The Calm Before the Storm
Aug. 14th, 2003 02:05 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBetsy within the Manor while Scott is still on the road.
She pushed back from her desk and stretched luxuriously. Yes, it was late, very late. And she knew it from the way her body tightened around her shoulders, from the slight thrumming in her head, and sharp pain coming from the small of her back. Betsy lived in pain masked behind the dark, within talking shadows, and inescapable nightmares. There were no other options for this Otherworldly creation. Rolling her shoulders and taking a deep breath, she let out a low laugh, “You’re getting old, Betsy luv,” she said to herself.
Betsy Braddock sat inside her office, trying to dwindle the stacks of work in front of her. She mused; it was easier to work these days then to focus on her concerns. Yet, after hours of sitting at her desk and a few more valiant tries of trying to focus. She found herself falling into the soft, soothing lull of the rainstorm outside.
The rain that came from the clouds, danced along the horizon, traveled for miles and found release here took Betsy away from the Manor. To a dirt road, following a four-door sedan, as it moved along with only one occupant. That occupant was a man with ruby-quartz shades and two-day stubble on his face. Scott drove trying to keep from thinking, but could do anything but that. His mind was a sieve, weary from extensive travel and constant vigilance. He was worried that much was apparent. But beneath the surface thoughts flittering in and out of his subconscious, there was an emotional torrent of dark brooding.
John. Magneto. Sacrifice. Danger.
Betsy pulled back quickly from her trance, her chest heaving. Around her the rain gave way to thunder and lightening, foreshadowing for the future, she reflected. There would be imbalance and loss.
This time she fell back into her trance, finding it easier to find him; he’d taken a turn-off and reached an interstate road. The radio was playing softly in the background, the words distorted at first, but as his focused grew, so did hers. “I see skies of blue... clouds of white. Bright blessed days... warm sacred nights.”
Scott’s face took a grim turn at the irony of it all.
“And I think to myself...what a wonderful world.”
She pushed back from her desk and stretched luxuriously. Yes, it was late, very late. And she knew it from the way her body tightened around her shoulders, from the slight thrumming in her head, and sharp pain coming from the small of her back. Betsy lived in pain masked behind the dark, within talking shadows, and inescapable nightmares. There were no other options for this Otherworldly creation. Rolling her shoulders and taking a deep breath, she let out a low laugh, “You’re getting old, Betsy luv,” she said to herself.
Betsy Braddock sat inside her office, trying to dwindle the stacks of work in front of her. She mused; it was easier to work these days then to focus on her concerns. Yet, after hours of sitting at her desk and a few more valiant tries of trying to focus. She found herself falling into the soft, soothing lull of the rainstorm outside.
The rain that came from the clouds, danced along the horizon, traveled for miles and found release here took Betsy away from the Manor. To a dirt road, following a four-door sedan, as it moved along with only one occupant. That occupant was a man with ruby-quartz shades and two-day stubble on his face. Scott drove trying to keep from thinking, but could do anything but that. His mind was a sieve, weary from extensive travel and constant vigilance. He was worried that much was apparent. But beneath the surface thoughts flittering in and out of his subconscious, there was an emotional torrent of dark brooding.
John. Magneto. Sacrifice. Danger.
Betsy pulled back quickly from her trance, her chest heaving. Around her the rain gave way to thunder and lightening, foreshadowing for the future, she reflected. There would be imbalance and loss.
This time she fell back into her trance, finding it easier to find him; he’d taken a turn-off and reached an interstate road. The radio was playing softly in the background, the words distorted at first, but as his focused grew, so did hers. “I see skies of blue... clouds of white. Bright blessed days... warm sacred nights.”
Scott’s face took a grim turn at the irony of it all.
“And I think to myself...what a wonderful world.”
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