8282/Do You Do Anything Other Than Swim

Do You Do Anything Other Than Swim
Date of Scene:	12 July 2019
Location:	Pool - Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Illyana and Betsy try to come to terms with changes and what is left behind.
Cast of Characters:	Psylocke, Magik

---

Psylocke has posed:
It's a hell of a life being one of the X-Men. You put your life at risk on a regular basis performing dangerous missions on behalf of a population who tend to fear and mistrust you. Beyond that, sometimes you have to give classes on Physical Education during the summer to students who didn't want to learn it in the first place. Betsy has taken well-deserved breaks whenever she can, coming out to lay by the pool or paddle around in the water. She lives in the city, but she spends the vast majority of her days and early evenings of late around the Mansion either training, teaching or relaxing.

She wears a swimsuit that looks less like a cohesive whole and more like a series of dark violet ribbons strategically wrapped about her body. It makes certain to cover everything it should, but seems to have the sort of work ethic one might expect from a very, very lazy high school student inasmuch as it does the bare minimum. Most of her face is concealed behind a pair of large-frame purple sunglasses with square diamond lenses. She currently reclines on a pool inflatable, drifting across the otherwise unoccupied water. She's timed her swim well.

Magik has posed:
There's a shift to things when Illyana comes around. Crickets suddenly stop chirping, birds no longer sing, even the air feels a little less inclined to blow a breeze and all of it for fear that the Sorceress-Queen of Limbo might take notice and be offended. She is not an evil girl, but, nature knows when there's evil inside that may not be manifest.

Which she has in spades.

Magik strolls casually across the lawn wearing a long Misfit t-shirt that's at least thress sizes too big for her frame. If she tossed a belt on it could be a dress. She's also carrying a black Nightmare Before Christmas messanger bag and a white box that looks like it came straight from the bakers sections at a grocery. A pair of black shades on her face with little skulls at either corner complete the goth Queen's look as she steps around the open gate and towards a chair near the edge of the pool.

Glancing over at the floating inflatable where Betsy is reclining. There's an inclination to walk over and stare, but she doesn't. Rather, she drops her bag noisely on the chair to announce her presence in the event that nature hasn't already done so.

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy floats peaceably around on her inflatable throne. She may not be the queen of anywhere, but she holds enough sway that there's no qualms about giving a potential oggler a piece of her mind. When the clatter announcing Illyana's arrival disturbs her, she gives herself a little telekinetic shove in the direction of the sound. To Illyana, it just looks like the inflatable did a ninety degree turn and began to float directly at her.

Betsy tilts her head to the side, lifting her sunglasses to berate whoever it is that's come to get a show. But spotting the Hell Queen stops her dead, and she cannot help but feel a ball of guilt knot in her stomach. Something she did upset Illyana, and while she has no real idea what it is she feels bad for hurting her feelings. The threat of demonic invasion or attack with magic not withstanding, Illyana seems friendly enough - if not bonkers strange - and Betsy does her best to make amends with a lilting "Hallo, Illyana."

Magik has posed:
Illyana is facing away from the would be usurper to her thrown of most self indulgent woman at the mansion and sifts through her carry with absent interest to the contents she herself packed. The white box is set on the glass top of a table near her chosen throne and from the carry she's produced what appears to be a late 80s tapedeck. One of those small affairs that kids from then used to record songs off the radio. She sets that aside and pushes play to send out music at just loud enough to produce a background soundtrack.

She's wearing flipflops, or was wearing them until just that moment. They are kicked from her feet one after the other and only then does she reach down to grab the bottom of her long t-shirt to pull it up and off in a fluid motion. After balling it up, she tosses it at the chair, but she's free of the restraints and she is not wearing the skullkini as before. Rather a black two peice with a broken red heart on her left breast, because metaphor.

"Hello Elizabeth." She says quietly, glancing over her slender shoulder with pursed lips, settling onto her chair rather than going closer to the pools edge.

Psylocke has posed:
"Hi," Betsy repeats, continuing to float towards the edge of the pool until the inflatable bumps up against it. She sits up as much as she can without tipping the thing over, her brow furrowing slightly as the skullkini looks to have been replaced with something else. But Illyana's a goth, isn't she? Goths are all about heartbreak and gloom and misery. It doesn't mean anything.

So, the violet telepath tries to be lighthearted. She clears her throat, flicking her fingers through the water to make it tinkle musically in the odd stillness Illyana's presence incites: "Are you going for a swim?"

Magik has posed:
Illyana adjusts her glasses and lays back. Two people can share a pool without talking, see? It's possible she doesn't even remember yesterday or was temporarily possessed of some great turmoil that spirited her away in an instant. Maybe just a coincidence that it happened right after she said something to Betsy.

She reaches over and flips open the lid on the white box and jabs her hand in to grab a hunk of red velvet cake. Licking the frosting from her fingers like a heathen once she's shoved the whole bit in her mouth. It's then that she notices Betsy float has gotten closer. "Nyet. Fourty five minutes after eating." She says, holding up her frosted hand. Did she just shove food in her mouth as an excuse not to go swimming?

Her tongue dashes the corner of her mouth for some of the tart cream, staring at Betsy now that the other mutant has requested her attention. "Are you?" Because she's on a float, see?

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy just has no idea what to do here. Something is wrong and she cannot help but feel as though she's the cause of it. She instinctively reaches out to Illyana's mind, trying to glean some surface thoughts that might give her a clue. But nothing, just the silence of a mind well-shielded against telepathic intrusion. She pouts almost childishly, clearly annoyed at the turn of events and so her next words sound snippish:

"That's a myth. Swimming after eating." Two can play at this game. "No, I was actually thinking I'd get out and enjoy a little sunshine."

She hovers into the air, floating effortlessly through the air under power of her telekinetic abilities. She lands silently on her feet, striding purposefully towards Illyana. The only other chair near her occupied by her things, Betsy turns on her heels and walks to a sunbed several feet away. She grabs it and begins to drag it noisily across the ground in Illyana's direction. Close enough that she's satisfied, she lays down in it with a languid grace.

"Bliss," she says sharply.

Magik has posed:
It was hard to see the swimsuit when Betsy was laying in the inflatable. It was made no easier that Illyana was being a childish brat who refused to look at her, either, but none of that matters now does it? Betsy levitated out of the pool and down onto the deck where she can drag a sunbed closer with all the ear splitting announcement of nails on a chalkboard.

The pale Demon Queen purses her lips and reaches up to tap her glasses down lower on the bridge of her nose to watch. Certainly just the action and certainly not the bathing suit. That would fall right off of her.. they do not make that in negative sizes do they?

When Betsy settles, Illy pushes her glasses up and flops backwards stiffly. The same hand stabs into the box beside her and once more comes out clutching velvet cake, only this time she holds it straight out like a piston in Betsy's direction. "Do you want cake?"

Peace offering?

"Doug gives it to me because Samuel thinks I am going to release hell on Earth and devour souls of everyone living." She keeps staring straight forward, "It is good cake though."

Psylocke has posed:
The Telepath seems entirely unaware that she's being watched as she moved the sunbed around. She could have possibly moved it with telekinesis, but she didn't want to accidentally fling it at Illyana's head. Besides, the noise of it all helped get her point across. She enjoyed making a point with theatrics from time to time.

As the cake is offered to her, Betsy looks at it for a moment before accepting it. Whatever peace offering she can get to stop Illyana's from behaving so strangely. Well, stranger than usual. She holds it in her palms, looking at it curiously for a second. Not at all used to eating cake without utensils or plates.

"Why did they think that? I admit I thought something was rather amiss myself yesterday."

Magik has posed:
Illyana licks whatever remains from her fingers and palm, waste not want not. "Because." She finishes cleaning her hand with her shirt and then tosses it back on the chair that she could have emptied but didn't. It would have been polite, but she doesn't think about things like that. "Samuel is stupid. He think.. I spend to much time in Limbo. He thinks that part of me dies every time and soon all of is me is gone." Her head flops backwards several times, trying to make the thin cushion comfortable.

"When I say that I am fine, he does not listen. What do I know? How could I possibly know if I am falling to dark magic?" It is clear that this frustrates her by the animated way she's waving her hands and talking, but she doesn't raise her voice. Conversational frustration.

"So Doug comes to talk to me and brings me cake as tribute so I do not set him on fire. Doug is not as stupid as Samuel..." Again she bangs her head backwards, "They mean well. Everyone means well. Everyone wants to help, but they cannot help and I do not want them to help. It is my burdon."

She said all that, which did not even remotely answer Betsy's question, but might help with the unspoken one. "Why do they think that?" Her eyes move about, "Because they know I will."

Psylocke has posed:
"Have you considered not releasing Hell on Earth?"

The thought gives Betsy pause, but anyone with precognitive abilities will tell you that the future isn't written in stone. If it was, what point would seeing the future be? Oh good, a preview of an inevitable future. Whoopee.

Betsy chances the cake at last, holding it up and taking a prim little bite from it. If anyone saw her eating with her hands she'd die of shame, but considering how Illyanna reacted when she bumped her with her hip she's not about to drive her into a bloodthirsty rage by refusing her cake. Besides, it's quite good. When she finishes the mouthful, she looks back to Illyana and asks:

"They always want to shoulder your burdens, or tell you that you don't have to carry them. That's what good people do. But real people," she gestures between herself and Illyana, "Real people do what they must do."

Magik has posed:
"Of course I have considered that." Illyana throws her hands up and slaps them down on the seat to either side of her thighs. She wants to flial at them, flail at everybody, even flail at Betsy. She can't read minds, but she doesn't need to. "Why would I do this? Why would do this other than solve problem with Sentinel?" Because it would definitely do that.

"People walk on tip of toes around me. Doug is more directing like arrow shooting. He knows I will not just open gates of hell and let loose demons..." But, there's always a but.

"When he died. I find the ones who kill him. I hunt them down like dog is... like dog.." She makes a motion with her hand, shoving it towards her wrist when the exact phrase wont come to her. "When hunting. It makes animal corner itself for owner to kill... I do this to them." Her hands slap the chair, then slap it again.

"Then I feed them to demons so they do not die only, they are devoured. Soul gone. Nothing left." Real people do what they must do. "It has to be done. They deserve it. System of laws does not care if mutant is killed. Cares for big metal robots that hunt mutants like same dog. And I will not be hunted!" Stabbing the air with her finger, she sits up and slaps feet to pavement facing Betsy.

"I sacrifice everything all ways. I hold back damnation at the expense of my soul... and I am rewarded how? Called mutant by fat man with belly out further than his..." Waving at her crotch animately. "So you tell me, Elizabeth.. Tell me why I should not let hell lose on them and let them see what real fear is like."

If anyone was wondering why people are terrified of Illyana.

Psylocke has posed:
"You're better."

The words are quiet, almost inaudible after the flailing of Illyana's limbs and the passion of her speech. Betsy has sat up when she has, managing to appear quietly dignified despite sitting there in a revealing swimsuit and holding a quarter-eaten piece of cake in her hands.

She locks eyes with the Hell Queen, making certain that there is no fear in them. Lately, she has felt almost like she'd welcome an invasion from a hell dimension. Sure, she might lose everyone she's ever known and cared about but it would be a welcome distraction from all this ... this feeling.

But she has her point, and she's going to make sure it strikes home.

"You're not the only one with mutant abilities," Betsy explains, her tone soft, "If I wanted to I could march down to that hovel those human bigots meet in and fry all of their brains like eggs on a skillet. I could march them one by one out into traffic. I could make them pluck out their own eyes and swallow them whole. I've wanted to do it, too. I'm not going to sit here and tell you I haven't entertained those thoughts because that would be dishonest and doing you a disservice."

She clears her throat, the emotional weight causing the slightest hair-thin crack to emerge in her facade: "I don't do it because I'm better. Or I'm trying to be. If I kill them because I hate them, how can I ever feel anything but like I deserve it when they try to kill me?"

Magik has posed:
Illyana wants to hear this, practically leaning towards Betsy when she starts. Her arms are folded on her knees and she's folding herself at the waist across them until she's practically leaning horizontal watching the telekinetic begin her explanation of how much better Illyana is by explaining how much restraint Betsy has to extend herself.

"They do this." Sitting up, voice going quiet and hands covering her face. Her elbows brace on her knees and palm support the weight of her torso by the cheeks, "They push and they push, but we just watch. I know I am not only one to feel this way, I know, but I can do something. We can do something.. and instead we give books to poor kids."

She looks like someone on the verge of screaming. That or breaking into tears.

"They fight a war with machines that steal powers. Turn us into humans and then kill us helpless where we stand." She lazily points in a direction at a Sentinel that's not there to point at. She's pretty emphatic about the pointing too. "And we are reacting. I do not want to destroy all humans.. I do not want earth destruction... I do not want to release to the Darkchylde and become the embodiment of Limbo. But this hurts."

Slapping her palms suddenly against her chest, "It makes me unwhole inside. What is the stupid word..." Her limitations with English is making it rough for her to express herself and doing nothing to calm her further, but she doesn't appear nearly as ready to storm off to start reading dark incantations now. "I see friends dead and police do nothing. I see family attacked.." Professor X shot when giving a speech at a University. She sighs adnd drops her face back into her palms.

Psylocke has posed:
"Come here," Betsy says quietly, reaching out with both arms to wrap them around Illyana's shoulders. She doesn't hesitate or do so haltingly, the confusion over their brief contact in the pool the day before completely forgotten. Rather, she sees somebody in a lonesome place - perhaps the most lonesome place - and she wants to comfort them. She splays her fingers on Illyana's back, attempting to draw her in for a hug and paying no mind to how alien the gesture may seem or just what sort of danger she may have put herself in.

A rare moment wherein Betsy thinks not about herself but wholly about this other person not at all unlike her. Should the other woman not flail or pull away, she rest her chin gently on the top of her pale blonde hair and speaks.

"We're making progress," she intones, not sure if she believes it but unwilling not to in this moment, "Maybe we can't always see the forest for the trees, but we'll get there."

Magik has posed:
Illyana isn't sure what's about to happen and almost recoils back from Betsy until she's engulfed in arms around her shoulders. Panic flashes in her eyes, but then fades slowly when it's clear she's not going to have to fight her way away from someone. The weird of it, perhaps, is that she never looks scared. So why panic?

For a moment she's still stiff as a board, little jerks of her shoulders since her arms were up near her chin and are now pressed against her between the two of them. Over thirty seconds, however, she relaxes and pulls her arms down from between them to wrap greedily around Betsy's waist like she's never been hugged before, wasn't sure what it was, and then realized she needed it more than anything she's ever needed. Piotr hugs her like this. Piotr. Oh how she wishes he were here. He always knows what to say, always looks at her like she's a normal girl rather than some broken mirror showing the reflection of a monster.

Illy's arms tighten and her face buries right into Betsy's shoulder. She isn't crying, at least there aren't any tears, but her shoulders are trembling beneath the other mutants arms. For a few moments, maybe in her entire life, Illyana isn't the Dark Sorceress Queen of Limbo, but a terrified teenager with no experience in how to express that fear other than lashing out violently.

"Why did you move away from me yesterday?" She asks, the question muffled against Betsy's neck.

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy's eyes close as she holds Illyana close. Silent and reflective in the moment, just letting herself be as comforting a presence as she can be without saying anything or trying to cajole anything out of the girl. But then she hears the question and her eyes open, staring ahead of her into the middle distance.

That was it. She'd tried to piece the thing together in her mind at the time but couldn't. She'd let it slide, but something about the way Sam reacted suggested it had struck Illyana harder than she had thought. Whatever it was. But now she knows. As though emphasize her next point, she draws Illyana even closer to her.

"I don't speak very good Russian," Betsy admits, "I've picked up a little here and there but, if I'm honest? I just didn't understand what you said. I thought you asked me not to touch you, so I didn't touch you. I certainly don't have any problem with it."

The Telepath loosens the hug, keeping her hands clasped on Illyana's narrow shoulders as she looks her in the eyes: "No problem at all, okay?" She cannot read her mind, but she doesn't need to in order to see someone who needs to feel like a normal person. Not an outcast among outcasts.

Magik has posed:
Illy just listens and drinks in the contact of someone who isn't trying to keep her from falling, but is willing to catch her if she does. She listens to the answer to her question and loosens her grip around Betsy's waist until her arms are hanging slack down beside the skimpy sides of the wrap swimsuit. Quietly, she sits up from leaning into the other woman and slaps at her cheap plastic glass to pull them off her face and throw them frustratedly at the pile of clothes and bags laying in the chair. "This is why Samuel maybe should mind the business of his own. He say something stupid trying to sound like he knows, but he says things wrong."

Illyana cranes her neck and looks down at her own shoulder, rolling the muscles in her back so there's a curve of her spine starting just above her hips. "What I said was... nobody touch me." Pale blue eyes snap back towards Betsy, "You ask me what I feel then, what I am thinking.. and I tell you that I think there are.. firing.." She makes a popping motion with her fingers, over and over again, then taps her temple. "Like feeling when touching.. billions.. and they fire all at one time over and over from my thigh to my head.. this is physical like electricity. But nobody every touch me."

She shrugs her shoulders in a rolling motion, "I do not know always how this feels, Piotr maybe? But his brother. Others.. Doug or Samuel, Kitty even, none of them touch me. They scared or.. maybe they just worried? But you did. You do not care if I am..." She motions at herself, "But you bump against me like I am normal."

"And when you ask me what I think, I tell you that I like it."

Psylocke has posed:
"Normal's a subjective term," Betsy says, reaching up to remove her own sunglasses albeit more carefully and putting them down beside her on the sunbed, "You're the Queen of some unspoken Hell Dimension. I'm not in my own body. Did you know that? This body isn't mine. Years ago I was used by someone but it didn't work how they thought. I lost my body but I kept my mind."

In all honesty, Betsy doesn't speak often about the change. She makes occasional references to Kwannon, the woman whose body she now possesses, but little about how it came to pass or how it made her feel. Upon hearing how important the contact is, she makes no effort to pull away and continues to talk in the semi-awkward half-hanging off each other position.

"You are normal. I don't say that to try and make you feel better. But if you scratch away the surface. The teleporting. The magic. The demons. Under that you're a normal person. You were born just like I was. Nobody looked at you as a baby and said you were different and were always going to be. All this abnormality and strangeness? That's just layers we put on. We wear them so long we forget where the real us begins."

Her voice now barely a whisper, speaking words meant only for Illyana.

Magik has posed:
Illyana looks down at the body in question, but it is a direct response to being told it isn't really Betsy's. Like licking at wound in her mouth just because hurts or being told not to think about something, it's hard not to and even still her eyes go right back up to the other mutants. Her head jerks a little to the side, looking like a cat trying to keep from clawing at their inner ear, but the inclination she's fighting isn't so unpleasant and doesn't seem at all unwelcome by the way Betsy is half hanging on her.

So even while listening, taking it in, she leans forward and lays her cheek on Betsy's shoulder. Staring at the inside of the neck that is someone other than the woman talking to her. It's an awkward motion, but it clearly puts her at ease. "It is unspeakable, but people speak about it a lot." Talking about Limbo. "Very ugly though. Rains fire and acid in some places. One time it rained eyeballs." That has nothing to do with anything, but she's not suddenly aware of how to express herself just because someone said she can.

"Can you show me what you look like before? Do you remember them? I remember being young sometimes." Tip toeing into very dangerous grounds, Illy rubs her cheek against bare shoulder. "I was six. I go to this evil place and I stay there until not many years ago. I fight and I kill, but I do not.. it is not a place to feel. Feeling is very dangerous in Limbo. This is how darkness finds places for grabbing..." She clutches her hands into the sunbed on either side of Betsy guided by her explanation.

"Then it find cracks and it grow big... tainted and black inside. Forget a lot about not being there. Do you remember being six?" A question to prove a point, "I remember Piotr. I remember Mihkail.. but I do not remember Illyana. She have pretty bright blue eyes, sometimes I can see those. But they are pale now. She never have to kill for food or survival, she to young to realize what she will be."

Illyana shakes her head and sits up slowly, pushing at the corners of her eyes with the palm of her hand. Her eyes are red rimmed, but she's still not shedding tears. Even if she might want to. "You feel like this? You see... Betsy in mirror even if you only see these eyes?" Motioning to Betsy's. "You kidnapped too. You maybe understnad more than anybody how I feel.. alone because even your reflection wont look at you."

Psylocke has posed:
"I remember."

As they speak, Betsy's words grow more and more hushed. As though the world is shrinking down with laser focus until nothing else remains outside. Even the birds, the crickets, the wind silence by Illyana's presence only serves to amplify the isolation.

Betsy hasn't forgotten her life before. She doesn't avoid speaking about it. Many of her friends are friends she made long before she even knew who Kwannon was, certainly before Revanche. Yet it isn't something she thinks about often.

"It gets harder to, though," she goes on, unconsciously bringing up a hand to rest her palm against the back of Illyana's head as she leans into her shoulder, "It's not been more than a few years but already when I dream? When I look at myself? I see this body. It's as though I'm telling myself this is me while a part of me that was slips further and further into nothing."

She blinks, clearing her throat again as that well of emotion creeps up once more and threatens to break the levy: "I can show you? Let me show you? Let me remember. If you just relax maybe I can ... " She reaches out with her mind, stopping shy of the psionic shields that fortify Illyanna's mind.

Magik has posed:
Illy listens. She talks a lot, more than she's ever talked before to her recollection, but she listens just as well. She looks down along Betsy's shoulder and busiess her hand with some piece of fabric, not even consciously aware she's doing it except that it's softer than it looked when the other was moving the sunbed. "All my friends are from after I get back except my brothers." She turns her head and uses the point of Betsy's shoulder to wiggle her nose. How undignified. If it says nothing, it says that the Queen of Hell itself is relaxed... even comfortable.

The frustration is gone, too and every time she speaks it's quieter.

When Betsy speaks of dreaming about a face that isn't her's, she might feel the slightest tug of the young sorceresses jaw when her brow tightens. "This is sound of horrible. Sounds like dreams from Limbo." She murmurs this just above a whisper and then only barely.

At the point emotions raise highest, Illyana sits up and brings a hand up to lay against Betsy's cheek as if it's her turn to offer comfort. "I want to see you. I try.." Closing her eyes, she does just that, tries to relax the shield around her mind. A relaxed face grows tense, brow furrowed, jaw clinched. Nobody could possibly know how extensive those barriers actually are or how irrationally they were put into place, then a single crack forms in the iron curtain. It isn't big enough to project easily, but with enough focus and concentration...

Psylocke has posed:
As if on instinct, Betsy's hand reaches up to lay over the one Illyana presses to her cheek. The sort of contact is not at all necessary for telepathy, but nevertheless she remembers how when she first developed her powers a touch could help quite a bit. She says nothing, only reaching out telepathically.

Almost predatory in her investigation of Illyana's mental shield, the Telepath moves from figurative place to figurative place testing here and there. For shields so strong, there is no obvious pain or discomfort. Instead, it just feels as though someone is somewhere behind a tall and unscalable wall. A presence felt more than seen or heard.

But then she sees it in her mind's eye. The briefest parting of defenses and she lunges for it. She throws all her power behind it, a bead of sweat glistening at her temple as she focuses hard on causing no damage. On being, for once, delicate instead of brutal. Even once she is past the shielding it is a struggle, and she knows that it cannot hold. This is not a place she can remain, no matter how much she would like to.

But there is time.

Time enough to give to Illyana the message she wanted to give. The image lost in the depths of her mind. An illusion that defies the Hell Queen's senses for a moment. Before her, for a fleeting few seconds, sits a blonde woman. Betsy dyed her hair purple since she was a teenager, yet in her most vivid memories of the past she is always blonde - her natural colour. She is not Asian but white, pale with an almost devilish grin that he current body never quite manages to convey.

This Betsy - the real Betsy - locks eyes with Illyana for a moment and slowly become less substantial. The strain of holding it in place against such overwhelming defenses more than she can maintain for too long.

Magik has posed:
It is no easier for Illyana to fight the defenses from reflectively snapping off even that briefest of connections, through the smallest of cracks like trying to find a single piece of a puzzle amidst a jumbled unmatching board. Sweat builds along the Sorceresses brow as well. Beads just along her hair line dimpling through the pores until one cascades across her cheek along with a single tear tumbling out from the corner of her eye where it hangs from jaw like a drop of rain until it falls quietly to the concrete, escaped from the effort both are putting into a single seconds worth of time.

Betsy shifts and turns inside a jungle of gnarled roots and black thornes until finally she breaks through and implants that image where Illyana and can see it. There she'll find a young girl in a white dress with white shoes kneeling down poking at what may have been a puddle, but is actually only the white of a subconscious mind. A blonde head looks at the blonde vision and reaches out as if she wants to grab the other's hand. The smile on her face is so bright, so full of life, and eyes blue enough to swim in.

Then they're being pulled apart like water rushing back out from a crack in the bottom of a glass until the connection is severed entirely with a gasp. Illyana's eyes snap open and stares at Betsy, the whole while panting heavily, squeezing her palm against the other woman's cheek as another tear falls from eyes that slowly fade back to the pale blue that they were only seconds before.

She swallows forcefully, trying to wet her throat when she finds it dry after trying to speak, and finally manages only three words, "You are beautfiul."

Psylocke has posed:
When Betsy is drawn out of Illyana's mind so quickly she cannot help but ask, her own eyes shooting open. Though once blue, her now violet eyes stare at Illyana in silence. Her thoughts drift to the vision she just received. The spark of life within that proves no matter how calloused hell has made here, there is something else normal within. No matter how buried and inaccessible it may be, it exists.

And if that exists, then who Betsy once was might still exist too. She is more than the sum of her memories. An insubstantial being suspended behind an unfamiliar face. But as long as that being is there, as long as she is something more than a caterpillar that only dreamed it was a butterfly, then it doesn't matter. What she looked like then. Now. It is all of it meaningless. Only the spark is her.

Betsy lifts both her hands to frame Illyana's face, each palm resting against a cheek. Her thumbs find the corners of her eyes, brushing away the tears that have beaded there. The illusion itself is gone completely now. Forced out by shields so strong that the Telepath could not overthrow nor subvert them. She can say nothing, only breathe raggedly and look at Illyana. The silence stretches out towards the horizon; on and on. When she finally does speak, she cannot keep her voice from cracking. But despite the shortness of it, amazement drips from every syllable. Having looked through the darkness at what was once thought destroyed but yet remains.

"You're you."

Magik has posed:
Illyana leans into the palms framing her face, pushing against them as greedily as her arms wrapped around Betsy's waist. The seal has been broken and with it the dam gives up the constant struggle of welling tears until the shed off in long trails over fingers near the corner where they originate. Her chin creases and quivers, but she doesn't sob like some weeping babe no matter how much that sensation tickles against the back of her mind like a hot poker urging long repressed feelings to the surface. An unreleting slave driver, forces more and more tears from pale blue eyes staring into violet.

She doesn't fight the ragged breathing at first and just lets herself give way to the moment. Panting through an open mouth to gulp down air, Illyana forces herself to take one final deep breath and then quiet the rapid nature to something managable. The shield is coming back up, but a small spark of something is left behind in the flicker of a grin carving its way through a haggard pale face.

Calming, the expression remains, and after another second she lifts up from her seat to turn and sit down beside Betsy. Head moving to nudge an arm around her shoulder, her hand laid flat against the fabric of that barely concealing swimsuit as she curls up. Legs brought in and up against her chest, locked in place by her elbow around the outside of her left knee to keep it there.

Quiet, living in that spark of relief that she's not defined by the gnarled roots of taint that block the lost little girl from maybe, possibly, sometime far in a future that she can't see, but is hopeful exist, might find her way out. There are so many things she wants to say, but can't the words for. She glances up every couple seconds as if she's finally found them, but when nothing comes out she settles back against Betsy into that quiet moment until she just gives up. Not at because she can't say anything, she just needs time process. Raw emotions can be dangerous no matter how good they feel. But she feels them.

Maybe not very much, perhaps just a single thread of light, but right then? It's enough.