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+--- Thread: scrying (/showthread.php?tid=1066)
scrying - mnemosyne - 02-04-2016
A phone call, a voice mail.
Nothing.
Okay, fine. Another one, a few days later.
Weird.
A text: simply -
????
Nope. De nada. That's enough, though. Enough for Sera to forgo a half-dozen different invitations to Prohibition or Delancy's or Public House or where-the-fuck ever and find Dan and loop her arm through his and tell him: they are going to Hogwarts. Tonight.
--
She explains in the car on the way. Just a bit of scrying. I mean, who knows. Maybe he's off hiking in the back country, trying to find himself. Scaling some iced-over waterfall, sleeping in caves, opening himself up to the sun, moon, stars, anything. Everything: inviting whatever comes. No alarm, nothing particular, nothing remarkable right? A quiet evening getting stoned and opening herself up and feeling the substance of herself thinning, thinning, thinning, bright against undaunted thoroughness of the sky, the welted weight of the world beneath her. Groundlings, spiked with steel, threaded by flame. Always feels like she's falling apart, submerging, merging, drowning, the outflung pieces of her awareness returning to the -
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
"Fuck."
--
"Huh?" Dan rouses himself from Netflix. He's half-wearing headphones, but has one ear slightly off so that he can hear her when she needs him. The house is empty, creepily silent and when she tells him what she tells him, he breathes out, constricted, sharp. Controlled. Has a moment of threading something, but then: controls it. "Lemme get you some Gatorade something to eat, before, okay?"
So it goes. They start: again.