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 toโ."
[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?]
No need to sound appreciative Mr. Creel. You're positively glowing with it.
[Two can play that game, Henry! But she continues nonetheless and her finger hovers over his forehead again and he'll feel the arcane mark shift somewhat, like a warm spot growing cooler.]
There is... Something. Someone? Hm. I'll call it someone. Someone has been going around town and "asking" people to drink some concoction from the skull he carries around.
[ Modern-day people would call this sort of creature a "cryptid" but she's not going to be splitting hairs.]
Sometimes, there are creatures that have created a routine or ritual that makes it easy to tell them apart from normal humans. Trying to find a reason for it, well... I would say it's a way to solidify their presence. You know, power in belief and such.
[She finishes turning down the rune's effectiveness and steps back from Henry.]
I've done plenty of research, for most of my life even. Don't go thinking you're the first telepath I've pulled the rug under.
[Amelia acquiesces regardless and leans her arms on the counter, tapping her fingers. Then she pauses and clears her mind.
One of the more effective ways to know if a telepath can hear or even see your thoughts was music. And Amelia has a very specific memory that she remembers from way back then...
Henry can see a somewhat fuzzy image. It's a television screen but not one of the modern flat screens he has seen around town in various shops that utilize them. It's older, chunkier and it sits in a living room with dated furniture. And on the screen, in black and white, there is a performance by a renowned musician.
[Music? Of course she opts for music. Yes, that is an effective way of either slicing right through his powers, or testing to see if he can pick up on it. In ways she doesn't quite realize, but he won't say anything the matter.
Since his abilities are not at 100 percent, Henry picks up a fuzzy image that never really sharpens. But he recognizes it, all the same. That's an older-style TV, one from his own era; and that's Nat King Cole singing, an artist he would actually know from when his father left the radio playing in the dining room from time to time, way back in old Creel House.
Henry's frowning the whole while, but amid these images and melodies, he murmurs-]
Music. Nat King Cole. Is this a memory?
[More than just a random image plucked from her head. It has the nostalgic sense of one, veiled over it like a fog.]
[For a brief moment she sets the task she was about to assign Henry because he's asking the correct question. She crosses her arms and does some quick math in her head.]
... I'm in my late 60s now.
[Whenever she reflects on her age that looming feeling about what lies ahead (if she even survives- her chances are decent) starts to fill her gut.
[He has no comment on whether or not it's a good song. Henry and music in general have a very complicated relationship.
But as for the rest, he seems to rake his gaze across her again; a second assessment. He supposes this must be what it's like to be imbued with magic, that it makes one live longer than the average human. That it makes them human no longer. How nice for her, honestly. He can hardly see it as a burden.]
...Technically. [And only because he's been torn from his proper era. Deposit him in this decade, and yes, he's Old.] But only technically. So witches age slower than the average human?
We do. It's all that magic we have as you probably have already guessed.
[How nice, how magical it is to be so long-lived. It's basically eternal youth with the exception that witches can go down like any human. Magic just helps bypass many difficulties.
And how very, very lonely it can be if they're not careful with the years they are privileged with.]
It's just one of a number of secrets I keep from my neighbors. Like how sometimes, we have irritating creatures that like to cause mischief or outright havoc in this place.
[Gently moving the topic back to the original purpose...]
[To him, it sounds wonderful. To be something more than human, to have power that might make one more resilient than before -- likely because that's exactly what happened to Henry during his stay in that other realm.
As for loneliness? Well. We don't even touch that subject.]
It must be a hard secret to keep, the more decades that pass.
[But you know, that's her problem, isn't it? They're moving on, and he senses it.]
Can I ask a question about that memory, though? Before we move on.
[He's glad he doesn't have to live in a human society to worry about such things. :) ]
That memory, that song. Why those specifically?
[He can't quite feel it without his powers properly at full capacity, but did they mean something to her? Something that existed so long ago must have stuck for a reason.]
[Amelia falls silent. Her mind is guarded and only whispers of her voice can be heard, asking herself how she'll say it, it's been so long now, it's still so...
(For a second he can see the smile of a beautiful person and it's for her as if she was the only one it was made for.)
To her own surprise, the witch answers easily.]
Well, like I said, it's a good song for one. I remember falling asleep to it on the radio.
[There's a pause as she glances at the window to look at her flower garden. When she speaks up again her voice is soft and reverent.]
And that boy existed. Long before I ever knew he did.
[Oh yes, he catches a glimpse of that face, the memory almost framing it as something ethereal. And he would pry, and prod, but Amelia offers something strangely straightforward and more honest than he would have expected.
Still, he asks, if only because memories such as these are always so interesting to him -- secrets kept close to the heart are always something Henry wishes to unearth. Powers or no.]
One doesn't need to read Amelia's mind to know that she will not speak further on the matter by the way her hands clasp tightly together, the short sigh, and the way she looks back at Henry, pulling back that calm and stolid composure.
"We need to get back on topic," her mind faintly whispers.]
If you don't mind, Mr.Creel. Our task at hand?
[And it's so quiet, the words so minuscule it could get lost with everything else since she's a witch whose mind is so singularly focused but...]
[Not human. But clearly important enough to her that she'll not talk about it much further; a fond remembrance that is still a point of precise pain. Interesting.
Her mind whispers to him the desire to move on. And then, such a small, small thought soon after -- and in it, he catches a name. Briar?
He'll hold onto this silently for now.]
...All right. I was just curious. You can't blame me, can you?
[Amelia reaches into her pocket to take out her small notebook (full of color tabs, and sticky notes) and her smartphone so she can bring up pictures of their creature feature.]
Our man of the hour, as I have said, carries around a skull and will approach a person of his choice and ask them to drink from it.
[While she flips through her notebook she slides her phone over to Henry so he can see the photos she's opened up. She's collected them from social media focused on the local area and from her own contacts. The creature does look like an innocuous man (the expression is sly and nasty, however) with an animal skull though it's not identifiable as an Earth one.]
If he asks, the person must accept. If you somehow break from the compulsion to drink the mixture, he will take blood from you instead. From my understanding, the skull drink will cause you to be sick for several weeks.
[Color tabs. Sticky notes. Very teacher of her -- some things have not changed over the decades.
He listens, then peers down at the phone, taking the opportunity to pick it up and look at the photos. (Such strange technology for his eyes, too.) This man seems normal enough, even if he wears a bothersome expression; animal skull he carries, notwithstanding.]
I don't recognize this kind of skull. [Then again, he wouldn't if it was truly an exotic animal; but Henry thinks he'd at least know the shape of it, distantly, even if it was.] But what a strange thing to ask people to do. So the question is: why?
[Though her cellphone is useful and Amelia is actually open to technology (it's another fun thing to study, she's a nerd) the old pen and paper method is comforting.]
The skull probably isn't of earthly origin.
And why? [Amelia scoffs and crosses her arms irately though it isn't because of Henry's question.]
I've dealt with creatures from outer worlds and although there's usually a reason for their patterns and activities among humans... Every now and then you'll have other beings who facilitate purposeless fear.
[And that might be the only point which makes it even more frightening.]
If he has a purpose, he isn't telling. I've tried approaching him directly but he's aware of who and what I am. He always slips away at the sight of me.
...I did throw a baseball at his head the first time so...
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sunfloras2023-04-20 07:42 pm
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 toโ."
no subject
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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Oh, so I am to get my powers back? How generous of you to give me even the smallest fraction of them.
[That wry sarcasm of his. But he continues, all the same. Any is better than none. It means he's making some progress.]
What is this "something" that we need to deal with?
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[Two can play that game, Henry! But she continues nonetheless and her finger hovers over his forehead again and he'll feel the arcane mark shift somewhat, like a warm spot growing cooler.]
There is... Something. Someone? Hm. I'll call it someone. Someone has been going around town and "asking" people to drink some concoction from the skull he carries around.
[ Modern-day people would call this sort of creature a "cryptid" but she's not going to be splitting hairs.]
Sometimes, there are creatures that have created a routine or ritual that makes it easy to tell them apart from normal humans. Trying to find a reason for it, well... I would say it's a way to solidify their presence. You know, power in belief and such.
[She finishes turning down the rune's effectiveness and steps back from Henry.]
Before I continue, how does that feel?
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"Asking". [He hears those scare quotes.] Well, to answer your question before I ask more of mine... it feels-
[How does it feel? Like more of his senses have opened up. Like he's not mentally blinded, not as much. Just foggy around the edges.]
Think of something for me.
[He can test it.]
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[Amelia is thinking very, very, very, very, deeply... And then...!!!]
Something.
no subject
Something more specific, Amelia. You'd make a terrible researcher.
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[Amelia acquiesces regardless and leans her arms on the counter, tapping her fingers. Then she pauses and clears her mind.
One of the more effective ways to know if a telepath can hear or even see your thoughts was music. And Amelia has a very specific memory that she remembers from way back then...
Henry can see a somewhat fuzzy image. It's a television screen but not one of the modern flat screens he has seen around town in various shops that utilize them. It's older, chunkier and it sits in a living room with dated furniture. And on the screen, in black and white, there is a performance by a renowned musician.
"There was a boy, a very strange enchanted boy..."
Amelia is outwardly silent. Internally, her mind is fine-tuned as she gives the psychic this one allowance into her memory.]
no subject
Since his abilities are not at 100 percent, Henry picks up a fuzzy image that never really sharpens. But he recognizes it, all the same. That's an older-style TV, one from his own era; and that's Nat King Cole singing, an artist he would actually know from when his father left the radio playing in the dining room from time to time, way back in old Creel House.
Henry's frowning the whole while, but amid these images and melodies, he murmurs-]
Music. Nat King Cole. Is this a memory?
[More than just a random image plucked from her head. It has the nostalgic sense of one, veiled over it like a fog.]
no subject
It is. Do you know the title of that song?
[It occurs to her that she neglected to mention a prominent fact about herself as a witch but... Oh well. If he asks, she'll answer.]
Sounds like you were able to see and hear enough.
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[He pauses, though, as though saying as much is a strange barb on his tongue, then continues.]
And of course. My powers in particular center around memory. Even stunted like this, I could pick up on images and sound without too much effort.
[But, then if that's a memory-]
That was a long time ago. I would have been a child back then. How old are you, exactly?
no subject
[For a brief moment she sets the task she was about to assign Henry because he's asking the correct question. She crosses her arms and does some quick math in her head.]
... I'm in my late 60s now.
[Whenever she reflects on her age that looming feeling about what lies ahead (if she even survives- her chances are decent) starts to fill her gut.
She wonders how Berna does it sometimes.]
Probably a little younger than you. Technically.
no subject
But as for the rest, he seems to rake his gaze across her again; a second assessment. He supposes this must be what it's like to be imbued with magic, that it makes one live longer than the average human. That it makes them human no longer. How nice for her, honestly. He can hardly see it as a burden.]
...Technically. [And only because he's been torn from his proper era. Deposit him in this decade, and yes, he's Old.] But only technically. So witches age slower than the average human?
no subject
[How nice, how magical it is to be so long-lived. It's basically eternal youth with the exception that witches can go down like any human. Magic just helps bypass many difficulties.
And how very, very lonely it can be if they're not careful with the years they are privileged with.]
It's just one of a number of secrets I keep from my neighbors. Like how sometimes, we have irritating creatures that like to cause mischief or outright havoc in this place.
[Gently moving the topic back to the original purpose...]
no subject
As for loneliness? Well. We don't even touch that subject.]
It must be a hard secret to keep, the more decades that pass.
[But you know, that's her problem, isn't it? They're moving on, and he senses it.]
Can I ask a question about that memory, though? Before we move on.
no subject
[She has a feeling this current visage she has will be her permanent one. At Henry's question she nods.]
And sure. What about?
[Amelia's a little curious; she thought it was a fairly straightforward memory (without going into detail about anything else).]
no subject
That memory, that song. Why those specifically?
[He can't quite feel it without his powers properly at full capacity, but did they mean something to her? Something that existed so long ago must have stuck for a reason.]
no subject
(For a second he can see the smile of a beautiful person and it's for her as if she was the only one it was made for.)
To her own surprise, the witch answers easily.]
Well, like I said, it's a good song for one. I remember falling asleep to it on the radio.
[There's a pause as she glances at the window to look at her flower garden. When she speaks up again her voice is soft and reverent.]
And that boy existed. Long before I ever knew he did.
I learned a lot from him.
no subject
Still, he asks, if only because memories such as these are always so interesting to him -- secrets kept close to the heart are always something Henry wishes to unearth. Powers or no.]
Was he magic, like you?
no subject
[Briar was pure magic, plain and simple.
One doesn't need to read Amelia's mind to know that she will not speak further on the matter by the way her hands clasp tightly together, the short sigh, and the way she looks back at Henry, pulling back that calm and stolid composure.
"We need to get back on topic," her mind faintly whispers.]
If you don't mind, Mr.Creel. Our task at hand?
[And it's so quiet, the words so minuscule it could get lost with everything else since she's a witch whose mind is so singularly focused but...]
no subject
Her mind whispers to him the desire to move on. And then, such a small, small thought soon after -- and in it, he catches a name. Briar?
He'll hold onto this silently for now.]
...All right. I was just curious. You can't blame me, can you?
But you can continue now.
no subject
Our man of the hour, as I have said, carries around a skull and will approach a person of his choice and ask them to drink from it.
[While she flips through her notebook she slides her phone over to Henry so he can see the photos she's opened up. She's collected them from social media focused on the local area and from her own contacts. The creature does look like an innocuous man (the expression is sly and nasty, however) with an animal skull though it's not identifiable as an Earth one.]
If he asks, the person must accept. If you somehow break from the compulsion to drink the mixture, he will take blood from you instead. From my understanding, the skull drink will cause you to be sick for several weeks.
no subject
He listens, then peers down at the phone, taking the opportunity to pick it up and look at the photos. (Such strange technology for his eyes, too.) This man seems normal enough, even if he wears a bothersome expression; animal skull he carries, notwithstanding.]
I don't recognize this kind of skull. [Then again, he wouldn't if it was truly an exotic animal; but Henry thinks he'd at least know the shape of it, distantly, even if it was.] But what a strange thing to ask people to do. So the question is: why?
no subject
The skull probably isn't of earthly origin.
And why? [Amelia scoffs and crosses her arms irately though it isn't because of Henry's question.]
I've dealt with creatures from outer worlds and although there's usually a reason for their patterns and activities among humans... Every now and then you'll have other beings who facilitate purposeless fear.
[And that might be the only point which makes it even more frightening.]
If he has a purpose, he isn't telling. I've tried approaching him directly but he's aware of who and what I am. He always slips away at the sight of me.
...I did throw a baseball at his head the first time so...
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lil time skippy
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