The nice thing about Machia ignoring her is that Madeleine got to watch her run. For a moment not as an obstacle to be overcome, but as an art form to be chased. The other nice thing is that she got to stop saying sorry and just sit with her thoughts. And this sandwich. Lot of vegetables in this thing. Cooling. Very nice.

This is not, of course, the end of the storm. But even driving rain and thunder sometimes mellow out for a while into a more standard drizzle. There's time enough to feel the tingle on the top of her head where a hand had been some little while ago, and time enough to watch the scoreboard climb. And time enough to frown. 

Madeleine takes her feet. She gathers herself and her power as she hunches low to the ground, and with an explosion of tearing turf behind her, she is sailing at reckless speed toward scoring zone five. Sandwich dangling half in her mouth, drink bottle clutched in her hand, tears still streaming down her cheeks, she flies and somehow manages to laugh at herself. She chews, she swallows, she doesn't even choke, and she runs runs runs [i]runs[/i].

This is euphoria. But make no mistake, she is here to commit a murder. That scoreboard is growing lopsided and the longer her wet eyes behold it the more irritation creeps into her perfect feelings. One point. Just one point. If not this pass then the next. But she [i]will[/i] have one; the Away Team is not getting blanked today. She rips holes in the earth and paints the absolute edges of the obstacle facsimiles. She is an arrow all in black with only one target. 

Bread still dancing in her half open mouth.