Credence Barebone, Percival Graves, anyone elseWHERE:
Barebone-Graves residence, fountainWHEN:
June 15th-16thOPEN TO:
EveryoneWARNINGS: Standard Credence
warnings, specifically parental death STATUS:
i ➼ I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴜɪsᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ;
closed to Graves
It's something Tina mentioned to him when he asked why Mary Lou knew about wizards. Why everyone else was sure magic was just a fairytale, but Mary Lou was staunch in her belief. It bothers him less that Graves didn't tell him--he knows that's how the other operates, how Graves answers Credence's questions honestly but doesn't give any unnecessary information. Instead, what's really gnawing at Credence is that he didn't ask the right
question. He'd thought he was getting better at that.
It was almost a game, asides from their question-for-an-answer. He's never quite told Graves said game of course, but Credence tries to phrase his questions to get the most out of him. He considers a simple 'yes' or 'no' a failure in these circumstances, even though a yes or no is usually enough to satisfy his curiosity. Credence wants more, ravenously hungry for knowledge. Newt and Tina will happily provide answers to anything he asks, and Credence plans on using this to his full advantage so long as they don't mind, but he still wants Graves to teach him, too.
It's finally too hot for him to handle a long-sleeved shirt and jeans when he gets back from the mill, and since he's just in their house and not planning on leaving, Credence opts to wear his white scrubs again. They're lighter, just cotton, even if his arms show the criss-cross markings of unhappier times. Unhappier times he now knows and recognizes as much more complicated than he could imagine. Which brings him to the question he wants to ask.
He finds Graves in the living room, and he wants to say it's evening despite the never-ending blazing sun. His footsteps are quiet, barefeet, and he stops at the doorway, watching the older man for few moments before speaking.
"Ma knew what I was, didn't she? She knew what my real mom was, too."
ii ➼ Iᴛ's ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʙʟᴜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ꜰᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ;
The more Credence thinks about how hot it is, the hotter he feels, and the more he thinks about how he shouldn't think about how hot it is the more he does
. The circular puzzle he's trapped in is ridiculous. The problem with dressing in long-sleeved shirts and long pants is that, even if they're airier thanks to the fact that they're Kira's clothing and not his own, it's even more hot
, which jumpstarts the entire thing.
He does his chores for the day and decides the best course of action is to copy what he'd spied Queenie doing a little while ago: he makes his way to the fountain, book close to his chest, dips his feet in, and reads. It's Frankenstein, which he's sure he's read at least 30 times since Christmas, but it's not like he has anything new.
It's when he finishes a chapter that he looks up--he squints against the sun, frowning--and muses, not necessarily to the person passing by.
"Do you ever wonder why they don't give us books very often? The ones that watch us."
iii ➼ Iᴛ's ᴀ ʙᴀᴄᴋᴡᴀʀᴅs ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴇʏᴇs;
Feel free to spy Credence at the fountain or by the river, or sometimes at the inn doing whatever needs to be done (most likely sweeping).