The handful of days following Lorenzo's sendoff were quiet. They seemed in stark contrast to the days leading up to it, certainly, and it left a strange, heavy sort of feeling lingering all through the house. Everyone was home, and one might assume they would be supporting one another and coping through their loss together, but they were all mostly keeping to themselves.
Perhaps they're sorting through it all and processing it in their own ways - , Edward sighed externally, his tired eyes skimming around the parlor as he made his rounds, - like they always seem to do anymore.
The ghoul wasn't sure he'd ever seen a family so emotionally constipated. But, he supposed, they weren't always like that. At least before the war, they could all leave the house on occasion, and travel, and do their own things when the tension got too thick. It wasn't perfect, even in those days, but at least back then they could talk to one another and seek support in times of emotional need.
Back before the world went to shit.
Now there was no escape from their confines that didn't come with some degree of danger, which mostly left them all pent up in the all too familiar walls of the family home, and likely very, very tired of one another's company after two centuries. These days, Emogene was willing to take the risks necessary to get out and enjoy herself once in a while. On the rare occasions Jack left the house, Edward was usually in-tow, which left little to worry about. And Wilhelmina just seemed incredibly out of touch, if not willfully delusional in regards to the world outside the residence, and seemed to cope mostly through her booze and her books . Whatever semblance of a familial bond he had seen in their old life had all but dissipated - and he couldn't help but feel that perhaps some seeds of resentment had been sown in its absence.
He huffed, trying to shift his unwanted thoughts, but he'd be damned if the deafening silence weighing on the place wasn't the perfect breeding grounds for even more of them; remembering the days before the bombs fell, and yearning for them in the least conventional of ways. But those thoughts often lead him down a slippery slope, making a beeline straight for lamenting the days before his hair fell out and his skin shriveled up like a goddamn raisin -
Son of a bitch. He caught himself this time, and shook the thought. That wasn't going to do. He ascended the stairs, and made his way into the lab, but found it was empty ? If not for being worried about where Jack had gone, he'd have been relieved to see him step out of his lab for a break. His ears intent, it was only a moment before he discerned a shuffling coming from upstairs, but it sounded more faint than usual.
… the attic?
At any rate, it was a welcomed distraction as his feet led him upstairs, to the hallway that connected everyone's bedrooms, where the tell-tale ladder had been pulled down. He could hear not one, but two voices inside.
"Jack?" he called out. "That you?"
"Ah, Edward!" Came the familiar, nasally voice. "Yes, and Emogene too. You can join us if you like."
Maybe his assumptions weren't entirely correct. His mouth quirked up into a small smile at the thought as he ascended to the dull, dusty attic. Everything was brown and beige and cream and taupe, and God only knew how old. But there was something strangely comforting about it.
Why is it the most drab, depressing rooms in this house feel the most inviting? Edward wondered, making strides towards the siblings, and mentally taking inventory of all the crates and boxes and barrels, all strategically placed as to leave aisles to walk through.
"The hell are you guys doing up here anyway?" He asked, brushing a stray cobweb from his path and ducking under a short beam.
"Sorting through things, reminiscing, what-have-you." Jack stated matter-of-factly.
"And… helping?" Emgoene added.
Edward thought to tell him that he didn't need to sort through things in the house like he'd done his journals and his papers in his lab, like he was preparing for some sort of liquidation sale , but he bit his tongue. He couldn't understand why Jack was suddenly so keen on thinning out the family's belongings. Maybe it was helping him to cope. Maybe letting go of old things was giving him some sense of peace or helping to clear his head. He couldn't say for sure, and he wasn't about to try to make sense of it. It wasn't his place.
"Not as cramped up here as I remember it." The ghoul thought aloud, taking it all in.
"We've put a fair amount of it to use in the last two centuries, believe it or not. A lot of it's been scrapped, parted out, or repurposed around the house or the asylum." Jack smiled. "I'm actually glad. It would've been an absolute nightmare to pick through otherwise."
"Why are we up here sorting this stuff anyway?" Emogene asked.
Edward was grateful for her query, as it may very well get an answer similar enough to the one that was brewing in his own head.
"Ah, well…" Jack gives pause and considers his response carefully for a moment. "None of us can really guess what's going to happen from this point forward. We all know what happens when we lapse on the serum, and in the event that we're… stuck that way, I'd, ah… rather not have quite so much clutter around here for us to have to maneuver, you know? Can't imagine us trying to do much heavy lifting in that sorry state."
He tried to mask it well enough, but the quiver in his voice was a clear indicator to Edward of just how much it broke his heart.
"That's not to say I'm not going to work on finding an alternative or a way to prolong the effects, but… there's no guarantee that will come to fruition, and I realize that. I just… I want to have all bases covered. Just in case."
"That's… kinda' grim." Emogene huffed, fingers tracing over the old book in her hands. "I mean, I understand . It's just…"
" Damn. " Edward rasped, the reality of Jack's motives sinking in and stinging more than he thought they would.
"Usually you'd put on that fake smile and try to reassure me, even in the most dire circumstances." Emogene sighed. "We must be in pretty deep shit ."
"I'm not optimistic, but I'm not entirely hopeless either. I'll be able to get a better idea once I finally sit and have a look at things again. I promised I would at least try."
"You damn well better." Edward's eyes met his for a second, and Jack offered a small, bittersweet smile before lowering his gaze again.
" But , I need to get into a better frame of mind to do so. I'm hoping this will help me to get there."
"Decluttering has always been good for that kinda' thing, I guess.
Over the course of a couple of hours, they'd fostered a small 'keep' pile.
For every old crate or piece of luggage or stack of books Jack had moved, there was a cloud of dust that followed suit, as did sputtery, choking sounds as it burned his eyes and tickled his throat.
"Ah, damn!" He managed between coughs, covering his mouth with a handkerchief as he did his best to rid the annoyance from his lungs.
"You're not dying on us over there are you?" Emogene asked, voice oozing with her signature cynicism.
"That sort of joke so… so soon after everything that's happened see -… seems in questionable taste." Her brother gave a gentle roll of his eyes, trying his best to calm the persistent tickle in his windpipe.
"Being up here poking around aimlessly seems in questionable taste."
Finally, the itchy sensation subdued enough that Jack could speak more clearly. "No one is twisting your arm or holding you hostage up here, you know. You can go back downstairs if you prefer."
"What, so I can deal with mother ?" She scoffed. "Yeah, no thanks."
The sound of Edward's raspy laugh echoed from a few feet behind them and Jack sighed to himself. It seemed he'd be fighting a losing battle today if he were to argue with her. He turned his attention back to the contents of the crate he'd just unearthed, trying to discern what might be worth keeping from all of the miscellany.
The tiny attic window hardly did anything to help draw the dust outside, but there was something relaxing about the way the sunlight spilled in and made all the particles glimmer a golden color.
It was just a shame they were such hell to breathe in, Jack lamented.
"There somethin' in particular we're lookin' for up here anyway?" Edward asked, tabbing through some old newspapers.
"Honestly? I'm… not entirely sure . Getting a break from picking apart the artifact certainly hasn't hurt. But I also can't deny that when I'm not picking it apart, I'm feeling rather… listless ." Jack admitted sheepishly. "Something's just been… compelling me to come look around up here. I just figured we could sort the useful from the junk while we do. But, if it needs reiterating, neither of you should feel obligated to sift through this mess with me if you don't want to."
"You're not getting rid of us that easily." Emogene was quick to shut him down. "Nice try anyway. Now, maybe you wanna help me move this cloth?"
Not without another roll of his eyes, Jack sighed and moved closer to her, lifting the opposite side of the dropcloth in question and helping her to pull it back, revealing a couple of trunks, a handful of old suitcases, and some loose articles - one in particular that seized his attention as it rolled towards the edge of one of the trunks.
Quickly, instinctively, he bent down to catch it before it could hit the floor.
"Nice save!" Emogene complimented, leaning closer to scrutinize the runaway orb in her brother's grasp. "Wait, is that… dad's-"
"- his pocket globe ." Jack lifted it to the light that filtered in through the stuffy old window and examined it with a childish sense of wonder he hadn't felt in decades. His nose scrunched and he adjusted his glasses with his free hand as he tried his best to unearth an old memory. "God, the last time I saw this was when he was telling me about -"
The smile on his face slowly fell as realization dawned on him. Even though he could only recall bits and pieces of that particular squabble of many, his insults still rang fresh in his mind - calling his father a fool and an embarrassment for believing in such absolute tripe after he'd enthusiastically tried to tell his son about his otherworldly findings. It somehow stung even more since his passing.
"You okay?" Edward asked, his voice pulling Jack from his gloomy reverie.
"Ah - yes, I'm fine." He sighed quietly. "Just need the occasional reminder that there's no use dwelling on things I can't change."
"Don't beat yourself up over it, Jack. None of us believed him. Not until it was too late." Emogene offered, giving him an affirming nudge of her elbow and a little smile. "You think he would've rubbed it in once he had proof?"
"Oh HEAVENS yes." Her brother couldn't resist the smirk he cracked at the thought. "We'd have never lived it down if he got the satisfaction. Especially not me."
All three of them were relieved by the turn the conversation took - something lighter, warmer, happier .; Something they all needed after everything that had happened.
Taking the first steps towards clearing out the attic had cleared Jack's mind enough for him to put the finishing touches on the artifact gun. With the weight of that project off his conscience, he allowed himself the reward of a relaxing shower, fresh, cozy pajamas, and the first full meal he'd eaten in days, before returning to the mezzanine overlooking his lab, to the armchair in the corner. He settled into an uncharacteristically comfortable position; sideways, one leg dangling carelessly over the arm, and his spine slack as he nearly melted into the cushions.
In the back of his mind, he could already hear his mother scolding him for his bad posture, and he chuckled just a bit.
He wasn't sure what time it was, but the dimmed lights and the peaceful stillness suggested it was past midnight. At that point, he would take whatever window of time and quiet that the universe would afford him. That moment, as he took a sip of tea and took a deep breath, had been the most at ease his mind had been in weeks , and for that he was thankful. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to just enjoy it - really enjoy it- , because there was no telling how short-lived it would be.
The usual clamour inside his head was near non-existent, and the only sound his ears could discern inside the house was the electrical hum of the machinery downstairs, and the current flowing through the conduits that were rigged above his lab, though he always found an odd sort of comfort in it. When he otherwise couldn't strangle through the chaotic mess of jumbled thoughts in his head, it was always there to help center him. It was always a welcomed sound.
He was uncertain of just how long he sat there, eyes closed, breaths deep and calming, listening to the warm, familiar hum, just drinking it all in. Until, finally, something compelled him to produce Lorenzo's trinket from the pocket of his robe and further examine it.
There was something strangely comforting about finding it after all those years - Jack wondered for a moment if it was, even subconsciously, what led him to the attic. Nonetheless, he was happy it turned up. It was a memento of happier times, before the crown , before everything . Lorenzo had carried the thing just about everywhere with him for as long as Jack could remember.
He unclasped the spherical shell, revealing the little globe inside, meticulously hand-painted and ornate, before his eyes shifted to the inner sides of the case, where his vision was greeted with a map of the constellations, just as detailed and beautiful as the globe.
Suddenly, he recalled a starry night on the beach with Lorenzo and Emogene - all of them much younger then, and he and Emogene considerably smaller - as Lorenzo held an oil lamp up to the map of the constellations and showed the children where they were in the sky above them. He recalled the sense of wonder it filled both he and his sister with at the time, and how nice it felt to get to spend some time with the man for once.
He recalled the way their father always consulted it to pinpoint locations when he regaled his children and his wife with wild tales of his past expeditions; tales of his travels with his crew, of the shenanigans that often ensued, especially with a bit of alcohol, and of the messes they got themselves into - and, conversely, out of - during those long journeys.
But, his memories shifted from a happy place back to the one that he'd lamented earlier that day in the attic. This time, however, he focused less on the hurtful things he'd said to Lorenzo on that dreadful day, and more on what the man was trying to tell him back then.
"- another buried city, Jack, I just know it!" The man clumsily opened the case to reveal the globe inside, and pointed his thin finger at a spot on the west coast. "Somewhere in the Mojave desert, just waiting to be unearthed!"
Jack furrowed his brow, his quieted thoughts starting to race again, and the pieces falling together as he recalled the things his father had scribed in some of his final journals. The train of thought was stirring swiftly enough within him that he straightened his position and sat up in the chair, elbows resting on his thighs and mouth resting against his free hand. He gawked down at the old memento in his grasp, his expression perplexed at first, but melting away to realization, and again to contentment as he eased back against the chair and finally released his pent up breath.
He could have sworn he felt a sense of vigor and - dare he say? - determination starting to come back to him, but it had been so long since he'd felt either of those things that he couldn't be certain.
" Somewhere in the Mojave , you say?"