[And so they work on the garden, and Henry can see how this would eventually turn into a lasting connection. Briar is just unreserved enough to chip away at Amelia's opposite nature, and with time, he can imagine how he might have gotten her to come out of his shell.
And for Henry? It's like watching the fledgling bond between two people start to form, a concept that is, once again, alien to him. He watches it critically the way a researcher would, inlaid with curiosity — and uncertain how such a thing would ever apply to him. (Ironically, unknowing that it already has, once; when Amelia saved that single spider in the garden.)
The sun threatens to slip over the horizon. They’re done. Henry watches the exchange, having no reason to interrupt, until Amelia turns to him, and the wind chimes echo.]
…Of course. We can leave now.
[He’s looking at her, though, closely. Interesting. This loss is where the real pain is, isn’t it? That time spent with the Witch King, even undergoing such harsh training as losing pieces of her body, do not compare to a kind memory in which she gets to see a precious individual standing there are though he were truly real. Here and present.
Henry usually does not utilize memory in this way. But he knows of its potency, and he can see its effects on the shadows across Amelia’s face.]
Briar. [He says to the young man.] Thanks for letting us visit. It’s getting late, and I have to go now. I know that your garden will turn out beautiful when you’re done with it.
[Already, the memory begins to blur around the edges, like a watercolor painting beginning to fade. Henry is drifting them out, though he gives just a few seconds of time for either individual to exchange a goodbye, should they wish to.]
"You're welcome! It was great meeting you too Henry. Thanks for keeping us company."
[She needs something to hold onto, anything, anyone — her fingers reach out just barely grasping at Henry's wrist. Her mouth opens up to speak but no words come out. She can't even turn around to face him.
But Briar does it for her, smiling and waving them off. The sunset blazes behind him and it makes him glow.]
"Goodbye! I'll see you again someday!"
🌹🌹🌹
[The windchime sings next to her ear and Amelia wakes up, not with a start but with a shudder. She feels a tear streaking down her cheek as she sits up. And then another as her chest squeezes after waking up from that dream. It stuns her in place, like nothing else could until she bites her lip to gather her bearings.]
... Henry? That... Sorry, that took longer... I lost track of time.
[Goodbyes are like a knife to some people. He wonders how kindly this one cuts into her as they fade away and the windchime sings.
He opens his eyes. They're both awake. Where Amelia had grapsed him before, now they remain apart, in the same spots where they began the memory-dive. Amelia looks as though she's been frozen in place, and Henry tracks the tears that run down her cheek.
He lifts his hand to below his nose, testing for warmth there. No nosebleed. All the while, he's mulling over what to say.]
It's fine.
[He's bad at this. Trying to dance between fascination and some showing of empathy, even if the latter is awkward in his hands. Softy-]
[And the irony becomes a full circle with Amelia needing the tissue box instead. Wordlessly she pulls the box towards her and takes a piece to rub her eyes and the fallen tears away.]
... Truth be told, I wasn't planning on going there.
[But since she let him in, aware that he was in her mind, Amelia was also present and it was so peculiar to traverse familiar lanes. It was inevitable perhaps, that she would want to see if her memories would make him appear with clarity.
He was still alive and well in her bleeding heart.]
Before you ask, yes, he's gone for good. [Rip off that band-aid first.]
[Proof that Henry is not used to dealing with this, to doling out comfort: it doesn’t even cross his mind to offer her the tissues, not she’s already claimed the box for herself.
He pauses, giving this a moment. So Briar is gone — yes, he could have assumed that himself, given the grief she’s unearthed and put on display.]
[The thanks settles strangely in him. So much of this entire experience has felt like just that: strange. Where Amelia and him share in the same experiences, he is satisfied. She understands. Where they differ—in regards to emotion and that deep connection with someone else so critical in their lives—he cannot quite wrap his mind around.
He tilts his head at her. She can’t talk about it right now, and that’s not unexpected. The memory is raw. Henry’s powers really are so realistic-seeming that it borders on frightening, but then again, he’s never used them in such a way before. Guided willingly through.]
Even though it hurt?
[His question is simple, almost child-like in the way he seeks to understand.]
[The differences between them now are very stark but she had suspected that from the beginning. But maybe it was better this way, where he could just observe and let her be free to feel.
She nods.]
Yes. I won't ask you to do that again. It's enough to know that even though he's physically gone, he won't die as long as I'm alive to remember him.
[And she'll stay alive using the magic he's given her to make herself happy and to make others around her happy as well.]
[And he means that. It is likely the furthest thing she wants to humor now, but... in the future, such memories might employ their siren call once more.]
Amelia, if there's one thing I can say for certain, it's that our memories make us who we are. Our memories are our pasts, and we're nothing... but a result of that.
[For good or ill.]
Briar's never left you.
[Just like his parents and sister has never left him. Papa, too. The children in the lab still rest there in the folds of his mind. He is an accumulation of all their parts as much as they are of his.]
[Amelia looks surprised and touched at Henry's offer. And the words that follow are just uncharacteristically tender that it makes her heart seize and her green eyes well up with tears again. She shakes it off turning to the side so he doesn't have to look.
The witch had been living as if Briar had left. That the spaces that he occupied including within her felt vacant and worse off than before. The witch who had barely grown up despite her age felt abandoned once again.
But he had never left her empty-handed. He drew people into her life, good people who knew and understood her and didn't want to live in mourning.
She never expected after Briar's passing that a stranger from another world would help remind her of this. After several seconds, Amelia manages to speak apologetically.]
I don't suppose it was in your plans this evening to make an old woman cry.
[And there she is still; Amelia Steinbeck, a no-nonsense witch who continued to have a heart despite all the bad hands dealt to her.]
[Henry speaks only what he believes to be true, and possibly from a perspective of man who could twist it up to view it in a negative way. (The past never leaves. The trauma always remains. But the good things, too, are facet he doesn't always recognize: the memories that are precious hold on just as tightly. It's why music circumvents his powers so easily -- because they are often tied to exactly that. Good memories.)
Still, he meant what he said. Briar will go nowhere. He is ingrained in her, now, and if she takes that as comfort? All the better for it, he supposes.
His grin turns rueful.]
No. But my powers tend to do that. They make people emotional.
[It's not wrong.]
Maybe it didn't go exactly as you planned, but thank you for sharing that part of yourself with me. I'll have to return the favor someday.
Only if you wish to. And if you're comfortable enough.
[Maybe it could have gone unsaid, but for two people who have had their boundaries disrupted, the consent was a good thing to depend on and an indicator of where they now stand compared to before.]
[Henry's been around Amelia long enough to know that even though her default state of expression is neutral and deadpan audacity, there has been more to her in the things she does and says.]
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sunfloras2023-04-20 07:42 pm
no subject
And for Henry? It's like watching the fledgling bond between two people start to form, a concept that is, once again, alien to him. He watches it critically the way a researcher would, inlaid with curiosity — and uncertain how such a thing would ever apply to him. (Ironically, unknowing that it already has, once; when Amelia saved that single spider in the garden.)
The sun threatens to slip over the horizon. They’re done. Henry watches the exchange, having no reason to interrupt, until Amelia turns to him, and the wind chimes echo.]
…Of course. We can leave now.
[He’s looking at her, though, closely. Interesting. This loss is where the real pain is, isn’t it? That time spent with the Witch King, even undergoing such harsh training as losing pieces of her body, do not compare to a kind memory in which she gets to see a precious individual standing there are though he were truly real. Here and present.
Henry usually does not utilize memory in this way. But he knows of its potency, and he can see its effects on the shadows across Amelia’s face.]
Briar. [He says to the young man.] Thanks for letting us visit. It’s getting late, and I have to go now. I know that your garden will turn out beautiful when you’re done with it.
[Already, the memory begins to blur around the edges, like a watercolor painting beginning to fade. Henry is drifting them out, though he gives just a few seconds of time for either individual to exchange a goodbye, should they wish to.]
no subject
[She needs something to hold onto, anything, anyone — her fingers reach out just barely grasping at Henry's wrist. Her mouth opens up to speak but no words come out. She can't even turn around to face him.
But Briar does it for her, smiling and waving them off. The sunset blazes behind him and it makes him glow.]
[The windchime sings next to her ear and Amelia wakes up, not with a start but with a shudder. She feels a tear streaking down her cheek as she sits up. And then another as her chest squeezes after waking up from that dream. It stuns her in place, like nothing else could until she bites her lip to gather her bearings.]
... Henry? That... Sorry, that took longer... I lost track of time.
no subject
He opens his eyes. They're both awake. Where Amelia had grapsed him before, now they remain apart, in the same spots where they began the memory-dive. Amelia looks as though she's been frozen in place, and Henry tracks the tears that run down her cheek.
He lifts his hand to below his nose, testing for warmth there. No nosebleed. All the while, he's mulling over what to say.]
It's fine.
[He's bad at this. Trying to dance between fascination and some showing of empathy, even if the latter is awkward in his hands. Softy-]
I... doubt that was a memory you wanted to rush.
no subject
... Truth be told, I wasn't planning on going there.
[But since she let him in, aware that he was in her mind, Amelia was also present and it was so peculiar to traverse familiar lanes. It was inevitable perhaps, that she would want to see if her memories would make him appear with clarity.
He was still alive and well in her bleeding heart.]
Before you ask, yes, he's gone for good. [Rip off that band-aid first.]
It's been more than ten years now.
no subject
He pauses, giving this a moment. So Briar is gone — yes, he could have assumed that himself, given the grief she’s unearthed and put on display.]
Can I ask what happened?
[He asks, haltingly.]
no subject
No. I can't. Not now anyway.
[That would feel too sudden and too raw right after he had said goodbye. Amelia manages to somehow...]
But, Henry? Thank you. I really mean it.
[... She manages to thank him yet again. It's even more remarkable that it's for something that has caused her real pain.]
It was... It was wonderful to see him like that again. To experience that day.
no subject
He tilts his head at her. She can’t talk about it right now, and that’s not unexpected. The memory is raw. Henry’s powers really are so realistic-seeming that it borders on frightening, but then again, he’s never used them in such a way before. Guided willingly through.]
Even though it hurt?
[His question is simple, almost child-like in the way he seeks to understand.]
no subject
She nods.]
Yes. I won't ask you to do that again. It's enough to know that even though he's physically gone, he won't die as long as I'm alive to remember him.
[And she'll stay alive using the magic he's given her to make herself happy and to make others around her happy as well.]
no subject
[And he means that. It is likely the furthest thing she wants to humor now, but... in the future, such memories might employ their siren call once more.]
Amelia, if there's one thing I can say for certain, it's that our memories make us who we are. Our memories are our pasts, and we're nothing... but a result of that.
[For good or ill.]
Briar's never left you.
[Just like his parents and sister has never left him. Papa, too. The children in the lab still rest there in the folds of his mind. He is an accumulation of all their parts as much as they are of his.]
no subject
The witch had been living as if Briar had left. That the spaces that he occupied including within her felt vacant and worse off than before. The witch who had barely grown up despite her age felt abandoned once again.
But he had never left her empty-handed. He drew people into her life, good people who knew and understood her and didn't want to live in mourning.
She never expected after Briar's passing that a stranger from another world would help remind her of this. After several seconds, Amelia manages to speak apologetically.]
I don't suppose it was in your plans this evening to make an old woman cry.
[And there she is still; Amelia Steinbeck, a no-nonsense witch who continued to have a heart despite all the bad hands dealt to her.]
no subject
Still, he meant what he said. Briar will go nowhere. He is ingrained in her, now, and if she takes that as comfort? All the better for it, he supposes.
His grin turns rueful.]
No. But my powers tend to do that. They make people emotional.
[It's not wrong.]
Maybe it didn't go exactly as you planned, but thank you for sharing that part of yourself with me. I'll have to return the favor someday.
no subject
[His offer to return the favor makes her smile.]
Only if you wish to. And if you're comfortable enough.
[Maybe it could have gone unsaid, but for two people who have had their boundaries disrupted, the consent was a good thing to depend on and an indicator of where they now stand compared to before.]
no subject
[He shrugs a shoulder.]
But we can wait on that. First... [Here, he actually reaches out and gently, gently taps her forehead.]
You need to rest your mind. I might have done the heavy lifting, but yours is the one that went through the wringer.
no subject
[Blinking, Amelia automatically touches her forehead right after Henry.]
I don't think there should be any aftereffects. There wasn't any the first time.
no subject
I meant emotionally, mostly.
[Surely she's not up for yet one more memory-dive so quickly.]
no subject
[She takes a step back, readying to go to bed.]
That's enough emotion for you to witness from me.
[Henry's been around Amelia long enough to know that even though her default state of expression is neutral and deadpan audacity, there has been more to her in the things she does and says.]
no subject
Of course. Can't strip away all of your mystery just yet.
no subject
I have to keep up some pretense of mystery so you can't be bored. I won't allow it.
[She manages a joke too. It's gotten easier these days.]
no subject
Bored? With someone like you. Never.
[Ah, but he stands, all faint politeness and humor.]
I should get ready for bed, I think. It has gotten later than either of us intended.