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[obscurian]

Hit me.

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[unheeled]

[Seriously? That's it? Now they're supposed to just... wait?]

Sure. With hot sauce. It's-- [She shuts her eyes, hating how the words sound out loud, how they feel on her tongue.] --it's a zombie thing.

[obscurian]

[Hot sauce. In coffee.]

....would pepper be all right?

[Pepper they have. Hot sauce, unfortunately not. Credence hopes his voice is polite enough. They don't have a lot of things in the church, but he can make coffee. Even...zombie coffee.]

[unheeled]

[What of it.]

Yeah. Lots.

[She just wants to be able to taste it, okay.]

You know what, I'll help myself to the pepper. [And now she stands, ready to follow Credence into the kitchen.]

[obscurian]

[Credence supposes that knowing about magic - especially the kind that Mister Graves does and not just what his ma preaches - should have prepared him for--well. Zombies. He ducks into the kitchen, putting his hat away and beginning the preparations for coffee. It never takes long.]

It's in the cabinet, miss.

[The pepper. Not much else. Even for a soup kitchen, they're woefully low on supplies.]

[unheeled]

[She's watching him as he makes the coffee. Basic common sense plus all those years working for her father have made her untrusting, cautious. Some might call it paranoid, but fuck them. This is what's going to help her survive.

At least she can still smell food and drink. If only that would make her taste buds work. Being a zombie is such a drag.

She finds a mug, unscrews the pepper shaker, and tips it over, pouring a generous amount of pepper -- easily half the shaker. If anyone planned to flavor up something for the indigents, they're out of luck. It's hers now.]

How do you manage to feed people?

[How do you manage to feed yourselves?]

[obscurian]

[Credence watches the pepper disappear into the coffee with no small amount of curiosity. Under different circumstances it might have been horror at the seeming waste of spices and the ensuing damage to the coffee. But he's seen the world - at least a little - for what it has hidden under the surface. It's not so bad. Wild and strange, but wonderful too. He just doesn't understand everything yet. Mister Graves said that would come in time.]

God provides.

[Credence echoes the statement without conviction. It's just what's said.]

Ma gets a grant. From the state.

[unheeled]

['God provides'? Really? Rita stirs her coffee like all she's done is add sugar to it, and takes a sip. The pepper makes it tingle on her tongue and gums -- not a lot, but it's more than there would've been otherwise.]

Must be a small grant. Have you ever considered soliciting donations from private industry? Corporations would love getting brownie points.

[Not Max Rager, though. No, he'd rather murder anyone who might damage the company's image.

Like her.]

[obscurian]

[Credence looks away.] Ma says it's a sin to take from godless people.

[But she takes from the state all the time. Credence has learned not to mention that.]

[unheeled]

[Rita stares straight at him.] Your 'ma' knows the stats is as godless as they get, right?

[obscurian]

[Credence twitches a little, smoothing a hand down the front of his coat.] Is the coffee good, miss?

[unheeled]

[It won't do to upset her host, so Rita lets that drop.]

I can't taste it. Hopefully, your Mr. Graves can fix that.

[Heal her, make her human again. Then she can go after her father.]

What's taking him so long?

[obscurian]

"He'll try," Credence murmurs, because Mister Graves always healed him and Miss Margaret is interesting even if she's a stranger - even if she hasn't got any magic lying under the skin. Sometimes Mister Graves likes to hear about what he calls the No-Maj world. Just to know. Tell me something interesting, Credence.

This counts, doesn't it?

Credence drops his eyes again. "I'm not sure, I--"

The door opens with a loud bang, rattling the plates. Credence flinches back as Mister Graves strides through the door, long coat billowing out behind him. He looks annoyed to see they're not alone, mouth thinning to a sharp line. "Credence, my dear boy, what have you brought me now?"

[unheeled]

In the face of someone new and obviously powerful, Rita holds her ground. This is like walking around the top floor of the company, handing orders to her father's subordinates like she outranked them all even though technically she was only his assistant.

Anyone who makes an entrance like that is looking to be feared. Zombieism may not come with ESP, but this is where she's at her best. Social games, subtle power plays. She falls into old habits immediately, careful to give the image that she's a little awed, if still composed.

"He brought you a sick girl." Girl, not woman. More unassuming, more humble, even though Rita could infect him with a simple scratch, rip his head off if she let herself go hungry long enough. "You're a miracle-worker?"

[obscurian]

Mister Graves tips his head to one side and then the other, almost bird-like. Looking for something. Then he smiles just a little, warmer than before, and Credence feels his shoulders dropping. It's going to be okay.

"Miracles? No." Mister Graves steps in closer, patting Credence on the shoulder. It's a gentle touch and doesn't last nearly long enough. Credence shivers, tries not to lean into it. "But I know more than most. And you, my dear, look like you could use a friend."

He smiles. Offers out a hand. Silver magic curls through his fingers, smoky and yet strangely bright, before vanishing abruptly.

[unheeled]

Is he trying to intimidate her on top of all the rest? Maybe. Or maybe he wants her to be like Credence seems to be, an obedient follower. A pet, almost.

It sickens her, because it's exactly what her father would do. It's what he would've done to her if she weren't so much like him that she knows the games he tries to play.

Rita stares at the outstretched hand for a moment, thinking (beneath the guise of hesitation) before she says, "My name is Margaret," and shakes his hand.

An agreement-- a contract founded on a lie is void. A lawyer she dated once told her that. This Mr. Graves is making a deal of peaceful interaction with a mask.

[obscurian]

"Margaret," Mister Graves repeats, grasping her hand with a thin smile. "Friend of yours, Credence?"

Credence starts, not sure how to answer that. "I--she needed help."

"My help," Mister Graves murmurs. Credence can't tell if he's angry or not. "Well. I can't say I've ever met someone quite like you. Forgive me for asking so bluntly, but are you dead?"

Mister Graves pauses, leaning back. He smiles again. It seems warmer.

"Your heartbeat is quite slow."

[unheeled]

This is dangerous. Graves is dangerous. Rita knows that as truly as she knows her father wants to lock her up and pretend she's dead. Until meeting Credence, she would've said magic was a lie, but here is this Graves man, knowing what she is from just a handshake.

His smile seems warmer, but there's still a chill in her bones.

"I'm halfway dead. I fought with death and won, but no one ever really wins against death, do they?"

Unassuming, harmless. Rita smiles, as if tentative.

[obscurian]

"I don't know about that," Mister Graves says. His voice has gone soft now, eyes bright and watchful. "But I suppose it depends on your definition of winning. Credence?"

Credence starts. "Mister Graves?"

"You did the right thing, bringing her to me. I always knew you'd be important." Mister Graves smiles just a little. "Margaret. Dear girl. Why don't you tell me how this happened?"

[unheeled]

"It's--"

It's a story she can summarize with ease, but that won't do, will it? And she has to keep true to what she told Credence. Her first instinct was right (trust no one), but she'd ignored it for this meek-looking man who offered her shelter. Damnit.

"It's a convoluted story." Where should she start? She puts her hands together and sighs. "Science, is the short answer. Science and recreational substance use did this to someone, who scratched someone, who scratched me." Her hands go to her hair, fingers twisting in the white locks as if she's nervous. "It wasn't supposed to happen, but now, the people in charge want to lock me up and do more science with me.

"So I ran. Credence gave me sanctuary." She glances at him, shoots him a quick, barely there grin. Not once through all of this does she relax her posture. "And here I am."

[obscurian]

"Science," Mister Graves repeats. He's smiling again, but there's something in his face that Credence can't place and doesn't quite want to name. Something hungry. "It never ceases to amaze, what you people come up with. You have no magic, but you've managed something even my kind couldn't conquer. Or at least not so neatly."

Credence watches silently, running his thumb over the brim of his hat and wondering if, perhaps, he hasn't just made a mistake. Usually he feels better after seeing Mister Graves. There's a tension low in his back now, one that's only grown, and Miss Margaret looks---worried. He didn't mean to worry her. This was meant to help.

"You can help her, can't you?" He keeps his eyes down when he asks, and nearly flinches back into the counter when Mister Graves claps a hand down on his shoulder, squeezing tight.

"Of course I can. Haven't I helped you?"

"Yes, I--"

Mister Graves gives him another squeeze before turning back to Margaret. "But I need to talk to your friend now. Go make sure your sisters won't disturb us. We wouldn't want that."

[unheeled]

Rita doesn't bother hiding the fear that flickers through her. Not because she's going to be alone with a stranger (not just that, anyway), but because if Mr. Graves tries to hurt her, she's going to lose herself to the hunger and kill him.

"You won't be far, right?" She watches Credence for a few moments. He's the safe one to be around, she decides, because she can guess what he's like, why he reacts to things the way he does. It works in her favor to look lost.

And she is, isn't she? She has nowhere else to go.

[obscurian]

Credence wavers. This is okay, isn't it? Of course it is. It's going to be just fine. Mister Graves wiped away the cuts on his hands like they were nothing more than dust. He said he'd help Miss Margaret too. So it's okay. He tries to smile for her. She's been kind to him. And he promised to help. "No. Not far."

"Now, Credence," Mister Graves murmurs, eyes on Margaret.

[unheeled]

Well, she'll have to settle for that, and brace herself for the possibility of raging out on Graves. Rita nods at Credence. Yes, it's fine. It doesn't make it easier to watch him go, though. Credence is predictable, he's the sort of person Rita knows how to deal with. Graves is familiar too, but in a different way. With people like him, she needs to be cautious, because he is too much like her.

When Credence has left the room, she meets Graves's gaze. (She'd felt his eyes on her all this time; it'd made her feel cold, colder than her new normal body temperature.)

"So can you fix this?"

[obscurian]

Graves shrugs. It's not quite an answer. Truthfully he doesn't know. Apparently the muggles have gotten creative while he wasn't looking. This aliment ought to be magic but somehow isn't. How very curious. It's worth his attention for the moment, even if it's time that could be spent looking for the child. "Perhaps. Healing was never my specialty. Small things, certainly. But this--now this is something else entirely."

He pauses. Smiles. "Would you be against spilling some blood?"

[unheeled]

'Something else entirely' -- does she ever know it. They're still not sure exactly why it happens in the first place.

"Whose blood?"

Should she maybe have protested a little before asking that? She's still disturbed by the question, sure, but she's also hungry. Spilt blood could mean she gets to eat. She should be fine for another day or two without, but-- she shouldn't take that risk. She's seen what happens to zombies who go hungry for too long.

"Are you asking me to kill someone?"