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'We are all in this together.' The Fire Woman says. Flitting from one conscious to another, the burning embers of her skin leaving a quiet lasting impression.. one that fades soon after due to incompatibilities, or for the lack of better word, not needing to expend energy as it was created within this vacuum of space.
'You won't realize it until it's too late.. but I could do all of this for you..'
Images show of a burning field..
Dust blows through the wind of a red sky..
And through the cracks it shows a small green leaf that sprouts..
There is a shrill inhale of a breath is taken as Jean immediately wakes up from that dream.. her eyes wild as she looks around the room. Her clothes were missing, only thin straps of white tethered to her skin to hold the most important parts sacred. Her red hair was shaggy, half curled and half straight, and upon the table in which they kept most of their captures.
The room was empty save for them, the white walls almost maddening to look at.
"Hello?" She rasps out quietly. "Someone..?"
*
Sometimes a girl just has to watch the world burn. Sometimes the world is already burned, however, and when one is left to wander the dessicated Earth, it puts a perspective on life. A strange situation for the Soul-Thief, but at least she can reasonably be said to never be alone. Ever. The voices in her head are sufficiently loud for that.
The flame woman is louder than them all.
Why? asks the redheaded girl in a dream. //Bring life and with it, hope and joy. Growth. Imagine forests and seas aglow in life, rather than barren rock. //
A leaf sprouts. A girl with leaf-green eyes startles awake, and that may be a terrible thing for the rest of the world. The bohemian tries to lift her hands if they are not bound, and Gods help them if they aren't. Because patience is not in her vanguard, as Scarlett recalls herself and sits, tugging and tearing at anything that might try to bind her. At least enough to adopt a less stiff position.
"Lovely decorating job here." Her voice crackles with disuse. A glance around affirms certain things. "We aren't in Canada, are we?"
*
There was nothing in the world that was more wanted than to be free of the straps upon the arms. Sitting up is allowed, but getting off of that table? Nope.
Shi'ar tech. Lovely bit of junk.
Her head turns towards Scarlett as she finally hears the womans voice, a little tired smile upon her face. In fact, the thought of it all actually makes her break up into a cough filled laughter, mostly due to spit that had fallen down into the wrong pipe.
"No. I suppose not."
There was a small panic, the small panic that induces an eerie calm that predates a situation that's bound to happen. Perhaps, what -will- happen is understood.
And what would be, not.
"I don't know where in the world we are. But I can hear them. They're still alive." Which is a comfort..
*
Shi'ar tech at least allows for sitting. Maybe a few yoga poses to test the flexibility allowed to her, since Scarlett isn't beyond assuring her joints are supple and her back willing to bend.
To assure herself, there is indeed another life form she recognises in this damn room. Running her hands through her hair weakly, she gives Jean a lopsided smile full of a quarter of its usual sunshine. "At least we're together. Team Redhead. Now I do not have to rescind my oath to protect you as best as I can, though where the gentlemen ended up is another matter altogether. I think they have to keep that white-haired one in suspended animation." An idle thought, on her part.
Licking her lips again doesn't ease their cracked state, or the fact she tiptoes far too close to madness. They are both mad, and both not. "I like to think we're probably not in Canada. Canadians are polite. That would suggest we are still on that craft, somewhere. How are you, belle? We are going to come out of this, Jean. We will find the others, and we will get out. Somehow." Even if it means she grabs hold of every last Shi'ar she can touch and steers the damn craft herself.
*
"The speedy one." Jean murmurs quietly, leaning forward just a touch, giving a wretch of her shoulder to try to pry her arms loose. At least she could sit up, which she goes against, laying back down upon the table whilst it remains half mast.
"Logan's from Canada. And he is not polite." How was she? A hand lifts to try to touch at her head, but instead of meeting her head all the way, she leans to the side where her arm is, then begins to scratch.
"I don't know.." She says quietly. "I've had kids. At least I think I did. Many different variations. I've had many different families in many different times. I died.. thousands upon thousands of death. I'm tired.."
Her encouraging words do bring a little bit of hope, but still, trepidation was there. "It doesn't feel like we will. It feels like forever. We're trapped here and we're far away from home."
*
The speedy one, the burny one, the stabby one, the crazy one, and the mosaic one. That's the sum of their parts, and Scarlett nods slightly. "Mmhmm. I think he has enough sass in him to obtain a most interesting situation. Logan is… different than the average Canadian. Not many of them come with nails like that, though imagine what their manicures would be like if they did."
The last gasp of levity before it all goes crashing down. "Children. You have had how many families, and… Simulations? Something they are running, like a test?" This warps the patterns of thoughts, but they are on space ships and she holds more in her head than herself, a cumulative several millennia of knowledge from very devious people humming away in the background. Stuck in their cells, no less.
Her gaze softening, Scarlett sighs. "I am sorry. That you had to imagine one death, let alone…" Voice trailing off, she helplessly raises her hands. "I cannot help you with that. I can help you with the likelihood of tearing this structure apart, and then going through the wall sooner or later. Though I would prefer they think us meek and harmless. At least in my case; anyone aware of your aura has to know you possess no little strength to you."