[He remembers the searing heat of flame eating away at every inch of his flesh as those children watched him burn. And he remembers, too, the feeling of buckshot embedding into his chest, again, and again. And then one final time, with such a force that sent him careening through shattered glass, and falling two storeys below.
And the anger, the indignity eating away at him.
He should land on the hard, cold ground of that other dimension, that dark soil mottled with vines. But he falls, and something unseen in the universe imperceptibly shifts, and then-
Wet sand. Warm and soft, beneath the side of his face. His hand. The feeling of water, lapping at his legs, waves rolling in and out... in and out.
Henry's eyes fly open. The flash of disorientation only lends to the furor, and this place is so, so warm. He doesn't even have the bandwidth to realize that his body is very much human, blond strands hanging messily across blue eyes, as he pushes himself up angrily and sees-
Well. What the hell does he see, exactly, along the wide expanse of this beach?]
"Ayy, ayy, ayy I got a condo in Manhattan Baby girl, what's happenin'? (What's happenin'?) You and your ass invited—"
Ramos, turn down that racket on your phone now.
"Ms. Steinbeck, it's Bruno Mars, not a racket! Loosen up, we heard you singing it the other day when you thought no one was looking!"
"Yeah, didn't know you knew the word 'ass.' You sure know every other word in the English dictionary."
[The sound of laughter at the expense of the one adult who was supervising her group of high school seniors can be heard on the opposite side of the beach. It's a bright and lighthearted scene of about 12 high schoolers in casual wear as they spent a free hour away from their young writer's workshop by walking on the beach. Though Ramos had ribbed his teacher, the boy, still grinning, turns down his music. The rest of the group was jogging down near the water, taking opportunities to splash each other and delighted screeching soon mixes with the laughter.
Amelia runs a hand through her red hair and allows herself to drop her severity around the children. She even smiles as she falls back from the group, watching them from behind.
After a year of hard work, tears, phone calls from helicopter parents, and breakthroughs, her seniors deserved this. And maybe, she deserved this one normal day of joy and contentment—
The witch notices that one of her top students, Khanh who had walked ahead of the rest of the group had stopped walking, staring at something in the distance.
Or rather, someone. Amelia passes all of her students to catch up to her, frowning and trying to catch a glimpse.]
Khanh? Do you see someone?
"Yeah... I think so, Ms. Steinbeck. It's a guy, he was just laying there..."
[Khanh's voice turns into a squeak as the man looks in their direction. Amelia doesn't move just yet but keeps herself in the front while everyone else is distracted.]
... We should be fine.
[She hopes. Oh god, she hopes because the magic in her hair makes her scalp tingle and that's never a good sign.]
[Why is it so hot. Why is it so hot so hot so hot so hot—
He’s pulling himself up to his feet, the distribution of weight strange but still not quite enough to register—he’s lost some bulk, now in a human shape again—but Henry is very stubborn when he’s bolstered by anger. It’s the only emotion he knows how to rely on when everything else is uncertain, and definitely in the wake of all that pain, the unknowing of being in one place one moment, and another the next.
Is this— is this a beach?
Ahead of him, he sees teenagers and a red headed woman. Beside him, a man unearthing himself from the waves, fresh from a swim, walks past—
And goes flying back out towards the water, pushed almost comically by an invisible force. A nearby sand castle, meticulously crafted by a child just ten minutes ago, is caught in the invisible blast and erupts in a spray of sand, completely obliterated as he storms by.]
You. [Amelia has the misfortune of being directly in his line of sight, so she gets his attention.] Who are you. Where am I.
[Tomorrow has changed into a new day. The windchimes sing softly even though there is no breeze or wind that flows through the house.
Amelia has a rather set schedule. Wake up early, have a quick breakfast, and head to school. And that morning, it appears she rushes through the kitchen and out the back door, not even sparing her strange prisoner a glance.
But about an hour later, she emerges from the hallway and notably wears different clothes compared to the ones she left in. Odd.
Magic hair strands plus paper dolls and the right spell equals extremely convenient doubles. Any events or information that happens to them goes back to the real body. Besides, she needs to assess the current situation. Glancing back and forth, she calls out.]
[The real Amelia will find that there is no Henry Creel to be found — at least indoors.
But turn her attention to the front garden, and there he is, crouching over a plot of colorful blossoms packed in the soil. Today, the weather is fair, not too warm, so standing outdoors has little to no effect on him.
He’s brushing a finger over one of the flowers, and doesn’t bother to retract his hand when and if she approaches. But he does look a little— confused, vaguely, when he sees her.]
Didn’t you already leave in a rush?
[It seems between their last talk and now, Henry has managed to glue together his polite demeanor, even if this whole situation has it hanging on by its hinges. Still, a marked improvement. He’s had some time to think.
He’s also more put-together, wearing a fresh set of clothes that are not a white orderly’s uniform. Light brown trousers, a cream colored button-up. His hair isn’t a mess, but it isn’t as perfect as he’d like for it to be, given he had nothing to work with.]
[She spots him through the window and heads outside. The sight of Henry focusing on her flowers gives her pause. She had assumed the worst, expecting some sort of petty revenge upon her property after giving him so much space to wander about. For instance, books thrown off shelves, plants pulled from the dirt, that sort of tantrum.
Then again, she slept well and didn't hear the windchimes complain. Thus, a poor reflection on herself for judging so quickly.
At his question, she holds back a grin (her lip twitches though).]
Yes and no. That one is fake, I'm the real one. I try not to use the trick too much.
[Amelia won't elaborate unless he asks. Instead, she gestures her head at the flowers at another part of the plot.]
It's the poppy season. [The technicolor orange blossoms are blooming rather well under her care and they emit a sweet aroma that's unique to them.]
They're not as impressive as the poppy fields in Antelope Valley.
[Hopefully, a better way to start a conversation. She does make note that he has changed into the provided clothes. That's good but she won't comment on it. She wants to hear what he has to say.]
Mr. Creel. I need you to say it. And I need you to repeat after me.
[A couple of days have passed since the arrival of Henry Creel, esper and perhaps not a human. It's fascinating, really, how acclimated Amelia has become to a second body in the house. She had given Henry space to explore and learn about the town and its general surroundings instead of pushing the matter of getting him back to his world. The witch, upon reflecting on their long conversation, didn't know how he looked at the world around him besides it being a different kind of cage. After being in a laboratory for so long, it's hard to tell how warped one's worldview would be. Blackgale is her home and for her, she loves it very much; she would want a visitor to take a liking to it too.
That's why for today, she'll have him help and grant him, even more, leniency so that the town and its citizens can continue to thrive.
Right now Amelia is in her kitchen with one finger hovering over her house guest's forehead.]
"I promise I will not break your neck, spine, arms, or any other bones. I also promise to not throw objects telekinetically at your head or use you as target practice because you have been a very generous hostess and I would never think to—."
[Blackgale is a lovely little community, though one could have said that about Hawkins in the 50s. (Barring the rather unflattering traits of that decade in general, of course.) Henry isn't a man who easily gives into quaint charms and a warm community, otherwise, he'd have been in a much different spot back when he was twelve years old, probably.
Still, he's adept at putting on a polite face. "Grin and bear it" is an art he's mastered over the years, to the point where very little can tell that he's bearing anything at all.
Art supplies are gotten. He pokes around here and there, sometimes surprised by the technological progress humanity has made since he last recalls, but never letting himself feel astounded by it. He settles into a room in Amelia's home that doesn't get him lost in the complex tapestry of time and space -- so that has to be a win, too.
And now, in the kitchen, he looks at her with an unimpressed, rising brow. He interrupts her unduly.]
Maybe you've forgotten, but you're my only ticket back home for now. I'm not foolish enough to do any of those things to you and risk losing that chance.
[Does that mean she's... considering... undoing this blasted rune?]
[And so, time passes. The days drag by. And Henry continues to live in a strange world that isn’t his — though that’s certainly nothing new.
He acclimates, still; a slow process when one’s last real lifetime experiences were ripped clean from the 50s, though Henry is at least clever enough to make it a smooth enough process for himself. A slow process. Time spent inside the house, reading, watching television. Time spent outside, sketching nature, finding spiders, wandering the town. Smiling politely and those who try to talk to them, practicing sliding on the peaceable mask that he once—and still does—wears with ease.
Eventually, though, he notices a difference. His powers are returning to their full capacity. Thoughts are so simple to glean. Illusions come to him easily. And memories? He wonders.
It’s late into the night when he decides to test them, after Amelia has already retired for the night. Henry sits on the edge of the bed of his own room, and waits for a few minutes. He can’t be sure if she’s already fallen asleep, or is still attempting to wind down, but in the end… It shouldn’t matter. He closes his eyes and delves into memory.
Maybe she’ll forgive him for it later, but Henry will deal with that when it comes.
He slips into her mind like a shadow. No fanfare, no dramatics.]
[Amelia's work for helping Henry Creel return to his world is a slow process when added to her usual work routine. She gives him occasional updates, letting him know that she has already contacted a friend who can give her the tools needed to get started (Berna sounded skeptical but willing in their last conversation). This was the second to last month before school ended so they had the summer months laid out before them.
The days are counting down and the witch sleeps again on this night to be ready for a new day. The line between dream and memory has always been blurry and she usually wakes up nowadays not even remembering where her thoughts led her in her sleep. It's better that way.
The past is past after all.]
⏪⏩
[This memory starts towards something akin to a beginning. In a quintessential house in the late 1940s, it is a sunny afternoon in California. Inside this well-kept household, the record player sings Frank Sinatra as a young woman with wavy brunette hair walks down the stairs. She's wearing a newly ironed green dress with a printed white flower pattern and though she looks fresh and pretty, there's a tenseness in her body language; it's anticipation that she's trying to keep under wraps as she purses her pink lips.
She calls out to someone in the meanwhile.]
"Amy? It's lunchtime!"
[A small redheaded child, perhaps no older than four or five, is sitting on her knees at the window sill inside the family living room staring intently out the glass. Her mother's voice makes her turn around and her green eyes are impatient. The mother sighs but smiles even through her exasperation.]
"Honey, you're smudging the glass again. I just wiped it down an hour ago!"
["Amy" wrinkles her nose (some things don't change even in old age) as she carefully moves away from the window sill. Her hair is brushed back neatly and tied with a bow on the back and she's wearing a blue and white checkered dress, white socks, and polished black shoes. She looks as cleaned and made up as her mother, equal in her feeling of expectation.]
I wanna wait for Papa. You said he's coming back today.
[She isn't disobeying her mother however and her small fingers find their way to the woman's hand. Amy's mother smiles down at her child as they go to the kitchen.]
"Remember what Papa's letter said, Amy? You've gotten so good at reading so be a good girl and remind the both of us what time we can expect him."
Um... Papa said... [The little girl holds up her fingers and concentrates deeply as she seats herself at the kitchen table and the woman tends to the oven. Triumphantly, Amy declares:]
Five... Five o'clock!
"That's right. So if you eat lunch, play outside, and take a nap, it'll be five o'clock before you know it."
[The child smiles with delight and bounces in her seat.]
Then Papa will be back! And he'll spin me around and we can listen to music together and I'm gonna show him how many books I've read and—
[There's no magic. Nothing supernatural. It's just an idyllic scene of a mother and child, waiting for Papa to come home from the arduous war where so many suffered. They were luckier than most. They were more hopeful than most.
[And just like that, he's in. The sight that greets him is an old house from an old era that is far too familiar to Henry's own experiences. And there's a young girl, and a woman who must be her mother. "Amy." Oh, yes. Amelia's memories, for certain.
Henry looks around as he listens to the conversation take place. The details are so sharp, the voices so clear, it's truly as though his abilities have returned to them in their full capacity. He presses a hand to the nearest wall as he ambles behind the mother and child to the kitchen -- feels cool, feels solid.
He smiles.
And he stands at the entrance, hands clasped behind his back, curious. The feeling of anticipation in the air: it won't be long now. Won't it?]
Your Papa will be back from where?
[He asks lightly from where he stands. His presence should not be seen as strange in this memory. He is simply a visitor, and should register as though he's supposed to be there, nonetheless.
[As expected, the next few days are full of silence, solitude, and the occasional echo of whatever music Amelia has on when in proximity to Henry (it's a large variety, not just obnoxious pop, but classical music, hip hop, show tunes, acoustic guitar... it goes on). Her mind is completely guarded and it's only the occasional written note to let him know where she is at a given time.
Her face is impressively stoney and neutral in the meantime. Her students, notice this sudden change at school and assume it's an indication that they ought to behave despite the year being nearly done. At least Ms. Steinbeck is generous with granting study periods where it's basically her free pass to goof off.
Progress on Henry's case will be slow until Berna gets back to her.
And thus, it seems her guest will be resigned to a dull and stale time in this world and this boring town.
Maybe.
Turns out, probably not.
One late evening, the sound of glass shattering on the floor interrupts the icy peace of the house. From the back door wet foot prints dot the floor leading to the kitchen. The fridge is wide open and in front of it, scavenging inside is a tall and slimy... Something. Something blue-grey, with fin like appendages sprouting from it's head. Definitely not human.
Whatever it is, it's helping itself to the witch's food and recently purchased groceries. The cupboards where the cereal and snacks are kept fare no better. Most of it is eaten or spilled on the ground.]
Munch, crunch, munch.
[Yup. Big blue lizard man is raiding the kitchen. It is a very odd sight in the middle of Amelia's pristine and cozy home.]
[A cold peace is the perfect way to describe it. Because while there have been no further incidents in Amelia's home, there hasn't been much of anything at all; Henry is free to go about as he pleases, living in this mundane little town, trying to find something to keep the hours at bay. Art, observing, reading, the nonsensical things on television. But conversation is no longer ot be expected with Amelia, who keeps those ridiculous headphones in her ears, like Henry might at any moment to drilling into her head and risk yet once more his privilege of remaining in her home.
Fine. If she wants to be stubborn about it, let her. He can be the same way. He can smile and exist in silence and solitude. Nothing is worse than the lab; and nothing is ever as solitary as his time in that other dimension.
One evening, he doesn't even care to keep track of where Amelia's gone off to. He's sure there's a note laying around that he can't bother to find. So he's relatively alone when he hears something from the kitchen, scrabbling around and munching away. This isn't normal, of course, and naturally he goes to investigate.
And he finds... Well, he has no idea. A blue lizard thing?
Not the weirdest he's seen.]
Hello.
[He says, smiling, while simultaneously reaching out a hand and gripping the creature hard with his telekinesis, and tossing it aside. Is this thing benevolent or dangerous? Doesn't matter. It gets the same treatment from Henry Creel.]
I see you're making a mess. A certain someone won't be too happy about that.
Day-to-day life remains much the same in Blackgale, the summer weather sunny and bright and… well, sometimes a bit too hot for Henry to spend too much time outdoors. Though maybe that isn’t such a bad thing; in the wake of taking a trip down to the bottom of a lake, it’s hard for the cyclical nature of the days to appeal to him, especially when he’s always struggled with the concept before. What excitement is there to be had in a “normal” day in comparison? Not much, and so he finds himself overwrought with hours, seeking out something to shear away the minutes piece by baleful piece—
It’s not too hot today. He’s out in Amelia’s gardens.
And he has his sketchbook in hand, crouched down beneath the branches of a crepe myrtle that has blossomed a bright pink in the summertime. Henry’s clearly observing something nestled in between the thick stems, at an angle awkward enough to where he has to twist his body just-so to look back and forth between drawing and art subject. Likely a comedic sight for such a lanky, long-limbed man.
He doesn’t look away when footsteps approach, too fixated on the task at hand, sketching away with gestural lines across the bright white paper. But, being psychic and all, he can certainly sense a presence nearing.]
[Amelia has mastered the art of balancing her two worlds of magic and the mundane. After their trip to Blue Moon Lake, she focused on finishing out the school year with her students. It's actually the day after the senior graduation ceremony (she had come home the prior evening and collapsed on the couch with a meager wave at Henry).
She had been indulging in the luxury of sleeping in so when she awakens she's dressed in the high school hoodie and shorts. Incredibly casual, perhaps even somewhat sloppy but it's kind of a sign that Amelia's gotten used to having Henry around.
The witch finds him in her garden near the myrtle and though it doesn't show on her face, she's rather tickled at his bent posture. She approaches him, hands in her front pouch.]
Too busy for a late breakfast?
[It occurs to her, she also hasn't asked to see his drawings yet.]
[Berna had gotten back to Amelia via a letter she finds under her pillow one morning. She was almost finished with the project the Emerald Witch had requested a while ago in order to aid her psychic roommate and to expect it by next week. That gives Amelia some relief. She wasn't putting it off on purpose but it does hit her how long Henry Creel has been living with her in Blackgale. When did he last arrive...? Late spring had given way to summer and he was still here under the same roof.
Considering where they started, Amelia supposes that they're actually getting along now. And after she helped fix the one spider in the garden for Henry, something else has changed though she wouldn't have been able to identify it at first.
Every now and then, she checks on the spider she magically repaired. It had moved to her roses, finding a sizeable gap that would camoflage it from birds and other predators. She makes sure to water around it but its shimmering, red-hair web is quite springy and resistant to any residual drops.
She's secretly glad that it's still around, the one spider she now truly likes.
One cool summer evening, Amelia sits at the kitchen counter reviewing her notes in her stuffed notebook. She flips through the pages idly before landing on the spread where she had at some point, written about Henry.]
Known Powers: Telekinesis, telepathy(?), memory diving (need to elaborate, can be done without notice, sound and music can block out)
Conclusion (for now): More than one ESP ability, dangerous, Collective would want to utilize. May ask about more later.
[And so, once more, time moves on. Henry still visits the garden when the sun is not too hot, too overbearing, moving along the greenery and sketching what spiders (and sometimes scorpions; all arachnids are fine) he can find. His sketchbook fills and fills, though he wastes not even the smallest space of white. And sometimes, when he’s flipping through the drawings to examine them again, he’ll linger just a little longer on Amelia’s page, with her own spiders and club-clawed scorpion, tracing the lines with his eyes before he moves on.
Have things changed? Subtly, slowly, yet all-encompassing in its influence. Like a continental drift beneath his feet. Her kindness with the injured spider has left its mark on their relationship, spreading gently through their interactions — or at least, Henry’s interactions with her. A few more smiles, a few more instances of sincerity when curiosities are flung his way. And sometimes, his look lingers on the bright locks of her red hair, mentally comparing the color to the web he’s now seen moved in between the rose bushes.
Today, this tendency to be slightly more open with her will be put to the test, though he’s unaware of this reality just yet. He’s crossing into the kitchen to grab a glass of water when Amelia pipes up.]
Ask away.
[He says with a lift of the brow, already reaching into one of the cupboards for a glass.]
[A few days pass after the memory-sharing session. Amelia is very much the same... And not. While waiting on Berna, she's been fairly relaxed reading so, so many books. But she noticeably makes time in the morning to sketch with Henry. The magicked spider continues to live between the roses.
"Do you think it's gotten bigger?" she muses to Henry during one of those mornings. The spider does look a bit more like a beetle with its iridescent green-gold sheen. Whenever he happens to pass by it, the creature stays still as if expecting to be drawn.
The atmosphere around the witch's house is relaxed and comforting, each new day signaled by the windchimes.
During a weekend, Amelia's considering changing up the day's activities, but before she can tell Henry, the doorbell rings. She answers it and greets...]
Emil! C'mon in. I'm going to need you to take care of some chores today while we're both out.
[It's the golem boy with a sweet face and dark hair. His face is completely repaired since the last time that they saw him, with no crack or visible seam in place. He's looking back and forth, seeking out the psychic.]
"Hello, Miss Steinbeck! Is Mr. Creel awake yet?"
[The boy has a suitcase in hand for one reason or another. Hm.]
[A few days after the memory-sharing session, and there's no reason to mention it again. It's an experience he keeps in his mental back pocket, informing him more of Amelia's history, what made her into the person she is today; and while critical, it's not as though life doesn't carry on in a normal manner otherwise.
In the morning, when they sketch together, they find the spider they've saved, and he replies, "I think so, maybe just a little bit," when she asks him about its size. It seems a gentle sort, the kind that loves to pose for a short sketch or two, its shell gleaming iridescently in a way he's never seen before. He thinks about naming it, but saves the idea for later. Maybe Amelia will have a suggestion.
One day, though, the routine falls a bit differently. When Amelia tends to the guest at the door, Henry is already awake (he's an early-riser), and seated on the couch. He rises and quirks a brow in the direction of... oh. The boy who he smashed his face in when he first arrived in this town. Looking as unaffected by the incident as ever.
Henry offers a smile and a small, perfunctory wave from where he stands.]
I guess that depends on what you need me for, exactly.
[A... suitcase? What's this? He can't help but fling his look back to Amelia questioningly.]
[And what does a mental break look like for Miss Amelia Steinbeck?
Inside the church, the Praying Man's posture is much more relaxed and his murmurs are less desperate and strained. He continues his prayers as is, the very picture of spiritual peace that spreads and blankets Ivory Church.
Amelia is laying facedown in the pew in front of him. She raises her finger in the air at Henry.]
One more minute.
[ She is a very powerful, intelligent, and most of all, graceful witch. VERY GRACEFUL.]
It seems that Henry had to exert less mental effort than Amelia during this whole encounter; or rather, that she's just been Tired in general during the whole of this summer break. She keeps busy, doesn't she? Between trying to find a way for him to return home, to dealing with the supernatural in this town, to her more mundane responsibilities.
He stands in front of the pew in font of Amelia, by the way. Just :man_standing: with his hands clasped, yet again, neatly behind his back. His gaze slides from the Praying Man, who seems in a far better shape than before, up to the witch.]
I'll let you have five because I'm so generous.
[Henry eases his way towards her pew and nudges her foot with his knee.]
But if you're really that tired, I'm fine with calling it a day here. Haven't you been sleeping well?
[And so the time comes. New clothes, new (hair)cut, new Henry Creel.
...Well, not really a new Henry Creel, but one that has been eased into accepting this outing as something he might look forward to, if only to indulge his curiosity of this town that has become something of a temporary, secondary home. ("Home." What a concept, and one that he, perhaps, has not realized remains bouncing around his head.)
As they approach, assuming there isn't already someone there to do so, he reaches out to hold the door open for her.]
[It’s around 11 PM when they arrive at the Red Divine. Unlike Henry, Amelia has not dressed up. If asked about it, she just says “I haven’t decided on a look yet,” and leaves it at that. When they arrive she’s still dressed in her casual and modest clothing and it doesn’t look like she’s brought anything else with her.
She nods and gives Henry a small smile as he opens the door for her.]
Thank you. We’re a little early but that’s fine.
[The interior of the Red Divine is as rich as its name. Dim but warm lighting washes over the wooden counter and stool seats. Glasses and bottles of various liquors gleam under the lamps. There’s a stage with a grand piano and working sound system near the back and there are two musicians in the middle of working on adjusting the speakers and their guitars already while guests mill about drinking, chatting, and winding down for the evening. Around the stage are tall standing tables draped with red table cloths, set up for the audience who are there for the performance.
Amelia leads Henry to the bar counter first.]
We don’t have to sit near the front just yet. When I go here, I usually just linger at the counter to nurse a drink until Simone, the singer comes out.
… I don’t think we’ve done any drinking at home, have we? Unless you’ve been in my cabinet without me knowing.
[Henry has probably noticed by now, during his prolonged stay that the witch does treat herself generously to dark reds from time to time.]
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sunfloras2023-04-20 07:42 pm
it sends you spinning;
And the anger, the indignity eating away at him.
He should land on the hard, cold ground of that other dimension, that dark soil mottled with vines. But he falls, and something unseen in the universe imperceptibly shifts, and then-
Wet sand. Warm and soft, beneath the side of his face. His hand. The feeling of water, lapping at his legs, waves rolling in and out... in and out.
Henry's eyes fly open. The flash of disorientation only lends to the furor, and this place is so, so warm. He doesn't even have the bandwidth to realize that his body is very much human, blond strands hanging messily across blue eyes, as he pushes himself up angrily and sees-
Well. What the hell does he see, exactly, along the wide expanse of this beach?]
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I got a condo in Manhattan
Baby girl, what's happenin'? (What's happenin'?)
You and your ass invited—"
Ramos, turn down that racket on your phone now.
"Ms. Steinbeck, it's Bruno Mars, not a racket! Loosen up, we heard you singing it the other day when you thought no one was looking!"
"Yeah, didn't know you knew the word 'ass.' You sure know every other word in the English dictionary."
[The sound of laughter at the expense of the one adult who was supervising her group of high school seniors can be heard on the opposite side of the beach. It's a bright and lighthearted scene of about 12 high schoolers in casual wear as they spent a free hour away from their young writer's workshop by walking on the beach. Though Ramos had ribbed his teacher, the boy, still grinning, turns down his music. The rest of the group was jogging down near the water, taking opportunities to splash each other and delighted screeching soon mixes with the laughter.
Amelia runs a hand through her red hair and allows herself to drop her severity around the children. She even smiles as she falls back from the group, watching them from behind.
After a year of hard work, tears, phone calls from helicopter parents, and breakthroughs, her seniors deserved this. And maybe, she deserved this one normal day of joy and contentment—
The witch notices that one of her top students, Khanh who had walked ahead of the rest of the group had stopped walking, staring at something in the distance.
Or rather, someone. Amelia passes all of her students to catch up to her, frowning and trying to catch a glimpse.]
Khanh? Do you see someone?
"Yeah... I think so, Ms. Steinbeck. It's a guy, he was just laying there..."
[Khanh's voice turns into a squeak as the man looks in their direction. Amelia doesn't move just yet but keeps herself in the front while everyone else is distracted.]
... We should be fine.
[She hopes. Oh god, she hopes because the magic in her hair makes her scalp tingle and that's never a good sign.]
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He’s pulling himself up to his feet, the distribution of weight strange but still not quite enough to register—he’s lost some bulk, now in a human shape again—but Henry is very stubborn when he’s bolstered by anger. It’s the only emotion he knows how to rely on when everything else is uncertain, and definitely in the wake of all that pain, the unknowing of being in one place one moment, and another the next.
Is this— is this a beach?
Ahead of him, he sees teenagers and a red headed woman. Beside him, a man unearthing himself from the waves, fresh from a swim, walks past—
And goes flying back out towards the water, pushed almost comically by an invisible force. A nearby sand castle, meticulously crafted by a child just ten minutes ago, is caught in the invisible blast and erupts in a spray of sand, completely obliterated as he storms by.]
You. [Amelia has the misfortune of being directly in his line of sight, so she gets his attention.] Who are you. Where am I.
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there's no plan;
Amelia has a rather set schedule. Wake up early, have a quick breakfast, and head to school. And that morning, it appears she rushes through the kitchen and out the back door, not even sparing her strange prisoner a glance.
But about an hour later, she emerges from the hallway and notably wears different clothes compared to the ones she left in. Odd.
Magic hair strands plus paper dolls and the right spell equals extremely convenient doubles. Any events or information that happens to them goes back to the real body. Besides, she needs to assess the current situation. Glancing back and forth, she calls out.]
Good morning?
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But turn her attention to the front garden, and there he is, crouching over a plot of colorful blossoms packed in the soil. Today, the weather is fair, not too warm, so standing outdoors has little to no effect on him.
He’s brushing a finger over one of the flowers, and doesn’t bother to retract his hand when and if she approaches. But he does look a little— confused, vaguely, when he sees her.]
Didn’t you already leave in a rush?
[It seems between their last talk and now, Henry has managed to glue together his polite demeanor, even if this whole situation has it hanging on by its hinges. Still, a marked improvement. He’s had some time to think.
He’s also more put-together, wearing a fresh set of clothes that are not a white orderly’s uniform. Light brown trousers, a cream colored button-up. His hair isn’t a mess, but it isn’t as perfect as he’d like for it to be, given he had nothing to work with.]
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Then again, she slept well and didn't hear the windchimes complain. Thus, a poor reflection on herself for judging so quickly.
At his question, she holds back a grin (her lip twitches though).]
Yes and no. That one is fake, I'm the real one. I try not to use the trick too much.
[Amelia won't elaborate unless he asks. Instead, she gestures her head at the flowers at another part of the plot.]
It's the poppy season. [The technicolor orange blossoms are blooming rather well under her care and they emit a sweet aroma that's unique to them.]
They're not as impressive as the poppy fields in Antelope Valley.
[Hopefully, a better way to start a conversation. She does make note that he has changed into the provided clothes. That's good but she won't comment on it. She wants to hear what he has to say.]
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grin and bear it;
[A couple of days have passed since the arrival of Henry Creel, esper and perhaps not a human. It's fascinating, really, how acclimated Amelia has become to a second body in the house. She had given Henry space to explore and learn about the town and its general surroundings instead of pushing the matter of getting him back to his world. The witch, upon reflecting on their long conversation, didn't know how he looked at the world around him besides it being a different kind of cage. After being in a laboratory for so long, it's hard to tell how warped one's worldview would be. Blackgale is her home and for her, she loves it very much; she would want a visitor to take a liking to it too.
That's why for today, she'll have him help and grant him, even more, leniency so that the town and its citizens can continue to thrive.
Right now Amelia is in her kitchen with one finger hovering over her house guest's forehead.]
"I promise I will not break your neck, spine, arms, or any other bones. I also promise to not throw objects telekinetically at your head or use you as target practice because you have been a very generous hostess and I would never think to—."
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Still, he's adept at putting on a polite face. "Grin and bear it" is an art he's mastered over the years, to the point where very little can tell that he's bearing anything at all.
Art supplies are gotten. He pokes around here and there, sometimes surprised by the technological progress humanity has made since he last recalls, but never letting himself feel astounded by it. He settles into a room in Amelia's home that doesn't get him lost in the complex tapestry of time and space -- so that has to be a win, too.
And now, in the kitchen, he looks at her with an unimpressed, rising brow. He interrupts her unduly.]
Maybe you've forgotten, but you're my only ticket back home for now. I'm not foolish enough to do any of those things to you and risk losing that chance.
[Does that mean she's... considering... undoing this blasted rune?]
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I've known some fools in my life so if you don't turn out to be one, I'll be very relieved.
[She'll cut to the chase.]
I'm turning the dial down on the rune. You'll have access to your abilities but the effectiveness is still limited until further notice.
[Until the rune fades away naturally. Which again she won't mention.]
There is something we need to deal with and I need your help.
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careless in our summer;
He acclimates, still; a slow process when one’s last real lifetime experiences were ripped clean from the 50s, though Henry is at least clever enough to make it a smooth enough process for himself. A slow process. Time spent inside the house, reading, watching television. Time spent outside, sketching nature, finding spiders, wandering the town. Smiling politely and those who try to talk to them, practicing sliding on the peaceable mask that he once—and still does—wears with ease.
Eventually, though, he notices a difference. His powers are returning to their full capacity. Thoughts are so simple to glean. Illusions come to him easily. And memories? He wonders.
It’s late into the night when he decides to test them, after Amelia has already retired for the night. Henry sits on the edge of the bed of his own room, and waits for a few minutes. He can’t be sure if she’s already fallen asleep, or is still attempting to wind down, but in the end… It shouldn’t matter. He closes his eyes and delves into memory.
Maybe she’ll forgive him for it later, but Henry will deal with that when it comes.
He slips into her mind like a shadow. No fanfare, no dramatics.]
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The days are counting down and the witch sleeps again on this night to be ready for a new day. The line between dream and memory has always been blurry and she usually wakes up nowadays not even remembering where her thoughts led her in her sleep. It's better that way.
The past is past after all.]
[This memory starts towards something akin to a beginning. In a quintessential house in the late 1940s, it is a sunny afternoon in California. Inside this well-kept household, the record player sings Frank Sinatra as a young woman with wavy brunette hair walks down the stairs. She's wearing a newly ironed green dress with a printed white flower pattern and though she looks fresh and pretty, there's a tenseness in her body language; it's anticipation that she's trying to keep under wraps as she purses her pink lips.
She calls out to someone in the meanwhile.]
"Amy? It's lunchtime!"
[A small redheaded child, perhaps no older than four or five, is sitting on her knees at the window sill inside the family living room staring intently out the glass. Her mother's voice makes her turn around and her green eyes are impatient. The mother sighs but smiles even through her exasperation.]
"Honey, you're smudging the glass again. I just wiped it down an hour ago!"
["Amy" wrinkles her nose (some things don't change even in old age) as she carefully moves away from the window sill. Her hair is brushed back neatly and tied with a bow on the back and she's wearing a blue and white checkered dress, white socks, and polished black shoes. She looks as cleaned and made up as her mother, equal in her feeling of expectation.]
I wanna wait for Papa. You said he's coming back today.
[She isn't disobeying her mother however and her small fingers find their way to the woman's hand. Amy's mother smiles down at her child as they go to the kitchen.]
"Remember what Papa's letter said, Amy? You've gotten so good at reading so be a good girl and remind the both of us what time we can expect him."
Um... Papa said... [The little girl holds up her fingers and concentrates deeply as she seats herself at the kitchen table and the woman tends to the oven. Triumphantly, Amy declares:]
Five... Five o'clock!
"That's right. So if you eat lunch, play outside, and take a nap, it'll be five o'clock before you know it."
[The child smiles with delight and bounces in her seat.]
Then Papa will be back! And he'll spin me around and we can listen to music together and I'm gonna show him how many books I've read and—
[There's no magic. Nothing supernatural. It's just an idyllic scene of a mother and child, waiting for Papa to come home from the arduous war where so many suffered. They were luckier than most. They were more hopeful than most.
It won't be long now.]
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Henry looks around as he listens to the conversation take place. The details are so sharp, the voices so clear, it's truly as though his abilities have returned to them in their full capacity. He presses a hand to the nearest wall as he ambles behind the mother and child to the kitchen -- feels cool, feels solid.
He smiles.
And he stands at the entrance, hands clasped behind his back, curious. The feeling of anticipation in the air: it won't be long now. Won't it?]
Your Papa will be back from where?
[He asks lightly from where he stands. His presence should not be seen as strange in this memory. He is simply a visitor, and should register as though he's supposed to be there, nonetheless.
Somehow, he thinks he can guess at the answer.]
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once in a blue moon;
Her face is impressively stoney and neutral in the meantime. Her students, notice this sudden change at school and assume it's an indication that they ought to behave despite the year being nearly done. At least Ms. Steinbeck is generous with granting study periods where it's basically her free pass to goof off.
Progress on Henry's case will be slow until Berna gets back to her.
And thus, it seems her guest will be resigned to a dull and stale time in this world and this boring town.
Maybe.
Turns out, probably not.
One late evening, the sound of glass shattering on the floor interrupts the icy peace of the house. From the back door wet foot prints dot the floor leading to the kitchen. The fridge is wide open and in front of it, scavenging inside is a tall and slimy... Something. Something blue-grey, with fin like appendages sprouting from it's head. Definitely not human.
Whatever it is, it's helping itself to the witch's food and recently purchased groceries. The cupboards where the cereal and snacks are kept fare no better. Most of it is eaten or spilled on the ground.]
Munch, crunch, munch.
[Yup. Big blue lizard man is raiding the kitchen. It is a very odd sight in the middle of Amelia's pristine and cozy home.]
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Fine. If she wants to be stubborn about it, let her. He can be the same way. He can smile and exist in silence and solitude. Nothing is worse than the lab; and nothing is ever as solitary as his time in that other dimension.
One evening, he doesn't even care to keep track of where Amelia's gone off to. He's sure there's a note laying around that he can't bother to find. So he's relatively alone when he hears something from the kitchen, scrabbling around and munching away. This isn't normal, of course, and naturally he goes to investigate.
And he finds... Well, he has no idea. A blue lizard thing?
Not the weirdest he's seen.]
Hello.
[He says, smiling, while simultaneously reaching out a hand and gripping the creature hard with his telekinesis, and tossing it aside. Is this thing benevolent or dangerous? Doesn't matter. It gets the same treatment from Henry Creel.]
I see you're making a mess. A certain someone won't be too happy about that.
[whomst the fuck]
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hello?? dw where was my notif
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📱 text interludes
tried to overcome my complications and my catches;
Day-to-day life remains much the same in Blackgale, the summer weather sunny and bright and… well, sometimes a bit too hot for Henry to spend too much time outdoors. Though maybe that isn’t such a bad thing; in the wake of taking a trip down to the bottom of a lake, it’s hard for the cyclical nature of the days to appeal to him, especially when he’s always struggled with the concept before. What excitement is there to be had in a “normal” day in comparison? Not much, and so he finds himself overwrought with hours, seeking out something to shear away the minutes piece by baleful piece—
It’s not too hot today. He’s out in Amelia’s gardens.
And he has his sketchbook in hand, crouched down beneath the branches of a crepe myrtle that has blossomed a bright pink in the summertime. Henry’s clearly observing something nestled in between the thick stems, at an angle awkward enough to where he has to twist his body just-so to look back and forth between drawing and art subject. Likely a comedic sight for such a lanky, long-limbed man.
He doesn’t look away when footsteps approach, too fixated on the task at hand, sketching away with gestural lines across the bright white paper. But, being psychic and all, he can certainly sense a presence nearing.]
...Busy right now.
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She had been indulging in the luxury of sleeping in so when she awakens she's dressed in the high school hoodie and shorts. Incredibly casual, perhaps even somewhat sloppy but it's kind of a sign that Amelia's gotten used to having Henry around.
The witch finds him in her garden near the myrtle and though it doesn't show on her face, she's rather tickled at his bent posture. She approaches him, hands in her front pouch.]
Too busy for a late breakfast?
[It occurs to her, she also hasn't asked to see his drawings yet.]
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heart in a headlock;
Considering where they started, Amelia supposes that they're actually getting along now. And after she helped fix the one spider in the garden for Henry, something else has changed though she wouldn't have been able to identify it at first.
Every now and then, she checks on the spider she magically repaired. It had moved to her roses, finding a sizeable gap that would camoflage it from birds and other predators. She makes sure to water around it but its shimmering, red-hair web is quite springy and resistant to any residual drops.
She's secretly glad that it's still around, the one spider she now truly likes.
One cool summer evening, Amelia sits at the kitchen counter reviewing her notes in her stuffed notebook. She flips through the pages idly before landing on the spread where she had at some point, written about Henry.]
[Well. Better to ask now than never.]
Hey, Henry? Quick question if you don't mind.
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Have things changed? Subtly, slowly, yet all-encompassing in its influence. Like a continental drift beneath his feet. Her kindness with the injured spider has left its mark on their relationship, spreading gently through their interactions — or at least, Henry’s interactions with her. A few more smiles, a few more instances of sincerity when curiosities are flung his way. And sometimes, his look lingers on the bright locks of her red hair, mentally comparing the color to the web he’s now seen moved in between the rose bushes.
Today, this tendency to be slightly more open with her will be put to the test, though he’s unaware of this reality just yet. He’s crossing into the kitchen to grab a glass of water when Amelia pipes up.]
Ask away.
[He says with a lift of the brow, already reaching into one of the cupboards for a glass.]
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yeah i'm tagging you peak fate rp drama, what of it
Crawls back in here 💀💀💀
Wraps you up
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when you move, i'm moved;
"Do you think it's gotten bigger?" she muses to Henry during one of those mornings. The spider does look a bit more like a beetle with its iridescent green-gold sheen. Whenever he happens to pass by it, the creature stays still as if expecting to be drawn.
The atmosphere around the witch's house is relaxed and comforting, each new day signaled by the windchimes.
During a weekend, Amelia's considering changing up the day's activities, but before she can tell Henry, the doorbell rings. She answers it and greets...]
Emil! C'mon in. I'm going to need you to take care of some chores today while we're both out.
[It's the golem boy with a sweet face and dark hair. His face is completely repaired since the last time that they saw him, with no crack or visible seam in place. He's looking back and forth, seeking out the psychic.]
[The boy has a suitcase in hand for one reason or another. Hm.]
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In the morning, when they sketch together, they find the spider they've saved, and he replies, "I think so, maybe just a little bit," when she asks him about its size. It seems a gentle sort, the kind that loves to pose for a short sketch or two, its shell gleaming iridescently in a way he's never seen before. He thinks about naming it, but saves the idea for later. Maybe Amelia will have a suggestion.
One day, though, the routine falls a bit differently. When Amelia tends to the guest at the door, Henry is already awake (he's an early-riser), and seated on the couch. He rises and quirks a brow in the direction of... oh. The boy who he smashed his face in when he first arrived in this town. Looking as unaffected by the incident as ever.
Henry offers a smile and a small, perfunctory wave from where he stands.]
I guess that depends on what you need me for, exactly.
[A... suitcase? What's this? He can't help but fling his look back to Amelia questioningly.]
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not a real tag but i'm keeping it here
the real tagback
bless emil
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within your eyes;
Inside the church, the Praying Man's posture is much more relaxed and his murmurs are less desperate and strained. He continues his prayers as is, the very picture of spiritual peace that spreads and blankets Ivory Church.
Amelia is laying facedown in the pew in front of him. She raises her finger in the air at Henry.]
One more minute.
[ She is a very powerful, intelligent, and most of all, graceful witch. VERY GRACEFUL.]
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It seems that Henry had to exert less mental effort than Amelia during this whole encounter; or rather, that she's just been Tired in general during the whole of this summer break. She keeps busy, doesn't she? Between trying to find a way for him to return home, to dealing with the supernatural in this town, to her more mundane responsibilities.
He stands in front of the pew in font of Amelia, by the way. Just :man_standing: with his hands clasped, yet again, neatly behind his back. His gaze slides from the Praying Man, who seems in a far better shape than before, up to the witch.]
I'll let you have five because I'm so generous.
[Henry eases his way towards her pew and nudges her foot with his knee.]
But if you're really that tired, I'm fine with calling it a day here. Haven't you been sleeping well?
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what a divine evening;
...Well, not really a new Henry Creel, but one that has been eased into accepting this outing as something he might look forward to, if only to indulge his curiosity of this town that has become something of a temporary, secondary home. ("Home." What a concept, and one that he, perhaps, has not realized remains bouncing around his head.)
As they approach, assuming there isn't already someone there to do so, he reaches out to hold the door open for her.]
Ladies first.
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She nods and gives Henry a small smile as he opens the door for her.]
Thank you. We’re a little early but that’s fine.
[The interior of the Red Divine is as rich as its name. Dim but warm lighting washes over the wooden counter and stool seats. Glasses and bottles of various liquors gleam under the lamps. There’s a stage with a grand piano and working sound system near the back and there are two musicians in the middle of working on adjusting the speakers and their guitars already while guests mill about drinking, chatting, and winding down for the evening. Around the stage are tall standing tables draped with red table cloths, set up for the audience who are there for the performance.
Amelia leads Henry to the bar counter first.]
We don’t have to sit near the front just yet. When I go here, I usually just linger at the counter to nurse a drink until Simone, the singer comes out.
… I don’t think we’ve done any drinking at home, have we? Unless you’ve been in my cabinet without me knowing.
[Henry has probably noticed by now, during his prolonged stay that the witch does treat herself generously to dark reds from time to time.]
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