['Yours,' and that earlier thought returns as he sets about peeling off his jacket and shirt. Fred gets that he's been here before, it's evident from the way the cabin's set and Ginny's acting as though this is all natural and normal. But he doesn't remember any of it, and that's the unsettling part. Memories are fickle things and easily tampered with, but the idea that you haven't got control over your own? It's more than a bit unsettling.
But more than that, it's the realization that even if he can't recall, Ginny can. Merlin knows how long she's been here, and while he's free to forget that time in between, she's been left to remember all of it, and he doesn't even know how much of it she's privy to. She knows he's dead, that much he can tell, but does she know how? Why? What any of it even means? His eyes absent-mindedly wander down to where he lazily cast aside his old clothes, still tattered and dirtied from the fight despite his playing about the water. The evidence is all there - does she recognize it, and just hasn't said anything?
Once the shirt's on properly, Fred watches his sister mull about the kitchen, every bit the Ginny he knows but still impossibly different, like there's an added step in her gait that he doesn't understand, doesn't recognize, and the difference in age becomes all too noticeable. Just how much time has he lost, exactly? But then she smiles, and it's so very familiar, he has to smile back and shake his head in amusement.]
Can't a man get decent before starting about an inquisition?
[Questions abound, enough to fill a few OWLs, essays and all. But not entirely about the City - Fred did his digging before causing a scene in the fountain. He tinkered with the device, took in the surroundings, found his lack of pulse. Inquisitive nature in any circumstance, he wanted to gain some sort of footing before deciding on a course of action. He can't just outright rely on others to show him the way, he's got to have some sort of hand of his own. The questions he has now all pertain to home, or the family, or things that no one can really explain.
And in the end, every one of them leads back to Ginny. To her, this place, and all of that time lost. So as Fred leans back against the counter, contemplating where to start first, only one question really comes to mind. Quietly, with his head lowered and arms folded, it just sort of...slips out.]
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branchandroot
he's there for you when he shouldn't be but he stays all the same;
Date: 2011-08-21 01:12 am (UTC)But more than that, it's the realization that even if he can't recall, Ginny can. Merlin knows how long she's been here, and while he's free to forget that time in between, she's been left to remember all of it, and he doesn't even know how much of it she's privy to. She knows he's dead, that much he can tell, but does she know how? Why? What any of it even means? His eyes absent-mindedly wander down to where he lazily cast aside his old clothes, still tattered and dirtied from the fight despite his playing about the water. The evidence is all there - does she recognize it, and just hasn't said anything?
Once the shirt's on properly, Fred watches his sister mull about the kitchen, every bit the Ginny he knows but still impossibly different, like there's an added step in her gait that he doesn't understand, doesn't recognize, and the difference in age becomes all too noticeable. Just how much time has he lost, exactly? But then she smiles, and it's so very familiar, he has to smile back and shake his head in amusement.]
Can't a man get decent before starting about an inquisition?
[Questions abound, enough to fill a few OWLs, essays and all. But not entirely about the City - Fred did his digging before causing a scene in the fountain. He tinkered with the device, took in the surroundings, found his lack of pulse. Inquisitive nature in any circumstance, he wanted to gain some sort of footing before deciding on a course of action. He can't just outright rely on others to show him the way, he's got to have some sort of hand of his own. The questions he has now all pertain to home, or the family, or things that no one can really explain.
And in the end, every one of them leads back to Ginny. To her, this place, and all of that time lost. So as Fred leans back against the counter, contemplating where to start first, only one question really comes to mind. Quietly, with his head lowered and arms folded, it just sort of...slips out.]
Are you all right?