Edward - Working Thoughts
The little wheel spins with a whirrrr as Edward depresses the pedal, letting his hands roam over the moist clay as it spins about. He has a conception of idea, of course, but he likes to see what came of letting his hands guide him. The tools he would use to further manipulate the clay had been laid out on a small side-table, and the workspace was prepared if he wished to bring it over. There was something inherently soothing about working with the cool muddy dampness of the clay, so malleable and yet capable of so much; it helps Edward to think.
There are plenty of things ot think about, to be sure. After just falling into something of a pattern with Ellie and then losing her, he was just adjusting to being alone. Now though, there would be Jade (he tried to remember her actual name she'd given, but she seems to prefer the nickname anyway) for the forseeable future, and that would have to be dealt with. When the idea had come that she might be able to help him with the art he had felt delighted; he would be able to get a lot more done with her assistance. And with Adelaide visiting, another coming to learn some sculpture, the house was feeling almost crowded. It was all practically enough to make him forget about Aibheen.
Almost. The wheel whirrs and the clay begins to take form.
Aibheen continued to give Edward some trouble. He just didn't seem to want any civilization; more than that, he didn't seem to want to focus. The way he treats animals like prized companions or associates, and humans like even less than cattle...it was beyond Edward's understanding, and he just had no idea how to get through to the boy. The wheel stops now, and tools are selected to work the piece.
Edward still had his hopes, but he was just not sure. Doc Clef seemed to think that Aibheen had been in a cult or something like that, and it did make some sense but it was hard to be sure. Could it be some kind of Kindred cult maybe, some sort of odd variation of an animism religion? What really worried Edward was the possiblity that he was irrevocably the way he was; that could not stand, and he would be killed. It just stuck in Edward's craw. What could have done this to a young and very probably intelligent young man? What broke him so?
Something about the way he acted just reminded Edward of a caged animal. Edward knew those feelings well, and the memories they stirred brought him to an unpleasent place. Memories of Boston, of fear and just wanting to escape...it was enough to disturb.
He looks down at his new sculpture and blinks. It hadn't come out as he'd intended, but there was certainly something to it. It would be nice, he thinks, if all could be so simple.