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.

Comments

[catting]

The Cat raises his eyebrows at the confirmation. He'd heard it made ghosts stronger, and in that vagueness he'd assumed that stronger meant magically or at least in terms of potential ability, not... not more present. Edwin telling him in no uncertain terms that he is more touchable than ever right now, that he might even be warm is like telling a child to eat their greens while dessert sits melting in the middle of the table.

He actually whines, a tortured kind of feline noise more befitting a jungle cat than any domestic animal he usually takes shape as, and closes his eyes briefly as the pull toward the center of the room tries to have him consider what a warm meal that isn't fish might taste like. Stupid, really, Edwin doesn't even have flesh. But he does have a body, and a body that might very well be warm and—

He opens his eyes when Edwin speaks again, giving himself a little shake, dusting off the little licks of flame clinging to the tips of his hair.

"Fuck, shit, that's not fair— Ah, what? Oh, yeah. Yeah, just dump it on the fissure. This is good old-fashioned earth magic, you don't need fancy words and mantras when the elements do all the work for you." He nods at the glowing crack in the ground, but resolutely doesn't look at it. "It'll pulse once it's been fed, but then it should ease off a little while it spreads the energy out along the line. It'll give us enough time to uh, catch our breaths. And get out."