Richard Campbell Gansey III (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thatsallthereis) wrote2016-07-20 03:05 pm
thatsallthereis) wrote2016-07-20 03:05 pm
And everything you've ever been is still there in the dark night
Gansey was dreaming.
He was in Monmouth -- no, he was in a hotel room. Monmouth stood empty in Henrietta, with Adam and Ronan tucked away at the Barns and Noah at rest. Gansey was only dreaming he was in Monmouth, but when he dreamed, he was never asleep enough to confuse it for reality. Much like in his waking hours, he kept one foot on the ground, checked in with himself to make sure he knew where he was. Tulsa, not Henrietta. Some hotel, not Monmouth. Home, but not those safe walls. After years of traveling and seeking, Gansey was relieved that he'd found a sort of peace that made him feel that home was wherever he, Henry, and Blue laid their heads for the night. Home was his Camaro, buzzing down interstate highways noisily despite the fact that there was no machinery to whir, no head gasket to blow every 45 minutes. Another thing he and his precious Pig had in common: a separation from time and the laws of the universe proper. Neither of them made any sense. No one Gansey loved did.
Gansey was awake. Calling what he was doing "dreaming" was a bit of a leap anyway. It was more like he was looking at Monmouth and noticing how empty it was. There wasn't even a ghost to haunt its empty halls.
Blue was gone. Henry was gone. A few moments ago, Gansey swore he felt Blue exhale a sleepy sigh against his neck, close enough to notice and far enough away to wonder if it had happened at all.
There was a vast expanse of a window spilling bright light into the room. Tulsa's forecast showed rain for days, heavy enough that Gansey had been able to convince Blue to let him get a hotel for a few days rather than risk flying off the road trying to flee the downpour. Gansey liked the rain. The sound of it on the roof had been one of his only companions in times of sleeplessness on his travels.
The sun was out and Gansey was alone. It sat wrong in his chest. Then, he looked around.
Books. Books he might read. A desk. A desk with knots in it the size of fists, all knuckle and no regard for bone. It made him think of Ronan, much the way gasoline smelled like Adam and the cold reminded him of Noah. This room was stark. The books were stacked in a way that felt familiar to him.
Then, he heard voices. The walls of this room didn't reach the ceiling and Gansey could hear the sounds of someone banging around in the kitchen, could smell their cooking. Occasionally someone would speak, and Gansey's heart was pounding too hard in his ears to find the voices familiar. What if he'd been kidnapped? What if Henry and Blue weren't safe? Some uninformed idiot might have traced some of Gansey's research and thought there was something to find, as Gansey once had. Though never, ever would he have tried to find it like this.
Still, the smell of breakfast was not very menacing. Gansey took the space of a few breaths to calm himself, work through some rational thought, and push himself to his feet. Distressingly, he was only dressed from the waist down, glasses still on his face. He looked around fruitlessly for a shirt. Unless he fashioned one out of a nearby book titled Questioning Darrow's History, that wouldn't change. He decided not to harm the book in any way and headed for the door. He pushed it open. He had no idea what he might find on the other side.
Ceilings, high as the ones in Monmouth. Maybe higher. There were several bedrooms, laid about a very open floorplan. There was some shuffling below that suggested activity beneath, a table set, some more ruckus in the kitchen. No one seemed to be guarding the door. This wasn't a kidnapping. What the hell was it then? His brows knitted deeply over the tips of his wire frames and he skidded a thumb over his lip as he rounded the corner to the kitchen.
He was in Monmouth -- no, he was in a hotel room. Monmouth stood empty in Henrietta, with Adam and Ronan tucked away at the Barns and Noah at rest. Gansey was only dreaming he was in Monmouth, but when he dreamed, he was never asleep enough to confuse it for reality. Much like in his waking hours, he kept one foot on the ground, checked in with himself to make sure he knew where he was. Tulsa, not Henrietta. Some hotel, not Monmouth. Home, but not those safe walls. After years of traveling and seeking, Gansey was relieved that he'd found a sort of peace that made him feel that home was wherever he, Henry, and Blue laid their heads for the night. Home was his Camaro, buzzing down interstate highways noisily despite the fact that there was no machinery to whir, no head gasket to blow every 45 minutes. Another thing he and his precious Pig had in common: a separation from time and the laws of the universe proper. Neither of them made any sense. No one Gansey loved did.
Gansey was awake. Calling what he was doing "dreaming" was a bit of a leap anyway. It was more like he was looking at Monmouth and noticing how empty it was. There wasn't even a ghost to haunt its empty halls.
Blue was gone. Henry was gone. A few moments ago, Gansey swore he felt Blue exhale a sleepy sigh against his neck, close enough to notice and far enough away to wonder if it had happened at all.
There was a vast expanse of a window spilling bright light into the room. Tulsa's forecast showed rain for days, heavy enough that Gansey had been able to convince Blue to let him get a hotel for a few days rather than risk flying off the road trying to flee the downpour. Gansey liked the rain. The sound of it on the roof had been one of his only companions in times of sleeplessness on his travels.
The sun was out and Gansey was alone. It sat wrong in his chest. Then, he looked around.
Books. Books he might read. A desk. A desk with knots in it the size of fists, all knuckle and no regard for bone. It made him think of Ronan, much the way gasoline smelled like Adam and the cold reminded him of Noah. This room was stark. The books were stacked in a way that felt familiar to him.
Then, he heard voices. The walls of this room didn't reach the ceiling and Gansey could hear the sounds of someone banging around in the kitchen, could smell their cooking. Occasionally someone would speak, and Gansey's heart was pounding too hard in his ears to find the voices familiar. What if he'd been kidnapped? What if Henry and Blue weren't safe? Some uninformed idiot might have traced some of Gansey's research and thought there was something to find, as Gansey once had. Though never, ever would he have tried to find it like this.
Still, the smell of breakfast was not very menacing. Gansey took the space of a few breaths to calm himself, work through some rational thought, and push himself to his feet. Distressingly, he was only dressed from the waist down, glasses still on his face. He looked around fruitlessly for a shirt. Unless he fashioned one out of a nearby book titled Questioning Darrow's History, that wouldn't change. He decided not to harm the book in any way and headed for the door. He pushed it open. He had no idea what he might find on the other side.
Ceilings, high as the ones in Monmouth. Maybe higher. There were several bedrooms, laid about a very open floorplan. There was some shuffling below that suggested activity beneath, a table set, some more ruckus in the kitchen. No one seemed to be guarding the door. This wasn't a kidnapping. What the hell was it then? His brows knitted deeply over the tips of his wire frames and he skidded a thumb over his lip as he rounded the corner to the kitchen.
no subject
But Gansey had seen Ronan's face, how he'd had to convince the boy so hard that everything was okay, and his doubt still lingered. Ronan was not in a state to share his space with someone that, to this Ronan, was a relative stranger. The time would come. Everything would align. Maybe it wouldn't even be magic; maybe Gansey would make it so himself. The thought put the touch of a smile at his lips.
"Come on," Gansey said, clasping Henry on the shoulder in an Aglionby-friendly sort of way. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't glad to be there, mostly because he hadn't had a say in the matter. "I've got a lot to learn." He would need to buy clothes, first -- probably in the next hour or so. "Is there a department store around here?" That would be perfect. Especially if they had a garden section. He could get two errands out of the way.
Which brought up another question: "What is transportation like here?" What if he had to take the bus? Gansey had never been on a bus before. And worse: how was he going to pay for it? How much of a mysterious stipend did he get? He was sure it was less than he was used to spending.
no subject
Henry took the new-arrivals-packet from Gansey, and fished the map out of it. He reached boldly into the interior pocket of his jacket on Gansey--murmured only 'scuse--and grabbed a pen. Then he laid the map out on the nearest, mostly bare, counter.
"So...we're here. Here-ish." He marked a star on the map for Hywel's location on the corner of Stag and Scoone. "I'm up north, at Candlewood...ah, here it is." He marked an X over his building. "And then, let's see. Here's the library, the university, the shopping mall..."
Henry went through the vital attributes of Darrow, as he'd found them, since his arrival in May. It was hard to believe he'd been here for over two months now. He didn't say a thing about that right now. It was the least of their problems.
no subject
"Very informative presentation, Cheng," Gansey said, smiling his approval. He tucked the map back into the envelope and spent only a few seconds rifling through the contents again. He eyed the money an the cards. He closed it.
"Thank you." Nearly everyone else had so much more tumult about Gansey being around than Henry did. It was worth it -- love always was. Still, it was nice to be greeted by a friendly face with more answers than questions. He gripped Henry's shoulder again, less tightly, this time. He was processing.
no subject
Gansey's hand was heavy and informal and comforting. Henry felt terribly out of place. What was he doing? What was the answer here? He avoided the nervous need to fidget, tap the pen or chew on the cap. It wouldn't alleviate any of this strange energy.
"I'm around," Henry assured. This was the first time he'd stepped into Hywel, but things were not as tense as they'd been back in May when he'd arrived. "If you need help settling. It's rough at first." And what he meant by that was Let me know if it gets any easier. Henry didn't honestly know if Darrow became not rough for some people. Maybe not for them. Maybe it would for the five Henriettas, and not for him. Who knew.