[Yes, something from his childhood. Anything deeper than that—the kinship he felt with spiders, where he could feel none with the rest of those around him, not even his family—was gleaned from his memories and certainly not shared aloud. How he’d take to this “invasion” is up for debate; Henry’s powers are on the cusp of returning, but not quite at that point, so he remains blissfully ignorant of anyone else skimming over the top of his thoughts in the interim.
But for now, the spider in the jar.
He twists the lid open, moving it under the opposite arm to hold it there, and freeing up his hand to dip it into the jar and ease the spider out. Its long, long legs prick at his palms, testing.]
You still have dirt under your nails.
[Out comes his hand, with a large, fuzzy, brown spider perched on it. It remains still, splayed out across Henry’s long fingers.]
How long have you been working on giving me something “familiar”?
[He can’t imagine he left that much of an impression. As always, Henry suspects something else — but he can’t seem to fully pull his attention away from the arachnid in his hand.]
no subject
But for now, the spider in the jar.
He twists the lid open, moving it under the opposite arm to hold it there, and freeing up his hand to dip it into the jar and ease the spider out. Its long, long legs prick at his palms, testing.]
You still have dirt under your nails.
[Out comes his hand, with a large, fuzzy, brown spider perched on it. It remains still, splayed out across Henry’s long fingers.]
How long have you been working on giving me something “familiar”?
[He can’t imagine he left that much of an impression. As always, Henry suspects something else — but he can’t seem to fully pull his attention away from the arachnid in his hand.]