Holdover // for Daine

[loficharm]

October 9th, 2019

The insufferable irony of it is Martin is lonely.

Well, of course he is. That's sort of the point. But it's not like it was back home, the intention of it unsupported by his current circumstances. He can't get on like he did when he had the work laid out before him, reinforcing the purpose behind his self-imposed exile, altering him slowly and in ways that were only starting to become evident. He can't squirrel himself away and avoid the friends he's made; he can't, and more importantly he won't, avoid John. But neither can he deny that the Lonely is still very much present, hovering over him daily, even if he doesn't feel it, even if John can't always see it. Those moments when it makes itself manifest are all reactive. It can't pull him back and it can't insulate him, so it lashes out when he strays too far. That isn't fair, but the Lonely isn't a fair creature, and it isn't governed by human reason or emotion. The indignation he'd felt seems childish now. It just wants him back.

It was so easy to slip into the rhythm of things here. He'd seen how easy it was, and it had alarmed him, and he'd let it happen anyway. The whole thing feels like a test of temptation. How easy it is to just settle in here, to go out for semi-regular drinks with John and pretend this is what his life could be like. And it's not that he regrets any of that - he's grateful for the time they have together, odd as it is. He's grateful, in a sort of perverse way, to have this respite before he falls inevitably and fully into the dark of whatever he'd begun with Peter.

But it won't last. He will go home, eventually. He's been given to believe that he may not remember any of this when he does, but that is not a comfort. It doesn't feel like a free pass to behave however he wishes. Not while the Lonely looms over him still, twining around his thoughts and reminding him daily he shouldn't wish for what he can't have.

If he can't pull away and he can't sink back into it, then what he needs is balance. And ever since he woke up from the horrible shared dream of Regan's world, that's what he's been trying to strike. Going to work, remaining pleasant enough, but keeping to himself as much as he can otherwise. It's what he needs to do. It's practical.

But it hurts. He'd grown used to the way things were, even with the Lonely's occasional torments. And it's worse still, far worse, for how much things had changed in the week of John's stint as a cat. He'd grown used to John being with him all the time. It was a forced situation neither of them chose - and John certainly wouldn't have chosen it - but it was company nonetheless. To go so completely cold turkey now is awful, and for a while he's not sure what to do, how to fill the gap without breaking his renewed conviction. How to stop from craving something that wasn't even his; John being there, waking up with him, sharing space and food and a strange, newfound trust that seems to be vanishing back into their ordinary routine.

It takes him a while to realize he's trying to solve the wrong problem. It isn't just that he misses John, specifically, though of course he does, and that's a misery all on its own - it's that the flat feels so empty now; it's the quiet, simple comfort of sharing space with another living thing.

Having a pet is a small thing, and it's tempting. It's something he's always wanted, and for once in his life, a bit absurdly, he can afford it. It might be a bit... weird, getting a cat to replace John, more or less, but... that's only if he allows himself to think of it that way. If he can't have what he wants and he can't go back to what he had, then the best he can do is find a median. The Lonely is forced to work by halves here; maybe it will accept him doing the same.

There's no one to give him permission or to talk him out of it, so he spends an entire day mulling it over in various states of indecision, frustration, and embarrassment before he finally caves and texts Daine. She is, of course, one of the handful of people who might well have some assumptions about where this notion originated, but she seems the sort to keep it to herself.

A bit of back and forth and a short while later, Martin finds himself outside her flat, rapping lightly and a bit nervously on the door.

Comments

[wildmage_daine]

It's as well that Martin texts her before coming up, as it gives her a few minutes to wipe the ridiculous little grin off her face and compose herself. It'd be easy to tease, but it wouldn't be very kind. Nor would it really be that sensible, when all is said and done. If it was just having John around that he missed, he probably wouldn't be bothering her about it. It's as likely that he just misses having company, another living creature to share space with.

Which is easy to understand. She always has some friends around, and she knows what a difference they make.

She's got the kettle on by the time Martin knocks, and she hurries to let him in on the off chance that Peter's on the prowl. "Hullo," she says, stepping back to admit him. The apartment is a bit emptier than it might be otherwise, but the window is still cracked despite the cooling weather, and there's a line of sparrows along the sill, watching everything with their bright little eyes. "There'll be tea in a minute. Make yourself at home."

As she gets the tea ready, she asks, "Have you ever had a cat before? A proper one, I mean."

[loficharm]

He smiles faintly as Daine lets him in. It's nice to see her, though he's trying to remain wary of that feeling. He has no desire to be noticeably distant, no interest in making others feel unwanted. Before he'd tried to make himself believe that interacting with people was a necessary evil, but that's not it at all. Making himself quieter, more introverted - that's all it is. So as much as her kind welcome feels like an open hand offering him a way out of his self-imposed solitary mire, he has to remember to appreciate it for what it is, and not to crave more.

He steps in and settles himself on the couch, glancing toward the line of little sparrows as he does. "I haven't," he says. "Never had a pet before. I've always wanted one. When I was younger I was a bit more of a dog person, but I've always liked cats. And now I think a cat would suit me better."

A creature capable of looking after itself, setting its own boundaries, willing to share space without needing constant attention - that's what he's trying to make of himself, after all.

"Though I wouldn't say I've any real practice," he says lightly. The latent embarrassment over what this might represent is easier to bear if he jokes about it. So he tells himself.

[wildmage_daine]

"They don't tend to ask as much as dogs," she says with a small, wry smile. "At least, they don't ask to be walked, which can be a mercy when you're busy." There's plenty of nuisance a bored, lonely cat might cause, but it usually doesn't involve the sort of mess that requires special cleaners to get out.

She can't help a faint snort at his reference to John. It's sort of a relief that he makes it, really; she's still determined not to tease, but at least they're not pretending it didn't happen, or that there's no relation at all. "No," she replies with cautious good humor, "I s'pose he wasn't much of a one, besides the shape. You'll have to do some more shopping to get actual cat things." A litter box, for example. And a brush. And proper food. There are enough 'human' foods a cat can stomach that John never had to resort to kibble, but then, there'd been no expectation of his time as a cat lasting that long. He couldn't have kept it up for any real length of time without getting ill.

She hands him his tea before sitting down with her own cup pressed between her hands. "D'you know what you're looking for? Like, did you want a more playful cat, or one that just likes to relax, or...?" There are enough strays and shelter cats in the city that she's sure she can find him a good match irrespective of his answer, but it'd help if they could narrow things down. From what she knows of Martin, she's guessing not a kitten, or something young and active that'd bounce off the walls.

One of the sparrows flutters over to her shoulder, looking down at her cup curiously. "You wouldn't like it," she informs the little creature.

[loficharm]

He sips his tea gingerly while he considers her question. He knows the answer, or at least the answer he has prepared. When it's actually put to him, he can't quite stop himself from thinking about John pointedly and purposefully allowing Martin to touch him, to pet him. And the purring, and how good it had felt, not just because that feels naturally good, but because it was John.

The part of him that grew up wanting a dog would love a cat that is social and friendly and tactile. But that isn't what he has prepared.

"I think more relaxed is good," he says. "One that won't mind being left to its own devices, I suppose. I mean, I am at work a lot." He shrugs, a bit uncertain. "So I suppose... friendly, but self-sufficient?" He's far too aware of how much he's really describing himself, or what he'd like to be, and he turns his gaze downward, looking rather intently at his tea. "Probably an older cat, maybe... maybe one they're having trouble homing."

He can't resist it, that pull toward sensitivity. The desire to look after something that needs it, that's been passed over, left alone. Something that too closely resembles himself, or worse: John. But there's nothing wrong with that. He's looking to care for an animal, not to put a plaster on something that can't be healed, not to amuse himself. He wants to care for something that needs it, and he wants to do that because - well, he wants to. Just because this feels like a compromise doesn't mean he's doing it by halves.

[wildmage_daine]

It isn't until Martin lays out his halting preferences that Daine realizes that he seems a bit... off. He'd been so delighted the first time he came up here and met her friends, and the prospect of bringing a creature home ought to be even more exciting. But he seems subdued, and carefully polite in a way that reminds her a little of herself, when she'd first left Snowsdale and hadn't quite been able to trust that folk weren't going to turn on her.

Except there's no reason for him to be that way with her. At least, not that she can think of. They've always gotten along. Is it just embarrassment, maybe? John's back to normal, and suddenly he wants a cat? Never mind that he just gave her the chance to tease, if she'd wanted to, and she hadn't taken it.

She looks a little puzzled for a few moments, but his guidelines do bring a certain cat to mind, and that's enough to distract her from his odd mood. "Actually, we've one at the clinic you might like," she says. "He's a stray I brought in after I found him in a bad way. He still needs a bit of work, but the kind anyone could do, really. We're mostly hanging onto him because, well... I don't think he'd fare well in a shelter. He's not a kitten anymore, and he's a bit scraggly, still. But he shouldn't have to go back on the street."

She takes a cautious sip of her tea, watching Martin over the rim of her cup. "We could go meet him, if you like."

[loficharm]

"Oh," he says, faintly surprised by how immediately she jumped to an answer, though he probably shouldn't be; he expects she knows all the stray cats better than anyone. And he can't deny the way he perks up a bit at the idea of this cat needing some extra care. Just the sort, both person and potential pet, that he's always gravitated toward, really, and he has to tamp down the insidious voice that whispers just so you can fix something.

He clears his throat. "Y-yes," he says, managing another faint smile. "That would be lovely."

He's not sure if she means right now or not, so he just sits there awkwardly, drinking his tea.

[wildmage_daine]

Daine hums around another sip of her own tea. It seems a shame to abandon the drinks right after she made them, but Goddess, it's going to be miserable trying to finish them if Martin's just going to fall into awkward silences unless she presses him. She could just ask him what's wrong, since something must be; elsewise he wouldn't be acting so strange. It might not be any of her business -- but then again, she could argue that he made it her business when he asked for a cat. It's not that she thinks he couldn't care for one, or that he doesn't mean well... but if she's to entrust one of her needier friends into his care, she thinks she's within her rights to make sure Martin's got his head in it.

Or maybe he's just having an off day, and she'd only be making it worse to draw attention to it. She chews her lip in consideration, then silently nudges one of the other sparrows to go and say hello. Maybe having another of her friends nearby will help snap him out of whatever this is.

It's a younger, bolder sparrow named Freckle who ends up alighting on the arm of the couch, and then taking a few small hops closer to Martin. "That's Freckle," Daine says innocently enough, as if she hasn't arranged all this. "She's just curious."

[loficharm]

Martin goes still when the sparrow flits over and lands so close to him, peering at him with a little black eye. He stares back as Daine makes the introduction, not entirely sure how to respond. Is it safe to touch the animals in Daine's care - for him or for them? He supposes Daine would warn him away from such a thing if it were.

So, a bit awkwardly, he offers a hand, and after considering it for a few moments, Freckle hops onto his finger, tilting her head as she studies him from this new, closer angle.

Martin relaxes into a smile; it's small, very faint, but there's warmth in it too. The charm of having a sparrow land on him like this, like he's some sort of fairytale character, is too much to be dismissed; and what's more, it's the compromise he's already planning on, the same sort of harmless contact as having a cat would be. It's nice, having something come close to him, show any sort of interest. It's just... it's nice.

"Hullo, Freckle," he says softly.

[wildmage_daine]

'Hullo' is one of those words that doesn't really need translating anymore, and Freckle chirps brightly in response, turning her head so she can look at Martin through first one eye, and then the other.

Daine watches the interaction, noting the way Martin seems to soften a little. It makes sense, really -- or it does to her. The People have always been easier for her to get on with than two-leggers, not just because of her magic, but because they're simpler. You know where you stand with them. They don't bother with the sort of fakery or needless drama that two-leggers sometimes do. And they get by better without words. If a sparrow likes you enough to hop onto your hand, that's the plain truth of it.

Freckle makes her way up to Martin's shoulder in a series of little hops, where she proceeds to pluck curiously at his collar with her beak. "She likes the pattern, is all," Daine explains as she finishes off her tea. "D'you want to head over to the clinic now? It's a bit much to walk, but we can get a cab easy enough."

[loficharm]

Martin chuckles faintly, soft but charmed, when Freckle hops closer and starts plucking at his collar. When Daine offers that they head out, he looks briefly at his mostly un-drunk tea and then sets it aside. He feels a bit guilty not drinking more of it, but he is eager to get this underway. He stands up gingerly, not wanting to startle his passenger.

"I'd like that," he says with a little nod. "Thank you."

The process of flagging down a cab is mercifully quick, and the ride is brief as well, though Martin feels the minutes drag on as he keeps conspicuously silent. He knows he's behaving differently from when they first met; he's trying not to, but he is different, and there's only so much he can do. So far Daine seems content enough to leave him alone about it, which is a minor comfort.

The clinic is quite nice, and there are a few people in the waiting area with dogs on leashes, one with a rabbit. Martin smiles automatically at them, though he keeps his eyes more on the animals than the people, and he waits politely for Daine to guide him.

[wildmage_daine]

It's a quiet cab ride to the clinic, and Daine tries not to mind it overmuch. She likes quiet, most of the time -- not least of all because 'sitting quietly and looking out the window' doesn't preclude carrying on a conversation with one of her friends. In fact, she spends part of the ride letting the cat she has in mind know that they're on their way, and telling him about Martin so he'll have some idea of what to expect -- and of what might be expected of him.

Granted, she's already decided to take some liberties with Martin's requests. Just because he wants a cat who can easily keep to itself -- which, in fairness, most cats can, at least for the duration of a typical workday -- doesn't mean that's what he needs. He's quieter than usual, and there's a sadness clinging about him that shouldn't be ignored. And if he won't reach out to his two-legger friends, the least she can do is introduce him to a cat who won't be shy about butting its way through those vague, chilly defenses.

She texts Noya a little before their arrival, so when they do walk in, they're expected. The creatures in the waiting room perk up at once, tails wagging and ears pricking towards her, and Daine sends them all a silent greeting before considering how best to go about this. It doesn't seem fair to take up an exam room when there's business to be done in them, so she eventually leads Martin aside, to an area a little beyond where most of the seating is, a nook full of shelves stocked with special diet pet food.

There's a door that leads directly to the back here, and she says, "I'll just be a minute," before letting herself through. It's a short walk to the row of cubbies where they keep smaller animals for monitoring, and there's already a grey and white face peering out at her expectantly. Daine smiles as she opens the front of the cubby and welcomes the cat into her arms. He's a bit thin, still, and his fur is a little patchy -- both things she could fix, but she's learning to use her magic judiciously, not wanting to spend energy on something that only looks a bit bad when it might be better spent healing a broken bone or somesuch -- but he's in good spirits. He's purring audibly by the time she steps back out to where Martin's waiting, and he stretches a questing paw towards him at once, punctuating the gesture with a quiet, 'mrrah!'

"This is The Bishop," Daine says, handing him over without ceremony, where he proceeds to shove his head beneath Martin's chin. "And he's very pleased to meet you."

[loficharm]

"Oh," says Martin, a little surprised when Daine just deposits the already-purring cat into his arms, though that is nothing compared to his astonishment when the cat - The Bishop, seriously? - braces his paws right on Martin's shoulders and pushes his head directly up under Martin's chin, purring just as hard as when Daine had been holding him.

"Oh," says Martin again, softer and faintly reverent this time. He really hasn't known many cats, and what he'd been given to expect is that they generally need time to warm up to a person. Especially given the vague parameters he'd given Daine, instant affection is not something he would have expected. But it doesn't matter. The Bishop burrows up against him and Martin shifts his hands a bit to support his weight better - his fur a little patchy, his shoulders a little too sharp - and he feels something he hasn't felt in what seems like a very, very long time.

"Hello," he says quietly, smiling small and warm, unable to stop himself from pressing an instinctive little kiss on top of his head. "Hello there."

[wildmage_daine]

Martin warms to The Bishop in much the same way as he had to Freckle, only moreso, and Daine can't help a smile. It helps that The Bishop is turning on the charm, of course. He's naturally affectionate and doesn't mind being held even under normal circumstances, so it's no great leap for him to be as sweet as he's being, now. But she'd told him Martin needed someone to be extra kind to him, and he's plainly taken her advice to heart.

I like him, the cat informs her, even as he lets out a soft trill and sprawls sidelong against Martin's chest, one paw hooking into his coat for leverage. He's soft.

"He says he likes you," she translates, even though that's probably clear enough from the way The Bishop's behaving. She elects not to pass along the comment about him being soft, lest Martin take it the wrong way, and instead adds, "And he wouldn't need much in the way of extra care. Mostly you'd just have to make sure you feed him right, and brush him carefully while his fur is still coming back in."

[loficharm]

The Bishop adjusts his position to settle even more comfortably against Martin, and he can't stop himself from letting out a faint chuckle. Maybe this is a mistake, maybe it's too much, but he just can't bring himself to really entertain that idea right now, not with this absolute sweetheart just curling up against him like that, purring up a storm. When Daine tells him The Bishop likes him, it leaves him both nervous and delighted. There's no turning back now. He's gone and fallen in love with this cat, and he's just going to have to make this work.

"Well I like him," he says, admiring The Bishop's beautiful eyes for a moment. Then he looks at Daine, feeling a bit like he's stepping out of a fog - though of course he knows he's really just stepping back into it. His expression softens and dulls a bit. He is grateful to her, and he is happy with this wonderful cat and his odd name. But he feels the subtle tug all around him, to get this over with. She'll have to help him with the paperwork, with fetching food and supplies and whatever else. The sooner they do all that, the sooner he can get back home and be alone, if not completely, at least more.

"Thank you," he says. "He's perfect." He runs his hand gently over the soft curve of The Bishop's back and manages another smile, genuine if much smaller. "Shall we?"