mental link: D46

[erbier]

[ A gasp, a whisper of something where there had been a stark silence before, and then a pull. A grasp from the deep, leveraging its way from beneath the water only by pulling down another.

Precarious, but harmless as she awakens, her siren call weakening as she breaks the surface, at last. Awake. Everywhere and nowhere, unshielded. Reborn again upon the shores. ]

ooc; newbies should stop her anywhere for action, and anyone who wants to greet her face to face should juuust say so and I will tell you where she is at that moment. she's not really controlling what goes where so threadjack away.

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[deployed]

[ Her presence isn't unpleasant. (She isn't seeking, isn't rummaging through his memories.) For a long moment his mind is full of her; she teases out the sense memory of cool rainfall on skin and the fresh scent of the Earth opening up beneath the deluge. He radiates welcoming warmth back to her, like sunlight on an upturned face. Having her presence tucked in close amidst his thoughts, still spinning with mythology, sates an instinct Bellamy often tries to ignore.

There's no verbal acknowledgement, just a soft, welcoming hum as Bellamy turns to the next page.

[erbier]

[ The rain makes her peaceful, contemplative with gratitude. She would never have seen the rain, had the Hive not come and taken her. She had lived in a scorched place, cleansed by flame, where the ground was hard and no green things grew. Even the sunlight had been a distant thing, obscured by clouds of smoke, rains of ash, so that it fed a weak distorted kind of light towards the world below; twisted, orange, sickly.

She was the only one blessed enough to see a garden grow, a gift to her from the wild creature who had scorched it all. He had included her in his mythology, his one blameless angel that he loved.

And now she is here, awake in the back of Bellamy's thoughts, watching the shapes of the story he reads. It is a glittering mobile of words and pictures and half-formed thoughts, teetering and twirling and chiming. Wet with rain, glimmering with sunlight. ]

( Are you always so romantic? )

[ Less in the way of love, and more in the way of the picturesque, the idyllic. ]

[deployed]

( Is that what you call it? )

[ Romantic wasn't a word that Bellamy thought could fit. Impractical, maybe. He breathes deep, letting the fantasy linger and blend with memory. Earth had been lush and beautiful, but there'd been blood and death concealed in the treeline. His thoughts flicker, but stray back towards rainfall and the jubilant shock of fresh air after a lifetime in space. ]

( You're awake. )

[ It's a neutral statement. Ilde's volatile. Bellamy knows that much. But he hardly has any high ground on that front, and having her skimming the surface of his thoughts is far from unpleasant. ]