missnicegirl | (no subject)

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Her best friend can fly.

Her best friend can fly.

Her best friend can fly.

Lavender can fly.

Of course, the moment she heard, after she was done with the celebratory hug, she immediately asked Lavender how it works so she could try it herself. Unfortunately, Lavender's developing vocabulary was not quite adequate to communicate the process. But they had a long conversation about their powers, with Matilda sitting in a comfy chair in her bedroom and Lavender hovering casually beside it. They both agreed that Jenny is the only grown-up who is allowed to know. Things like this are too important to trust to unqualified adults.

A day later, Matilda is still unable to get herself off the ground. She's sure there's a way; she just hasn't found it yet. Maybe if she learns, she can teach Lavender how to move things other than herself. But for now... she needs more data.

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"True," Jim says, letting her lead the way. "Safer as well. Security tend to turn a blind eye once you've got past the back door."

Not that Jim worries overmuch about safety, but he'd just as soon not end up having to kill someone in self-defense because there aren't any members of the Security staff to around to step in. He'd have to either cover up the disappearance or explain himself, both of which are too tiresome to bother with when they can be easily avoided.

"I don't think we'll have any trouble," Matilda observes.

She still remembers what she said to Richard.

"No," Jim agrees, "I think we'll manage."

Milliways is in an obliging mood - the weather is nice for Scotland. It's not even raining.

Jim hasn't bothered to go outside for a while; he pauses briefly at the door to refamiliarize himself with the landscape before they proceed.

Matilda glances around curiously, then steps aside. Jim's the one who's going to be trying to fly; he can pick where.

The baseball diamond seems like a logical spot; it's well away from the shooting range, as well as being a flat, clear space.

"Was she able to tell you how she'd done it?" he asks as they head n that direction.

"Not very well," she says. "She said she just wanted to be flying and then she was. But she'd been trying for a while first, so she must've done something different that time, and she couldn't explain what."

Jim considers this.

"Or something external changed," he suggests. "If this doesn't work here, I'd like to try it back on your world, if Jenny doesn't mind a visitor."

"She won't," Matilda assures him. "She's really good about that stuff."

"Good."

He didn't think she would, but one really ought to be considerate about these things.

"Anyway, though, if Lavender can figure it out by accident I'm sure you can figure it out on purpose. If there's something to figure out."

Of course he can. Lavender was likable enough in the context of the film, but there's nothing inherently remarkable about her.

But he knows better than to so much as hint to Matilda that he's thinking something like that.

"Certainly," he says, with some cheer, and strolls out to the pitcher's mound. (Blame his American personae for that, especially Jimmy O'Malley. There's a sense of drama associated with that spot that simply doesn't exist on any other part of the field.)

Matilda giggles, watching him.

(No, Lavender isn't smart like them. She's Matilda's best friend, but she's also a perfectly normal six-year-old girl. Matilda knows that. It's not a bad thing. Lavender is exactly Lavender, and she's fine just the way she is.)

. . . when it comes right down to it, Jim doesn't know how to try to fly. Everything he does know - and he knows a considerable amount - states clearly that it isn't possible, not for him, not without outside assistance.

Some might find this situation awkward or embarrassing. Jim doesn't. Something he doesn't know and can't work out at due speed is too rare to be anything other than deeply absorbing. He forgets his audience, his surroundings, the sense of time passing, everything except trying to find something new.

Watching Jim think it over should probably be just about the most boring thing in the world.

It really isn't.

She makes very, very sure not to try to 'help', because that would ruin the experiment; if he doesn't get it, she can suggest lifting him again and seeing if that changes anything. But she does watch him closely, taking a seat on the ground after a moment and propping her chin in her hands. She can't imagine what's going on in his head. But unlike Lavender, he can probably manage to communicate it after the fact.

Whatever it is he needs, he finally concludes, he doesn't have it. That in itself is useful - in combination with previous discussions with Matilda, it tells him that this most likely operates on an internal mechanism. If it were possible to reach out and make use of an external force by simply concentrating properly, then Milliways would certainly be the place where he could manage it.

(There is something, something hovering beyond the edge of his senses, well out of his grasp. It might be Milliways, it might be Matilda herself, it might even be wishful thinking. He doesn't usually fall prey to that sort of nonsense, but no one is perfect. He'll have to look for it again later, when he's at home and there's nothing nearby to interfere.)

He opens his eyes and shakes his head.

She nods acknowledgment.

"What if I flew you some more?"

"It might help."

It might bring that elusive something a bit closer, at least close enough for him to see what it is.

"Okay," she says cheerfully, and up he goes. Not too fast, but fairly high. He'd probably be okay if she dropped him from there, but it wouldn't be comfortable.

Comfort is rarely Jim's major concern.

The hovering feels much the way it had before - no vertigo, no sense that he might fall . . . as far as his physical senses are concerned, he's still on solid ground.

The sensation at the edge of his awareness doesn't come any closer. He dismisses it for now in favor of focusing on whatever effects Matilda's power might be having other than the obvious.

Matilda lets him hover. Once he's in the air, it doesn't take much effort to keep him there. It might not have to take any, but she's not going to stop paying attention just to find out. She can try that later with something she doesn't mind dropping.

He spends some time in passive observation, searching for the angle that might let him see any of those extra effects, if they exist at all.

Eventually, he has to concede that either they don't exist (in his case? at all? too many variables, far too small a sample size) or he just doesn't have the right tools at his disposal.

"All right," he calls.

She lowers him back to the ground.

It's odd how effortless it is. When she started out, she could barely move a Cheerio. Apparently it gets a lot easier with practice.

The second effort to raise himself is much shorter. He knows right away that nothing has changed, or least not anything he's currently able to quantify.

He shakes his head and makes his way back to Matilda.

"As far as I can tell, it's not made a difference," he says. It's a hell of a qualifier, and not a very scientific one, but this isn't exactly a lab-standard experiment, either.

"Okay."

She is not discouraged.

"Let's go back to my world and see if it's any different there."

"Let's."

That will eliminate one variable, at least.