Pumpkin Hollow Inbox

[maltesefalcon]

By Phone, Sending Stone, Appointment or Random Encounter

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a meeting in a bar

[lightconductor]

He almost forgot what day it is, what with one thing and another, and all the little bits of chaos of day to day life. At some point, though, he did notice the date, and grief returned in all its prickly, blinding agony.

By the end of the day, the exhaustion that comes of eternally trying to suppress everything is overwhelming. After a vague and improvised supper, Watson finds a seat in a darkened corner of the pub, and orders himself a glass of port.

He might be a little fuzzy on whether the goal is to drink it in tribute or to numb his sorrow.

[maltesefalcon]

When Cerrit walks in the room, there's a long moment of just watching Watson before he approaches the table.

"You're brooding worse than my wife before Maya hatched. Do you need to talk about it?"

[lightconductor]

"Oh, Agrupnin."

There's an automatic smile when he looks up, because he is, in fact, glad to see him, but it's worn over an expression of weariness. "I don't know. It's a significant date for me -- a friend's birthday -- and I could use the company, if nothing else."

[maltesefalcon]

"Then you shall have it." Cerrit settles into a seat at Watson's table and gestures to one of the servers for his usual pitcher. "Especially if you want to tell me about your friend. He must be someone interesting, to gain your attention."

[lightconductor]

It had been a lovely dream. It had been a lovely, exceptionally vivid dream, and perhaps it was rather odd in one or two ways, but then, there wasn't always any accounting for the sorts of things you dreamed. He'd scribbled down a few things about it when he awoke, in case the recollection faded, and gone off to start his day with the peace of mind that comes from having woken so pleasantly.

Of course he wasn't going to discuss it with Cerrit. What sort of idiot goes to someone he's just beginning to see, where no declarations have been made, and informs him that "oh, I dreamt we were married, and also you changed species dramatically in a way you might not find amusing and I'm honestly a little disappointed in myself about"? Not John Watson, that's for certain.

But there are rumours, and there is talk, and it's not very far into the day before it's becoming clear that this was not just a dream, oh no oh god oh no, and it is extremely essential that he is able to speak to Cerrit as soon as possible.

For these reasons, then, when Watson sees him in the street, he shouts his name and comes jogging up to take him by the elbow.

"I really think we might need to talk about... one or two things," he says, in a low voice.

[maltesefalcon]

"John." Cerrit's voice is tight and quiet and he seems to be torn between moving in closer and running the fuck away, and it translates as him just freezing completely.

Which is a silly response, isn't it? This isn't going to end poorly, this talk, whatever form it takes.

[lightconductor]

"I thought at first it was an ordinary dream," he confesses. "I would have found you at once, otherwise."

Aware he's babbling a little bit, Watson bites his tongue, and looks hard at Cerrit. He's not sure how to interpret that freezing. He pats Cerrit's arm reassuringly, or at least in a way that he hopes is reassuring.

"Are you all right?"

[maltesefalcon]

"I wish I could drag you into an alley right now and kiss you senseless, properly. But I can't do that like this, can I?"

He has never been so frustrated to have a beak before.

VERY early March

[pineapplesalmon]

Wow, Merrymeet sure was a thing, huh?

César's coming back towards his townhouse late afternoon, dirty from a day of work at his farm. Once again, César's never stopping, always moving on to the next thing. He smiles at Cerrit when he catches sight of him and waves.

"Hello!"

[maltesefalcon]

Cerrit may be indulging in some public preening when César calls out to him, and there's a hint of embarrassment when he looks up.

"Well, hey. You look well."

[pineapplesalmon]

César looks amused and fixes some of his hair himself to make the preening even. "So do you."

[maltesefalcon]

"Have to look the best for my man, you know." Warm, playful; like father, like son here, it seems. "What have you been up to?"

A note slid under Cerrit's door

[needmetodoanyattacking]

[The note is in a heavy cream envelope on matching paper. It's written in bright red ink.]

You tried to tell me. I'd like you to keep trying.

Check the bulletin board. I'd like to see you.

-I.J.

Late April, after Watson resurrects

[lightconductor]

He hurts, and while he doesn't know if it has something to do with recently being dead or if it's entirely coincidental, it has definitely made the entire experience that much more terrible. Even worse, he'd ended up somewhere without his cane. Thus it is that Watson, newly resurrected, comes home leaning on Cerrit, and limping much more heavily than he normally does.

"Hold on," Watson says, breathless from the pain as he fiddles with the door, and then they're in. They're home, and he's more glad to see this little tenement flat than he might have expected.

[maltesefalcon]

"I'm hardly about to let you go, love." Cerrit is content in his role as stand-in cane. He can go looking later for either John's original or a replacement, but there's more important things right now. "Let's get you to the bed, alright?"

[lightconductor]

"Bed," Watson scoffs. "I've been dead. You'd think that would be enough rest."

With the door closed between them and the rest of the world, he sags somewhat, letting go of a certain level of pretense about just how much he hurts. He lets himself be guided into the bedroom, and sits down heavily on the edge of the mattress, his bad leg extended at an awkward angle while he starts removing unnecessary pieces of clothing.

Watson's apartment

[lightconductor]

He doesn't want to have this discussion. He would really rather not think about such things, and be blissfully ignorant. Unfortunately, Watson is also not the sort of person who would ever be content being ignorant about anything, if he can help it.

After dinner, the thing to do is drinks. Watson pours the drinks (in appropriately shaped vessels, of course) and brings them over to the table. Before he sits, he affectionately runs his hand over Cerrit's shoulder.

"Before I forget, I did get around to getting that second key, if that's something you still wanted." He can't just go right into it.

[maltesefalcon]

"Careful, John. You might find it hard to get rid of me, if you give me that." There's warm, loving tease in his words as he settles against that light touch to his shoulder, perfectly at ease being touched, being petted.

[lightconductor]

"Oh, I think we're long past that point."

He laughs, but then sobers a bit, because he really can't keep putting this off. For strength, Watson reaches to put his hand over Cerrit's, a way to ground himself. "There is something I do need to talk about with you, my dear fellow. I need to know how old you are."

Put like that, it sounds almost childish.

"I learned something that made me realise it may be a more pertinent question than I was assuming."

Sending Stone

[thethirteenthchild]

Dahlia's still not leaving the house. She hasn't in nearly a month. But she's starting to reach out to people who need to hear from her. So at last, Cerrit's sending stone chimes and Dahlia's voice comes through.

"Cerrit? Are you still--- still here?"

[maltesefalcon]

"Of course I am, Dolly. I'm not going anywhere until our work is done. We've managed to deter any pitchfork mobs headed toward your front gate, and everything seems to be at an uneasy equilibrium for now."

A pause, and then softer: "How're you, kiddo?"

[thethirteenthchild]

"Um. Bad," Dahlia mutters, "but that's not really new."

She paces the floor of her study, hugging herself as she speaks. She's wearing real people clothes now, but she's still milling around with blankets on her shoulders.

"...I need to ask you something. When we first talked, when you first made the deal for the stones. You said you didn't feel bad about doing it because you didn't actually want to tell anyone about me," she starts, haltingly, scared of the answer. "But I, ah. Well I found out recently that you spent a lot of the time leading up to everything... guiding people towards the answers with hints. Including someone who went on to spy on me for West. I need to know why."

After the casino event is over

[xiaoxiuya]

There's a knock on the door to Cerrit's office -- the one that he inherited from Janine Kilbride. Shen Qingqiu pokes his head in, making sure that Cerrit isn't already talking to anyone on the phone or in person before he smiles and says, "Congratulations, shixiong."

He comes in, shutting the door behind him. "Apologies for not coming by sooner. I've been a little busy." With his 'leave of absence' that's actually an undercover mission. But did Commander Kilbride tell him about that before she retired?

[maltesefalcon]

Unfortunately, Cerrit wasn’t given the memo. He does that avian head-tilt, considering Shen Qingqiu for a moment before gesturing to the chair at the far side of his desk.

“Busy with what?”

[xiaoxiuya]

They're getting right down to it, then. Shen Qingqiu nods slightly and sits in the indicated chair -- the same chair, coincidentally, that he sat in when explaining his desires to Janine. "I've been undercover," he says plainly. "I suspect that Elias Coldwood is a cultist in the service of Nyarlathotep, and so I've entered his employ in order to look for proof."