I have this weird ability to sustain incredibly long periods of solitude. As a child, solitude and time alone did not truly exist for us. There were always handfuls of people around, able to capture your time and attention like professionals. Hours could go by, and you would realize that you had spent them in the somewhat confines of a large group. When I had spent my time alternating between the shack of a house we lived in, Serena's home, and the compound I began to learn several things about solitude. Solitude can be the teacher you wish humans might be; caring, wholesome, thorough. And solitude could be found within the hands of others. I had learned that I could find myself in the company of my sisters, of my brothers. In the company of minds similar to mine, in the company of people whose hearts would reach out to mine. While I enjoyed my solitude, there was never a time when I wished my siblings weren't around. Blood ties were of course, thicker than water. And in our cases? They were much, much thicker and solidified through events most couldn't even imagine.

I hadn't given much thought to my ability to promote these bonds and support them over the years. Maybe that was because I didn't really want to think of it because my failures became evident and far too obvious when I dwelled on it for too long. Where I had failed, I wanted to overcompensate and often did so which make present or future events harsher. I had an iron fist, and I was more than willing to use it to befit my brothers, my sisters, or myself; or really anyone who I deemed worthy, really. The overcompensation came from a mind-over-matter mindset where I could prove to myself and to those around me that I was as capable as they might assume I could be, or even more so.

"It isn't cheating. You woke me up with raw eggs you sick fuck."

Finley, make it to adulthood? I let go of my magic that had been messing with the door to bark a laugh and shake my head. "Technically you already have, but I see that some are slow to develop in the mind." The comment was a low tease, offered only because he'd set up the opportunity perfectly. Unsure if I'm still grumpy or not, I roused myself out of bed to shuffle past him and take a look at just what he'd done to my kitchen. I didn't smell smoke, nor did I hear the high pitched yowls of my inconvenient feline friend wailing about something terrible going on. On the trek, though, Finn mentions his ability to use a microwave, and the remembrance of what happened the last time he was curious if something could go in said machine brought a wrinkled nose to my face.

"Are you sure? The last time you tried to microwave something out of curiosity, Lore had to shock you back to consciousness. Something about a blue light, impending aliens..." I trail trailed off, leaving the rest of the incident for his memory to recover. I don't know if I actually trailed off for that reason, or because I was hit in the head with something soggy and dripping off the ceiling.

"... What in the name of God did you do to get it up there?"

I was genuinely curious, taking a step back so I wasn't pelted with batter again. Church mewled happily, lapping at the batter that was on the floor. With a shrug, I allowed him to continue said measure of enjoyment as it meant he would not harass us for breakfast at a more inopportune time. My reverie was ruined by the request that I "fix it".

"No. I can't. What time does Dominos open?"