Defender of the Rainbow (starlightlady) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2018-07-16 05:21:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, feyre archeron, henry townshend |
A ghost.
Who: Feyra and Henry
What: Random meetings and ghosts
When: Before her recent dreams
Where: Somewhere
Rating: PG-13 for language
Status: complete
Henry was trying very hard not to run, but it was difficult. The ghost of the old woman with the comically large floppy hat was bearing down on him and no one else on the crowded sidewalk even noticed her.
Henry wasn’t confronted with ghosts at every waking moment of his life, but an encounter with one or two was becoming an everyday occurance. Henry had tried researching ways to stave them off, but so far nothing seemed to be working. The only thing Henry could really do was get away from the area the ghost seemed to haunt, and, as he was finding, some ghosts had larger areas than others.
Henry was starting to wonder just how large an area the woman-in-the-hat haunted. She was getting unnervingly close to him, causing his head to start to pound and his heart to race.
Feyre had set herself up near a an open air market. It was the kind of place that attracted the kind of people that would be into street art. Some days she’d rather just paint the walls, but graffiti didn’t really pay. At least she got to see little kids laughing and playing, and paint some of them. It was a little reminder that yes, sometimes, life could be good.
She looked up as someone passed, and if someone were attuned to that sort of thing, Feyre might, very briefly, appear to be High Lady of the Night Court something all together inhuman. But only briefly, and she hadn’t even dreamed that yet. “Are you all right?”
Henry was attuned to seeing things that weren’t human, however, he had not yet reached a point in his dreams in which he was even aware of it. At that moment, he was much more focused on the ghost that was floating and moaning behind him. She was much too close now and the pain in Henry’s head was intensifying. He barely heard a woman’s voice speak to him. “Huh?” He glanced in the direction of the voice. “Oh...yeah….uh…” he carefully tried to move around the young woman to avoid the ghost’s grabbing hands. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Feyre said, perhaps a little too sharply. She really needed to work on her people skills. But Henry looked like he was being chased by something.
Henry wasn’t a very good liar either. He feigned (rather poorly) surprise by her statement. “I don’t?” He asked. His amber colored eyes kept darting from the young woman to the left as he inched around her, trying to maintain at least a modicum of distance between himself and Old Lady Grabby Ghost. “That’s funny. ‘Cause I am. See?” Nervous chuckle. “Just fine.”
“Right.” Feyre held her paintbrush like it might make for a very good stabbing weapon. Blunt-force stabbing, at any rate, which would probably be very very painful. She looked at him like he might be dangerous. When she looked to the left, she didn’t see anything, “What are you looking at?”
Henry eyed the paint brush wearily. He didn’t particularly want to find out if being stabbed by it would be very painful, or simply leave an annoying streak of paint across his clothes. On the other hand, he really didn’t want to let the ghost he’d attracted get so close to him as to be able to jam her hands into him, either. It hurt. A lot.
Henry wasn’t exactly stellar at social encounters and this was just making things so much worse. “What am I looking at?” He said, as if repeating her question would buy him some time. It really didn’t. How could he possibly tell a complete stranger he was being chased by a ghost? Leon had at least seen it for himself before that kind of weird talk had started. Henry’s eyes flickered towards the ghost again as he took half a step just out of her reach. When in doubt tell the truth? “I’m being followed,” he admitted. “I’m trying to get awa-hey!”
Old Lady Grabby Ghost had decided the dance around the fleshy obstacle between her and the energy she wanted was over. She lunged forward intent on going through the young painter to get to Henry. On instinct, Henry grabbed hold of the young woman to quickly move her out of the way while at the same time trying not to open himself up for the attack either. The result was a very clumsy stumbling a few feet along the sidewalk.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Henry said, quickly releasing the poor woman and backing away before she decided to actually use her brush as a weapon on him.
Feyre stumbled across the sidewalk and hit her shoulder against a brick wall. Pain jarred through her, but she set it aside as she pulled herself up and looked at Henry like she was literally going to murder him then and there, “What the hell is your problem?!”
“I’m sorry!” Henry apologized again. He had both hands up in front of him as if to stave off the murder-by-paint brush that could be a very real possibility. As Henry was virtually falling all over himself to apologize for the accidental bump into the wall, the ghost was floating near the wall. It looked as though it was pacing in a very annoyed and impatient fashion. It was seemingly as oblivious to the young woman as she was of it.
“I’m so sorry,” Henry went on. “I didn’t mean to – watch out!”
Patience run out, the ghost lunged again, and again Henry pulled the painter out of the way. He was successful in not making her bump into the wall a second time, but less successful in avoiding the ghost. Old Lady Grabby Ghost finally got what she wanted. One of her gnarled hands phased through Henry’s shoulder making him bite back a painful grunt.
As though he were a battery or some other power source, she syphoned energy directly from him. The energy allowed her to become more corporeal. To anyone walking on the sidewalk she would have appeared as a faint mist. If anyone bothered to look closer they might have been able to make out the features of a woman in a floppy hat.
“What the actual…” Feyre’s words trailed off as the mist started to take shape. She could barely make it out, but it was like there was a person there. Faint. Barely there. And when she squinted she could make out some kind of energy connecting her and the man.
A normal person would have run away screaming, but Feyre picked up a rock and threw it at the mist.
With the borrowed energy, the ghost seemed to become more aware of its surroundings, as though waking from a kind of strange prolonged dream. The thrown rock frightened her enough to pull from Henry. The mist seemed to look at the young woman a moment before it floated backward and finally disappeared all together.
Henry was left feeling physically drained. The ghost hadn’t taken very much energy from him, thankfully. He leaned against the wall taking a few deep breaths to get his heart to slow down and watched the ghost retreat and finally disappear. Then Henry looked back towards the young woman. “Did you see her?” He asked.
“What the fuck was that?” Feyra gestured wildly with her paintbrush, “What the fucking fuck was that?!”
That was crazy, this was crazy. She’d finally lost her mind, her sisters had finally found a way to drive her off the deep end.
Henry jerked back against the wall to avoid getting hit with the flailing paint brush. “It was a ghost,” he explained as his eyes followed the woman’s hand more so than looking directly at her. “I think you scared her off.”
“A ghost.” She was going to throw her paintbrush at him. Maybe poke him in the eye. “You expect me to believe it was a ghost? In a …” Some kind of hat.
“That’s what it was,” Henry said. “I know it’s kinda...well, it’s a very hard to believe. I didn’t believe it either. But it’s kind of hard not to when one follows me around about once a day.” He was still eyeing her paintbrush wearily, not really sure what she planned to use it for now.
She lowered the paintbrush, sighing heavily, “This is one of those things, isn’t it. That they talk about on the Valarnet.”
Which didn’t make it any more believable but considering her dreams of late she was willing to believe anything.
Henry tilted his head slightly. “You’re on the network too, huh?” He asked.
Now that the paint brush wasn’t threatening to either stab him or paint him an unflattering color, Henry lowered his hands. One came to rest on the back of his neck. “Yeah, it is,” he said in response to her question. “At least I’m pretty sure it is. It didn’t start happening until I started getting the Dreams they talk about on there. In them ghosts chase me too.” He held his hands out similar to the way the Old Lady Grabby Ghost had been reaching for him earlier, “they stick their grabby hands into me and…” He trailed off, glancing at the woman in front of him. If she just barely accepted that a ghost had been chasing him, it was doubtful she wanted all the gory details of his Dreams, of which there were plenty literal ones. “Sorry,” he said kind of sheepishly, “Uhm…” he glanced from her to her paint supplies nearby. “You were painting.” Duh, Henry. “I’m really sorry I got in your way. Also, the wall,” he gestured between the young woman and the wall next to them. “I didn’t want her to hurt you.”
“Could she have? I mean if I hadn’t noticed her.” Feyre wasn’t sure how that worked, and that was worrisome. “Do nondreamers get hurt? There are things in my dreams that… would be very bad for them. And for dreamers too.”
Now that Henry thought about it, he wasn’t all that sure that the ghost would have been able to hurt the young woman. He’d never seen anyone else even notice the ghosts that lurked around, much less get affected by them. Besides, Leon that is. But Leon was on the Network too. Maybe things worked differently for those on the Network? “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Non-dreamers don’t ever seem to notice them. Dreamers only seem to when they actually grab hold of me. I guess they wouldn’t get hurt?” He guessed. “But I didn’t wanna risk it. Again, I’m really sorry if I hurt you.”
“It’s fine.” She rubbed her shoulder, then held out her hand, “I’m Feyre.” She pronounced it ‘Fayruh’.
“Henry,” Henry answered. He accepted the offered handshake. It was brief, but a strong shake. “Uhm, thank you for not stabbing me with your paint brush.”
“I’m not sure it would have done any damage. I really should start carrying a knife,” Feyre replied, entirely serious. She glanced at her canvas, just to make sure it hadn’t been damaged. Art supplies were expensive and she needed to be careful if she wanted to come out ahead.
Henry was a little alarmed by how naturally and seriously that statement was said. “Uh, yeah.” Was all he could think of to say in response. He followed her eyes towards her supplies. “Is your painting alright?” He asked her. Being a photographer, Henry knew how expensive one’s livelihood could be. “I didn’t….I mean...it’s alright?”
“It’s okay.” Feyre let out a relieved breath. None of her paints had spilled either. Other than being ruffled and annoyed, nothing had been lost. She looked at him. “Though I wish I could stab ghosts now.”
“Uh, well, next time in the area and a ghost is chasing me, I’ll come this way and you can stab it,” Henry promised. “If, you know, you get a knife.”
“I’ll get a knife,” Feyre promised him, like that was a forgone conclusion.
“Oh, ok.” Now Henry felt obligated to get chased by a ghost again so he could bring it here for the painter to stab. It was kind of a strange obligation, but the painter seemed to want to stab a ghost and all things considered, better a ghost than him. “Are you usually here?” He asked.
“Tuesdays and Thursdays. At least as long as they don’t chase me off.” Feyre looked around nervously. She liked to think she brought the area a little extra business.
“They?” Henry asked. “Who’s ‘they’?” He frowned. “And why do they want to chase you off?”
She gestured towards one of the nearby businesses, “Business owners. Don’t always take well to someone doing the art version of busking. Or busking. They chased off a guy on a violin last week.”
“Oh.” Henry glanced towards the business Feyre had gestured towards, a small frown pulling on the corners of his mouth. He thought it would be nice to have someone playing the violin in a district like this. It would be entertainment and it would be nice to listen to. “I went to school in Boston for half a year,” he said. “I used to listen to a guy play a guitar near the dorm where I lived.” He paused for a moment as if thinking hard. “You know, there’s a fountain in a square near where I work. I wouldn’t care if you wanted to set up there sometime.”
“Are you sure?” She looked at him like she wasn’t sure she could trust him. Or she wasn’t used to trusting people. And she wasn’t. Who could trust a stranger, who would want to? That way only led to being hurt.
“Well, I interrupted everything you were doing,” Henry said. He had his hand on the back of his neck again. “And you scared off the ghost before she could really hurt me so, I owe you.” He shrugged slightly. “Besides, the owner’s never there and I don’t care if you wanna set up outside.” He blinked. “I mean. I care, but it wouldn’t bother me. Not that you would bother me.” Jesus Christ why was he still talking?!
Henry let out a breath and let his hands fall to his sides. “I guess, I don’t know, come if you want to. The shops in a little walking district about three blocks west of here.” He pointed in the direction he had been going in before the ghost had stopped him. “It’s called Schreiber Photography.”
He was kind of cute when he babbled, she’d give him that. “I’ll have to check it out, thanks. But I should… pack up and head home anyway. I’m the youngest but I’m also the responsible one and the only one that can cook.”
Really, her family would starve without her. Elain could at least garden, and that helped out a bit with herbs and vegetables. But she was useless otherwise and Nesta was even more useless.
“Sure,” Henry nodded as though he understood, but being an only child he didn’t really have a concept of having one’s family survival heaped upon one’s shoulders. He could guess how much it sucked, but that’s all it would be. He felt worse that he had interrupted what appeared to be how she made money for her family. “Do you need any help?” He offered. Really, even if she decided to avoid him like the plague after this, it was the least he could do.
She squinted at him, her natural instinct to turn down any help. After all, people who offered to help usually wanted something. But she was trying to be just a little more trusting. “Okay.”