Fringes Layers of time
#51
"Sometimes. Other times, there is wine."

There, she brought it up jokingly, as she was destined to do. But he was correct. Humans could live without electricity for the most part, but not water.

"At least there is a lot of metal outside. I can use some of it. All of it."
#52
Ah, wine for the Italian. Duly noted.

But... "Well, if I'm not allowed to fry myself, you're not allowed to wear yourself down into nothing. So just... you know. How's your arm?"

He'd meant to ask, but had been very distracted by the land bridge and the spiders and all.
#53
Her arm. The arm that had healed after a water bottle and then some. She could not tell him that, of course, in part because she did not entirely know how William enchanted drinks for her with healing properties, and it would not be beneficial for her to know. "Ah... it is alright. I think it looked worse than it really was."

She set the plate down, pulled back her sleeve. It was largely healed, just lightly fading scars.

"Lucky strike."
#54
He observed and was satisfied. "Glad, then. I guess we all work with things that can be a bit dangerous."

Oscar's fingers tingled in memory.

"It was fun, though. Other than that." For him, at least. He did hope Agostina had taken joy from it.
#55
"Yes, I agree. Thank you for it. And Nero is very cute." Though, at this, she had to laugh a bit, realizing she had neglected to ask a very important question. "What made you name him that? He was a mad emperor of Rome."

She finished her serving of pasta, then set the plate aside, satisfied for the moment.
#56
Ah, someone finally questioned his joke. This was enough to put quite the smile on him as he made his confession. "It was a joke I had growing up. My parents named our cat Mao Zedong. Our dog was Lenin. That sort of thing. So when I got this perfectly adorable puppy I thought... why not keep the tradition of undermining truly terrible men's legacies on furry animals?"

Some were off limits. But Nero had always seemed... obscure enough, for most to not notice.
#57
The explanation was so unexpected. She'd foolishly expected him not to know, or maybe that it was an adopted name from wherever he'd gotten the dog from. Instead it was intentional, and she laughed, this time enough to cover her mouth with her hand.

"I cannot believe this!"

It was brilliant, funny. After a moment, she continued. "And Mussolini?"
#58
Oh, that was a good one. "I think you might have just named my next dog." Which he would have one, inevitably. Hopefully not too soon, as he didn't want to lose Caster any sooner than he had to, but... he was a two-dog kind of guy. "My parent's last cat was Stalin, and my my father had a bird for years named Julius. Middle name, Ceasar."

He was glad she liked it, because sometimes it was a little much for some people.
#59
Laughter bound her as he carried on. "That is too much! I hope the bird was kept away from other pets." Not stabbed with claws, beaks, or teeth!

As it mellowed, she hummed with fond memory.

"I had a cat, a few years ago. I never could decide a name for him."
#60
It was always good, to get a peek into history you had no reason to know otherwise. He had softened with her, leaned around a bit to clean up after them and make sure everything was back in the cooler where it would keep. He felt better.

"Really? No name at all?"
#61
A shake of her head. "I think he was above any one name. So I called him many things depending on his mood. Or mine. But I don't think it bothered him very much."

Ah, she missed that boy. Much like she missed the talking bird she'd used to know.
#62
It painted something rather sweet and sincere, he decided. "I think that sounds lovely, really. I think how we feel is often a lot important than a name we put to something, anyway."

But he knew how thinking about lost pets was. Bittersweet when you thought back.
#63
It was good to have agreement here. She simply could never commit to something with her otherwise nameless cat. Only the moment.

She nodded small through a soft hum, watching him as he put things away.

"Were you never married, Oscar?"

She didn't remember if she had asked him before. Maybe it was not too personal to ask now.
#64
He wasn't sure if it had ever come up. But while it wasn't his favorite answer to give, it was at least so ingrained in him that it didn't bother him. Not like it used to.

"No... Not for a lack of wanting, really, but it just never seemed to work out."

Oscar supposed... common denominator, he was the problem. But why? That was the actual mystery.
#65
"Why?"

It was a natural next question; either he had poor taste or he had not noticed a pattern, which meant that he inevitably was said pattern.

Which would be worrisome.
#66
A slight frown to that. A difficult question for him, but he'd give his best answer. "I think I've always just been second choice."

Not anyone's favorite. Not disliked, not problematic. Just not a preferred option. And he'd never worked his way into being such, which he'd admit was on him.
#67
Ah.

That was a sad thing, and the words moved somewhat like guilt in her chest for her part played in it. It was less that Oscar had made much in the way of obvious overture and more that she had felt stirrings here and there, and put them aside. To be so taken in by the charms of a monster enough to adore him and ignore what he was despite the wrath of God, when a veritable man was right here, one who was kind and thoughtful and caring. And above all, human.

And to know he had never been anyone's first choice, and that he wasn't hers either, by nature of how her life had played out. Even at this moment in this decayed house, she couldn't simply put aside where her heart truly lay and conjure another.

But what was life but a web of lies to crawl through? Agostina had morals once. She'd been piously blameless once; at least, she thought so. But she'd been forced past such self-delusions within these past few years. She was already damned. So, for a damned woman, surely two hearts could exist side by side then so long as they never crossed paths.

Her eyes to copper green, there was a soft lock of metal at the door as if William would burst in at any moment. As if he wouldn't need a fucking invitation to do so, as if he'd find her gone from her apartment in some surprise visit and then would even think to look for her here.

Not until she told him to, she was sure.

Her hand reached towards Oscar's then. Not a sudden move, not a fearful one either.
#68
He heard that faint noise, didn't realize what it was. Was more conscious of the color of her eyes, and his brow furrowed slightly as he thought to ask--

Nothing. In that moment he wasn't going to ask anything. Because she reached for his hand and his impulse was to think that it was pity, that she was sorry for him. But no, it was more like sympathy, for a friend. Who she... cared for, maybe.

No, not maybe. He knew that. After all, she'd had ample opportunity to shelve this friendship, to find a different pact, different company. Others had done exactly that before her--the first psychics he'd known he could barely remember the names of at this point. Agostina wasn't a young woman who reached out all the time, clung to his presence in any way. But she was consistent. He'd known her before he'd known her.

So she reached to take his hand, and he met that gesture.

Voice soft, a bit like he struggled to say it at all. "I do appreciated it, when you want me here."
#69
It was wrong to do this. She knew that. Wrong to Oscar, so untarnished, to pull him towards her in this way. And wrong to herself when she knew she wouldn't be faithful, either to him or to William. But wrong only stopped her so far the older she got, it seemed. It had been wrong to love a vampire too.

Once she'd been accused by Massimo of trying to seduce his brother. That had not been true, never her intention in their friendship. Now she was lining up into the kind of woman that accusation would have made her if it had. His ghost must have been laughing.

"I want you here," she answered simply and with a sort of finality that asked for no more talking, pulling him towards her and inclining her head upwards. Yes, well. That was very true at least.
#70
This wasn't where he'd expected... He'd thought maybe to ask if her the same question, about marriage, about the bits of past they'd not touched on. To find out why she was out here, living alone, like this. Wanting to do it again, or...

Just...

Anything, really.

He did not lack feeling here. Oscar hadn't ever dwelt on it because he knew his own self and his own fortunes and knew better than to ever get his hopes up about anything that he didn't more fully control himself. Agostina was a friend and she was...

It wasn't like she...

It was good to be wrong, sometimes. And he might have been a permanent bachelor, but he wasn't a clueless teenager, either. So he respected her request, and met his own feelings with an initial acknowledgement as he kissed her.
#71
No longer so frozen in physicality that she could be awkward, having been thawed by the other man in her life, the one she told no one of — Agostina felt their lips meet and closed her eyes, kissing back with an honest push into it. Guilt floated on the surface of the feeling, algal froth atop a lake's current. But below that was the lake of feeling itself, complex and physical and impossible to ignore.

He was a handsome man, a self-assured one, an admirable one, a likeable one, a responsible one. This was not as hard a decision to make so much as it was an unkind one on her part. But for now there was feeling as she brought his hand to rest behind her, the small of her back, so she could free herself to bring her hands up against his shoulders at first, then around him, embracing him towards her in wordless permission.

Different, kissing him. He was warmer than William ran, the fact of differing temperatures not one she could connect to what she knew him to be. And she felt warmer too. Heated in this old home in summer with nothing but the air of an open window to offer a breeze.

There was a selfishness in not pulling away immediately, amidst the rest of the selfishness of doing any of this at all. To do that would mean having to contend with either taking it somewhere likely less vertical, a thing her body wanted in this moment — or talking, which would mean having to weave lies around the inevitable questions. A bit longer of a kiss would delay both, even if each was likely inevitable.
#72
Had they been dancing around this? It seemed to him now that they had. Or... no, not dancing, he knew better than to misbelieve there had been flirting or coy things. If anything they had walked steadily together for a while now, and this was just them realizing they'd been headed the same direction.

So, joined hands, followed by this. Where he continued on with kissing her, encouarged adequately. His mind buzzed with unearthed anticipations, thoughts, possibilities. Wished he'd brought wine.

The hand not holding her to him found her shoulder, then the side of her neck, the root of her hair.

What a jump, from rarely making contact to... this. Oscar was enlivened, following the angle of her as his own posture threatened with making friends with an unclean floor.
#73
A breath was needed, pulling back just enough that she could do that. And then she went for him again, a little more intensely. All through it her mind waded through thoughts, not distracted enough to stop herself, but able to acknowledge them. How the old bed frame had her on it last night with the fresh blanket atop, but the creaking of its joints meant it was likely unable to withstand much in the way of rhythmic movement, how the feelings would be so complicated to navigate, how the floor still needed sweeping.

Who would be hurt more to find out about the other man?

His hand wandering her neck, into her hair, sent the finer peach fuzz of her face and body raising in areas of goosebumps. She did want, she was not above it. There was a lean, and then she pulled away now, walked as her lips pressed together, pulled him towards the bed. Not to be on it, but to yank the cleaner blanket off and lay it to the floor in some wrinkled half-assed shape that was enough for them. But then a glance back at him in wordless question, trying to assess some measure of protest or denial on his face.

It needn't go further than this. She didn't know his values, what he was thinking of her in this moment, how much he was willing to want. She wasn't even sure how far she was willing to go, and setting an intention in the moment was never her way. Moments went until they didn't.
#74
It seemed to him that she had thought about this before now. Perhaps not in the sense that there was an ulterior motive in asking him to come and help her with the house, or practice, or any of it. But Agostina, in his eyes, was not a hasty woman. This was not some gesture of compassion in response to his confession. Maybe his words had made her realize something? Or maybe she had just been looking for a chance...

Nothing here was particularly ideal, but it also wasn't so strange as to put him off. He followed her with a bit of a daze to him, so many finer details forgotten as he watched her sweep the blanket the floor. And when she looked at him, she wouldn't find hesitation or confusion. Just the gentle raise of eyebrows as he assessed her in return. They'd not talked about this. They'd not even come close.

But they were both firmly adults, and there were other ways of communicating other than insufficient words. And so it was his turn to tug, to pull her back into his personal space. Putting both arms around her to find her mouth again. To encourage her where she'd already encouraged him.

Trusting that they were listening to each other, and would continue to.
#75
No hesitation from him. Not a word. Not a need to pause and define or ask or anything, just the way he pulled her back towards him. There was less guilt in a second kiss, and wasn't that terrible of her. Agostina felt inflamed, her volcanic sort of passion locked deep within rising up. The Devil was the only one who sat on her shoulders, whispering indulgences in her ear that no angel could lead her from.

Her hands gripped fists at his shirt. Felt his body through the safe barrier of clothing, let herself press against him. What was the use in being shy, really. She was no stranger to it by now, only to him in particular.

That lean returned. One hand went back trying to support a descent by the mattress first so it was not just bending all the way to the floor, but the floor and the blanket was the goal. Agostina sought to bring Oscar with her, over her, maybe not perfectly aligned as she kept her legs closed for the moment, but that was enough. Heated, and scaldingly so. If his lips wandered elsewhere from hers, she might just flicker into fire itself.
#76
Down they went, and even a little weight on the mattress was quick enough to reveal to him why she'd swept the blanket to the floor instead. The creak of that frame was not beckoning in the least. Which meant Oscar was inclined to just put all is trust into Agostina and her path. He was just a guest here, after all.

An apparently deeply welcome guest, but all the same.

He was mindful as he found himself on her, aware of her ailments and frailties. Goodness knew he had some of his own, and it was definitely a slight protest from one of his knees in there somewhere. But he would not be deterred, nor was he inclined to treat her like something that would break. No, if anything he knew she was strong enough to redirect or stop him if she found she needed to.

This was escalating and there were no reservations on his end. No one else to think about. No complications to chew over. For him, there was nothing dramatic to sniff at as he swept his hand down her side and rested his hand at her hip. A slight pressure of his thumb there, to prove himself something not passive or merely obedient. This, combined with the fact that the next time they needed a breath, he took his against her neck, where his lips could graze the line of her heartbeat.
#77
As ever she was the quiet type, her sighs lacking in voice. But it was still audibly that she exhaled as he moved to her neck, that place she never allowed William to play with. So it was that it was much more sensitive to touch there, to lips and kissing, trusting in the knowledge that Oscar was not a vampire. She clutched her hand at the back of his head, into his hair, pressing him with some fervor against the sensitivity of her neck. Black hair, not white, her mind supplied unnecessarily. She was hardly at risk for confusing them.

But it did unlock something, all this. It was not fully formed, and she wouldn't notice it for some indeterminate time to come besides a rise in the frequency of hot flashes and fevers. A fever was what she felt happening now. Just didn't realize it was not just her own lust coming into play, heating her up to the point of bodily aching. Distracted enough by him that she didn't understand it.

His hand at her hip had one leg rising, not quite parting from the other, just bending up at the knee. She wanted, wasn't so certain of going much past this just yet. Wanted what they were doing at this one particular moment. Her hips inclined up some, some instinctive search for pleasure expected.

Agostina pulled him to adjust more centered over her, and now she did part her legs, welcoming at least a bit of friction over clothing amidst some denial of less between them. A bit teenagerish, maybe. But if he didn't mind it, then it meant this could go on a bit longer.
#78
Oscar really didn't mind. It would be... kind of absurd of him, really, to mind any of this. Considering he'd not counted on so much as holding her hand, finding himself here felt like an indulgence already. So where he would take what was offered, eagerly mouthing at her neck and jaw and listening for those very quiet breaths, the silent communication continued.

And when she let him closer, more intimate still, he aimed to not disappoint. Pressure, touch, traction where it counted. Maybe they were behaving somewhat juvenile, but it had been a very long time since he'd felt much like this at all. And in a way, wouldn't it be more adolescent to be going too far, too fast? Not that he didn't feel at risk of that, but he had a better control on urges than that.

Oh, but he did feel like he would do anything she wanted, right then. Even fully clothed and aggressively middle-aged, the simulation of something more was there. Reigned in only in the attempt to not embarrass himself. Twined her hair, kissed her mouth, then the other side of her neck.
#79
Every push up against her was another flare of heat, every delectable kiss a spark visible in her mind. Warmer and warmer, mouth feeling arid whenever he left her lips, yet fully submerged in desire. Down he went against the other side of her throat, leaving her wondering if he was leaving signs, marks.

She knew better than to tell him not to. It would imply she had something to hide rather than simply doing well at hiding it.

Agostina pushed hips against his, wanting the nearness of sex without the full commitment. She let herself enjoy this, nipped teeth gently at his earlobe when she could access it. Clutched to his shoulders, honest in her soft sighs, encouraged him, wondered which of them would be warmer if they ever dared without clothing someday.

But... not today.

She did not seek release here, did not want to embarrass him or herself with it in clothing they would have to wear on the drive back home. Gradually she sought to slow the pace, to bring him to her lips once more and allow it all to grow back towards more chaste, an action over the course of a minute rather than a few seconds. Inched her angle just a bit to the side from under him in the hope that he understood that the moment was dissipating through no fault of either of theirs, just that it was time to disengage from it. Hoped he was not the type of man to suddenly demand they continue.

She did not look forward to talking about it, to speaking sweet half-truths around her own sinfulness, but it felt natural to assume he might want to.
#80
Agostina had been the one to start it, and she was the one who would be allowed to decide how it ended. It helped that he had not been seeking any of this out. There was no real tension to resolve. No goal to deny. She had piled attention to him when he'd not been expecting it, and while the baser part of him still itched for a gratification that wasn't coming, he already had more than he knew exactly what to do with.

So... taper. Back off. Come to a rational conclusion instead of the mindless one.

Still, it took some deep breaths to do this. Cool the brain, and eventually the body. Release the pin, the holds, the...

Well, one last kiss to linger on, as he came to lay on the blanket next to her. As astonished as he was pleased.

Felt the time to say something. He settled for an unvoiced thought from another day. "You looked very nice in your dress, at the lake."
#81
There was a measure of judgment waiting to see what he would say first, how he would approach her. He seemed to go not for the now, but for the before, a compliment. She smiled a little, cast her eyes towards his chest. Rest the back of her hand against it, fingers softly curled towards herself, unflexed.

Words. It was here that she mentally replaced him with William, only for a moment to find her wit and kickstart herself past the resurgent guilt.

"I hoped to be prettier than Flynn."

Ha. Humor. It did help, and then she put William aside once more.
#82
That was enough to make him chuckle, at ease even as he was working his way free of want and warmth. He still touched her arm, then her side, but it was just a grounding gesture. They were still here, after all.

"Succeeded, with or without the dress."

He supposed that was a bit of a confession. Different than the confession of following her and putting her on her back.
#83
"Or without..." she latched on to the wording to be cruel, then flicked a finger backwards at his chest in a gentle strike, her smirk soft. It was easy to keep her eyes there, where she felt she could see without being seen. His hand was warm against her, and yet even now, she was still very warm, heated.

She didn't realize yet how sweat had beaded against her back, the back of her neck, even in her scalp some. Though when her eyes blinked, they did feel somewhat hot, too.

For now there was the sweet Oscar, and this infidelity she had brought upon herself. She drew their timeline closer to now. "You don't seem to be too out of practice."

It was a compliment, slyly.
#84
Neither do you and Like riding a bike were two retorts that flit through his mind, but didn't really want to manifest themselves. Neither seemed right or... the tone he'd like to set, if he could. It was one thing for him to be teased, when she knew his history as well as she needed to. Another for him to go after her when he really had... no idea. And also, she wasn't a bike. And 'riding' was not a verb he wanted to invoke right this minute.

So he let himself have another laugh, shyer.

Let his hand find her hand, if she didn't mind.

"Sometimes things are easy when they just make sense."

This did make sense, didn't it? It did to him. He didn't find himself particularly shaken or bewildered by this. Even if it had crept up on him. Even if he'd never have guessed that she'd return any sort of feeling, let alone to this degree. Oscar knew he really ought not to be so down on himself and his worth, but he'd already admitted to a poor track record.
#85
It did make sense. That was the absurd cruelty of it. If she had not already been so entangled in and simultaneously hurt by William by the time she'd begun to truly interact with Oscar, it would have been inevitable, as it had already proved itself to be. He was, so far, only good.

It squeezed at her ribs. She felt a chill flicker about her shoulders, and blinked softly, body subtly coiled a little tighter.

A soft snort through her nose, watching their fingers entwine as he grasped and she met the gesture. "You defending me from spiders helped." And she was the biggest spider here.

Agostina swallowed again, throat feeling drier. "I think I... need some water." Making out was thirsty work, or so it seemed, ha ha.
#86
Ah yes, the spiders. He'd nearly forgotten. Still, enough to make him smile. He'd defend her from all the spiders--it was an easy enough task, and one he was apparently quite well suited for. Just no zapping himself, as requested.

He might have been content to lay there for a while in spite of the way his body was not well suited for laying on the floor anymore, but she had a need, and it was enough to urge him upward slowly as reality reconvened around them.

"Did you bring some?" He did hope she had. It hadn't occurred to him that she would need some, focused on food as he tended to be. He'd collect, if she had a stash. And if she didn't, well, he knew the nearest gas station.
#87
She had... one partially drank from but thankfully large bottle. It hadn't been a plan to stay here longer than overnight, and she had thought that would be enough. But in response, Agostina nodded rather than present any caveats, unaware of his willingness to serve even if she should have expected it.

"We also have fruit," she reminded him, though maybe eating again felt like a bit more effort than she wanted.

She swallowed against too little saliva again, and brought herself up onto her elbow as a start. Then sitting up, and thought of kissing him again before committing to rising further, and then decided there was no reason not to.
#88
He was truly, fully prepared to get up and find her water and bring the fruit back to her if that would help. He could use some himself--the fruit, as he wouldn't steal water from her, considering he'd likely be back home with his indoor plumbing before long. These thoughts, interrupted as she caught his attention for a moment again.

A bit different, in the aftermath. A bit more like a promise than an impulse. Like this wasn't just a fleeting foray that was going to be over the moment he took off back to the life he'd crafted on his lonesome.

It'd linger, for him. And maybe lead into him taking her hands to help her to her feet. She did seem warm, even to him, but he clocked it wrong.
#89
Interlude, and a sweet one, one to manage the complexity of her feelings as much as whatever steam seemed to be rising in her blood. It made her feel a little tired after they pulled apart, and yet she still intended some work in practice today.

A rough inhale met as she stood with his aid, and she exhaled with some voiced hum. A hand went to swipe lightly at her forehead.

"Warm day," she surmised given that it would be nearing midday at this point, walking with him from the bed towards where she'd kept the bottle. A drink, grateful for it. "How do you feel about, ah. Continuing?"
#90
He continued past, just a way, to collect fruit and bring it over, too. Just a container of various sorts, cut up and cleaned. He stole a slip of cantaloupe for himself as he offered it out. Recovery, even as he looked at her a bit... differently.

"Certainly up for it. I have a few hours before work and nowhere else to be."

Imagine bailing now! He couldn't, that was for certain. He rather regretted the necessity of going in for his usual shift.
#91
In the immediate retrospect, just before he answered, she realized it might have sounded like she was talking about not magic but what they'd just been up to. It was a blessing he understood.

She took the fruit, found she was correct that the effort in biting into it was tiring, but she persisted all the same.

And with that, she looked around on the floor. Wanted to... collect all the sediment and such on the floor, see if she could send it all away under the crack in the door outside. It was not what she managed exactly; rather, they began to draw towards each other, like to like, forming several masses of slowly compacting rocks in a circle around her.

Ah, well, it was something. She snorted, shook her head. "These abilities."

Like petulant children.
#92
He watched her work, as he always did, with something akin to jealousy, and more accurately described as fascination. Where a broom would have just fine, she found something practical in the magic, expended less movement and...

Well, created something interesting.

He chuckled, toed at once of the masses. Appreciated her through and through. "Like they've got a mind of their own. You could make furniture out of this stuff."

Like her bridge.
#93
"If they'd listen."

A thought to the bed, the frame that would need to be... replaced. Would a rock frame be easier for her to construct?

"But I think you are right. I will have to collect them."

They were simple sandstones, claystones. She set down the container of fruit and stooped to pick them all up. Then, with one, tried to lift it into the air. But it produced nothing but the tears of failure once more, and she blinked up at the ceiling in mild impatience. "Can never predict when they will deny me."

For now, instead, the rock she'd wanted to move was smoothing over into something more rounded.
#94
It was resourceful, to use what she had. Even if it put her to tears in a way he always found discomfiting, but never really wanted to comment on. It helped that he knew it was just a blasted side effect, but it was one that made him feel especially protective, now.

Made to cry by sediments. Only the likes of magic folk could be so strange. And stranger still that he was one of them.

Wished he had a cloth or something useful to hand her. But she was focused anyway. Doing... something? He was even less able to predict her intentions than she was able to predict how well they'd go.

"Mine's at least consistent in showing up, if a bit fickle... I don't figure there's anything I can do to help?"

Implied offer, in case he was wrong.
#95
"Not unless you take this ability from me. We can trade"

How disastrous that would likely be, her with electricity instead. But instead as she brought a fist to wipe at her eyes, she thought a bit.

"Do you think you could restore power to the house? Or is it too... ah... would it need more than just a current?"

Maybe even she could be involved. Something with wires, metal. It could make some sense. At least, for the moment, that feverishness from earlier seemed to have cooled.
#96
Truthfully he wouldn't wish his electricity on anyone. Not unless they especially wanted it. And he couldn't really figure out why anyone would.

Though he'd admit that zapping spiders (from afar) had been one of his favorite applications so far.

Next problem... he considered the house. "Are the utilities just off? Or did you get disconnected when you... well, when it ended up like this." The thorns that had ultimately seemed to drive her from here. He knew he didn't even come close to having a full story about what had happened here.

He was bad at prying, even when he probably ought to have.
#97
"I have made payments for it," she answered thoughtfully. It was easy when William handled the apartment she actually lived in. But, ah, try not to think of him again here. "I don't know, honestly. If the issue is damage or... something else." It was most likely damage, though it didn't seem like they had bothered to check the meter since last she'd lived here. And why would they when the home had been so fucking inaccessible. They were getting money for it.

She placed the rocks down and searched for any sort of sense of wiring. It wasn't hard to feel the presence of metal in her home. It was a little different to fine tune.

Closing her eyes and moving along walls and outlets with a hand to the surface, she pushed her mind for the wires of copper or aluminum specifically. This took a moment, but eventually she was sure she was following the right paths, feeling the layout not only closest to her but throughout, except where broken spaces occured.

And yes, there was damage. Part of it had fed the fucking thorn forest outside.

"I think I have to handle some of that first," she nodded out the window facing the front with a sigh. She was not out of energy, but she had a sense she was near her own tipping point, where it would be better not to continue. "Maybe it will have to just be sweeping today."
#98
Payments for a house she didn't live in, that was as electrically dead as a if it had been completely unplugged. He imagined if he tried hard enough he might be able to figure out where the nearest source ran to... It wasn't something he had considered doing before, but as she went to consider her walls, he did much the same. Silvered eyes trying to pick up anything. Only really finding their phones as a source of the energy he could draw from, other than what lingered in the air, almost unseen even by him.

Sometimes you could learn from an absence.

But she was drawing her own conclusions, even as he was slightly lamenting that unlike Flynn his power had nothing to do with his vocation. Perhaps electronics instead of the culinary arts would have served him? But then... the food was his passion. And it wasn't like he had known. Still, it left him feeling a little less capable than he'd like to be.

Coming up beside her as she reached her final conclusion, he nodded. Companionably close, but having cooled off well enough to be back in his usual mind and now crowd. "I think sweeping is a great start. And if we need any temporary electricity... well, I think I could manage that much." Could he power a vacuum, if he brought it out? He wasn't sure how much electricity it would pull, but he still had more stamina than the last time he'd powered a microwave.
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Close again, not too close. She was grateful for it. There was a tenuousness to acceptance of these things in her, especially when they were new. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Some back and forth like a pendulum. And that was not even considering the nature of this in particular, on her end.

Agostina nodded, grateful for what the plan was too, and let out a small exhale.

They would go back into county limits together separately, but at least the floor and the counters would be a little cleaner for it.
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