There hadnât been a single night when Rylan wasnât swarmed with work and the minor, but unnecessary changes work related. Nor did he comment on it or even flinch, he allow the higher ups voice their opinions for the last few final rounds of the sketch of the upcoming expansion and growth of commercial buildings, modern homes overlooking at the petite town of Kingsholm. For someone born and raised in the town, Rylan simply couldnât believe with his own two eyes over how he managed to bring a piece and life into the town midst the chaos of Deborah Edward creeping around every single corner. A silver, himself, had to carefully watch his actions or when the proper use of his powers could come into action which felt never, not even around his younger sister - whom he never dared to inform such a in-depth secret but some things were better left unsaid and playing the fool was Rylanâs brand.
His visitation toward his mothers house became a day to day visit. Though, there werenât many of people around town Rylan had proper connection and friendships with, he had always found the solace in the four houses, childhood home, of the Norwood Bunch. Where blasts from the past, classic movies blared on their television set as all three of them crammed on the far too tiny of a sofa in their family room, bowls of popcorn on their laps as they just spent the night with each other. It was something Rylan kept on running back to, not in a physical manner, but it was still all he knew after constant traveling and the lack of attempt from dating on his behalf which somehow always gathered a response from his mother, which he loved endlessly but he chuckled it off. He understood his mother though. Cynthiaâs constant need for having grandchildren and more members swarming their home during the holidayâs became a reminder near the ones upcoming. One day, was all Rylan could ever say, which was the honest truth but it wasnât anything in the next months or even a year for that matter. Regardless of his lack of relationships to his motherâs liking, he was content where things were going and coming back to the solid ground of his childhood on a daily.
Nestled in his puffer jacket, one his mother insisted on him buying for the upcoming winter creeping around Kingsholmâs corner, he possessed a bottle of wine and some flowers to greet his mother. Though, the appearance of his sister and her words instantly caused him to chuckle, shaking his head, âWhat can I say? Late as ever but never fashionably.â Settling the bottle down and flowers down before taking off the protection of his warmth outside. It was no longer useful being inside and the heat was cranked up. âFascinating. Iâve always wanted to design us a brand new, improved Norwood household. I know the perfect spot too,â He tagged along, a joking manner coating over his tone. âI stand by this statement.â Craning his neck as well toward the direction of the stairs, arms tightly braced his chest before view returned back to Helena in brief moments. He loved their home. There were still pictures of their father around every corner, which was impossible to avoid, but he grew to deal with how life worked. It was something Rylan grew into it. Not sure about the others. âMom wouldnât even allow me to design a kitchen upgrade. âOh, Rylan, itâs perfect the way it isâ. Sure, yeah, if youâre trying to be another victim of a burning house disaster in Kingsholm, by all means.âÂ
Round eyes flicker to the bottle of wine and flowers that Rylan decided to bring over. She blinks in thought, then her eyes narrowed. She never thinks about bringing things over. Always a waste of money, things never lasted. It was such a simple gesture and yet their mother loved it. âSimple things for simple people, I suppose,â Helena mutters under her breath, out of the blue. âGreat. I put this fire out, but I call dibs on starting the next one. Mom lost her chance.â Rylan is joking, she sees this clearly. She knows her incredibly dry tone is probably coming off as sarcasm to him. But God would she love to see this place burn. She was sick of it. Out of date, mold in the foundation. For Helena, it gave off a weird sense of fake peacefulness that rang in her ears. Smiling portraits, silly creations the Norwood children made when they were in their younger years. âSentiment,â Helena says, leaving her place and grabbing the bottle of wine by the neck, then moves to a drawer to take out a corkscrew. âItâs always been herâŠ.â The cork comes out with a loud POP! Helena didnât flinch. With the cork still attached the screw, Helena waves it around dramatically in thought, âWhatâs the word Iâm looking for?â Ruination. Downfall. Chemical defect.  âHer thing.â Helena bits her tongue for her family. And only her family.
' You know your voice travels, dears. ' âGood.â Helena quips quickly. ' This house has thin walls. ' Says Cynthia, scooting her way into the kitchen, shooing her children out of her way just as Helena has finished pouring the wine into glasses. âEasier to burn down.â Helenaâs eyes look over to Cynthia, waiting to see the reaction. All she got was the role of her older womenâs eyes. A doormat. Really. My mother is a doormat. Thatâs it? I threaten to set fire to this house and all I get is an eye roll? Helena shakes her head and turns away to resist the urge of accidentally tipping over the flowers Cynthia has placed in a vase. Of course, Helena takes her wine glass with her back to the dining table.
Setting herself back into a creaky chair, the journalist starts her research again. Clicking through page and pages of articles and blogs for anything she finds interesting. public-radio icon accused of harassing female colleagues, police contracts that shield officers from scrutiny and disciple, refugee children in Sweden who are suffering from a mysterious disease, a crazy number of murders in Nebraska in which law enforcement place a string of people they considered socially deviant, despite the lack of evidence against them. Her heartbeat thumped against her chest as she sends email after email. Helena was on a roll tonight and nothing was going to stop -
' Helena Grace Rosamund, would get off that damned computer. '
Slender fingers freeze over the keyboard midsentence, hers flicker over to her mother who has taken a seat on the opposite side of her, looking at her eldest daughter with a pointed look. Helenaâs jaw clenches and unclenches. Her hunched form straight up and looks at Cynthia was an even gaze, even though she feels completely ticked that she was interrupted. Her eyes now move her own fork, to her mothers hand, back to her face. Then, very slowly, Helena closes the laptop. "Anything for you, mom." Helena gives a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Not even close. Now that the computer was out of the way, Helena could see that Cynthia had food on her plate. Helena gets out of her chair to make her way back into the kitchen. She wasn't even hungry. She could go for a smoke, though.
