maltesefalcon | Pumpkin Hollow Inbox

He takes a moment to answer.

"No," he says. "I've been trying to remember, but I have a rather vivid imagination and it's far too easy for me to invent something. It's all rather a blur. Perhaps I was run down by a carriage in the street and I never saw it coming. Perhaps I had a sudden and severe aneurysm, or an assassin came for me in the night when I was sleeping."

The last is unlikely, but not impossible.

"Do you?"

"Yes. I do."

His feathers droop visibly and he dunks his face into his beer again, this time taking longer to drink.

It's Watson's turn to reach out to put his hand over Cerrit's.

"I'm sorry," he says, and does not press.

Cerrit feels that hand against his and gives Watson a long, quiet look. If his expression is normally hard to read, right now it's even worse, because he's trying to keep from showing everything that's on his mind on his face. Not a muscle moves, and he doesn't seem to blink for a very long moment.

Watson is equally still; he's not sure what he's waiting for, but there is nevertheless a sense of waiting for something. He is used to inscrutable men, perhaps, but he can't help thinking that here, at least, he's overstepped, that he's misread something. That this maybe is not welcome.

He gives Cerrit's hand a gentle squeeze, and pulls his hand back.

Cerrit's hand chases his for just a second when he pulls away, and then he stops. Glances off to one side.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't know what he's apologizing for, specifically, but he ruined it, that moment. That sliver of peace and warmth.

"It's all right," Watson says, though he's not sure what they're talking about, either. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

But he aches, because for a moment -- no, there's no point in torturing himself about what he thought he had seen there.

"I'm the one who's sorry."

Cerrit takes another large glug of beer before responding to that aloud.

"...well, if you're sorry, then give me your hand back. And I'll be more careful not to scare you off again. I promise."

Watson looks at Cerrit for a long moment, then places his hand back, slowly.

"I though it was unwelcome," he says, and reaches for his drink with his spare hand.

"You thought wrong."

And if that comes out with a slight huff, it's because Cerrit's mad at himself, for not knowing how to communicate what he wants, what he needs. Not knowing how to use his words--he's usually so good with words!--to get everything in his head out in the open.

There's a moment, as he reclaims Watson's hand, where just the back of a talon brushes the pad of a fingertip, before he settles with the same care as ever.

Watson takes a sip of his port, his eyes on Cerrit as he considers his words.

"I confess that I find you difficult to read," he says. His tone lacks an accusation; this is just a fact. The sky is blue, the sea is wet, bird beaks do not emote in a way he is familiar with. He speaks softly, in a tone that would not be overhead easily. "I could easily believe that we may not share all the same customs. At any rate, at times I am not sure whether you are aiming to be my friend or... something more."

Cerrit laughs quietly.

“I…imagine it would be hard for you to discern, when I don’t even know what I want myself. But, you’re human and you’re grieving and drinking and so it doesn’t really matter, in the end, what I want. Besides wanting to make sure you make it home safely at the end of the night.”

Watson grunts. "I don't seem to be the only one drinking," he says. He also suspects he's not the only one grieving but he has enough sense to know better than to say that. That would be unkind. "And yes, I am human, and I don't -- look, you do realise it's only humans where I am from? You say that like I'm meant to understand what you mean. I could guess, but I would hate to be wrong."

“Most humans prefer to pursue those of species more…um. Anatomically compatible.” If he were capable of blushing in the standard manner, he absolutely would be. Instead he conveys bashfulness through body language, but it’s a somewhat deliberate display.

"Has it occurred to you, Agrupnin, that I do not even know how 'incompatible' we might be?"

He leans his head back, letting out a breath of relief; it comes out as a soft laugh. He runs his finger gently over one of Cerrit's. "Where I am from, it is written into law that romantic liaisons between men are a criminal act, and many consider such things... unseemly. Men who are inclined that way must be very careful of who they approach, of course, and under what circumstances. I realise things are different here, and things may be different where you are from as well."

A pause. "If I have not been... explicit about my own interest, then perhaps you can understand why."

"Criminal? Unseemly? I had no idea." He fluffs visibly at the very idea. "It's nothing like that in my world. Two of my best friends were both men raising a son together." Y'know, until Evandrin became the victim of mad magic experiments done by an ambitious, hubristic wizard.

"Both of them were respected; they each held the title of First Knight of Avalir."

He has to think about this extraordinary idea for a moment; he shakes his head.

"It would never do in the world I know," Watson says. "More's the pity." He falls silent, his fingers still idly stroking Cerrit's hand. "It does leave the question of what we are going to do from this point."

“That’s a nice, large question. I don’t know.” All the tools he has for courting an eisfurra don’t apply here. Watson doesn’t even know what giving a pretty bird one of your feathers means.

He does not!

"Well, I am willing to try. I may very much not know the entirety of what I am getting into, but..." Watson shakes his head again. "Well, I daresay that's never stopped me before."

It's a decision, and sounds like it.

“Well. I don’t know what I’m doing, either. I’ve never been with a man, or a human. But I like spending time with you, and I like how warm and gentle your hands are. And I want for you to be safe and happy and never bored.”

That’s love, right?

Watson smiles without looking at Cerrit, a sort of private, inward-facing smile.

"You have been my greatest comfort here," he says. "I have been... very lonely, for some time, and it has been good to have companionship again, with someone whose nature seems to fit alongside my own." A pause. "Not too safe, please, as I like a little bit of risk to keep me sharp."

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cw: homophobia mention

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