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( it shouldn't surprise wanda that it doesn't take henry too long to get there, but she would honestly have waited a little longer for him.
she glances at him, as he approaches her, and meets him halfway in the corner. )
Here you go.
( placing the book onto his hands, she's got a little cheeky smile on her face. )
It has a lot of pictures.
she glances at him, as he approaches her, and meets him halfway in the corner. )
Here you go.
( placing the book onto his hands, she's got a little cheeky smile on her face. )
It has a lot of pictures.
[As predictable as ever, he is there to meet her expediently, and takes the book with the eagerness of someone being given a birthday present early.
He flips through it. Pages upon pages of glossy photos of spiders, eyes taking in every detail. Eventually, those same eyes flick back up to her.]
...Thank you.
[Words spoken sincerely, which mean a lot coming from Henry Creel.]
He flips through it. Pages upon pages of glossy photos of spiders, eyes taking in every detail. Eventually, those same eyes flick back up to her.]
...Thank you.
[Words spoken sincerely, which mean a lot coming from Henry Creel.]
[ Following that vampire to the late-night gathering had all been calculated. It had been mere coincidence that had allowed Fern to identify his garish car (not a car at all, an ambulance), allowing her and Adrian to track him here, but the confrontation had gone nothing like what she expected.
She suspects that this place, with its too-loud, pulsing music (if it can be called that) is somehow to blame. She doesn't know how, but she'd felt strange inside the warehouse. Toned down, docile, overly calm in a way that didn't feel natural at all. More than that, everyone else had seemed the same. Altered, in some way.
So she leaves through the back door and out into the alleyway, seeking out fresh air and the ability to feel things the way she's used to. While the effects don't fade entirely, it does feel better out here.
And then she hears a loud, metallic CRUNCH, causing her to suddenly pivot toward the source of the noise, her dagger out of its sheath in a flash. ]
Who's—
[ It's dark out here, given that it's past two in the morning, but she can still make out the nearby figure. (Thanks, darkvision.) She recognizes him, even, from all the way back at the diffusion zone with the so-called pool.
Here he is, the one who claimed he was "psionic." He hadn't explained much more than that, didn't even give her his name, but now...
Is he crumpling some piece of metal? With his mind (supposedly)? She stares for a few seconds, but still finds the need to ask. ]
... What are you doing?
She suspects that this place, with its too-loud, pulsing music (if it can be called that) is somehow to blame. She doesn't know how, but she'd felt strange inside the warehouse. Toned down, docile, overly calm in a way that didn't feel natural at all. More than that, everyone else had seemed the same. Altered, in some way.
So she leaves through the back door and out into the alleyway, seeking out fresh air and the ability to feel things the way she's used to. While the effects don't fade entirely, it does feel better out here.
And then she hears a loud, metallic CRUNCH, causing her to suddenly pivot toward the source of the noise, her dagger out of its sheath in a flash. ]
Who's—
[ It's dark out here, given that it's past two in the morning, but she can still make out the nearby figure. (Thanks, darkvision.) She recognizes him, even, from all the way back at the diffusion zone with the so-called pool.
Here he is, the one who claimed he was "psionic." He hadn't explained much more than that, didn't even give her his name, but now...
Is he crumpling some piece of metal? With his mind (supposedly)? She stares for a few seconds, but still finds the need to ask. ]
... What are you doing?
[There is a lingering sense in Henry that he should try to participate more in "normal" activities that "normal" people would seek out. (How he hates that word.) And there is frustration born from feeling that way at all, that he needs to slot himself into the greater tapestry of social interaction so that he might better survive this place. Might better understand it.
It isn't as though some small, nearly-dead part of himself, a corpse of the past, wants to ever fit in, or anything.
But with every attempt, he comes away disappointed and more frustrated than before. A rave is one particular example of the farcical nature of human everything that rankles him, the very apotheosis of why he avoids such gatherings in the first place. Strangers, seeking desperately some mindless escape from their everyday lives, losing themselves to music and drink. Making bad decisions in the dead hours of the night and early morning, only to wake up the next day and go back to pretending to be their normal selves. And maybe they'll come back a few nights later, and the cycle repeats. Over and over and over, amounting to nothing but wasted time and degrading bodies.
And yet there was something particularly odd about that place, too; a sort of calming, docile feeling that was difficult not to give into, but easily placed as not his own when he was stubborn enough to examine it inwardly. And all the more obvious as soon as he stepped out, his own feelings of discontent washing over him again, and Henry rather decided that he hated it.
So, fast forward a few minutes later, and he is crushing a dumpster behind the rave into a wrinkled, groaning crumple of metal for all of the reasons above and then some. But it goes to figure that he'd be interrupted, and when he hears a voice, vaguely familiar, he drops his hand and turns to face Fern.]
Oh... hello.
[His smile, polite as ever, does look a bit tired and strained.]
Sorry. You weren't going to use this, were you?
It isn't as though some small, nearly-dead part of himself, a corpse of the past, wants to ever fit in, or anything.
But with every attempt, he comes away disappointed and more frustrated than before. A rave is one particular example of the farcical nature of human everything that rankles him, the very apotheosis of why he avoids such gatherings in the first place. Strangers, seeking desperately some mindless escape from their everyday lives, losing themselves to music and drink. Making bad decisions in the dead hours of the night and early morning, only to wake up the next day and go back to pretending to be their normal selves. And maybe they'll come back a few nights later, and the cycle repeats. Over and over and over, amounting to nothing but wasted time and degrading bodies.
And yet there was something particularly odd about that place, too; a sort of calming, docile feeling that was difficult not to give into, but easily placed as not his own when he was stubborn enough to examine it inwardly. And all the more obvious as soon as he stepped out, his own feelings of discontent washing over him again, and Henry rather decided that he hated it.
So, fast forward a few minutes later, and he is crushing a dumpster behind the rave into a wrinkled, groaning crumple of metal for all of the reasons above and then some. But it goes to figure that he'd be interrupted, and when he hears a voice, vaguely familiar, he drops his hand and turns to face Fern.]
Oh... hello.
[His smile, polite as ever, does look a bit tired and strained.]
Sorry. You weren't going to use this, were you?
( seeing him look over the pages, properly pleased for it, makes wanda feel good about this last minute decision to find a book about spiders for him. she had been initially guarded about this tangled connection between the two, but she's quickly become fond of the familiarity it has brought for her.
to get to be herself without worrying about keeping secrets. )
I'm glad you like it.
( he'll be able to tell, the 'warm' feeling entangled in her essence, at his words. )
You are going to have to tell me which ones are your top five favorites once you've gone through it. Deal?
to get to be herself without worrying about keeping secrets. )
I'm glad you like it.
( he'll be able to tell, the 'warm' feeling entangled in her essence, at his words. )
You are going to have to tell me which ones are your top five favorites once you've gone through it. Deal?
[ If there's one thing these two can agree on, it's that they're not fond of being made to feel emotions other than their own. Fern's become good at tamping down on her emotions despite the fact that shifters are known for feeling everything quite strongly, and that's reason enough to not like when her perception of what she's feeling is disrupted.
Especially when there's no explanation for why the rave made her feel that way. She hadn't eaten or drank anything in there, nor had she noted any sort of smoke or gas...
Briefly, she wonders if this man before her with his ability to apparently crush metal with his mind might have some idea. Although the fact that he's out here venting out his frustrations certainly tells a story, as well. The way that he tries to greet her with a smile in spite of everything is almost comical, and Fern raises an eyebrow. ]
No, I just wanted some air.
[ She glances over her shoulder, back to the door she just left through. She can still make out the thumping baseline of the music and her lip curls into a scowl before she returns her attention back to her alleyway companion. ]
Were you in there too?
[ There's little other reason for why he would be out here, but he doesn't exactly look the type, either. ]
Especially when there's no explanation for why the rave made her feel that way. She hadn't eaten or drank anything in there, nor had she noted any sort of smoke or gas...
Briefly, she wonders if this man before her with his ability to apparently crush metal with his mind might have some idea. Although the fact that he's out here venting out his frustrations certainly tells a story, as well. The way that he tries to greet her with a smile in spite of everything is almost comical, and Fern raises an eyebrow. ]
No, I just wanted some air.
[ She glances over her shoulder, back to the door she just left through. She can still make out the thumping baseline of the music and her lip curls into a scowl before she returns her attention back to her alleyway companion. ]
Were you in there too?
[ There's little other reason for why he would be out here, but he doesn't exactly look the type, either. ]
Edited 2025-08-18 23:35 (UTC)
[She doesn't seem to mind the fact that he is turning a dumpster into a wad of useless metal, though Henry suspects that he should turn his attention properly to the conversation at hand. He steps closer to her so that they needn't make their voices carry to be heard down this back alleyway.]
I did.
[He looks back at the building behind her, thudding with base and the sound of people trying to enjoy themselves. And, unsurprisingly, the flicker of his polite smile falters for a moment. He feels that their disgust is shared to some degree.]
And I hated it. I might've hated it in normal circumstances, too, but... Did you notice? There's something in there that needles in, that tweaks the mind to feel more complacent.
[He scoffs.]
I don't like being treated that way by anyone.
I did.
[He looks back at the building behind her, thudding with base and the sound of people trying to enjoy themselves. And, unsurprisingly, the flicker of his polite smile falters for a moment. He feels that their disgust is shared to some degree.]
And I hated it. I might've hated it in normal circumstances, too, but... Did you notice? There's something in there that needles in, that tweaks the mind to feel more complacent.
[He scoffs.]
I don't like being treated that way by anyone.
( it doesn't surprise wanda all too much, that he has a top one spider, but the fact that he's able to find it so quickly tells her exactly of how henry has been navigating this entire interaction, learning about the book, its contents.
she glances at the page. )
Black widows? ( should he tell him— ) Why?
she glances at the page. )
Black widows? ( should he tell him— ) Why?
I like how they look.
[He keeps the page turned towards her, but even he knows this answer is not satisfactory enough. It even sounds a little childish, even if it's a good portion of the reason why.]
Elegant, deadly. Off-putting to most. Their very existence changes the ecosystem of where they reside... much like most spiders. But they're also shier than they seem.
[Hm. Relatable? Or at least, once upon a time, maybe.]
I used to keep many of these at home. My old home.
[He keeps the page turned towards her, but even he knows this answer is not satisfactory enough. It even sounds a little childish, even if it's a good portion of the reason why.]
Elegant, deadly. Off-putting to most. Their very existence changes the ecosystem of where they reside... much like most spiders. But they're also shier than they seem.
[Hm. Relatable? Or at least, once upon a time, maybe.]
I used to keep many of these at home. My old home.
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