"Yeah," she says absently, nibbling a fingernail. "Didn't I mention? When our year's up, this stuff just turns into water." A tap to the curved wall behind her.
"Um. Shit. Don't tell me you've got a thing about heights," says Eights worriedly.
The view is nice from up here. They would be above the stratosphere, if this place had a stratosphere. The furtive lights of Downside are visible on the dark half of the cliffs, and on the sunlit half Upside glitters in all its pristine glory.
"I kind of wish I could do something about that. But, uh, I can't."
Yes, she's kicking herself inside now. Never mind that she could not possibly have foreseen this turn of events when she offered a cute guy Scorcher that fateful day in the Nexus. It is clearly her fault regardless.
Clearly, Clark needs to come with a warning label of some kind. Or be kept on a leash, since these things just seem to happen to him.
"Well, uh, I have a few months to get used to the idea?" That's the best bright side he can come up with. "I'm going to make a really big dent, you know."
Eights waves a hand. "Don't worry about it, we're over my forest and I don't care if it gets banged up. Look, somebody's already fixed all the damage you did to the trees."
"Sorry again," says Eights, shrugging helplessy. "I honestly wish there were something I could do, but there's n--"
She breaks off mid-word, frowning. What follows is a long, pensive silence, broken only by thoughtful, rhythmic tapping on the glass. (To Tom Sawyer by Rush, if anyone cares.)
Eights lifts her arms in a you-got-me shrug; they swirl with fire, as though she's going to torch, but instead of pulling back to reveal a newly revived Eight-Hour the fire moves--
--gusting around the bubble like a particularly feisty breeze before settling down a few feet around the curve from where Eights was just sitting and resolving, finally, back into a woman again.
"That," she says. "I can do that. But I've never been able to keep it up over those kinds of distances, and although I know some people can carry other people with them I've never tried and certainly not on anyone living."
After a brief pause, "Or anyone not human, for that matter."
The living/dead distinction is really foremost in her mind.
"...We could always try," she suggests, somewhat dubiously. "I mean, torch-fire isn't exactly real fire. It doesn't normally burn anything other than the person it's set for, or I'd be wearing a lot less clothes right now."
It does now.
"We're dropping?"
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The view is nice from up here. They would be above the stratosphere, if this place had a stratosphere. The furtive lights of Downside are visible on the dark half of the cliffs, and on the sunlit half Upside glitters in all its pristine glory.
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The view is pretty. He doesn't care. He can only think about how much of that view he's going to destroy when he lands.
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"I kind of wish I could do something about that. But, uh, I can't."
Yes, she's kicking herself inside now. Never mind that she could not possibly have foreseen this turn of events when she offered a cute guy Scorcher that fateful day in the Nexus. It is clearly her fault regardless.
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"Well, uh, I have a few months to get used to the idea?" That's the best bright side he can come up with. "I'm going to make a really big dent, you know."
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"I've done this before. Maybe not from this high, but I'll take out a good chunk."
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She breaks off mid-word, frowning. What follows is a long, pensive silence, broken only by thoughtful, rhythmic tapping on the glass. (To Tom Sawyer by Rush, if anyone cares.)
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"What?"
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Or maybe by now, she wouldn't.
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--gusting around the bubble like a particularly feisty breeze before settling down a few feet around the curve from where Eights was just sitting and resolving, finally, back into a woman again.
"That," she says. "I can do that. But I've never been able to keep it up over those kinds of distances, and although I know some people can carry other people with them I've never tried and certainly not on anyone living."
After a brief pause, "Or anyone not human, for that matter."
The living/dead distinction is really foremost in her mind.
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Once he's had time to really process that, "I have no idea if that would even work. I'm kind of fireproof."
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