henry “vecnussy” creel. (
vecna) wrote in
finalflight2022-11-14 08:35 am
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Entry tags:
PSL; [TERRIBLE THINGS WE HAVE DONE]
[It's difficult being the new kid at school, the new kid in town, everyone a stranger, every setting a readjustment, a fresh (and always failed) expectation to fit in hanging over one's head like a knife. It's even harder when your name is Henry Creel; a twelve year-old boy who is a little too lanky, a little too quiet. Who would prefer to keep to himself and not always look someone in the eye, finding more companionship in books and his collection of drawings than any of the kids his age. Who doesn't look like he wants to try to fit in—and struggles with every teacher’s gentle encouragement—even if he’s hardly a rule-breaker. Always punctual, always presentable, good grades, a nice new home to return to at the end of the day.
But his faith in his own integration is low. He had never flourished in his old town — why should he in this new one? As if moving would change how the world is, how he is, but he tries so hard not to linger on these thoughts today. They make him indescribably—
Well, he doesn’t know.
School lets out. The weather’s nice. It’s time to walk home, detaching himself from the excitable crowd of his classmates as swiftly and quietly as he can, his backpack slung over one shoulder and half-unzipped. He tries to stuff a book into it with one hand, paying no attention to where he’s going, and stumbles right into someone in an utterly ungraceful showing.
The book, of course, goes flying and lands splayed open, pages-down. Blue eyes flick up, out comes an automatic:]
Sorry.
But his faith in his own integration is low. He had never flourished in his old town — why should he in this new one? As if moving would change how the world is, how he is, but he tries so hard not to linger on these thoughts today. They make him indescribably—
Well, he doesn’t know.
School lets out. The weather’s nice. It’s time to walk home, detaching himself from the excitable crowd of his classmates as swiftly and quietly as he can, his backpack slung over one shoulder and half-unzipped. He tries to stuff a book into it with one hand, paying no attention to where he’s going, and stumbles right into someone in an utterly ungraceful showing.
The book, of course, goes flying and lands splayed open, pages-down. Blue eyes flick up, out comes an automatic:]
Sorry.
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Henry's eyes flick this way and that, taking everything in. There may be no car to ogle at, but everything else screams “mechanic’s shop”, and he wonders how long Alec’s dad spends in here every day. Everyone has a car, right? Everyone needs one serviced. He must keep busy.
At the back of his mind, a tickle. He senses something, bring his hand up to rub at where his hair stands a little on end at the back of his neck. Magic? But not exactly like what he saw with Alec, is it?
Should he… say something…?
No, he keeps quiet. A talker, this one.]
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He is, in fact, quite sharp. A shame he never puts that toward his schooling. ]
Hey, you okay?
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I’m fine. It just feels weird in here.
[Did that sound rude? It’s not how he meant it.]
Not in a bad way. Just different. It’s faint.
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[ Alec makes a face as he tries to figure out what that means. He doesn't think Henry means it in a bad way, not in the way an adult would turn their nose up at the whole neighborhood.
It clicks after a minute. ]
Oh! Those are the wards. So robbers can't get in and steal dad's tools and stuff.
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[His turn to crinkle his brows as he tries to draw a connection in his mind he’s familiar with.]
So like a shield.
[More magic. Weird.]
Have you and your dad always been this way? Magical, I mean.
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As they talk, they head up the stairs and into the apartment proper, entering through the small kitchen just off the door to the garage. ]
Yeah, pretty much. Like I said, I'm just learning, but my dad knows a loooooot of magic.
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Really? How many kinds of magic is there?
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[ Baby Alec has not yet learned about Necromancy.
In any case, he looks like he's about to start rattling them off, like they would mean literally anything to Henry, but Alec's dad steps in and asks him if he can go set the table instead. He then turns his attention to Henry. ]
In the meantime, I was hoping you could tell me about what you can do, Henry. Alec said you mentioned moving things with your mind.
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Yes, sir. Nothing big, and only if I really focus. Things don't move very far.
[It's really not that impressive to like, actually magic. Though this doesn't seem to include the time he struck Alec across the face in his anger.]
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Thomas simply nods in gentle understanding. ]
I think you're psychic, Henry. Have you heard that term before?
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Yes, but I thought that only existed in comic books. Or sci-fi novels.
[Then again, he thought the same about magic.]
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It's all very real, just like magic. As far as you know, no one in your family has these kinds of powers?
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No, no one. And I can't... I can't tell any of them about mine.
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Because they wouldn't understand?
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They already think something's wrong with me. This would just...
[Prove them right? He doesn't know.]
...scare them, probably.
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Wow, Alec feels like a jerk. ]
That's why you're here.
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What do you mean...?
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[ Look at this impassioned little speech. Apparently whatever talk his dad had with him the other night really got through. ]
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That’s— That’s not at all what he expected. He expected curiosity, maybe a few words of advice. But a place to use his powers? The implication of being helped not only once, but in the future?
Henry, who’s always felt out of place rather than ever welcomed anywhere, can only ask:]
But why would you do all of that for me? You don’t even really know me.
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And maybe, just maybe, it feels kind of good not to always be on the defensive. Not to be terrorizing or insulting or picking fights. ]
There's not a lot of magic users around here. It's mostly just me and dad. And... if you can't even talk to your family about it, that's gotta be really lonely, right? So, we should stick together.
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It's like a shard of ice through the chest. It's not something he likes to focus on, only because he's slowly begun to accept it as the norm, but hearing it spoken aloud and not just tamped down in his own mind, day to day…
It makes him feel indescribably sad, but also overwhelmingly relieved that someone else can see it. That someone else understands.
The two emotions conflict with each other. Henry’s shoulders sag, his eyes dropping down to his shoes, fingers curling at his sides.]
…Okay. I’d like that. To stick together.
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Alec slips around the table, bending to try and get in Henry's line of sight. ]
Hey. I'm... uh. I'm really sorry about all the... the stuff. At school.
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It's okay. [The reply is automatic. The forgiveness probably shouldn't come so easily, but now things could not be more different how things were, and that's all that matters to Henry now.] As long as we're friends [??] now, I feel a lot better about it.
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H-hey, you don't-- [ have to cry. The attempt to console stops halfway out of his mouth, because Henry calls them friends. Alec has... never had friends, before, he's pretty sure. There's always an underlying air of pity when other kids try to be friendly with him, or obligation, like their parents told them to "be nice to that poor boy", or whatever. This is different. He can't really explain how. ]
... Yeah. We're friends.
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Okay... okay, good. Thanks, Alec. For being my friend, and for wanting to help me with my powers. I don't know what I would have done if I had to figure it all out by myself.
[He would have struggled, would have found less than affable ways of testing them. Maybe.]
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comes back here after a million years
shh it's fine
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