8303/Limbo - Just a jump to the left.

Limbo - Just a jump to the left.
Date of Scene:	13 July 2019
Location:	Limbo
Synopsis:	Two people thinking about each other meet up... then go to hell.
Cast of Characters:	Magik, Psylocke

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Magik has posed:
It has been an interesting twenty four hours.

In the heat of a moment it's easy to let the rush get the better and tumble down the rabbit hole, but over the hours that follow a lot of other emotions creep into the gaps. Illyana doesn't actually have a throne in Limbo, not that she couldn't have one she just doesn't. She has a couch or a recliner or just a chair at a table in a dark room surrounded by all sorts of odd creatures staring at her with gaping black holes where eyes should be... and that's the least weird of the bunch.

Usually the solitude doesn't bother her one bit, usually it's how she recharges. There are matters she has to attend to, day to day affairs that require her attention, but Limbo is a weird place where time only matters in so far as it matters to whoever is ruling. So she's got a lot of it to think.. Dig into the whys and the hows and the whatifs of that moment at the pool.

All at once, she jumps from her seat, which startles a few of the black eyed demons, and teleports herself to her room at the mansion. It never looks lived in, a bed that's always made, dust on the desk, and a small imp of a creature that crawls out from beneath the bed like a fleshy (kind of) answering machine. "Get me clothes." She points at her closet, it scampers off to do so, while she drops down at the small vanity mirror to stare at the reflections pale blue eyes. "Do not look at me like that..."

The next hour is spent doing something she's only done a handful of times. Trying to look pretty.

Psylocke has posed:
Somewhere in New York City's Upper East Side, Betsy Braddock sits in a padded, lavendar coloured chair peering at a number of brown paper bags arrayed across her bed. She blinks at them for a while, turns her head to look out of the window at the Manhattan skyline, and then back at the bags. After a moment she rises to her feet, reaching in to one and picking out an article of clothes. She turns it over in her hands, looking at it critically. It's black for one thing - hardly her colour - but she nevertheless examines it closely. She lets it unfurl, holding it up in front of herself as she looks at her reflection in a floor to ceiling mirror. A black blouse, old Victorian in style if it weren't for the rather revealing cut of the decolletage that suggests a more modern vintage.

"Oh, no, that's not me, is it?"

She clicks her tongue against her teeth, turning back to the backs and beginning to sort through the contents. All clothes. All black or some shade thereof. She heaps them out onto the bed, shaking her head to herself.

"This is ridiculous, Bets ... "

Magik has posed:
It is not going as well as Illyana had hoped. In her head she just slapped on some make up and came out looking exactly the way she invisioned it, but she's got about as much skill with any of these damn brushes as she does building a rocket... which is to say, it takes her a lot longer to get anywhere close to something that doesn't have her wanting to smash the mirror into a million pieces and then burn the slivers until no image of it exists for anyone to see.

Her always straight blonde hair is pinned back with little black rose clips just above her small ears and she is wearing makeup, but it's not nearly as professional as she would have wanted. And still very dark. Dark smokey eyes that she thought would make them look a little more blue, "She liked that, I think.. my eyes.." Truth be told though, she has no idea what she likes.

A raid of her closet turns up a very limited selection. After a few moments chewing her black lip she grabs up a flared, sleeveless black blouse with a low cut. It leaves her mid section visible over the black hoop belt looped through jeans she probably should have gotten help to put on. Which is saying something because she's tiny as is.

"Where did I even get these boots?" Murmuring as she pulls on the half calf black leather boots with their three inch heel. "You are going to break ankle wearing these and look even more silly. You know this right?" She's talking AT the imp, who neither cares nor even understands, but she's talking TO herself.

With a long sigh, staring at the upper half of her body in the unbroken mirror, she closes her eyes and murmurs the name of the person she's trying to find. With her hand held out towards the reflective surface, she closes her fingers and is engulfed by the mercury like substance that leaves her standing in front of an unfamiliar apartment door.

It's another four minutes worrying her lips before she finally slaps her knuckles against it several times. Likely sounding like the cops come to serve a warrent.

Psylocke has posed:
Visitors?

Betsy has already dressed in some of the new clothes, but she's not ready to go out in them. This is all just grand experimentation, designed to throw together an outfit she considers fitting for what she is trying to convey. Her apartment is like her laboratory. Here she pulls together ingredients from a dozen different catalogues and attempts to bind them all together into one unique piece of style. But then the knocks came, and it's like somebody trying to tug the sheet off the sculpture when it's only half done.

"A moment," she calls out as politely as she can, brow still furrowed. Who even is it? She's had nobody at her apartment in ... well, what feels like months. It probably is. She's certainly not invited anybody over.

Eventually she resolves to stop wondering and just open the door, revealing the fashion experiment she wears. A feathered collar is the most noticable thing, raven black and high enough to rise partway up behind her head. Her purple hair has been drawn up in a bun, mostly to keep it out of the way while she worked but still with enough inherent flair to be called stylish. The dress is Victorian, bound tightly about the middle with a bodice but also possessed of a plunging neckline far more severe than one may have seen in those days. The skirt is a damned side shorter, too, ruffled about her thighs and ending well above the knee. She hasn't put the shoes on yet.

When she sees who it is, she blinks owlishly.

" ... hallo."

Magik has posed:
There's Illyana chewing on her bottom lip with one arm crossed over the obvious clevage of this blouse because she got ashamed of it about twenty five seconds after knocking which was five seconds too long to do anything about it. When the door opens she looks up sharply and blinks herself, several times, then several more times. "This is not..." Motioning with an up and down movement of her finger, "I did not know you were-" She fusses her lip more and looks around for the stairs or the elevator.

A window would do in a pinch.

"I should not be here. I do not have phone... or your number even if I have phone. I know it is very impolite to... come... here." She can't look up, she can look absolutely anywhere else but up at Betsy. "I will go. I should have called. I am very sorry."

She still has no idea which way is out, but she's clearly not trying to find one either. Instead she shuffling one foot, glancing up without actually looking up.

Psylocke has posed:
"What ... Illyana ... ?"

Betsy had a vague idea that Illyana could teleport from place to place, but she hadn't expected to see her here. She can only blink a few times as the Hell Queen starts to look supremely uncomfortable, grasping around for an exit.

"No, no," Betsy shakes her head, gesturing the blonde in from the hall, "Don't go. Come on. Come in."

Betsy moves aside, allowing space for Illyana to walk into the apartment if she wishes.

The apartment itself is truly done up in Betsy's inimitable style. Various shades of purple and colours complimenting it, ultra-modern furniture with just a touch of old world classical elegance.

"I was actually coming to look for you ... "

Magik has posed:
"..." Illyana tilts her head at that revelation, bottom lip pops out of her teeth. "Really?" Pale blue eyes are moving around as if she's looking for the trap, or wards, on the door, then looks directly at Batsy. "Why?" Didn't she just teleport to Betsy's apartment out of the blue? These things don't seem to occur to her because she's stepping into the apartment after making absolutely certain there's not some unseen magic itched into the doorway.

She never really goes very far once she's entered and looks around what she can see from a few dozen steps only once, preferring to finally give up the pretenses of looking anywhere, but at the person she came to see. "I did not mean to be rude by coming to your home." She says it quietly, but with a bit more confidence, looking the other over with slow moving eyes.

"You are wearing black. A lot of black..." There's no disappointment there. Hey, maybe Bets didn't know? She's being helpful. "I put on make up." More stating the obvious.

Psylocke has posed:
"It's not rude," Betsy answers, shaking her head as she watches Illyana enter the apartment as though the furniture were going to come to life and attack her, "It's a little unnerving, I'll give you that, but only because I wasn't expecting you. I'm rather used to having a bit of time to prepare when I have guests over. The place is in a bit of a state."

There is almost nothing out of place in Betsy's apartment.

She glances down at her black clothing, looking at it for a moment before glancing back up at Illyana: "Not my usual colour, no. Do you like it? I must say I was rather intrigued by your style and thought maybe I'd try to imitate it a little. It's harder to get a hand on skulls this side of Limbo, though."

Betsy tilts her head slightly to take in the Hell Queen's makeup, her eyebrows raising, "You did, too. It's very good. I don't think I've seen you with makeup on before. Did someone do it for you? If you did it yourself you did quite the job for the first go at it."

Magik has posed:
"Unnerving. Da, that is probably true." Illyana makes a mental note not to mention how she was able to find Bets apartment, "I scryed you... well not really scrying. I think about you to find where you are and I come here." Then tells her anyways. Deception really isn't her strong suit. The while looking around at an apartment that looks perfectly kept despite Betsy's insistance that it is otherwise, "Is it another part of house that is in a state?" She's not seeing it.

Then again, she keeps looking at her host and worrying her hands together in front of her in constant repitation. "They are not hard to find... Skulls I meaning. Usually I find them on walks through the woods around the mansion.. I can take you. Sometime..." Pursing her lips, "If you want." She takes a few more steps into the apartment and a little closer to Bets.



"You look very good." She tell her this with another look at the attire, "But I have trouble imagining there is very much that you would not look good in. Maybe a paper bag. Probably not a very good look for you." She points at the feathered top, even reaches out to run her fingers over it. Clearly she's a tacticle person, textures, she's smiling a little.

"Oh, I did it myself." Her pale eyes shift up from her fingers to Bets violet eyes, "Like twenty times it takes me. I do not wear makeup ever. Maybe one time..." Squinting thoughtfully, "Yes, one time I wear it. I think Kitty helped me put it on then. I did not want Kitty's help today. I wanted to do it, maybe she would do better. Probably she would, but I did it. Because I was coming to see.. uh.. you."

"I look like clown has sex with The Crimson Ghost." Snorting into a quiet laugh.

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy throws her head back and laughs at Illyana's joke, reaching out to slap her lightly on the shoulder. There's no heft to it, just a playful tap as she shakes her head: "Stop it. You do not. I think you did a great job."

The Telepath doesn't much react to the hand running through the feathered collar, instead looking over Illyana and the outfit she wears. She looks thoughtful for a moment, then speaks:

"I have some paper bags in the other room but, no, I don't think I'd quite pull them off. I imagine the sort of people looking to see me in a paper bag are just hoping it rips and falls off." A joke of her own, although something prevents her from laughing aloud at it. Instead, she smiles slightly.

"I don't really have company over all that often. Not since - " she trails off, shaking her head and leaving that one where it is, "It's nice that you came by, though, I like what you're wearing. Are you trying something new? It's very you."

Magik has posed:
The response she gets forestalls any further argument to the contrary and clearly pleases her. Illyana looks up at Bets and smiles. It's not as sinister as usual, but you can take the dog out of the fight... She shakes her head and drops her hand down from the feathered collar back to her side, palm running flat against the jeans more or less painted onto her thigh.

"You have paper bags?" Craning her head slightly, neither knowing which way the bedroom is, nor really trying to see into it. She doesn't laugh either at the next part, but snaps her eyes towards Bets for a second where it may seem like she's gauging something in the other woman's expression and look.

Focused enough that she misses the stutter about company. At least initially. "I hope I did not remind you of since." She murmurs, looking down, which have her gazing over her own attire. "Da, something like that. I did not have much designer clothes in my closet.." She laughs, humorlessly, "I, uh.. I was trying to look a little more like I put effort into getting dressed."

Her brow furrows a second, "I thought about you a lot." Her eyes tick back and forth quickly, "Over the last day. Constantly, you are on my head. So I do all th is." Waving at her face, her hair, her clothes, and the fact she's standing in her apartment.

Psylocke has posed:
"I liked your skullkini," Betsy ventures, coining a name for whatever that uniquely Illyana garment was, "Like I said, I tried to match it myself but ran out of skulls."

When Illyana says her piece, however, the Telepath's brow knits a little. She hadn't given much thought as to why she'd taken such a radical departure from her usual style. She did it all the time, really. She'd get sick of a look and buy a whole host of new garments, throwing them together and seeing what worked.

But she is wearing a lot of black. And the sort of clothes are not at all what she'd usually go for. When the Hell Queen says she's been thinking of her, it's only then that Betsy really connects that her thoughts have been in a similar vein.

"I think," she begins, pausing as though testing out the words and how they sound, "I think that's why I did all this, too."

Magik has posed:
"Skullkini." Illyana repeats the impromptu name coined for her unique swimwear with a grin on black lips. "We find skulls for your tear away bag outfit." She promises, possibly unaware that she just told a joke. "It will be talk of underpass." She has to realize she's doing it, right?

There's a silence there now. All the time Illyana is looking at Betsy and chewing at her bottom lip, but she looks relieved to have said her peice. For good or ill, and the silence could go either way, there's a weight that's clearly lifted from her shoulders for having voiced what has been going through her head for more than twenty four hours now: Betsy.

She never expected that the same might be true for the telepath and tilts her head curiously. She blinks once and lets her lip loose from her bottom lip as she steps forward towards the other with a hand coming up as if she's intending to run it along the bare part of her neck just above the feathered collar. "I..."

Psylocke has posed:
On cue, Betsy's hand rises to take Illyana's. It doesn't direct it away or halt it. It just moves with her. The look on her face suggests she isn't even aware she's doing it, not thinking - at least not about her hands. She lets it travel towards her neck, even guiding it there slightly before she stops and her eyes snap back into focus on Illyana.

"I - " she begins, grasping around for words, "I'm not sure what we're doing here, Illyana."

She's quick to press on, not wanting to upset or alienate the blonde woman, "I'm - look, I'm not saying no. I'm not even saying not now. I just - things are difficult for me. There's something here," she gestures between the pair of them with her free hand, "I know it. But how do I know I didn't manufacture it when you let me inside your mind like that?"

She sighs, "Are you real? Is this? God, I don't know."

Magik has posed:
Illyana closes her eyes for a second when her hand lays against the side of Betsy's neck, drinking in the moment almost exactly like she did the day before. She's not terribly different from someone lost in the desert savoring every drop of water, but there's no pain here... She didn't realize she wanted it, so realizing it makes it feel so much better for having found it.

When Bets speaks, Illy opens her eyes to look at her. Pale, but attentively staring at the other. "Do not know answer either." She has no idea, literally none at all, what she's doing or what this is.

"Maybe you are right? Maybe this is created when you are in my head and some part of me is in yours." She shrugs one bare shoulder and moves her other hand up as if she's going to lay it against the otherside of the telepaths neck. The thumbs of both hands brushing soft skin, "There is something. I feel it... I really feel it."

She's quiet for a second, "Do you trust me?"

Psylocke has posed:
"Me too."

Betsy's answer is quick and whispered. She felt it by the pool and she feels it now. There's no denying that the feeling is there, and nothing about it seems at all fake or manufactured. But there are the other thoughts in her head, too. How does she explain this? What will her teammates think of her? She's not ashamed - she's never been ashamed of any choice in her life - but it's so complicated. They'd say she was taking advantage of Illyana's unique brand of naivete, or that Illyana's motives were sinister. She can hear it all in her head.

But even when she can hear, she can ignore it, too. It isn't overwhelming. There are voices there, but they are voices she never has to listen to. The only voice she need follow is her own.

And perhaps Illyana's.

To the Hell Queen's question she simply nods her head wordlessly.

Magik has posed:
Illyana has never cared what anyone thought of her so long as they left her alone. She's dangerous, they've said. Always tip toeing around her like there's glass everywhere and that was fine for her for so long. She doesn't care what they think now either, but she's not thinking about it like Betsy is. It's there, but something new and exciting is shadowing it.

It's a feeling so good she can't let herself think of anything else. Not the team or the school, not their opinions about what harm this might be. "It is nobodies business but ours." She isn't reading the telepaths thoughts, but voicing the response to her own which just happen to mirror the others. And it's said so very quietly besides.

When Betsy nods, Illyana lowers her hands down from her neck and turns them over to be taken. "I want to show you something.. but you need to be prepared. It is not pleasant and you will never forget what you have seen. But I promise I will be right there with you. I will protect you..." She cants her head a little, "Afterwards, I ask you question and you can answer it however you feel is right."

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy seems unable to conjure up any words. Her mind is racing but whatever is happening in there is going too fast for words. Illyana, her only company, possesses mental shielding that Betsy cannot break without permission and intense effort. With no other minds around to scream different things at her, she is left with only her own thoughts.

Something unpleasant? Something terrible? While she may at other times have been able to piece together what Illyana suggests, right now the Telepath cannot. But nor can she really resist. She simply reaches out, placing her hands in those offered and locking eyes with the other woman.

She remains silent, nodding her head affirmative. She is ready.

Magik has posed:
Illyana closes her fingers around Betsy's hands for a second, then turns so only one remains. She laces her fingers into the telepaths and watches her with her head turned in her direction, steeling herself for what she thinks is going to happen. She hopes Betsy is ready, she doesn't want to scare her by where they're going, but she's also scared for herself. She's never taken anyone, but Kitty and she more or less took that upon herself. Illy was just a bystander.

"Close your eyes." She murmurs and as soon as the other does, there's a rush of air around her like a wind had blown open during a storm. There's no sound of anything breaking in the apartment and then the sound of the apartment is replaced with what sounds like an enmorous heart beating. There's a aquatic note to it and a smell like rot and fresh grave flowers.. there are other sounds and smells and sensations; terrible things like a language being spoken that is so foul it hurts the pure just to hear it.

"Open your eyes." Illyana says just as quietly, squeezing her fingers laced in Betsy's hand.

It's a heart. A massive black heart with thick veins running around it pumping some terrible substance. Small pockets of ooze pop and emit terrible cries from some unknown origin that soak into the thick membranous organ suspended by a thousand skeletons all staring sightless forward. "It is the heart of Limbo." Illy does not seem shocked by it or surprised to be here. She's been a thousand times... a million times. This is the source of her domains very life.

The center of her world.

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy closes her eyes tightly when bidden to do so, her hands tensing in Illyana's. Even when the wind ceases to rush and the sounds of her apartment are replaced with the hideous beating, she does not open them. She doesn't feel fear as much anymore. At least she never thought she did. Then why does this place fill her with so much dread even without seeing it?

But then she does what the brave do and wills herself to look and see what it is that makes her afraid. Her head tilts back, staring up at the heart. She remains lost for words, simply watching it and listening to the world around her. So alien. So awful.

Slowly, her head tilts and her eyes meet Illyana's.

"You ... you live here?"

Magik has posed:
The heart thuds like a hammer on anvil, shaping the landscape of Limbo with each beat, birthing the monsters that live her with every retraction. It is aware of them, at least there's a feeling like it is. The eyes of all those skeletons stare at them, but none moved to look. That does not stop the feeling that they see.

"Da." Illyana is hesitant to look over at Betsy, but follows the example the telepath set and turns to lock pale blue to violet. "Not specifically here in this chamber, but..." She nods, the correction is redundent, "This is Limbo. I have been here since I was six years old and ruled since I was seventeen." She wont look away from the other mutant, "All of this is mine... it is me. It is the reason they worry I will become tainted. and they are right to worry about that because... I am. Not completely, but enough."

She takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, "Do you want to go back now?"

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy wants to stay. She wishes she had it within her to remain here at least for a few hours. To see the horrors that Illyana was forced to confront and overcome in order to rule such a place. Not for her own sake or to prove her own bravery, but just to show solidarity. To show that she is here and with her and perhaps the burden needn't be shouldered entirely along at all times.

But she can't. She feels the overwhelming vileness of the place like a residue on her very soul. Her mind instinctively reaches out for others and recoils from the indecipherable horrors it receives. Already she feels drawn towards the beating heart, as though it may have a mind. An abyss to stare into and an abyss to stare back.

She nods her head quickly, reaching out to grasp Illyana's hands whether they were readily offered or not: "Yes. Yes."

Magik has posed:
Illyana's expression is pained, but it has absolutely nothing to do with Betsy's reaction.. at least not in a way that she thought she might want to remain here. She knew what this place was and she knew what it could do to a powerful telepath. The pain is because she brought Betsy to see it at all. That horror look and quick answered that she wants to return home hurts because Betsy hurts.

Illy hands were coming up, but they're taken before they move past her thighs and in just a brief minuta of time, they're standing back in Betsy's apartment. The foulness gone, but not completely gone. The taint is no longer visible on the walls or in the pools of ichor bubbling on the ground, but it's still there.

"It is not all like that." She says in a whisper, looking down and away. Ashamed of her selfishness. "I am sorry that I took you there, but I want to ask you something and I needed you to know ... that ... before you answer."

Psylocke has posed:
"Don't ... don't be sorry," Betsy says, her voice still quiet and her throat dry, "I ... needed to see. If for no other reason than to know what's there."

But the toll of it all is a heavy one, and it shows. Betsy's forehead is sheened with sweat and her skin has grown pale. Her hands quiver in Illyana's and her shoulders lift up and down as though she were desperately trying to warm herself but unable. The taint of the foul place still hangs on her and within her mind, and while she is not consumed by it the darkness has, perhaps, taken something with it.

"Ask me," she says, opening her eyes again to stare into Illyana's pale blue ones.

Magik has posed:
Illyana knows better than any person alive what Limbo takes when it sees you for the first time. Part of you is left behind there, twisted into something dark and savage, and becomes another malignant tumor on the blight that is the topography of that horrible place. She is the Queen of that tainted horror, the ruler of darkness and filth, and most of her soul is blackened by it.

She fights, even now, against it. And she would never want that for Betsy... not for any of her friends. Her fingers tighten in the telepaths, understanding and affectionate. She promised she would protect her and she still means it. "It is not a simple question, so think about answer.." She is not known for her theatrics, at least not in these kinds of matters. "Do you trust me?"

Psylocke has posed:
The answer comes to her quickly, but Betsy doesn't blurt it out. She was asked to give it thought and that she does. She weighs it up in her mind for several beats, thinking about what it truly means.

There is a darkness in Limbo that Illyana had spoken of but which Betsy never truly understood. She imagined demons and other monsters capering about, forced into line by a terrible queen who had to be cruel to lead them but neer let that cruelty stain her. Now she knows the truth. The rot does get in and it sinks to the bone.

But she saw that glimmer in Illyana's mind. That bright smile and that hopeful hand. She knew it then and even now, having seen Hell, her mind is unchanged.

"Yes."

Magik has posed:
Illyana doesn't force the answer or rush a response. She is patient beyond her years, creepily so some might think, and watches Betsy the whole course of internal conversation that has to take place after what she's shown the other tonight. She prepares herself for what she expects, but remains hopeful that she's wrong. Hopeful enough that there's a lining to her usual darkness, a light breaking through dark curtains, if only for a moment.

When the answer comes, the Queen of Limbo sighs heavily and sinks upon it like she's finally released a breath she's held for generations. Caught up in it, really. A rush of something grips her in a way she's never felt, something so carnal that it is terrifying to even consider not giving into it.

With a fluid motion, she turns towards Betsy and reaches up for the side of the others neck, but there's some deliberate intent behind the way she's pulling slightly and leaning forward. She pulls up just short of it, but her lips are right there. Close enough to feel her speaking like a tickle.

"Then kiss me."

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy's eyes, closed as she considered Illyana's words, open now. Not wide, but enough so that her violet eyes can finally regard both Illyana and the world around them. She's heard the words, given her answer after considering the question, but the whole time her eyes have been closed tight. They take in the blonde woman, silent for a moment.

In the same instant she considers everything that has happened. The years building a relationship only for it to fall apart when it became clear they wanted two different things. That was months ago, and Betsy had never really considered being close to anyone like that since. The moment by the pool had stirred something in the pit of her stomach, and while she hadn't know what it was she knew for certain that it came from Illyana.

So when the Russian woman speaks just now, she hesitates. Not overlong, but enough for a hundred different things to flood through her mind. Could this last? Would it? Was she just seeking out a comfort she'd been without for so long? Was it even fair to let Illyana fall into a potential trap, knowing now the burden she has to bear and what heartbreak might do?

It is all considered and all discarded just as quickly. She knows what she wants. Be it her heart or some baser desire. Maybe it would bring things crashing down around their ears. Maybe they are only bound for disaster. But Betsy remembers in that moment the thoughts that went through her head that day by the pool - the future is not written in stone.

They kiss.

Magik has posed:
Time really is relative to Illyana. Five seconds, fifteen? Three minutes or a decade. She's seen hell for her whole life and there's moments when time just decides to stop moving entirely while the world around her burns. She can regard a single thought to its base peices in an instance or toil over every single detail for weeks. She's turmoil and anxiety if it were encased in cement. She stares at Batsy while violet eyes remain closed, unsure of what the other woman is thinking and considers every single second of the last few days beneath the microscope of hindsight and the unimaginably patient lense of someone use to the horrors of Limbo.

What is heart break? What does it feel like? Is it like being snatched away from her family and forced into servitude by Demonic forces? Do the two feelings compare? She has no idea, there's no frame of reference for her. Nor does she hope to find out, her cruelty in Limbo extends to others... there's no self destructive quality about her.

There's a feeling she's felt. It started by the pool and it's dominated her thoughts since. Fixated on it like a hunter tracking deer sign. What she cannot predict about the possibility of heart break or turbulent tapestry of whatever might happen, she can know with absolutely certain that when they kiss, it was exactly what she wanted it to be.

She knows, with no shadow of doubt, that her heart is hammering in her chest like a drum. She knows that whatever might happen tomorrow, she wants this now.

Psylocke has posed:
The kiss is a relatively chaste one to begin with. Betsy's lips part slightly but for her it is the well of emotions that come rushing forth. Her hands raise to catch Illyana's, capturing them both between her palms and them drawing her arms in to her chest. She holds her there as they kiss, eyes closing once again. The moment stretches out forever yet is over in an instance, the uncomfortable and oppressive pall of silence that the passage from Limbo seemed to leave over Betsy's apartment now lifting. The city churns below. Life goes on.

"I - " Betsy begins, although she falters as she tries to find the words, "Illyana. I - "

She looks around the living area of the apartment that they stand in the middle of. When her gaze return to Illyana they start at the pale blue of her eyes and trace down to take in every part of her. When she tries to speak again, her breath quickens and her chest rises and falls like she's just run a mile.

"What do you ... ?" she asks. Perhaps she should know what happens next. Definitely more so than someone raised in Hell. But all she can do is fall against the Queen of Limbo, breathing heavily and listening.

Magik has posed:
That's the unfair reality of something you want. It's a flash and then it's over in a snap, feeling as if all that came before or comes after is infinitely longer by comparison. The kiss ends, Illyana presses another lighter one, before she's willing to pull back at all. Then only far enough to press herself up against Betsy with both their hands nestled between them.

The half questions and stuttered words have the younger mutants mind reeling, still feeling the soft touch of lips against her own long after they're gone. A sensation she would have scoffed at only a week ago, the only thing she can bring herself to think about now.

It's in that instance that the Queen of Limbo realizes she has no idea what she's actually doing. "My frame of reference is limited." She says with a twist of her lips off to one side, "I know what I want... I just.." She turns her head and lays it against Betsy's shoulder. "I want to see bags."

Psylocke has posed:
Betsy laughs. It isn't cruel or mocking, but genuinely delighted. When Illyana lays her head against her shoulder, Betsy raises a hand and runs it through her pale blonde hair.

"The paper bags?" the Telepath asks, her chin resting on the top of Illyana's head as she stares off out the window for a moment, "Was that a line?"

She pauses for a moment, reluctantly parting from the embrace but keeping Illyana's hand in hers. She crosses the room, reaching up to a photograph that sits on a glass shelf. She overturns it. Some memories hurt, and right now she wants to be free of them. Living entirely in the moment with the choice she has made, consequences be damned.

Betsy's hand clasps around Illyana's wrists and she takes her to see the bags.

Magik has posed:
"Could be worse." Illyana walks/shuffles along with Betsy, glancing at, but not really acknowledging, the overturned photograph. If it was important for her to know, she would be told, she's not hear to open wounds. "Could have asked if you needed pool cleaned."

Is intrigued to see the bags.