Ghostcat shenanigans

[technicallyhellbound]

It had been a few weeks since they'd started this arrangement, and so far the Cat had, in fact, been a surprising amount of help. Enough so that Charles had stopped being mostly on-guard while in his presence and had even taken the 'puppy' nickname in stride, though he still hadn't really looked too deeply at why it didn't bother him as much as it probably should.

That particular day was neither a Monday nor a Friday, and was in fact a Wednesday, so while it wasn't one of their scheduled briefings, it was a visit that had been arranged in advance, a few hours while Crystal and Charles were at a concert, the kind of thing that while Edwin enjoyed being invited to, really wasn't the kind of thing he actually enjoyed going to, and the others both knew it, which was why they continued to invite him, even if he always declined.

It was late afternoon, not yet early evening when he stepped out of the mirror into the cannery, tugging at the collar of his slipover in much the same way he did the lapels of his usual jacket. He'd been branching out from his usual look, just a little, in bits and pieces, and now had something of a range of shades of those softer jumpers, this one was a deep bottle-green and was nearly a cowl-neck, but definitely less severe than his usual look.

It had been raining in London, or rather it had been misting heavily, and he wasn't quite sure if it was still raining here or if it had just finished, there wasn't the same kind of moisture in the air, which meant that if it was raining it hadn't been doing so for long, and all he knew was that the Cat had something planned for them to do, he was only now considering that he probably should have asked a few more questions beforehand.

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[catting]

Edwin's agreement is as swift and as sure as most of his decisions often are, and that, too, settles the Cat's lingering nervousness a touch. Edwin is a much more stable constant; despite the uncertainty about their relationship to each other and the general wobbliness of their camaraderie, the sight of him and getting an agreement out of him, even if it's only in the effort of soothing curiosity, feels good. The Cat clings to that, to feeling good, as he turns his attention onto stretching out his tethered arm as much as he can as Edwin lines the cup beneath it. With his clawed hand, he presses the point to the thick vein down the center, and pauses for one single steadying breath before slicing a small but deep cut along his skin.

Blood pours and instantly the air in the room around them changes, like there is a tear in more than just flesh, like there is more space, suddenly, for energy and magic to move and flow in. The Cat's body tenses as the first drops from the pour hit the metal cup, as his dark scarlet blood starts to fill the receptacle while the ley line sings in eager joy like a baby bird about to be fed. He can feel the way it hungers, calling out to the hunger in his own soul, to the need in him to belong, to the small weariness he feels in keeping up disguise after disguise after disguise until it isn't fun any more. The natural energy of the world wants him as close to the core of his being as he can be, and doesn't he want that too?

The bestial hand, not yet changed back to a human glove, clutches on to the portion of his upper arm where he'd rolled up his sleeve, as though doing so will help him keep it still more than Edwin's powerful restraint is already doing. The desire to run in him is great, to run from the temptation to let everything spill over. He growls in frustration, but… instead of doing any of that, he just looks at Edwin's face. Perhaps not a great idea, depending on the ghost's reaction, but one he's sure he'll find comfort in regardless, some way or another.

[technicallyhellbound]

Honestly that partial transformation was utterly fascinating, even moreso than the whole process that was the reason for it, and that was also fascinating, both from a spellcasting perspective and simply from an information-stored-away-for-later-use perspective.

His brows both lifted, just a little, some almost-but-not-quite question as he met the Cat's gaze, he had been told to watch for any change in the Cat's eyes after all, and it was probably some kind of unfair that he was able to do that and keep both hands steady at the same time, but that was just one of those skills he'd probably had to learn the hard way and had only had time to hone more fully in the past thirty-some-odd years.

Mostly it was only almost a question because he could feel the flux in the power around them as well, like some kind of gathering low-pressure front before an actual storm, the kind that might still dissipate again but might roil over into thunder and lightning, and he was gauging the Cat's reaction to see if it was something he had to worry about. Which really just meant that what the Cat was likely to see was a deeply fascinated curiosity, tinged with some genuine concern that hadn't yet made it to being actual worry.

[catting]

Curiosity is good. It's familiar to the Cat, but familiar to see it on Edwin's face, too, and it's still nice to be under his scrutiny despite the rather tense circumstances. He's always found Edwin's interest addictive, even if it was an interest bourne only from a lack of further exploration and understanding, like the interest in his body had been back in Port Townsend, like the interest Edwin had shown — albeit briefly — in his truth magic.

Not only that, but the Cat can see the ever so slight softening of Edwin's features in the way his eyes are wider than normal, the way the set of his brows is tighter in the middle. He's not foolish enough to read too much into it, but his heightened senses will take it and bottle it up and keep it safe— and use it now, to keep him steady as the energy around them tries to find an in to carve out more than he's willing to give.

His breathing is laboured now, coming from him in heavy pants that shake his shoulders as the cup gets halfway full. It's always a struggle, the final stretch, and normally this is where Esther would make some stupid fucking comment about this whole thing taking too long and being too dramatic and make him feel embarrassed and small and therefore angry and eager to lash out to shut her up.

It doesn't happen, because she's not here, but frustration sets in as he realises he can't stop fucking thinking about her. She's gone, she's probably never coming back, but he's keeping her alive every time he pictures her face in his mind and God, if that isn't a big allegory for some masochistic tendencies, then he doesn't know what is. Something tells him it all would have been so much easier if he'd had claws to keep her quiet, if the size of him alone and the warning of a lashing tail would have kept her from demeaning him.

It's irritating, he's irritating, and he breaks eye contact with Edwin to screw his eyes shut against the feeling, grunting in frustration and in pain as he digs his claws into the meat of his upper arm out of a loss for what else to do.