L Gryffiths (immoveable) wrote in at_the_gates, @ 2012-10-21 00:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | elizabeth gryffiths, leo gryffiths |
Who: Gryff and Lizzie.
What: Gryffiths doesn't live here anymore.
It was a dark, twisty thing and ramshackle enough. It had been slammed frequently, and had a tendency to bounce on its hinges. It was rusty around the hinges and it squeaked if you opened it the wrong way. And it had been locked, frequently, since the last night Haven had gone quite and gorily mad.
Now it stood ajar. A stone, heavy and round and solid, helpfully tucked it open. It was deliberate, as such things must be, and Haven's heavy, thick door was not propped open but it had the air of something that could be. There was a vague, thin feeling of something out of place in the air, delicate as spider webs.
The door slammed, a tuneless sort of whistle and Gryff stacked (tidily) brown cardboard boxes on the step. The door slammed again, closed -- and the hallway was the dim grey of morning light, was stone slippery underfoot.
"Too many bloody books, Andley," but it was not unkind, rather the call someone makes to a whole house rather than a person. He did not know if she'd answer - if Em was in fact, even there, today. She could be, she was there more often than not but the slipping away to strange, different places - when magic shuttered down behind the dark eyes, and made her untouchable, was real enough to be present unconscious consideration. A knowledge Gryff had at fingertip's length rather than nothing at all.
"If you stack any more I'll know. I've counted," he threatened, and was given the response of a low and pleasant purr from Ophelia's cat, grey shadow of it sat placidly by the door to the library.
"Be quiet," Gryff said. It stared at him and blinked.
It was a little like metal, grinding over metal, the ringing, back-of-teeth unpleasantness of difference, of oddity. Of leaving go and letting loose, of untangling thread that had balled itself together and wished to remain so. Haven clung, like damp in the air, like fingers below his chin, above his heart. Uneasy, the sound still and quiet and thick, Gryff disappeared within the office, and reappeared, box in hand, heading toward the door with the low and tuneless whistle of ignoring what was not right.