(no subject)
I can see the sky.
Ellen ducks outdoors, dressed in simple cotton: the shirt white, the slacks black, both loose and designed more for comfort than class. Her attention is focused inward. She paces at a considerably shortened stride to the stone firepit at the center of camp. It is empty of anything but ash. She sits down on the ground beside it and tips her head back, closing her eyes into the cooling breeze. It ripples at her clothing, and at her damp hair. She breathes in deeply.
Magneto is slow in his pursuit - the light, airy blue of his shirt in pleasant contrast with the darker grey of his slacks. Sleeves and collar unbuttoned, he too seems to have opted for comfort over making an impression (despite the new faces around camp) and takes his time in wandering outdoors, and after Ellen. Slow footfalls, however, cannot disguise the fact that he has a singular purpose in being outside, however. He is headed for the fire pit.
Ellen lets her palms fall to the ground behind her and leans back, fingertips pressing lightly into hard-packed earth. Her eyes flicker open after a few more breaths. She turns her head, sees him, and starts to stand up again.
"Ms. Dramstadt," greeting passed on with a slow nod, Erik is doing a fair job of keeping wariness disguised. Hair and shirt ruffling in the breeze, he even manages a small smile for her as he draws near. The sun is out, above fluffy clouds. The air is cool and comfortable. Things really could be worse.
"Sir." Ellen stands straight with her hands folded behind her, the posture as familiar as breathing. She smiles answer, chin tipped up.
Combat boots (still a bit bloody, actually) scuff into a relaxed halt just out of arm's reach, and Erik looks her over much as he did earlier, the main difference being that they are both clean and comfortably dressed. "How are you feeling?"
Ellen hesitates over answer, her head tilting slightly to one side. She moistens her lips and swallows. She says, "It is very good to be home, sir. I -- it was --" She stops. She repeats, "/Very/ good to be home."
"Mmm, well," a wiry arm extended with intent to ease in around her hip, Erik lifts his brows and exhales mild relief, long and slow. "I am sorry that it took us as long as it did."
Ellen does not have a vocal reply at first: she shifts into Erik's touch, leaning into him -- seeking the warmth of his body with the press of hers, as though there is a part of her that is afraid he might evaporate like a ghost. Her hands come loose from their neat clasp. "You found us," she says, words soft on the escape of a deep breath. "It is enough."
Erik is, by now, at least somewhat accustomed to such ready response. The nearness of her doesn't seem to bother him, anyway, though he does find himself blinking a little forcibly away to focus on one of the warehouses before he looks back to her again. "I am glad."
"They wanted to train us," Ellen says, her voice low and darkening with sudden fury. She pulls away from him to straighten, spine stiffening against the assault to her pride. "Like animals." She sneers, "Carrot and stick. I would kill them each a hundred times, a hundred ways, if I could."
"And such torment would be well deserved," Erik agrees carefully, splayed fingers trailing lightly over her lower back before they drop back to his side. "But such behavior is to be expected from them, and some semblance of justice has been delivered, in the short term."
Ellen looks at him for a long moment. Lower lip caught between her teeth, she looks away, and down. "I killed Lillianne."
There is a pause, there. Broken glass. Blood. The images are still fresh in his mind. "My dear, /they/ killed Lillianne the moment they decided to drag her down into that damnable garage. She wasn't meant for such things."
"She couldn't breathe," Ellen says very quietly. Her hands lift, fingers scrabbling at the walls of an invisible jar. "She was so fragile. She was only a child." Her voice cracks. She blinks repeatedly. "My hands have always been death's hands. I thought I had conquered it."
"Ellen..." distinct unease, there. A sympathetic nature is not one of Erik's more defining attributes, and he hesitates before leaning back for her, arm lifted once more. "What is done, is done. It was not your fault."
"Thank you, sir." Ellen sucks in a deep breath through her teeth; and another. She draws herself up to her full height, strength drawn from pride. She lays a hand over his arm, inching up to rest at his shoulder. "Perhaps it wasn't."
"It wasn't. And by no means should you feel compelled to burden yourself with the guilt of humanity." That arm circles back around her waist, and Erik concentrates upon remaining casual despite that inching creep of her hand up onto his shoulder. "I will hold a small service, once things have settled, if it seems as if it may be needed."
"The humans buried her." Ellen smiles, although the expression has little warmth in it. "They thought it was a kindness. They /meant/ it for a kindness. Fools." She leans into him again, breath escaping on a hollow laugh. Then, very softly, she says, "I will pray for her."
"There is no amount of kindness that can return a life wrongfully taken," Erik mutters back at her, the wrap of his arm around her hips firm in a fashion that is intended to be stabeliizng, if not comfortable. "I'm sure she will appreciate it."
"So I hope." Ellen's hands slip down his back to both halt somewhere vaguely in the middle. She tilts her head, looking at him. "Thank you, sir," she says again.
"For all that you are welcome, I act out of necessity, rather than kindness. You are my Brothers. You do my bidding. I owe it to each of you to see that you do not meet an untimely end at the filthy hands of our lesser cousins." A vague smile making itself known once more, despite the fact that he appears outwardly at ease, his back is as tense as it ever is beneath her hands.
Ellen tilts her head. "The kindness is now," she says. Her hands skim down over his back and drop; she pulls away, letting her arms fold over her chest as she smiles back at him. "I never doubted you'd come for me. I knew you would protect your servant."
Magneto makes a noise that is difficult to interpret specifically, somewhere between a grunt and a snort. But at its vaguest, it is a pleased sort of noise, and as she drops her hands, he drops his as well. "You are a good servant, Ellen. I am proud to have you in my camp." Even if you are insane. The last, of course, goes unspoken, and he offers a nod of farewell before turning slowly back in the direction of the factory. "As much as I would like to remain outdoors, I'm afraid I do have a few things to attend to. It is good to have you back."
Ellen nods to Magneto, wholly grave but for the uplift of pride that comes with the draw of breath. "Yes," she says. She tips her head back and smiles up into the sky. "Yes," she says again, more quietly. "Good to be home."
Lines etch in around Erik's eyes as he closes them, and walks slowly away. Hfff.
Ellen ducks outdoors, dressed in simple cotton: the shirt white, the slacks black, both loose and designed more for comfort than class. Her attention is focused inward. She paces at a considerably shortened stride to the stone firepit at the center of camp. It is empty of anything but ash. She sits down on the ground beside it and tips her head back, closing her eyes into the cooling breeze. It ripples at her clothing, and at her damp hair. She breathes in deeply.
Magneto is slow in his pursuit - the light, airy blue of his shirt in pleasant contrast with the darker grey of his slacks. Sleeves and collar unbuttoned, he too seems to have opted for comfort over making an impression (despite the new faces around camp) and takes his time in wandering outdoors, and after Ellen. Slow footfalls, however, cannot disguise the fact that he has a singular purpose in being outside, however. He is headed for the fire pit.
Ellen lets her palms fall to the ground behind her and leans back, fingertips pressing lightly into hard-packed earth. Her eyes flicker open after a few more breaths. She turns her head, sees him, and starts to stand up again.
"Ms. Dramstadt," greeting passed on with a slow nod, Erik is doing a fair job of keeping wariness disguised. Hair and shirt ruffling in the breeze, he even manages a small smile for her as he draws near. The sun is out, above fluffy clouds. The air is cool and comfortable. Things really could be worse.
"Sir." Ellen stands straight with her hands folded behind her, the posture as familiar as breathing. She smiles answer, chin tipped up.
Combat boots (still a bit bloody, actually) scuff into a relaxed halt just out of arm's reach, and Erik looks her over much as he did earlier, the main difference being that they are both clean and comfortably dressed. "How are you feeling?"
Ellen hesitates over answer, her head tilting slightly to one side. She moistens her lips and swallows. She says, "It is very good to be home, sir. I -- it was --" She stops. She repeats, "/Very/ good to be home."
"Mmm, well," a wiry arm extended with intent to ease in around her hip, Erik lifts his brows and exhales mild relief, long and slow. "I am sorry that it took us as long as it did."
Ellen does not have a vocal reply at first: she shifts into Erik's touch, leaning into him -- seeking the warmth of his body with the press of hers, as though there is a part of her that is afraid he might evaporate like a ghost. Her hands come loose from their neat clasp. "You found us," she says, words soft on the escape of a deep breath. "It is enough."
Erik is, by now, at least somewhat accustomed to such ready response. The nearness of her doesn't seem to bother him, anyway, though he does find himself blinking a little forcibly away to focus on one of the warehouses before he looks back to her again. "I am glad."
"They wanted to train us," Ellen says, her voice low and darkening with sudden fury. She pulls away from him to straighten, spine stiffening against the assault to her pride. "Like animals." She sneers, "Carrot and stick. I would kill them each a hundred times, a hundred ways, if I could."
"And such torment would be well deserved," Erik agrees carefully, splayed fingers trailing lightly over her lower back before they drop back to his side. "But such behavior is to be expected from them, and some semblance of justice has been delivered, in the short term."
Ellen looks at him for a long moment. Lower lip caught between her teeth, she looks away, and down. "I killed Lillianne."
There is a pause, there. Broken glass. Blood. The images are still fresh in his mind. "My dear, /they/ killed Lillianne the moment they decided to drag her down into that damnable garage. She wasn't meant for such things."
"She couldn't breathe," Ellen says very quietly. Her hands lift, fingers scrabbling at the walls of an invisible jar. "She was so fragile. She was only a child." Her voice cracks. She blinks repeatedly. "My hands have always been death's hands. I thought I had conquered it."
"Ellen..." distinct unease, there. A sympathetic nature is not one of Erik's more defining attributes, and he hesitates before leaning back for her, arm lifted once more. "What is done, is done. It was not your fault."
"Thank you, sir." Ellen sucks in a deep breath through her teeth; and another. She draws herself up to her full height, strength drawn from pride. She lays a hand over his arm, inching up to rest at his shoulder. "Perhaps it wasn't."
"It wasn't. And by no means should you feel compelled to burden yourself with the guilt of humanity." That arm circles back around her waist, and Erik concentrates upon remaining casual despite that inching creep of her hand up onto his shoulder. "I will hold a small service, once things have settled, if it seems as if it may be needed."
"The humans buried her." Ellen smiles, although the expression has little warmth in it. "They thought it was a kindness. They /meant/ it for a kindness. Fools." She leans into him again, breath escaping on a hollow laugh. Then, very softly, she says, "I will pray for her."
"There is no amount of kindness that can return a life wrongfully taken," Erik mutters back at her, the wrap of his arm around her hips firm in a fashion that is intended to be stabeliizng, if not comfortable. "I'm sure she will appreciate it."
"So I hope." Ellen's hands slip down his back to both halt somewhere vaguely in the middle. She tilts her head, looking at him. "Thank you, sir," she says again.
"For all that you are welcome, I act out of necessity, rather than kindness. You are my Brothers. You do my bidding. I owe it to each of you to see that you do not meet an untimely end at the filthy hands of our lesser cousins." A vague smile making itself known once more, despite the fact that he appears outwardly at ease, his back is as tense as it ever is beneath her hands.
Ellen tilts her head. "The kindness is now," she says. Her hands skim down over his back and drop; she pulls away, letting her arms fold over her chest as she smiles back at him. "I never doubted you'd come for me. I knew you would protect your servant."
Magneto makes a noise that is difficult to interpret specifically, somewhere between a grunt and a snort. But at its vaguest, it is a pleased sort of noise, and as she drops her hands, he drops his as well. "You are a good servant, Ellen. I am proud to have you in my camp." Even if you are insane. The last, of course, goes unspoken, and he offers a nod of farewell before turning slowly back in the direction of the factory. "As much as I would like to remain outdoors, I'm afraid I do have a few things to attend to. It is good to have you back."
Ellen nods to Magneto, wholly grave but for the uplift of pride that comes with the draw of breath. "Yes," she says. She tips her head back and smiles up into the sky. "Yes," she says again, more quietly. "Good to be home."
Lines etch in around Erik's eyes as he closes them, and walks slowly away. Hfff.