It'll be a minute before anyone can come for Kermie. His aunt had to switch shifts and find someone willing to drop her off next to an all-night year-round Halloween store in a sketchy part of town so she could catch a portkey to West Virginia, and the lines were really long so she was stuck waiting for like four hours, and then they only dropped her off in Huntington and — basically, Kermie's got a minute to wait.
Which is good, because he's not ready to leave yet. Not ready to say goodbye to his friends and this town and high school life.
And super not ready to say goodbye to Spellunking, hello sweet eighties looking windbreakers. Kermit didn't get dirty, he spent most of the night sleeping in a little blue pod, but that doesn't mean he can't take advantage of some fresh duds.
"Oh, this is gonna offset my teeth beautifully," he announces, grabbing a hanger off the rack outside Spellunking and holding it up to his body. Kermit spins to show it off to the nearest person.
Edited (bringin' it back to his first ever thread 😭) 2020-06-11 20:47 (UTC)
Is Audrey's home actually just that windbreaker rack? Maybe.
It's not, actually. Her aunt and uncle have been summoned, and they're on their way. But they're all the way in Nevada. It's a little bit of a hike. She has a little time, too. Which she's chosen, predictably, to spend in her place of employment. She had to bully Kyle and ask who Butterfly Clips was. And remind him that since technically she saved his life, he can't fire her when she graduates. But he's busy, legitimately, for once, and she did find her way to the windbreaker rack.
But the last time she saw Kermit he was a phantom in the water, trying to both drown her and kiss Trudy. Which she isn't going to tell him, not right now. "Oh. You've done it. You've found the perfect zipper."
Is what she says instead, sticking her head out of the rack. She's become one with it, now, dressed in a large lime jacket that reaches her knees.
"Sigh," Kermie says, instead of actually sighing, and sweeps the jacket around him. The sleeves are a little short, but the hot pink and neon orange color blocks are worth it. "Does this mean I've reached the end of Spellunking, Audrey?" He folds his arms over the top of the rack and perches his chin on the back of his hands, cocking his head at her like a sad puppy. "Relegated to podunk thrift shops in Brooklyn?"
"Oh god, no." She declares, immediate, paging through the racks as if to prove herself, and dig up another, more precious jacket. "The thing about here is. When you come to the end. It's the beginning again."
This sounds like some pseudo-wise bullshit, but it's fine, she'll clarify. "...Because someone cleans out their attic. And we get more stuff. You'll have to apparate in to keep up. And Brooklyn's so pricey."
Once things have calmed down, once everyone's been accounted for, once the only thing left is to go home with whichever brother their parents send them, Jupiter swings by the Zippy Dip, and, finding a crowd, slips behind the counter to help old Zippary make shakes. She'd never admit it, but behind the counter serving up treats to exhausted peers is the most soothed she's felt since prom started.
"I want OT for this," she mentions to Zippy as she slings floats and sundaes to anyone who wants one.
With a Zippy Dip t-shirt tucked into her prom cummerbund, Jupiter brandishes her ice cream scoop at anyone who approaches the counter, wiggling her eyebrows. "If you thought last night was bad, let me whip you up an experimental shake."
There's probably quite a few hungry adventurers who actually deserve ice cream after their trials and traumas. Atlas didn't survive to fight that long. He's even relatively clean. Which is good for him, because it means he has the energy to elbow a freshman in the face on his way to reach the bar. That kid probably did even less. He plops on a stool right in front of his sister. He doesn't want her out of his sight right now. And he'll profess that by looking her straight in the eyes, taking the dare.
"Give me your worst." He's not even scared of what that is.
"You gotta promise you won't tell Mom," Jupiter replies, looking down her nose at Atlas. Is she joking? Is she serious? It's not entirely clear as she sets down the glass she was polishing to scoop ice cream into a metal cup.
Of course, tattling is hardly on Jupiter's list of concerns as she prepares the unholy concoction. There's a faint grin on her face as she works, mostly silent, one that stays in place once she finally glances back up to meet her brother's eye. "You get all your stuff back? Wand and whatever?"
Atlas, undignified, snorts. "What's Mom gonna do about it." They'll be lucky if she even knows they're coming home early before they show up at the door, and he thinks they both know that. But it's okay. He doesn't need their mom, or anyone. He's fine. His stuff is probably fine. He takes out his wand and waves it around to prove it. "Did you? Did you get hurt? Did they fix you? Did you hold still?"
This is a barrage of questions purposely meant to be annoying, but Atlas is betrayed by the fact that he really doesn't know, and he really does look worried. He just has to yap out all his nervous energy by being aggressive; he is occasionally a chihuahua shaped like a boy. His face falls, a little, with the quieter question he probably should've asked instead of the other ten. "...You're really ok?"
A half a smile tugs up on one side of Jupiter's lips. Aside from a soft cluck and a one shoulder shrug, it's the only answer Atlas gets at first while she scoops ice cream into the metal cup and sets it to mix.
When she comes back, it's to rest her elbows on the counter, leaning close to confide. "Eh, you know me, indestructible." That much she still believes, despite being tossed and thrown, smacked and pummeled and burnt by who-knows-what. For better or worse, Jupiter Quigley cannot be stopped. Her gaze falls, sweeps the counter, and before she pushes away to grab the milkshake from the mixer, she adds, "Doesn't mean I wasn't scared, though." She pours the (probably disgusting) shake into a tall glass and brings it back to her baby brother with that expression she often gets when she's about to give him a bad time. All the same, she adds, "Knew you were out there, somewhere. Didn't like not knowing where."
River valleys make for a hot, muggy summer days, and this one's got Winter hunting for shade before noon. Sure, she could just go home. It's a short walk to the edge of the main drag. But her dad's out here helping Pompel and Swint with potion ingredients, and most of the rest of the town, of Peckenpaugh, is still milling about.
Once she's pulled a three-sized-too-large Pizza Pi(e)rates t-shirt on over her tattered dress, she wanders back to city hall and finds a spot beneath a tree where the vines have been cleared away. Good enough. She plops down, sprawls out, and runs her fingers through the grass. Exhausted, but still too frightened to fall asleep, she watches the clouds roll by.
It will be a long time before Presley can think "Elflock Falls" and not see giant vines and dead whatever-they-ares. But everyone in town seems determined to eke out normalcy in the wake of what happened, and for once, Presley allows things to happen without complaint. He's got something more important to deal with, anyway.
The moment he spots that unruly blonde hair, he starts running, and gets about ten feet before remembering he's actually cooler than that. He slows to a walk, and tries out a few hand-in-pocket poses (both hands? left hand? right hand?) to score the maximum amount of cool and casual points. (Ah, there's his vape pen.)
"Carmichael." Presley stands in front of Winter, left hand in his pocket, right hand idly twirling a vape between his fingers. His tie is missing, his damaged jacket was tossed away an hour ago, and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up. His hair is clean and cornflakes-free. He somehow looks, despite everything, like someone who just got out of prom. "I've been looking for you."
Winter's tipping her head up to see who's there before Presley even speaks, curious about the shadow that's fallen over her. It's his voice that has her sitting up, draping her arms over her knees in a show of ease, and then letting her fingers fiddle together nervously completely giving herself away.
"Am I that hard to spot?" she asks with half a smile pointed up his way. Presley cuts quite the silhouette, a little disheveled, twirling that vape with his sleeves rolled. It makes Winter laugh, a huff of air through her nose, though she can't quite place why. Someday, he'll make a very good auror — or, well, whatever he wants to be, he'll be quite dashing while he does it.
Those are wandering thoughts, though, embarrassing when looked at with too much scrutiny. Has her expression gone soft at the sight of him? Ugh. The only solution is a joke, "Here to exact revenge for the c-cereal incident?"
"Yes," Presley says without hesitation, without even a smile except for the slightest upturn of the corner of his mouth. "But rather fortunately for you, I've had my fill of violence today, so you are spared from a trouncing in a duel."
He takes a step closer, and hesitates for a second before moving to sit next to Winter on the grass. He's never thought of himself as someone who's intimidated by talking to girls—in fact, he would've been the first to make fun of a classmate for letting hormonal attraction control them like that—but in this moment, Presley finds himself unable to sit near Winter and just... look right at her. He does glance over (one second, two seconds) and looks away again to watch their surroundings.
It'll take weeks to clean all of this up. Presley feels a pang at the idea that he won't see it, if they don't return for their senior year. "Doesn't feel real, does it?"
He feels empty. For five minutes, one night, he had a definitive purpose.Kill the vines, save the world. Clear objective. All he really had to do was swing whatever weapon was in his hand at the enemy. He was good at that. But now, he's wandering the streets of the little town, all alone. Which, to be fair, he's never been very good at.
It's over, and he's going home weeks before he was supposed to, and Boston seems far away and awful. He's not ready to go, without the chance of coming back. There's so much more to resolve. And god, what if he has to go to St. Hyginus next year. Jesus.
There's a solace, and it's the little snitch that he bought from Pouch what feels like years ago. He doesn't have to go home just yet. But it's just another relic, really. And in case he doesn't come back. Maybe now's the time to release it. He smiles to no one, and releases the little golden ball. "Catch." He says, to whoever could be listening, and lets the little thing fly.
Edited (a completionist who cannot rest without tagging as everyone pls ignore me) 2020-06-12 04:17 (UTC)
"The fuck you get this from?" Mr. Youngblood is there, looking a little worse for wear but still better than he does most Monday mornings, and he lobs the Snitch back at Tybalt as he hobbles past. "You lose that thing and I ain't makin' ya captain next year."
Oh, sorry, did we say empty? Tybalt The Rubber Boy springs instantly back to life, bounding into the air to catch it neatly. Did Mr. Youngblood see that? He better have seen that. It was a very good jump. "It's mine!" He feels the need to yell after his poor retreating teacher who had really been through enough this evening. "I bought it! Hey, write down the captain thing!!!"
Edited (well NOW look what you've done) 2020-06-13 04:44 (UTC)
"So this is weird," she says, when things have calmed and the streets are clean again.
They're on a bench outside of Pizza Pi(e)rates, half in the sun and half in the shade. Imogen's pulled her sneakered feet up, arms wrapped around her folded legs. There are still cuts and bruises on both sets of limbs: warped little roses of purple, weird slashes, pebble-shaped gashes.
"Leaving," is the lazy clarification, a second later. The last syllable melts into a familiar half-grin aimed directly, drily, at Merlin. Imogen knows she sounds like someone who cares right now. A self-aware joke. In truth, she's over a lot of it: packed up already and set to escape to California any second now. Life is meant for change.
"That's the weird part?" Merlin returns, glancing over at the girl with a small, teasing smirk. The expression is bittersweet, though. While he's ready for the changes that have to come, the reality of what's being left behind has become clearer over the last few days. Especially after all they'd gone through for this place and for each other. It makes him feel stupid and sentimental when he thinks about it, particularly when he's with Imogen, but...maybe that's not the worst thing.
He leans back on the bench, letting his head loll back until he's looking at the bright sky. Swimming in a too-large borrowed sweatshirt, with his hair mussed and a bruise standing out on his cheek, he doesn't look all that ready to take on the world. But, of course, he knows he is.
"...Yeah," he adds after a pause, "It is. But it's time, huh? Get out in the world and make our mark on it. And the memories aren't going anywhere, anyway."
After a second's thought, Imogen shrugs, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Okay, not like, leaving. Just--" She waves her hand, searching. "Saying goodbye. Probably never coming back. All the things people think you should feel about it."
Another second. Now aloud, the refrain bouncing in her skull: "Life is for changing. You're right."
Then she shifts just a little, so her head lolls back like his.
In Merlin's mind, this is one of the few undeniable truths and he's on the verge of quipping back that of course he's right when Imogen's question stops him. He turns his head enough to look over at her, curious and somewhat hesitant as he tries to recall what he might've said that had mattered enough for her to bring it up again now. She seems to be in a contemplative mood.
Patrice is tired. Not just because the evening felt like it went on forever, not just because he had to climb shit and tromp through memories and try to fight off vines. He's emotionally exhausted, too, enough so that his mind drifts to tiny Desmond, sitting on a bench much like the one he's seated on now in town, and it makes him want to lie down. So, he does, head thunking onto the wooden slats of the seat of the bench. He's lost his suit jacket somewhere, but it doesn't matter. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly.
"I'm thirsty," he laments to nobody, because complaining about that is easier than complaining about everything else swirling around in his head.
There's a strange sort of itch crawling in Desmond's limbs. The night was long and tense and strange and, honestly, he's full of a restless need to move. The desire to go isn't a new one, but the urge to go home is a bit odd. Ain't really one he's ready to square with at the moment, so he's been walking instead. It counts as moving.
His feet come to a stop at the railing of the bench, though. Head tipping to regard the uncomfortable angle Patrice has chosen to sprawl himself in.
"You never get me anything," Patrice says, slightly whiney, deceptively easy as he opens his eyes to look at his friend. He remains sideways for only a few moments before righting himself, giving Des a place to sit beside him if he wants to.
"I got you back a little, though. I ate some of the pastries in your memory. They didn't really stick, though. I was still hungry, after."
Des hums, not necessarily in sympathy, but in something that vaguely resembles agreement. His shoulders tick upward for a moment before he shoves his hands into his pockets. "Got to put your requests in earlier."
Then he drops himself into the offered seat, legs stretching out in front of him and resting the heel of one boot onto the toe of the other. Probably be good manners to take up less sidewalk-space, but it isn't really top priority at the moment.
"S'too bad, though," he replies. "Real good pastries if they stick to you."
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peckenpaugh2020-06-11 03:01 pm
ELFLOCK FALLS
ELFLOCK FALLS: Kermie + OPEN+++
Which is good, because he's not ready to leave yet. Not ready to say goodbye to his friends and this town and high school life.
And super not ready to say goodbye to Spellunking, hello sweet eighties looking windbreakers. Kermit didn't get dirty, he spent most of the night sleeping in a little blue pod, but that doesn't mean he can't take advantage of some fresh duds.
"Oh, this is gonna offset my teeth beautifully," he announces, grabbing a hanger off the rack outside Spellunking and holding it up to his body. Kermit spins to show it off to the nearest person.
ELFLOCK FALLS: Kermie + Audrey (again)
It's not, actually. Her aunt and uncle have been summoned, and they're on their way. But they're all the way in Nevada. It's a little bit of a hike. She has a little time, too. Which she's chosen, predictably, to spend in her place of employment. She had to bully Kyle and ask who Butterfly Clips was. And remind him that since technically she saved his life, he can't fire her when she graduates. But he's busy, legitimately, for once, and she did find her way to the windbreaker rack.
But the last time she saw Kermit he was a phantom in the water, trying to both drown her and kiss Trudy. Which she isn't going to tell him, not right now. "Oh. You've done it. You've found the perfect zipper."
Is what she says instead, sticking her head out of the rack. She's become one with it, now, dressed in a large lime jacket that reaches her knees.
ELFLOCK FALLS: Kermie + Audrey (again)
ELFLOCK FALLS: Kermie + Audrey (again)
This sounds like some pseudo-wise bullshit, but it's fine, she'll clarify. "...Because someone cleans out their attic. And we get more stuff. You'll have to apparate in to keep up. And Brooklyn's so pricey."
Jupiter Waits in the Zippy Dip (OPEN++)
"I want OT for this," she mentions to Zippy as she slings floats and sundaes to anyone who wants one.
With a Zippy Dip t-shirt tucked into her prom cummerbund, Jupiter brandishes her ice cream scoop at anyone who approaches the counter, wiggling her eyebrows. "If you thought last night was bad, let me whip you up an experimental shake."
Jupiter Waits in the Zippy Dip & A DUMB SHADOW
"Give me your worst." He's not even scared of what that is.
Jupiter Waits in the Zippy Dip & A DUMB SHADOW
Of course, tattling is hardly on Jupiter's list of concerns as she prepares the unholy concoction. There's a faint grin on her face as she works, mostly silent, one that stays in place once she finally glances back up to meet her brother's eye. "You get all your stuff back? Wand and whatever?"
Jupiter Waits in the Zippy Dip & A DUMB SHADOW
This is a barrage of questions purposely meant to be annoying, but Atlas is betrayed by the fact that he really doesn't know, and he really does look worried. He just has to yap out all his nervous energy by being aggressive; he is occasionally a chihuahua shaped like a boy. His face falls, a little, with the quieter question he probably should've asked instead of the other ten. "...You're really ok?"
Jupiter Waits in the Zippy Dip & A DUMB SHADOW
When she comes back, it's to rest her elbows on the counter, leaning close to confide. "Eh, you know me, indestructible." That much she still believes, despite being tossed and thrown, smacked and pummeled and burnt by who-knows-what. For better or worse, Jupiter Quigley cannot be stopped. Her gaze falls, sweeps the counter, and before she pushes away to grab the milkshake from the mixer, she adds, "Doesn't mean I wasn't scared, though." She pours the (probably disgusting) shake into a tall glass and brings it back to her baby brother with that expression she often gets when she's about to give him a bad time. All the same, she adds, "Knew you were out there, somewhere. Didn't like not knowing where."
Jupiter Waits in the Zippy Dip & A DUMB SHADOW
Jupiter Waits in the Zippy Dip & A DUMB SHADOW
Jupiter Waits in the Zippy Dip & A DUMB SHADOW
Winter Reclines (OPEN++)
Once she's pulled a three-sized-too-large Pizza Pi(e)rates t-shirt on over her tattered dress, she wanders back to city hall and finds a spot beneath a tree where the vines have been cleared away. Good enough. She plops down, sprawls out, and runs her fingers through the grass. Exhausted, but still too frightened to fall asleep, she watches the clouds roll by.
Winter & Presley
The moment he spots that unruly blonde hair, he starts running, and gets about ten feet before remembering he's actually cooler than that. He slows to a walk, and tries out a few hand-in-pocket poses (both hands? left hand? right hand?) to score the maximum amount of cool and casual points. (Ah, there's his vape pen.)
"Carmichael." Presley stands in front of Winter, left hand in his pocket, right hand idly twirling a vape between his fingers. His tie is missing, his damaged jacket was tossed away an hour ago, and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up. His hair is clean and cornflakes-free. He somehow looks, despite everything, like someone who just got out of prom. "I've been looking for you."
Winter & Presley
"Am I that hard to spot?" she asks with half a smile pointed up his way. Presley cuts quite the silhouette, a little disheveled, twirling that vape with his sleeves rolled. It makes Winter laugh, a huff of air through her nose, though she can't quite place why. Someday, he'll make a very good auror — or, well, whatever he wants to be, he'll be quite dashing while he does it.
Those are wandering thoughts, though, embarrassing when looked at with too much scrutiny. Has her expression gone soft at the sight of him? Ugh. The only solution is a joke, "Here to exact revenge for the c-cereal incident?"
Winter & Presley
He takes a step closer, and hesitates for a second before moving to sit next to Winter on the grass. He's never thought of himself as someone who's intimidated by talking to girls—in fact, he would've been the first to make fun of a classmate for letting hormonal attraction control them like that—but in this moment, Presley finds himself unable to sit near Winter and just... look right at her. He does glance over (one second, two seconds) and looks away again to watch their surroundings.
It'll take weeks to clean all of this up. Presley feels a pang at the idea that he won't see it, if they don't return for their senior year. "Doesn't feel real, does it?"
Winter & Presley
Winter & Presley
ELFLOCK FALLS: Catch. (Open++)
It's over, and he's going home weeks before he was supposed to, and Boston seems far away and awful. He's not ready to go, without the chance of coming back. There's so much more to resolve. And god, what if he has to go to St. Hyginus next year. Jesus.
There's a solace, and it's the little snitch that he bought from Pouch what feels like years ago. He doesn't have to go home just yet. But it's just another relic, really. And in case he doesn't come back. Maybe now's the time to release it. He smiles to no one, and releases the little golden ball. "Catch." He says, to whoever could be listening, and lets the little thing fly.
ELFLOCK FALLS: Drive-By Catch
ELFLOCK FALLS: Drive-By Catch
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
They're on a bench outside of Pizza Pi(e)rates, half in the sun and half in the shade. Imogen's pulled her sneakered feet up, arms wrapped around her folded legs. There are still cuts and bruises on both sets of limbs: warped little roses of purple, weird slashes, pebble-shaped gashes.
"Leaving," is the lazy clarification, a second later. The last syllable melts into a familiar half-grin aimed directly, drily, at Merlin. Imogen knows she sounds like someone who cares right now. A self-aware joke. In truth, she's over a lot of it: packed up already and set to escape to California any second now. Life is meant for change.
"Oh, the memories," she drawls.
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
He leans back on the bench, letting his head loll back until he's looking at the bright sky. Swimming in a too-large borrowed sweatshirt, with his hair mussed and a bruise standing out on his cheek, he doesn't look all that ready to take on the world. But, of course, he knows he is.
"...Yeah," he adds after a pause, "It is. But it's time, huh? Get out in the world and make our mark on it. And the memories aren't going anywhere, anyway."
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
Another second. Now aloud, the refrain bouncing in her skull: "Life is for changing. You're right."
Then she shifts just a little, so her head lolls back like his.
"Did you mean what you said?"
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
In Merlin's mind, this is one of the few undeniable truths and he's on the verge of quipping back that of course he's right when Imogen's question stops him. He turns his head enough to look over at her, curious and somewhat hesitant as he tries to recall what he might've said that had mattered enough for her to bring it up again now. She seems to be in a contemplative mood.
"...Probably. What'd I say?"
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
ELFLOCK FALLS: Imogen and Merlin
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond
"I'm thirsty," he laments to nobody, because complaining about that is easier than complaining about everything else swirling around in his head.
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond
His feet come to a stop at the railing of the bench, though. Head tipping to regard the uncomfortable angle Patrice has chosen to sprawl himself in.
"Can't help you with that."
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond
"I got you back a little, though. I ate some of the pastries in your memory. They didn't really stick, though. I was still hungry, after."
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond
Then he drops himself into the offered seat, legs stretching out in front of him and resting the heel of one boot onto the toe of the other. Probably be good manners to take up less sidewalk-space, but it isn't really top priority at the moment.
"S'too bad, though," he replies. "Real good pastries if they stick to you."
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond
ELFLOCK FALLS: Patrice & Desmond