Extrodinary Machine || Rebecca and Harold
Thanking someone for their help was the polite and respectful thing to do. She’d thanked him over the internet and he’d waved it off, but there was something nagging at her that told her she needed to tell him in person. Show her gratitude and all that. The scribes were a strange bunch, that was for sure, but Harold seemed to be the strangest one of the bunch. Still, he’d helped her stand up to what could only be described as a Wraith on steroids, and sure, it had been weeks ago, but she might have had a second motive for visiting him in person. The ‘Thank You’ card was just a means of entry.
No, Rebecca’s true purpose in visiting Harold, was to see if he knew anything about what had happened to the town. And why, possibly, ghosts had been able to hitch rides back to Ashkent proper. She wasn’t sure he knew or could even help, but he was a smart man, and when she’d first found him, he’d been nose deep in research on how to get the town back to normal. He’d also been the one to find the actual ritual and answer to getting them back, whether or not it had actually been his doing, they’d all probably be creatures from the deep food by now, still stuck in that hellish dimension.
The scribe chapter was a much nicer place when it wasn’t littered with skeletons and rotting bodies. Rebecca asked one of the desk attendants where she could find Mister Quentin and they made a shrill grunting noise before pointing her in the right direction. Strange.
When she knocked on the door, she was greeted by a disgruntled, well, grunt. He must be working. Or something. Maybe she could just come back another time. But as she turned to leave, the door swung open and a man matching the tone of this voice appeared between it, pale and ragged looking, though not from a bad situation. No, she recognized that look. The look of someone on the verge of something exciting. Too many students had that look.
“Mister Quentin?” she asked, turning back around, giving a warm smile. “It’s uh– Rebecca. Remember me?”
Harold swung open the door, blinked, then furrowed his brow. Oh. It was, uh, that woman who had done the exorcism in the library. Who was named... Well, he couldn’t remember.
“It’s uh– Rebecca. Remember me?”
Ah, yes. Rebecca. Was it really that obvious he’d forgotten? His look of confusion shifted to slight surprise. He supposed so if that was her reaction. “Yes, yes, I remember you.” His countenance returned to one of confusion. He looked around and yes, she was alone. And she didn’t look worried or panicked or like she needed immediate assistance in an apocalyptic scenario. “Why are you here?”
He searched his mind, really reached for any details eh could. It was Tuesday (he thought, he could be wrong) around midday (again that was also likely to be incorrect), he couldn’t recall setting up any meetings for then. Or this entire week. Or the next. Or ever in the foreseeable future. He was getting old, though, as much as he didn’t like to admit it. Maybe something had slipped his mind. “Sorry, was I expecting you? I was deep into work on my latest device. If I had scheduled anything it went and fell by the wayside since, well, I don’t know, the last three weeks or so? I lost track of time. But it’s nearly finished, really. One more turn of the screw and it’s all ready, I think. All that’s left is testing.” He nearly went off to go finish the thing as she stood there. “You wouldn’t be interested in that at all, would you?” He half expected her to say no. Most did.
