(Untitled)

[ladyfirestarter]

[Out of Milliways: And if the fires burn out, there's only fire to blame]

The front door opens onto a hallway in Taos, New Mexico.

Charlie McGee steps in with the slow careful movements of extreme exhaustion, leaning on a cane, and holds the door for Charles Wallace Murry.

"Here we are," she says to him, with a tired but beautiful smile.

Comments

[aj_crawley]

Crowley's in a booth near the door tonight, boots propped up on the opposite bench and a somewhat incidental bowl of fried paradoxes on the table. There are many reasons why she might pick an out of the way table, that's true, but tonight, it's because she's reading a book - purple, white, paperback; the sort where the cover announces the author's name on a substantially larger scale than the title.

So.

Luckily for Charlie (or something like that), the collection's first story sounds a little gruesome for snack-time; Crowley's in the process of skipping to the second, as well as her fried paradoxes, when she's distracted by a flash of red hair out of the corner of her eye.

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie's slowly making her way toward a table near the door, leaning heavily on her cane.

She hasn't spotted Crowley yet. (And wouldn't recognize ... her ... if she had.)

[aj_crawley]

For those few moments - because of those few moments - Crowley considers letting it pass.

But then again - well.

It is what it is.

She really is moving very stiffly.

"Alright?" Crowley ventures, pitched to carry but lightly enough even so.

[ladyfirestarter]

She glances up, and smiles tiredly. "I'm fine, thank you."

[aj_crawley]

"You don't look fine," Crowley points out, squinting over the top of her sunglasses.

How rude.

[ladyfirestarter]

"No, I'm sure I don't," Charlie replies with only slightly edged good humor.

[aj_crawley]

"I've been told I've quite the keen set of observational skills," Crowley agrees, leaning forward enough to prop an elbow on the table and level a shrewd finger at Charlie. "For instance, I'm pretty sure you weren't using a cane, before."

She should know, too.

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie pauses, and turns to look more closely at the speaker.

"...We've met," she says, and it isn't a question but it's very uncertain.

[aj_crawley]

"Once or twice," she says, a little taken aback. "Fairly memorably, I thought."

It's... just possible that Crowley may have forgotten what form she's wearing.

(Here's the thing: it's all there. The shape of the face, if rather finer-boned; the quirk of the eyebrow, if a bit more delicately arched; the angle of the mouth, if just a little fuller. But here's the thing: it's like the vase, or the two faces. You only see it once you see it.)

Puzzled, she slides her sunglasses up into her hair, and peers a little closer.

[ladyfirestarter]

It's the eyes that do it; the eyes, and a memory of having seen something like this before, once.

"...Crowley?"

[aj_crawley]

"Yeah," she says, managing - in a staggering concession to Charlie's appearance - not to look too patronising.

(In actual fact, she looks marginally insulted - but then again, Crowley's nothing if not vain, and used to only being forgotten when she means to be forgotten. Generally speaking, at least.)

[ladyfirestarter]

"Sorry," she says. "That's a ... different look for you."

She sways a little on her feet.

[aj_crawley]

"What?" she says - and then, looking down, " - Oh."

Which turns into, looking back up: "Whoa." Quite suddenly, and without appearing to actually move at all, she's sitting at the edge of the booth, feet on the floor. "You want to sit down? I might be a spawn of lies and so on, but I meant it when I said you look like shit."

Which, true, isn't what she said - but now that Charlie's proven at least somewhat coherent, moderately cheerful, and not entirely amnesiac, Crowley feels comfortable with an upgrade.

[ladyfirestarter]

"Thanks," and that's not as dry as it might be, because Charlie really could use the seat.

She doesn't exactly collapse into the offered chair, but does sit rather heavily, and takes a moment to just breathe once the weight's off her feet.

[aj_crawley]

Surreptitiously, Crowley clears away a little more room on the table - should Charlie want to rest her cane on it, perhaps. The paradoxes, as well as the various condiments and napkin-related sundries cluttering the centre of the table, get slid a little further in towards the wall. The book goes down by Crowley's coat on the bench.

"Running marathons?" she suggests.

(The thought comes to her in the breath before speaking; there's not much reason to it except maybe that it's simply on her mind, all of a sudden. Charlie looks like she - like he felt, after that place. The house. Running marathons, indeed.)

[ladyfirestarter]

"Hah," and it's a dry amusement, but genuine. "No, not this week."

She rests her cane against the edge of the table, instead of on it.