selkiesaoirse | (no subject)

Saoirse wakes with a long stretch and a quiet groan. Then she wrinkles her nose. Her underwear is too tight. She reaches down to try to adjust it, but it rips a little from the strain. Her eyes shoot wide at the sound. She sits bolt upright and looks down at herself. Her night gown is short and tight on her body. Her underwear is digging into her skin. Her ankles are hanging partly off the bed.

"Mum!"

She rolls out of bed and grabs a blanket to wrap around herself.

"Mum!" she calls again, more urgently. She stomps through the house, her hair a wild mane. Cu groans curiously at her, then wines, and she makes her way downstairs.

"Mum! Someone's magicked all my stuff smaller!"

At sixteen, she's no stranger to magic, and all the various ways it can bugger with someone's life. She's lucky to have someone like Greta here, actually, who has a healthy respect — nay, fear — of most things magic.

She stops in front of her now, righteous indignation in her lanky limbs and expressive eyebrows, demanding some sort of recompense.

Threaded | Flat

There is one small sliver of light in all this, which is that Regan underwent a similar transformation recently enough. That, combined with Aggie's recent graduation party, and the subsequent thoughts and furtive hopes that had stirred up (might they be so lucky as to have both herself and Saoirse make it so far?), means that when an unfamiliar-but-still-familiar teenager comes stomping down the stairs and into the kitchen, Greta's actually quite quick on the uptake.

It's Saoirse. Older Saoirse.

But there's comprehending it, and then there's responding to it gracefully. This early in the morning, Greta only has the energy for one of the two. "Wh--" she starts, her gaze intense and incredulous as she takes it all in. She's much taller, and lankier, her baby fat having mostly melted away. But her eyebrows haven't changed much, and it's an instantly recognizable pout written across the girl's features.

It feels a little like cheating, getting see her like this without waiting through the intervening years. God, she needs to get her phone and take pictures.

... Though not without addressing Saoirse's claim, first, which is... quite possibly the most bewildering aspect of the whole thing, now that Greta thinks about it. "You, er..." Greta swallows, blinking away the tears that threaten to well up. "You think someone's magicked your things smaller?"

Regan had known what was happening to her, hadn't she? It had been similarly uncomfortable, at first, but at least she'd kept her head about it.