Alkali Lake

[queenofechoes]

If she's really honest with herself, this is mostly about distraction. She doesn't want to think about Alex leaving, or where he is now, or who he's spending his time with. Paperwork is too formulaic, and negotiation - well, he'd always helped with that, even at his weakest.

So, instead of attending to the essential but frustrating work of the Embassy, she retreats into Limbo itself. It feels like an extension of her, but that doesn't mean she knows all its secrets, understands all its workings. Delving into that is dangerous, but she's in the mood for a challenge.

What she didn't expect is for that exploration to lead her out of the Splintered Realms entirely. One moment, she's burrowed deep into depths she doesn't quite recognise but still feel like hers; the next she's soaring, faster and faster as she erupts into flames and the stars sing through her soul, until finally she erupts from -

A lake?

Is she still on fire?

(Yes, she is.)

Comments

[notrosecolored]

Scott pulls up on the bike. He hasn't shaved in days, he's pretty damn tired, and he doesn't know why he had to come here - just that he did.

When he gets there, he has a pretty good idea.

There's a woman on fire that bursts out of the lake.

That looks like Jean. Probably.

He... doesn't say a single word. Cuts the engine, gets off the bike, walks into and toward the (Canadian, cold) lake his wife drowned in.

But also, even for him in this state (which is slightly crazy): What?

[queenofechoes]

Madelyne doesn't notice him, at first, because she's noticing everything. It's exhilarating and overwhelming and she thinks her mind might burst from it, until -

It's obvious, when she sees him. Her gaze locks like a predator but the flames, they stutter and soften until they blaze entirely beneath her skin. She's still glowing, faintly, but she looks human.

On the one hand, the resemblance is abundantly clear now. On the other hand, Jean was definitely not wearing THAT when she died.

Her voice is also wrong - the accent, the intonation, the edge of defensive uncertainty. It's hoarse, too, aching like she hasn't spoken in years or perhaps has been screaming for all of them.

"You'll catch your death like that."

[notrosecolored]

He stops about up to his knees, at least, instead of continuing to wade deeper. He's not exactly immune to the cold.

"I don't think I was chasing it." Death, he means, but he's not sure of that. "I'll come out when you do." Or when she comes down, maybe.

He doesn't know what is happening.

That's not Jean.

Except is almost is.

He's not scared. He's not even really confused, anymore. He's just... kind of... thinks he's lost whatever was left of his mind.

[queenofechoes]

That isn't Scott.

At least, it's not her Scott, and maybe that's why it's easier to descend just far enough that her boots skim the surface of the water.

"You were chasing a ghost, I think." It would have been bitter, once; now it's wistful instead, and a little bit sympathetic. "Come on, then."

She moves past him, to lead him back onto solid ground. As she passes him her hand - doesn't quite reach for his, but there's a twitch of movement, of instinct and memory.

[notrosecolored]

He is definitely not her Scott, and/or from the same point in time. Amongst other reasons and obvious differences, by virtue of being maybe thirty.

"I was." He is. "Who are you?"

Because she is not a ghost.

And had been on fire.