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

[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.

[edgeofyourseat]

This seems like a good moment to tell him, actually.

Alice hesitates on the vague suspicion that he would say it... wrong in some way.

[self_composed]

"Dad," Bella says quietly, "it's Alice's father."

Charlie's expression is one of slowly dawning comprehension. He looks at Alice.

"In November," he said.

[edgeofyourseat]

"Yep," says Alice. "I really pissed him off that time. He usually doesn't hit me with things, and even when he does it's usually not a poker."

He recalls the felt/heard sound of his own ribs snapping and winces slightly.

[self_composed]

Charlie looks nonplussed at this straightforward description.

"Part of today," Bella said, "went to making a list of - well, everything." [Are you going to hex yourself eidetic memory? This'd be a good time. Copy my version.] "I know Mrs. Hammond can't be compelled to testify against her husband, but their driver knows enough to be suspicious if he were halfway decent as a human being, and even the fact that Alice went to the hospital in November and didn't explain why ought to be suspicious - I figured it out that way. Alice has a safe place to go, whichever way a trial goes, but is worried about his dad buying someone off or there not being enough evidence to convict, and then he could get harassed at school."

[edgeofyourseat]

Alice obediently uses up a hex.

And thinks of the same sound again, this time with considerably more clarity.

Well, that's... definitely a mixed blessing. He carefully does not start down the road of mentally listing all the things it would be really inconvenient to recall in detail right now.