Okay, so. I was having a thought about Flambae’s powers, and how, exactly, they could be tied to his family outside the hereditary aspect.
There's already lots of things you can do with what we already have, — but I was thinking. How cool would it be if his powers were literally passed down?
I just keep thinking of how family is such a core component of him. What if passing the fire is a decision, from the previous generation to the next?
Because I keep imagining Flambae, — maybe 6, wide-eyed, unblinking, watching his father curl his mother’s hair with the heat of his fingers.
Warming dough to pies or bread. Healing migraines. Sometimes, — not all the time, but sometimes glorious, — burning down broken cars in some abandoned junkyard with a grin and a wink.
And when he's 12, his father’s hands don't glow anymore. But Flambae’s do.
And it's warm. From his veins to his bones to his eyes. It's love in reconstruction. It's literally passing the torch.
“…But where did your fireworks go?”
“They’re not coming back,” and his father doesn't sound bothered. Not even a little. It's been done before, and done again, and for him it was easy. He smiles at it. “But they're with you now. I’m not worried.”
“But what am I supposed to do with it?”
And his father doesn't need a flame to have warm hands. Not when they cup his face. “That’s for you to decide. That's the whole point.”
And there's a certain pain, when he's 30-something, with the same choice he had for decades. And he chooses wrong.
There's very little he can do to make things right. If at all. That's always been a dormant acceptance in the back of his mind.
He can save 10 people a week, have the best score in the company, have good reports, — but Flambae knows there's something broken there. And it started with him.
But when he warms up Victor’s mice lunches, when he presses his hands on Colm’s back when his muscle pains act up, when he keeps Robert’s coffee warmed up, when he warms up tea for Alice’s throat soreness, —
He also gets to choose right. And he can keep choosing it.
And maybe that matters, even if it's a little.
