The Calm Before the Storm with @Simon Kincaid

Easter - 20 April 2025

AngelFyre, on the inside at least, had been as jittery as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. She knew Simon was due home today, but it would not just be him that would be walking through that lovely mint colored door in his South Ken neighborhood. Traveling with him, hopefully, from his father's... that "man's"... that castle in Babilstow.. would be Clara.

She had not really heard from him, or from anyone, for pretty much the whole day. They had spoken briefly via their binding mark before he left the castle, but she knew he was going to be extremely busy... and extremely on guard... getting both Clara and himself out and to safety. Had Simon not arrived home at a certain point, Aunt Maggie, she knew for a fact, would have contacted her and her family to let them know. She also reasoned that if their plans had blown up and he had not been able to get Clara out and to safety, she would have heard from Simon himself much earlier. That she had heard from no one, was, ironically, quite comforting. Even so, Easter 2025 was the spaghettification of time for AngelFyre, s t r e t c h i n g out like one of those hellishly long, theorized strands of spaghetti after slipping over the event horizon and entering into a black hole.

She worked to keep herself busy and to hurry the feeling of the passage of time. After Easter services, she had tended to Grandma Ruth's flower beds by the front door, pulling out a very few number of weeds, but there was not much to do there as her mother, not surprisingly, had been caring for them. It was her way of keeping Grandma Ruth close, and close she must be because the floral displays were astonishingly beautiful and plentiful. If looking down from her heavenly perch, Grandma Ruth would have to have been pleased.

Afterwards, she and Hillary then went to the treehouse to give it a proper spring cleaning by dusting everything off, stripping the linens from the beds, and sweeping out what felt like mountains of debris that had accumulated from the pitiful months of vacancy. She did smile and chirped out her glee upon entering when she found a rainbow of Post-It notes tacked to the tree in the middle of the library/craft area, left there for her mostly by Ainsley and Kendric. She even found some interspersed in the mix from her mother and father, written, she supposed, at times when they had been missing her especially hard.

She had outgrown (or had she really?) the very real pleasure of dying Easter eggs and then going on the hunt for them, but coming upon the vision of her tree trunk covered like that was like stumbling upon dozens of beautifully colored eggs all at once. It gladdened her heart to know that the place really had not been completely abandoned in her long absences from it... nor had she. The notes, she noted, had been dated every month from January until now, the last one being a little over a week ago, right before Ainz took off for her family's annual Easter vacation. What she had also noticed was that each note from Ainz and Kendric had all been written on the same dates. That made sense since they were now a couple, and because they still came on weekends to gather Hillary to take her with them on their jaunts across the countryside.

She took a couple of minutes to untack them all, and then sat down on one of the stools and began to read. Hillary nuzzled her hand for a gentle petting behind the ears before happily sauntering towards the back and settling into the lower bunk for a peaceful nap. It took maybe 20 minutes to read them all and to catch up on the goings on in the lives of her friends in Stenton Village that were not conveyed in the letters they wrote back and forth. She found herself feeling a bit sentimental as her heart yearned, even a little, to be once again that third musketeer, but when she looked around her treehouse, and remembered Simon had spent absolutely wondrous hours with her there, too, the yearnings of the past vanished. She loved her friends. She loved this place and everyone and everything about it.

But she loved him more... so much more.

She blinked hard and fast a few times to keep any tears that may have welled up at bay, and then turned her attention to her spring cleaning. She decided that stripping the linens from the beds and chairs and kitchenette area would be the first order of business, so she turned on the radio and got down to it. A mound of blankets was piling up near the front door, and Hillary was circling it, tail wagging and looking at her expectantly. She had hopped off, well more like easily stepped off, the back bunk the moment AngelFyre had become active. She just clucked at her lovingly and told her, "Soon, Baby. Soon." That hit with a bit of disappointment, apparently, as her gentle giant let out an exaggerated yawn-yowl and plopped down dramatically in the mountain of blankets. That really made AngelFyre laugh as it reminded her so much of Colin.

She quickly collected the napkins and place mats from the kitchenette before moving to strip the bottom bunk. Strains of Ed Sheeran, her favorite pop artist, could be heard singing 'Photograph' in the background, and AngelFyre raced to the radio to turn it up. Now belting out along with the tune and caring not the least that singing was not her forte, she got to the back bunk and picked up a pillow to remove the cover. Caught up in the song, however, she instead began to dance, holding it close, and thinking how apropos it was in the moment for where she was and what she had been thinking about... who she had been thinking about.

"I love you, Simon," she said silently to him through their binding mark. She had not really meant to send it to him in that moment, as she did not want to distract him from whatever he was having to focus on, but it had honestly been something she did reflexively. One of the most lovely surprises she had discovered about their binding mark is just how often they both spoke to each other in random little moments to send their love. AngelFyre, if asked prior to giving him the mark, would have thought for sure that she had the market cornered between the two of them as to who thought about who more. In fact, the night he asked asked her to be his girlfriend, she actually turned him down for fear of being only a rebound girl. She proceeded to tell him that from her perspective, she had no idea what he liked about her... other than her name... so she wanted him to woo her. Well, she got her wish and then some. Her boy had wooed and wowed her in spectacular fashion every day since, but that particular night he told her he had already spent a tremendous amount of time thinking about her and longing for her.

It hurt him, she could tell, that she was not aware of that, but she truly had not been. And it was not that she disbelieved him, but up to that point in time, there simply had been little evidence of it, mainly because another girl had had claim to the title of being his girlfriend just the day prior. AngelFyre was a seer, not a legilimens after all, so he really could not blame her for being a little cautious. But since the binding mark had been ascribed to his chest, she was dumbstruck to learn just how often he really did talk to her in his head, and she knew fact certain it was not something he was consciously doing now just because of the mark. There had been a couple of evenings when he had apparently been asleep and dreaming about her. And she knew this because he had been talking to her in his sleep.

Delicious.

Still holding the pillow, she squeezed it tightly to her chest and buried her face in it, saying a prayer for her boy and his safety. She knew Clara was his big concern today, but there was something that happened the evening before that did capture her own attention, and she could not wait to speak to him about it. He said her name aloud and rather deliberately, but with a great deal of contained annoyance, tinged with what sounded like underlying anger. It shocked her when she heard it, more because of his tone than anything else, but especially because she knew he was at his fath-... at Adrian's... when he spoke it. Had he been speaking to Adrian at that moment, and if so, why had her name spilled from his lips in such an unsavory manner?

She had never heard Simon speak her name with such annoyance, so that, of course, sent her mind spinning, and not in any direction that brought her any sort of comfort. Something was up and AngelFyre knew it. She just needed to be patient until he could take a beat and reach out to her.

She set the pillow down and finished stripping the beds. She loaded a basket full of lighter linens for Hillary to carry back to the house and gathered up all of the heavy blankets into her own arms. By the time the laundering had been done and dinner had been prepared and eaten and cleared away, she sat down with her father to watch one of his favorite Charlie Chaplin movies, "Modern Times".

He tried coaxing her into a double feature, but she uncharacteristically begged off, wishing to be up in her room when Simon reached out. "Not tonight, Daddy. I think I just want to go get ready for bed and maybe read for a bit. Tomorrow night I will watch as much Charlie Chaplin with you as you want. I promise." She kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "Good night, Daddy. I love you," and headed up to her room.

She had expected when Simon did reach out, it would be through their mark, but she had kept her cell with her everywhere she went just in case. She had just gotten to the top of the second story landing when her cell vibrated. It was Simon and he was requesting a video chat. Even better! She could hear AND see him. She accepted and there he was. Finally! He looked tired, which was to be expected, but he was not smiling, which was not at all expected.

Uneasiness began to envelop her. "Oh, Simon. I am so happy to see you, but I can already tell there is something wrong. Were you unable to get Clara out and away from Babilstow? Is she okay? Are you okay, love?"

She had a million more questions, but she knew if she would just be silent, he would tell her everything. The question she was asking herself right then, however, was whether everything was what she was prepared to hear or not.

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Reducio

OOC: Simon and AngelFyre have longstanding permission to godmod one another's characters.

Ah. So you FINALLY met your father the Puppet Master, @Simon Kincaid

Easter - 20 April 2025

She waited quietly and patiently as Simon himself continued to sit silently, still unsmiling, after her greeting. The fact that seeing her did not immediately bring a smile to his face spoke volumes, even if he was still not. In the silent confines of her bedroom, the rhythmic pulsations of the blood rushing to her ears were nearly deafening. It was also entirely possible she forgot to blink during that wait for fear of missing anything he might do or say. Just about the time she thought she would not be able to bear it any longer, his dark cloud parted and allowed a beam of sunlight to filter through. “Hi,” he said, and with that utterance came his smile. “Hi,” she smiled back at him, and let out a relieved sigh.

The floodgate had been opened and Simon began to share that their plan had worked. He had been able to get Clara safely away and she was now in a room above him that Aunt Maggie and Mark had set up especially for her, but his telling of the whole thing was flat. There was an odd detachment to the whole thing. He was tired and emotionally drained. That much she could see plainly, but there was something more he was internalizing. His whole ‘these are just the facts, ma’am’ delivery had the spider hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention.

AngelFyre knew the only reason Simon had gone back to his fath-… to Adrian’s castle at all was to save Clara. He had achieved that, and it had to be a tremendous load off of his heart and mind… or it should have been… but there was something more to be told. Relief was not what she was seeing on her love’s face or hearing in his voice. If everything was fine and had worked out exactly as planned, he would be all smiles and exuding joy and thanksgiving to the God they both loved. But that was not what she was hearing or seeing from him.

As she began to grapple with her own thoughts and fears while trying to concentrate on his every word, Simon interrupted his own narrative mid-sentence and his exasperation burst forth quite unexpectedly. “AngelFyre, that man is absolutely insufferable.” It took no longer than a nanosecond after his declaration for her to realize that her fellow would be going back to Babilstow.

Dread began to coil around her heart like Devil’s Snare, pressing in and suffocating her in its vice grip as she rebelled at the notion of his return. When she knew he was home and that both he and Clara were safe, she had the briefest moment to think her vision so long ago at the Duck & Waffle was wrong. Maybe Professor Clairmont actually did know what she was talking about when she told them outcomes could be changed. AngelFyre had long prayed for just such a thing, a change in the outcome, even if it did go against the wisdom of every time travel/soothsaying movie she had ever seen. But no. It appeared that the Duck & Waffle horror show was still game on.

Simon screaming out her name as a medieval village burned could still come to pass.

She felt the bile begin to rise in the back of her throat, but her focus turned entirely back to him when he lifted his hand and swept it through his hair. She had not seen him do that since his third year when he had been struggling with his unsettling aura. It was his tell tale sign that he was in distress and all she wanted to do in that moment was be by his side and hug him and whisper how much she loved him, but he was there and she was here, and even reaching out to him with the binding mark in that moment would derail his process for spilling whatever he needed to tell her.

He floundered about briefly before a fast string of words that she could not possibly have heard correctly flowed over his lips and out into their breathy existence. She had had dreadfully long years to think of a never-ending list of terrible things that could result from each visit he made to Babilstow, but this? No, no, no.

No!

A wedding... his, not their, wedding… was never on her Babilstow Bingo card. What fresh hell was this anyway?

”…wants me back in July.”

“…fitting for wedding attire… my wedding.”

“Betroth me off like some prince from long ago.”

Even as she began to feel light-headed, she remembered thinking the night she met Adrian Hawthorne that his goal was to have Simon with him and under his control. He wanted Simon to be his very own Little Prince. And as if all of that had not been painful enough, the coup de grâce was wielded decisively, even amidst her love’s ardent protestations.

” I'm not breaking up with you and I'm not marrying Vanessa."


Why had she not seen this? THIS would have been the deal breaker for her boy, she was pretty sure, even if all he had wanted was to get to know more about himself. If this had been her vision way back when, would Simon still have insisted on pursuing his desire to know that vile, shell of a once-upon-a-time-ago-man?

Then a meandering labyrinth of ‘What if’ thoughts struck her. What if this actually was the answer to her prayers? What if this was her desired change for a different outcome weaving the new tapestry of future events as they spoke? What if this was the cost of keeping Simon safe and alive? What if their happily ever after had just been obliterated by Adrian Hawthorne in the most unexpected way?

She closed her eyes in an effort to stave off tears. Vanessa’s name was playing in a thought-loop, and AngelFyre seemed unable to free herself of it and the pictures she had painted in her mind of the girl. Simon had said she was beautiful and kind and talented and… in love with him. Of course she was. She knew Simon was not in love with Vanessa. He was in love with her. But maybe in time he could be happy to find love and affection had turned to something deeper and richer with someone not named AngelFyre.

She had been silent for a long while... longer than she realized. When she spoke, it was not to Simon exactly. She was not talking to anyone, really. She just wanted to get the poisonous venom out of her head, and her body reflexively did it for her. Speaking it aloud was the anti-venom, she hoped.

“Vanessa Varon Kincaid,” she said quietly but clearly. It was not bad, but it was no AngelFyre McCubbin Kincaid.

AngelFyre did not realize it, but she was in a mild state of shock.

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Reducio

OOC: Simon and AngelFyre have longstanding permission to godmod one another's characters. ❤️