(no subject)

[mycursedface]

It's an interesting difference, what (sixteen hundred years) a month makes of a place. Cold and snow to warm sun, and if the air is still chillier than Medusa is used to, she at least won't get ill waiting for clothes and wings to dry off.

Gorgons and water, after all. Not that the legends ever mention that, but Gorgons and water are impossible to keep seperate.

Which is why Medusa is sitting outside on the grass with her back to the sun, jeans and yellow sundress still damp from swimming. Her gold wings are unfurled to catch every last bit of heat and, yes, it is mildly dazzling. This is mostly why she has her eyes closed, after all.

Mostly.

Because Medusa is also thinking. Oh, yes, is she thinking.

Comments

[cheerychaplain]

He chuckles. "Well, I happen to take it seriously, yes."

[mycursedface]

"Good."

[cheerychaplain]

"I think so!" he says, cheerfully. "So, where are you from, Medusa?"

[mycursedface]

"The western-most coast of Libya...I think that is what you would call it. North...north Africa? I live there."

[cheerychaplain]

Mulcahy nods, listening; interested. "What sort of a place is it?"

[mycursedface]

"Beautiful," she says quietly, with a degree of longing. "On the the coast, and there are cliffs and the night is filled with stars. It's...hot, but winters can be cold. It's not a gentle land, but it's...home."

[cheerychaplain]

"It sounds beautiful," he says, gently. "Are you Bound, now?"

There was a certain degree of yearning in that description.

[mycursedface]

"Oh, no! I don't think the Landlord wants to see the kind of damage I could do while having hysterics. Um. I just...haven't been there for some time."

[cheerychaplain]

"Do -- you mind if I ask why?" he asks. "It sounds as though you love it."

[mycursedface]

This time, her smile is sad and bitter.

"I was...being punished. Divinely-inflicted insanity, you might say. I'm just...I'm just staying here until I catch my breath, then I'm going back home. And possibly never, ever leaving again. Except for here, anyway."

[cheerychaplain]

... Divinely-inflicted insanity.

Not exactly something that Father Mulcahy was expecting to hear.

He says, "--Er. I'm very sorry to hear that." (And he is.)

[mycursedface]

"Not your fault." Another quick smile. "And you? Where do you hail from?"

[cheerychaplain]

"Philadelphia, Pennsylvania," he says, immediate and a little brighter. "Currently based in Korea."

[mycursedface]

A little frown.

"Where...where is Korea?"

[cheerychaplain]

"Asia, between China and Japan," he says. "It's a beautiful place."

If ravaged by war.

[mycursedface]

"A, a bit like India?"

[cheerychaplain]

"In the general vicinity," he confirms cheerfully. "Quite some distance separates them, though. China is a very large country."

[mycursedface]

She scrunches up her face, thinking.

"I remember India. China...I don't know the name. But the area...it's nice. Nice and warm and the storms are gorgeous. Even if it's not easy flying in jungle."

[cheerychaplain]

"Flying?" asks Father Mulcahy, his mouth open just a little bit.

[mycursedface]

"Um, yes?" She says, wings shifting and unfurling.

[cheerychaplain]

"--Ah! Yes. Well. I suppose I had forgotten that -- plumes such as those could be used for flying," says Father Mulcahy, honestly and not un-admiringly.

He smiles. "I tend to associate the airplane with -- non-animal flight."

[mycursedface]

She crinkles her nose.

"Ships and...planes. I...I like using my wings. It is like swimming, a bit. Not the same as a boat."

[cheerychaplain]

"Like swimming in air?" he asks, considering this closely. His face is bright. "Fascinating!"

(Jocularity, jocularity!)

[mycursedface]

Medusa grins at him.

"Exactly."

[cheerychaplain]

"It's quite a feat, flying without engines," he muses. "Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth, and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings..." It's more of a considering murmur than anything; a quote, and it's a touch absent, though that is more out of habit than out of un-friendliness. He smiles at Medusa, though, as he says it.

[mycursedface]

"Is that a poem?"

[cheerychaplain]

"It is," he says. "It was written by a pilot during the war; the entire poem is really quite lovely.

"Do you read poetry?"

[mycursedface]

"Oh, no. I mean. I know poems from the tribesmen, and they are great long epic things, but I can't actually read."

Beat.

Curiously,

"Do you know the whole poem? It sounds...nice. I could, um. Tell you one? In return?"

[cheerychaplain]

"A poem for a poem. Ah! That sounds wonderful," says Father Mulcahy, and he beams at her. "I can certainly try to remember it. Let's see, how does it-- Aha!

" 'Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung'..."