"Is this enough, Imogen?"
In a small inlet protected by wind, the peculiars who were stuck in the 1940s seeking for a fabled healer looked at the girl who clutched a piece of driftwood in her hands, almost as if she was memorizing it's feeling, weight, make. Her fingers ran up and down the single piece, concentrated on its materials and size until Emma's loud voice drifted over to call her. Only then, did Imogen's dark head look up, to see the papers she had given them to arrange earlier held down by rocks, but in a single formation.
They were lined up 2 by 5, as large as the size of a regular boat, and held down by rocks. Emma crouched with Jacob on the furthest end, Enoch and Horace on the one nearest to her, with Millard placing the last rock down in the middle. The girl stared, before nodded once she's assessed its size. "Should be." She agreed, hopping down from the boulder she had been perched on, grabbing her array of chalks before sinking to her knees in the middle of the stretch of paper.
The sounds of the sea crashing against the surf was now background noise to them, having been at the coast for the past 12 hours or so. After their little scare the day before, they had been extra cautious. The group had arrived at the coast in the early evening, just as the sun was setting, but Jacob had balked against going beyond the safety of the forest, still feeling uneasy. And as always, all of them trusted Jacob's gut with their lives, and had lingered in the forest.
There, they had spent the earlier part of the night surrounding the fire Emma had built, wondering just how exactly they were supposed to find an island only accessible by boat. Imogen had been quick to come up with one, and it was why she had been holding the driftwood since early morning. For her to give life to a drawing of a sturdy boat, she had to be able to mimic its components, and its feeling. She knew how one looked like, but how it feels like was an entirely different story.
After they had nailed down what they should do once dawn broke, all of them had broke into their own groups, with Enoch playing his clay soldiers, Horace disturbing him and earning glares. Jacob and Emma were huddled together against a fallen log, whispering among themselves. Imogen had busied herself with the driftwood that Jacob had fetched for her, and Millard found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her slender fingers almost memorizing the contours and ubiquity of roughness and ins and outs of the thing.
Imogen herself, had clutched the driftwood like a lifeline, not at all sure how to react with Millard. He had been busy leading the group the rest of the day that she didn't have to actively avoid him… but did she actually want to? For if Imogen asked her deepest of hearts, she only avoided because she really didn't know what to make of Millard's little announcement to her just before Emma had started them off again. Special? Special in what way? It was ironic, considering technically, Imogen hadn't even laid eyes on him yet. She didn't even know what he looked like, so how did one's heart race when all you laid eyes on was a floating shirt and pants?
Heck if he wanted to, Imogen probably wouldn't even realize he was right next to her.
Biting her lip as he shuffled near the fire (she was guessing anyway. Only the pants and shirt floated, but then again which normal clothes floated… wait, did they have peculiar clothing?), the green eyed girl settled down with her satchel and pulled out her sketchbook again, as her gaze flickered over to Emma and Jacob. She had guessed over the past day that they were together, in every sense of the word. But did it work? She had never seen relationships between peculiars… heck, she never even had one. But she's seen the tenderness in Hugh's gaze to Fiona, and how Emma and Jacob looked out for each other… did it work?
Her heart had a battle going on within them, but as Imogen tried to concentrate on finishing her sketch of Miss Avocet's home-turned-academy, she found herself unable to concentrate, wishing for Millard's presence next to her. Finally giving up, she walked towards the invisible male who had resorted to flipping through the Tales of Peculiars (which he's probably read a thousand times) by the small fire, noticing how the book started as she took a seat next to him, and leaned over his shoulders much like how he did earlier in the afternoon.
"You read this a lot, don't you?"
"Oh! Er, yeah. It's our only copy, and one of the few things that didn't drown the last time we capsized."
"Why, I didn't know you enjoyed fairytales, Millard Nullings."
"They aren't just tales!" Millard immediately jumped in, causing Imogen to blink in surprise. "But Miss Avocet had always told them to us as tales… I loved them, but as the years went by, I figured they weren't true."
"The Tales played an important part in leading us to Miss Wren and Addison actually." Millard pulled half the book to prop them on Imogen's legs, flipping towards Cuthbert's story and pointed it out. "Cuthbert himself isn't real, and neither is the witch, but Miss Wren actually had most of these peculiar animals on her menagerie."
That bit of information caught Imogen by surprise, her eyes scrutinizing the words, before giving Millard a look of partial disbelief. "For real? So you're saying… the stories are actually inspired by actual loops?"
"The more odd ones, perhaps. And maybe a few instances of historical peculiar figures. Like Perplexus Anomalus!"
"He has a story?" Imogen blinked, and then remembered what had Miss Avocet told them right after they were returned to her. "Wait, you actually met him before, haven't you?"
"I have." Millard almost beamed with pride, grinning a smile no one could see, yet his voice said it all. Imogen had pounced on him to tell him everything that had happened, and that eventually turned into her asking him to tell her a story from the Tales, and the next thing Millard knew, he felt a weight on his shoulder, only to find out the dark head had fell into a slumber on him. His heart had been encased in warmth, but when he looked up, Emma's knowing look had sent panic shooting within him again, brows furrowing.
Could he? Millard wanted to, but he was loathe to subject his sweet Imogen to someone she couldn't even see. What if she didn't even like how he looked like? Not that she'd ever have a chance to even know what he looked like… but his wariness remained, and Millard had gently shifted her to sleep on her side, before moving away for the rest of the night.
When dawn broke, he threw himself wholeheartedly into the arranging of the papers for her to sketch on, and his eyes only trailed her movements as she picked up her chalk. On her knees in the middle of the stretch of papers, Imogen started sketching, her features immediately falling into that familiar arrangement of concentration Millard remembered from the few times she had done it with him around. Horace and Enoch had wandered away, as Imogen had warned them it may take awhile, but Emma had meandered towards his direction, leaving Jacob to watch over the two younger boys.
"Mil-"
"I don't want to hear it Emma. Leave it be."
"I don't see why you're not willing to try."
"You wanted to let Jacob go because you didn't want to subject him to being stuck in a loop forever. You should know better than anyone why."
"And I also knew that it was the wrong decision, and neither was it my decision to make. She goes to you too, Mill. Why don't you ask her?"
"She's young yet, Emma. She's got her choices."
"Don't make her choices for her. You aren't her mother." Emma's tone was curt by then, apparently frustrated by Millard's stubborn attitude. Millard could only watch as she stalked away, her words not at all helping him. Looking back at Imogen, he threw a "I'll be back in awhile." At a leaving Emma, before he shed his clothes and left, needing to be alone with his thoughts.
By the time Imogen was done with her sketch, the sun was well in the sky and close to noon. The girl groaned as she stretched up, her bones cracking this way and that before she finally peered at her 5-paged masterpiece and cocked her head. "I think this should do."
"No way to know unless you try it out." Jacob grinned, giving Imogen a nod. She in turn hopped towards the drawing, starting at the hull and tracing it with her finger. As she did so, the drawing glowed a faint white, and when she reached the same end and completed a full circle, a wave of her hand had the lines of her sketches swirl together before a flash of light blinded them. When they recovered their sight, an actual boat was before their eyes. A little worse for wear, and definitely not in the best condition considering the condition of the driftwood Imogen based her transformation on, but it was seaworthy… they hoped.
Imogen herself stared at it, a little tinge of disappointment which Emma picked up immediately. Enoch was just about to slip in a snide comment when Emma glared, kicking him in the knees and hushing his yelp by striding towards Imogen's rather vulnerable looking stance. "Don't worry, this works just fine, alright?"
"We're going to need oars though. Just a minute." The oars were quickly sketched up, yet due to her unsettled mind, when she ran her fingers over it, the transformation resulted it oars made of rock, much to Imogen's horror when she realized she had ran her fingers across the boulders. "I'm sorry, I-"
"Imogen, breathe, relax. We won't kill you for anything." Jacob tried this time, seeing the shivering in her fingers. "Do you need a break? The boat was a pretty big object for you."
"We're all going to die." Enoch scoffed, and Horace jumped on him. The resulting squeak from Enoch had both Emma and Jacob's hands full in trying to disentangle the two of the arguing boys. Imogen bit her lip, both nervous and a little pressured when she felt a grip around her shoulders, and a familiar warmth behind her. She didn't even have to turn to identify, or ask who it was.
"Gen, you're doing fine. Calm down. You're the only one of your peculiarity that I know, and you baffle me with what you can bring out with just a pencil and a paper." The voice, calm, soothing, slowed down her uneven breathing and racing heart. How could one's presence have such an effect on her? "Millard?"
"Try it, go on. I can't wait to see how they will work when we need them." He didn't confirm, but his voice was confirmation enough, for Imogen knew she'd never mistake that honeyed tone for anyone else's. Reaching out again, she brushed finger against paper, focusing on a smooth pattern of food, sturdy and strong this time. The sketch glowed, and Imogen grinned when a proper pair of wooden oars popped up. Her happy squeak attracted the attention of the others, and when they saw what she held, Emma laughed, Jacob uttered congratulations while Horace just socked Enoch on the head for being rude, before they all started lugging the boat to the sea.
"Where's Millard?"
"Right here!" A set of floating clothes jogged up to join the group of them pushing at the boat. But Imogen made sure only Millard heard when she whispered to him, accompanying her words with a smile only for him, a view that made Millard wonder if perhaps, he should try what Emma suggested.
"Thank you."