sixthiterationlogs | chitter-chatter all these secrets started giving me the shivers;

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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).

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Kira laughs again, looping his brushing arm with Credence's elbow as they find the river's edge, to steer him along its path toward the falls. Hair dye is easier to explain than helicopters. "When I'm from, you can get a bottle of dye for your hair, same as your clothes."

Not that Credence's wardrobe struck him as the kind that made him keen on that kind of practice. "You have to bleach it first when it's this dark," he adds, lifting his hand under Credence's arm to tug his other wrist, subsequently tugging the hair still between Credence's fingers. "But after that you can make it whatever color you want, and she liked to stand out."

Nothing like Credence in any way, but Kira thinks they'd appreciate each other. Chiyo was one of the kindest people he knew.

Kira's laughs, he's learned, are something Credence craves. Especially if they're unexpected, because now he knows they're not at him, just the things he says. Credence has no desire to start being a vaudevillian comedian, but it's nice to know that on occasion his questions can get a chuckle.

Even if he's never sure how.

He grabs at Kira's hair, finding it impeccably soft and quite different from his own, but he knows not to voice that out loud by now. Instead, he picks his way towards their newly designated hang out spot.

"She sounds like a real rebel," he agrees. "It may be a bit too much for me."

"If I'm not, she won't be," he promises, leaning his head into Credence's curious touch. His own boundaries are a lot more flexible than his friend's, and he doesn't see a point in yet punishing Credence for reaching out.

Someone else might, but he'll deal with that when hell freezes back over and Credence finds the confidence to pull anyone's hair but his own.

Kira lets him go when he withdraws: variation on a theme. He's not going to make Credence do anything, he's not going to stop him either. "That rock, up ahead," he points out, spotting the dried, previously mossy face of the stone he and Isabelle had sunned themselves on. He doesn't plan much of that today: he's had to shove Tim's face or hands off a sunburn, and fun as it is to annoy him, he isn't looking to shed his entire skin for the summer.

"Kira, you are too much for me." Credence's voice is a small one, and he vividly remembers the visceral feeling of panic their first meeting, when Kira had threatened to spill his food onto the floor. Sometimes, he feels like they're friendship is a little bit like that, if toned down. One person doing something strange, the other mildly alarmde.

He looks up at the rock and half-smiles, bemused. "I hadn't noticed it before," He confeses, and picks up the pace just a touch to get there first. He's not racing Kira, but he wouldn't be opposed to getting there first.

Just because.

He can already hear the water, and even if that makes him nervous, he focuses all of his attention on the stone that looks perfect for lying down on.

"You're getting in," he calls savagely, watching Credence go for the stone slab. "We're going swimming, no more books and button-downs." Whatever he is, however much of it he is, Credence has held up this far. It's time to start pushing, even if Credence thinks he has been from day one.

With his back turned and attention elsewhere, Kira takes the opportunity to finally strip off his top, the black fabric sticking to his skin. He'll leave the shorts, even if it's nothing Credence hasn't seen after finding him on the porch. This is a different context, and context is everything with Credence.

"Come on," he says, coming up to the landmark and tossing his shirt onto it, then Ren's necklace. "You can keep behind the rock if anyone comes along, but honestly, no one's going to care."

Kira practically reads him the riot act, even if it's in a kind and gentle fashion, and Credence finds himself actually smiling. Sure, it's a nervous smile, and he definitely doesn't want to do this at all, but he can somehow never say no to Kira.

"I'm very fond of button-downs and books, Kira." he tries his best to sound admonishing and not slightly hurt, but he carefully picks his way down towards where Kira is, looking down at his own shirt, and then the water, and then the other's face, as if searching for something.

"You promise you won't laugh?"

"It's important to know how to swim," he says, like it's anything to do with what Credence likes. "I took swimming at school, that makes it educational, so fit it into your nerdy-agenda." Nerdy means as much to Credence as half the things Credence says do to Kira, but he's wading in up to his knees as he speaks, in little mood to explain.

When he looks back though, Credence is looking at him--not in the way Credence is almost always looking at him, whenever he's in Credence's orbit. It's something important, the kind of look that makes Kira miss the ability to know.

Especially with a question like that. "Why would I laugh," he asks. Why would it even matter, if he had a reason? He's knee deep in a strangled river wearing faded black shorts he hemmed with a knife, bitten and bruised and little muscle to speak of. He's always tried to lead Credence by example, but he doesn't know how to explain--if he doesn't care about himself, it's because he doesn't care at all how anyone looks with their shirt off. "I promise, Credence--it's fine."

He has no idea what nerdy even means, or if it's a good or a bad thing, and he can't quite comment on it if he's clueless so he makes a mental note to ask Bodhi or Mr. Graves about it later. That's not the hard part of this--the hard part is... well.

Kira promises he won't laugh, so he supposes it's alright, and he has half a mind to ask him to turn around before he realizes it's only a matter of time and that would probably make things worse.

He carefully moves hands to his shirt, and with slender fingers begins to slowly undo the buttons. It's not just in his posture that he's uncomfortable--he sniffs despite there not being any pollen or him ever having a runny noise. It's not that he's going to cry, either, but as he slowly slides off his shirt, it's apparent as to why he buttons even the first one up fully.

There are more scars. Not just on his palms, but moving up his arms. His chest is covered from days where just a slap on the hands wouldn't do. The silvery scars are and faded, the freshest one 6 months old, but it's there as a permanent reminder. Credence, looking down, shifts uncomfortably. When he finally turns to put his shirt down and carefully weight it with a rock, his back reveals even more.

"Remember," He mumbles, "You promised not to laugh."

"I did," he says quietly, neither staring nor dropping his gaze. Kira has met all kinds of people, before and after waking up in the fountain. He's undressed hundreds of bodies, he's seen and felt and tasted all kinds of scars. Sometimes they're childhood accidents, sometimes they're self-inflicted. Ty had all manner of marks from his mysterious years of training, but the point--

Kira knows why Credence has those scars, and it's nothing to do with learning anything but the wrong things. Especially about himself. Especially about his own worth.

His own bruises are innocuous, nothing in the same universe as those scars, and he forgets them as he wades back to his friend. When he comes up beside him, he reaches with his left hand, layers the scarred knuckles over Credence's own. "Hey," he says, no louder than before. He's not going to tell Credence to cover back up, or let him run away without cooling off in the water, learning to exist in his own skin a little--but he can do it gently. "This," he says, pointing to the hand taking Credence's own, "and this," lifting it until Credence follows his own fingers to the line cutting Kira's cheek. "They hurt. That's what scars are. Someone, or something hurts you, and you live through it. Only someone incredibly cruel would laugh at them. Only someone who didn't matter at all."

It's just his shirt, but he still feels naked. Bare, and more than just physically--he keeps himself stopped, arms protectively crossing himself before he remembers that that's rude. He forces them down, fists balled and shaking, and the sudden touch--when had Kira come over to him?--makes him jump.

His hand relaxes once he realizes it's Kira, and he takes in the other's words. He drinks them in, lips pressed into a thin line, and tries his best not to sniffle like a girl. It fails.

"Kira..." He wants to say so much. He wants to say 'thanks,' and he wants to say 'you're my favourite person here,' and he wants to say 'I'm sorry I'm like this,' and he wants to say 'please never leave,' but what he says is completely different.

"I'd like to get in, now, please." Maybe if he dunks his head in the water it will hide the fact he's about to cry.

Circumspect and given to structure as Credence is, flexibility has always been required in their relationship. Kira doesn't know anymore, what might happen when they talk, where they might go, and all he can do is push when it feels like time to push and let things go when it isn't. If Credence wants to swim, Credence can swim. If he wants to slip to the other side of the rock and cry, Kira will keep watch from his own side.

"Yeah, sure," he agrees, stepping side to give Credence room to wade in. "Whatever you want, I'll get our stuff settled, let me know if you want company."

With some people, he wouldn't. Maybe with Credence, he shouldn't, but before he walks further around the rock to give him some space, he sets his hand over Credence's shoulder. He's done it before, but never with the knowledge of the scar wrapped around its curve, never skin to marked skin. It doesn't linger for long, just a touch and squeeze before he moves on.

This doesn't change anything, unless Credence decides it should.

Kira doesn't really touch. He bumps into, he accidentally brushes, but Credence knows him well enough to know when he actively touches--when he makes it a point for it to not be an accident--it's pretty damn powerful.

He catches himself smiling, just a little, in spite of himself. Because despite everything--despite the world trying to take both of them down, be it Aurors or a disease that wipes out most of New York City, they have each other.

That's a very, very comforting thought.

He waits until Kira's away, taking care of something that he suspects is just an excuse for Credence's own personal space, and keeps his pants on as he wades in. What follows next is a strangled cry that sounds like a bird either hitting a window or finding a worm. It's difficult to tell.

"Kira! It's so cool!"

Just like that, they're back to the fountain, Credence distracted and Kira free to tease. "Yeah," he calls, weighting down his own clothes next to Credence's, covered against the breeze and passing fauna. "It's wet, too."

Before the canyon, Kira didn't do much outdoors. There wasn't an outdoors to explore, in the sense of forests and rivers. He knew how to swim, but he'd never been a barefoot boy in overalls or shorts, picking his way through the forest with sure, bare feet. He never sunned himself on rocks, never climbed them to overlook a waterfall and its clear pool.

He's someone else here. As cruel and separating as the place is, that isn't always a horrible thing.

"You'll get used to it," he promises Credence, running the length of the rock to launch himself from its overhanging edge, hitting the center of the pool with a splash.

Credence's grin is shy but evident, bright on his face--he's sure he's going to burn from being in the sun for too long, but the water is cool and as long as he goes anywhere where he can touch the bottom, still, it's fine.

He should have done this earlier. Kira doesn't care about how silly he looks. Sure, he's still wearing his pants and underwear, but his shirt's off, and all Kira does is--

--cannonball, apparently. Credence yells in surprise, blocking his face a little too late. The result is a strange sputtering sound as he gets water right up his nose. It's only after Kira surfaces that Credence manages to say anything.

"You didn't have to come in so scary," He murmurs.

Kira slips back under and swims for the opposite edge, conscious of crowding Credence as he tries to coax him in. Pulling himself up to sit and dangle half his body in the water, he shakes it out of his hair. "It's fun," he argues, though he can accept Credence not making a distinction. It's only the most normal way to enjoy a pool possible, so of course it offends.

"Do you know how to swim," he asks, catching himself before he tells Credence to try it. There's pushing, and then there's having to drag your friend back to the shore because they drowned in the middle of the pool. "We can work on it if you don't, it's probably a good thing to learn in a place like this."

For all they know, when the rain comes back they'll have to deal with flooding.

"No, sir." It's not that he forgot to call Kira by his first name and more of an immediate reaction. He has no idea how to swim, but Kira's there and he trusts Kira.

"It's not really something that was high on the list, I think, since I wasn't allowed to go to the beach." He carefully wades forward, slow and steady, and the water is coming up to his chest. He tries not to look absolutely delighted, but it's impossible with how well it's working in cooling him off.

"I should have done this before," he confesses suddenly: a rush of air and giddiness make him take another, larger step. "If I slip, you'll catch me, right?"

"I learned at school," Kira confesses, "there weren't a lot of places to swim when I was growing up." No places his parents took him, anyway--gyms were loud and crowded and dirty, in a city that was more of the same, and Etsuko had tried to limit his interactions with crowds for as long as she could. Once he'd learned how to drown it out, he'd had to learn how to seek that crush of humanity on his own.

Now he's entirely without his powers, and alone in the woods with a single friend. It isn't overwhelming, but it isn't boring, either. "Sure," he answers, slipping back into the water to swim over to where Credence is. It's alright to be close again, if Credence is inviting him to supervise.

"I'd still rather you didn't drown though," he adds, hovering a hand at Credence's back under the water. "Maybe before you go much deeper, we can teach you to float."

"I thought only corpses could float," He says as a matter-of-factly, even if it's obvious he's wrong. Sure, he grew up in New York, but he'd never really visited the harbour, and it's not like the Barebones went to Coney Island every week.

Still. Kira's near him, and he takes another step, careful not to slip, the water almost up to the top of his chest now.

"Did you swim up from the fountain, then? Miss Annie found me, I got lucky."

One of the things Kira has best gotten used to in the village is Credence, and the things Credence says. A few months ago only corpses could float would take the fucking cake; today he just shakes his head and hovers another hand at Credence's shoulder, ready to help him lay back once he understands what they're doing.

"I did," he answers, though he hardly remembers doing it. When he'd rolled up over the stone edge, he'd laid on the frozen earth and cursed at the sky, confusion compounded by the cold. "I got lucky too, Mark found me before I froze to death." On the list of people who have seen him naked, Mark is probably the weirdest entry.

"Any body with air in it floats," he continues: "It's the same with logs, things that are decomposing make gas. You just have to take a breath to make it work. If you're laying in the water and you start to sink, inhale while your head is up over the water and you'll go back up."

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chitter-chatter all these secrets started giving me the shivers;

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tw abuse

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