i believe i can fly

[self_composed]

Alice eventually goes home for the evening.

Bella goes up and sits in her room.

She has five hexes.

Five.

That's rather a lot of hexes.

She gets out her notebook, with the lists, and she makes some wishes.

And then she goes to bed, grinning.

In the morning it will be time to make plans.

Comments

[edgeofyourseat]

"Yes," he says after thinking about it for a moment, "and... I dunno, actually. They're my thoughts, but you're the one who's reading 'em."

[self_composed]

"So I need an interface for sorting through memories - browsing some organized representation of the whole shebang? Searching by keythought? Picking them out of an index by date?" She closes her eyes. "Man, wishes do not make everything simple, do they. How about - if you could produce a word for a thought, then that one, otherwise if I could produce a word for it if I was having it, then that, and otherwise, a first pass at a naive magical translation - and otherwise a symbol. And I'll color-code 'em."

[edgeofyourseat]

"You are smart," he sighs, happily.

[self_composed]

"So," Bella says, "let me guess - you think in thoughts, and also, you remember in memories?"

[edgeofyourseat]

"Yup."

[self_composed]

"It's almost like your brain's fundamental architecture is not as much on board with this project as you are," Bella comments. "I think I'll see what I can do about a mixed strategy - category sorting and search and date organization as much as that's possible, and then if I can't find what I'm looking for I can try another way. And let's represent that thusly -" She expends another square to repeat the "abstract contact", a shade cooler, like she's just come in from the snow and her hands are cold. "Good?"

[edgeofyourseat]

He smiles. "Sure!"

[self_composed]

Bella closes her eyes and carries on thinking about how she wants to interface with Alice's mind until she's got a very clear mental picture of what that might look like and how she might poke things when she pokes them. Right before she's about to expend the hex, she remembers to include an option to manage scroll speed and how big everything looks, and then she has to take another couple minutes just to make sure that's the only thing she forgot.

Finally, she says, "Here goes," and makes one extremely complicated wish.

[edgeofyourseat]

"Well, did it work?"

[self_composed]

"Hex is gone," Bella says, peering at her necklace. "I'm all out of 'em now."

She closes her eyes again, and reads.

[edgeofyourseat]

"Want me to make some more?" he asks, smiling reminiscently.

Bella may choose to smack herself in the forehead for not including any kind of censoring in her scheme, if she likes. Even as a mental thumbnail, his memory of last night's shower is pretty graphic.

He passes by it quickly, though, instead thinking of turning on her stove and whether he could use a triangle (maybe a square) to make it heat up faster. (The coins are represented by a visual of their shape plus the feeling of black glass under his fingers, cross-referenced to the ever-present weight of the necklace.)

Also, he likes the sensation of her reading him. It was nice before, but now that it's connected to the reality, it induces a happy shivery kind of mostly nonsexual pleasure.

[self_composed]

"This thing might need a safe-search," Bella remarks. "Of course, then I'd probably get roughly nothing."

[edgeofyourseat]

...He cracks up.

"Oh man, did you not think of that? You didn't think of that. I love you."

Because the idea of not thinking of that is completely foreign to him.

[self_composed]

Bella watches the words appear in her vision a little before he speaks them. "Somehow, I failed to think of that," she agrees. "But I suspect I'd get sufficiently incomplete results trying to read your mind without any... let's call it 'mature content'... that it could hardly be called mindreading at all, so I'll see if I can't get used to it."

[edgeofyourseat]

"Okay," he says, grinning. "Sorry." (Sympathy, and not a second's regret for the contents of his head.) "Anyway, do you want more hexes?"

The stove is right there! He could just... he catches himself before actually trying to triangle it on.

[self_composed]

"Using a triangle to save yourself the trouble of waiting four minutes would be slightly frivolous," Bella remarks. "You could make some more hexes. That's probably a good stress test of my ability to handle what your brain does."

[edgeofyourseat]

"But" (honey, sweetheart) "Bella, I like being frivolous," he says, leaning over slightly and turning a knob.

[self_composed]

Bella decides she cannot very well chide him for thinking unapproved endearments. "Well, if you like it," she says, "by all means carry on, I suppose."

[edgeofyourseat]

Laughing, he expends a triangle. The wish is simple: knowledge of the difference between a cool and a hot stove element (attached: a very relevant memory of yesterday), and the desire that the one he just turned on become the latter instead of the former.

It works.

Alice grins at the result in fond (and decidedly sexual) anticipation. His left hand flexes, remembering burns.

[self_composed]

Bella watches brightly white affect-background colors trail all these thoughts with vague interest. Hearing him talk about how he likes what he likes is one thing; watching it pace past her vision encoded the way she'd just wished for is another.

She closes her eyes and watches his thoughts.

[edgeofyourseat]

With only one stove element on, he can't lay his arm across two, so he drags it over the one. Slowly. Pentagon, pentagon, pentagon, hex. He puts his other hand up to touch the new coins, feeling the angle of a corner on each; by now that's enough to tell the difference.

It hurts like hell, and it is turning him the fuck on, and the fact that he can tell she's watching gives him a thrill that's part affection, part arousal. (And part that other thing—a feeling of vulnerability; the desire to be vulnerable, to her specifically, because he loves her.)

He lays his hand flat against the element and digs the fingers of his other hand into the deep, fresh burn on his wrist, and although most of his attention is taken up by pain, there's enough left over to feel each new coin as it appears.

[self_composed]

Bella very carefully does not open the lightning bolt signs that mean "pain" - she doesn't actually know if opening his nocioception would hurt, and would rather test that with something smaller - but she does watch the revolving blobs of color-coded emotion in fascination, and the string of mostly not sentence-ordered words in their colors.

[edgeofyourseat]

When the weight of the necklace around his neck has definitely, noticeably increased, he takes his hand away.

There are now thirteen pentagons and ten hexes on his necklace, and Bella's stove looks and smells like a small animal was cremated on it.

Make that fourteen pentagons, and then fifteen, both accumulated in the time it takes his arm to heal. He lifts up his necklace and looks at it, counting (one, three, four, and two is ten) the coins he cares about.

"That enough, you think?"

[self_composed]

"Ah, yeah," Bella says. "I don't have that long a list. Your regeneration power hurts all by itself? Why did you do it that way?" She wishes away the gunk on the stove and the smoke in the air with a pair of triangles.

[edgeofyourseat]

"I didn't do it like that on purpose, but I'm fucked if I'm gonna complain," he says cheerfully. "You can take 'em all, if you want." All his hexes, all his pentagons, hell, all his squares and triangles too if she feels like it. Being wishcoiny makes life so easy.