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on the care & feeding of a cat who is not a cat // for John
September 19 (cont'd) - September 22
Bursting out of the mansion into the insufficient relief of cool night air is only step one, and it's such a fraught step that Martin freezes up, not sure what comes next. John is still clutched in his arms, trembling but also holding still with a level of tension that would be alarming in an ordinary cat, and is alarming either way. His claws are still digging sharply into Martin's shoulder, but the pain is a distant bother, nothing Martin has any room to worry about just now. He's breathing heavily, adrenaline still up and his throat sore from shouting at Magnus to no avail. He stands out front, dimly aware he's being watched by the bouncers, and looks around like he doesn't know where to go.
He pulls himself together quickly because he has to. Focus on what's important, what's right in front of you. Think like Basira. One foot before the other. He has to get home. All of John's belongings, his clothes, his phone, his keys, it all disappeared into this new body. There'll be no accessing his flat in the Bramford. Martin has to get them to his own, which might actually be further from here. God.
"It's all right," he whispers, a bit manic, like he doesn't totally know what he's saying. "I-it's all right. I'm - we're gonna figure this out."
He starts walking. Reaches the city proper, Old Forest Rd., and he'll just follow that until he gets to the other end, to Candlewood.
"Gonna be all right," he says again, his voice trembling a little, resisting the various impulses toward comfort that might be welcome on an actual cat - stroking his fur, holding any tighter than he absolutely has to, even, mortifyingly, planting a kiss on his head, a thought he banishes in a little rush of panic atop panic. The best he can do for John is hold him as securely as possible without constricting and just. Get him somewhere safe. And then, the next step will be next. Whatever that is.
Bursting out of the mansion into the insufficient relief of cool night air is only step one, and it's such a fraught step that Martin freezes up, not sure what comes next. John is still clutched in his arms, trembling but also holding still with a level of tension that would be alarming in an ordinary cat, and is alarming either way. His claws are still digging sharply into Martin's shoulder, but the pain is a distant bother, nothing Martin has any room to worry about just now. He's breathing heavily, adrenaline still up and his throat sore from shouting at Magnus to no avail. He stands out front, dimly aware he's being watched by the bouncers, and looks around like he doesn't know where to go.
He pulls himself together quickly because he has to. Focus on what's important, what's right in front of you. Think like Basira. One foot before the other. He has to get home. All of John's belongings, his clothes, his phone, his keys, it all disappeared into this new body. There'll be no accessing his flat in the Bramford. Martin has to get them to his own, which might actually be further from here. God.
"It's all right," he whispers, a bit manic, like he doesn't totally know what he's saying. "I-it's all right. I'm - we're gonna figure this out."
He starts walking. Reaches the city proper, Old Forest Rd., and he'll just follow that until he gets to the other end, to Candlewood.
"Gonna be all right," he says again, his voice trembling a little, resisting the various impulses toward comfort that might be welcome on an actual cat - stroking his fur, holding any tighter than he absolutely has to, even, mortifyingly, planting a kiss on his head, a thought he banishes in a little rush of panic atop panic. The best he can do for John is hold him as securely as possible without constricting and just. Get him somewhere safe. And then, the next step will be next. Whatever that is.