He knows foxes aren't dogs, but damn if he isn't being as cute and responsive as a dog right now. He keeps ruffling his fur, between his ears and on his sides.
"Man, you did a good job. You're definitely very cute. Is that weird? It's probably weird but it's still true."
It is a little weird. Credence doesn't mind that, though. And eventually
he takes a step back, shakes himself off a little and slides back into
human form.
His clothes have come with him this time, thank God.
Okay, that's weird. It goes a little too quickly for his eyes to follow, but somehow it still unsettles him, makes him feel like there's something twisting in his stomach. It's odd, and he doesn't get it, but at least it's cool.
He sits back, looking over at him. "Hey, Credence. That's-- really cool."
“I had to keep a leaf in my mouth for a month,” he says, with a frown.
“That went wrong a few times, so it took a while before I could make the
potion. Then I had to drink it during a lightning storm.”
That’s the short version, but it’s enough, he thinks.
"I don't know. You don't get to choose what form you take, and you only get
one. Quentin's turned me into a fox a couple times, and it was nice,
so...maybe it's to do with that."
Credence nods, then leans into the intercom and asks for a forest. Maybe
that's a little vague, but what they get is cool and deciduous, with a
scattering of high fluffy clouds and dappled sunlight falling through the
leaves.
He takes a second to think about it, imagines the amount of tramps and drug
users and other weirdos, and has to admit: "Yeah, she probably wasn't wrong
about parks. This is nice, though, right? And uh, Fraser took me
ice-fishing here, once."
"Yeah, I hear you," he says, grinning over at him as he digs his hands into
his pockets. "It sounds like it sucks, right? Boring as hell. But uh-- I
dunno. It was nice. Peaceful, and I don't get peaceful too easy."
And it was nice to spend that time with him, feeling like they were far
away from the world. But he's not about to say it like that.
"He kind of hated me at first, so maybe a couple months?" He scratches his
nose.
"I try not to treat him like the Fraser I know back home. That guy, we've
been friends for about a year and a half. But he's not the same guy, so..."
So a few months.
"I told a - a friend," there is no category fit for Peter Nureyev, "that
none of my friends have ever come back. But I don't know what I'd do if
they did but they'd never known me."
He still hates that he inflicted that on his friends, however briefly.
He shakes his head, then shrugs. Credence is absolutely right, but he hardly feels like his feelings are what matter most here.
"I couldn't see him as another person at first, but I could tell it bothered him a lot. Didn't you hate it when people treated you like someone else, at first?"
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"Man, you did a good job. You're definitely very cute. Is that weird? It's probably weird but it's still true."
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It is a little weird. Credence doesn't mind that, though. And eventually he takes a step back, shakes himself off a little and slides back into human form.
His clothes have come with him this time, thank God.
"Hi, Ray."
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He sits back, looking over at him. "Hey, Credence. That's-- really cool."
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Credence smiles faintly.
"It's a new thing," obviously. "I've been working on it for a while but I was able to do the last ritual at port."
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He's imagining traditional witchcraft nonsense, thanks to his witchcraft nonsense friend Hilda where everything tends to be scary.
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“I had to keep a leaf in my mouth for a month,” he says, with a frown. “That went wrong a few times, so it took a while before I could make the potion. Then I had to drink it during a lightning storm.”
That’s the short version, but it’s enough, he thinks.
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And he never noticed?
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“Just a small one. If you tuck it in here -“
He gestures to around where his left set of molars are.
“It’s hard to see there I just had to remember to chew on the other side of my mouth.”
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He sits back a little, shaking his head in befuddlement, then pushes himself up.
"So why a fox?"
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Credence shrugs a little.
"I don't know. You don't get to choose what form you take, and you only get one. Quentin's turned me into a fox a couple times, and it was nice, so...maybe it's to do with that."
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"You don't get to choose, huh? So you could turn into a fly or something, too, if you get unlucky?"
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By the look that flits across Credence's face, he clearly hadn't thought of that, and it's clearly just as well that he didn't.
"...I guess you could," he says, frowning. None of his reading suggested that couldn't be the case.
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"Hey, you got lucky," he points out. "A fox is pretty cool."
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"I can climb trees," Credence says by way of agreement. "I didn't know foxes could do that."
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"Oh, yeah? Me neither."
He nods at the Enclosure. "You wanna show me?"
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Credence nods, then leans into the intercom and asks for a forest. Maybe that's a little vague, but what they get is cool and deciduous, with a scattering of high fluffy clouds and dappled sunlight falling through the leaves.
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He pushes through some low-hanging branches, nudging the door shut behind them.
"I didn't think I was a nature kinda guy before coming to the Barge," he comments, idly. "I guess I just wasn't a Lake-Michigan-kinda-guy."
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"I'd never seen anywhere like this before the Barge," he remarks quietly. "Not even the parks, really. Ma didn't like us going in those places."
Dens of iniquity, etc.
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"What, parks?"
He takes a second to think about it, imagines the amount of tramps and drug users and other weirdos, and has to admit: "Yeah, she probably wasn't wrong about parks. This is nice, though, right? And uh, Fraser took me ice-fishing here, once."
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"Oh. Was that...fun?"
Because it sounds kind of terrible, honestly.
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"Yeah, I hear you," he says, grinning over at him as he digs his hands into his pockets. "It sounds like it sucks, right? Boring as hell. But uh-- I dunno. It was nice. Peaceful, and I don't get peaceful too easy."
And it was nice to spend that time with him, feeling like they were far away from the world. But he's not about to say it like that.
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"That does sound nice," Credence says quietly, more sincerely. "How long have you been friends?"
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"He kind of hated me at first, so maybe a couple months?" He scratches his nose.
"I try not to treat him like the Fraser I know back home. That guy, we've been friends for about a year and a half. But he's not the same guy, so..." So a few months.
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"So not very long."
He looks ahead of them.
"I told a - a friend," there is no category fit for Peter Nureyev, "that none of my friends have ever come back. But I don't know what I'd do if they did but they'd never known me."
He still hates that he inflicted that on his friends, however briefly.
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"I couldn't see him as another person at first, but I could tell it bothered him a lot. Didn't you hate it when people treated you like someone else, at first?"
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