TM 170 -- Time
(Prompt response plus RP-thread for daughter_of_m):
Jean always hated poetry, but the Professor encouraged them all -- not just the telepaths -- to memorize bits of verse as a form of psychological defense. If you were trapped alone,
What will become of you and me
. . .isolated. . .
(This is the school in which we learn…)
. . .for a long period of time, you could always repeat. . .
Besides the photo and the memory?
. . .the words in your head.
(…that time is the fire in which we burn.)
"Interesting choice," said the voice of the Phoenix. It was Jean's own voice, the words she would choose. The Phoenix didn't stoop to using words, but charged her mortal mind with shaping its notions into language.
Jean answered, into the blinding white of empty air. "This is an interesting situation."
"Only at first. I find that the stasis becomes rather tedious, after a century or two. Sooner, I suppose, for you, burdened as you are with the remnants of a pathetic human consciousness."
"Great, I get trapped with a condescending cosmic force for an alter ego."
"Trapped," echoed the Phoenix, and if a cosmic force of power and destruction could laugh, Jean was sure that it would have. "Girl, do you know where you are?"
"Yes." She imagined breathing in, closing her eyes, but it made no difference. She had no body. There was nothing here but heat and light. She remembered the words now that she had heard from Emma. They must have been her own words that Emma was only repeating back, from a time Jean didn't remember, words she only now understood. "This is the White Hot Room." (This is hell, nor am I out of it). "When I died, you took me to this place. Wanda let me out, somehow, and now you've shown up and taken me back. So I guess this is it. I finally get to die." The moment arriving, Jean felt no pain, no fear, only a bit of regret for Rachel, and Cable and Scott, for Logan and Hank and the others, for never knowing how the story would end. But she had felt that before; no one ever got to see the end of the story, and if they did, they would wish they hadn't. Jean braced, ready to shed thatpathetic mortal consciousness (there is no new thing under the sun).
She heard that laugh again. "You never die, Jean Grey. I've made sure of that. And I didn't bring you here."
"No," Jean said, as understanding began to dawn. "I found a way. If I host you again, you'll destroy me again. But I don't have to let you in."
"You do not," Phoenix agreed. "But I will not let you die. And until you change your mind, we'll both be here. Trapped, as you say. Meanwhile, the Scarlet Witch uses our power for her own ends. Don't you want to see what she has done to the this time?"
"No," Jean answered. "I don't want to know, and as for letting you in, I can wait. I have all the time in the world."
"Wonderful," said the Phoenix, with another long low laugh that was not a laugh. "I have much much longer."
Jean always hated poetry, but the Professor encouraged them all -- not just the telepaths -- to memorize bits of verse as a form of psychological defense. If you were trapped alone,
What will become of you and me
. . .isolated. . .
(This is the school in which we learn…)
. . .for a long period of time, you could always repeat. . .
Besides the photo and the memory?
. . .the words in your head.
(…that time is the fire in which we burn.)
"Interesting choice," said the voice of the Phoenix. It was Jean's own voice, the words she would choose. The Phoenix didn't stoop to using words, but charged her mortal mind with shaping its notions into language.
Jean answered, into the blinding white of empty air. "This is an interesting situation."
"Only at first. I find that the stasis becomes rather tedious, after a century or two. Sooner, I suppose, for you, burdened as you are with the remnants of a pathetic human consciousness."
"Great, I get trapped with a condescending cosmic force for an alter ego."
"Trapped," echoed the Phoenix, and if a cosmic force of power and destruction could laugh, Jean was sure that it would have. "Girl, do you know where you are?"
"Yes." She imagined breathing in, closing her eyes, but it made no difference. She had no body. There was nothing here but heat and light. She remembered the words now that she had heard from Emma. They must have been her own words that Emma was only repeating back, from a time Jean didn't remember, words she only now understood. "This is the White Hot Room." (This is hell, nor am I out of it). "When I died, you took me to this place. Wanda let me out, somehow, and now you've shown up and taken me back. So I guess this is it. I finally get to die." The moment arriving, Jean felt no pain, no fear, only a bit of regret for Rachel, and Cable and Scott, for Logan and Hank and the others, for never knowing how the story would end. But she had felt that before; no one ever got to see the end of the story, and if they did, they would wish they hadn't. Jean braced, ready to shed thatpathetic mortal consciousness (there is no new thing under the sun).
She heard that laugh again. "You never die, Jean Grey. I've made sure of that. And I didn't bring you here."
"No," Jean said, as understanding began to dawn. "I found a way. If I host you again, you'll destroy me again. But I don't have to let you in."
"You do not," Phoenix agreed. "But I will not let you die. And until you change your mind, we'll both be here. Trapped, as you say. Meanwhile, the Scarlet Witch uses our power for her own ends. Don't you want to see what she has done to the this time?"
"No," Jean answered. "I don't want to know, and as for letting you in, I can wait. I have all the time in the world."
"Wonderful," said the Phoenix, with another long low laugh that was not a laugh. "I have much much longer."