23 TSoT/MMV: Of Amplifiers & Alcohol

"No better you than the you that you are/No better life than the life we're living/No better time for your shine, you're a star/Oh, you're beautiful" -Alessia Cara, song "Scars to Your Beautiful"

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

In the corner of her eye, Matilda noticed Wyatt place the Rare crystal beaker-shaped decanter atop the Dutch Shunan iron coffee table. "Focus, Val!" he called out, when he noticed her glance and she rolled her eyes once more, turning around to face her eight miniature flames rotating several feet off the ground, perpendicular to the cement floor of the basement pyro practice room. "I want you to take one of the eight flames and shoot it through the hoop of remaining flames, till it hits the opposite wall."

Matilda inwardly sighed. The day seemed to last forever even when it had only begun, and the much-awaited holiday happy hour social was in ten hours; she'd brought a black dress to wear for the occasion, which she hoped included the much-heard-of pomegranate cordial that Persephone was famous for in the office. The dress was just to look nice. Keeping up appearances, she told herself firmly. Not to impress a certain dark-haired Camp Wanaka counselor standing in the same cavernous room as her at the present moment.

Though they had become coworkers with a decent-enough congenial relationship, having bonded over living with extended family (him with his grandparents and dad, her with her parents, and grandparents nearby), there was still a lingering undercurrent of static…of friction…that surfaced at most inconvenient times. The frustration of having to be told what to do by the same guy as five years hence, after having seen him completely in the nude, his torso bucking as she rode him in ecstasy, as she grasped his tousled hair and enveloped his fuckable lips in a torrid kiss. Each day, though she tried in vain to ignore it, she felt a certain…frisson…in her limbs, her heart, in the very pit of her stomach, which gathered in a confused tangle of electricity in the base of her abdomen.

She concentrated on the upper-right flame, attempting to gently coax it from its cylindrical stead, but it stubbornly refused to budge from its position. Apparently, like herself, it had a mind of its own. Ok fine, Matilda groused. We'll do this my way. She sharply jerked her right palm backward to meet her hip. Come on. However, this caused the flame to bounce off the circle's rim and straight into the direction of Wyatt. Shit. Instinctively, she aimed her open palm upward. Stop—NOW. She shut her eyes tightly, fearing for what she'd hear or see next. Charred ashes? The sounds of tortured souls?

"Val, you can open your eyes." Wyatt wasn't burned to a crisp. Huh. "Look!" Matilda cautiously pried one eye open, then the other and gasped. She had succeeded in freezing the miniature flame in place, inches from Wyatt's chest."Guess we can add "immobilization" to your power roster?" Matilda nodded, hardly daring to breathe, as he reached for his strapped-on fire extinguisher and sprayed the amber heat away.

8:20 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

So far, Matilda had managed to hurl three flames through the fiery circle, all of which slammed into the opposite wall. Five more left. She plucked the fifth flame from its position with ease and tried to send it through the circle, but oddly enough, it came back again, hovering a foot in front of her. Furrowing her brow, Matilda focused on its glassy, tongued edges. Hit the wall, dammit. The rogue flame went through the circle, then veered back again in Matilda's direction, as she repeatedly bounced it back through. In and out. In and out. Pounding literal, throbbing flame. Over and over. She swallowed hard, trying not to envision Wyatt doing the same.

He stared at the vision before him, of the auburn-haired girl conjuring flames from within. There was nothing sexier, he secretly imagined, than Val, learning to channel her fire and become one with herself. Noticing the spectacle of the rogue flame, he couldn't help but feel a…stirring. Down there. The sexual metaphor was unmistakable, and he sought to control his breathing as he continued to observe Matilda from a distance. "Focus, Val!" Wyatt called out. "Get those dirty thoughts outta your head!"

The moment he uttered those words, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. Matilda flushed a deep crimson and with a swipe of her left hand, heaved the miniature flames forward, causing them to crash onto the wall and disappear. One flame remained in the palm of her hand as she slowly walked toward Wyatt. "Me? Dirty thoughts?" she muttered, her eyes glaring daggers at him.

"Um—I-I only meant—" he stammered, staring at the golf ball-sized flame flickering in her hand. Maybe I should add "pyro-telepathy" to the power roster too? he mused silently to himself.

"I've gone here, practiced here, for the past three weeks, burning my brains out, no pun intended—only to be told to get dirty thoughts out of my head?" hissed Matilda. "Pot calling the kettle black, no?" They were only inches apart now, close enough for her curly long hair to touch his shoulders, if she dared. He was worried about being scorched by this fierce fae, but a secret part of him was somewhat…turned on. In a previous life, he mused in that moment, he would have cupped her visage upward to stare at her emerald eyes glittering in the flickering flare's glow. He would have seized bundles of those luscious crimson curls, breathed in her essence, and commenced a sordid game of tonsil hockey and heavy petting that would culminate, much later, in her screaming his name…

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

All of a sudden, Wyatt's phone buzzed, and the sensual moment was broken. The pair realized how close they were and discretely stepped back, avoiding each other's eyes as he checked his texts and sent off a quick message. "Just Persephone checking in from the Underworld," Wyatt spoke. "She wanted to know how things were going."

"What did you tell her?" Matilda asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"I said you're a quick study, and a real conflagration asset to the organization—"

"Thanks," she replied. "But it's nothing. I mean, all I learned was how to do weird shit with little flames—"

"Val. It's much, much more than that." He surveyed her closely. "In the past three weeks till today, you've done pyro-telekinesis, pyro-immobilization, and what I think is pyro-telepathy. Don't sell yourself short."

7 pm, Rooftop Garden & Restaurant, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Wyatt anxiously checked his phone for the time. Where was Matilda? he wondered. An hour ago, she grabbed a bag from her desk in their shared office and ducked into a nearby restroom. She still hadn't come out yet. He surveyed his surroundings, noticing the elven boxwood topiaries and tall draped tables where other employees stood and milled about, conversing about the latest corporate news. Next to the topiaries and tables was a building with a bubble-like angular, geodesic glassy architectural design. An enchanted ice sculpture pop-up restaurant. PC Corporation had, once again, outdone itself, he thought to himself as he grabbed a drink from a passing waiter's tray and situated himself at one of the many standing tables, thinking not of the latest consulting development, but of a certain unobtainable crimson-haired girl.

7:10 pm, Rooftop Garden & Restaurant, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Just then, Wyatt felt a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around and gaped. Matilda. But this wasn't studious Matilda. The feminine beauty standing before him wore a slimming, downright scandalous Venus designer evening black cocktail dress with a low-cut (or no-cut) area covered only with see-through lace, the rest in sheer contoured fabric, ending in a tight ruffled hem that went past her thigh.

Matilda, seeing Wyatt's glazed-over expression, asked, "is something wrong?" Wyatt shook his head dumbly as she set her purse down on the grassy lawn.

"Wow, V—I mean—Matilda. Just—wow."

Matilda hid a smile, then noticed the drink Wyatt held. "Is that Persephone's pomegranate cordial? Can I try some?"

Wyatt nodded. "Yes to both," as she reached for the glass and took a long sip. A fizzy concentration of the dot-like berries, coupled with bursts of rosewater, strawberry, cucumber, and lime.

"This is really good," Matilda remarked, passing the glass back to Wyatt, who took a sip. "I can't even taste the alcohol—"

"That's because there isn't any," replied Wyatt, whirling the glass in between his thumb and forefinger, inhaling the fruity notes. Wait, what? Matilda appeared perplexed. "Persephone believes alcohol is bad for business, so she laces her concoctions with amplifiers instead."

"Amplifiers?" Matilda was intrigued. "To amplify…emotions?"

"Sort of. I've drunk it before, but nothing's ever really happened to me yet. I heard it brings out the good stuff, the stuff people are too scared to hope for, dream for, imagine. Persephone thinks of it as an infusion of wholesome 'creative energy' in the company."

"Huh." Matilda stared at the cordial glass and back up at Wyatt. "I could use some right now, after nine hours on the clock—" as she grabbed the glass from him and took another brave sip, feeling a wave of endorphins course through her veins instantaneously. Damn. The beverage trickled down her throat with unsettling ease, as she stared at Wyatt's bare chest through a couple of stray buttonholes. Imagining what it would be like to have his form shoved up against a wall—

"Save some for me too," laughed Wyatt. "I've spent the past hours making sure you didn't burn the building down, don't I deserve credit for that?"

"Ok, here," she breathed, thrusting the concoction in Wyatt's direction, as he closed his eyes and sipped. May this moment never end, he silently wished, wondering how he was so lucky to have Matilda in his life once more.

7:20 pm, Rooftop Garden & Restaurant, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

The crowd of employees gradually dispersed until it was just Matilda and Wyatt, plus a couple others they didn't know, from the corporation's more obscure branches. The cordial had suffused their mutual subconscious vitalities, permeating the air with the same intoxicating electrical vitality Matilda recognized from earlier in the day that continued to linger within the recesses of her soul.

Without realizing, they both reached for the other's hand, and made contact for the barest of seconds, as they stared deeply into each other's eyes, before Matilda came to her senses and snapped her hand back, fleeing the rooftop garden for the elevator that would take her down to the 88th floor office they shared.

7:35 pm, Matilda & Wyatt's Office, 88th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Matilda locked their shared office door behind her and minutes later, touched her forehead against the smoky glass of the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to will herself to come to her senses. He's your mentor! It's a terrible idea—he doesn't love you—you're a monster and a menace—

She heard a pop behind her and whirled around to find Wyatt holding her purse. "You forgot it upstairs," he whispered. "I'm sorry I overstepped—" but Matilda strode toward him and placed a dainty finger on his lips to silence him, which she found herself inserting into his mouth despite her better judgment, then removing it, as their lips suddenly met in a frenzied torrent, their hands grappling at the other's clothing, impediments all, their mutual scorching desire making itself known as she ripped off her lacey underwear. Her back slammed against the door as she found herself straddling her ex-lover, her mentor, her friend, her…whoever the hell he was.

"What do you want, Valensi?" he breathed into the most sensitive part of her neck.

"You." Wyatt proceeded to drown Matilda in kisses from her neck, down the see-through lace of her chest, fondling one breast then the other, as she writhed in his grasp.

"Are you sure?" Wyatt breathed, and Matilda nodded, fully aware of his hardness pressing against her inner thigh, gesturing to the purse. Condom's in there, she indicated as he plucked the square-shaped piece of foil from a zippered pocket. Some seconds later, Matilda undid his pants and freed his stiffened self, rubbing his glistening head with the soft pad of her finger, drawing it to her lips to taste. Salty. And sweet. She watched as he slid the latex sheath over himself, at full mast.

Making heavy-lidded eye contact once more, Wyatt positioned himself at Matilda's entrance, between her petaled folds; together, they gasped at the sensation of his entry into her heated warmth within. "Fuck, Val," he groaned, as he began to slowly thrust within her, then faster, as Matilda continued to take every ounce of him inward to the hilt, hitting the most pleasurable areas of her inner walls.

"Oh God," she gasped, as the force of his thrusts caused her ponytail tie to come apart, inveigling them both in a flurry of crimson curls. "Oh—I—I think I—I'm gonna—" her breath shuddered involuntarily as she felt a fast-approaching throb of explosive energy, culminating with a heady groan from Wyatt as he spilled himself onto the cloaked part of his shaft that was buried deep within the woman he loved, who was beautiful—just the way she was.

9 am, Next Day/Saturday, Morgana's Front Doorstep, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood

"Who's the guy?" Morgana peered over her bifocals at her auburn-haired adoptive granddaughter.

"What guy?" replied Matilda, having just arrived from across the street wearing black-and-pink jersey shorts and a matching dark tank top. "Anyways, what do you need me to garden?" She attempted to change the subject, though she noticed that Morgana's front lawn appeared freshly harvested for the cooler winter season, zucchini, peppers, okra, and all.

"Nice try," Morgana snapped back. "It's no use playing coy with me, dear, your skin is fresh as a peach and I've yet to see a grimace on those lips."

Matilda blushed faintly. "Gran, he's just a friend." Friends-with-benefits maybe, she told herself silently, recalling how they'd adjusted their clothing in the darkened room and went their separate ways after the party. Blame it on the (non)alcohol, she told herself. No guy in their right mind wants a pyro witch. This was all a one-time fluke, a—

"Oh really?" Morgana responded skeptically as she angled her head to get a better look at Matilda's radiant visage. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"It's complicated, Gran…" Matilda began, but Morgana cut her off.

"No, my dear, what's complicated is Jimmy getting engaged and married to Darcy hours before her wartime death, their subsequent rebirth as your parents Harry and Macy, and Darcy's secret child becoming your adoptive grandpa. Who I divorced and re-dated decades later. Melanija Paradis delved into that in great detail awhile ago. But this—" Morgana gestured at her granddaughter, "is anything but."

9:15 am, Morgana's Front Doorstep, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood

"…Anyways, I digress," Morgana finished, seeing the look on Matilda's face. "We're going to my weekly spin class down the street."

"Gran, you're in a spin class?"

"Why not?" Morgana replied airily. "I arrive exactly five minutes late to snag the seats closest to the door in the dark, so if I emit accidental shards of magic they go unnoticed. Then two minutes before the lights turn back on, I silently depart. Why else would I have told you to wear gym clothes?"

Right, Matilda mused to herself. Then a thought occurred to her. "Isn't it dangerous for me to be in an enclosed room with other mortals, given my pyro stuff?"

"From what I've seen of the past several years, you've learned to control it with an iron fist. And really, there's only one way to truly find out, right?" Morgana grinned and extended an arm toward Matilda, who clasped it as they walked toward the building the class was held. Like two peas in a pod.

10:45 am, Morgana's Back Garden, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood

Morgana handed her granddaughter a tall glass of guava iced tea. "Thanks, Gran," Matilda gratefully accepted the bright pink beverage and sipped, gazing at the garden of orange trees, lemon trees, Jerusalem artichokes, and more, as they sat alongside the wooden picnic table set up before them.

The spinning class had been exactly as Morgana predicted. Creeping in a few minutes late, they had sat at the furthest end of the room, pitch-black save for a series of laser-like lightbeams from the sides of the room. She recalled hearing Gin Wigmore's rhythmic, fast-tempo song "Man Like That" blaring from the loudspeakers:

"Girl, you better wake up/Girl, you better run…/tells you that he loves you/then he take it all back…/Girl, you gotta wonder 'bout a man like that…"

Matilda took another sip of her guava iced tea as did Morgana. "Dear," Morgana said, leaning forward to clasp the girl's hand, "tell me everything."

Noon, Morgana's Back Garden, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood

"…And that was after I spent the past three weeks training under him. I blame the pomegranate cordial, Persephone's rumored to put "amplifiers" in it to make people's secret desires and creativities come true—" said Matilda, recapping the most mortifying past seventy-two hours of her life, though she detected a merry twinkle in Morgana's eyes. "What's so funny?"

Morgana shook her head. "People talk about amplifiers, but in my medical experience, barely anything's added—hence, a most peculiar placebo effect—"

Matilda's mouth dropped open. "You mean—you mean—there was nothing in the cordial at all?"

"Well," Morgana ruminated aloud. "That would be inaccurate. There was certainly an amplifier involved, but…that chemistry? That was all you two. Likely gargantuan enough that a tiny amplifier blew it up to the nines, if I'm not mistaken."

Matilda sucked in her breath. She had spent the past five years thinking of Wyatt, now finally reunited in the same office space with cataclysmic amounts of unresolved tension coming to a head. "So, what do I do now?" she asked, trying not to display the anxiety she felt within.

"I'd recommend you both not hide from your feelings—and get everything out in the open, lest you two cause a literal explosion strong enough to topple the entire building over," replied Morgana matter-of-factly. Then her expression softened. "If you're worried about your pyro powers scaring this young man away, I'd like to take a moment to remind you that your differences are your strength, and that you, my darling, are beautiful—exactly as you are."