21 TSoT/MMV: Pretty Little Pyro Practice

"There's a place that I know/It's not pretty there and few have ever gone/If I show it to you now/Will it make you run away?/Everybody's got a dark side/Do you love me? Can you love mine?"

-Kelly Clarkson, song "Dark Side"

7:30 am, Three Days Later, 88th Floor, Alcove, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

The elevator doors swung open as Matilda stepped out onto the pearlescent marble-floored hallway, coffee thermos, personal belongings, and all. Her olive green dress fluttered this way and that as she walked toward the minimalist-chic waiting area in front of her and sat on one of the cubic leather seats, her hand fidgeting around the key that Persephone had left on her desk two afternoons ago, encouraging her to try her hand at pyro-target practice in the building's fireproof basement. Day one of Wyatt, she thought to herself, thoroughly dreading it.

Upon seeing Wyatt waiting in the alcove feet away from her, she stood, nodded a curt hello, and strode past to summon the elevator once more, which opened almost instantaneously. They both stepped in, and the elevator doors shuddered to a close, as she pressed the button that would take them both to the basement.

7:38 am, Elevator, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Wyatt began to utter niceties, but Matilda sharply cut him off. "Listen, don't talk—" she hissed, staring straight ahead as they descended downward, whizzing past each floor with dizzying speed. "I'm keeping things professional. Call me "Val" in front of others and I will end you. Am I clear?"

"Crystal,"he responded, barely above a whisper, not daring to move a muscle lest Matilda scorch his freshly pressed linen shirt.

7:50 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

The elevator landed with a single reverberating echo, opening to reveal a nondescript door further up ahead. Walking a few steps, Matilda stopped just short of the entryway and shakily twisted the key into the door, which swung open to reveal an equally-plain slate-colored room made of what appeared to be cement, but which was likely enchanted due to its advertised fire-proof, bulletproof quality.

She entered the minimalist space, followed by Wyatt, which was empty save for a smattering of Dutch Pulk design brand pieces on one end of the room, consisting of a Shunan coffee table: a circular flat black piece of iron atop four stool legs that intersected in a perpendicular fashion at its bottom; and several Plus Hexagon gold-colored hexagonal velvet pillows piled in a corner of the room alongside a couple of Plus Rectangle royal blue-colored pillows. Atop the Shunan coffee table was a Rare crystal beaker-shaped decanter as well as two accompanying angular Radiant crystal water glasses and what appeared to be a simple candle stick.

7:55 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Matilda faced the opposite end of the room, her back to the various Dutch pieces. How was this supposed to work? She made as if to remove an earring entirely, but Wyatt called out. "Not that way, Val!" She sighed.

"Then how?" In response, Wyatt, with a pop, orbed directly to the candlestick, then popped and appeared feet away from Matilda herself. Showoff, she thought to herself, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Loosen an earring and light the candle wick on fire," Wyatt said calmly, and Matilda did so, tweaking her earring back about a millimeter precisely. She glanced at the flame and back at Wyatt. Seriously? This was too easy. "Ok, next, make the flame leave the wick and hover in the air unsupported."

"Easy for you to say," she grumbled under her breath. Her first attempt merely caused the flame to flicker atop the candle for a moment, before sticking firmly to its waxen surface. Matilda attempted a second time, then a third, using a sharp upward wave of her left hand followed by a pedestrian crosswalk "halt" gesture, all with the same hand. This apparently seemed to work, as the flame was now hovering well above the candle itself.

"Good," said Wyatt, trying not to show just how impressed and enthralled he was at the figure before him. "Now light the candle again, and repeat the process until you have eight flames, all in a circle in the air in front of you."

8:30 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Four flames hovering in the air…five…six…seven…and finally, eight. Matilda and Wyatt stared at the circle of tiny, unsupported flames now hovering in a circle in front of them, perpendicular to the ground. It made for a beautiful though somewhat eerie sight, as Wyatt was accustomed to seeing flames firmly affixed to tangible objects. In Matilda's case, she had spent her earlier life stubborn and easily upset to the point she lost control of her fire power, causing her hands to spew flames of their own volition. This was the first time she successfully managed to harness her power over multiple (albeit miniature) conflagrations without destroying an entire building and/or causing millions of dollars' worth of damages and memory charms on the part of her dad. If dad could see this now, he'd definitely be proud, Matilda thought to herself.

She felt her eyes begin to tear up. How many times had she made a mess of things with her fire abilities? How many times had her dad had to clean up the mess she made? For once in her life, Matilda allowed herself to feel welcome, beckoned into polite purgatorial company; she felt like less of an outcast—a health hazard—a danger to society—a menace. A monster. Perhaps maybe, just maybe, Persephone was right; Matilda's own sparkling amber-ruby fire emanating deep from within was the very thing that made her special, which she could channel in the ever-looming battle of good against evil if she so chose. She recalled her mother Macy mentioning years ago, how she herself had inadvertently set a lecherous fraternity creep on fire after a karaoke performance. The inevitable trauma that ensued. Her meeting behind a sheet with her once-absent mother Marisol. The anguish, the agony, the tears, and the secrets.

There were so many secrets. But not anymore.

Matilda wiped a stray tear from her cheek, as Wyatt turned to face her. "Great job Matilda!" he stopped. "Are you crying?" He made as though to touch her, and she flinched—

"Don't fucking touch me," she hissed, her concentration suddenly broken, causing the eight flames to fall to the ground.

Shit. She helplessly watched as the flames roved around the flooring; Wyatt orbed to the opposite end of the room and orbed back, this time carrying and spraying a fire extinguisher.

8:40 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

"I-I'm sorry," she whispered, as Wyatt succeeded in putting out the final bit of moving flame. Putting down the fire extinguisher, he stepped closer.

"Val, are you ok?" Matilda wiped another tear away and nodded, though she was still shaking from head to toe. "I should be the one who's sorry, this exercise took a lot out of you—"

"I'm fine," replied Matilda, silently cursing herself for losing her composure. "I'm so used to not having control of my fire abilities—so used to keeping them under lock and key—that when I finally try to harness them…I don't know how to."

"It's understandable," spoke Wyatt kindly, "I mean, this is your first time trying to have a serious go at it besides burning a letter or two, amirite?" Matilda couldn't help but smile at his reference to the time at Camp Wanaka when she burned a letter to smithereens.

"Yeah. But what if I hurt people by accident? My powers have surged over the past years, no thanks to global warming. What if I hurt…" she hesitated, "…you?"

"Then I'll have to carry a fire extinguisher with me wherever I go, won't I?" chuckled Wyatt, and Matilda couldn't help but smile despite herself. "I think you underestimate my Whitelighting abilities. I'll manage well enough. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself, thanks." He made as if to depart, and Matilda followed him, understanding they had concluded their first pyro session. With many more to follow.

2 pm, Matilda and Wyatt's Office, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

After a late communal lunch with the rest of her colleagues, Matilda found herself in a somewhat decent-sized enclosed room with smoky glass floor-to-ceiling windows providing a breathtaking view of the expansive, cumulus cloud-filled sky. There were two fireproof glazed-oak desks, one for herself, and one for Wyatt, separated by a single divider that acted as a bulletin board. Their office. She had recovered from her earlier outburst but wondered just how much more of this she could realistically take. Being in such close, daily proximity to her former summer flame. Watching him in his freshly pressed linen shirt that smelled of ocean breeze, and tailored suit jacket that never failed to impress, his beach-blond hair replaced with dark wavy ringlets and an ivory tower smile that reeked of seductive intelligentsia. She couldn't help but wonder whether those abs beneath his shirt looked like the ones she remembered five years ago on the gently-swaying Bayliner drifting along Wanaka Marina.

I'm fucked, she thought to herself, not for the last time that day, as she peered over her desk at Wyatt, who might have been staring a second too long at the crimson curls surrounding a certain female's visage.