[ The truth is, Fern would have wanted reach out to see how Henry was doing either way, so she doesn't think much of the urge she gets to text him. It's been about a week since their harrowing encounter with the serial killer, and the word is that it's been caught and locked away. How much they can trust that, she doesn't know.
But in theory, Henry should be doing better by now. Still, best to check. ]
Henry, this is Fern. How are you doing?
[ She hates typing, so he better appreciate this... ]
[There are not many people who text him lately. Or at all, the exception being the occasional check-in from Wanda. He half expects it to be her when his phone lights up, but when he picks up the device to see who it is, he cannot help but feel—
????
—to see the name "Fern" instead.
He, too, had wondered how she was doing. He was compelled more than once to send the first message asking where she was, or to send something completely unrelated that acted as a hello. But he chose not to. Decided whatever this was would go away; clearly he is just affected by their last encounter, how she saved him, helped him. He should feel indignant. A part of him does.
But the rest... he is strangely grateful, though he is chalking that up to this strange, alien feeling that almost feels binding.
[ When a response comes in so immediately, Fern feels something — relieved? pleased? like some sort of pressure has been eased? — that normally doesn't strike her when she receives a text message. Again, because of the typing, texts tend to annoy her more than anything else. It occurs to her that she could just call him, but that also feels like too much, somehow. So texting it is for now.
Maybe it's because she thought he might just ignore her. With his frustration at himself that night, that quietly-stewing anger that she's starting to realize is maybe even the norm for him, it would have been easy for him to write her off or ignore her.
Especially given the secret he shared.
The messages keep coming in before she has a chance to reply. ]
So it's getting better. That's good. Did you hear they caught the killer?
[Once again, she is correct: a phone call might have been too direct, might have made Henry never pick up on principle (and uncertainty) alone. His pride is still a factor in this equation, even if it is being overshadowed by the strange satisfaction he's received after hearing from her.]
I did. Though I wonder if they've caught all of it.
[She'd know what he means, of course. How can one be certain that they've caught its entirety, when it was a creature that could split itself off into different beings, different consciousnesses?]
But as always, the morbid fascinates the public. I heard people are paying for interviews about encounters with it.
[ A phone call might have been too direct for both of them. For now, even if typing out each message might be a pain, it's scratching whatever itch that she had just fine.
And... an itch is what she'd been feeling, she's now realizing as the relief has set in from receiving his replies. What that's all about, she can't quite say just yet. ]
I wonder the same. This doesn't seem like a creature you can just toss in a cell and be done with it.
[ But it seems like the strange killings have slowed down. ]
I also heard about that. I'm debating giving one myself, if they're that eager for information.
[Scratching an itch. Yes, that is exactly the best way to describe it.]
No, because if they plan on keeping it in a cell and nothing more, then that's their first mistake. They should kill what they do have of it. Set it on fire until there's nothing left.
[Maybe this is not exactly a reply that surprises Fern. The Skinner had done more than just attack Henry unprovoked, but committed an even worse crime: harming his pride.]
[ It's not as if Henry is wrong. When it comes to a creature like this, one that could find a way to keep crawling back, there does need to be some sort of definitive end.
But Fern does suspect that his own frustration at his lack of contribution when it attacked them is also playing a part here. It's almost like she can feel it herself: that wounded pride of his. ]
I would not say no to the joolies either. My motorcycle is almost paid off. But if we're right and the killer is going to crop up again, sharing information on how it functions might make a difference.
I've been working two jobs for some time, and I also try to go into the Fringes when I can to find materials to salvage for additional joolies on top of that.
I guess I can understand the want to be free of that, then. They say that debt is its own kind of cage.
[Perhaps that's the difference between them, though. Henry does not respect the debt he's been saddled with, so he probably makes whatever constitutes the minimum payments here and there. He doesn't even like his damn car.]
[ While it's hard to tell tone just from text like this, Fern suspects that Henry doesn't actually plan to one day become a hard worker. For all that he might not like to feel under another's control, it seems that he doesn't consider the debt to be a restraining force in the same way. ]
It certainly feels that way to me. Are you still doing art for businesses, or have you moved on to something else?
[He has problems with the straitjacket rules that bind society together. If money and debt and everything in between do not qualify as that, what possibly could?
Demoting them to a state of least importance to his life only exemplifies that — indeed, even his odd little jobs he's picked up here and there have only been for survival's sake, and she's right in assuming that he'll never become a hard worker in the nine-to-five kind of way.]
No. I've elevated myself to "please cover up the obscenities graffitied on the side of our building with a nice mural." It underpays for how much effort goes into it, but I survive.
[ ... ]
There's a cafe near the motel I'm staying at called The Mean Bean Machine. My last job was there. Have you seen it?
[ The concept of graffiti is not unknown to her, nor the desire for people to hide that it was ever there in the first place. Still, a mural does sound like a nicer thing to look at.
Most things underpay here, she might point out, but she's certain Henry's all too aware of that. ]
I know the place you mean, though I haven't driven by it recently. I'll have to stop in for a meal there and see what you painted.
[ She almost starts typing to ask if he'd like to meet her there. Adrian remains insistent that friends go out for coffee, even if their meeting with Lucina and Jason had been a minor disaster.
Is that what Henry is? A friend? He's someone she's been through something with. She catches herself, erases the message. ]
We can grab a bite there today if you want. I haven't had anything to eat yet.
[There is an irony here, about not wanting to be tethered, and yet feeling that way (if only faintly, and not unpleasantly) during this conversation is the only way he can really describe it.
Henry, it seems, is also not quick to label anyone a "friend", but is more apt to pursue what he wants, whatever that may be in the moment. If this is an itch that needs scratching, and maybe discussing, then maybe it'll also go away as quickly as it arrived.]
[ Fern blinks at her phone when that message comes in. She knows there is nothing that strange about the invitation, but the fact that he dragged her back before she pulled away, whether he knows he's doing it or not (does he?) gives her a moment of pause.
People ask acquaintances out to get a meal, sometimes. Eating together with someone you know is normal. Alucard's invited her before. It's nothing strange, but the way she immediately wants to agree is the exact reason that she briefly leaves him on read.
Briefly. Ten minutes, tops. Sorry, Henry. ]
Yes, that sounds good. I could eat.
[ And maybe face-to-face, she can determine if some of the strange things she's felt in the past week or so have also been happening to him. ]
[Not Henry Creel undergoing the real lived human experience of being left on read for the first time in his life.
But it's for a short ten minutes; not truly enough for a man like Henry to feel uncertain about his ask. And only enough room for the slightest tinge of disappointment that immediately washes away when his phone lights up with a reply.]
Okay.
[He is eager to speak about what's happening to him. Does she feel it?
(And—though he'd rather die than admit it—he is excited to show her his mural, too.)]
[ It's something that every person living in the world of cell phones has to learn to endure one day...
Half an hour seems rather fast, but Fern has no reason to push back the time, really. She works in the evenings and generally sets aside the early morning and midday for catching up on sleep or running errands.
So, guess this is happening. ]
I'll be there.
[ And so she arrives promptly to the cafe. Henry might spot her on her bike, the one she had to abandon at the haunted house during their last ordeal, as she cuts a quick corner in search of a parking spot. As she walks up a minute or so later, she's dressed appropriately for the weather, with layers, sturdy boots, a jacket, gloves, and a hood pulled up over her ears.
She waves at Henry as she approaches, taking care with her footing on the icy sidewalk, and then glances to find the mural she was told of. ]
[Henry doesn't take into account that she could be clear across the other end of the city. The cafe is close to where he's staying, so he doesn't need to drive; he just walks, and it takes him fifteen minutes to get there.
Which means he's waiting near the entrance when she arrives, hard to miss with her familiar motorcycle as she seeks parking. He, too, is dressed appropriately for the weather and radiates his usual prim, proper, and polite vibe. His hands are hidden in the pockets of his brown bomber jacket to keep warm.
Compared to how she saw him last, it's as though he's reset himself. No more (visible) anger, hair perfectly combed and coifed, and not a single drop of blood to be seen.]
Hi.
[He offers a smile. Warm, blooming satisfaction crawls inside every vein as she approaches, thanks to whatever the hell is happening to him, and he would curse the feeling were it not so grounding.]
If you're looking for my mural, it's around the other side of the building.
[ The jacket doesn't quite fit the image Fern's had of Henry based on how he's dressed every other time they've met, but with the snowfall and the colder temperature, everyone has to make do.
He does seem to be back to normal, for whatever that means for either of them. If he's still suffering the headaches and nosebleeds, they at least seem to be less frequent.
Does that mean he's learned his lesson? The truth he shared with her in the aftermath of their run-in with the Skinner is something she's still digesting. But for whatever he might feel beneath the surface, this seems to be the way he likes to present himself in public. (And she understands that — wanting to control how others view you.)
Either way, it is good to see him looking better, and even greeting her with a smile. A weight on her chest lifts, and for a moment her brow furrows with confusion, but it doesn't appear to be directed at him. ]
Hello, Henry. It's good to see you.
[ The words come out before she can think better of them, leaving her even more confused at herself. She clears her throat. ]
... Lead the way, then. [ She draws closer, ready to follow him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
late november; post midnight skinner event
But in theory, Henry should be doing better by now. Still, best to check. ]
Henry, this is Fern.
How are you doing?
[ She hates typing, so he better appreciate this... ]
no subject
????
—to see the name "Fern" instead.
He, too, had wondered how she was doing. He was compelled more than once to send the first message asking where she was, or to send something completely unrelated that acted as a hello. But he chose not to. Decided whatever this was would go away; clearly he is just affected by their last encounter, how she saved him, helped him. He should feel indignant. A part of him does.
But the rest... he is strangely grateful, though he is chalking that up to this strange, alien feeling that almost feels binding.
How quickly he taps out a reply is telling.]
I'm fine.
[Pause. Send.]
My head hurts a lot less than last time.
[Longer pause. Send.]
You?
no subject
Maybe it's because she thought he might just ignore her. With his frustration at himself that night, that quietly-stewing anger that she's starting to realize is maybe even the norm for him, it would have been easy for him to write her off or ignore her.
Especially given the secret he shared.
The messages keep coming in before she has a chance to reply. ]
So it's getting better.
That's good.
Did you hear they caught the killer?
no subject
I did. Though I wonder if they've caught all of it.
[She'd know what he means, of course. How can one be certain that they've caught its entirety, when it was a creature that could split itself off into different beings, different consciousnesses?]
But as always, the morbid fascinates the public. I heard people are paying for interviews about encounters with it.
no subject
And... an itch is what she'd been feeling, she's now realizing as the relief has set in from receiving his replies. What that's all about, she can't quite say just yet. ]
I wonder the same. This doesn't seem like a creature you can just toss in a cell and be done with it.
[ But it seems like the strange killings have slowed down. ]
I also heard about that. I'm debating giving one myself, if they're that eager for information.
no subject
No, because if they plan on keeping it in a cell and nothing more, then that's their first mistake. They should kill what they do have of it. Set it on fire until there's nothing left.
[Maybe this is not exactly a reply that surprises Fern. The Skinner had done more than just attack Henry unprovoked, but committed an even worse crime: harming his pride.]
And what, for the easy money?
no subject
But Fern does suspect that his own frustration at his lack of contribution when it attacked them is also playing a part here. It's almost like she can feel it herself: that wounded pride of his. ]
I would not say no to the joolies either. My motorcycle is almost paid off. But if we're right and the killer is going to crop up again, sharing information on how it functions might make a difference.
[ She is not a fan of senseless death, herself. ]
no subject
You're already almost done paying off your motorcycle?
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I've been working two jobs for some time, and I also try to go into the Fringes when I can to find materials to salvage for additional joolies on top of that.
[ THIS GIRL KNOWS HOW TO HUSTLE ]
no subject
Two jobs? Additional joolies by venturing into the Fringes? What the fuck!!]
Do you not like being in debt that badly, or something?
[debt can't hurt you if you can break your creditors' kneecaps with a single thought (taps temple)]
no subject
[ Not her area of murder, as it turns out. ]
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[Perhaps that's the difference between them, though. Henry does not respect the debt he's been saddled with, so he probably makes whatever constitutes the minimum payments here and there. He doesn't even like his damn car.]
Maybe someday I'll share your work ethic.
[probably never]
no subject
It certainly feels that way to me.
Are you still doing art for businesses, or have you moved on to something else?
no subject
Demoting them to a state of least importance to his life only exemplifies that — indeed, even his odd little jobs he's picked up here and there have only been for survival's sake, and she's right in assuming that he'll never become a hard worker in the nine-to-five kind of way.]
No. I've elevated myself to "please cover up the obscenities graffitied on the side of our building with a nice mural." It underpays for how much effort goes into it, but I survive.
[ ... ]
There's a cafe near the motel I'm staying at called The Mean Bean Machine. My last job was there. Have you seen it?
no subject
Most things underpay here, she might point out, but she's certain Henry's all too aware of that. ]
I know the place you mean, though I haven't driven by it recently. I'll have to stop in for a meal there and see what you painted.
[ She almost starts typing to ask if he'd like to meet her there. Adrian remains insistent that friends go out for coffee, even if their meeting with Lucina and Jason had been a minor disaster.
Is that what Henry is? A friend? He's someone she's been through something with. She catches herself, erases the message. ]
no subject
We can grab a bite there today if you want. I haven't had anything to eat yet.
[There is an irony here, about not wanting to be tethered, and yet feeling that way (if only faintly, and not unpleasantly) during this conversation is the only way he can really describe it.
Henry, it seems, is also not quick to label anyone a "friend", but is more apt to pursue what he wants, whatever that may be in the moment. If this is an itch that needs scratching, and maybe discussing, then maybe it'll also go away as quickly as it arrived.]
no subject
People ask acquaintances out to get a meal, sometimes. Eating together with someone you know is normal. Alucard's invited her before. It's nothing strange, but the way she immediately wants to agree is the exact reason that she briefly leaves him on read.
Briefly. Ten minutes, tops. Sorry, Henry. ]
Yes, that sounds good. I could eat.
[ And maybe face-to-face, she can determine if some of the strange things she's felt in the past week or so have also been happening to him. ]
no subject
But it's for a short ten minutes; not truly enough for a man like Henry to feel uncertain about his ask. And only enough room for the slightest tinge of disappointment that immediately washes away when his phone lights up with a reply.]
Okay.
[He is eager to speak about what's happening to him. Does she feel it?
(And—though he'd rather die than admit it—he is excited to show her his mural, too.)]
Meet you there in half an hour?
no subject
Half an hour seems rather fast, but Fern has no reason to push back the time, really. She works in the evenings and generally sets aside the early morning and midday for catching up on sleep or running errands.
So, guess this is happening. ]
I'll be there.
[ And so she arrives promptly to the cafe. Henry might spot her on her bike, the one she had to abandon at the haunted house during their last ordeal, as she cuts a quick corner in search of a parking spot. As she walks up a minute or so later, she's dressed appropriately for the weather, with layers, sturdy boots, a jacket, gloves, and a hood pulled up over her ears.
She waves at Henry as she approaches, taking care with her footing on the icy sidewalk, and then glances to find the mural she was told of. ]
no subject
Which means he's waiting near the entrance when she arrives, hard to miss with her familiar motorcycle as she seeks parking. He, too, is dressed appropriately for the weather and radiates his usual prim, proper, and polite vibe. His hands are hidden in the pockets of his brown bomber jacket to keep warm.
Compared to how she saw him last, it's as though he's reset himself. No more (visible) anger, hair perfectly combed and coifed, and not a single drop of blood to be seen.]
Hi.
[He offers a smile. Warm, blooming satisfaction crawls inside every vein as she approaches, thanks to whatever the hell is happening to him, and he would curse the feeling were it not so grounding.]
If you're looking for my mural, it's around the other side of the building.
no subject
He does seem to be back to normal, for whatever that means for either of them. If he's still suffering the headaches and nosebleeds, they at least seem to be less frequent.
Does that mean he's learned his lesson? The truth he shared with her in the aftermath of their run-in with the Skinner is something she's still digesting. But for whatever he might feel beneath the surface, this seems to be the way he likes to present himself in public. (And she understands that — wanting to control how others view you.)
Either way, it is good to see him looking better, and even greeting her with a smile. A weight on her chest lifts, and for a moment her brow furrows with confusion, but it doesn't appear to be directed at him. ]
Hello, Henry. It's good to see you.
[ The words come out before she can think better of them, leaving her even more confused at herself. She clears her throat. ]
... Lead the way, then. [ She draws closer, ready to follow him. ]