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milliways_bar2006-08-26 01:12 pm
clockarmageddon.livejournal.com) wrote in milliways_bar2006-08-26 01:12 pm
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(no subject)
You know how this works by now.
Clock. Bar. Ticking. Faster.
Successfully repelled any attack against it so far. Maybe you'll be the lucky one?
This minimalist entrance post brought to you by the mun's swatting big migraine.
Clock. Bar. Ticking. Faster.
Successfully repelled any attack against it so far. Maybe you'll be the lucky one?
This minimalist entrance post brought to you by the mun's swatting big migraine.
no subject
If Fred died now, then logically, she'd never even exist.
Is it worth the risk?
Time's ticking down.
no subject
She could take Fred with her. Perhaps Wesley, too. Somewhere that the paradox would not necessarily mean anything. Somewhere that the fact that Wesley was dead would not matter. If Milliways existed, surely some other similar place did, as well.
If she had time to find it.
And if they would even leave now, while the threat lay momentarily dormant. They were both such stubborn creatures with so very little caution.
Another time she might have respected that.
Now it just irritates her.
She cannot do this. It is asking too much. She'd said no.
She'd meant no.
no subject
Such an emotion is almost Phyrexian in its antipathy. After all, just what are these lives worth to someone with the power that Illyria now commands?
no subject
... and yet, what was that power worth to her with no followers? With none to command?
She'd had it for half the time she'd been here, and in that time had earned one follower.
Who had betrayed her.
Then she'd returned to her world to have her powers stripped by the very person who had tried to help her get them back. Tried, and technically failed, though the journey had been a success in the end. Something had given her powers back.
Which meant she hadn't truly won them.
What were such powers worth?
It was something to consider. Something she wanted more time to consider.
no subject
If there were a minute hand, you could judge the time at about 8:50.
Just under ten minutes, and then she can have another 24 hours if she wishes.
If they survive.
no subject
She'd fairly yelled those words at Fred.
But that was what it came down to. A question without answer, unless she was willing to answer it for them for another day. Another day that might yet be their last.
She lacks the concept of fear. Doesn't feel it for herself, doesn't feel any of what Fred was except through those echoes of emotion. Stares at the clock and watches it tick without the slightest trace of apprehension.
Never takes her eyes off of it as she touches the crystal that has embedded itself in her armor, the object which channeled her power.
Doesn't blink as the armor releases the crystal and she holds it in her hand, a dull blue-violet object that reflected light deep within itself but betrayed nothing of the violent power it held in check.
She didn't care.
But she offers the crystal all the same, holds it out to the clock almost defiantly.
Take it. I can get it back.
On her own this time. Not accidentally, not at the whims of some unknown power that had intervened to give her what she ought to have earned.
She was better than that.
no subject
Silence.
Then, a hum. Building. Building.
A spark. Arcing across from the clock to the crystal.
The hand rolls backward.
Normally, that would be it. But this is no normal offering. This is real power. This is on the level of the power of a true planeswalker. Offered earlier in the week, it could have prevented a quake entirely.
Another arc shoots out, the power too much for a single channel to contain it. Then a third and a fourth. The crystal is drained, the light fading and dimming to nothing.
The clock continues to move. Past the 7, past the 6, even past the 5.
The blue-white tendrils glow brighter and brighter, and then, in one final flash of light, the crystal shatters.
The clock reads half-past four when it begins ticking again, with only a couple of minutes left to go.
no subject
Even with the crystal as the channel, the buffer between her and her own power, the barrier between her and the clock, it still hurts. Still feels as though she's having senses as vital to her existence as breathing ripped away from her.
She'd barely had time to adjust to them again, and it hurts anyway. Leaves her shaken and gasping and trying to pick up the pieces, literally and figuratively.
She manages to gather up what's left of the crystal, and makes her way over to one of the chairs before her legs give out under her and she crumples into it and tries to relearn how to breathe.