[ She waits by some mental door like he's an expected visitor as he reaches out for her - and it swings open as easy when he comes knocking. A simple let in, and -- to him at least, what her mind is shaped to should be familiar.
It is the ordered halls of Hyperion, it is the high walls of vaults she has never been too. It ebbs with purple light and it echoes with chatter of the hundred ways she connects herself to the hive, to the machines, to the older empty stones of something she does not know, never understood, but dictated this all somehow she imagines. It's ordered, and she is aware of it all. Every path, every flicker, she is comfortable in it its teeming. Ever expanding as a mind does but - ]
(Here, come with me.)
[ Leads him, fingers around his, the markings glowing bright and white on her body, out from under her clothes. Control of that too: reality is nothing solid is the realisation her mind comes with. It is an easily distorted, wonderous, twisted thing, this here too - and that knowledge is not that is it terrifying just that is what it is, a stab of not so much arrogance but power, not a vaguely manipulated thing, but true, utter, the strength of women who came before, will come after, whose bodies are not bodies but are raw and crackled like storms do and they laugh with a mouthful of fire - ever fought a siren before?
Leads him with all of it - lets him lean into her, warm and open, here at least, she is in complete control where externally she feels too often her own short-comings. ]
no subject
It is the ordered halls of Hyperion, it is the high walls of vaults she has never been too. It ebbs with purple light and it echoes with chatter of the hundred ways she connects herself to the hive, to the machines, to the older empty stones of something she does not know, never understood, but dictated this all somehow she imagines. It's ordered, and she is aware of it all. Every path, every flicker, she is comfortable in it its teeming. Ever expanding as a mind does but - ]
( Here, come with me. )
[ Leads him, fingers around his, the markings glowing bright and white on her body, out from under her clothes. Control of that too: reality is nothing solid is the realisation her mind comes with. It is an easily distorted, wonderous, twisted thing, this here too - and that knowledge is not that is it terrifying just that is what it is, a stab of not so much arrogance but power, not a vaguely manipulated thing, but true, utter, the strength of women who came before, will come after, whose bodies are not bodies but are raw and crackled like storms do and they laugh with a mouthful of fire - ever fought a siren before?
Leads him with all of it - lets him lean into her, warm and open, here at least, she is in complete control where externally she feels too often her own short-comings. ]
( Tell me if it is too much. )