boxbot | voicetesting

[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?

[credence smiles briefly, than winces. admitting hunger is almost as bad as asking for food, but he hasn't eaten since lunch. which is normal. he exhales.]

Yes..?

[he unclenches his fists.]

I still don't see how I can assist you without any magic.

It's quite alright if you are. [ Percival has already been told that he will have to do his best to ignore any misgivings about his own meals, if he intends to heal in any timely fashion. It doesn't take too terribly an observant person to recognize that Credence is much too thin for his height besides.

Percival gives a little bit of a shrug. ]

It will take some time for the business of my own wand to be settled, and in the meantime I could, perhaps, wander about incredibly wrinkled and slightly disheveled but I would rather not. I would also rather not become dependent only upon my sister, her family, and whichever of my subordinates has the nerve to speak to me outside of the office for conversation.

You would assist me by being present, in all honesty.

[credence considers this. his last statement seems too good to be true, and credence doesn't know how to respond to it, so he doesn't, although it makes his toes curl in his shoes.]

I can use an iron. [a pause. he is considering the best way to phrase this.] Do you have a gas or electric stove?

[everything in the hospital seems to run by magic.......he's not sure the light bulbs are even really lightbulbs, as such.]

Whereas I am likely to burn a hole into something if I tried.

[ See? Useful. Though the question has him pausing. ] Gas, I believe.

[ He hadn't been aware electric stoves were even a thing, really. ]

Ok. [he's not entirely sure about matches. the hospital staff seem to use their wands for everything. he pauses.] Do you have an iron?

[or an ironing board. or a laundry service. or--this may be a bigger undertaking than credence thought.]

I have...a charmed, self-heating iron. I believe.

If that ends up more difficult than it's worth, one can always be purchased. [ Percival waves a hand. Money is not something they'll have to worry about. ] Even a No-Maj one, if necessary.

[credence frowns.]

If it doesn't work I can heat it up on the stove...[provided it has gas. he sighs.] I can take your clothes to the launderer's. [a pause. he glances at mr. graves.] Would you like to order supper now?

Edited 2017-07-29 19:04 (UTC)

You're starting to worry. [ Percival says this with a mild surprise, because it takes him a moment to figure out why that may be. ] That was not my intention. I'm not going to change my mind if the iron decides not to listen to you, or the stove is difficult to light.

[ At Credence's question there's a shrug, mostly with his eyebrows. ] I'm told I should eat, so I suppose we may as well. [ Wait, damn, Credence had said he was hungry. ] Yes.

Edited 2017-08-08 08:53 (UTC)

[credence looks up, surprised by this insight, and huffs a small laugh. it's sweet of mr. graves to be concerned for his feelings, even if he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. he hasn't seen mr. graves make a mistake before; it's surprisingly endearing.]

It's very kind of you to say so, but I wasn't worried about that. I was just thinking of how we could manage your house without magic, if it's anything like this hospital. For example, do you know where the gas for your stove comes from?

[he awkwardly moves to drag a chair across from mr. graves', and sits in it rather abruptly.]

...and...do you still want to try the spaghetti?

[it's alarming that mr. graves doesn't want to eat, after sleeping for so long, but he doesn't know what he can do about that.]

Edited 2017-08-09 06:24 (UTC)

I...do not, no. [ Perhaps he should have emphasized the need for someone to speak to so as not to be trapped in his own head. Perhaps he'll have to get a new wand sooner as opposed to later.

Perhaps he should know just where the necessary utilities in his home come from, but he doesn't, and that's that.

Credence pulls over a chair and Percival arches an eyebrow, considering the question. ]

Noodles and butter, plain without sauce, seasoned. I likely could manage that. What about you? You don't have to hold yourself to our earlier agreement.

[credence gives him a small smile.]

It's ok, Mr. Graves. I really don't mind turnips all that much. I just don't think that they're better than tomatoes. If you say you know a turnip dish that tastes good, I believe you.

[then he frowns a little, pressing his lips into a thin line.]

Are you...still not hungry?

[ It's endearing and a little strange, to be the focus of so much concern from someone to whom Percival isn't related to, or a patient of. ]

I'm not, no. But I understand I should make the attempt anyway.

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