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Henry Cheng | The Raven Cycle
Jan. 1st, 2037 12:00 am|
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Aug. 21st, 2019 06:28 pm  /cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_image/image/56261843/photo_1.0.jpg) HENRY CHENG If you can’t be unafraid, be afraid and happy | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| YES | MAYBE | NO |
| ✓ anal sex ✓ blowjobs ✓ comfort sex ✓ dirty talk ✓ femmedom ✓ frottage ✓ gender play ✓ handjobs ✓ intercrural sex ✗ masturbation ✓ multiple partners ✓ phone sex ✓ rimming ✓ toys ✓ vaginal intercourse |
◌ age/size differences ◌ biting ◌ body modification ◌ bondage ◌ breath play ◌ cuckolding ◌ cum play ◌ double penetration ◌ edging ◌ exhibitionism ◌ face-fucking ◌ fingering ◌ intoxication ◌ magic/superpowered sex ◌ monsters ◌ multiple orgasms ◌ orgasm denial ◌ power games ◌ rough sex ◌ size difference ◌ tentacle sex ◌ voyeurism |
✗ animals ✗ bdsm ✗ branding ✗ children (under 16) ✗ conditioning ✗ emetophilia ✗ dub-con ✗ golden shower ✗ humiliation ✗ infantilism ✗ knife play ✗ non-con ✗ pain ✗ pet play ✗ possessive ✗ prostitution ✗ scat ✗ size queen ✗ slavery ✗ violence ✗ vore |
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Aug. 18th, 2019 06:45 pm« « « ENTITLED » » »
Name: Henry Cheng Door: Right Canon: The Raven King - book four of The Raven Cycle Canon Point: Chapter 51 – Henry has gone after Gansey on the chase to what they believe will be the resting place of Glendower. Age: 18 Appearance: Henry is a young Korean-Chinese student at Aglionby, by way of Vancouver, British Columbia. He almost always has his hair styled, kept high and elegantly spiked. When he’s not in his Aglionby uniform, he has a penchant for ridiculous graphic t-shirts, particularly band and solo singers (like Madonna), and designer jeans. History: History found here Personality: Committed. Henry’s dedicated, loyal, and committed, and though his loyalties are often split, they remain stalwart nonetheless. He is no less himself in his dedication to his mother, the Vancouver Crowd, his education, or, ultimately, to Gansey and the twilight hours of the quest for Glendower. In Henry’s mind, commitment in all of it forms are equally important. Finding a balance of all these things and how they can coexist for him is slightly more challenging. This, then, presents his commitment to truth and honesty. As we encounter him in The Raven King, Henry has decided that he has become exhausted with secrets, and that is a new sort of commitment for him as well. Optimistic. With a heartful exchange that involves the words “If you cannot be unafraid, be afraid and happy,” Henry approaches life as a glass-half-full sort of person, refusing to let his past and the things he’s been through turn him into a wreck. Henry has a tendency to look at things from an almost overly optimistic light, approaching everything with the same go-get’em flare. While his activism is a source of great pride for him, it can cloud him to the real task at hand. However, it’s his willingness to follow along and push others to their potential that makes him vital and important to Gansey and the others as their quest comes to a close. Entitled. Henry comes from wealth, privilege, and a certain level of decadence. Even if he’s aware of his own privilege, at time he gets terribly away from himself. Often times, Henry neglects to think of the feelings of others because it simply doesn’t factor into his own life. On his first encounter with Blue Sargent, Henry makes several off-color jokes about Gansey and her’s relationship, as well as a Deliverance-allusion joke about not wanting to be “caught alone with the natives”. When called out on his behavior, he has a tendency to chalk it up to self-deprecation. Deceptive. Even since before his kidnapping, Henry – closest of his siblings to his mother – has lived on lies and half-truths. When he was sent away to Canada, and then to Aglionby, he was his mother’s eyes and ears in her dealings with Niall, and then Declan, Lynch. But around school, he’s ever a presence of slightly over-dramatic action. Even Gansey, after the reveal that Henry has been watching him and Ronan for over a year, isn’t entirely sure that he isn’t being joked with. Even in the aftermath of a confessional moment, Henry holds his cards close to the chest. He’s spent over seven years presenting himself to the world in very particular ways, and honesty doesn’t come easily to him. Angry. Though Henry presents a face of cheerfulness, optimism, and calm, under the surface he harbors a great amount of bitterness and rage. These come from a variety of sources, from the way that his mother uses him as only an extension of herself and nothing more than eyes and ears on the ground, to the institutional racism that he and his friends are subject to as minority students at Aglionby, to empathizing with the injustices that Blue faces, and so many more. He tells Blue his self-objectification and self-deprecation are because “It is the only way to not be angry all of the time”; he cruises around Henrietta and leaves small graffiti on public buildings. Besides that, he subverts some of his anger with substance, citing that he becomes “philanthropic” while drunk, and sometimes smoking weed. Without the viable outlets of close friends and activism, his anger will become more pronounced. Powers and Abilities: Ambiguous telepathy as it connects to Robobee – a small-ish mechanical looking Dream Thing purchased by Henry’s mother, Seondeok, from Niall Lynch, Ronan’s father. Robobee reacts to Henry’s thoughts (and only his) and can relay information to him as well. Inventory: Robobee. A cell phone with functioning application which translates Robobee for Henry. Car keys to his Fisker. Wallet with cash, credit cards, drivers license, student ID. Samples: TDM #6 - log TFLN-style network |
network samples
Aug. 14th, 2019 03:13 pmI. I just walked into a room at this party and someone yelled "dibs!"...
II. Just woke up wearing a top hat and simpsons boxers. i also found more money in my wallet then what i had before going out, about $1000 more
III. This is a mass text. Does anyone know where I am?
IV. I think it would be like really awesome if scientist could genetically engineer manatees to be like the size of goldfish so i could have one in my fishbowl and be like FUCK YEAH TINY MANATEE
V. She didn't know my name but she knew I was Canadian so she just called me Canada.
II. Just woke up wearing a top hat and simpsons boxers. i also found more money in my wallet then what i had before going out, about $1000 more
III. This is a mass text. Does anyone know where I am?
IV. I think it would be like really awesome if scientist could genetically engineer manatees to be like the size of goldfish so i could have one in my fishbowl and be like FUCK YEAH TINY MANATEE
V. She didn't know my name but she knew I was Canadian so she just called me Canada.
Just another man in the field [1/15]
Jan. 20th, 2017 05:40 pmIt had been a little over a week since Henry had heard from Goodnight, and he had to admit, he was a little bit worried about that. They didn't need to talk every day; it was nothing like that. But he knew that holidays could be stressful for people--they were stressful for him--and New Years had been an event. He'd heard from Goodnight after that, but his last substantial conversation had been about a week ago, and Henry was worried he might have drunk himself into a stupor.
Or worse.
So he was trying not to think of worst case scenarios on his way over to Goodnight's apartment. Worst case scenarios didn't help anyone, and especially not someone with high stress levels like Goodnight Robicheaux.
Henry reached the apartment and knocked a couple time, knuckles sharp on the door. "Mr Goodnight? You alive in there?"
He heard nothing. He waited. He knocked again. "Mr Goodnight?" Maybe if he called him by surname Goodnight would come to the door faster. Henry knew what it was like to cringe every time someone mangled your name, and Goodnight's was even more complicated than Henry's was. He was preparing to knock a third time when he heard rustling inside the apartment, and the scuttle of dog nails on the flooring. Henry put on a bright smile in anticipation of the door opening.
And open it did, but that wasn't Goodnight Robicheaux. The man standing in the door was the same height as Henry--and Goodnight--wide in the shoulders and slim in the waist, with short, wispy facial hair and ink-black hair falling to his chin. He was colored, almost to a T, in ways that Henry was familiar with, because he had the exact same coloration. Henry's smile didn't falter.
This was Billy.
Henry was just opening his mouth to say something in greeting when Billy's face transformed from vague confusion to what could only be described as the picture-definition of pissed off. Henry had never seen someone's face change so quickly. And then Billy slammed the door in his face.
Inside the apartment, Billy left his hand on the door for a moment, then turned to shout toward the bedroom. "Lucien Eugene--why is there a young Korean boy at your door?!"
Or worse.
So he was trying not to think of worst case scenarios on his way over to Goodnight's apartment. Worst case scenarios didn't help anyone, and especially not someone with high stress levels like Goodnight Robicheaux.
Henry reached the apartment and knocked a couple time, knuckles sharp on the door. "Mr Goodnight? You alive in there?"
He heard nothing. He waited. He knocked again. "Mr Goodnight?" Maybe if he called him by surname Goodnight would come to the door faster. Henry knew what it was like to cringe every time someone mangled your name, and Goodnight's was even more complicated than Henry's was. He was preparing to knock a third time when he heard rustling inside the apartment, and the scuttle of dog nails on the flooring. Henry put on a bright smile in anticipation of the door opening.
And open it did, but that wasn't Goodnight Robicheaux. The man standing in the door was the same height as Henry--and Goodnight--wide in the shoulders and slim in the waist, with short, wispy facial hair and ink-black hair falling to his chin. He was colored, almost to a T, in ways that Henry was familiar with, because he had the exact same coloration. Henry's smile didn't falter.
This was Billy.
Henry was just opening his mouth to say something in greeting when Billy's face transformed from vague confusion to what could only be described as the picture-definition of pissed off. Henry had never seen someone's face change so quickly. And then Billy slammed the door in his face.
Inside the apartment, Billy left his hand on the door for a moment, then turned to shout toward the bedroom. "Lucien Eugene--why is there a young Korean boy at your door?!"
It was a Date.
Henry was still, occasionally, struggling with that. They didn't always call when they went out dates, or when they just hung out at Hywel, or his apartment, or the library, or got coffee on campus between classes. Henry didn't have a clear distinction of what was or wasn't a date. And since he hadn't dated anyone before Gansey, that made it a little more difficult.
But Gansey had jokingly said that the next one was his pick--Henry had volleyed back that hadn't he picked New Years Eve; Gansey had returned that because he'd driven, it was his choice; Henry observed that he couldn't drive, because the Fisker was in Henrietta--and so Henry had set to planning.
He very deliberately avoided February 14th. He didn't want Gansey to think he was planning too particularly or coming on too strong. Also, it was a Tuesday, and he was sure that any restaurant in Darrow would already be packed for hours. So, instead, he'd gone a little earlier, the Saturday before Valentines, so there was no overtly romantic implications that might make Gansey uncomfortable, and there would actually be a table.
Henry told Gansey he wasn't allowed to drive to this one. They'd each get their own way in and meet up at the restaurant, and then they'd get a rideshare or a taxi or something after dinner. Part of this was because Gansey seemed to think a self-owned vehicle dictated who was in charge of the date; mostly it was because they were both old enough to drink, and Henry thought wine would be nice with dinner.
So, it was a date, and Henry was early. He stood outside the restaurant--one of the nicer ones in Darrow--nervously checking his watch and waiting for Gansey.
Henry was still, occasionally, struggling with that. They didn't always call when they went out dates, or when they just hung out at Hywel, or his apartment, or the library, or got coffee on campus between classes. Henry didn't have a clear distinction of what was or wasn't a date. And since he hadn't dated anyone before Gansey, that made it a little more difficult.
But Gansey had jokingly said that the next one was his pick--Henry had volleyed back that hadn't he picked New Years Eve; Gansey had returned that because he'd driven, it was his choice; Henry observed that he couldn't drive, because the Fisker was in Henrietta--and so Henry had set to planning.
He very deliberately avoided February 14th. He didn't want Gansey to think he was planning too particularly or coming on too strong. Also, it was a Tuesday, and he was sure that any restaurant in Darrow would already be packed for hours. So, instead, he'd gone a little earlier, the Saturday before Valentines, so there was no overtly romantic implications that might make Gansey uncomfortable, and there would actually be a table.
Henry told Gansey he wasn't allowed to drive to this one. They'd each get their own way in and meet up at the restaurant, and then they'd get a rideshare or a taxi or something after dinner. Part of this was because Gansey seemed to think a self-owned vehicle dictated who was in charge of the date; mostly it was because they were both old enough to drink, and Henry thought wine would be nice with dinner.
So, it was a date, and Henry was early. He stood outside the restaurant--one of the nicer ones in Darrow--nervously checking his watch and waiting for Gansey.
The universe won't wait for you [NYE]
Dec. 27th, 2016 07:33 pmThe New Years party in Darrow was probably one of the strangest New Years parties that Henry had ever gone to, and he'd gone to some pretty strange New Years parties since he'd come to North America, and especially in the two years he'd been in Henrietta.
Gansey had offered to walk him home. Henry didn't know how late it was. After midnight, but Henry didn't have a good handle on the exact hour, and he didn't want to fish out his phone and check. He thought it might seem rude, or dismissive, or something. So, instead, he was holding onto Gansey's hand gently as they walked.
Candlewood was quiet, which didn't surprise Henry too much. In the foyer of the building, he turned and smiled at Gansey.
"Are you going to walk me all the way to my door, Richard?"
Gansey had offered to walk him home. Henry didn't know how late it was. After midnight, but Henry didn't have a good handle on the exact hour, and he didn't want to fish out his phone and check. He thought it might seem rude, or dismissive, or something. So, instead, he was holding onto Gansey's hand gently as they walked.
Candlewood was quiet, which didn't surprise Henry too much. In the foyer of the building, he turned and smiled at Gansey.
"Are you going to walk me all the way to my door, Richard?"
(no subject)
Dec. 27th, 2016 11:34 amIt began with a quiet sound, a familiarity that Henry had missed for months.
Henry woke with the thing, that familiarity and weight and sort of knowing that consumed him from the base of his neck out, out, out. There was a sort of gentle presence in the back of his skull. It was the first time he’d woken up with that feeling in months, a sudden realization of completeness that he wasn’t sure he’d realized he’d been missing.
There was no school today. It didn’t start for several more days; a week? And he wasn’t meant to be into work for some time, he thought. It felt early. Henry wasn’t sure what to think of that; he couldn’t remember what time he’d gone to bed, and so he had no real handle on what time it was just then, in that cool wakefulness with his eyes still shut.
The StarkBee—still functional, even though it was just running a mediocre AI—shifted and fluttered a little on the bedside table. Henry could hear it, knew what its little legs and wings sounded like after so many months of it running its quiet little program safely, now that it was disconnected from Henry’s brain. It was a comfort, in certain ways. He made that. He programmed it and made it do some things he needed it to. It was just the tech-to-user interface that had failed him so completely.
Henry woke in fits and starts. When he was finally awake all the way—his eyes still closed—he let himself tune into that quiet sound, that quiet familiarity and completeness and contentment that filled the back of his head and all the way down to his lungs. He hadn’t realized how anxious he was until, suddenly, it felt almost soothed.
RoboBee? he thought. And again and again, again and again, the word a mantra he’d recited to himself countless times since he arrived in Darrow and RoboBee was stuck back in Henrietta, sitting on his desk as he’d taken out the garbage. RoboBee, come find me.
With his eyes still closed, he was aware of a shift, some perception of himself changing. There was a light feeling on his bare shoulder, a curious creeping like a stray hair or thread.
Henry opened his eyes. The StarkBee was sitting on the bedside table, whirring with its mechanics and artificial intelligence programming that told it to act sort of like an insect. It buzzed and fluttered and crawled, then went still and rested on its charging pad. On Henry’s shoulder, there was that feeling of a creeping hair or thread. RoboBee, he thought. The feeling shifted, intensified. RoboBee. It climbed down his arm a little. Henry turned his head, and there it was.
RoboBee was a wonder of mechanics and magic. It looked like an oversized bee, or wasp maybe, with a lovely glowing amber belly, and fine legs, and lacy wings. Its head tilted at Henry, like the glass-orb eyes could see him; Henry knew that they could, because on the app he used to interpret RoboBee, he could see what it saw. RoboBee watched Henry for a long moment, then flew into the air. Henry sat up, lifted a hand. With only a thought, the barest hint of a thought, RoboBee returned to him and landed on his palm. It tucked its wings in, then fluttered them. A little dance across his palm.
Henry thought he would cry. What had he done to deserve this? Was he dreaming? Had Cabeswater made this—had Darrow? People received things from home, he knew, vaguely. But he’d been here for months, and why would the universe conspire for now to be when RoboBee arrived.
He lifted the little marvel up to eye level. RoboBee fluttered its wings and Henry smiled.
“You’ve come a long way, my friend,” he whispered. RoboBee settled on Henry’s palm, tucked toward the crease of his thumb. The light in that amber belly dimmed, and everything curled up tight. RoboBee slept, a silent thing, while the StarkBee recharged.
Henry didn’t think he’d been so happy in months.
Henry woke with the thing, that familiarity and weight and sort of knowing that consumed him from the base of his neck out, out, out. There was a sort of gentle presence in the back of his skull. It was the first time he’d woken up with that feeling in months, a sudden realization of completeness that he wasn’t sure he’d realized he’d been missing.
There was no school today. It didn’t start for several more days; a week? And he wasn’t meant to be into work for some time, he thought. It felt early. Henry wasn’t sure what to think of that; he couldn’t remember what time he’d gone to bed, and so he had no real handle on what time it was just then, in that cool wakefulness with his eyes still shut.
The StarkBee—still functional, even though it was just running a mediocre AI—shifted and fluttered a little on the bedside table. Henry could hear it, knew what its little legs and wings sounded like after so many months of it running its quiet little program safely, now that it was disconnected from Henry’s brain. It was a comfort, in certain ways. He made that. He programmed it and made it do some things he needed it to. It was just the tech-to-user interface that had failed him so completely.
Henry woke in fits and starts. When he was finally awake all the way—his eyes still closed—he let himself tune into that quiet sound, that quiet familiarity and completeness and contentment that filled the back of his head and all the way down to his lungs. He hadn’t realized how anxious he was until, suddenly, it felt almost soothed.
RoboBee? he thought. And again and again, again and again, the word a mantra he’d recited to himself countless times since he arrived in Darrow and RoboBee was stuck back in Henrietta, sitting on his desk as he’d taken out the garbage. RoboBee, come find me.
With his eyes still closed, he was aware of a shift, some perception of himself changing. There was a light feeling on his bare shoulder, a curious creeping like a stray hair or thread.
Henry opened his eyes. The StarkBee was sitting on the bedside table, whirring with its mechanics and artificial intelligence programming that told it to act sort of like an insect. It buzzed and fluttered and crawled, then went still and rested on its charging pad. On Henry’s shoulder, there was that feeling of a creeping hair or thread. RoboBee, he thought. The feeling shifted, intensified. RoboBee. It climbed down his arm a little. Henry turned his head, and there it was.
RoboBee was a wonder of mechanics and magic. It looked like an oversized bee, or wasp maybe, with a lovely glowing amber belly, and fine legs, and lacy wings. Its head tilted at Henry, like the glass-orb eyes could see him; Henry knew that they could, because on the app he used to interpret RoboBee, he could see what it saw. RoboBee watched Henry for a long moment, then flew into the air. Henry sat up, lifted a hand. With only a thought, the barest hint of a thought, RoboBee returned to him and landed on his palm. It tucked its wings in, then fluttered them. A little dance across his palm.
Henry thought he would cry. What had he done to deserve this? Was he dreaming? Had Cabeswater made this—had Darrow? People received things from home, he knew, vaguely. But he’d been here for months, and why would the universe conspire for now to be when RoboBee arrived.
He lifted the little marvel up to eye level. RoboBee fluttered its wings and Henry smiled.
“You’ve come a long way, my friend,” he whispered. RoboBee settled on Henry’s palm, tucked toward the crease of his thumb. The light in that amber belly dimmed, and everything curled up tight. RoboBee slept, a silent thing, while the StarkBee recharged.
Henry didn’t think he’d been so happy in months.
Henry loved Christmas, in any iteration he could get it. So, since basically Thanksgiving, Henry had been getting himself ready for Christmas. He'd decorated his apartment. He'd decorated Panoptes. He'd assured that Mrs Huang had decorations, but he was sure that she could do the decorating herself--and he didn't want to presume to know her style of Christmas cheer. He'd made cookies for Yona.
He had plans, maybe, to indulge a little Christmas cheer with Gansey, if he'd be interested. But that wasn't what he was concerned with today.
Today, he came bearing some wreaths, and full intentions. He knocked on Goodnight Robicheaux's door, and waited patiently for him to answer, hoping that he would be in.
He had plans, maybe, to indulge a little Christmas cheer with Gansey, if he'd be interested. But that wasn't what he was concerned with today.
Today, he came bearing some wreaths, and full intentions. He knocked on Goodnight Robicheaux's door, and waited patiently for him to answer, hoping that he would be in.
(no subject)
Nov. 24th, 2016 01:10 pmIn the end, it didn't matter that Gansey had given him that soft, drunken confession at Halloween. Things continued as they were, and Henry put it all to the back of his head, as much as he was able, until one afternoon, Henry came out of classes, checking his phone, and found not only a few brief texts from Gansey, but the man himself.
He tried to be bold. This was scared and happy. It had been months since he'd felt both at once. He smiled and adjusted his book bag until they got into the car.
Shortly, they were driving. The Pig rumbled underneath them and Henry rested his head against the window, nose full of leather and gasoline smell and the easy quiet between them. They left town and headed north, toward the forests that bounded in on one side of Darrow. Henry did not question this. It was all a culmination of so many other things.
There was a semantics to be argued, the difference between going out and going out, but Henry didn't feel like making it, or asking about it. This would be easier if Gansey spoke Korean, sometime. This would be easier if Henry didn't have to speak at all. He was terribly afraid of messing this up, of going too quickly, of not being the kind of boy that Gansey might like. Ultimately, he was just happy to have a friend, and if this didn't work out, he had to be on his best behavior so that he kept that friend.
They stopped, and Henry stayed sitting in the car even after the engine was off, looking at the bare trees.
"This is it?"
He tried to be bold. This was scared and happy. It had been months since he'd felt both at once. He smiled and adjusted his book bag until they got into the car.
Shortly, they were driving. The Pig rumbled underneath them and Henry rested his head against the window, nose full of leather and gasoline smell and the easy quiet between them. They left town and headed north, toward the forests that bounded in on one side of Darrow. Henry did not question this. It was all a culmination of so many other things.
There was a semantics to be argued, the difference between going out and going out, but Henry didn't feel like making it, or asking about it. This would be easier if Gansey spoke Korean, sometime. This would be easier if Henry didn't have to speak at all. He was terribly afraid of messing this up, of going too quickly, of not being the kind of boy that Gansey might like. Ultimately, he was just happy to have a friend, and if this didn't work out, he had to be on his best behavior so that he kept that friend.
They stopped, and Henry stayed sitting in the car even after the engine was off, looking at the bare trees.
"This is it?"
[thread continuation]
Sep. 5th, 2016 11:19 pmMaybe he'd said it wrong, not playful enough, not tempting enough. He doubted himself, and then gave the emotion away, breathing out a quiet moan and doing his best to help their haphazard movement across the mattress.
When Freddie got up from the bed, Henry was already reaching down to push his jeans down his thighs. He arched his back and closed his eyes for a second, letting the apartment's ambient temperature momentarily cool him now that he wasn't draped against Freddie's warmth.
He laid there in his short boxer briefs, biting his lip a bit as he watched Freddie tuck his thumbs into his briefs. Henry's breath hitched in his chest. How easy, how filthy, to just pull his own shorts down far enough for Freddie to have him like that.
Playfully, he said, "Maybe next time. When I graduate to that table of yours."
When Freddie got up from the bed, Henry was already reaching down to push his jeans down his thighs. He arched his back and closed his eyes for a second, letting the apartment's ambient temperature momentarily cool him now that he wasn't draped against Freddie's warmth.
He laid there in his short boxer briefs, biting his lip a bit as he watched Freddie tuck his thumbs into his briefs. Henry's breath hitched in his chest. How easy, how filthy, to just pull his own shorts down far enough for Freddie to have him like that.
Playfully, he said, "Maybe next time. When I graduate to that table of yours."
From Candlewood, Henry could hear the party going on northeast of town, the thud of distance bass and the pop of fireworks and the shrill of cars put to the test. And how shit was that?
He texted Blue, first. A soft, subtle inquiry, a joke of an invitation, but a broad one. One for all of them. He remembered Ronan's arm in that cast, and him saying it was from Kavinsky, and Henry had no duty to them, but it would be good to keep all of them away from the mess that was going on at that party outside of town. None of them had to come, of course. They were all their own people, adults--and a ghost who was as good as one, in Henry's eyes--and they were each allowed their own decisions.
So Henry texted Any plans for the 4th Wendybird? And then he followed it up, even before she could answer, I think my place could use some Virginian charms.
He had no decorations. Fourth of July over the past two years had become a thing tainted by Joseph Kavinsky. But he could, easily, go down a couple blocks and buy more two-liter bottles of Pipsy and lemon-lime soda than he could possibly need, and some liquor and mixers, and chips and dip. If he didn't use it all up, he'd bring it to Panoptes. And that seemed like a good enough way to ignore that Joseph Kavinsky was trying to blow himself up, to him.
[Running as a gathering]
He texted Blue, first. A soft, subtle inquiry, a joke of an invitation, but a broad one. One for all of them. He remembered Ronan's arm in that cast, and him saying it was from Kavinsky, and Henry had no duty to them, but it would be good to keep all of them away from the mess that was going on at that party outside of town. None of them had to come, of course. They were all their own people, adults--and a ghost who was as good as one, in Henry's eyes--and they were each allowed their own decisions.
So Henry texted Any plans for the 4th Wendybird? And then he followed it up, even before she could answer, I think my place could use some Virginian charms.
He had no decorations. Fourth of July over the past two years had become a thing tainted by Joseph Kavinsky. But he could, easily, go down a couple blocks and buy more two-liter bottles of Pipsy and lemon-lime soda than he could possibly need, and some liquor and mixers, and chips and dip. If he didn't use it all up, he'd bring it to Panoptes. And that seemed like a good enough way to ignore that Joseph Kavinsky was trying to blow himself up, to him.
[Running as a gathering]
