boxbot | voicetesting

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. ]

[credence wistfully watches mr. graves leave. there doesn't seem to be anything he can do to prevent this, and more importantly mr. graves doesn't seem to want him to prevent this. he drops his hand to the grass.]

Goodbye, Mr. Graves.

[he's not sure why he's being thanked, but it wrenches his heart, now in his throat at this confirmation of their dinner plans. he sits in the garden for a long time before quietly making his way back to his room.]

Edited 2017-07-11 06:24 (UTC)

[ The next several hours are quite a trying time, in Percival's opinion.

Learning that it has been six months since Grindelwald began impersonating him, and that other than Porpentina Goldstein, Credence and Theseus Scamander's younger brother, no one knew. No one, it seems, even suspected, and he doesn't envy Serafina Piquery the position of trying to root out just what Grindelwald was doing for all those months, other than apparently attempting to 'unleash' Credence upon the entirety of New York to force the wizarding community out of hiding and wearing Percival's clothing with scorpion stickpins.

There's more to it than that, obviously, and Percival has his own questions - namely about the Barebones and about Credence's treatment by MACUSA, what they've done and what they plan on doing. Other than that, there's reports to read (Goldstein's goes to the top of list; Grindelwald tried to have her killed, so Percival is more interested in what she has to say than anyone else in his department right now), and his own initial statement to make for the record. Not to mention several weeks of time ahead of him during which he is told, on no uncertain terms, that he is not to return to work.

He doesn't roll his eyes at the directions but it's a near thing. He can work without being at work, obviously.

By the time the president leaves, Percival wants a stiff drink and a hot bath, something for the discomfort that seems to have taken residence in no less than half his joints, and to make an attempt at sleeping. But it's past the dinner hour he's fairly certain, so most of that can wait.

Instead he manages to instruct the chair to take him to Credence's room, and he knocks on the door. ]

[credence bolts upright at the knock at the door and almost runs over to answer it. though he was expecting mr. graves still his face lights up at the sight of him.]

Mr. Graves. Please come in.

[he pulls the door to one side to allow mr. graves to maneuver the chair inside. his room is full of stacks of newspapers, magazines, and cheap wizarding paperbacks of the sort people might leave in a waiting room and forget about. it occurs to him that mr. graves might not actually want to come into his room, as their plans are in fact scheduled for the dining hall, and he looks down, embarrassed.]

Are you--all right?

[it concerns him that mr. graves is still using the chair. did credence tire him out?]

We don't have to go to the dining hall if you're tired.

Tired, mostly, and I would appreciate eating in here, if you're amicable. [ Percival raises a shoulder in a shrug and guides the chair on through the doorway and into the room before spinning around to face Credence. ] I have never enjoyed spending any time awake in a hospital. I am told I have a tendency for pushing myself to hard, so I suppose that is part of it as well.

They'll likely discharge me tomorrow.

[ The paperbacks catch his eye, specifically one he remembers Isabella having on hand during her third year. He quirks an eyebrow in amusement at the cover. ]

We should see about getting you some reading that is a little less dated, perhaps.

Do you have any desire to leave the hospital? [ A pause, and then: ] It has been suggested to me that I take on some assistance for my recovery.

[ It was also suggested that he not be an ass and actually recover in the hospital but he's not about to follow that part. ]

[credence doesn't like towering over mr. graves like this. he clenches his fists and looks at the ground. is mr. graves asking him for help? why?]

I don't think I'd make a very good assistant. I'm sorry. You're very kind, but I'm not well. I need help--to be a wizard. I wish I could help you.

[he wishes for a lot of things, but distantly, because dwelling on the sheer injustices of his life only makes him angry, and when he's angry he's not himself. he resists the temptation to explain his condition to mr. graves, who surely knows already. ma hated for him to lecture. he sighs and darts mr. graves a quick wistful glance.]

It's a nice hospital. I'd like some more reading, though.

Edited 2017-07-19 04:27 (UTC)

[ Percival looks at him, takes in the body language and the words and tries to suss out what is being said and what isn't, raising his eyebrows at the mention of more books. ]

More books, then. That's easily done.

[ He set his chin in his hand, two fingers resting against the side of his jaw as he looked up at Credence. The boy needed to stand taller, for one thing, put his shoulders back and stop hunching over. Still...he can take a guess at why Credence's posture is wound so tight. Percival gestures at the other seat in the room, waits for the other to sit. ]

I'll admit I have...reservations about the idea of you being cooped up in here until Albus Dumbledore arrives. From my understanding you have been deprived of what most No-Majs would consider a healthy life of your own, much less one by any wizarding standard. That is part of the reason I have offered this suggestion. [ Putting it lightly, he supposes. ] But I will also admit - to you, mind, I would rather not have to discuss this with anyone else - that a good part of my hesitation is that I do not feel safe here.

It is, perhaps, not a feeling borne of rational thought.

[ To put a fine point on it, Percival isn't sure he is going to feel safe anywhere anytime soon, but he sees no reason to put that particular burden on Credence's shoulders. ]

The other part is that I'm concerned you're being...railroaded, in a way, and not being given proper options to live your life as you see fit. However, since you seem firm on the matter of remaining here until you are treated, I will not push.

[credence can't help but laugh because mr. graves has summarized his previous life so succinctly. he ducks his head immediately to hide his own embarrassment, and the warm feeling that mr. graves may actually care about him, already, and want him around.]

I'm sorry, Mr. Graves, but my life was railroaded that way a long time ago. I won't ever have the life I wanted, but if you want me to go with you, I will. As long as I can come back for my treatments.

That's not something you should apologize for, seeing as how you are the wronged party here.

[ Percival's tone doesn't broker a lot of room for argument on that point. ]

I do want you not to be stuck here, day in and day out, but I am much more interested in what you want. That said, I am fairly certain my entire department would darken my doorstep out of concern, should I keep you from returning for treatment or whatever else is deemed necessary to your well-being. [ And probably drag them both off. ] Besides which, I also have to return myself.

Edited 2017-07-23 21:53 (UTC)

[credence lifts his head and smiles briefly, not moving otherwise. he doesn't trust himself not to do something dumb,
like hug mr. graves.]

I want to stay with you, Mr. Graves. It's not as nice reading in a room by myself.

[as opposed to with you......in a coma.....]

Glad to hear it.

[ He's not sure he's 'nicer' than one reading in a room alone, but, well. He isn't about to tell Credence that he's wrong either. ]

I'm not certain just where we'll be staying, since I doubt my former home is in any appropriate state. Doubtless between my sister and the President, something will have been found.

How old are you?

[ Because he isn't certain and didn't ask Seraphina. ]

[credence looks up sharply, startled.]

Nineteen. Or twenty. We weren't allowed birthdays.

[it sounds kind of pathetic when he says it out loud--t's one thing to be denied birthday parties, but actual birthdays..? but they had never questioned it.]

Why are you asking me?

Edited 2017-07-25 01:58 (UTC)

It's an important thing to know.

[ Percival doesn't shrug but he does open the hand near his face, gestures with it in Credence's direction. ]

Someone will ask me, at some point, when the argue that this is not a good arrangement.

[credence's heart thumps. what kind of arrangement is he talking about? he tries hard to sound calm.]

What difference would it make?

Well, if you were still seventeen, for instance, the argument could be made that your family - not the Barebone woman but whomever your actual mother's people are - should be found, and notified, and that your care and education outside of the matter of the Obscurus falls into their hands regardless of their feelings on kin with No-Maj fathers.

The problem with that is your mother apparently went through some care to keep your birth away from those sorts of records, and one presumes she had good reason. [ Percival arches his eyebrows a bit. ] Besides which, I am not fond of giving you up to 'whomever' without their being well-vetted on the matter, and there are plenty of families with very old ideas about paternity that would do you much more harm than good in my opinion.

There will be questions and rumors as-is; I'm something of a social shut-in who is more known for his work than his personal life and yet Grindelwald has managed to overshadow both. As for you - as far as most of wizarding society is concerned, the Obscurus is dead and if it had survived the child that hosted it would not have been any older than eleven, so it is unlikely anyone will be drawing to that particular conclusion. Yet the idea that I've taken on a valet or assistant of some kind while all of this business is sussed out will make news, I am certain.

It's easier if you're an adult, is all.

[credence's mouth is dry, his throat feels like it's closing up. he looks at his feet, his fist clenched again.]

My mother didn't have any family. She was very sick, and I--went to get us something to eat--I was only three...there was no one else.

[an immigrant witch who barely spoke english, caught in the dragonpox epidemic. an easy target. credence doesn't have more than a sense of her, but he remembers fetching the doctor from the other tenements, rummaging through her meagre cashbox to buy food at the deli. there hadn't been anybody else to do that. if there had been he might have run away, or tried.]

I am an adult. I--might not know as much as I should about magic or about being a wizard, but know what I want to do.

[ Percival makes a considering noise, but decides to leave that train of conversation where it is. Credence is lucky, in a way, to remember that much - but Percival is not foolish enough to say that aloud, or suggest that it somehow makes up for the next sixteen years he's managed to survive. ]

Well. I, for one, will be glad to have your assistance. I'm certain Marguerite will have more to say about whether or not I am the sort of person one finds it easy to assist... [ Percival shakes his head. ] But we've done well thus far.

Are you hungry?

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