milliways_bar | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Rachel is in the bar, slowly stretching in the rafters. The feel of muscles moving under whole, undamaged skin is something that makes her smile. And, for a wonder, she's actually not wearing spandex or torn jeans...no. She's wearing a small work out bra, rippling scars showing in breathtaking patterns everytime she bends her back.

It's a tale of pain and agony each time the light shifts over the slick skin...

Perhaps that's why she's in the rafters. She hates to bother people.

[Alas, the computer is being stolen from me. Open to slowtags of course]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Rachel is a creature of touch, so perhaps it is not suprising that she reaches out, flame clinging like cobwebs between her fingers and brushes his cheek lightly. Just a small gift of strength, of energy...

Better than coffee.

"How badly do you want a cure, Bruce?" the words aer gentle, though there's a great deal of weight in them.

He shivers and smiles under her touch, then freezes at her words and blinks at her.

"Wha-... what are you ?"

he stares at her for a long moment.

"Rachel" she answered, drawing her hand backafter that single touch.

She's used to such reaction...she is. Honest.

...she'd thought she could help...

"No... I didnt mean..."

he shakes his head.

"I am not asking What are you? I am asking what are you talking about?"

He sees her look and this time he is the tone who reaches out and touches her face, gently.

"Look at me, Rachel, touch the outside of my mind, and know I am not lying."

::I'm a micro telekinietic, alongside the macro...with more power than makes any galaxy comfortable. If you truly wanted...::

It wouldn't be hard.

And that should scare her.

She's not meeting his gaze though.

"Rachel... look at me, please."

he sighs.

"I've had it done similarly twice before... and each time it came back. I dont know why, or how, nbutn something in my universe wont let me not bne the Hulk... not yet... that doesnt mean I dont look for a cure... but... I dont want you to be hurt."

She doesn't point out futility. If he knows he will fail...and strives anyway....it is simply part of what he is.

When she meets his gaze, the emerald fades rapidly to flame and universes within such...

And he smiles, meeting her eyes, his own brown with a tinge of green.

"Hello, Rachel."

He nods and lowers his hand at last.

"I would welcome your help, if you can find out what is at the bottomm of this. The last people who helped me magically, and telekinetically, both had a major backlash when it reversed... I dont want you to ever have to face that."

That just earns a small, sad smile. She's faced worse, and lived. Are not the scars proof?

"I will look, if you like"

He nods.

"Thank you."

He knows scars, but he wouldnt willingly add to them, ever.

He lifts his hand and reaches out to her, and inside his mind, his shields fall completely.

He doesn't have to drop his shields...she simply has to pay attention. It's that simple for her now. Amazing, how unfocused the rest of the world is in her mind, so she doesn't influence them all...

But now, now she's paying attention...

A great being of flame, gently diving deep, far deeper than she should be able to...

And he watches her, eyes wide, and just breathes, feeling that power and then he grits his teeth. In his mind he restrains the green door. Power unlimited dwells behind it and brings rage with it when it escapes. And so he holds it... and holds it, and holds it.

She's not concerned with the doors she sees.Nor their roots, so intermingled and entwined.

No, she's far deeper than that. A flaming ghost among things no normal eye or mind could see or comprehend...

...searching...

The depths of him are dark and darker yet, filled with shadows and lights and doorways and things that go boo, or boom... but the end seems no closer, no nearer. Even as a plaque comes into view, with one word;TRUTH.

She does not mind darkness, she harbors her own, and it is a void...

And she is a being of light...

She passes through the plaque, tasting it in passing...

Copper and sorrow and light and faith and fullness...

And the depths stretch onward, but to all things, there is an ending.. an illusion of an ending perhaps, but en ending.. a wall, simple, green, quiet... stone.

And outside, Bruce trembles....

She had offered to look, and that is all she will do.

To the wall and far, far beyond...for what she sees is far different.

But there is no hesitation. No halt.

And he squeezes his eeys closed, not knowing what lays beyind, not knowing what might be the answer... only that something more powerfyul than he is at the root of it...

And maybe he cannot know...she's not dragging him with her past this point. It could do more than damage him.

No, she goes alone.

Deep in the heart of those depths, there is a simple sign post.

'TRUTH LIVES IN THE BALANCE. BALANCE LIVES IN WHAT CANNOT BE DENIED.'

And only one road leads onward into the darkness, a darkness that becomes increasingly narrowed and quiet.

This sign, she passes through as well. Never has she truly feared darkness, or narrow ways, after all, she herself walked a razor edged line...

And this is not Void.

And in the ends, the depths, all things end.

A quiet space, a simple space, a center space, where a figure sits, shifting constantly. And words spill across the wall behind it.

TRUTH IS, LIFE IS DEATH IS, HOPE IS, EVIL IS, DECEIT IS, DEATH IS, DESPAIR IS, GOOD IS...

ETERNITY IS.

HULK IS.

The figure is Bruce and the Hulks, shifting slowly through transformations, glowing with an internal green power.

And it speaks.

"Unto all time, there are those chosen to simply be. Unto all that is, there are truths that cannot be denied. Born of despair and pain, there is hope, born of fire and darkness, there is strength endless. Born of the end of things, there is an endless beginning. Born of Death, there is Hulk."

And she watches.

There are many truths, the number uncountable, and unique for every soul. She knows a good many of them. ::Who chooses?:: she asked simply, not at all put off by the shifting form or it's prophetic pronouncements.

In fact, she steps forward and gently strokes flaming fingers through it's hair, waiting.

::NECCESSITY... FORM CHOOSES FUNCTION... FUNCTION CHOOSSES FORM... LIFE HAS CHOSEN IT'S CHAMPION, FLAWED AS IT IS.::

::Most tools are flawed:: she agreed easily, speaking, perhaps, as one herself. Or a piece of another...or just a champion of life.

::I suggest, at some point, you tell him. Even if just in dreams, or life is goin to lose this one very quickly::