sixthiterationlogs | Angels causing accidents;

WHO: Credence Barebone
WHERE: The edge of the village, the inn
WHEN: 2/15
OPEN TO: OTA with a closed section for Graves
WARNINGS: severe injury via explodey lightning, mentions of Credence's history re: blacking out, talk of severe abuse in the threat with Rory
STATUS: (Is it open to new threads?)

ɪ. ɢʀᴀᴠᴇs ⇼ ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪᴛ's ɴᴏᴛ ɪᴅᴇᴀʟ;
It's a strange sort of dance, pushing and pulling. Credence doesn't trust Graves, even if the man holds all of the answers. He hasn't lorded it from him, not yet, but he's waiting. It's a matter of time, he thinks, before Graves pulls the carpet out from under him. Soon, he will somehow turn into that blonde man, and soon, it will be too late and Credence will have to do what he wishes.

Now, though, it's peaceful. It's odd, but in the same way that the fact that speakeasies are illegal and yet there are thousands of them where he's from. A strange sort of familiar type of peculiar that lets Credence feel somewhat balanced. Despite everything, he finds the village peaceful. He finds the place safe.

Even though he should be more wary of Mr. Graves--and he is, extremely--he's walking along with him. Walks, Credence had explained to the older man softly, are the best thing to do around the village perimeters, so long as you had a knife. They clear the mind and you can either think about things or not think about anything at all.

"And Mr. Graves, if you'll let me be a little bold," he had inquired, "I think maybe if you had a walk without a purpose, you might feel better." That's how the both of them are near the village outskirts, Credence bundled in his peacoat and scarf and his wool gloves. He's relinquished his extra pair, made of fine fur, over to the older man in order to keep him warm.

They talk. It's quiet, and almost like more of their games in the evening. A question for an answer, and an answer for a question. Credence has learned that this is the best way to get information, and he's quite pleased that it's moving forward so quickly.

"If you can perform magic without a wand, then why do you need one?" He asks, and it's as he turns his head to actually look at Graves that it happens. White, hot light, and then a blazing heat surges down his spine, causing every part of his body to stiffen and spasm before he immediately drops to the ground. He doesn't know what happened.

Credence, struck by lightning, falls unconscious and stops breathing.

ɪɪ. ᴀʟʟ ⇼ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜᴇᴇʟ;
He wakes up with a jolt. Panic claws through him, and there's that scratching, whispering, hissing voice in the back of his head that all but confirms his initial thought: he'd passed out again.

This time, he doesn't wake up in the subway, or in his bed at NSPS headquarters--this time, it's in the inn, sides bandaged and eyes wide. A hand immediately holds his injured side--burn marks, perhaps--and he whimpers from the unexpected pain.

"I did it again," he manages, trembling. His throat is sore, hoarse, and he has no idea how long he's been out. Hours? Days? His dark eyes scan the room, wildly, and settle on whoever is there, be it passing the hallway while the door's open or sitting in the room with him:

"Is everyone safe?"

ɪɪɪ. ᴀʟʟ ⇼ ᴀʟʟ Fᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀsᴄᴇɴsɪᴏɴs ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs sᴘᴀᴄᴇ;
Credence will be recovering for a while, not just on the 15th. When he can make it upright, he'll be in the inn, closest to the fire and writing everything he can in his journal. He may even be staring at whomever's closest to him, friend or stranger, lost in thought.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He's writing down everything he can remember, and keeping certain things out. Magic, for instance, is right out. He's doing his best to collect his memories of the village, starting from the first time he crawled out of the fountain, gasping for air and help, to when the girl with the seafoam eyes rescued him, to here. Struck by lightning.

Credence is drawing the symbol when he looks up, seeing Cougar. He smiles--or gives his version of a smile, which isn't one at all, and is pleased that he hadn't snuck up on him.

"Mr. Carlos," he says cordially, and motions with his chin to sit. "Hello." He still doesn't know any other name to call him by, after all, so he's fairly certain he's not being rude. "Would you like to sit?"

Cougar remains where he is on the arm of the chair, but he unearths the bag of pop rocks from his pocket and sets his hat down on the chair. Giving the bag a little shake, he hands it over to Credence, trying not to let the memories of the helicopter into his vision. Credence is young, one of the younger people here, and matched up with the lightning, it had made him scared.

Scared that he was going to lose someone else and couldn't do anything about it. Being here, seeing him with his own two eyes, it helps. "Gift," is all he says, settling it in Credence's hand and closing his fingers over it.

The hat. Credence glances down at it, an almost-smile tugging at his lips, and then up at whatever he's doing intently. The shake is intriguing, enough that he tilts his head to the side, and before he realizes what's really going on Cougar is giving him a gift and saying as much and Credence, confused, furrows his brow and opens his mouth and then remembers that, instead of questioning it, he should just say thank you.

"Thank you," he echoes his own mind, even if he sounds wary. It's not his intent, and he opens his hand, looking down, and...

"...Um. What is it?"

He can't help the amused curl of his lips upwards because to someone who doesn't know what they are, the first trial is always his favourite to watch. He gestures to them, an insistence that he try them instead of Cougar just telling him what they are. "Try," is all he says, because it's going to be interesting. It's more interesting if he had some soda, but he can only trick so many people (mainly, Jake) into that, once. "It will be new, strange." Hopefully, it will entertain him enough to take his mind off what happened.

While Cougar is offering his gift as distraction, he's looking at Credence like a field medic, taking everything into account. Breathing, looks fine, looks like he'll come through.

"They don't have these where I'm from," Credence attempts to explain, because he definitely doesn't recognize it. He reads the words but mouths them instead of saying it, and 'pop rocks' sounds sort of funny. Is it like hard soda?

He glances over at Cougar, not suspiciously but in an unsurprisingly curious way.

"If you say so," he mumbles, and opens it. Plain, simple rocks, like salt put on streets to stop icing. He holds a little bit in his hand, staring. Physically, he's fairly well--he's healed quicker than he should have, thanks to Graves--and he takes a small portion of pop rocks, unsure what to expect, and--

--and nothing. Weird, they don't taste like anything, really, just--

Oh.

Credence lets out an alarmed sound as it kicks in, snapping and crackling, and he immediately puts both hands over his mouth, visibly distressed that he's not sure whether to spit them out or keep them in. His mouth feels like it's on fire, but it's just the sensation, there's no heat to it, and he looks up at cougar, trying to find the words.

"They're like fireworks!" He manages to cry out, only to further his own confusion at the sound of his voice.

Cougar is quickly discovering that he enjoys being around Credence, if only for the boy's enthusiasm for all things. It's not something he's had, himself, for years, so being able to experience it secondhand is just about as good. His smile is muted, but only because he's still not feeling very settled about the lightning.

"How are you?" he asks, finally, now that his gift has been given and he can focus on the problem in front of him.

"My mouth is tingling," Credence says by way of explanation, but there's a tiny, tiny fraction of what looks to be a smile when he grabs a glass of water, washing it down. He spends a few moments staring at the package before he realizes that Cougar hadn't actually meant the immediate 'how are you,' and instead the lightning ordeal.

"I'm doing much better," he says after a while. "It was hot," he follows up, quickly, like the words are tumbling out of his mouth. "I didn't think lightning would be hot. Everyone in the village has been very kind. You, too, I--thank you."

His head dips down, just a tad. "I wasn't really expecting everyone to help me."

Cougar can't help the smile, because he's glad that the small joy that he's been able to provide has done something, seeing as it's not like he can go back in time and undo the lightning. He can't even go back and offer treatment at the exact moment it happened. All that he can do now is what he does for the Losers. Linger in the periphery, offer help when he can.

"You are a good man," he says. "People help good people. Even okay people," he jokes. "But you are very kind of heart. No one wants to see you suffer."

"Sir..."

Credence's gaze turns downward, and he breathes in, sharply, through his nose. He knows what the other is trying to do--he knows he should take it. He should be grateful. Cougar is offering help, is trying to cheer him up, trying to be good. Any other person, it would work.

Any other person would actually be a good man.

His face is pinched, now, looking uncomfortable as he tries to parse the words.

"I don't think I'm a very good person. I don't think I'm an okay person, either, I--"

No. No, there's no point in telling him. Credence forces his gaze away from the table and to the pop rocks.

"I'm sorry. Thank you--it really does mean a lot that you shared some of your candy with me."

Cougar raises a brow, eyeing him carefully. In his opinion, people of Credence's age don't know enough of the world yet to be good or bad, they still have to be shaped by the things around them, but he also can't force that thought and belief on him. That hesitation, it's not something he plans to cut through.

"I don't have much more candy," he admits, "so try not to get hurt too much, si?"

Credence can't hide the smile. It's small, and barely there, but it's genuine. Even if the joke is at his expense, it's sort of funny. At least, Credence thinks it is.

"You're the kind of Christian I wish I was," He says suddenly. "Or I wish was in our congregation, back home. Instead of what we were all taught, maybe---maybe sharing candy with people to make them smile is what really makes you more like Him."

"I'm a guilty Catholic," he shares, which is probably something that is a little too much, but he thinks that he should be honest. "I try and make up for the evil in my life," he says. "The evil things I've done. Candy is a very small step, but maybe some more decades of candy and it will all be even."

"You think the observers give you candy because they know that?" Credence's voice is still soft, but it's something he wonders. Like the necklace in his pocket, with its triangle-circle-stick combination. Maybe it's not to make fun of him, maybe it's to help him learn.

"If I get candy, I'll give it to you so you can hand it out," he promises. "Simple."

Angels causing accidents;

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