[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?
[ Amelia sits up with a small grunt and runs a hand through her hair.]
Sleeping well? It's debatable. I tend to stay up late reading especially if the book is especially engrossing.
[Girl.]
And as you know, I try to wake up in a timely manner to make sure we have breakfast and lunch before I go back to lesson planning for the upcoming school year, review research notes, tidy up the garden, brush up on my magic studies, write recommendation letters—
[That's a dangerous thing to say, Amelia. Dangerous, when he's already begun to apply certain facets of his attention to the witch, clinging steadfast. This would only be an encouragement, and it strikes him... oddly. Not unpleasantly. No, not at all.
...
He decides to take a seat next to her, the pew creaking under his weight.]
Despite your busy schedule, the fact that you're still willing to spend time with me says a lot. I... I'm flattered, actually. I'd say that almost makes us friends now.
[He should ease that burden, though, shouldn't he? Something tells him he should. Something compels him, where there was never the true desire to help anyone or anything before.]
I can help with breakfast and lunch sometimes. You know, if you'd be willing to teach me someday.
[Is she aware of how he's viewing her, how his attention keeps changing and warping? Perhaps but to Amelia it's a type of change where she and Henry are past antagonism (overt or covert) and cautious neutrality. They're in an agreeable and even friendly state.
It's not unpleasant.
So when Henry expresses his thoughts about her spending time with him and offering to take on some tasks that garners a look of touched surprise.]
Oh.
[She switches from slouching in her seat to sitting up straight with her hands in her lap.]
That's... Well. [Her hand runs through her hair again, shyly this time.]
You don't exactly come away from subduing monsters, feeding lake creatures, and... Sharing memories... Without becoming friends.
[Is this an admission? She's finding it difficult not to smile.]
If you're offering to help with breakfast and lunch then... That would make me happy.
[the praying man can't stop the storm that's coming
Ah, she looks... almost embarrassed? He finds it funny, how the only time Amelia seems close to shy are during moments like these. Moments that might be called "closeness" if Henry himself knew how to ply the word in a more sincere way; but he doesn't, and thus for now, he'll just take mild amusement from it.
And a funny little satisfaction that she does not deny the notion.]
Then it's official, right? Friends. I've never-
[Never what? Had friends? Cared enough to earn one? Maybe both. It's hard to say.
There's a part of Henry that clamps down that sentiment, redirects it, lets it fade away. Maybe he isn't completely sure what he was going to say, besides.]
Well, anyway. My offer is sincere. But you really will have to teach me like I know very little about cooking. Is that okay?
[It's easier to draw and define the lines of what makes her a teacher and a witch. She's a person who will instruct, assist, give advice, and solve problems as they come and go. Within those roles, Amelia can maintain composure, control, and a semblance of ambiguity that others can fear or respect.
But what of friendship? What does she do when her already sentimental heart gives way to warmth? This moment (and others prior to this) shows one of Amelia's truer sides, the clumsy but kind woman who can't purposefully ignore the needs of others and stumbles to find the right way to go about it.
She's quiet as Henry asks if it's official. The Praying Man's murmurs are a distant whisper as they leave him be.]
... You know Henry, it took me at least fifty years before I made my first true friend.
[Amelia finally lets herself smile as she continues to look at her hands in her lap.]
I don't mind being the first one that you've ever made.
[This is another type of magic, the kind where she remembers where friendship can occur in the most unlikely places, the most unlikely times, with the most unlikely people.
Henry Creel was definitely the most unlikely person ever. And here she finds herself looking at him finally and giving him a real smile.]
[Oh. Where he had left that sentiment to die on the vine, Amelia sees so easily what was unspoken, and his gaze flicks up to seek her eyes.
It is, of course, dangerous ground to tread — Henry feels it swell in him again, his fascination with this woman seeking to carve out a connection with him. No, one in which they are already connected through this strange bond of newly-forged friendship.
She even smiles, and it is not one of professionalism but sincerity and quiet warmth, and he thinks to himself that today, they’ve crossed some threshold. An important one.]
What can I say? I’m glad you were the first.
[But then he laughs lightly at the last bit.]
Tomorrow morning, then. I’ll make the best breakfast you’ve ever had. [(No. But he’ll learn.) He bumps a shoulder against her, lightly.] But let’s not rush things — we still had plans for the rest of the day, didn’t we?
[He watches her stand for a moment, before finally easing himself to a stand, too.]
All right. I'm looking forward to seeing what "sharp clothes" means, exactly, in this decade.
[He'll give it all the time it needs, as least as long as he lives in this world. The shape that friendship could take, and all the twisting contours it must possess when crafted between Henry Creel and one other.]
I take it you're going to be the one playing dress-up with me?
[Like he's some paperdoll. If it were anyone other than Amelia, he might mind it, but right now? It sounds novel.]
[He gives the Praying Man a final, passing glance, too. But once more, his attention falls upon Amelia as he follows, his gait long enough to eventually walk astride her.]
I trust your eye for what looks good and doesn't.
[But as for what's fair, he can only add:]
But I appreciate that my opinion has some sway, too. [In most matters. They didn't at first, but their first meeting had been anything but amicable; they couldn't have been called friends back then, and the slow thread of trust developing between them has changed that.
He's never really felt like he had the power to decide much for himself, always trapped in some way. Always controlled, and then if not that, always trapped.]
[The fact that Henry hasn't had much or any say over his life is something she's kept in mind for all their interactions and what has driven her decisions around him.
(He's done horrible things. He can still inflict them on you. A whisper, a warning to herself, she leaves it be.)
He was trapped in a lab with a few other psychics who also had no agency. The same, but different from her. What kind of hypocrite would she be if she closed off all avenues of choice and decision-making from him? He deserved that much at least, she's told herself.]
You've been here in Blackgale with me for... A not insignificant amount of time. I should hope you feel like you have a say in some things.
[It's still more than anyone's bothered to give him. And while he is not completely free, still under her care and watch, it's more freedom than he's ever been allotted in the past -- in its own way.]
I lived in the lab for twenty years. I had no say in anything.
[Just for comparison's sake.]
You're just more generous and thoughtful than most I've ever encountered.
[And while he has taken advantage of this kindness, in the fact that she still does not have the whole story about him, and that she helps him anyway, this is a sincere enough assessment. Despite all she's been through, she's still turned out this way. Unlike him, so misanthropic and violent and unwilling to have a night out on the town without someone else's urging.]
[Amelia's quiet as they walk through the park. About halfway towards the exit, she speaks up in a thoughtful tone of voice.]
After my own confinement ended, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what I wanted from other people, much less from myself.
[She had told him as much during the walk through her memory. Simply abandoned to her own devices, anxious about the sudden freedom with no one to support her, all she had was the mysterious house in Blackgale left by the Witch King.]
But as the years went on and more people came into my life, I think I ended up learning that... I treat people the way I wish someone had treated me when I was younger.
[Even if it was in a tough-love, gruff, and imperfect sort of way. Amelia doesn't know Henry's entire story but with what she already knows, she's defaulted to thinking:
"I want to show him something else."]
It's like you said before Henry; the people involved in our lives will always be a part of us even after they're gone. So if that's the case then... I hope you keep something from all this.
[She makes a general gesture with her hand when saying "this": His time in Blackgale, his time with her, his newly acquired friendship. It's a thread being woven into a tapestry, the final result unknown.]
[He walks with her, plunging both hands into his pockets. A casual gesture for Henry Creel, but he's listening and listening closely.
It's odd to hear those words; or rather, it's odd to hear them and now, if only faintly, understand what she means. Maybe his time in this world, or at least in her company, has garnered him just enough flexibility in his way of thinking that he can fathom her perspective. That even if he wasn't treated well by either the lab or by a family that didn't truly understand him, there's value in in someone else going against the grain.
For once, there's value in someone other than him, because they're alike. In ways he never would have expected at first.
This understanding is still imperfect. A part of Henry will never believe that the world is worth much more than the dirt it's all been built upon, but Amelia--and his time in this town--is starting to gnaw away at the nihilistic bleakness he clings to so, so hard. By small, small degrees. it's why the comment count in this psl is already so long]
You are. [-he says it when she's finished speaking, with a curious sort of certainty.] I think you've already proven that you are.
And I hope that means that after I leave, a part of me will still linger in this world, too.
There's no way Amelia can avoid smiling with a response like that. So she doesn't as she puts her hands behind her back while they walk alongside each other.]
... Thank you. And there's no doubt you will.
[(For better or for worse.)]
🌹🌹🌹
[She keeps the conversation light until they reach downtown and leads them into one of the clothing boutiques catered to men. It's a warmly lit place with sophisticated dark wooden floors to match the casual to formal clothing and everything else in between.
Amelia is already moving to a rack and rifling through it and thankfully the shop attendant on shift isn't the type to bother customers so they're left to their own devices. ]
I'll try to make this quick Henry, unless you want to take your time. When it comes to men's clothing, what matters is how your silhouette is shaped by it.
Anyway, it's not a long walk to the boutique, though Henry feels distinctly out of place once they enter. He was never much for... shopping. Even if he were the sort of man that wasn't trapped somewhere for many years of his life, the siren call of #capitalism is not one which he cares terribly for, and even if this an independently-owned shop, it's hard to tamp this feeling from him.
But he'll play nice.
For a bit.]
"Make the most of", meaning... what, exactly?
[tell him how you will make the most of this noodle frame]
Meaning, that you dress up in such a way that it enhances that aspect to make it the most attractive feature; make it work for you.
[You'd think saying such a thing aloud would cause her to be shy again but on the contrary, Amelia continues with academic and scholarly seriousness towards fashion.]
For instance, I can't just wear any color because of my hair. Neutrals or desaturated hues tend to work best with me, or cool greens and blues since it's complementary. So you know, basic color theory.
[The witch has picked two outfits from a rack against the wall, one piece that's more charcoal-grey and white and the other almost completely black and she holds them up for Henry to examine.]
As I said though, let's make this efficient. I'm not like Berna who'd probably keep you here for hours at a time if she had her way.
[someone's been through unwanted dress-up time...]
["Most attractive feature"? His height? He wonders what to think of that, but she's going on in such a matter-of-fact way it would be a shame to interrupt her.
And so, he just listens. Watches as she picks out two outfits for him, both of which he gleans over with a blue-eyed gaze. How funny, that one should be all black, when he's spent so much of his life wearing all white--]
How about the first one?
[He quirks his brows to see if she'd agree, as though there was a right answer to this question at all.]
And even if you call it "efficient", I'd like to think you're still having fun. What you said about color theory, then -- you mean to treat this like art.
[His choice prompts her to give him the charcoal vest, trousers, and white button-up. The changing room is in the back but she first replies to Henry's remark as she hangs the second outfit on a free rack for later.]
It's quite possible I am having fun but I've been told I have a penchant for being too business-like even for casual outings. As for art and fashion, both are inextricably connected and academic as any language arts or arithmetic. I would be doing you a disfavor by not using my knowledge to make sure you dress appropriately in a way that suits you best.
[... Nerd.]
And besides, you aren't the first man I've chosen clothes for.
[Oh my god. She's nerdier than he is. His smile twitches.]
You really have this down to a science. Though...
[He wonders if that last question is an opening, and one he should take gently.]
Who else, then? Other dates?
["Other", like this is a date. And let's be real, it kind of feels like one, though they've just newly established their friendship, so Henry likely means it as a friend outing.]
[And although Amelia is aware of how nerdy she is (her students and coworkers remind her all the time), once she gets going, she will explain away whatever topic is at hand, dispensing her knowledge like breathing.]
Well, I used to choose clothes for one of my friends, Adam, but that's only when he would ask for my input. He's more than capable of making functional choices.
[Adam Walsh feels like he's more of an adult than Amelia and he's normal.]
And, with my ex-boyfriend, he would let me choose, but more for his personal amusement. He taught me the most about how he made his selections so that imparted knowledge stayed with me.
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sunfloras2023-04-20 07:42 pm
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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[ Amelia sits up with a small grunt and runs a hand through her hair.]
Sleeping well? It's debatable. I tend to stay up late reading especially if the book is especially engrossing.
[Girl.]
And as you know, I try to wake up in a timely manner to make sure we have breakfast and lunch before I go back to lesson planning for the upcoming school year, review research notes, tidy up the garden, brush up on my magic studies, write recommendation letters—
[Girl........]
— But I want to spend the day with you.
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...
He decides to take a seat next to her, the pew creaking under his weight.]
Despite your busy schedule, the fact that you're still willing to spend time with me says a lot. I... I'm flattered, actually. I'd say that almost makes us friends now.
[He should ease that burden, though, shouldn't he? Something tells him he should. Something compels him, where there was never the true desire to help anyone or anything before.]
I can help with breakfast and lunch sometimes. You know, if you'd be willing to teach me someday.
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It's not unpleasant.
So when Henry expresses his thoughts about her spending time with him and offering to take on some tasks that garners a look of touched surprise.]
Oh.
[She switches from slouching in her seat to sitting up straight with her hands in her lap.]
That's... Well. [Her hand runs through her hair again, shyly this time.]
You don't exactly come away from subduing monsters, feeding lake creatures, and... Sharing memories... Without becoming friends.
[Is this an admission? She's finding it difficult not to smile.]
If you're offering to help with breakfast and lunch then... That would make me happy.
[
prayer man's praying intensifies behind them]no subject
the praying man can't stop the storm that's comingAh, she looks... almost embarrassed? He finds it funny, how the only time Amelia seems close to shy are during moments like these. Moments that might be called "closeness" if Henry himself knew how to ply the word in a more sincere way; but he doesn't, and thus for now, he'll just take mild amusement from it.
And a funny little satisfaction that she does not deny the notion.]
Then it's official, right? Friends. I've never-
[Never what? Had friends? Cared enough to earn one? Maybe both. It's hard to say.
There's a part of Henry that clamps down that sentiment, redirects it, lets it fade away. Maybe he isn't completely sure what he was going to say, besides.]
Well, anyway. My offer is sincere. But you really will have to teach me like I know very little about cooking. Is that okay?
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But what of friendship? What does she do when her already sentimental heart gives way to warmth? This moment (and others prior to this) shows one of Amelia's truer sides, the clumsy but kind woman who can't purposefully ignore the needs of others and stumbles to find the right way to go about it.
She's quiet as Henry asks if it's official. The Praying Man's murmurs are a distant whisper as they leave him be.]
... You know Henry, it took me at least fifty years before I made my first true friend.
[Amelia finally lets herself smile as she continues to look at her hands in her lap.]
I don't mind being the first one that you've ever made.
[This is another type of magic, the kind where she remembers where friendship can occur in the most unlikely places, the most unlikely times, with the most unlikely people.
Henry Creel was definitely the most unlikely person ever. And here she finds herself looking at him finally and giving him a real smile.]
And so of course, I'll teach you.
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It is, of course, dangerous ground to tread — Henry feels it swell in him again, his fascination with this woman seeking to carve out a connection with him. No, one in which they are already connected through this strange bond of newly-forged friendship.
She even smiles, and it is not one of professionalism but sincerity and quiet warmth, and he thinks to himself that today, they’ve crossed some threshold. An important one.]
What can I say? I’m glad you were the first.
[But then he laughs lightly at the last bit.]
Tomorrow morning, then. I’ll make the best breakfast you’ve ever had. [(No. But he’ll learn.) He bumps a shoulder against her, lightly.] But let’s not rush things — we still had plans for the rest of the day, didn’t we?
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[The mental heaviness has lifted somewhat and she stands up, ready to exit the church.]
Sharp clothes and a new sketchbook for you. And then we'll have some time to rest before we go to the Red Divine.
[It's a funny thing, making a friend; it can be declared but it needs time to settle and find its shape between them.]
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All right. I'm looking forward to seeing what "sharp clothes" means, exactly, in this decade.
[He'll give it all the time it needs, as least as long as he lives in this world. The shape that friendship could take, and all the twisting contours it must possess when crafted between Henry Creel and one other.]
I take it you're going to be the one playing dress-up with me?
[Like he's some paperdoll. If it were anyone other than Amelia, he might mind it, but right now? It sounds novel.]
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[She glances over at the Praying Man one last time to make sure he's at ease and then moves down the pew and towards the door.]
And then you get the final say of what you're drawn to the most. Is that fair?
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I trust your eye for what looks good and doesn't.
[But as for what's fair, he can only add:]
But I appreciate that my opinion has some sway, too. [In most matters. They didn't at first, but their first meeting had been anything but amicable; they couldn't have been called friends back then, and the slow thread of trust developing between them has changed that.
He's never really felt like he had the power to decide much for himself, always trapped in some way. Always controlled, and then if not that, always trapped.]
...So yes. That sounds fair. And thank you.
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[The fact that Henry hasn't had much or any say over his life is something she's kept in mind for all their interactions and what has driven her decisions around him.
(He's done horrible things. He can still inflict them on you. A whisper, a warning to herself, she leaves it be.)
He was trapped in a lab with a few other psychics who also had no agency. The same, but different from her. What kind of hypocrite would she be if she closed off all avenues of choice and decision-making from him? He deserved that much at least, she's told herself.]
You've been here in Blackgale with me for... A not insignificant amount of time. I should hope you feel like you have a say in some things.
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I lived in the lab for twenty years. I had no say in anything.
[Just for comparison's sake.]
You're just more generous and thoughtful than most I've ever encountered.
[And while he has taken advantage of this kindness, in the fact that she still does not have the whole story about him, and that she helps him anyway, this is a sincere enough assessment. Despite all she's been through, she's still turned out this way. Unlike him, so misanthropic and violent and unwilling to have a night out on the town without someone else's urging.]
no subject
After my own confinement ended, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what I wanted from other people, much less from myself.
[She had told him as much during the walk through her memory. Simply abandoned to her own devices, anxious about the sudden freedom with no one to support her, all she had was the mysterious house in Blackgale left by the Witch King.]
But as the years went on and more people came into my life, I think I ended up learning that... I treat people the way I wish someone had treated me when I was younger.
[Even if it was in a tough-love, gruff, and imperfect sort of way. Amelia doesn't know Henry's entire story but with what she already knows, she's defaulted to thinking:
"I want to show him something else."]
It's like you said before Henry; the people involved in our lives will always be a part of us even after they're gone. So if that's the case then... I hope you keep something from all this.
[She makes a general gesture with her hand when saying "this": His time in Blackgale, his time with her, his newly acquired friendship. It's a thread being woven into a tapestry, the final result unknown.]
I hope I can keep being worthy of it.
no subject
It's odd to hear those words; or rather, it's odd to hear them and now, if only faintly, understand what she means. Maybe his time in this world, or at least in her company, has garnered him just enough flexibility in his way of thinking that he can fathom her perspective. That even if he wasn't treated well by either the lab or by a family that didn't truly understand him, there's value in in someone else going against the grain.
For once, there's value in someone other than him, because they're alike. In ways he never would have expected at first.
This understanding is still imperfect. A part of Henry will never believe that the world is worth much more than the dirt it's all been built upon, but Amelia--and his time in this town--is starting to gnaw away at the nihilistic bleakness he clings to so, so hard. By small, small degrees.
it's why the comment count in this psl is already so long]You are. [-he says it when she's finished speaking, with a curious sort of certainty.] I think you've already proven that you are.
And I hope that means that after I leave, a part of me will still linger in this world, too.
no subject
henry's exchange rate is so highThere's no way Amelia can avoid smiling with a response like that. So she doesn't as she puts her hands behind her back while they walk alongside each other.]
... Thank you. And there's no doubt you will.
[(For better or for worse.)]
[She keeps the conversation light until they reach downtown and leads them into one of the clothing boutiques catered to men. It's a warmly lit place with sophisticated dark wooden floors to match the casual to formal clothing and everything else in between.
Amelia is already moving to a rack and rifling through it and thankfully the shop attendant on shift isn't the type to bother customers so they're left to their own devices. ]
I'll try to make this quick Henry, unless you want to take your time. When it comes to men's clothing, what matters is how your silhouette is shaped by it.
[She gives him a glance over.]
And so, we should make the most of your height.
no subject
maybe amelia is just expensive!!!Yeah. For better or worse.
Anyway, it's not a long walk to the boutique, though Henry feels distinctly out of place once they enter. He was never much for... shopping. Even if he were the sort of man that wasn't trapped somewhere for many years of his life, the siren call of #capitalism is not one which he cares terribly for, and even if this an independently-owned shop, it's hard to tamp this feeling from him.
But he'll play nice.
For a bit.]
"Make the most of", meaning... what, exactly?
[tell him how you will make the most of this noodle frame]
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[You'd think saying such a thing aloud would cause her to be shy again but on the contrary, Amelia continues with academic and scholarly seriousness towards fashion.]
For instance, I can't just wear any color because of my hair. Neutrals or desaturated hues tend to work best with me, or cool greens and blues since it's complementary. So you know, basic color theory.
[The witch has picked two outfits from a rack against the wall, one piece that's more charcoal-grey and white and the other almost completely black and she holds them up for Henry to examine.]
As I said though, let's make this efficient. I'm not like Berna who'd probably keep you here for hours at a time if she had her way.
[someone's been through unwanted dress-up time...]
no subject
And so, he just listens. Watches as she picks out two outfits for him, both of which he gleans over with a blue-eyed gaze. How funny, that one should be all black, when he's spent so much of his life wearing all white--]
How about the first one?
[He quirks his brows to see if she'd agree, as though there was a right answer to this question at all.]
And even if you call it "efficient", I'd like to think you're still having fun. What you said about color theory, then -- you mean to treat this like art.
no subject
It's quite possible I am having fun but I've been told I have a penchant for being too business-like even for casual outings. As for art and fashion, both are inextricably connected and academic as any language arts or arithmetic. I would be doing you a disfavor by not using my knowledge to make sure you dress appropriately in a way that suits you best.
[... Nerd.]
And besides, you aren't the first man I've chosen clothes for.
no subject
You really have this down to a science. Though...
[He wonders if that last question is an opening, and one he should take gently.]
Who else, then? Other dates?
["Other", like this is a date. And let's be real, it kind of feels like one, though they've just newly established their friendship, so Henry likely means it as a friend outing.]
no subject
Well, I used to choose clothes for one of my friends, Adam, but that's only when he would ask for my input. He's more than capable of making functional choices.
[Adam Walsh feels like he's more of an adult than Amelia and he's normal.]
And, with my ex-boyfriend, he would let me choose, but more for his personal amusement. He taught me the most about how he made his selections so that imparted knowledge stayed with me.
[hm]
no subject
Should he be nice and not tease her? Surely he's had his fill of it by now, having met the quota of the day and then some.
...A beat.]
Oh, so this is a romantic activity for you, is that it?
[Sorry, he's a villain.]
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