Isabella Marie Swan ✴ "Stella" (
self_composed) wrote2012-09-23 11:04 am
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i believe i can fly
Alice eventually goes home for the evening.
Bella goes up and sits in her room.
She has five hexes.
Five.
That's rather a lot of hexes.
She gets out her notebook, with the lists, and she makes some wishes.
And then she goes to bed, grinning.
In the morning it will be time to make plans.
Bella goes up and sits in her room.
She has five hexes.
Five.
That's rather a lot of hexes.
She gets out her notebook, with the lists, and she makes some wishes.
And then she goes to bed, grinning.
In the morning it will be time to make plans.
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"...Hilary doesn't know enough about him to notice the difference," he concludes, "but Mom..."
His mother knows his dad better than he does - well, obviously. His mother knows that his dad wouldn't do that, that whatever combination of possessiveness and duty drives him to lay such a claim on his son is not something he would ever, ever willingly give up.
"And I have no idea what he'd do. I mean, I take up a pretty big space in the guy's life. Who the fuck knows what he'd put there instead. Maybe it'd be totally fine. Maybe he'd wanna have another kid."
Actually, the more he thinks about it, the more likely that is—he only exists in the first place because of his father's desire for an heir. And it is not a prospect that fills him with joy. A vague sympathy for the hypothetical second try, more like.
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What things does his dad do? Hang around at home getting pissed off if anyone has fun where he can hear them, mainly.
"Well, getting that teacher fired was pretty sketchy, but I don't know if it was against the actual law."
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Okay with it because it is so screamingly obvious that Bella's family (the subset of it that he's seen) works in a way his doesn't, and that Charlie is not the kind of asshole Alice expects him to be. Weirdly because in the face of all evidence he still expects Charlie to be an asshole.
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"Sure, go nuts. I mean, I'll talk about it too if you want. Probably shouldn't get me up in front of that jury, though, 'cause I'll laugh and it'll just confuse 'em."
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(The thought of getting up and having negative emotions in front of a bunch of strangers is slightly uncomfortable, slightly arousing.)
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Pause.
"Are you going to flinch? Because if you recant halfway through this process it all falls apart."
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Pause.
"And you're going to need someplace to crash while this is all happening. I think it is pretty obvious you can't live in a house with your dad during this process. And it could take a long time. My dad can probably arrange protective custody, but as a temporary measure maybe you want to look into the underground lair anyway?"
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"Documentation time," she says, and she wishes a brand new notebook from her box of them upstairs. "Here goes memory-trawling. I can probably remember your memories better than you can 'cause I can just query them directly instead of having to elicit them from the inside."
She concentrates, and searches by keythought.
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The list of search results is very, very long, and all of them have the pain symbol attached.
Here is Alice's father standing by a lit fireplace and grabbing a poker out of the stand. Here is Alice's father with clenched fists and a thunderous expression. Here is a memory with no visuals, just touch and sound.
All the iconized visuals contain Delaney Hammond Sr.; some of them show his wife, too, invariably covering her face or leaving the room. They span nearly every room in the Forks house and dozens more in what must be the old house in New York. In some of the latter, Delaney Sr. is holding a weapon of some kind—cane, belt, ruler; in one, a lit cigarette. But apparently, by the time they got to Forks, he was mostly inclined to beat his son with his own two hands.
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