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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[technicallyhellbound]

Having the process laid out in nice, simple, easy-to-follow steps was the way to explain it, really, because while Edwin did consider for a moment, it was only a brief one and he nodded, "Alright. I can do that."

Normally he'd caution against blood-magic, but ley lines were the kind of deep, even primal magic that required the same in turn, which meant this was one of the few instances where blood magic was the best option. More than that the blood of a magical creature was the way to go, because while the blood of a magic-user could work, they'd have to be attuned to the place and they'd have to have blood to use, and that counted him out twice over.

He shifted his weight a little, drawing himself up and drawing the tether taut, not pulling yet, but holding steady, taking up any slack just to be sure there was the least amount of risk of his losing his hold or the cat being able to get away by accident.

[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.