didn't have a body. I was trapped in the eyes of the person who summoned me, and it wasn't even me he was trying to summon. I didn't know anything about Earth, I didn't really know anything but how to survive in a place that... that was nothing but violence and chaos. A dumping ground for dead things, where I'd been so long I didn't remember who I was."

There, context provided. "The... person who su--"

He stops himself, because anyone who knows anything about him or John will be able to guess who it is. "Arthur Lester, one of the inmates, was the one who got me out of there. He didn't mean to get me out, though. He wanted my brother, who had been with him before. He didn't even know I was there. While we were together, he quoted poetry, sometimes. He recited one to me when I barely... I didn't even know what poetry was. All I knew was that it was beautiful, and I wanted to know more."

Edwin frowns down at the file again. "He wasn't kind. Arthur. I understand why now, way better than I did then. But I wasn't kind to him either. There's a reason my brother came here as a warden and I came as an inmate. But I still... liked poetry. I still wanted to know more. For a while I-- For a little while I wouldn't read any just because it was something Arthur loved and I didn't want to love it. Because the first poem I heard was one he recited."

He looks up again. "But I started reading poems anyway. A little bit here or there, when I was... feeling... resentful, or defiant. And I started to love it for myself. I know it's not... the same, really, it's not the same hardly at all, but I don't think it's wrong for you to love flying just because some fucking asshole thought it would be useful for you to know for his own reasons. Even if... you don't know which flight, which one was your first, which one was real first... One of those flights and all the ones after were yours. Whatever you knew because of him, you were still the one flying. We get whole new lives in the breaches. Learn how to do things we never have before. If we come back to ourselves and love doing what we learned..."

He shrugs. "Then it doesn't belong to the breach or the person we were there, any more. It belongs to us. You can make new memories. Beautiful flowers still use actual shit to grow, sometimes."

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Her fingers do relax a fraction at the touch, but she doesn't look up at him. Not until he gets deeper into the story, and tells her -

Tells her that he only exists, is only alive, because someone desperate and lonely wanted someone else. It shatters all the determination to withdraw back into herself, and when she meets his gaze her expression is the most open it's ever been outside of the dreamscape.

It's easier to listen to people when you open yourself up, as it turns out. She doesn't realise it, but her hands ease entirely by the time he's finished, only gently clasping her arms. When he finishes she even snickers, low and soft, and there's a brightness back in her eyes.

"I - " It comes out rougher than she expected, and she swallows the sudden lump in her throat with a frustrated grimace. "I suppose. That all makes sense." The breaches are even fuzzier than the rest of her Barge memories, but she knows - she knows, somewhere deep in her gut, that she loved people in those too, and learned things, and carried both forward. She knows they made her more and not less.

"...I want you to keep reading. Just a bit further, I think, and you'll know why."

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Just a bit further indeed. When he gets to everything with Nate, well. He's left staring at the page for several seconds before looking back up at Madelyne, eyes very wide.

"Oh." He looks at the file, then at her again. "I... Oh."

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"Yeah." The rueful, crooked little smile looks strange on her face; it's the sort of expression she wore far more easily in the old days, when she didn't have anything to prove.

"Nate...he didn't really know what he was doing. He wasn't cruel on purpose." Looking back on it now, with all of her history intact and feeling truly whole - god, he was so young. "I don't even know where he is, these days."

No one has told her, and she hasn't asked.

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"Well. You could find out, when you go home, if you want to. If that's where you want to go."

He's distracted though, chest squeezed in a way that would make it hard to breathe if he needed to.

"D'you... d'you want to talk about it, any, the... the circumstances that brought you back?"

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"I could." And if he's dead, or worse, she could - well, she'd have the tools to do something about it.

"It's - all a bit moot, now. I've died and come back twice since then."

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erbier

[ Ilde leaves a basket that overflows with fruits, vegetables, flowers, and herbs. All of the produce is more or less recognizable. Some variants are from Ilde's dead home world; subtly different in flavor or color. There is a little note that says: ]

Bring back the basket and I will fill it again.

[ But truthfully, more will appear eventually whether Madelyne brings her the basket or not. ]

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He gives her a day between the clear end of the chaos and his check-in. He wants her to have some time to settle, but not too much time to be alone. Not after everything he read in her file, not when Jean was the one who showed up.

The highest point of his broken crown, when he holds the pieces in a ring hovering over his palm, leads him to wherever she's decided to post up this afternoon, and he closes his hand to call the crown's pieces back to himself--back into his chest, specifically, it's a useful storage area--before he says anything.

"Hi." That's about as neutral as an opening can get, right?

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Madelyne doesn't like asking for things, so it says something that she's in the Enclosure at all. The actual scenery would be less obvious to most people, but Edwin knows about the cottage in Anchorage; he knows this is where she was happy, once. This is where Scott came back to, later, with Jean.

She's abandoned all pretence of regality, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with her back against on of the couches. There's a long letter written in pink cursive on her lap, but she's focused on something cradled in her hands. When she looks up, it's made clear: this is the headpiece of Jean's costume, which she must have left behind on purpose.

"Hey." There's no evidence of crying on her face, but her voice sounds hoarse; maybe she was screaming instead.

From:

He gives them both a day to compress, then knocks on her door.

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There's a gentle thump and a stretch of silence before her footsteps draw close. The door opens smoothly, just in time for her expression to match.

With a slight cock of her head, "Huh. Your eyes are the same."

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"You fly the same," he replies, warm but not over-familiar. They don't really know each other. But he'd like to.

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"Oh, that's smooth." There's an edge to the way she grins, but she does step back and gesture for him to come inside.

Her cabin is clearly a blend of two different rooms, but they share a common aesthetic. There's her office, dominated by a simple wooden desk covered in paperwork contrasted with a chair like a fiendish throne; there's her bedroom, dominated by a canopy bed hung with red velvet curtains and covered in white satin sheets. The decoration ranges from 'demon heads on plaques' to 'paintings of vast, beautiful landscapes'.

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The grandiosity feels more familiar than most of the barge's decoration, even if it isn't as coherent as the Hexarchate.

"I mean it. I was very jealous for a bit, after the dreams."

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Envy without fear has become such a novelty that it catches her off guard for a moment, before she settles into a faintly nonplussed smile.

"I'd take you for a trip in the clouds, but - " She shrugs, and hovers a few inches off the ground. It still requires a certain level of poise and balance, but it's not exactly exciting.

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"I find clouds exciting enough, to be honest with you. Aside from the Deck here, I've never lived anywhere with a sky."

He says it placidly enough, a shrugging admission, as though he were simply a bit sheltered, rather than deprived.

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Maybe it's because her memories already felt jumbled after a week in another life, but she's abruptly thrust back in time: staring at the creche in the bowels of Genosha where babies were grown to be slaves, wondering why it felt so damned familiar.

"Was that incidental or designed?"

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"Yes?"

He's not completely sure he's parsing her question correctly. "In that I was definitely a prisoner, but also lots of people live on space stations."

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"Imprisoned in space. That's another level of insult." She has a feeling they both have reason to see the cosmos and believe in their bones that it meant freedom.

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He tilts his head for a moment, echoing the bird he was.

"Is that how you feel here?"

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"Not at the moment, but the first round? I was very intent on dying and the Admiral interrupted me." In retrospect she's surprised she didn't fling herself offboard then and there; maybe if she hadn't been distracted by other passengers.

"The second time, and this one, he asked. Probably because he knew I'd say yes."

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"Well, I'm very glad you've decided to give us a chance."

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"Less about you, more about me having shit to do." There's entirely too much fondness in how she says that for it to be entirely true.

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"Whatever works," Jedao agrees blithely.

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"Always."

She does admit, with a bit of a half-shrug, "Never had a permanent warden before this, either. I assume that helps."

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"I think it usually does. I've never been an inmate, so - take my perspective with a grain of salt, but. I think it always helps to have someone on your side."

He's been alone often enough to appreciate it.

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Her eyes widen, for a moment; she's not sure why she assumed he was one of the graduates, but she did.

Just the kinship of dreams and borrowed lives, probably. Either way, he makes a good point.

"It does. Assuming they stick around."

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He quirks an eyebrow back at her, reading the source of her surprise.

"I have my sordid and bloody past, I promise. I just managed to live through it," he tells her wryly. For better or for worse.

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How dare you catch her being wrong about a thing. The disgruntled little pout is chased almost immediately by grudging amusement, and a little bit of admiration.

"I was getting there, for the record." Her life had felt - so much bigger, this time. There was more room in it to fail, more room in it to grow.

Edited Date: 2024-09-12 06:53 am (UTC)

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"Then I'm glad you'll get to keep going."

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gulling

This terrible fuckin' creature touched me and I pushed it back outta my visions.

[ She reports her improvements to her shielding with breathless pride. ]

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[ The way Maddie grins is a little bit vicious, while still being warmly sincere. ]

That's my girl. Any idea where it came from?

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gulling

It was just Vinny. I bashed his brains in and he turned into some creature.

[ Someone is deeply not contrite about this ]

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John's told you, I presume?

[It's only minutes later.]

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[ Madelyne's response takes longer. Her voice is hoarse, low, aching. ]

Yeah.

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I'm going after him.

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...You - ?

[ She hadn't registered that as an option. There's a beat of silence, taut as a bowstring, before the video snaps on. It doesn't matter, suddenly, how clear it is that she's been crying; the gleam in her eyes is freshly, fiercely determined. ]

Wait for me.

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I'm packing in my cabin now. The door will open for you.

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You know I can't leave yet.

[ This time, when her gaze ignites, it isn't with helpless rage she can do nothing with. ]

And you need to be prepared for whatever bullshit we could face there.

I already lost my sister, Jedao.

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I'm sorry. If there's anything you want to give me or tell me for him, I'll take it.

But he's my son, and I promised I'd come for him. Last time he was gone, time didn't hold still for him.

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[ She doesn't try to soften the impact of hearing that, the searing brand of empathy. So she may as well say it out loud: ]

If it was Nathan, I'd be acting just as stupid.

But if your mind is shredded doing this, if your soul is scattered to the nine winds, if you look at him and have no idea who he is anymore - or worse, if you've been twisted into the sort of creature that would harm your own child, like I have been -

He will blame himself, and he will carry that forever. If he survives it.

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[He does listen.]

I loved him for my own about five minutes after I met him the first time. If I forget him, if he's forgotten me, I'll love him anyway.

I wish I could bring you with me more than anyone. I know I'm going to be outclassed by what's out there, that my very best hope in in the world is to sneak past unnoticed. But I know how to do that. I've been impossibly outclassed before. John's going to give me whatever he can to help.

I'm not going in with no plan, Maddie. I am just planning quickly.

That's as smart as I can be about this.

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You're fucking impossible. You're worse than Jean and Alex and Nate combined.

[ She means it, too, except she loves all three of those fucking disaster people so it's not as vicious as all that. When she scrubs her eyes and growls under her breath, it's as much about acceptance as it is exasperation. ]

Come to me, after you see him. There are things I can do.

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I do like to be ambitious.

[Dry as dust.]

Thank you. I will.

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Ugh. [ If there's a twitch of a smile there, no there isn't shut up. ]

Take as much time with him as you'll let yourself because you fucking need it. I'll be here.

[ The door is, in fact, unlocked! Because she is busy painting sigils in blood on the floor. ]

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I know I can't bring him back without whatever the fuck the Admiral is missing. But I can make sure he's somewhere safer than he was last.

[It's a little over an hour later when he knocks.]

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Come in, carefully.

[ If he smudges her hard work, so help her. ]

I'm gonna need your blood. [ She lifts a hand just to show off the gash in her palm. ]

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[He opens the door gingerly and then fully floats himself in rather than risk it, carefully skirting the edges regardless.]

It's not iron based.

[Nevertheless, he holds out his arm.]

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Show off.

[ For doing exactly what he asked her to do, yes. She's annoyed with you, sir.

That said, when she reaches up to slice through his skin with her nail, it's steady and even and only as deep as it needs to be. ]

This magic's based more on intent than chemicals. [ When she paints with his blood, it's with an almost reverent care. The symbols meet in the middle of the circle, where she delicately smears some of them into each other. Then, after a last sweeping glance, she stands up and then hovers herself, reaching out her hand. ]

Everyone I have ever loved is a reckless moron and I'm getting real tired of it.

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[His blood oozes, thick and slow, smelling of strange brine, caustic metal, bitter ink, oleic acid.]

The last time he was gone, I trusted the Admiral to bring him back. And he did. But I didn't account for what he went through in the meantime.

I've weighed the risks as well as I can. I'm taking any resources or precautions people can get me tonight. I swear I'm not doing this - lightly, or because I don't value the life I have.

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[ She inclines her head with a low, aching huff of breath. ]

Yeah, I know. [ When she grasps his forearm, smearing their blood together again, there's a charge in the air.

She was given a mutant body by the Five, but it was imprinted with an echo of Phoenix fire; her blood sings with it, in ways she can't quite grasp and use unless - ]

I felt Jean die from Limbo, and I couldn't do anything about it. Alex died fighting by my side, and I caught his soul and stuffed it back into his body.

[ She lets herself sink into both of those moments, the wrenching echo of Jean's psychic death scream and the incandescent rage that scorched her lover's killers from the inside. The runes alight with flame beneath them, and it flares in her eyes as she continues on. ]

This should help you hold onto yours, if anything tries to consume it or twist it or tear it apart.

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[He's not afraid of Edwin dying. He won't say that being twisted to Larson's will again, or someone crueler and more powerful, is worse, but he's sure he won't allow it if he has any chance to stop it.

Jedao's shadow leaps and flashes, as though in flickering firelight, the Ninefox emerging for a few moments, yellow crown of eyes one moment, a mouthful of flames the next. The Immolation Fox is a vicious little brother, revolutionary instead of primordial, but it screams a fox's scream in Jedao's blood; where they touch and mingle, Maddie can feel a hot pointy little nose pressed briefly into her palm. It has always been a barbed wire fortification in Jedao's mind, before this Jedao even existed, and the strength she gives it is in a form it instinctively understands, growing as fire grows with any fuel, bright and hotter and stronger. Jedao feels it, the burning heart-embers, the immovable internal beacon of it. He bows his head.]

Thank you, Maddie.

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[ For a moment, their blood singing and molten together, she feels utterly aligned with someone in a way she never has in waking hours before; only in dreams, in visions, in memories that are not hers. They are the ash made in the wake of cleaning fire; they are the new spark of life and passion and change; they are a force to be reckoned with.

Jedao doesn't need it, but she reaches for a little more of that magic to heal the cut anyway, because she made it. ]

Don't mention it. Unless you're talking to Edwin.

[ She squeezes his arm for a second, breath hitching just slightly. ]

And tell him, if he can't get back here to earn his deal - I've got it.

[ She can't graduate in time to keep him safe. She'll damn well graduate to give him closure. ]

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