Post by Rowan on Jan 7, 2021 21:56:59 GMT -8
Riley had said that clothes were stories and memories.
So there Rowan was, proving right someone he didn't like to get revenge for someone he did like.
The thrift shop was much like he remembered it: racks and bins of second-hand items, with people scouring the alleys hunting for a come up. To him, it was a reminder of everything his was before he was Taken. Realistically, he could find a better job and move up in the world, but he was afraid. His identity was strenuous on the best of days, and the idea of shaking it even further scared him. Usually, he would listen to that Fear, but being there, in that thrift store, reminded him of his last visit. He had gotten into an argument with Riley over money and presentation, two things he knew very little about. They had both been right, after a fashion, in following the tenets of their respective Courts. However, Rowan also understood the need for the cyclical nature of the Freehold and he recognized the value of the other Seasons.
Ivory had said that from the moment something is created, it has the potential of being more than just what it appears.
So there Rowan was, getting revenge for someone he did like to fulfill his own selfish desires.
He walked down the racks of clothes, straining to see them as more than what they are. With every step, he peeled off a layer of Reality, looking not for what could be, but for what had been. And at first he got nothing. Some things just hadn't been loved enough to hold on to a story. Other things simply saw too many hands, never staying in one place for long enough to get a good sense of what they were. In both ways, they were kind of like people, kind of like him. Not that Rowan had not been loved before. His parents had dotted on him, and had sacrificed so much for his sake. It had made the uprooting all the more sudden, and the return all the more painful. Seeing all that love taken away, given to something that was just close enough to fool everyone.
Loki had said that there was this Darkling once that stalked by talking to items he lifted at all the parties.
So there Rowan was, fulfilling his own selfish desires to prove right someone he didn't like.
He had forgotten about time, somewhere between the aisles. It had no meaning now, as only storied and secrets held sway. Slowly, softly, one by one, the things told them to him. Hesitantly, at first, as he fed them Glamour and secrets of his own in exchange.
"The things we do," he whispered to no one in particular as he drowned in the Chorus of the Left Behind. It was one Hedge of a way to learn that in fact, Walls Have Ears.