i believe i can fly

[self_composed]

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.

Comments

[self_composed]

She turns her head back in his direction. She's sort of looking at his chin, though. [Maybe. I still haven't read all the profiles. But Elias had - and expected to have - descendants. He had a family. I'm still confused.]

[edgeofyourseat]

Still thinking more about Bella's line of sight than her long-dead ancestor, he answers, [Maybe he didn't know anybody he wanted to hurt.] Either because they got off on it or because they didn't, but probably the second one. And likewise for not knowing anybody who wanted to hurt him.

[self_composed]

[I guess.] She shuts her eyes altogether. [The book doesn't say anything about his family, which is kind of weird. Maybe I should do that genealogy project as soon as I can visibly leave the house.]

[edgeofyourseat]

Bella is acting really weird.

Well, she can tell he's noticed, so if she wanted him to know why, she'd say. He shrugs and lets it go.

[Maybe he hated all his kids,] he speculates, smiling. [Or they hated him. Or both. But he still wanted to pass it down to somebody in the family.]

This line of reasoning makes perfect sense to a Hammond!

[self_composed]

[That could be. He lived long enough ago that if he had, like, an estranged wife but he liked his kids, she probably did not get custody, so that's probably not it.]

[edgeofyourseat]

[Yeah, I bet not.]

[self_composed]

The oven timer dings.

Bella gets up and puts on oven mitts and pulls it out. [Charlie'll be home in about fifteen minutes, by which time the pie'll be cool enough to eat. And then after dinner we have a difficult conversation with him.]

[edgeofyourseat]

[Sounds good to me,] Alice says wryly; it sounds good only in the sense that it is likely to lead to solving a problem. Actually having the conversation is unlikely to be fun.

On the other hand, fuck it, he has an underground lair now.

[self_composed]

[It's a pretty good lair, if I do say so myself,] Bella agrees. She turns off the oven and starts setting the table.

[edgeofyourseat]

Ooh, it's fun when she answers his thoughts like he said them out loud! Alice indulges in fuzzy feelings for a bit, and then wonders if she wants any help.

[self_composed]

[You can get the forks and napkins,] Bella suggests, laughing softly.

[edgeofyourseat]

Happily, he does.

[self_composed]

Charlie arrives as Bella's putting ice in the water pitcher. He sniffs the air appreciatively. "Pot pie, Bells?" He looks at Alice, unsurprised, unthrilled, unreactive. "Laney," he acknowledges.

"Yep, pot pie," Bella not-quite-sings, filling the pitcher with water and plunking it on the table.

[edgeofyourseat]

Alice grins.

Are they inappropriately cheerful for the subject they will later be raising? Well, not like he cares. Pie!

[self_composed]

The pot pie is gravyish on the bottom and biscuity on the top.

Ohhhh, it is good.

Bella sighs as she noms it, blissful.

[edgeofyourseat]

It is good. On the border of sexually so, in fact. Alice noms pie, and smiles, and loves Bella.

[self_composed]

Bella looks at him just a little pointedly, but makes no objection, not even a silent brainphone kind of objection.

"This is real good, Bells," Charlie remarks. "Laney help you?"

"He chopped up the carrots, and stuff," Bella says.

[edgeofyourseat]

"Yup," he concurs.

[self_composed]

"Well, this is a better recipe than the old one," Charlie says, nodding to himself.

Om nom nom, pie.

Bella puts out a bowl of grapes as a facsimile of dessert.

Om nom nom, grapes.

And then...

Bella wonders if Alice wants to start. He probably doesn't, but she checks. [You want me to take this?]

[edgeofyourseat]

[Yes please,] he says.

Talking about his dad isn't exactly the problem; talking to Charlie about his dad is a much bigger one. He just doesn't know how. And he clearly demonstrated with Angela earlier that talking to normal people is not a skill of his.

It probably isn't something you can pentagon, either. Or at least, it's not something he'd want to.

[self_composed]

[Yes, pentagoning that would be weird as hell. Who knows what kind of personality magic would glue onto you.]

"Dad," Bella says, when the grapes are a bowl of stems and no more, "in abuse cases - like, domestic violence and stuff - how is the victim's safety handled in cases where the defendant gets off? Even if it's on a technicality or something?"

[edgeofyourseat]

Alice wholeheartedly and definitively rejects the thought of modifying himself in such a way.

And then looks to Charlie to observe his answer.

[self_composed]

"Uh," Charlie says. "Not a lot we can do, honestly. Guy gets off, we have to treat him like he's innocent. Sometimes we can put the victim in lockup to keep 'em safe, but unless they do it again and we can arrest 'em a second time for a technically separate crime, not a police matter."

"Hmm," Bella says, reading Alice for a reaction.

[edgeofyourseat]

He didn't expect anything different, really. But the underground lair has him feeling a whole lot more secure about the prospect.

[self_composed]

"But certainly if the defendant, however technically-treated-as-innocent, were to do anything to harrass the victim - say, showing up at a workplace, following or hiring someone to follow them around, etcetera - then that would be a police matter again," Bella says.

"Yep," says Charlie. "Bells, is somebody after you? That's not why you moved here, is it? Renée would've told me if there was -"

"No, no," Bella says, shaking her head.