Open post

[obscurian]

Hit me.

Comments

[obscurian]

[Credence leads the way silently, head down. Neither of his sisters stop him, and Ma is too busy yelling at unbelievers to notice. The Second Salem church also functions as a mission, which is the only reason Ma has any money at all, and people come and go all the time. Mostly children, or anyone who wants a meal and doesn't mind the preaching. No one who wants to be remembered.

It's not a bad place to hide, if you don't mind the draft. The heat doesn't come on unless it's below thirty. Ma says it builds character.

Credence holds the door open, eyes down, for the woman. He hasn't asked her name. That's possibly unwise.]

[unheeled]

[Rita is finding that a lot of things no longer bother her -- like temperature changes and minor wounds. Her body is half dead, after all. She can survive anywhere as long as she gets to feed.

But that's a problem to solve later.

Right now, she ducks into the church and looks around for familiar faces. None -- good. As soon as the door is shut, she lets out a sigh and sinks into a pew. The relief is not an act. Her father won't come looking for her in a church. She's about as nonreligious as they come.]

[obscurian]

[Credence removes his hat, wondering what he's supposed to do now. Ma is the one who talks to strangers and makes them believe. Except that this woman already does believe - in something, if not in magic - and that begs a response.]

You have a name, miss?

[he asks eventually.]

[unheeled]

[The reprieve is welcome. She's been trying to outthink and outpace her father for what feels like far longer than it's actually been.

A name?] Obviously I do.

[But which one will she give him? Not Rita. Not Gilda, either. She looks away, thinks hard. She could use a drink. Whiskey, or tequila.

Margarita.]

Margaret. [Turning to him, she meets his gaze and lies again.] My name is Margaret.

cw for child abuse

[obscurian]

[Like Saint Margaret the Virgin, Credence thinks. Also called Saint Marina the Great Martyr in the book his sisters stole from the Catholic church in Harlem. They all got whipped for that, though not for stealing.]

Credence Barebone, Miss Margaret.

[He runs his hands over the brim of his hat to try and steady himself. It doesn't quite work, so he does it again.]

No one comes here. You can stay for a while.

[unheeled]

[Credence. What a fitting name for a guy handing out pamphlets about 'the word'.

But again, the relief that ccrosses her face is sincere. No one comes here.

Perfect.]

I'm going to need a room.

[obscurian]

[Credence looks down quickly, running his thumb along the brim of his hat. They don't have guest rooms. People come in sometimes for meals and if Ma is feeling generous sometimes they leave the kitchen open, but Miss Margaret doesn't look like the sort of woman who would accept sleeping on the floor.

She can have his room, Credence supposes. It's a glum thought.]

Upstairs.

[He lifts his eyes briefly.]

You'll have to say the right things, when she comes back. Act like you believe. Otherwise she'll make you leave.

[unheeled]

[Okay, so she'll have to play a part. She can do that. She was almost literally killer as Gilda. Margaret is a scared young woman on the run, trying to hide. Easy.]

Will the pamphlet give me enough to say the right things?

[obscurian]

[Credence nods. It won't make her own of them, but it ought to calm his Ma for a bit. She can't be mad if he's doing what she asked. Though Ma usually finds fault in most things Credence does, whether or not she asked him to do them or not.] Yes, miss.

[He pauses, still running his thumb over the brim of his hat. It helps a little. Gives him something small to focus on.]

Are you hurt, miss?

[unheeled]

Good. I'll read it through.

[One thing at a time. First shelter, then food. Hah. That's going to be harder, but she'll manage.

Is she hurt? She gives a mirthless chuckle. She's more than hurt. She's not human anymore.]

Not in a way anyone can fix. But I appreciate the concern, sir.

[Margaret will be polite, Rita decides then. Someone people will take to and want to protect.]

[obscurian]

[Credence lifts his eyes.]

Maybe not. A lot--a lot of things can be done you don't know about.

[Mister Graves can heal just by touching someone.]

[unheeled]

[Oh yeah?]

What happened to me is something you don't know about.

[obscurian]

But it did happen, miss.

[No matter how impossible it seemed, it happened to her. After what he's seen Mister Graves do, there isn't much Credence won't believe in.

Credence drops his eyes again.]

I'd believe you, if you told me.

[unheeled]

[She laughs bitterly. At all of it. The reassurance, the sympathy. If her father is capable of pretending to love her to get her to do what he wanted, a stranger is more than capable of lying to her.]

You'd believe me enough to turn me in or have me locked up. Maybe you'd even try to kill me.

[obscurian]

[Credence just stares at her.] I don't want to hurt anyone.

[And strange things have happen, are happening. Her hair is bone white and Mister Graves once tapped his wand against a dead plant and made it bloom again. Just because he could, because he wanted Credence to believe. Credence has a feeling the two are connected, though not yet in a way he can name. This woman certainly believes something - just not in him.

It's an odd sensation, trying to convince someone of the truth. Usually it goes the other way around.

Credence drops his eyes again.]

I met someone--impossible. But he was real. You're real.

[unheeled]

[Funny, keeping people safe is her father's reason for wanting her locked up.]

I never implied I'm not real.

[She glares down at the pamphlet on her lap. These people don't know about zombies. Rita will start there.]

Have you ever heard of zombies?

[obscurian]

[Credence stares down at his hat. It's not a very fashionable hat, but it's the only one he owns.] No, miss.

[But he'll listen if she explains.]

[unheeled]

[Of course he doesn't. If he did, he would've known what she is right away.]

They used to be people. Some drug and drink cocktail did something to their brain and made them want to eat brains. They have to, if they want to survive. Otherwise they turn into monsters. Mindless, stupid, violent. Hungry.

[God. She's... she's so hungry.]

They keep turning people. Scratches, blood, sex. It's a virus. And--

[She stops, choked up for a moment. She's upset about what she has become, but that's not what stirs up the emotion inside of her. No. It's the anger at her father, because he did this to her. Not the zombie, but her father, for abandoning her to a fate worse than death.

She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to be still.

She meets Credence's gaze.] And I was turned into one.

[obscurian]

[Those aren't the words that Mister Grave used to describe his magic, or his search for the child, and in another life - less than three months ago - Credence might have dismissed them out of hand. A godless, delusional woman staring at him with her strange hair.

Credence rubs his face, wondering what he's supposed to do now.

He believes her, for what it's worth. It doesn't sound like magic, not like Mister Graves would say, but it's something wild and unnatural. Credence has a certain familiarity with such things.]

I'm sorry, miss.

[He looks back down to his hat quickly.]

I don't think I can help you. With the--hunger.

[He's rubbing his thumb raw against his hat, but it's better than just standing there and shaking.]

But. Mister Graves. He might. He can do a lot of things.

[unheeled]

[Rita bites her lips. He can help her, but leaving a trail of bodies behind is unwise, and he hasn't shown himself to be a threat -- yet.]

I don't want to be hungry. [Not like this. Not for human brains.] Who's Mr. Graves?

[If he can help her, make her human again...]

[obscurian]

[Credence keeps his eyes down.]

My--friend.

[That's probably not the word that Mister Graves would use for it. Maybe one day, when Credence finds the child.]

He can heal. Make things change.

[Credence meets her eyes for a moment.]

Maybe he could help you.

[unheeled]

[Rita has no business feeling hope. At best, she wants to stay herself and die a quick death. But if what Credence is saying is true--]

I want to meet him.

[obscurian]

[Silently, Credence wonders if Mister Graves will want to meet her. She isn't the child he's looking for, likely has nothing to do with it at all. But he promised to help.]

All right, miss.

[He nods uneasily and tugs the necklace out from under his shirt. Just touch it, Mister Graves said, and he'd come. And there is something, when Credence touches the metal. A change. Small, maybe even something he imagined. But there's a pinch, something going tight and breathless in his chest. He wonders if magic feels like that. Wild and a little dangerous, but beautiful too.]

I--do you want some coffee?

[Credence closes his hand over the necklace, squeezing tight.]

I don't know how long it takes...

[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.]