boxbot | voicetesting

The oldest family estate is in Virginia, yes, though I spent most of my childhood in New York before I went to school and Ilvermorny.

[ At the mention of his 'ma' Percival's mind does an odd skip. More details fall into structure; he remembers reading an early report on the Second Salemers, specifically about that detail regarding Roanoke, he remembers mention of three children, he remembers telling Goldstein to be careful observing, because her anger at the woman's...everything was palpable.

He blinks. He sips his coffee. ]

Even a broken clock is right twice a day.

[ He gives Credence a small smile. ]

Has anyone given you a proper history book? Newspapers are useful, in a sense, but without historical context some things may be more difficult to grasp.

[credence blinks.]

No--I mean, Miss Tina said she'd order me textbooks, but you didn't really make everybody disappear, right?

[this is so distracting that he doesn't register mr. graves' smiling at him until several seconds after the fact. he flushes and looks down at the sandwich he's still holding. he sets it back down on the plate.]

Sorry. What's...Ilvermorny?

[it sounds like a university for wizards.]

No. Not...exactly.

There was...a conflict, between the two wizarding families who came there, historically, and the native people, who had very little divide between those who could practice magic and those who could not at the time. Add to that the issues of getting supplies from back home across the Atlantic while keeping the other colonists in the dark about what was happening...

[ Percival sighs, shaking his head as he takes another sip of his coffee. ]

It was, simply, a series of disasters in a few short years. Bad storms, near starvation, and mass hysteria do not make for a good combination. There weren't many No-Maj's left, when my ancestor left the colony behind, but they were unwilling to accept his help.

[ There's a raised eyebrow at the ignored sandwich. ]

It's the wizarding school, in Massachusetts. You attend from ages eleven to seventeen, and learn the history of our world.

Edited 2017-07-01 21:12 (UTC)

[credence nods. that sounds a lot more reasonable that what he'd heard.]

Ma said 'croatoan' was a hex to send everybody to hell. So don't worry, she's still wrong.

[he smiles kind of helplessly, but it fades as mr. graves describes ilvermorny. seventeen. so he's too old to go. he clenches his fists on the table and stares down at his plate silently.]

[ Older than seventeen, then, though Percival had presumed Credence's age at eighteen, maybe twenty, so it's not terribly surprising. What is, in a way, is how interested in magic he is - in the history, the people, the details. ]

There are other options. Tutors, that sort of thing, if Ilvermorny ends up not being available to you. It can be done, if you've a genuine interest to learn, and I'd say you do.

Granted, I only met you today, so.

[ A glance and a nod towards Credence's sandwich. ]

Is it too dry for your liking?

[credence nods and unclenches his fists. he smoothes them out against the table then looks up, startled.]

What? No, it's very good, but I'm not very hungry...would you like the other half?

[mr. graves doesn't seem to have made so much progress on his eggs. maybe his stomach knows it's lunchtime, even if he doesn't?]

[ Surprising, considering how welcome to the idea of lunch Credence seemed. Percival shakes his head at the offer though. ]

Would a change of topic improve your appetite?

[he smiles, and his heart flutters a little that mr. graves cares so much about such a little thing as whether or not he's enjoying his sandwich.]

What do you want to talk about?

[he takes a sip of coffee.]

You could tell me your favorite foods for dinner and lunch.

What I want to talk about are probably not conversations for lighthearted chitchat over... [ He gestures at their plates with one hand, picking up the coffee with the other.

Yet they're barely eating. Fancy that. Still. He takes another bite of the eggs, and then decides he'll just ignore them in favor of..this conversation. And his coffee.

He wonders if Credence plans on doing something with this information or if he just wants to know. It would put him more on edge, this idea of just wanting to know for knowing's sake, if his entire department and Serafina and the medical staff (and perhaps his sister, if she didn't presume he belonged to the first or last of that list) had not deemed Credence fit for the task of interacting with him.

He had found him, after all, and Percival is sure that he was going to die there. He's still not sure what living as a result of that is supposed to look like, and the fact that this entire interaction is almost a reflection of that should worry him.

Percival quirks his eyebrows again after a pause. It's more of a mental shrug to himself, than anything else. ]

The things I like the most for dinner are usually more difficult to find, on my schedule. Lamb cawl - a Welsh stew, comes to mind. Definitely a dinner dish. Baked potatoes. Sausages. German noodle dishes I never learned the proper names for.

Lunch...I think I've had a year of sandwiches or things left over from some other dinner.

Edited 2017-07-02 03:39 (UTC)

[credence smiles into his coffee.]

I'm not very good at lighthearted chit-chat.

[he takes a sip.]

Why can't you use magic to make the things you like?

[his tone is light and curious. he wants to know as much as possible, about magic and about mr. graves, and feels almost greedy for asking, but he also doesn't know else to keep the conversation flowing. he hasn't had a lot of opportunities to practice.]

Alright.

[ Percival will take that as permission to ask his own questions, then. ]

Not every magic user is the same. Cooking still requires the raw ingredients to put things together, magically and otherwise, and I am not...particularly skilled with domestic charms.

I could manage, with the proper spellbook and time, I'm sure. [ Because why couldn't he? Actually he can think of a half dozen cooking charms that would probably turn out mediocre but they're not being mentioned. ] Or interest.

Why did you want to find me? [ It would make sense if Credence chose instead to just...disappear. Why track down a man he'd never really met? ]

[credence nods along with interest until the end. he keeps his head down and hunches over his coffee.]

I thought we could be friends.

[ Friends.

Percival blinks before hastily taking another sip. He hadn't expected such a simple answer, nor the way he feels like something particularly large has decided to perch on his chest as a result. ]

I haven't had many opportunities to make friends in recent years.

[ Now it is his turn to look down. ]

I'm not sure how good I am at it.

[ He almost leaves it at that. ]

But I see no reason why we can't be friends.

You're welcome to ask me something else, if you'd like.

[credence huffs out a laugh that is partly relief and some of the tension drains from his shoulders.]

Me neither.

[is a charitable way to put it. his eyes flick from mr. graves' face back to his coffee.]

I don't know where to start. [he'd ask to hold his wand, except he already said he didn't have it. instead he pauses, pursing his lips.] How do you do spells? And--why do you need to make potions if you have them?

We're on even footing.

[ In this together, he thinks wryly, smiling at how Credence lets some of his tension go.

It might be a bad idea - he doesn't have all the details, here - but. Well. Left to his own devices he would probably have stared at the ceiling for a while before picking a fight with some poor nurse in the hopes of strongarming his way out.

Instead he's laughed and had coffee. It's not as bad as it could be.

Credence's question is not one neatly answered, but Percival opts to cut it down to what little is known to be true, without doubt. ]

A wizard or witch is able to 'do spells' primarily through access to magic, which is inherited, and with added training so one knows just what the hell one is doing and what one is aiming for. My training mostly involved wands, but a great deal of magic and potion making can be managed without.

You're proof of that.

Potions and magic... potions have much stricter rules on how one goes about creating them, and you can't make a potion without magical aptitude. The things one can do with magic are astounding, and potions are just. A very specialized sort of magic. There's various specializations really.

[ Textbooks would be better, Percival thinks, but hopefully he hasn't made things unusably confusing. ]

How long do you have to remain in the hospital for?

[credences flushes, ducking his head to hide a somewhat skeptical smile. he's flattered mr. graves might compare him to himself, and consider what he's done to be real magic, but both of these things seem kind of impossible.]

I don't know--I wouldn't say I can manage magic. Until I can, I guess. Could you--make a wand out of anything?

[modesty's toy wand had looked suspiciously real--and the way she had defended it was itself suspicious. how had she known the difference between a real wand and a toy? could a proper young witch, whose magic hadn't yet been distorted, just tell?]

Edited 2017-07-02 18:46 (UTC)

I won't pretend to be any sort of expert on the subject but no. Wood is the start, with some sort of core, usually from a magical beast. There aren't many wandmakers in the country, only four. You have to have a permit. A No-Maj won't be able to do anything with a wand.

[ Coffee almost emptied and poached eggs ignored, Percival leans his elbows onto the table and does his best to ignore the small part of him that now wants to tilt Creedence's chin up, just a fraction. Encourage him to.stop looking away.

Instead he clasps his hands in front of him. He hasn't lost all good sense and the table is in the way besides. ]

I can't think of anything else to ask. [ He can, but he wants to speak to Serafina and Goldstein first. Get some more details. ]

Ah. Do you want to see the garden?

[credence shivers a little when mr. graves leans closer, and his eyes light up at the mention of the garden.]

Yes. Oh, [he glances down at his sandwich.] I don't want to waste it...

[he picks it up awkwardly and takes another bite.]

Edited 2017-07-03 14:26 (UTC)

I think... [ Percival reaches out and touches the back of Credence's hand. ] You don't have to force yourself to eat.

[ He's not going to sit there and watch him do it either. ]

[credence shivers at the touch and slowly puts the sandwich down.]

Ok, Mr. Graves. Let's go to the garden.

[he sort of begins the process of unfolding himself and standing up, glancing up to make sure mr. graves is doing the same.]

[ He should probably stop touching the boy, it seems to affect so Credence so much; he withdraws his hand and stands, keeping one hand gripped on the back of the chair.

He probably should still be resting, he realizes, based on how tired he is. But for now, there's the beckon of the garden, and Percival squares his shoulders.

The garden itself is fairly expensive, with a large domed ceiling in various moving colors of glass. Each plant has a placard with it's name, origin, and description of use and behaviors.

Nothing dangerous like mandrake, fortunately. Percival takes short, measured steps, keeping his hands in his pockets. ]

[credence notices the way he grips the chair, how standing seems to be an effort.]

Are you--did he--are your legs bothering you?

[he lurches closer, not sure if he should offer his arm or how--he knows, intellectually, that he's tall enough to be of use, even if he doesn't feel that way. he just doesn't know how to initiate such a thing. but mr. graves seems to be all right walking--so credence follows closely, keeping an eye on the way he's moving, ready to provide support if he can.

and then they get to the garden.]

Oh.

[it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. he doesn't know where to look first. even the ceiling seems to be magic. he wanders off despite himself, kneeling down to examine anything unfamiliar, (which is most things).]

Are these for potions?

[he glances back at mr. graves, for once curious (and distracted) enough to forget his nerves.]

[ Percival makes a non committal noise, waving a hand at Credence's question. He doesn't want him to fuss, or worry, and he can manage through the garden at least.

Still. He keeps himself within reach. ]

Many of them are, yes. There are countless potions in the world.

[he looks around, amazed, absently stroking a small flower.]

What do they all do...?

[he seems to be wondering aloud, because even mr. graves isn't enough to keep his attention for more than a few seconds.]

[ Which is fine, honestly, because if Credence isn't watching him like a hawk's child then Percival can let himself relax, a little, and watch the other for a moment while staunchly attempting to ignore the exhaustion that has set into the very marrow of his bones.

Idly he wonders if his doctor's orders included several days of bedrest. Ah, well.

Credence doesn't get too far into the garden before they are interrupted by a very put-upon doctor and rather stone-faced President. Percival opens his mouth to protest the wheeled chair that is summoned up for him, but that stone gaze is set in his direction and he pulls a face as he reconsiders that idea. ]

I will see you this even, Credence. Thank you. [ Percival inclines his head and shoulders in Credence's direction, noting the quiet flare of Serafina's nostrils, before he does sit again. The chair, enchanted to know where it's going without any pushing on Percival's part, begins off back towards the dining hall (now completely cleaned of any sign that they'd eaten there), with the President right behind it. ]

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should've said "at" not "and" LMAO AND THEN I FORGOT TO ANSWER THE OTHER QUESTION go me

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