who: Lily Luna & Harry what: A family reunion when: Backdated to Monday afternoon where: Hut #2 status: Incomplete, closed rating: Low
Lily, despite all her inexperience in real world things, had always considered herself skilled at holding her nerve in stressful situations. She was a connoisseur of first dates, an expert at socialising with strangers, and had navigated her way through years of friendship disputes and minor family conflicts. In her eyes, that qualified her as being able to deal with pretty much everything that was thrown her way. She was good, she thought. She was good. Until this.
Her journal sat discarded to one side for the moment although she kept it in her gaze, not wanting to disconnect herself completely from its palimpsest of scribbles. She gnawed at her lip whilst considering all she had learnt. Firstly, that she seemed to be in this for the long haul. Hugo had been here a year. Secondly, that seemingly everything was in the wrong order. Not just herself and her cousins a little mixed up, but her paternal grandparents were alive here, and the uncle she never got to meet. Whatever magic had been cast to jumble them all up like this was powerful and intimidating and, she had to admit it, more than a little exciting. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly: when your father thinks you're five years old, it's best not to surprise him by swearing like a madwoman.
Merlin, she would be so glad of that hug he promised.
As she waited, she replayed their written exchanges in her mind. A fourteen year gap. Lily tried to imagine herself at age five: terribly small, her hair barely brushing past her chin, her knees permanently grazed from all the tumbles she took trying to keep up with her brothers. Or perhaps that was later? Perhaps the tumbles were aged seven. Or nine. Perhaps her hair was longer, working its way to her shoulders by then. She only had memories of photographs to guide her. Everything she remembered of her very early childhood was bright and bleary, all of it bathed in a layer of sunlight that didn't seem to quite fit the fact she grew up in England. She willed her mind to think back as far as it could go and conjured up flashes of oversaturated smiles, laughter that she knew existed in plenitude but that she couldn't quite put into context. And all of that, to her Dad -- to this Dad -- would be sharp in his mind, and as clear as her memories of her apartment and job and, well, entire life, really, were to her.
Next her thoughts turned to her brothers, to whom Harry had already talked to. The thought of them was soothing and for the first time in her life, she found herself glad that this was something they had experienced before she had to. In this odd, island reality, anyway. It meant that Harry had some practice in figuring out this future business. Maybe she wouldn't be a complete shock, maybe the boys had already told him the worst of it. The word 'disappointment' lingered in her mind briefly; an exaggerated, but not wholly unfounded, worry which she quickly dismissed. Trying to preempt what Harry would think would just lead to tying herself up in knots.
And then Lily heard somebody approach the hut and all her idle fretting slipped away, replaced by the same immense feeling of relief that she had felt when she first caught sight of her dad's familiar handwriting. Setting all her thoughts aside she scrambled quickly to her feet, making her way outside to meet him, her face beaming. Underneath all the worries about who she was and who she might become to him, he was still her dad and boy, with all this going on, did she need her dad right now.
"Hey, Dad," she said, her voice measured and bright. "It's me, Lily."