[for Jamie]
Aug. 24th, 2010 06:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
butterflyfactorThere were things about the island that Layla had come to enjoy. They were little things, but they kept some fraction of her curiosity sated, so she had to appreciate them. Resenting how little of her time and energy they took up didn't help anyone. The bookshelf had books that were published in universes not her own, and they were frequently hilarious and revealing. Sometimes the island did things to the population that were really like wide-scale social experiments, albeit conducted without consent, but those were too few and far between to her liking. In general the island was boring, and as much as she tried to find the silver lining in the fact that there was a wealth of notable science fiction characters on the island to talk to and that, though she hadn't found evidence, it was highly likely that she herself was part of a work of fiction, somewhere, the sheer volume of physical crap that made up the house of cards that was Jamie Madrox's island endeavors was starting to depress her.
Mostly his ongoing investigation into the disappearances. She'd seen a few people appear, and she walked around the island and met various inhabitants and found out how they'd arrived, and she was sure to her bones that there was no rhyme, reason or pattern to be found, anywhere. No wonder Cable spent his time meditating under waterfalls- the bizarre randomness of the island and the forces behind it were enough to make an agent of chaos miffed as hell. Layla was not an agent of chaos.
If anything, I'm an agent of Control. Not 99, though. I can't pull off a beret like Barbara Feldon.
Layla was home, at the hut that she shared with Jamie, which felt a hundred miles away from anything or, more importantly by his design, anyone else. She had gone for a swim and not brought a towel, just air dried on the way back, and so was sitting with dirty feet and wild hair on the front steps, eyes fixed on the canopy of the trees and the color of the sky beyond it. Occasionally Richards would flop down next to her, edge close enough until he could stick his nose under her thigh, doze off, then wake up and run around the house for a while more before returning. Layla didn't move except to pet his head when he joined her.
She had decided she was going to watch the stars show up, and see if any of them looked familiar, or if any of them would randomly decide to be airplanes. She wouldn't put it past them.
Mostly his ongoing investigation into the disappearances. She'd seen a few people appear, and she walked around the island and met various inhabitants and found out how they'd arrived, and she was sure to her bones that there was no rhyme, reason or pattern to be found, anywhere. No wonder Cable spent his time meditating under waterfalls- the bizarre randomness of the island and the forces behind it were enough to make an agent of chaos miffed as hell. Layla was not an agent of chaos.
If anything, I'm an agent of Control. Not 99, though. I can't pull off a beret like Barbara Feldon.
Layla was home, at the hut that she shared with Jamie, which felt a hundred miles away from anything or, more importantly by his design, anyone else. She had gone for a swim and not brought a towel, just air dried on the way back, and so was sitting with dirty feet and wild hair on the front steps, eyes fixed on the canopy of the trees and the color of the sky beyond it. Occasionally Richards would flop down next to her, edge close enough until he could stick his nose under her thigh, doze off, then wake up and run around the house for a while more before returning. Layla didn't move except to pet his head when he joined her.
She had decided she was going to watch the stars show up, and see if any of them looked familiar, or if any of them would randomly decide to be airplanes. She wouldn't put it past them.
