Closed Gilded Spoon PV whoever Jack puts in there

As Kit had his eyes on the path ahead, he missed the flicker in Aamons' odd ones, but his stoic countenance broke up once more with another grin, this one wry, when his captive, in a soft voice, said that the dolls 'don't care about anything. Not in the way you do.'

Just as he broke into another grin, he felt that heterochromic gaze on him and wondered if the boy could tell. For all their egocentrism, children were often quite perceptive of things outside of themselves when they wanted to be. Aamon mentioned that the dolls didn't care about anything the way Kit did. But in saying that, it suggested Aamon thought he knew the way Kit cared, which happened to not be so typical in itself.

As it so happened, the metapmorphmagus had only recently - as recently as earlier that summer, actually - come to learn how to fully embrace his emotions to the best of his abilities without allowing them to overwhelm him and spill over into his magic. Just because he had learned how to, though, didn't mean he was used to it, so he was still compartmentalizing for the most part; only allowing himself to feel certain things in certain amounts within the parameters of particular situations. But he didn't bother correcting Aamon; not when he would have liked to think - or at least hope - that he was more or less cured of what had caused him to detatch from the majority of his feelings for decades. Hopefully he was more like other humans now than the things they had left in the ice cream parlour.

"Did I think they're like us?" Kit asked between pants, genuine amusement tinging his tone while the upturned corners of his grinning mouth affected the sound of the words that came out of it, making it audible. "Interesting...last I checked, you were the one who called them your friends and said they cared about you." His own irises left the path ahead for a split second to flicker down at the 11-year-old he held close. "Now, compared to your new comments about them, it almost sounds like your previous claims were just wishful thinking."

Perhaps that was why Aamon had seemed sheepish and quiet, not protesting, when the other boy had suspected he had been lying about having friends. Perhaps Aamon wasn't entirely comfortable with calling them that when he had his own idea of friendship and they failed to meet it. Maybe. But it was an awful lot of conjecture, too, particularly in proportion to the amount of facts he actually knew about Aamon and those he was acquainted with.

The feel of the tension in the boy's body melting away as relaxed in Kit's arms startled the artist. That was the last thing he had expected the kid to do. Was he not concerned about having just been abducted for some mystery purpose by a deceitful madman who had walked up to him attempting to befriend him as a woman? Well...maybe he'd been through worse; things that made this situation just another mundane day to him. But that possibility was troubling on its own.

Eventually, the metamorphmagus noticed a bench up ahead and jogged over to it, his lungs burning as he gently placed Aamon down onto it. Then he collapsed onto it in a heap himself, breathing hard as he fought to catch his breath.

Glancing back the way he had come, he checked for dolls, but didn't hear or see any just yet, which bothered him. He had left in a rush in the hopes of luring the things away from the strangers they were turning into their victims. However, he was starting to worry it hadn't worked. Especially as Aamon began to reveal that not only had he known things were going to happen, but that the dolls seemed to obey the boy's will. Which meant that if Aamon hadn't wanted them to stop attacking the others, they likely wouldn't have. Because if Aamon wasn't concerned he was in danger - wasn't concerned that Kit could have been a danger to him - then why would the dolls?

By the time he was ready to answer the young boy, the portrait-painter was regarding the child's behavior and features again, trying to determine the reason for everything from what was trying to be communicated through that innocent look that followed the flicker of darkness to the reason Aamon was revealing all that information to Kit. Eventually, he tried speaking again.

"Let's not use the word 'care' if that's not what you really mean," he suggested once he had enough oxygen back in his lungs to audibly speak more than be heard gasping. "They act in order to ensure your saftey. Simple as that, sounds like, but correct me if I'm wrong."

Then, turning his head to smile more mildly at Aamon, he asked,"You seem to think you know a lot about what I'm thinking. Not a legillimens, are you? Because that'd be a lot to deal with on top of being a seer." It was all just spectulation, of course. But with the way he'd said, 'I knew something would happen. I expected it. I let it happen,' Kit had been comfortable enough in his speculating to speak of his guess as if it were fact.

“I didn’t ask for this, you know,” the boy told him with a softness denoting introspection.

"I know," Kit answered back sympathetically, gradually growing serious again. He seemed to be having trouble regulating his emotions or at least the display of them with the way he would jump from appearing detatched and apathetic to being all smiles in the space of a second. Still, at least one thing could be said for them - they certainly seemed real. "I know you probably didn't ask for whatever part you had to play in whatever plot this is. But I have to wonder if you don't actually feel anything about it."

And then his grin was back again, but it was mirthless. "If anyone knows anything about trying to keep from feeling emotions, I would. I struggled with it for half my life at least. But it's not an easy thing to accomplish without magical means." Kit stared ahead into the distance, his eyes glazing over briefly.

"Few things bother me these days," he said, grin dissolving once more; nearly as quickly as it had arrived. "If I had to say I was bothered by anything, it would be that someone your age, who still has so much to experience in life and the world, is already acting like they're too desensitized for anything to truly, emotionally move them anymore."

He moved an arm to casually drape it acorss the back of the bench, turning to peer back the way they had come. "...Did they even follow us?" But even as he spoke, he thought he saw some movement in the direction of the ice cream parlour.

Action: Jogging, talking, and ultimately paying for both as he collapses on a bench to gain oxygen before talking some more
Interacting with: @Aamon Athanatos
HP: 810/900
Stats: STA 9 / EVA 6 / STR 9 / WIS 20 / ARC 7 / ACC 9
Abilities: Metamorphmagus / 's Grace / Perfectionist / Wandless Magic / Nonverbal Magic

As detail-oriented as Kit was about studying people's physical bodies - from studies of the differences between his own and other bodies and anatomy due to being a metamorph in Ilvermorny's house that represented the body - as well as simply studying out of being an artist who drew almost exactly what he saw, he didn't miss much when it came to similarities between features shared between relatives. Whether it was the shape of ones' eyes, the point of their noses, the cut of their jawlines, or the curves of their lips, he was careful not to overlook a single thing.

It was why, over enough time, as a metamorphmagus, he was eventually able to take on the appearance of someone he had spent enough time around, having observed and listened to the way they looked, sounded, and moved from every angle. It was also how, despite the lack of physical resemblance, Kit found himself noticing a few things like the wild look in Erin Ryan's eyes, the salience of her distinctive, well-made features, the extra height from elegantly long limbs, and the surrealism of her overall beauty in Aamon Athanatos. How odd. Could it have been just a coincidence? And yet...Kit was not one of those people who tended to believe in coincidences. Not when so many of those he admired did not. So he let the notion linger in the back of his mind until there was further reason to bring it to the forefront.

In the meantime, Kit tried not to get so distracted by external appearances and attempted to devote his full attention to what Aamon said instead. However, external appearances were tied to what he said - particularly non-verbally - such as the way he glanced aside when the dolls protecting him was mentioned, so it would have been difficult for Kit to ignore what he saw completely. So he tried to take it all in as one big picture instead - looks, sound, behavior, and the critical thinking that linked all three. And, in that big picture, he saw something else that resembled Erin Ryan after all. Only it was not just her.

It was something he'd found almost intrinsically in nearly every being he'd met since he'd learned to identify just what it was - in Howard White, in Jake Morris, in Ruka Burnett-Tân. In Nico Shymane, Percival Rainwood, and Thomas Lestrange. In Jack Burnett. In Lazarus Plott. In himself. They had all behaved the way they had, at their core, very likely for one very specific reason. After all, it was what he suspected had drawn him to Aamon to in the first place; why he couldn't have just left him to his three ice cream sundaes.

Loneliness.

And it was what had started to change Kit's mind somewhere along the journey of his growth in life that it might have been okay to feel emotions after all; that it might, on some level, have been a strength rather than the weakness he had grown up believing it to be. For it had taken so, so long for him to realize that exposing one's vulnerabilities to another was not being weak, but rather, being strong - especially due to the tremendous amount of courage it took. And it was that lesson he longed constantly to be able to share with as many people as he possibly could. If not by word of mouth, then through his actions; even if those actions tended to be drastic sometimes.

Because the more people who learned that truth, the more people would be able to connect with one another and the more people could be saved - from those feelings of being unwanted, of being ignored; of isolation, alienation, purposelessness, and helplessness. They could save themselves and save each other without reservation, hesitation, or fear holding them back because they would know the simple fact that so few seemed to understand despite the modern day and age: that everyone simply wanted to matter to someone else. And that mattering to another person could make all the difference when it came to simply wanting and finding a reason to live life and to live it well.

All it took was one person exposing their vulnerabilities to someone else in order to prove to them they trusted them. That they cared. That they mattered. And if that was all it took, then regardless of the multitude of risks, Kit was happy to open himself up to any possibilities with open arms every single time. Because despite his general dislike of selfish children, Kit knew that each and every person in the world was worth it and he wanted them to know that - starting with the youngest and most vulnerable. Like Aamon.

It didn't matter that he felt things differently. He still felt, just like almost every other human, half-human, and sentient being out there. Kit laughed wryly.

"Look at us," he chuckled. "I spent my life wanting and practicing how to stop caring and feeling emotions since I was around your age, but have never been unable to completely accomplish it. And you've been subjected to so much knowledge of what's to come in your and others' lives that you've gradually become unable to feel the same way about things, events, and people that others do." With a pained smile, he shook his head. "What a pair we make, huh? Heh...almost makes me wish one of us was a Legilimens so we could teach the other our secrets and learn the solutions to one anothers' problems." He looked over at Aamon and his smile became more cheerful. Hopeful. "Almost."

He glanced down at his lap sightlessly, not really focusing on the sight of his own clothes as his smile weakened again. "Aamon...you remind me of someone I used to know. My best friend in Ilvermorny who was wise beyond her years, but still young and ignorant at the same time. She was actually around your age when I knew her best and only a year or two older when we parted ways. It's been so long I can hardly remember anymore."

Kit threaded his fingers through his slick-backed hair, contemplative. Like he wasn't sure how much to say or tell. Like maybe he had already made a mistake. But he reminded himself that getting what he wanted to say out was only difficult because it was what made him vulnerable. And if sharing what made him vulnerable proved to Aamon that he was his friend, especially after Aamon had revealed to him so much about himself - had actually taken the first real step towards their friendship before Kit had - then the embarrassment, shame, and mix of other unpleasant emotions he was feeling just then was a small price to pay for what his deeds could help mend. To help grow.

Aamon may have been able to see the future, but that didn't mean he could tell anything about the past, much less its relation and importance to the present. Still, it was all connected and Kit knew it.

"My best friend's name was Tymiko. Tymiko Waters, but I called her 'Ty' for short. She wasn't a seer, and I didn't realize it at the time, but like you, she was burdened with too much knowledge. She taught me a lot, so it was helpful, but ultimately, it ended up overwhelming her and she hated herself because of it."

Kit was silent for a bit after that, lost in pondering Ty's fate for a moment before forcing himself to continue. "I know I learned this a little too late to do much for her, but maybe it might not be too late for you: Sometimes, smart people like you and Ty are faced with so much knowledge that it can seem intimidating and threaten to overwhelm you. It becomes so much that you just succumb to the sea of information and end up being unable to pick out the things that really matter even when you're surrounded by them or they're right in front of you. And that's when you need friends to point them out to you or else you'll just...lose your way."

Heterochromic blue and brown eyes found heterochromic blue and green ones. "It's true," he agreed. "The past tends to repeat itself, so if you know the present and can see the future, it stands to reason that the same patterns would be found between them, too. But what's important isn't the patterns. It's what can be learned from the patterns," he explained seriously.

"Everyone has unique gifts that shape us in some way. Some, like yours and mine, are more obvious than most. You're a seer and I'm a metamorph. Those are what we are. But it's what we do with those gifts that make us who we are - and that's what really matters."

He gestured with an arm. "For example, you can read people. And you've seen enough of the past and future to become desensitized to certain things in certain ways. But then you know that there will always be people who are out there and lonely like you and me. Those are some of the inescapable patterns, aren't they? So what's there to keep you from doing something about it?" Kit adopted another playful grin and teasingly nudged Aamon with his elbow.

"Regardless of what you say and how predictable they might have become to you, I know you care about people, too. You've just said as much. And it doesn't matter to what capacity or in what way. The important things are that you care and that you let other people know it. That's where you can make a difference in other lives. Not by reading their futures and letting them know what they are, but by letting them know when they matter, and when they matter to you. Understand?"

He pat the dark blonde boy affectionately on the shoulder. "When I said I'd be your friend, I meant it. And friends don't let friends be lonely, especially not in their presence. You may be able to read me and you might be able to know that I care. But then you would also know that just having that knowledge isn't the same as me telling you, specifically, intentionally, that I care about you as a person." A grin briefly revealed teeth. "It 'hits different', as they say."

Gripping the young man's shoulder a bit more meaningfully, Kit sat up on the bench and leaned forward, his gaze locking with the seer's. "I know we just met and it may sound cheesy. But you can tell if I'm being genuine, can't you? So let me make sure you know right now: you are important to me, Aamon Athanaos. It doesn't make a difference to me if you're the nineth Seer of the Circe line or the third son of Thaddeus Athanatos because I know those are just what you are. Not who you are. And mark my words - nothing you can do or say will ever change the fact that I care about you. That you matter to me." He released a huff of air in a breath of a laugh. "And regardless of whether I want to care or not, caring about people like you has come to make me see how worth it it is to feel regardless of the pain that inevitably comes with caring. So...thank you."

Saying that, Kit took a moment before gradually pushing himself off the bench and onto his feet in order to stretch his stiff limbs. He turned back to stare at the path on which they'd come, his smile gone once more from every feature of his face, from his line of a mouth to the dulled look in his eyes. Like he was steeling himself to go to war and thus hiding his emotions away once more.

"You are more than a pawn, Aamon," Kit stated in deep, low tones. "No need to simply resign yourself to your fate." He turned his head to look at the younger boy and a little bit of light came back into his fond gaze as a small hint of a smile curved his mouth. "Thanks for the information. But what I really want to know is...do you want me to get away from you?"

He turned back to the sidewalk and began to crack his knuckles one by one. "Also...is there anything you'd like to tell your friend about what's happening? I could try to help you, you know. Believe it or not, that's what friends are for. And they do it of their own free will; not because they're made to."

The artist cracked his neck next. "If there's nothing you want to tell me, that's fine, of course. I know I've done next to nothing to earn your trust yet, but I plan to. In the meantime...I just wondered if I'm going to have to find out what's going on the easy way or the hard way." A full, manic, cheshire cat grin spread across his countenance as he got into a protective stance in front of Aamon while facing the direction they had come from, his back to his young friend.

"Not that I mind the hard way. It's been a while for me. And the hard way can be fun."

Action: Talking (a lot) before asking Aamon a couple of questions and preparing to take on his dolls
Interacting with: @Aamon Athanatos
HP: 810/900
Stats: STA 9 / EVA 6 / STR 9 / WIS 20 / ARC 7 / ACC 9
Abilities: Metamorphmagus / 's Grace / Perfectionist / Wandless Magic / Nonverbal Magic / Restricted Transfiguration Section