WHO: The Hargreeves + Guests WHERE: Various Cities WHEN: Month of September WHAT: Mass log of idiots to keep from flooding others. A log for all things Hargreeves, their Adventures, and those trying to befriend them. WARNINGS: Obligatory CW for: drugs, alcohol, mentions of death and child abuse.
Things had ended on an absolutely terrible note with Vanya the last time he'd reached out to her. It had been spectacularly bad enough that he'd pretty much outright avoided her entirely since then, save the mishap with the crystals early in August. They hadn't had a proper talk about it, and he'd mostly tried to just let her come to him whenever she wanted to talk to him. Which, looking back, was probably the worst idea, because when given a choice, Vanya will always choose the least confrontational option of outright avoidance.
Realizing it would be up to him if any further contact were to be made between them, he made his way to her residence in Maurtia Falls and tried to catch her at home. He had no luck, though, as it were.
He's trudging his way back toward the Porter station, feeling a little deflated, when he hears-- well, he's not sure what it is, if he's honest. It just sounds... bad. He frowns and cants his head a little to one side, straining to hear whatever it was he just heard and then he follows it.
Follows it right down the back alley of a suburb of the city. A scream. A cry for help. He isn't exactly dressed for it, only in street clothes and doesn't have any of his usual vigilante gear, but... Diego can't stop the draw toward helping someone who needs it.
Absolutely nothing on God's green Earth could have prepared Diego for what he finds when he slips into the backyard where the sounds are coming from. A lovely young couple, in their backyard, enjoying a little... ah... risque roleplay? Didn't even come up on the list of possibilities in his mind. The shriek from the woman when she spotted him was sharp and loud, and her husband wasn't any quieter about his own surprise-- though he was a bit more aggressive about it.
While her husband runs off the defend her honor at the creep sneaking around in their backyard, the woman dials the police, hysterically explaining that 'some pervert' broke into her back yard.
It is, in fact, one of Andy's least favorite things on God's green earth to get a call right at the end of her fucking shift. The torturously mundane day-to-day of being a police officer is something made bearable only by the fact that she spends almost every shift with her partner — a man whose special skills happen to include "making Andy's life more bearable." But Rex is up to his chin in paperwork (half Andy's fault, because she can never be bothered to do hers properly), and while it's probably against protocol for an officer to investigate a call alone, Andy does it anyway.
She pulls up to the house where the supposed "pervert" has broken in, then makes her way to the backyard with a distinct lack of urgency and a dwindling cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth. The ideal picture of protect and serve.
As she approaches, she calls out a bit flatly, "MFPD. Nobody do anything stupid. I don't get paid nearly enough to deal with stupid."
"You have one (1) new message. Today: Saturday, September 14th, at: Eleven. Thirty-six. P-M."
[....He got arrested. He got arrested for a really dumb reason.
Diego is not proud of it at all, but... it is what it is. He's definitely worse run-ins with cops, for far heavier charges in the past, but... none of them were ever quite this....embarrassing to admit to. Maybe he won't have to explain it in too much detail. Right now, all he needs is bail money and a ride home.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings and rings and rings.
Until.......
The answering machine picks up to Klaus' over-hyper voice:
"Thank you for calling Hargreeves, Hargreeves, Hargreeves, Hargreeves, and Hargreeves. Leave a message with which Hargreeves you're seeking at the beep!"
The first sound on the machine is a long-suffering, annoyed groan, and then an equally-annoyed and clipped-voiced Diego:]
Goddammit! How is EVERYONE out of the house right now?! Somebody get bail money and come pick me up at the Maurtia Falls police department.
[And then a loud clamoring sound signals the end of the call.
You better believe he all but threw the receiver down, bucko.]
{Would you bail me out if I need it? » Hargreeves » mid-morning 9/18 » MFPD
Diego has been waiting for what feels like ages for some indication that he would be released. Of course he knows the basics. He's been here, done this more than once. He knew the process, but it doesn't make it any easier. Especially because he has no clue where his siblings are, or if they can even get the money together for bail. He hopes they can.
He tries not to let it grate under his skin too much. It's not like they can call him and let him know they're working on it. Come to think of it-- they probably can't do anything until maybe Monday anyway. That's what he gets for getting booked in on a weekend. He groans from his place on the bottom bunk in the cell he's in, and thanks whatever Deity might decide to listen at the moment that he's alone.
So... he sleeps. Because there's nothing else to do until he's told to get a move on, someone's paid him out.
He's processed out around mid-morning a few days later, greeting whichever band of siblings decided to come along for the occasion with an annoyed huff, arms crossed over his chest, and a quietly mumbled, "'Bout damn time."
She didn't. Not even once. Okay. Once. But not to actually leave him there.
Simple because it was annoying as all hell to be anyone's bankroll, especially when her finances were already set up to be able to handle everything already needed by their family. Not her idiot brother throwing himself into a jail cell. Again. Like always happened. Except for this time, he actually happened to be in her life doing it, effecting her directly, instead of just getting thrown at her in the middle of some tv interview.
Out of the two of them, Klaus is probably a lot more cavalier about meeting a stranger from the Network. In truth, it's become something of a common occurrence, and he's made more new acquaintances in those few months than he ever did back home.
Well. Okay. He met strangers back home, but not really to do stuff like look for a job...
After leaving the Porter in Jeopardy, he looks around, then checks his device, sending her a quick message.
And in the distance, a woman waiting by the Porter with arms crossed straightens, checks her communicator, and starts briskly walking closer.
Straight ahead.
Because she's been keeping an eye on the people streaming in through the Porter on their way home from the Friday commute, and she'd recognised the man from his video.
When Anathema walks up to him, she's perhaps a little taller than expected — five-foot-seven, a bit higher in her sensible booted heels — and has a tendency to look up and meet people's eye a bit longer and more directly than a stranger typically might. (In the meantime, she's actually concentrating on his aura, until she can pick out that blur of violet from the rest of the crowd and the usual Jeopardy haze. It's an automatic instinct, a tic, gathering that extra information about the people she meets. Taking his ethereal pulse.)
"Evening, stranger." A flash of teeth in a smile. "Klaus Hargreeves, you said?"
It's been some time since he saw Vanya, and he wants to reach out. So he figures, you know, maybe he can ask her for coffee.
It's hard, reaching out, and they left things kind of awkwardly with him getting completely wasted and babbling about her love life and his, but he figures now as good a time as any to try and bridge the gap.
This makes three of them now. It's easier with Allison, hands down, even if sometimes their meet ups can turn sour. At least they mostly go for alcohol instead of coffee, and hell if that doesn't make it just a little easier.
But lunch with Diego was an absolute disaster, and the last time she spent time with Klaus that wasn't influenced by a space rock was...not fantastic. Though she still has the chocolate bar, hidden away in a drawer rather than stashed in the shared fridge. She has no idea if Constantine's ingredients smell, but she doesn't want to find out if there's any kind of scent transfer.
Anyway.
Like the other times one of them has texted, she's tempted to ignore it entirely. She could just claim she accidentally marked it as read and then forgot, if he ever asks about it. Maybe he'd take the hint.
Then again it's Klaus, so that's not likely.
Is something wrong?
Because of course, she still assumes that something has happened when they reach out.
I don't remember the last time I even bothered celebrating it, honestly.
[He can only imagine the ways Klaus used it as an excuse for harder partying through the years-- that's what people did, right? Your birthday us an excuse to get stupid, and no one can blame you for it.]
I planned, or oversaw the planning of, Claire's every year, and I've had a few good ones. If you want help with getting the all the details in line for it, I'd be glad to help.
I've been thinking about it and I might try to become a cop here.
What do you guys think?
[He has about a million reservations about the whole thing, if he's completely honest. Which is probably why he even feels the need to say anything to any of them, instead of just doing it. Ever since that conversation with Chloe about the whole thing... it's really stuck in his mind.]
[ He wants to be happy for Diego — mostly because it's another small sign of his brother accepting this world, sinking his teeth in, putting down roots in a way some of them have been resisting so far — but. But, but. It ricochets Luther's thoughts skidding back to thirteen years ago, to the last time this happened.
When Diego had left home to do this very thing, pursue this same goal. With no forewarning, that time. Throwing his lot in with the police, and a different team than the Academy. Abandoning it. (Leaving him.)
Luther can't help that immediate instinctive irrational sting upon reading it. ]
After a long conversation yesterday, Ben offered to help teach Rikki some simple self defense. After all, it's handy, especially if things go pearshaped in one of the cities.
Ben had picked Rikki up via the motorcycle and drove them to Nonah, where the ridiculously large house his siblings had was. he had warned her before hand that it was a bit place, but even a warning can't prepare you for the size and set up.
Parking his bike near the front he waited for Rikki to get off first before getting off and hanging his helmet on the handlebars. "Seriously, I don't know how we afford this place, but it just gets more extravagant once inside. It's bare bones, too, because no one has bothered to buy much yet, but the gym came fully functional, and I think it'll be good for a private lesson." better than doing it at a normal gym and being watched, right.
He headed for the front door as he spoke, assuming she'd follow.
While Ben had warned her that the Hargreeves home would be "huge," she hadn't actually expected what she saw looming in front of her when she let go of Ben to climb off the bike, taking her helmet off. "Oh my God, Ben...what are you still doing in Jeopardy? Look at this place!" she breathed. It looked like a bloody castle or something. It made her feel very, very small.
Rikki followed him to the front door. She hoped that she was dressed appropriately for a lesson. Rikki wore a pair of leggings and a plain sports bra beneath a tank top and she hoped that having her hair tied back in a single ponytail rather than her typical pigtails would suffice.
Walking into the house, Rikki could barely contain her awe. This place was incredible. Every step echoed.
"This place is beautiful..." she practically whispered as she followed him through.
Diego has been a little all over the map in where he is trying to stand in the life he's got no choice but to build while he's stuck in this world. From debating the idea of trying to join the police force here to ending up arrested for bad decisions, September has been... a weird month.
Not weird enough, it seems, to completely deter him from his usual, vigilante activities, however. As proven by the familiar all-black outfit, vest fitted with more knives than anyone could count, and the mask he's sliding in place. Maybe this is a bad plan. He is, after all, only out on bail. Still has a court date to attend in the coming weeks. Maybe he shouldn't push his luck. But Diego doesn't really know how to do things softly, easily, or subtly.
He's all set to slip out the backdoor unnoticed until--
—until a step on the floor, a silhouette filling the doorway, behind Diego's back where he's working on the backdoor out to the garden.
Luther isn't exactly made for light and discreet stealth, even less so since his change, but this house isn't the aged creaking weathered thing that the old Hargreeves manor was. It's new enough that its floorboards don't whine with each step, announcing the passage of each family member.
And here's Diego, and there's that familiar black outfit: laughable only for how it had reminded Luther of an Academy knock-off, a discount version of what Reginald had fitted them with.
He clears his throat. "What do you think you're doing?"
It's become something of a familiar sight and habit by now: the two of them holed up in the basement den, quietly puttering around on their various errands, whiling away an evening. It's reminiscent of how they used to spend those precious half-hours of rare leisure, all those years ago: Allison settled on the sofa, one leg curled under her, flipping through a magazine, and ordinarily Luther would read a book, or work on a model plane.
But tonight, he's restless. Unlike his usual laser-focus, he can't seem to concentrate: the man keeps putting down what he's working on, picking up something else, inadvertently pacing the room. Going from aimlessly scrolling through his communicator, to glancing at Allison, to walking over to their built-in bar and pouring himself a drink, perhaps just to have something to do with his hands, asking her if she wants one, then wandering back. Normally Luther is all patient stillness, but now he's like a dog walking in uneasy circles, trying to get comfortable.
He eventually forces himself back onto the sofa, opens up his book again (The Once and Future King). Looks blankly at the pages.
“The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.”
He's been staring at that one paragraph for a while, now, his attention wandering again and not turning the page.
They've been here awhile. Long enough, Luther would have usually settled by now. Except that's backward.
It's usually Luther who is the calming, steady, unmovable one of them in here, while she drops on a couch and waits for the tension of the day to drain away. Takes a book and a drink, or a pillow, hugging it to her middle, and just stares at the ceiling, feeling more like the child she hasn't been in years at times. Talks to him and the ceiling, in a way she never does to anyone else. Never speaks just to let herself talk, except here. The constant voices that tell her what to do, where to go, when to stand, sit, what to wear, the next location, that will need x number of days away, that's being used because it won't affect her or her look due this new power.
But somehow they've reversed their roles. It's been a quiet week for her, between short shoots in town and bouncing ideas of Klaus for the first Hargreeves Birthday party ever. Yet Luther can't sit still. He stands. He moves. He settles. He putters. He stands. Moves. Settles. Focuses. But doesn't. Doesn't focus. Doesn't. She can tell that in just the barest glances she's thrown his way over his magazine, or while taking a sip of her drink. She'd know that just from the movement. From the tense set of his shoulders.
But it's not that simple anymore.
It keeps twisting in the center of her, like a top winding and unwinding and rewinding again, somewhere between her spine and her stomach. This knot of tension, that unwinds only to snap tight. And while she might have once been the best person to understand sometimes Luther needed to work things out himself, if he wasn't ready to talk, especially if he wasn't ready to talk but still wanted to hover somewhere nearby -- this is so new. And almost a little painful. This powers that slides it under her skin. Definitely uncomfortable, because it drags her attention in a snap each time, disjointing all the articles she tries to focus on, even if she's learning it enough not to flinch or wince now.
But new is, also, Luther's reticence for it. For speaking his mind, even in private, even when everything about him screams something needs out. A very new, very different silence pervades him at times. Like a bubble that almost can't be punctured except very carefully, and very slowly, and sometimes not at all, until he's ready to step outside of it. A wall that he can sometimes be coaxed out from behind, and other's, that even though he wants, even though she can read so much on his face, stays there behind it.
The methodical way he finds his way to his words that sometimes seem foreign, as though under all the ability to still deliver orders and give opinions on a moment's noticed when needed, those words have also become something of a language he isn't quite fluent in anymore.
Which means that sometimes it needs even more time than ever before.
But she isn't who she was before either, and she can only begin to grasp in the tip of her fingers what the last few years might have done or left fingerprinted, and dented, into who Luther had been before them, too. Their father's lies. The moon. All the years still there, after they'd left. A decade and more's changes.
Still, eventually, it means, she writes, without looking up, in case she's really not supposed to be noticing what she can't miss,
[ It's something he's been working on for days. Weeks, even. Trying to get his powers to work on command instead of the heat of the moment. And finally- finally- he has it figured out. So he sets up the video to record the full of the room, with him in the middle. ]
Okay, okay, so, my dear family, I have an announcement!
[ He makes a small fanfare as he poses, trying to look triumphant. ]
I have a new power!
And what is it, might you ask? Well, let me demonstrate.
[ He stands to the side of the frame, reaching out with one hand to where he's set up a stack of books. Slowly, he concentrates, reaching out and pulling at the book as if it's on an invisible string-
Until it speeds across the room and smacks him square in the face with a solid "THWACK" and he starts swearing, stumbling off camera with a pained yelp. ]
Edited (forgot a sentence at the end oops) 2019-09-24 21:29 (UTC)
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maskormenacelogs2019-09-12 12:34 pm
{I could be arrested for the way I'm moving » closed to Andy » after dark 9/14
Realizing it would be up to him if any further contact were to be made between them, he made his way to her residence in Maurtia Falls and tried to catch her at home. He had no luck, though, as it were.
He's trudging his way back toward the Porter station, feeling a little deflated, when he hears-- well, he's not sure what it is, if he's honest. It just sounds... bad. He frowns and cants his head a little to one side, straining to hear whatever it was he just heard and then he follows it.
Follows it right down the back alley of a suburb of the city. A scream. A cry for help. He isn't exactly dressed for it, only in street clothes and doesn't have any of his usual vigilante gear, but... Diego can't stop the draw toward helping someone who needs it.
Absolutely nothing on God's green Earth could have prepared Diego for what he finds when he slips into the backyard where the sounds are coming from. A lovely young couple, in their backyard, enjoying a little... ah... risque roleplay? Didn't even come up on the list of possibilities in his mind. The shriek from the woman when she spotted him was sharp and loud, and her husband wasn't any quieter about his own surprise-- though he was a bit more aggressive about it.
While her husband runs off the defend her honor at the creep sneaking around in their backyard, the woman dials the police, hysterically explaining that 'some pervert' broke into her back yard.
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She pulls up to the house where the supposed "pervert" has broken in, then makes her way to the backyard with a distinct lack of urgency and a dwindling cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth. The ideal picture of protect and serve.
As she approaches, she calls out a bit flatly, "MFPD. Nobody do anything stupid. I don't get paid nearly enough to deal with stupid."
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{Pick up, pick up the damn phone! » Hargreeves House Answering Machine » 9/14 @ 11:36pm
[....He got arrested.
He got arrested for a really dumb reason.
Diego is not proud of it at all, but... it is what it is. He's definitely worse run-ins with cops, for far heavier charges in the past, but... none of them were ever quite this....embarrassing to admit to. Maybe he won't have to explain it in too much detail. Right now, all he needs is bail money and a ride home.
The phone rings.
And rings.
And rings and rings and rings.
Until.......
The answering machine picks up to Klaus' over-hyper voice:
"Thank you for calling Hargreeves, Hargreeves, Hargreeves, Hargreeves, and Hargreeves. Leave a message with which Hargreeves you're seeking at the beep!"
The first sound on the machine is a long-suffering, annoyed groan, and then an equally-annoyed and clipped-voiced Diego:]
Goddammit! How is EVERYONE out of the house right now?! Somebody get bail money and come pick me up at the Maurtia Falls police department.
[And then a loud clamoring sound signals the end of the call.
You better believe he all but threw the receiver down, bucko.]
{Would you bail me out if I need it? » Hargreeves » mid-morning 9/18 » MFPD
He tries not to let it grate under his skin too much. It's not like they can call him and let him know they're working on it. Come to think of it-- they probably can't do anything until maybe Monday anyway. That's what he gets for getting booked in on a weekend. He groans from his place on the bottom bunk in the cell he's in, and thanks whatever Deity might decide to listen at the moment that he's alone.
So... he sleeps. Because there's nothing else to do until he's told to get a move on, someone's paid him out.
He's processed out around mid-morning a few days later, greeting whichever band of siblings decided to come along for the occasion with an annoyed huff, arms crossed over his chest, and a quietly mumbled, "'Bout damn time."
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I voted for leaving you here a few more days.
She didn't. Not even once. Okay. Once.
But not to actually leave him there.
Simple because it was annoying as all hell to be anyone's bankroll, especially when her finances were already set up to be able to handle everything already needed by their family. Not her idiot brother throwing himself into a jail cell. Again. Like always happened. Except for this time, he actually happened to be in her life doing it, effecting her directly, instead of just getting thrown at her in the middle of some tv interview.
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🔮 Strange Things Did Happen Here » Closed to Anathema » Jeopardy, 9/13
Well. Okay. He met strangers back home, but not really to do stuff like look for a job...
After leaving the Porter in Jeopardy, he looks around, then checks his device, sending her a quick message.
i'm here, where are u?
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Straight ahead.
Because she's been keeping an eye on the people streaming in through the Porter on their way home from the Friday commute, and she'd recognised the man from his video.
When Anathema walks up to him, she's perhaps a little taller than expected — five-foot-seven, a bit higher in her sensible booted heels — and has a tendency to look up and meet people's eye a bit longer and more directly than a stranger typically might. (In the meantime, she's actually concentrating on his aura, until she can pick out that blur of violet from the rest of the crowd and the usual Jeopardy haze. It's an automatic instinct, a tic, gathering that extra information about the people she meets. Taking his ethereal pulse.)
"Evening, stranger." A flash of teeth in a smile. "Klaus Hargreeves, you said?"
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☕Things are shaping up to be pretty odd » close to Vanya » 9/6
So he figures, you know, maybe he can ask her for coffee.
It's hard, reaching out, and they left things kind of awkwardly with him getting completely wasted and babbling about her love life and his, but he figures now as good a time as any to try and bridge the gap.
hey vans
u free for coffee today?
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But lunch with Diego was an absolute disaster, and the last time she spent time with Klaus that wasn't influenced by a space rock was...not fantastic. Though she still has the chocolate bar, hidden away in a drawer rather than stashed in the shared fridge. She has no idea if Constantine's ingredients smell, but she doesn't want to find out if there's any kind of scent transfer.
Anyway.
Like the other times one of them has texted, she's tempted to ignore it entirely. She could just claim she accidentally marked it as read and then forgot, if he ever asks about it. Maybe he'd take the hint.
Then again it's Klaus, so that's not likely.
Is something wrong?
Because of course, she still assumes that something has happened when they reach out.
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Family Text » 9/20
it’s been a while since we were all together
we should celebrate our birthday with a big party
you know all six of us and our new friends?
what do you guys think?
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[He can only imagine the ways Klaus used it as an excuse for harder partying through the years-- that's what people did, right? Your birthday us an excuse to get stupid, and no one can blame you for it.]
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I planned, or oversaw the planning of, Claire's every year, and I've had a few good ones.
If you want help with getting the all the details in line for it, I'd be glad to help.
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[ Despite the fact that it's text, they can all just hear Luther's flat, questioning tone. ]
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thanks to the ever lovely rogue, we officially have cake
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backdated 9/3 » Family texts
What do you guys think?
[He has about a million reservations about the whole thing, if he's completely honest. Which is probably why he even feels the need to say anything to any of them, instead of just doing it. Ever since that conversation with Chloe about the whole thing... it's really stuck in his mind.]
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When Diego had left home to do this very thing, pursue this same goal. With no forewarning, that time. Throwing his lot in with the police, and a different team than the Academy. Abandoning it. (Leaving him.)
Luther can't help that immediate instinctive irrational sting upon reading it. ]
Which city?
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Self Defense training in the Gym » Rikki & Ben » open to others to drop in » 9/21
Ben had picked Rikki up via the motorcycle and drove them to Nonah, where the ridiculously large house his siblings had was. he had warned her before hand that it was a bit place, but even a warning can't prepare you for the size and set up.
Parking his bike near the front he waited for Rikki to get off first before getting off and hanging his helmet on the handlebars. "Seriously, I don't know how we afford this place, but it just gets more extravagant once inside. It's bare bones, too, because no one has bothered to buy much yet, but the gym came fully functional, and I think it'll be good for a private lesson." better than doing it at a normal gym and being watched, right.
He headed for the front door as he spoke, assuming she'd follow.
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Rikki followed him to the front door. She hoped that she was dressed appropriately for a lesson. Rikki wore a pair of leggings and a plain sports bra beneath a tank top and she hoped that having her hair tied back in a single ponytail rather than her typical pigtails would suffice.
Walking into the house, Rikki could barely contain her awe. This place was incredible. Every step echoed.
"This place is beautiful..." she practically whispered as she followed him through.
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{Caught in the act » Luther » Hargreeves house in Nonah » late night 9/23
Not weird enough, it seems, to completely deter him from his usual, vigilante activities, however. As proven by the familiar all-black outfit, vest fitted with more knives than anyone could count, and the mask he's sliding in place. Maybe this is a bad plan. He is, after all, only out on bail. Still has a court date to attend in the coming weeks. Maybe he shouldn't push his luck. But Diego doesn't really know how to do things softly, easily, or subtly.
He's all set to slip out the backdoor unnoticed until--
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Luther isn't exactly made for light and discreet stealth, even less so since his change, but this house isn't the aged creaking weathered thing that the old Hargreeves manor was. It's new enough that its floorboards don't whine with each step, announcing the passage of each family member.
And here's Diego, and there's that familiar black outfit: laughable only for how it had reminded Luther of an Academy knock-off, a discount version of what Reginald had fitted them with.
He clears his throat. "What do you think you're doing?"
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Nothing is a waste if you learn from it » Allison » Hargreeves house in Nonah » mid-September
But tonight, he's restless. Unlike his usual laser-focus, he can't seem to concentrate: the man keeps putting down what he's working on, picking up something else, inadvertently pacing the room. Going from aimlessly scrolling through his communicator, to glancing at Allison, to walking over to their built-in bar and pouring himself a drink, perhaps just to have something to do with his hands, asking her if she wants one, then wandering back. Normally Luther is all patient stillness, but now he's like a dog walking in uneasy circles, trying to get comfortable.
He eventually forces himself back onto the sofa, opens up his book again (The Once and Future King). Looks blankly at the pages.
He's been staring at that one paragraph for a while, now, his attention wandering again and not turning the page.
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It's usually Luther who is the calming, steady, unmovable one of them in here, while she drops on a couch and waits for the tension of the day to drain away. Takes a book and a drink, or a pillow, hugging it to her middle, and just stares at the ceiling, feeling more like the child she hasn't been in years at times. Talks to him and the ceiling, in a way she never does to anyone else. Never speaks just to let herself talk, except here. The constant voices that tell her what to do, where to go, when to stand, sit, what to wear, the next location, that will need x number of days away, that's being used because it won't affect her or her look due this new power.
But somehow they've reversed their roles. It's been a quiet week for her, between short shoots in town and bouncing ideas of Klaus for the first Hargreeves Birthday party ever. Yet Luther can't sit still. He stands. He moves. He settles. He putters. He stands. Moves. Settles. Focuses. But doesn't. Doesn't focus. Doesn't. She can tell that in just the barest glances she's thrown his way over his magazine, or while taking a sip of her drink. She'd know that just from the movement. From the tense set of his shoulders.
But it's not that simple anymore.
It keeps twisting in the center of her, like a top winding and unwinding and rewinding again, somewhere between her spine and her stomach. This knot of tension, that unwinds only to snap tight. And while she might have once been the best person to understand sometimes Luther needed to work things out himself, if he wasn't ready to talk, especially if he wasn't ready to talk but still wanted to hover somewhere nearby -- this is so new. And almost a little painful. This powers that slides it under her skin. Definitely uncomfortable, because it drags her attention in a snap each time, disjointing all the articles she tries to focus on, even if she's learning it enough not to flinch or wince now.
But new is, also, Luther's reticence for it. For speaking his mind, even in private, even when everything about him screams something needs out. A very new, very different silence pervades him at times. Like a bubble that almost can't be punctured except very carefully, and very slowly, and sometimes not at all, until he's ready to step outside of it. A wall that he can sometimes be coaxed out from behind, and other's, that even though he wants, even though she can read so much on his face, stays there behind it.
The methodical way he finds his way to his words that sometimes seem foreign, as though under all the ability to still deliver orders and give opinions on a moment's noticed when needed, those words have also become something of a language he isn't quite fluent in anymore.
Which means that sometimes it needs even more time than ever before.
But she isn't who she was before either, and she can only begin to grasp in the tip of her fingers what the last few years might have done or left fingerprinted, and dented, into who Luther had been before them, too. Their father's lies. The moon. All the years still there, after they'd left. A decade and more's changes.
Still, eventually, it means, she writes, without looking up,
in case she's really not supposed to be noticing what she can't miss,
You're making it hard to focus.
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family video; » 9/24
Okay, okay, so, my dear family, I have an announcement!
[ He makes a small fanfare as he poses, trying to look triumphant. ]
I have a new power!
And what is it, might you ask? Well, let me demonstrate.
[ He stands to the side of the frame, reaching out with one hand to where he's set up a stack of books. Slowly, he concentrates, reaching out and pulling at the book as if it's on an invisible string-
Until it speeds across the room and smacks him square in the face with a solid "THWACK" and he starts swearing, stumbling off camera with a pained yelp. ]
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You okay over there?
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