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]

"Mm, what a dreadful thought, being victim to one of your guesses..." The Cat snorts, both at Edwin addressing his own shortfalls when it comes to gauging the emotions and emotional needs of those around him and — perhaps a bit sore about this one — the idea of Edwin acting upon physical contact first.

It hasn't really happened all that much, not where the Cat is concerned, though there have been more lingering touches, more readiness to be touched, more taking the offered lead and running with it once the first step has been made -- but very rarely does Edwin take that first step himself. Unless it's to tease, to be frustrating with the brush of lips across his cheek, his knuckles.

It helps to think Edwin is just like that, that it isn't personal and is merely a quirk, though it doesn't soothe the need entirely. But then, without something to chew over in his mind, who knows what kind of trouble this foolish Cat might get himself into.

"Well," He says amidst a sigh, looking around as if surveying the potential of their surroundings. "Even though this is one of my favourite alleyways, I've got no more paychecks to cash and my whole reason for having you here in the first place is spent, so... I guess we should keep on moving."

He pushes himself back, out of Edwin's personal space and away from the dwindling but definitely still present tangibility of his body, for the first time in what feels like hours, although logically it must only have been twenty minutes at most.

[technicallyhellbound]

It really was that Edwin was just like that, had been since before he'd reached the double digits, though he hadn't always been, he'd been an affectionate child. It was just that he'd learned -or rather had been taught- that kind of thing wasn't acceptable, and by the time he'd been sent to Saint Hilarion's the only person he still regularly hugged was his baby sister Daisy, because she was still a baby and didn't mind the way the rest of his siblings did. Mostly because she was still a baby, but he'd had to take what he could get.

Of course, with school and everything that had come of that, he'd definitely stopped being the one to initiate contact, and it was only in the past year or so that he'd started to re-calibrate when it would be acceptable to do so. It was slow going, fighting against decades of experience to the contrary, but he'd get there eventually.

For the time being, however, he just smiled, following the Cat back onto the main thoroughfare once more, pausing only once they had, brow creasing, "Hang on a tick, one of your favorite alleyways? You've more than one? Is that the kind of thing people keep track of?"

[catting]

The Cat's mind is full of thoughts of trades and bargains, of deals and promises, of hope and of disappointment. But also, amidst all those tumbling and tangled thoughts, the memory of a warm body against his, a soothing hand at his back, a soft touch to his elbow — not enough, never enough for his greedy soul, always wanting so much more than he deserves — along with the security of more, should he ever need it. It feels impossible to summon the words, even for someone who speaks truth so brazenly when it suits him, but it's certainly there, sitting warmly somewhere in his heart, keeping his senses alive in the memory of that touch.

So, when Edwin speaks up, the words take him out of his own thoughts, ennui thankfully paused until later when he's alone with no distractions, rather than dwelling on them now and wasting precious moments with Edwin.

"People, no. Cats, yeah. You've gotta know which are the best for scraps, which have too much foot traffic, which have good access to the rooftops... You'd be surprised how important alleyways can be to those who get around town using the shadows..." Is that the tinkling of a bell on a cat's collar? The pad of little feet scampering up a fire escape? The mysterious mewl of an eagle-eyed observer watching from somewhere dark and unseen? Who knows. "Maybe I'll give you a tour someday."

And then, because he can, because this is easy and practically expected conduct between the two of them now, the Cat slides his hand into the crook of Edwin's elbow as he guides him along, back into the thrum of Port Townsend, and eventually, back to his office and his friends in London. Until next time, that is.