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She shows him that make-up doesn't make the girl.

"Where are we going?" I've lost my chatty personable tone, I'm sliding the levels closer and closer toward my humourless bastard tone instead.

"Silence." Her soft whisper shuts me down instantly, with effortless, immovable force I am rendered thoughtless and speechless. For a while I just... am?

Are?

I witness my body move to a heavy oak door behind a dusty velvet rope with a sign saying No Admittance, she makes my unresisting arms move the rope aside and then squares up to the door.

We both feel the cold pouring off it, as if it were a huge chunk of dry ice.

Fire versus Ice. I wasn't stupid enough not to be worried at this point. I've played enough Final Fantasy to know about elemental stuff like that, but I'd never stopped to consider that I might only be one or the other.

I'd always thought of myself as complicated I suppose. We only have the worlds inside our own heads in the end, I thought I might be deep enough to have undercurrents; hoped I might be dark enough to cast an interesting shadow now and again.

I felt her... disdain feels to negative a word and I won't trouble you for a thesaurus. She saw through me completely. The mental impression I got through her view of me was... different. Like hearing your own recorded voice except with everything about you; do I really come off that way? Do I always seem that tall or that weird or that...

What do you even call that? I realise I have huge gaps in the way I see people, see myself. Was I always so obvious?

Couldn't ask her at the time, but I made a note of it.

It's odd having a girl at the wheel. She strokes a single finger of my right hand down the rough old oak. It feels like frozen metal, trying to stick my skin to its surface even as it was dragged around, feeling for something beneath or... beyond somehow.

I feel that heat in my blood again, feel it shift and concentrate in my palm, thumping into my fingers. Now she presses both palms flat to the door, and I feel the cold sucking the heat from my blood.

I, She, We lean in and push at the door. Not physically although that was part of it. I could feel her trying to push us straight through the whole thing and there was something heavier than a door resisting us.

She pulls more fire around herself as she wears my skin, a spinning molten core somewhere in my chest begins pumping magma through my bones.

I feel sweat springing from me, see steam rising from my arms as heat and cold battled where my skin met the door.

She hunches us over and shoves harder, until our arms buckle and we have one shoulder hard against the studs.

Now it starts to hurt, the iron studs meant to stop axe blows jab and grind against my bones and muscles. But it's the cold that now spills into my chest that gets to me.

I'm not sure who, but one of us makes my lungs gasp, the sudden cold makes us want to cringe and hug our freezing chest.

I don't know what she's even doing, just that it's important. I remember the odd feeling of... kinship with the heat as it first swirled around my veins. Remembered there was a heat of my own.

Was that what she needed me for?

She seems to encourage me as I pull up the greatest hits of things that make me want to stand immovable before the storm, to scream into the tornado just for spite's sake.

Sometimes that can be useful, though it's not a pet you'd want to take home with you. Sometimes you need to override muscles that wanted to give up an hour ago, occasionally you need to not yell and curse when someone drops a flight case on your toes.

There are times when the universe you're standing in just doesn't measure up, and it would be that familiar old ember smouldering at the back of my throat as I ranted at the void. Strange to find such a direct use for it.

She doesn't judge it, though I suppose my reasons seem pretty simple to her.

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