Sunlight filters in through a grimy window, dappling the floor of a room in utter disarray. Boxes dot the floor, half-filled and catawampus, sharpied labels rendered illegible by the fog of memory. It feels like there can’t possibly be anything left to rip off these walls, but there’s still so much to pack.
From the bed, stripped of its sheets and cluttered with unsorted clothes, the young man runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching on that mess of blond curls. Everything here in this bedroom turns his stomach, kicking up emotions he’s too young to manage and too scared to face. His wand on the dresser, his Walkman on the floor, the no-maj coins in a mason jar — all reminders of things they’d done, places they’d gone, and where they were going now.
Footsteps on the landing outside catch the young man’s attention. He sits up straight and swipes an arm across his face before the door can creak open.
“Hey Bryce, sweetie.” Bryce Qualls doesn’t look up quite yet, his throat aching at the prospect of looking his mother in the eye right now. “Bruno said he can take a load up right now if you’ve got any boxes ready.”
“Oh, um, hang on a second.” Bryce grabs a pile of clothes off the bed, unfolded and probably dirty, and tosses them in the nearest box. “If you wanna take this one, I’ve got like three or four more I can bring down in a minute.”
Marilynn Qualls, a soft, sweet, blonde woman, pushes the door open the rest of the way and enters. There’s a wand in the pocket of her apron, but she doesn’t use it. Instead, she drops to her knees without a word, picks up the tape gun and stretches it across the cardboard lid.
“Mom, don’t worry about it, I can just—” Marilynn puts a hand up, not forceful in any way, and Bryce’s words stop in their tracks. His mother might technically be a muggle, but she always seemed to work her own form of magic with her boys.
“Just a little more effort and I think this works just fine,” she answers over the groan of the tape gun. “It’s kind of nice to do things with your own hands sometimes, you know? And depending on how long we stay in this new place, you might have to get used to it.”
Bryce nods, and he looks away from his mother again. “How far away is it again?”
“Not that far, rea—” The rest of Marilynn’s words are drowned out by the sound of a car horn, blaring through Bryce’s bedroom window. Bryce jumps and reaches for the curtain, and everything stops what it’s doing — including, thankfully, the car horn.
"This is," Winter isn't so well versed in Peckenpaugh lore that she knows what she's stepped into right off the bat, but she can guess. The name Bryce, the familiar blonde curls, that face that vaguely matches the Muggle Studies teacher, all puzzle pieces that fit loosely together.
She'd left her own home once, though she'd done it because, well, her little family had just fallen apart. Not in the way the Quallses had, though. She moves through the room, stopping to touch the tape dispenser on her way to the window to peek outside. "This is one of Mr. Qualls's kids, right?"
"And his wife." Thus far, Presley has only felt discomfort over being in the memories of someone he knows well. Hypocrisy, maybe, but he doesn't know Bryce Qualls and his mother, and they don't know him, so these invasive peeks can just be forgotten forever once they find the linchpin.
Although, hasn't part of the problem been "forgetting forever"? "If his memory is here, does that mean he's also...?" Presley lets the question hang in the air, and turns to check the objects on the dresser. Touching Bryce's wand reminds Presley of his own, still lost god-knows-where. That wand was the last thing that Presley's father had left him. Of course, his father isn't dead. Probably. Who knows. Who cares.
Domestic scenes seem particularly intrusive to Ramona, although all the non-Muscheron memories she's walked through today have seemed to her to be suffused with sadness. It doesn't seem right to linger in them longer than she needs to.
"Let's just find the linchpin and go," she suggests instead of answering Presley's half-asked question. Her attention is more immediately drawn to the tape gun, and she carefully crosses the room to take it from Marilynn's hand.
Out the window, Winter spots a Camaro sitting silent on the sloping cobblestone streets of Elflock Falls' residential hillside. The boat of a car is almost too wide for the narrow old road. From up here, the winding Greentooth River is visible, the heart of town resting on its banks. There's scaffolding around several buildings, including the city hall.
Inside, Presley's hand passes over the items laid out on the dresser. The wand remains inert, but that jar of muggle change shimmers gold. The linchpin.
Ramona can easily free the tape gun from Marilynn's grip, but when she does something nearby makes a noise. A chitter, or a click, so soft it's hard to tell if it's just the sound of settling or something alive.
Either way, it's not a sound they should be hearing if the memory's frozen.
Winter pivots away from the window, ears primed by now for any sort of quiet noise. "Did you h—"
The linchpin is glowing, now. They've found it, but the memory's not moving. Winter wanders carefully over to Presley, half expecting something to drop out of the ceiling or burst from a closet if she moves too noisily. She pokes the change jar. This isn't the first linchpin she's seen, but it's the first one that didn't solve the problem of being stuck. Of course it wouldn't be as simple as get and go in a memory as delicate as this one. "Why isn't it—Okay. Maybe...something in here's w-wrong and we have to...correct it?"
"Yet another prom party game," Presley says with a sigh. "You know, I was just in one where we all had to bleed onto paper to make a symbol. If all of this doesn't lead to us finishing a horrible cult rite, it'll be a miracle." He rolls the glowing change jar in his hand, wondering if it's another placement puzzle like the tarot cards in Wyatt's memory, but nothing obvious stands out. The only unfinished task he sees here is packing boxes, and he's not about to do Bryce's job for him.
He looks from Winter to Ramona (now holding the tape gun, if they honestly have to start packing boxes, he's going to scream), and back again. "Did you see anything outside?"
They don't have to pack his boxes for him, but things jolt forward eventually.
“Sorry! Sorry!” Bruno Ellerby shouts from the street, waving apologetically up at the window as he tries to climb out of a cramped Camaro. Behind him, Bryce can hear a gentle exhale. The closest thing to a laugh he’s heard from his mother in weeks.
“I’m not taking you away from them,” Marilynn continues as the sound of the horn continues to echo through the neighborhood. “I still love this town, I still want you to go to Peckenpaugh.”
“What if I don’t want to come back? You get to bail, why can’t I just go to Ilvermorny or something? Just,” he throws his hands up in a frustrated shrug, “leave all this shit behind?”
Marilynn doesn’t answer right away. She climbs to her feet, hefting the box up with a surprising strength. Then again, Marilynn Swint Qualls has always surprised people with her strength. “I don’t think you can, honey,” she answers, finally, as she moves to the door. “This holler is in your blood, and your blood is in this holler. It’ll call you back.”
Bryce doesn’t say anything. His mother clearly doesn’t expect him to. She takes the box out into the hall, but for everyone else it’s an exit to 2020.
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peckenpaugh2020-06-01 11:18 am
MEMORY: Moving Out But Not On
[CRITERIA: Defeat NPC]
[METAPLOT]
Sunlight filters in through a grimy window, dappling the floor of a room in utter disarray. Boxes dot the floor, half-filled and catawampus, sharpied labels rendered illegible by the fog of memory. It feels like there can’t possibly be anything left to rip off these walls, but there’s still so much to pack.
From the bed, stripped of its sheets and cluttered with unsorted clothes, the young man runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching on that mess of blond curls. Everything here in this bedroom turns his stomach, kicking up emotions he’s too young to manage and too scared to face. His wand on the dresser, his Walkman on the floor, the no-maj coins in a mason jar — all reminders of things they’d done, places they’d gone, and where they were going now.
Footsteps on the landing outside catch the young man’s attention. He sits up straight and swipes an arm across his face before the door can creak open.
“Hey Bryce, sweetie.” Bryce Qualls doesn’t look up quite yet, his throat aching at the prospect of looking his mother in the eye right now. “Bruno said he can take a load up right now if you’ve got any boxes ready.”
“Oh, um, hang on a second.” Bryce grabs a pile of clothes off the bed, unfolded and probably dirty, and tosses them in the nearest box. “If you wanna take this one, I’ve got like three or four more I can bring down in a minute.”
Marilynn Qualls, a soft, sweet, blonde woman, pushes the door open the rest of the way and enters. There’s a wand in the pocket of her apron, but she doesn’t use it. Instead, she drops to her knees without a word, picks up the tape gun and stretches it across the cardboard lid.
“Mom, don’t worry about it, I can just—” Marilynn puts a hand up, not forceful in any way, and Bryce’s words stop in their tracks. His mother might technically be a muggle, but she always seemed to work her own form of magic with her boys.
“Just a little more effort and I think this works just fine,” she answers over the groan of the tape gun. “It’s kind of nice to do things with your own hands sometimes, you know? And depending on how long we stay in this new place, you might have to get used to it.”
Bryce nods, and he looks away from his mother again. “How far away is it again?”
“Not that far, rea—” The rest of Marilynn’s words are drowned out by the sound of a car horn, blaring through Bryce’s bedroom window. Bryce jumps and reaches for the curtain, and everything stops what it’s doing — including, thankfully, the car horn.
MEMORY: Moving Out But Not On
She'd left her own home once, though she'd done it because, well, her little family had just fallen apart. Not in the way the Quallses had, though. She moves through the room, stopping to touch the tape dispenser on her way to the window to peek outside. "This is one of Mr. Qualls's kids, right?"
MEMORY: Moving Out But Not On
Although, hasn't part of the problem been "forgetting forever"? "If his memory is here, does that mean he's also...?" Presley lets the question hang in the air, and turns to check the objects on the dresser. Touching Bryce's wand reminds Presley of his own, still lost god-knows-where. That wand was the last thing that Presley's father had left him. Of course, his father isn't dead. Probably. Who knows. Who cares.
MEMORY: Moving Out But Not On
"Let's just find the linchpin and go," she suggests instead of answering Presley's half-asked question. Her attention is more immediately drawn to the tape gun, and she carefully crosses the room to take it from Marilynn's hand.
MEMORY: Moving Out But Not On
Inside, Presley's hand passes over the items laid out on the dresser. The wand remains inert, but that jar of muggle change shimmers gold. The linchpin.
Ramona can easily free the tape gun from Marilynn's grip, but when she does something nearby makes a noise. A chitter, or a click, so soft it's hard to tell if it's just the sound of settling or something alive.
Either way, it's not a sound they should be hearing if the memory's frozen.
MEMORY: Moving Out But Not On
The linchpin is glowing, now. They've found it, but the memory's not moving. Winter wanders carefully over to Presley, half expecting something to drop out of the ceiling or burst from a closet if she moves too noisily. She pokes the change jar. This isn't the first linchpin she's seen, but it's the first one that didn't solve the problem of being stuck. Of course it wouldn't be as simple as get and go in a memory as delicate as this one. "Why isn't it—Okay. Maybe...something in here's w-wrong and we have to...correct it?"
MEMORY: Moving Out But Not On
He looks from Winter to Ramona (now holding the tape gun, if they honestly have to start packing boxes, he's going to scream), and back again. "Did you see anything outside?"
MEMORY: Moving Out But Not On
“Sorry! Sorry!” Bruno Ellerby shouts from the street, waving apologetically up at the window as he tries to climb out of a cramped Camaro. Behind him, Bryce can hear a gentle exhale. The closest thing to a laugh he’s heard from his mother in weeks.
“I’m not taking you away from them,” Marilynn continues as the sound of the horn continues to echo through the neighborhood. “I still love this town, I still want you to go to Peckenpaugh.”
“What if I don’t want to come back? You get to bail, why can’t I just go to Ilvermorny or something? Just,” he throws his hands up in a frustrated shrug, “leave all this shit behind?”
Marilynn doesn’t answer right away. She climbs to her feet, hefting the box up with a surprising strength. Then again, Marilynn Swint Qualls has always surprised people with her strength. “I don’t think you can, honey,” she answers, finally, as she moves to the door. “This holler is in your blood, and your blood is in this holler. It’ll call you back.”
Bryce doesn’t say anything. His mother clearly doesn’t expect him to. She takes the box out into the hall, but for everyone else it’s an exit to 2020.