#channelinglightning

FLIGHTLESS BIRD

the thought of your found family is what motivates you in your own little world. you touch the clouds, and the soil gives way under your footprints... this is utopia. if you were to erase one thing, it would be your memory. experience is important, but ignorance is bliss. identity, in heaven, should give way to happiness. you'd give anything just to sit by the swings and eat ice cream, but this isn't that kind of world. you have to get up and wash the dirt off of your scraped knees. i think you have an escapism problem.

Next to her sat a pack, with its contents of metal, screws, wires, and more dumped on the ground in front of her along with a personal sized kit of tools. But try as she might, she couldn’t stop her hands shaking, couldn’t stop tears welling up in her eyes that she had to constantly blink back, and it was making an already tough job that much harder. Whatever it was that the pieces in front of her belonged to, it had clearly gone through something bad, as had the woman trying desperately to put it back together. She would find better tools later, right now, she just needed a quiet, safe place, and to try and assess the damage. 

“God, I know, I know, but I still feel awful dumping water on everything, especially since I know you hate damp clothing.” How was she supposed to tell him it had been the lesser of two evils since she’d had to try and secretly use her power to try and pull his phone and other valuables away from the apparently short circuited washer? Now said valuables were likely splashed with water too, and despite knowing it was better that than a person stepping in the electrocuted water, logic didn’t bend to anxious fears very well.

That and anxiety didn’t accept apologies very well either.

The streetlight he was sat under would eventually stop flickering, shifting to a solid glow that borders on too much, with a buzzing that suggested an overload. But for now it was fine, she’d make sure of that.

He looked tired. Sounded tired. She supposed she must look the same. It had been months after all. 

“Might have been easier not to lose faith in yourself, if you had any faith in your friends.” Althea spoke from behind him, hands tucked into the pockets of a rough black denim jacket, head tilted at him as she tried to decide what she was pissed at him or just... sad. 

Of course she’d heard what had happened, the whole city knew. A good hero had a sidekick, a good villain had a henchman, and a good person had a friend. He had abandoned all of them and lost. But she couldn’t bring herself to completely hate him, at least. Not until she had a chance to gauge him for herself. 

Althea stood watching for a moment, not sure whether this was.... amusing or sad.  Finally, she moved forward, coming around to his side, but not touching him so as not to startle him or incure his apparent wrath.