Credence Barebone (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
repressings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-06-14 08:02 pm
repressings) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-06-14 08:02 pm
chitter-chatter all these secrets started giving me the shivers;
WHO: Credence Barebone, Percival Graves, anyone else
WHERE: Barebone-Graves residence, fountain
WHEN: June 15th-16th
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Standard Credence warnings, specifically parental death
STATUS: Open
i ➼ I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ; closed to Graves
It's something Tina mentioned to him when he asked why Mary Lou knew about wizards. Why everyone else was sure magic was just a fairytale, but Mary Lou was staunch in her belief. It bothers him less that Graves didn't tell him--he knows that's how the other operates, how Graves answers Credence's questions honestly but doesn't give any unnecessary information. Instead, what's really gnawing at Credence is that he didn't ask the right question. He'd thought he was getting better at that.
It was almost a game, asides from their question-for-an-answer. He's never quite told Graves said game of course, but Credence tries to phrase his questions to get the most out of him. He considers a simple 'yes' or 'no' a failure in these circumstances, even though a yes or no is usually enough to satisfy his curiosity. Credence wants more, ravenously hungry for knowledge. Newt and Tina will happily provide answers to anything he asks, and Credence plans on using this to his full advantage so long as they don't mind, but he still wants Graves to teach him, too.
It's finally too hot for him to handle a long-sleeved shirt and jeans when he gets back from the mill, and since he's just in their house and not planning on leaving, Credence opts to wear his white scrubs again. They're lighter, just cotton, even if his arms show the criss-cross markings of unhappier times. Unhappier times he now knows and recognizes as much more complicated than he could imagine. Which brings him to the question he wants to ask.
He finds Graves in the living room, and he wants to say it's evening despite the never-ending blazing sun. His footsteps are quiet, barefeet, and he stops at the doorway, watching the older man for few moments before speaking.
"Ma knew what I was, didn't she? She knew what my real mom was, too."
ii ➼ Iᴛ's ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʙʟᴜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ꜰᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ; OTA
The more Credence thinks about how hot it is, the hotter he feels, and the more he thinks about how he shouldn't think about how hot it is the more he does. The circular puzzle he's trapped in is ridiculous. The problem with dressing in long-sleeved shirts and long pants is that, even if they're airier thanks to the fact that they're Kira's clothing and not his own, it's even more hot, which jumpstarts the entire thing.
He does his chores for the day and decides the best course of action is to copy what he'd spied Queenie doing a little while ago: he makes his way to the fountain, book close to his chest, dips his feet in, and reads. It's Frankenstein, which he's sure he's read at least 30 times since Christmas, but it's not like he has anything new.
It's when he finishes a chapter that he looks up--he squints against the sun, frowning--and muses, not necessarily to the person passing by.
"Do you ever wonder why they don't give us books very often? The ones that watch us."
---
iii ➼ Iᴛ's ᴀ ʙᴀᴄᴋᴡᴀʀᴅs ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴇʏᴇs;
Feel free to spy Credence at the fountain or by the river, or sometimes at the inn doing whatever needs to be done (most likely sweeping).
WHERE: Barebone-Graves residence, fountain
WHEN: June 15th-16th
OPEN TO: Everyone
WARNINGS: Standard Credence warnings, specifically parental death
STATUS: Open
i ➼ I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ; closed to Graves
It's something Tina mentioned to him when he asked why Mary Lou knew about wizards. Why everyone else was sure magic was just a fairytale, but Mary Lou was staunch in her belief. It bothers him less that Graves didn't tell him--he knows that's how the other operates, how Graves answers Credence's questions honestly but doesn't give any unnecessary information. Instead, what's really gnawing at Credence is that he didn't ask the right question. He'd thought he was getting better at that.
It was almost a game, asides from their question-for-an-answer. He's never quite told Graves said game of course, but Credence tries to phrase his questions to get the most out of him. He considers a simple 'yes' or 'no' a failure in these circumstances, even though a yes or no is usually enough to satisfy his curiosity. Credence wants more, ravenously hungry for knowledge. Newt and Tina will happily provide answers to anything he asks, and Credence plans on using this to his full advantage so long as they don't mind, but he still wants Graves to teach him, too.
It's finally too hot for him to handle a long-sleeved shirt and jeans when he gets back from the mill, and since he's just in their house and not planning on leaving, Credence opts to wear his white scrubs again. They're lighter, just cotton, even if his arms show the criss-cross markings of unhappier times. Unhappier times he now knows and recognizes as much more complicated than he could imagine. Which brings him to the question he wants to ask.
He finds Graves in the living room, and he wants to say it's evening despite the never-ending blazing sun. His footsteps are quiet, barefeet, and he stops at the doorway, watching the older man for few moments before speaking.
"Ma knew what I was, didn't she? She knew what my real mom was, too."
ii ➼ Iᴛ's ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʙʟᴜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ꜰᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ; OTA
The more Credence thinks about how hot it is, the hotter he feels, and the more he thinks about how he shouldn't think about how hot it is the more he does. The circular puzzle he's trapped in is ridiculous. The problem with dressing in long-sleeved shirts and long pants is that, even if they're airier thanks to the fact that they're Kira's clothing and not his own, it's even more hot, which jumpstarts the entire thing.
He does his chores for the day and decides the best course of action is to copy what he'd spied Queenie doing a little while ago: he makes his way to the fountain, book close to his chest, dips his feet in, and reads. It's Frankenstein, which he's sure he's read at least 30 times since Christmas, but it's not like he has anything new.
It's when he finishes a chapter that he looks up--he squints against the sun, frowning--and muses, not necessarily to the person passing by.
"Do you ever wonder why they don't give us books very often? The ones that watch us."
---
iii ➼ Iᴛ's ᴀ ʙᴀᴄᴋᴡᴀʀᴅs ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴇʏᴇs;
Feel free to spy Credence at the fountain or by the river, or sometimes at the inn doing whatever needs to be done (most likely sweeping).
no subject
Curious now, he waits to say anything while the boy composes himself, eyes narrowed. Getting 'sir'd earns a quirk of one brow, and that question makes him snort.
Logan settles down properly, drying his hands on his dark overalls.
"Yeah." A hair sharp, like he's insulted by the question. He continues, more mild, "Not much anymore. Not like that-" and he nods at Frankenstein.
"Do I know you or something, kid?"
no subject
...Oh, just like that, he's drying his hands. Credence stares, brows slightly knit, lips thinned. It's confusion instead of fear, even if the sharp tone of his voice causes him to curl into himself. That's not a remnant of the other one, though--that's Credence's natural response to that jagged sounding tone. Eventually, closing the book (he memorizes the page he's on), he shrugs again.
"Not exactly, sir, it's--I mean, we met before. Briefly. But it wasn't you, you."
no subject
"Look, uh...whatever your name is- You can stop right there. That's all I need to know. Last me sounds like a real douche. Sorry," he adds there at the end. It seems this boy deserves an apology for whatever that other him did, and he's not too proud to offer it.
Logan considers if he ever met himself, this older, crusty version or maybe even a younger one, he'd punch him in the face.
no subject
"Credence. I'm Credence, sir. It's alright, I--if I were very angry, I might have done the same thing. I think he was just scared."
no subject
"Credence." Weird name for a weird kid, but he can honestly say he's met (and taught) weirder. "You don't gotta 'sir' me, kid. It's Logan, alright? Where are you from?"
no subject
Even if he still thinks, even now, that it's a terrible thing to do.
"I'm from New York City--have you been? It's very big, and always busy, and the buildings are quite tall."
no subject
"Yeah. Yeah, I've been." NYC, for him, is home to one of the biggest concentration camps for mutants and mutant allies now. His gaze seems a little distant at the memory, drifting down onto Credence's skinny legs in the water. It's only for a second, then he's straightening up, giving the boy all his attention. "Used to live there, off and on. Which borough are you from?"
no subject
Good. New York. "Manhattan," he says almost at once. "Allen Street, when it turns to Pike." He's not sure why, except maybe on the off-chance that it's there in his time, but this is nice. He doesn't miss home but he misses New York City, and everytime he looks at the Empire State Building he's reminded of it. Even if it's only because someone told him the darn tower was in New York in the first place--it hadn't been built yet. Which raises his other question, which he'll ask in time.
"There's a lot of folks from New York. A really nice police officer, and a fortune teller, I think you'd call him, and there's a really pretty girl with red hair who's from around there, too."
no subject
At least, where Chinatown used to be, that strip of Canal Street and filtering into surrounding blocks. It's a thought that makes him a little nostalgic, a reminder of what he's still got to fight for once he leaves this place. He's not met the first two others that Credence mentions, but that last one...
"You've met Jean, I take it." She's the only pretty redhead he knows here, at least.
no subject
"The New Salem Philanthropic Society building. It's... It isn't 1926 for you, sir, is it?" He's glad, at least, that Jean has a friend here. He knows what it's like to be lonely. He knows what it's like to be alone.
no subject
Slip of the tongue there for a hot minute since, well....it was 1926 for him once upon a time. "Never heard of the New Salem...what was that?"
no subject
"It's a very small society," he continues, and then, brows furrowed, decides to venture an ask.
"What's it like in the future?"