Simply Thrilled, Honey

25 June 1999; Gorman flat, Port Glasgow, Inverclyde, Scotland, UK
.
Ken shifts, nervous, in Da's stuffed chair.
Missus Hughes smiles reassurance from her perch on the sofa. "It's alright, lovie, only the next lesson. Give it a try."
"B-but—" Ken swallows, picks at a pill on his jumper. "It's yer /mind."
"What passes for one, at least," she giggles. "I trust you and I /promise you can't do me any harm."
"O-okaaay."
"Now, Reach and tell me what you find."
Ken nods, takes a deep, shuddery breath. Then he centers himself, stretches out with an imaginary hand to Missus Hughes, finds a partially-filled balloon's worth of resistance.
"You've found me! Excellent! Keep going."
Ken presses—eeps—
"Good job. Keep going."
"A-are ye sure?"
"Yes. You're doing beautifully."
He sets his teeth, pushes—
The balloon gives way and Ken stumbles into green, his mouth going dry and throat tight.
"Breathe in deep, lovie."
Ken does.
"Out, lovie."
He exhales.
"Now, tell me what you see."
"Hedge maze," he croaks.
"Speak up, lovie. You're doing fine."
"It-it's like a hedge maze. With f-flowers." Ken smiles weakly. "And sunshine. Like the one in The Blessing."
"Very good. What else?"
"It ... hmmm." Ken frowns, feels around a tad. "I'm completely lost. I don't see anything but leaves and flowers and sunshine."
"Good! I've still got it!" Missus Hughes preens.
"Umm, what?"
"Those hedges are my defenses. I've 'planted' them to keep prying eyes out."
"Oh, alright. I s'pose I'll need to do that, too?"
"Eventually, lovie, eventually."
Ken pulls away, sags back into his chair, head swimmy.
Missus Hughes smiles reassurance. "That was a wonderful first Reach. Couldn't have done it better myself."
He scratches behind his ear, mumbles, "Thanks for saying so, anyway."
"Sorry, lovie. Bit of a reflex, there." She smiles, sheepish. "We both need to remember not to compare ourselves. My grandmother was training me almost from the moment I could talk, so I had a heck of head-start on you by your age."
Ken sighs.
"It'll be easier in time."
"Practice, practice."
"Unfortunately." Missus Hughes glances at her watch. "It's a good thing, then, there'll be more minds to practice on in a moment."
"What?!" Ken sits straighter. "You want me to try this on other people? /Already?"
"There's almost no harm you can do Reaching and /certainly none I can't undo."
Ken swallows. "I'm still not sure—you know how I tend to mess things up /really bad—"
"You're doing fine, Ken."
He runs a hand through his hair, sighs.
"You know I'm being sincere, yes?"
"Yea. I'm just—"
A rap at the door.
Ken flings himself from the chair—"'scuse me!"—and over to the door, works the chain and bolts, opens up to—
Murron cheers, latches on with one of her crushing hugs, a bag of shopping digging into his back.
"'ey, Murron," he gasps.
"Hello~!"
Two men and their parcels squeeze past them into the reception: Mister Hughes and someone new.
Missus Hughes calls, "What did you make of Glasgow, Martin?"
"It's everything you promised and more," replies the new guy. "Even saw some family."
"I can't believe you hadn't visited before today."
Ken pries Murron loose, steers them to Da's chair, helps her out of her rucksack, parks her in the seat, perches on the arm, and checks out Martin from under his eyelashes, trying to place him.
He's the same Northern Irish accent as the Hugheses and he's short and wiry, with a long, sharp nose and bright blue eyes.
"Why should I bother myself with Glasgow when I've Belfast and Dublin to haunt?" he laughs, settling in beside Missus Hughes.
"Hello, Verity." Mister Hughes pecks Missus Hughes' cheek as he takes her other side. 
"I'm happy to see you survived our little whirlwind." Missus Hughes smiles at Murron.
Murron blushes.
"She did her best to run us old men ragged, but we managed."
Murron scoffs, "/You were dragging /me around the market, Mister Vince."
Mister Vince laughs. "Can you blame me? Turned loose in The Blessing for the first time in my life?"
"It's okay. I followed a kitten under the Manse and through the gardens for /hours my first time."
"Ken, have you met Martin Vince before?"
"No." Ken bobs his head. "Pleased to meet you, sir."
"Over the moon to finally meet the young man Verity's been raving about."
Ken waits for The Spot to itch.
It ... doesn't?
"Mister and Missus Vince raise sheep!"
Ken shakes his head clearer. "Oh, uh, cool."
"He says we can visit whenever we like!" She sparkles at Ken. "Can we visit soon?"
Ken's heart flutters, so he just nods swallows before nodding.
Murron squishes his middle.
"Did things go well while we were out playing?" asks Mister Hughes.
"Yes! We're Reaching and Ken's doing brilliant work, as usual."
Murron beams at him.
Ken ducks his head, cheeks flaming.
"Would you like another target, son?"
Ken startles, blinks at Mister Hughes. "I don't—"
"My mind's probably better mapped than the route between here and Glasgow, it's been tested so often."
Ken looks to Missus Hughes.
She nods 'go ahead'.
He fills his lungs, Focuses, Reaches—
This balloon gives way immediately, surrounding Ken with a storm of fluttering.
The colours and motion sort themselves out, settle.
Ken smiles. "There're butterflies. The huge kind they have in The Blessing. Every colour and—" Grimaces. "—and they won't stop moving."
"That must be so /pretty!"
"Kinda? It's mostly confusing." Ken drops his Reach, rubs his temples.
"Most people you'll run into have minds shaped like Will's," says Missus Hughes.
"All sorts of little thoughts flitter-flapping about," drawls Mister Hughes.
"So mine looks like that, too?"
"To you, it would."
"Huh?"
"Reaching's a conversation between two minds. You and I visualize minds as green spaces. I've met other truth-sayers who see palaces full of art or aquariums. And then there's the poor dear who sees piles of cats."
"Kitties!" squeals Murron.
"We /definitely need to introduce these two to the neighbourhood," declares Mister Hughes.
"Especially Mo," agrees Missus Hughes.
"Who's Mo?"
"A very special kitty."
Murron makes a happy sound.
"Me next!" chirps Mister Vince.
Ken glances—
"Go right ahead.
—breathes, Focuses, Reaches.
His skin crawls; he curls into himself, letting go of the Reach instantly.
"Not what you expected, eh, lad?" snickers Mister Vince.
"'s really, um, odd?"
Mister Vince keeps laughing.
"Tell me what you see, lovie."
"It's kinda like walking in fog early in the morning? When the light's all slanty? There're /things, but I can't really see what they are." Ken rests a hand against his neck. "It's kinda creepin' me out. S-sorry."
"That's a Faerie brain for ye," says Missus Hughes.
"Like ... what?"
"I'm half-Faerie." Mister Vince hops to his feet. "Watch this." He takes four steps to the flat door, reaches—
The chain leaps from its track, the deadbolt /ka-chacks, and the door itself swings open.
Ken blinks. "What spell is that?"
"No spell, lad. It's my very blood. No latch or lock or password or spell can stop me if I want to get through."
"Like a dullahan!" chirps Murron.
"Exactly." Mister Vince refastens the door, saunters over, sits back down. "Inherited it from my dad."
"But aren't they, like—" Ken gestures at neck level. "—headless?"
"My mum's the adventurous sort." Mister Vince grins. "He apparently was quite the fiddler, too."
"How did /that work with no head?"
"He'd set his head down and rest the fiddle against his neck, I reckon."
"Ah, right. You still see him?"
"Not for decades. That's the thing with the Fair Folk, yea?" Mister Vince shrugs. "Fickle."
Ken swallows.
"Uncle Lommán said today he's doing fine, though, and living and working over Castlebar way."
"That's good?"
"That's good," agrees Mister Vince.
"My turn~!" Murron bats her eyelashes at Ken.
He swallows, rolls his shoulders.
Breathes, Focuses, Reaches—
"That tickles!"
Ken jerks his Reach away. "S-sorry!"
"It's not a bad thing! Just funny?"
"Uh—"
"It's perfectly normal for folks to feel you bumping about when you're starting out. Like Murron said, it's a sort of tickle, like a word on the tip of your tongue," says Missus Hughes.
"Exactly!"
"Okaaay ...."
"Now, tell me what you see from Murron."
"Well I, uh, didn't get a solid look."
"Try again. I won't laugh this time. Promise."
Ken grunts agreement, repeats the steps—
/Dark-cold-dark-close-DARK
—shudders, pulls away.
"What's wrong?" asks Murron.
"It's, umm—" He shivers. "—n-n-nothing."
Murron frowns. "What did you see?"
"N-nothing!" he squeaks. "It's just—I don't." Swallows, mumbles, "I don't know what to say."
Missus Hughes tilts her head, studies him. "It's ... not what you were expecting?"
Ken shakes his head.
His stomach flip-flops, creeps into his throat.
"Are you okay? You're looking a mite pale."
"Nauseous," croaks Ken.
"That'll pass quickly."
"Is there something wrong with me?" quavers Murron.
"You're perfectly alright, sweetheart," assures Missus Hughes. "I should've warned Ken about what he would see."
Murron turns wide, worried eyes on him.
He ducks his head. "It's like ...." Frowns. "It's like swimming in the loch: dark an-an' cold and with /something pressing in on me." 
Murron shivers, hugs herself. "Because I'm not even /half human."
"Precisely so, sweetheart."
"I-it's because you're a hundred percent selkie and /I'm not. It's th-that we're /different, not ... whatever." Ken gestures helplessly. "If it was you Reaching, I'd seem strange to you, right, Missus Hughes?"
She makes a thoughtful face. "Yes ... I hadn't considered it before, but that's the case." She chuckles. "Thank you for catching my anthrocentrism, Ken."
"Yer wha?"
"My wrong-headed assumption that humans are the standard for what's 'normal'."
"Oh, uh, right." Ken rubs the back of his neck. "You're welcome?"
Murron looks up at him, smile relieved.
He smiles back.
"As for the nausea, next time you probably won't even notice."
"I don't think I want to do this again. Ever."
"Now, don't be hasty. The first time's always awkward."
"Isn't that the truth about nearly everything?" adds Mister Vince.
Mister Hughes gives him a disapproving look.
"It-it's poking around in someone else's /thoughts and I'm not—" Ken takes a deep breath. "I'm not comfortable doing it."
"At this level, it's no different than reading facial expressions."
"Except people know I can see their faces. They've got no clue I'm looking in their heads."
"I think Ken has a very good point," says Murron, puffing up a little.
Missus Hughes gestures for calm. "We can talk more about it next week when you're feeling a bit better."
"But—"
"After we start planting some defenses for you, of course."
Ken relents, nods approval.
"He shouldn't have to do anything he's not—"
"Murron, it's okay."
She sulks deeper into the chair.
Outside the door, there's a muffled /thump.
"Sounds like someone's home."
"I'll get the door!" 
In a heartbeat, Murron's over the back of the chair and at the door, working the chain and locks.
"Suppose that means we should be going," says Mister Hughes, gathering his things and standing.
Mister Vince jumps up, too.
"I suppose we /have to," sighs Missus Hughes, accepting her husband's hand. 
"Today was a good session, Ken."
"Thanks for putting up with me," he mumbles.
"Ye gods, honey, I'm simply /thrilled with how well you're doing. I couldn't wish for a better student."
Ken blinks from under a remarkably itch-free scalp.
Mum bustles over, burbles, "I'm so happy we've /finally found a subject he's good at—"
Ken cringes.
"—so thank you so /much for working with him like this over the summer."
Murron growls.
Ken shushes her, gets himself between her and Mum.
"It's absolutely my pleasure, Missus Gorman," says Missus Hughes. "Would you like some help with your shopping?"
"I've got it handled, thank you, but I should start getting set in the kitchen so everything's ready when Fraser catches up." 
"Of course, of course. Ken will see us out."
Mum smiles, giggles nervously, hustles off.
Mister Hughes and Mister Vince wait, coats already on, beside the door.
Missus Hughes steps into her shoes, straightens, smiling. "You know, she's /very proud of you, lad."
Ken huffs. "Wish she could say it straight once'n a while."
"She figures you know it already."
Ken raises an eyebrow. "You find that in her head?"
"She may as well be broadcasting it."
"A-alright. Thanks for telling me?"
"You're very welcome. See you next week? Same time, same place?"
"Sounds good."
"Then I'll leave you to your Shabbat and slumber party. Have a lovely week and don't work /too hard."
"We won't~!" giggles Murron.
The guests bob their goodbyes, step onto the landing.
Ken closes and locks up.
/Thup!
"There they go," sighs Ken.
Murron grabs Ken's arm and her bags, commands, "Show me your room!"
""Keep the door open!"" hollers Mum from the kitchen.
Ken rolls his eyes, calls, "Yes, Mum." as Murron tows him down the narrow hall to his tiny bedroom.
Murron hops once to cross the distance between the door and the bed, plunks down on the mattress, paws through her shopping. "I brought you some things!"
"You didn't—"
"The Misters gave me spending money and so did Missus Galloway and the comics were free 'cos they were throwing 'em away." She digs out a handful of comics without their covers, three bright red tomatoes, and—"These're for me."—two blushy apples. 
"Uh, thanks. Thanks a lot." Ken sits next to her, sets the tomatoes on the duvet, accepts the handful of paper. "This's really cool. Th-thanks. How'd you figure out about the comics?" He flips through the first few pages of /Avengers.
"Miss Enid told me. She's got all /sorts of tips for saving money!"
Ken chews his lip.
"She says I'm a natural-born penny-pincher."
"That's good, if you want to stay around me. I'm probably always gonna be broke." He drops the comics, waves vaguely at the room. "This's what my life's gonna look like."
"Cozy and homey? I love it!" Murron kinda sparkles, lunges—
Ken wheezes, "Watch out for the fruit!"
—hugs him into the mattress anyway. "Tomatoes are vegetables."
"Seeds on the inside. Fruit."
"Nuh uh."
"Murron, tomatoes are fruit."
"They're not sweet!"
"Since when is 'sweet' the definition?"
"Since ...." She pushes up, frowns at him. "It just /is."
"Sooo, lemons and limes are sweet?"
Murron blinks. "Oh."
Ken smugs.
"You're so smart!" she squeals, pressing her face to his neck.
"I'm not—"
"I'll just keep repeating it, so you might as well give in."
Ken sighs, nuzzles her apple-scented hair. "Fine. You win. I'm smart."