In the Back of the Mind
Moving on.
xxx
Four pages of items to pack into Laralee's museum in order to stay her wrath from poor, unsuspecting future patrons. Hundreds of artifacts that are undoubtedly junk to others, but are about to be refurbished and turned into treasures. The list was very...exotic, if one was looking to call it strange but sound polite about it. The story book Belle and Beast read and a Candelabra. A fork that had strand of red hair in it. An arabian rug and an old oil lamp. A cowboy doll, and a space ranger action figure. The list goes on. Mickey cannot grasp in the slightest what anyone would find interesting about these things. But Laralee wanted them, so he will go get them. Although, if he was going to be frank, it wasn't so much the list of items that tilted his head. It's the locations Laralee jotted down where to find them. Bertrand's home in Bog Easy, The flower bed outside of Ortensia's home, the rooftop of the Gag Factory, etc, etc. Laralee knew what she wanted, and where to find them. The woman is scary diligent to the point of needing someone to report her and have her spend a night in prison to sort herself out. Maybe seeing Prescott will help her straighten herself out. Mickey is sure put off by villainy. Seems to either land someone dead, exiled, or locked up. And...he was already on the receiving end of guilt and Oswald's disdain once. He doesn't intend to go back there again.
This list is no small job. This will take him a while to complete. His best bet would be to begin where he was - Mean Street South - and then branch out. He is drawing a line going into the Underground, Floatyard, and DEC for Laralee's list. He doesn't want to back track to places that have a good track record for nearly killing him.
"Mickey! There you are!" Ortnesia beckoned him, strutting up with a purse strapped to her shoulder.
"Ortensia, hi! What's up?" He gave her a hug. She really is a sight for sore eyes. Oswald really got lucky when he got her. She brightens up rooms.
Her bright demeanor dimmed dramatically. "Is it true?" She moaned, cupping her hands together with pleading eyes. Mickey raised a curious brow, unsure who she is referring to. Ortensia moved in closer, lowering her voice to a somber whisper. "Prescott." Mickey cringed from a shock at his name. "Was he really behind this? Is he the one that stole Cecelia's magic?"
Mickey took Ortensia by the hand, leading her to the manhole into the Underground. He hid her with him in a corner facing out to the fog filled abyss. He made sure no one was lurking, looking, or remotely close by them. Ortensia was a little scared, but relaxed when Mickey seemed to lighten up. "Did Daisy tell you that?"
"Clarabelle, actually. It's all over the radio!" She stressed. Mickey slapped a hand to his face in frustration. Flesh or mech, Daisy has the biggest mouth of anyone he has known. The innate and irritating inability to keep the smallest thing to herself, or keep her beak out of other people's business causing disasters that make Mother Nature weep. His Daisy is less dangerous, though. She covers media stories in order to uncover the truth. This Daisy just goes wherever there's drama and creates more of it. Like talking about things she doesn't have the full story on and causing uproar like Ortensia's. "So...it is true." Ortensia sighed sadly. Mickey exhaled in defeat, bobbing his head. Ortensia put her hands over her eyes, shaking her head. "No, no. Why? Why would he do this to us? To her?"
"We asked him the same questions." Mickey handed her a handkerchief for her sniffles. Ortensia blew her nose like a trumpet. Nevermind. Trumper Gremlin was walking by, practicing on his trumpet. "And he said it was because he can." Mickey disposed of it. Snot grosses him out. Ortensia was distraught, but like Mickey she didn't buy that half baked excuse for a moment. "Yeah, I know. That's what we said too. There's more to it than that." And he refuses to let anyone tell him otherwise. "Prescott is a grouch, a traitor, seriously lacks social graces, and is really abrasive when he talks to people," And the more he lists of his shortcomings, the more he questions how Cecelia fell in love with such an introvert, "But he's never done anything without solid logic behind it."
"Exactly!" Ortensia said louder than she meant. "He obsessed over every detail on the gremlins' old project on Mickeyjunk Mountain to point where he wouldn't let non-symmetrical parts be used!" See now, Mickey would have quit if he was asked for symmetry in what he does. "He would never betray anyone unless there was a solid reason behind it!"
"Well we can't ask him for that solid reason. He's out cold in the jail."
"Oh dear! Is he alright?"
"He's fine...just…" Mickey had to think about it for a second. He hummed pensively to himself.
"What's up?" Ortensia fretted for the scowl in his brow.
"Honestly...I'm trying to figure that." That nagging bug in the back of his head grew louder. Prescott was fine...until The Doc showed up.
"By the way…" Ortensia gently interrupted his train of thought, "Have you seen Cecelia?"
Mickey grimaced in shock. That's right! She hasn't heard. "Umm...well…" He trailed off.
xxx
An early morning is Yensid's preferred time of day to begin on his projects. The creative juices that brewed overnight were at their peak potency, anxious to pour over what he deemed as his canvas. At least, he hopes he can produce some sort of stroke on his canvas today. His attention has been strained as of late. He has a number of projects and duties that demand his attention, yet he's put them aside. Not that he can rightfully chastise himself for falling behind in his work. The young lady in the garden outside his workshop window occupied a great deal of his mind. In fact, he was strutting away from his workbench toward that window, curious if the kitten was still hiding behind some semblance of work to avoid him. Sure enough, there she was. Cecelia digging at the Cani-Weeds feeding off the roots of his prized garden of fruits, veggies, herbs, and a variety of other homegrown ingredients that should be nearing ripe for picking.
Cani-Weeds are a dangerous species of vermin that sprout in magic grown gardens. Think of them as Venus Flytraps with serious attitude...and they don't eat flies. Normal weeds are morphed into flesh hungering vermin by foreign concoctions poured to the soil in order to expedite growth. They've taken off many a green thumb in their pursuit to absorb the nutrients meant for the crops and become strong enough to rip themselves free to devour what hasn't withered. Yensid himself fears these meddlesome beasts. No taller than a person's knee caps though they may be, they aren't the easiest to be disposed of. The only way to kill them without killing the crops is to wait for them to sprout and hopefully catch them before they grow into snarling monsters. That being said, no one faces down these creatures without a sword, a shield, and pruning shears drench in weed killer. NOT CECELIA! Yensid's stomach was doing somersaults. Cecelia was sitting Indian style, an elbow on her knee and her knuckles propping her cheek, poking at four that had surrounded with great disinterest with a little spade. The weeds left skinny trenches in their path arduous, slides to her. Snapping their jaws just inches from her flesh and snarling at her with venom dripping saliva. She just ignored them. Honestly, it didn't look like she registered the danger she was in at all. She was in a whole other plane from this one.
Speaking of registering...her presence was...barely there. He sees her. She's sitting right there. Though...again...unless he had looked out the window, he wouldn't have even known if she was still there. Yensid's fingers were curling on the window sill. He thought it was a fluke. Possibly a spur of the moment, he was excited to see her, astonished by her breakdown, slip in his senses. But it was not so. Cecelia is a talented sorceress. One of the best considering she's a halfling. Let that fact never be brought up again. Otherwise...another incident might be excited. Anyway, digressing back - Cecelia is remarkable for someone her age. But her discipline in managing the power within her is less than impressive. Granted, she has more power than normal sorcerers. The magic that remained dormant in her mother passed into her. But Cecelia has never sought a reason to supress what gushes out of her, giving her a presence similar to a suprnova. Right now...she was barely a candle trying to remain lit in a breeze. And for the life of him, Yensid can't figure what has caused such a dramatic decrease. It could be she's learned to tame her rampant powers. It's possible...but he sensed something else entirely. As if a piece of her is missing. It was frustrating that he can't come up with an explanation. He'd love to ask her. But she hasn't breathed a word - save for Good mornings and thank yous - since her return.
It's been a full day since Cecelia returned home. She hasn't spoken much about Wasteland...or what happened that caused her to be so saddened. She just told Yensid that all was well. He wasn't fooled. The night she returned, she cried herself to sleep in Yensid's arm. Her expression oozed with heartbreak, the aura wafting from her begged him to not leave her side the whole time. As if she desperately needed companionship to sleep through the night. By the morning, she had calmed down considerably...but she remained in her room - in bed! She just sat there that whole day and night. Just staring out her window...at nothing. Her poor eyes were stained by black rings, her soft cheeks were cold to the touch and sunken. Her complexion was even paler. She barely ate a thing. And those strange gloves and that belt she came with were stuffed so far in the back of her closet with her spellbook that Yensid would have forgotten all about them had he not gone to retrieve the cauldron he let her borrow a while back. It was as if she was willfully trying to forget this last expedition to Wasteland. Burying all remnants of it wherever she can...not having the heart to throw them out. He knows she left her spellbook in Wasteland. Said she dropped it but wasn't worried about it. It was in good hands. Now she doesn't want to even think about it. Let alone look at it. This morning, however, she astonished by him waking up at the crack of dawn - giving him a more lively hello and hug - and was already hard at work in his garden clearing weeds and gathering ingredients for him. She successfully dealt with the ones that surrounded her. She used the spade as a harness, making it sharper than any blade. Quick and effortless swipes decapitated the weeds. Their bodies shriveled, and she threw the heads in her basket. It was unnerving how many were there...and that she was taking their heads without blinking. He didn't miss how on a couple her face broke from blank to enraged and she stabbed their fallen heads until nothing was left. Yensid was dying to know what caused her to shut herself in. But he wasn't going to stroke that sour chord. She's clearly not ready to talk about it. He can see through the barriers she is placing around herself that she is trying her hardest to come to terms with what she endured, accept that she can't erase it. A challenge that Cecelia may never be able to overcome.
"Lyra…" He breathed with a bow of his head, turning to meander to his table, "Tell me…" He pleaded, delicately picking up a brush, "When will she cease to carry all her burdens herself?" If his late daughter could just tell him when Cecelia will learn she is not alone...he would be eternally grateful.
xxx
See now, when Oswald went to Bog Easy he expected to have a bit of a rough time with Donald and his boat/date issues. He didn't expect to be stuck in Bog Easy a day and a half helping Sparks fix up his forge in order to help Donald get to his date. The power to Sparks' entire forge was tied to a generator he left unguarded in the swamp near the mechanical band. He thought it was a good idea at the time, seeing as how having the generator be within two feet of his forge would tempt others to sabotage him. And no, that wasn't a paranoid fear, it was a reality. The Gremlins may consider each other brother, but they aren't above sabotaging one another to get on top. Copernicus messes with the Game-Grem Gremlin at the arcade all the time. Pulls the plugs on his store so that he'll lose all his stats and have to start over. This made Oswald lose all sympathy for Sparks, and tempted him to just pick up and walk away. But if he did that then the people of Bog Easy would be out a resident handyman...and they need all the help they can get when living in this swamp.
Besides, it wasn't so much as getting the generator up and running that kept Oswald for practically two days. It's that Sparks needed a boatload of scrap metal in order to get the forge, Donald's boat, AND the old house on the street back in working order. The last time Oswald had to get that much scrap metal, Jamface was fixing up the windmill and a blast door. But even that only took a couple of hours to collect. Gus, Cecelia, and Mickey helped him out a lot. Now he was on his own, digging through every inch of Bog Easy to get three hundred pieces of scrap metal for a gremlin that was running on all four cylinders at six hundred miles per hour. It terrified Oswald that he might run himself into an early grave, taking away his reluctant to lift a finger for him. He burned through 20 batteries powering up the forge, welding pieces of scrap metal where Sparks needed them and protecting him from blotlings lurking in the bushes. Eventually the forge was up and running like new. Sparks had thrown in another generator to give him a boost.
"Good as new. Thanks, Oswald. Sorry for the long hours." Sparks chuckled bashfully. He really didn't mean for it to take this long.
"Hey...huff-huff…" Oswald was about to pass out on Sparks' work table, "As long...as...we can fix...Donald's boat…WOOF…" He collapsed like a limp noodle, letting a thumbs up finish his sentence. If he's being honest, he really needed the distraction. There's been this bug in his ear playing the same tune about Prescott the whole time. Screaming for him to go back and take another look. But another look at what? Prescott was behind it...right?
Sparks laughed at the pooped bunny. "Yep! I'm all set to fix up Donald's boat!" He said with such confidence...then mumbled with some bad news. Oswald's ear perked up. He groaned with dread. He swear if he hears a but he will throw the nearest object at Sparks. "But-WHOA!" He ducked for his life. Oswald chucked a wrench at him. He missed. "BUT," Sparks sprouted with a knight's helmet on, "I would be able to make vast improvements to his boat and the old house if I had a gear that Ghost Gilbert stole from me!" A muffle bounced of the helmet, striking like a gong. Sparks lifted the helmet off. His eyes racked in their sockets.
"Why would Gilbert take a gear from you?!"
"He was chasin' folks around in that Doom Buggy of his. So I took it and put it where he would never find it."
"His brothers let him have a car?!" Oswald's voice broke. Giving Gilbert a car? Without supervising him while in it? Those guys were begging for this sort of trouble!
"Gilbert took my gear to get back at me. Hid it in that graveyard by the mausoleum!" He snarled. "Get that gear back, and I'll have Donald's boat and the old building lookin' better than ever!" Oswald groaned in tedium. It's like he's doing a favor for a favor...to get a favor. He hated stuff like that. But if it means getting out of Bog Easy before tomorrow...Sparks can consider him already there.
xxx
Cecelia tossed the last of the Cani-Weeds into a bottomless trash can. The enchantment turning it into a swirling vortex would transport the waste somewhere in the universe. She doesn't know where...and she really didn't care. With those irritating weeds out of the way she was finally free to move about the garden without anymore obstacles. Granted, it would have been much faster had she decided to zap them with a quick spell here and there, chase them off with something more than a hexed gardening tool. Unfortunately, that would require her to tap into her spellbook's magic and...well...she hasn't exactly gotten around to telling Yensid that 95% of her magic is gone. Keeping an unstable core from incinerating Wasteland. Why hasn't she told him? Because that would mean telling him that she left her spellbook with her grouch of a boyfriend - who is now her ex-boyfriend incarcerated for treason - and taught him how to wield magic, and wound up having her own magic ripped right out of her. Because of her...Wasteland and everyone she cared for over there were nearly killed. She handed an unstable man the keys to ruling a kingdom without breaking a sweat! She should have learned her lesson from last year! Instead she left herself open. It's all my fault! I failed Grandpa! Failed Oswald, Mickey, Ortensia, Gus, Jamface - EVERYONE! She doesn't deserve to be a sorceress! She doesn't deserve to be Wasteland's Hero! The only thing she deserves IS having her magic ripped out of her...TWICE! Grandpa...what will you say?! She can't tell him! She can never tell him! She just can't! He...he'll...WHO KNOWS WHAT HE'LL SAY! What he'll do! He'll think she's irresponsible! He'll call her failure! He'll never trust her again! He'll send her back to that council of idiots and have her confined in a 90 year old's body instead of a ten year old! No! She can never let him find out!
Cecelia slapped herself across the face. "STOP IT! ENOUGH! It's behind you now! Get back to work!" She scolded herself. She buried the glove, the belt, and her spellbook in the back of her closet. In a week or so, this will be nothing but a bad memory. She needs to focus on the here and now. She was reading the list Yensid had given her, scrunching her face baffled. "Mandrake roots, petrified slug snot, teeth of a Cani-Weed, warts from a frog weed, pollen from the flowers...and the newspapers the fairy post of slipping under his welcome bush?" Incidentally, she was right next the the Welcome Bush.
"Oh man!"
"WELCOME!" It blurted heartily, scaring Cecelia ten feet into the air. She pounded on her chest, trying to keep her heart from bursting. She's been living around that thing her whole life and STILL it scares the ever living Jessamines out of her. She saw the newspapers Yensid was talking about. There were weeks of them snuck under the bush. Yensid will never subscribe so they leave their stuff where they hope he'll cave and be suckered. Too bad for them he's smarter than the fairies. He left a side note on what he wants done with the papers. Push them into the abyss. And Cecelia gave that mountain of papers the boot off the ledge and watched them fall into the abyssal space that surrounds the tower.
Getting back on topic, she had to finish gathering what she needs for an experiment Yensid wanted her to do. What that experiment is? He hasn't said. He promises it's nothing major. Just a little test to see how organized she's become. He said it with such mocking skepticism that she fell for his challenge. But, this is going off topic. The list, THE LIST! The reason Cecelia ogled the list oddly wasn't because of the newspapers. It's because just finished gathering this exact same list of ingredients for him the previous day. She got him enough to last him for six months. His garden is enormous. Usually cared for by Gnomes, but they are out for a wedding. Juliet and Gnomeo finally tied the knot. The amount Yensid is asking for will force her to start looking toward the ingredients that weren't ready yet. Then she'd have to note down what she took, what ones aren't ready, and which ones she would need to replace if she damaged them or prematurely picked them. This would be much easier if she wasn't trying to hide her secret from him. But, it's the price she's paying. She needs to live with it. Anything to keep from losing her grandfather's respect. She wouldn't be able to function.
As Cecelia worked so diligently, and gradually grew more intense, Yensid observed her from his window again. He knit his brow with a perturbed grunt. He may be ancient by conventional terms, but his attention to detail is sharper than it was in his prime years. "Two days…" Cecelia's hands were marred by scars, dirt, and other blemishes, going raw to the bone from all of her digging. The knee of her stocking had worn away. The skin of her knees was peeling from rummaging around. The amount of exertion she's putting into his task was unnecessary. Very...unnecessary. Especially for his granddaughter who is the queen of finding shortcuts. Her biggest shortcut...seems to be taking a backseat for a ridiculous amount of time. "Two days...no magic…" He turned to the stairs leading to her room. His brow knit curiously again as he recalled the strange gloves and belt, and her discarded spellbook.
xxx
"HIS TEDDY BEAR!" Gus fumed at the top of his lungs, scaring half the blotlings in Blot Alley into their holes. The Splahdooshes didn't even explode from being disturbed from their slumber. They just got the Sweepers and Dropwings to roll them out of the way of the time bomb known as Gus. The gremlin can become terrifying when he wants to be. "Of all the idiotic reason to bother someone...A TEDDY BEAR!" He spouted a series of very colorful words, prompting Censor Monkey Blots to gasp in horror and plug the ears of the innocent Seer Blots. The nerve of someone using that sort of language. How dare they! Gus didn't care who heard him right now. And, yes, anyone can claim he's overreacting and being very belligerent. But this would really irritate anyone.
Horace's detective agency is supported and paid for by the People of Wasteland. Yes, they do have taxes and those taxes go into getting him the resources he needs in order to close cases fast, efficiently, and with little collateral damage. Naturally, his workload got bigger than he could handle and he needed an Assistant. Tedworth volunteered himself, promising to be a big help. Yeah...NOPE! The only reason Tedworth volunteered to help was because he needed Horace's resources to find - wait for it… … … - HIS BLASTED TEDDY BEAR THAT HE SLEEPS WITH EVERY NIGHT! Yes! That's right! Tedworth made Horace fall behind on his work, threw away valuable taxpayer ebucks...for his stuffed toy. Why he couldn't go buy another one was anyone's guess! But Tedworth was dead bent on finding HIS teddy that HIS big brothers tore apart and scattered in Blot Alley! He's been looking for it since BEFORE the quake hit. Poor Horace. So for what Gus can assume is going on three days now...he saw a clock. NOPE! Was still the night of day two. That seriously killed his soul. Anyway, for ALMOST three days, Gus has been rummaging all around Bog Easy to find this Teddy Bear, asking everyone and anyone if they knew about it, and finally found his way into Blot Alley. He got snickers for looking for a stuffed toy, but he didn't care. Laughters was preferable to that guilty ridden gnawing that was telling him to investigate the Prescott matter further.
Gus came across Ian on his search for the missing Teddy and outright asked why they tore it into pieces. And before Ian decides to give him some roundabout excuse, or tries to make a joke of the situation, Gus will remind him that Wastelander dollars are being wasted on this obsessive venture he's on. Horace can't work because of him. Ian saw the severity of the situation and assured Gus that it wasn't all done in malice or trickery. It's because Tedworth has been sleeping with that bear since he had skin and was a child. He takes that thing everywhere. Shopping, swimming, bathing, pooping, SKYDIVING! Tedworth would not give it up. So one day Ian and his bros found the teddy bear, took it, tore it, and threw it all over Blot Alley hoping to wean Tedworth off of it. Obviously their plan failed. They wondered why they haven't seen their baby brother in a while. Ian and his brothers didn't mean to cause any trouble. They just want their little brother to grow up. He's a GHOST for crying out loud. He shouldn't be scared of the dark! Gus understands where he is coming from, and respects that Ian and his brothers were looking out for their youngest sibling. But now their little stunt is causing a economic issue, and they are already paying out their hides to fix the quake damage. Ian got the hint in an instant. He went to get Sam, Gabriel, and Fineas and they started looking for their brother's bear parts. Gus was glad the ghosts decided to help. He didn't know where to begin.
"Gus, I am glad I caught you!" The accented voice of Jamface beckoned him from the air. The purple gremlin dove for his protege, stopping on a dime...and wafting a little dust in his face.
"Jamface! Good to see you!" Gus shook his hand heartily. He moved in close, lowering his voice to a whisper, "How is our little problem coming?"
Jamface triple checked for anyone lingering nearby. "I've managed to work around ze field Cecelia put around zat core." And he will spare details on how difficult that was. The girl knows how to prepare for the worst. "With Copernicus and Blue-Ben, I've devised a way to direct the rampant flow of power so that it will leak out. Zat way, we can get to work on stabilizing zat zthing and have less to worry about."
"Great!" And once that core is stable, Cecelia will be able to come back and collect her magic. Things are finally looking up. "Keep at it."
"I will!" Jamface saluted. "By ze way…" He cupped his hands together, "If you see Cecelia, can you tell her none of zis is her fault?" He implored heartfelt. "I know she probably zthinks it is…" He shook his head with a stern expression, "But it is not so. No one blames her."
Gus smiled with a small tear in his eye. "I will. Thank you." Jamface nodded and took off back to the Floatyard. "If I see Cecelia..." He moaned somberly. She's been gone well over two days...and was pretty certain she wouldn't come back. "I don't think that will be anytime soon." Though, he did look to the night stars...hoping that he's wrong. "How are you doing, I wonder."
xxx
"UUUGGGHHH…" That was it. She cashed in all her chips. She waved the white flag. She can't take anymore. Cecelia went into the kitchen and sprawled herself over the table, smothering her face in an oven mitt. On top of spending the better part of two days playing gardener, Cecelia spent the ENTIRE night last night reorganizing Yensid's ridiculously large pantry of spices, herbs, and other junk sorcerers use in their daily lives. And LUCKY HER she doesn't have a normal sorcerer grandfather! She got the guy that has an overhaul of every single ingredient known to sorcerer kind. A dozen of this, five dozen of that! Three weeks on top of two months of one thing, a year's worth of this that already had a previous year's worth! And a majority of it weighed 50 pounds each. Even those deceptive small boxes weighed more than a bundle of lead. And that maniac had Cecelia in the closet, climbing ladders and stools that were long past their lifespan, reorganizing everything by a system that made absolutely no sense...and then asking her to start over. He was insane! Absolutely insane! She really wants to know what she did because she knows that she's being punished for SOMETHING! "Please, someone, stick a fork in me!"
"That wouldn't be very healthy." Yensid quipped, meaning causally past to the food pantry. Cecelia was consumed with chills. If he asks her to reorganize that monstrosity she will jump out the window and practice her swan dives. Yensid hummed pensively, playfully stroking his beard. He set a box he got on her back. She was too exhausted to groan at how not amused she was. "I don't recall buying this table setting."
"Special order called, Survivor of Slave labor." She snarled. She'd glare at him, but that would require she move a muscle below her eyebrows.
Yensid poked her tenderized body a couple times. "A little worn out for my taste. Can I get a refund? Or at least an exchange?"
"No substitutions or refunds. Was right there in the clause you signed!"
Yensid chuckled at her. "A little sore, are we?" He teased, removing the box. "Yesterday was pretty harsh on you."
PRETTY...HARSH?! Cecelia got her second wind and pushed up on her elbows. "That's what happens when you ask someone to go get more ingredients than what you need, then tell them their experiment is to reorganize the entire closet of magical junk and recipes!" She rolled off the table. "Seriously!" She came in with a box over her head and slammed it onto the table. A wall of feathers exploded into their faces. "Who needs five boxes of molted pegasus wings?!"
"Well, I never said you had to do it by hand. Although," Yensid slyly snapped his fingers. The feather poofed back into the box, "You did get the job done in a matter of hours. Not a bad feat." He wiggled his fingers, sending the box back into the closet. Show off! Cecelia snarled. "You could have used your magic." Her muscles spasmed. She bit on the inside of her cheek. Her brow knit. Yensid made a mental note. He's let her cope for three days. He's also worn her down. Time to go in for the kill. "Here. I have two surprises for you." He reached into his sleeve, drawing his wand. He motioned for her to hold out her hands. He tapped her palms. A jar of green gel appeared. "Spread this gel to where it hurts." Cecelia was about to ask him to conjure up a tub of this stuff. She's sore everywhere. "And I made your favorite." He tapped the table twice. A breakfast feast emerged from puffs of smoke. Cecelia's jaw hit the floor, drool gushing out like a river. "French Toast, Hash Browns, eggs, and apple juice." Enough to feed three people. Cecelia was so sore that she hadn't realized that she was starving.
"Thanks, Grandpa!" Cecelia got plates for her and him, happily pouring him some juice too. Yensid kept his hands a safe distance as she grabbed what she wanted. It pleased him that her appetite was back. "You never lose your touch.." In magic or cooking.
"I'd say you haven't lost your touch either," He started cutting into his French toast, pausing to slyly glance at Cecelia as she lifted the syrup, "But I believe you asked me to never treat you as if you lack intelligence." Cecelia stopped in mid tip, the syrup sitting on the edge of the spout. She raised a brow at him. "I would ask you grant me the same courtesy." He said with such a menacing tone that Cecelia feared that someone would be behind her with a wand at her head. She was completely missing what he was getting at. Tensed can see she genuinely wasn't catching his hint. Being subtle was not the proper approach for someone running from an issue. So he pressed harder. "Cecelia, did you really think I wouldn't notice it? Your presence...your magic really...is greatly diminished. Almost nonexistent." Cecelia just stopped. Every inch of her seized up. Her breath hitched in her throat, her tongue dried and went into knots. The shock that struck her had her wrist tilt further. Her fingers subconsciously tightened, and she was pouring the whole container of syrup to her French toast...to the table...and to her lap.
"What…" Was all she managed to squeak.
"The equipment you came back with," Yensid reaches under the table, setting the gloves and belt she brought with her from Wasteland, and her spell book to the table, "Clearly is a stimulant to help you siphon magic from your spellbook." Cecelia's hand lost its strength. She dropped the syrup jar and it rolled and shattered on the floor. That jar represented her soul. Everything inside her just spilled out. She was sinking in her seat, dropping like a limp noodle. She slumped to the table in defeat, her mortified face plopping into her breakfast. He knew! She screamed in her head. He knew the whole time! He probably figured it out her first day back. That's why he kept asking all of these ridiculous tasks of her. He was wearing her out. Trying to break down her barriers so that he can pounce. He's got his claws and teeth in her. Nothing she says will discourage him. She could try. But she's too exhausted to creatively lie her way out of this. Not that I should be surprised. Yensid isn't stupid. She should just be glad he waited instead of coming at her from the start. "Are you ready to talk about what happened?" He quizzed her.
"I don't know…" She whimpered rasping. "I don't even know where to start from…" She folded her arms to hiding herself, "So you won't be disappointed." He needs to just let her drown in her syrup murdered French toast.
Yensid's heart cracked. A small, sympathetic smile showed on his lips. He reached to her, touched her arm, and lightly caressed her forearm. "Start at the beginning." He picked her face out of her breakfast, trying not to laugh at the syrup mask coating her face. "And I promise to never be disappointed." He did, however, take a piece of his French toast and scooped up some syrup from her cheek. Cecelia growled irately. Her expression screaming, SERIOUSLY! "What?! I can listen and eat. I'm hungry." He put it in his mouth. Don't kill him, don't kill him, do-not-kill him! She lapped up some syrup - mentally savoring the tangy strawberry taste - with vengeance on the brain. Torture him!
xxx
The three heroes collapsed in the middle of Mean Street North on top of one another. They didn't think they could do it...but by some strange miracle they finished the ridiculous assignments given to them. Now...all Wasteland has to do is mind itself for an hour or two...and they will I'll be eternally grateful.
"Anything?" Mickey moaned. If Mickey never sees another scrap of soon to be refurbished trash it will be too soon. Honestly, Laralee is an absolute nut job asking for a pinwheel that sat in Roy Disney's car, or a replica of the shoe that Cinderella lost, or the fake teeth of that old man from the short in the Bug's Life movie! And there were four pages of this stuff. FOUR PAGES! 100 items a page. Mickey had to dumpster dive for 20% of this stuff, climb to ridiculous heights for 25% of it, claw his way through narrow crevices and in the sewers for 41%, and the remaining 24% would be him knocking on doors and asking for it. And the looks he got on every single instance was enough to make him follow Cecelia's lead and running away in sheer, soul crushing defeat! He got a full slap by Clara Cluck when he asked for something called bloomers...and then learned what those are and buried his head in the sand for an hour. He felt like there were angels singing Hallelujah for him when he finally finished.
"Nothing worth mentioning." Oswald was sad to say. Oswald's work was slightly less mortifying. But boy was it annoying. Gilbert was the most unreasonable Ghost Oswald could ever come into contact with. He poured his plight out for Gilbert and those creepy head busts in that graveyard to see, explaining that he needs the gear he took so he can fix up Sparks's forge so he can fix up Donald's boat so he can take Daisy on a date. Oswald ran out of breath four different times. Gilbert listened...then totally threw him a curveball by stating that none of this would be happening if Sparks hadn't taken his Doom Buggy, and that he had the perfect plan for revenge. A fake gear for the naughty Gremlin. Gilbert wasn't denying he had the gear, but he would be grateful to Oswald if he gave the fake gear to Sparks and let his forge come apart. Oswald wasn't going to help with that. Sparks told him that Gilbert has a special method involving the graves and their tombstones that will unlock the secret space where he hides his stuff. Gilbert tried his hardest to sabotage Oswald, but in the end the Lucky Rabbit proved he's also the Clever Rabbit and got Sparks gear back. The forge was up and running, and a few more hours later Donald was sailing off on his boat to go get his lady love for their date.
"Same here. I have nothing." Gus hated to admit. Yet all three of them haven't escaped that feeling that they are being played. If anything, it's gotten worse. Gus would like to say that his task was a little less troublesome...and it was! Seriously it was, but he was still exhausted. He had a devilishly easier time than Oswald and Mickey, but the headache he accrued wasn't anything to scoff at. The better part of three days in Bog Easy will drive anyone batty. Especially when you're stuck in Blot Alley trying to find Teddy Bear pieces while fending off blotlings. Found those easily, by the way. Thanks to the Ghost Brothers, Teddy was reassembled and brought back to Tedworth, prompting the youngest ghost to head on back home. That should have solved the initial issue right then and there. Tedworth was back home, and Horace was free of Tedworth and was able to get back to work. Nope. No such luck. Horace underestimated the weight Tedworth took off his shoulders by being there. Sure, it wasn't much help...but it was better than shuffling through the mess on his own. Tedworth's organizational skills were invaluable. Now Horace has to find a new assistant, and he doesn't have time to do interviews. He did, however, have some down time to compile a list of people he would like to be his partner. Beluga billy, Goofy, Elle from the camera shop, Clarabelle...that last one he went a little dry in the mouth. He was steadily reconsidering her as a possible partner. Gus, on the other hand, found Clarabelle to be the perfect partner. She has the essence that a detective like Horace needs. She's creative, well organized, isn't afraid to get her hands dirty, and is always up to date on the latest and juiciest of gossip. Usually before Daisy. She's certainly more qualified than the others. Here's where the exhausting part comes in. Gus decided to skip over everyone on Horace's list, went to Clarabelle and told her about Horace's predicament. She was happy to help...she just required a special costume for her precious Spatters. Sunflower costumes, to be exact. That is where his trip became arduous...and he is really glad he has friends everywhere. Otherwise he'd be gone for a week trying to find the fabric to make sunflower costumes. Anyway, once he got the costumes, Clarabelle went to Horace...and the rest is history. Gus didn't stick around to find out if she got the job. He'll find out.
"What are we missing?" Oswald growled in the back of his throat, pulling at his ears. He knows they are missing this big, cosmic sign that is steadily losing patience with them. But what is it?! WHAT?! "What in the name of Turps and Tints are we missing?"
"Don't you mean who?" Mickey somberly countered, looking to an infinitely blank space beside them. Gus and Oswald exhaled sadly, glancing to where the smiling kitten would be...only to see a fading phantom. The hole Cecelia left was getting bigger. And all because she left Wasteland in such a broken state. "It's been three days. She has to have noticed I haven't come back yet."
"Maybe…" Gus slipped from under the boys, helping them both stand."But we know this isn't something she'll get over. Not any time soon."
"I know…" Mickey sank, rubbing his arm. "I just hate that we can't do anything."
"We all do." Oswald agreed. It's just something they have to come to grips with. If she comes back while Mickey is still there, then she will. Until then...they really need to sort out...what it is that they are missing...when nothing is there!
Three days of lending a hand to anyone who needed an extra boost. Just everyday grinds the folks of Wasteland were enduring to get back on their feet. Under normal circumstances, Oswald, Mickey, and Gus would consider this a minor win on their chart. Instead it felt like they were being clowned. Granted, it felt good to help their friends. But the three just can't shake the feeling they are spinning their wheels and going absolutely nowhere fast. They half expect to look back and see a chain anchored to a tree holding them in place. That nagging feeling that some shadow was lurking in their shadows had only grow like the parasite it is. Aside from helping with the morale boost, nothing concrete to what sort of secrets still lurked was solidifying. No secret was uncovered, no great mysteries presenting themselves in subtle hints, and Laralee was the only threat in the past couple of days. NOTHING WAS WRONG! EVERYTHING WAS RIGHT! WASTELAND WAS ON THE VERGE OF REBUILDING! So why...why...WHY can't they shake the feeling they are being laughed at behind their backs? They need to talk to Prescott, and they are going to do it now. Big Bad was amicable last time, but Gus was ready to tear his pegleg out and use it as a doorstop.
xxx
"Yeah, sure, go right in." Big Bad shrugged, sweeping a welcoming hand into the jail. Those three did not see that coming AT ALL! "He just woke up. Keep it short." He was preoccupied with his 20th magazine. The stack beside him was starting to lean like the meat he was drooling over. Gus glanced to the boys, really expecting a cage to fall on them the second they stepped inside. They swallowed large lumps and simultaneously took a step in. They cringed and braced themselves...poked a wandering eye open...and then eased themselves inside. For once it wasn't a trap. Though they took Big Bad's words to heart. They will keep this short as possible. Because if they're right and something bigger is going on behind their backs, talking with Prescott slaps targets right on their spines.
Prescott was tediously flicking pebbles at the spiders crawling on the walls. There was a little delight in watching them scatter. Seeing them scuttle to their webs in the corners, or in the holes riddling the ceiling. When he'd actually hit one, he was impassive to them lying on their backs and their legs curling into their stomachs. He snorted at the small squeaks they made while dying. Throats clearing halted the next rock nesting on his thumb. He knit his brow heatedly, rolling his eyes to the troublesome trio outside his cell. "Well, well, look who decided to grace me with their presence!" He scoffed contemptuously. "Don't I feel just so honored!" He batted long, ladylike eyelashes with mockingly pursed lips. Oswald was really put off by his haughty attitude. It's not their fault he's in there. Won't stop him from trying to make it that way, though. Mickey and Gus frowned at Prescott, crossing their arms. His attempt to annoy them wasn't going to go as he planned.
"You wouldn't even be in here if you hadn't turned your back on everyone!" Oswald snapped. "A living arrangement I'm willing to shorten if you just tell us who's really behind this." He baited.
Prescott scoffed at the meager bait and swatted it away like a piece of garbage. "What reason do I have to cooperate with you?" He chuckled arrogantly. "Even if I did tell you, it wouldn't help you at all." He folded his arms, glaring hard at the spiders he's killed since he woke up a few hours ago. "We're all nothing but insects that are going to be stomped on. My betrayal was nothing more than a means to shake this world to the core." And shook it he did. After the main quake already destroyed their foundations. "I was only a voluntary cog in the machine." Roundabout answers with the most cryptic of admissions followed by very smug and ominous cliffhangers. Mickey, Oswald, and Gus saw this coming a mile away. Prescott might have been willing to take before he was brought in. But now that he's here, no chances of ever being free dangling in front of his face, he has no reason to cooperate. On a brighter note, he just confirmed when they've been sensing for the past three days. There IS a higher power at work here. Prescott was a flunky. A voluntary one.
"Which I still don't get why you would be?! I thought we were pals, Prescott!"
"You thought the same of your precious Doctor once upon a time too." Prescott ever so gracefully and slyly countered. He smirked at the huge crack that webbed in Oswald's chest. "You're so familiar with betrayal and yet you never thought to confront me about it." He crooned tauntingly, lavishing in Oswald's pitiful attempt at restraint. "All of the signs were there. You even had your suspicions." He narrowed his sights. "Yet just to spare Cecelia from terrible pain you abstained. Only to watch her crumble in the end." Oswald was trembling, trying his hardest to not break down the bars. Those balling and loosening fists were giving him away. "Speaking of," Prescott stretched his neck, bobbing back and forth, "What? No Cecelia? Is she hiding somewhere to try and play bystander? Listen in hopes of reforming her wayward love?" He snorted.
Oswald bit into his lip. He sounds so confident. "Cecelia's not here!" His bark came with a cracked voice. Mickey and Gus were startled by his sudden outburst. Prescott blinked in shock. He feels that he heard wrong. It irritated Oswald that this self-acclaimed genius wasn't putting two and two together. He marched up to the bars, slamming a fist to the rust caked iron. "She left, Prescott! You broke her so badly that she packed up and went home!" Prescott's eyes widened, his inside's curdling. She...left?
xxx
After cleaning up the syrup, and Cecelia cleaning up in the shower, Yensid poured two hot cups of tea. Cecelia came back down into the kitchen in her pajamas. Her drenched hair clung to her solemn face. She stopped like a deer in headlights. She saw the tea and knew there was no escape for her now. She could try...but Yensid had that look in his eye that he would cast puppet strings on her and make her sit until she talks. She sucked heatedly on the air, sitting across from him resignedly. She wrapped her hands to the cup, chills scrolling her skin from the blissful heat. A long sip relaxed her more than the shower.
Yensid said for her to start at the beginning. Which beginning? The story overlaps at several points, and stretches to last year. And a few points will really shame her to talk about. She can start slow for her sake, then gradually knead her way to the part where she handed the keys to the kingdom to her unstable Ex. Egh...no! She'll just come out and say it. "Prescott stole my magic." Yensid's entire person just crumbled into thousands of pieces. The shock on his face made Cecelia scared that she broke him. She had to wave a hand in his face to make sure he was still with her. He was. Thank goodness. There can be only one person with pieces that need picking up, and Yensid isn't one of them. The wrinkle forming in his brow warned her that she needed to speak fast before he lunges into Wasteland and murders the gremlin. "Last year, as a token of love and thanks," Sounds really corny when she says it out loud, "I left my spellbook with Prescott." She pushed her hands towards him, begging him to save the outrage boiling in his throat until after the presentation. Yensid muffled hius words into a growl...and grudgingly let her continue. "Then, on my visits, I would teach him some magic and he would teach me tech. It was...fun." To say the least. Honestly, it was the best part about being with him. "I found someone to relate with, and who I can love with all my heart again. I was healing." Someone who wasn't terrified of her, hated her for what she is, and was able to love her without any sort of conditioning. Other than she be his guinea pig here and there. "Then, a few months ago, he asked if I wanted to live with him. I said I'd speak with you first. He took that as a I don't want to be with him and we broke up...I guess."
"You guess?" Yensid pushed the previous transgressions far behind, using her uncertainty as an enormous take away.
"We didn't say break up, more like need space." The number of air quotes in that statement will give her cramps in her fingers.
"Ahh…" In spite of how vague that is, Yensid was versed enough in female speak to know...that his granddaughter had a fear of relationship commitments. Gets it from her mother, actually. Took Michael ten years to get a yes from her when he proposed.
"Anyway, we stopped speaking for five months…" Prescott was really dramatic about it too. Absolutely ridiculous in assuming she didn't want to live with him. It's all she wanted. She just didn't want to leave Yensid high and dry. If anything, Prescott should have contacted Yensid and asked for permission. "The next thing I know, while you're out getting herbs, I'm being attacked by some magical force. It reached out and grabbed me like the last time. But this time my magic was ripped right out of me. I fell unconscious." Yensid knit his brow. He thought he sensed something powerful that day. Now he knows what caused it. "When I woke up, Mickey was here telling me Gus and Ortensia called. Wasteland was in danger. We grabbed the brush, painted in the board, and we went in." Lines up with Yensid finding Wasteland full of color, but doesn't explain the massive crack running through it. "With Oswald and Gus, we tore Wasteand apart to uncover why the projectors stopped working, why The Mad Doctor was back, and where my magic was taken and who took it." She chopped her hand at the table, lining up their whole process in cliffnotes...coming to the point that she dreads. She bit on her lips, fighting the rage stinging her eyes. "All roads lead to Prescott." She rasped brokenly. Yensid inhaled heatedly, closing his eyes with a bow of his head. "He used my own book, used my teachings, and my magic against me, my friends, and Wasteland! Because of me he was able to hurt EVERYONE!" Yensid flinched slightly. She was coming unhinged. Her body was trembling. She clawed at her head. "Because of me…" She choked on her drying throat, "He thought he was worthless...and took it out on everyone! Prescott...what he's done...is all my fault! Wasteland doesn't deserve me!" She buried her head in an arm, pulling at her hair. "It's my fault! It's MY fault! IT'S ALL MY FAULT, OSWALD! I'M SO SORRY!"
xxx
'I'M SO SORRY!' Oswald's ears twitched. He turned his head slightly, brow narrowing. What was that?
"She left…" Prescott's mutter pulled him back. The Rabbit was enraged. Prescott had the audacity to be shocked.
"What?! Not gonna call me a liar?! Or does some part of your vacant heart know she left?!" Cecelia...his Cecelia...just up and left? He lowered his head. His eyes darted around like he was finding this hard to fathom. "Do you actually feel sad that she didn't come back for you?!" Prescott heard him screaming, but he was lost in a void. I mean...I knew she wouldn't come see me. He expected that like he expects the sun to rise. But for her to leave. Tp leave without...without a word. Oswald was slapped with utter disbelief. He scoffed with a disdainful laugh, clapping and lurching forward. Mickey and Gus backed away, fearing Oswald lost his mind. Sure sounded like it. Prescott was thinking the same thing. And he's supposed to be the unstable one. Oswald motioned a finger for his pals to wait. There's a reason behind his laughing. He cannot believe what he is seeing. "I don't believe it! You were hoping she'd come back for you!"
"NO!" Prescott roared.
"You wanted her to stop you!"
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" Prescott lunged at the bars, meeting an electrified glare to the daggers in Oswald's. The rabbit wasn't backing down. He just wished those bars weren't there so they could go a few rounds. No magic, no remotes. Just fists against fists, bones cracking, and teeth knocked out at the roots. "I don't want her to come back! I don't nee-ugh. GRR! I don't nee-ha-ho! BLAST!" His mouth was going drier than the desert. His tongue knitted itself in knots. His throat clenching, choking him with the noose of that one sentence. He inhaled grudgingly, "I-DO-NOT-WANT-HER-HERE!" He bit down fiercely at every word, spitting out the chunks...and saliva in Oswald's face. Gus handed him a handkerchief. Prescott took a couple of steps back, hyperventilating in pure rage. "I NEVER WANTED HER HERE TO BEGIN WITH! THIS COULD HAVE ALL BEEN AVOIDED HAD SHE JUST STAYED HOME!" All of it! Her getting involved, her getting death threats put on her head, her having to endure another betrayal by a man whose love shouldn't have come with a catch. "She…" He ground his teeth, nearly breaking the gums. He smashed the ball of his palm to his, squeezing oncoming tears back where they belong. He breathed harshly to regulate the lumps growing in his throat. "She wouldn't have gotten hurt…" He went hoarse, sinking against the weak bars of his bed frame.
Oswald was growing tired of this I meant no harm act Prescott was trying to put on. Playing that he's this hardened criminal while justifying what he has done. And at the expense of his ex-girlfriend and those he fought side by side with. He was slowly reaching for his remote. "That's not the same as not needing her!" Gus roared, latching a hand to Oswald's wrist. The last thing they need is to start a fight and destroy Big Bad's House. That is a disaster they will never escape. "Why did you hurt her, Prescott?! You owe her that much!" Prescott's jaw clenched, his fingers stiffly curling. He was suppressing a dire flinch electrifying his muscles. Why did you hurt her? They ask that question like it's a simple one. They've asked it once already. His response was that of what a petulant child who finally got his way for so long would say. I can do anything I want. That wasn't why in the least. Well, in regards to Cecelia. Wasteland...his love has been fading for a while. That said...he can say with confidence that his love for Cecelia didn't fade in the slightest. It was because he loved her...that he chased her away.
Prescott interlaced his fingers, putting his forehead to the palms. He didn't want them to see the seams coming undone. Too late for that. "I know how cliche it will sound when I say I never meant to hurt her." His sentenced should be tripled for that line. "But it is the truth. I would never hurt her...but I did anyway." And he did so willfully, and with a method that would cripple the spirits of war veterans. He took what she cherished most right out of her and used it to harm others, all the while maintaining a facade he couldn't see what becoming a facade. "I knew what was coming. I knew the moment I was approached. Every sign post that mounted in my mind told me to back out. That nothing good will come of it." He ignored them right up to the point of it being beyond too late. "But when I was promised respect, recognition for my efforts…to be freed from that blasted Gag Factory..." He really hates it there, "That voided part of me ignored those sign posts, damned who would get caught in the crossfire…" Ortensia, Mickey, Oswald, Gus, Jamface...Cecelia, "And I fell in bed with the devil himself." A nightmarish image of The Blot putting puppet strings to him plagued their thoughts. It's not the first time a friend was manipulated. He put his hands to either side of his head. He shook his head, feeling his noose tighten. "Cecelia being the sacrifice for the glory I sought...that ended up being ash in my mouth." He can taste it filling in his throat. "I robbed her of her magic to keep her home. When our plans were done, and the danger past, I would have given it back." The trio squared themselves. They were getting closer. Prescott snorted at how naive he sounded. "More sign posts screamed in my head that I knew better. That she would come even if she was in a full bodied cast." He slapped his thighs in self derision. "She didn't disappoint. She never disappoints." And he was happy for it.
Mickey, Oswald, and Gus shared skeptical glances, each on the fence about his story. Did they believe that? Did they believe him? Her hurt his friends, the woman he loved, for glory? Recognition? And in the end...he regretted it? Honestly...the jury is still out. Making it irrelevant at the moment. There is a grander scheme than Prescott's wayward journey to top dog. It wasn't missed by anyone that there were puppet strings attached to him. No disregard to his intelligence - the man is a genius - but he is by no means smart enough, or possess the resources, to pull this scheme off. Not alone. He was an errand boy. And the one signing his checks is still running around free as a bird. Prescott's guard was lowered. The barrier he encased himself in had a gaping hole in it. Either they strike now, or lose this chance.
xxx
"Choice - an act of selecting or making a decision when faced with two or more possibilities." Yensid so eloquently recited, partaking in his tea.
Cecelia's self loathing was put on hold. She had to sip her tea in order to grasp that he sounded like a cheap dictionary. "How is being a human dictionary supposed to help me feel better?" The plot eluded her.
"It's more than just a dictionary term. It is cognitive, conscious thought." Still not grasping where he was going with this. Yensid assured her with a chuckle that he was getting to it. "As a teacher myself, I know the stakes that go into sharing knowledge with a protege. The cons greatly outweigh the pros." Cecelia was another 20 words from throwing her tea at him. "One of the main fears is my teachings being perverted to cause harm, oppress others, or to compensate for shortcomings. It is a fear that I carry even till this day." He leaned forward, looking dead into Cecelia's warring soul. "The guilt that would come would be too much to bear."
"Not making me feel better, or explaining what your premise of the word choice was for." And that tea in her hand was feeling very chuckable. The question is whether or not Yensid would dodge it, suck it into a wormhole and dump it back on her, or just let it hit him. The first two are the most likely.
Yensid sensed her evil intentions and took her tea cup, setting it as far out of her reach as possible. He has yet to learn that Cecelia doesn't need an arsenal to deal a mean right hook. Which she's been affectionately told she has in the past. "As teachers, we can only do so much in hopes of a bright future for our students. Unfortunately, our students do not always make the right choices. Especially when motivated by selfish ambitions." Selfish ambitions is a pretty kind way of phrasing it. Prescott turned into a megalomaniac. "You taught him magic, and he you technology, because you both wanted proteges and to pass on your knowledge. You never used technology to hurt anyone. Therefore you chose to honor his profession." He touched a finger to her nose. "He wasn't as driven my morals as you." And he's very proud that her past sins and digressions haven't changed her from the angel he knows her as. "Prescott CHOSE to use magic for harm. He CHOSE to rob you of your powers. And he CHOSE to betray Wasteland."
Suddenly his dissertation was making sense. "Still, Wasteland should have rejected me." She looked to where Wasteland sat, feeling worse about all this. "Instead it shrunk me down and let me in." She looked at her hands, still a little taken aback by how much smaller her kitten hands are to her adult hands. She's only been an adult for a year. "Still don't know why it did that. Why it shrunk me to my cat form? Could have cast me out...or at least leave me as an adult."
"Like your other visits." Ynesid knows she didn't transform when she'd pop in and out. But this time...she did. It fascinated him. "What did your previous visits have in common?"
"Friendly visits, reconnecting...dates." The last one she blushed on.
"Wasteland was not in peril." Yensid summed up, drawing a solid conclusion. Cecelia arched a baffled brow. "The first time you plunged into Wasteland, you were in the body of a child. A child with the curiosity of a cat. The magic of wasteland brought that to life." She sneered irritated. She really hates being referred to as a cat. "Forever does it remember, and beckon, their Feline Hero."
"Are you saying Wasteland turned me ten again…" She had to ponder this a second, "Because that's who helped saved it?"
"It is also the face joined by Mickey and Oswald that brought peace back to a torn land." Which was a yes.
And while Cecelia feels flattered that Wasteland think of her as a hero...she really wishes it wouldn't. "That's really nice of it." She dismissed, lying her head to her folded arms. "Too bad it misread the character is vest faith in." She traced circles in the table. "I just hope no more earthquakes will happen."
"Earthquakes?"
xxx
Gus took the lead here. He knelt to his protege, placing a hand to the bars. Prescott physically reacted to his presence, but didn't have the fortitude to look him in the eye. "You weren't behind this, Prescott. Not all of it. We know that much." Prescott closed his eyes resignedly, confirming in flashing lights that they were on point. "Tell us who is really behind all of this and we beg leniency for your sentence."
"I can't." He resisted. Gus groaned dreadfully. "He'll hurt more people than I already have." He hugged himself, shaking in fear. "He threatened to kill Cecelia had I not done what I did. He knew she would come…" He had a choice, while at the same time he was dragged by a leash.
"You keep saying HE." Mickey stressed. "HE'll hurt more people, HE threatened Cecelia." There really needs to be a label with these pronouns. "You want to tell us! I see it clawing to get out!" Seriously, if Mickey can see inside others he would see a rabid animal with beady eyes tearing him to shreds. "I get that you're scared! I really do! But the longer you remain silent, the more likely others will get hurt regardless." He grasped at the bars with both hands. Prescott may not be willing to look at him, but Mickey will sure as heck make sure he hears them. "Cecelia...will get hurt! AGAIN!" That was the first genuine reaction of horror Prescott displayed. He was writhing in nausea. Cecelia hurt again...he couldn't bear that. "Please, Prescott. Who is behind this?"
Who is behind this? Prescott repeated mentally. "You already know the answer. You've known for a long time." His willful response was wrapped in an enigma. An ominous hue blanketed him. His tone was lowered to a whisper. "But...like Cecelia...you don't want to think the worst. Not when it's been so good." Oswald took a step back, a small chill running down his spine. Was Prescott only speaking for Cecelia?
xxx
"Cecelia, you said an earthquake tore Wasteland apart?!" He gasped with skepticism.
"Yeah. A huge one tore it in half." Yensid gaped in utter dismay of his creation. He raced over to it, running his fingers along the crack. "Now there are just aftershocks." Cecelia stated nonchalantly, meaning behind him.
"No, no, no! That isn't possible." He stated breathlessly, horrified by the destruction wrought to his most brilliant creation.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Cecelia's voice shook. Of course it's possible. She was shaken by the stupid shocks.
"Wasteland is capable of having every sort of disaster...except earthquakes." He stressed, drawing the line in stone. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
"What?" It was Cecelia's turn to gasp. She glanced at Wasteland like it was a ghost. Clearly it can have earthquakes...right? "Why?" She asked, really curious why he was so convinced otherwise.
"There are no tectonic plates, no fault lines. I didn't put any." Cecelia's shoulders sank. "If an earthquake has torn my world apart, it lies beyond nature."
He didn't add plates? Cecelia repeated her question over and over again, ogling Wasteland like it was an alien. "Are you saying…" She knows enough about science to know that no plates means no shakes, and no shakes means...wait. What does that mean? If there aren't any plates or fault lines...then...then that would mean...a light turned on in her head. "Science isn't behind this." She declared. There it was! That feeling! What she was missing! She lifted her spread hands, juggling the facts in front of her. THIS is what's been gnawing at her. She knew something wasn't right. Not just with Prescott, but with Wasteland itself! And what oh what about Wasteland stood out the most to her during her whole time there...yet she put it to the back of her mind without really thinking? Or, to put it more simply...what IS Wasteland ITSELF? If not governed by science...then..."There are supernatural forces at work! Science is only part of it! HOLY CRAP!" Her adrenaline was buzzing. Her lost fire reignited in a blaze. She skipped her feet, shaking with a god given epiphany, and made a mad dash up to her room. Yensid was impassive to the gust she threw at him, the loud banging and crashes from her digging through that mess of a closet of hers, and her near trip as she returned. She strapped on the gloves and belt, fastening her spellbook. Yensid smirked to himself. She was ready for battle. "I GOTTA GO!" She stood on her tiptoes, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "LOVE YOU! SEE YOU SOON!"
Yensid followed her to the hallway, laughing to himself as she dove headfirst into that magic mirror. The rippling of image of Wasteland faded away. And on her way she was, once again, to save the day. Just as Yensid knew she would. "She never slows down, Lyra." He said affectionately. He folded his hands behind his back, moseying on over to his creation on the work table. "Never for an instant."
To be continued