Yeah well, cats are kinky fucks. [A clatter. Perhaps, far away, a distant shattering sound.]
I don't mind. Being watched. As long as no one fucking records it - it's impossible to get those things off the internet.
[Sleeping over may be more of a challenge. They've fallen asleep together - after sex and not (Claire's couch, arms muddy, John's face smeared against his shoulder, his leg in the man's crotch long before anything else was there) - but Freddie's internal alarm tends to wake him early. To tell him to shower and go before anyone can assume this state is permanent.
He's learned to be careful not to outstay a welcome (and to extend only a short one in return)]
I can give you a list of things not to google, if you do go home.
If I do, yeah. [ a laugh. it's wistful: day by day, the desire to go fades. the need to is just as strong as ever, but he's awfully good at shoving things under carpets. ] Anyway, doubt you need to bother. Unless they decided to write in you and your unsolicited camera-people, I'm not sure you'll make an appearance whatever I google.
[ different worlds. leaving those search terms almost inevitably free of Freddie's face, or anything else, were he to try. ]
[It's a jarring thing, sometimes. Worlds with so many matching reference points, but not the same.]
I could be there. You wouldn't know. How often are you trawling for cock in Mantos on a Tuesday night?
[It's not wistful, but only because that's an emotion Freddie refuses to acknowledge. He sends another tile skimming off the roof with a rattle as he sits up, reaching for the dregs of his drink.]
You're not made up. Yeah, all right, someone wrote stories but... different worlds. What if it's someone who came here and met you, then told some writer all about it, back home. Translated into a version they understand. Fuck's sake, it could be Claire.
It's not Claire. Haven't heard anyone ask after Freddie Baxter when they've recognised my name, and God knows if it were Claire I'd be running around London shagging an annoying little shit and writing my memoirs about that instead. [ oh, Freddie would absolutely be a presence in whatever stories were told about John Watson's life if it were Claire who passed on the story. it wouldn't be a particularly flattering rendition, either, "annoying little shit" John's perception of Claire's view, not his own. Olde Worlde sensibilities, so maybe not quite that, but. ] Don't think she'll ever fully recover.
[ a beat - there's a frown in his voice. ]
Can you do me a favour and go inside? You're making me nervous. Where are you, anyway?
[That tugs a laugh out of him. He's almost certainly fonder of Claire than she is of him, and part of that's how easy she is to rile - and part of it's how protective she is of John. Jem's similar and those instincts are something that draws him to her, too.]
Yeah, yeah, she'd leave that out just to spite me. [His voice echoes into the near-empty bottle, a swallow and then.] Anyway, they couldn't write about me. People think 50 Shades of Gray is fucking scandalous, I'd be relegated to... I don't know. Pay per view. Or late-night Channel four. Maybe that's where you should look.
[Movement sends another little shower downwards. The shower above them seems to have stopped now, the stars are fixed back in their places.]
Roof of the warehouse. These tiles are shit, no wonder we've got leaks.
[It's possible this is a trick of the alcohol, but the point is he's fine, and the view's beautiful, and (now) the company's not bad either. There's a whole collection of new arrivals out there but he's not tapping his fingers, impatient to sort through their number. They'll be around later.
Or they won't.
That's just how this place works. He's getting used to it now, a state someone might call settled, if they didn't know how he works.]
Jem's not going back to her world, she says. And she says you look like her dad so can you ruffle her hair when you meet her please? Ask how she's keeping up at school.
[ ahaha wow?? wow... the slightly startled laugh turns into John choking on his own breath and coughing it out into his fist and when that trails off and the phone's brought back to his face it's to the tune of residual laughter because yes, brilliant, thanks Freddie for that. that's great. ]
—Oh, definitely. [ a throat clear to get rid of the rest of the roughness ccchrist and no, no, he's not quite recovered. all else that follows is just a simple: ] God.
[You can tell when he's smiling, it's like his voice turns up at the corners.]
You don't look like mine. [And he's only just old enough to be parent to either of them, really. It's nothing to dwell on.] Do it, though, it'll be brilliant. Especially if it's first thing and you're just in your pants.
still, there's a snort, and a small throaty noise that marks John pulling himself up to his feet to usher a grumpy cat inside with his foot and shut the door behind her. ] Hi, nice to meet you. Hope you enjoy that permanent mental scarring. Did you want tea? I'm just brewing up.
[ fhumph, he's back down and seated. another sip from a reclaimed glass, the storyteller's voice discarded in favour of a question: ] You two doing alright over there?
Edited (i didn't finish my sentence SIGH) 2016-05-15 20:02 (UTC)
[Look, he owes her. And he knows Jem, she'd laugh about it once the trauma wears off, and she could use that. Which is why he pauses for a moment on the latter question, not defaulting to his usual fine, or throw-away disclaimer.]
Her demon boyfriend went back to his demon home. So she's a bit fucked. Then again, apparently she's eloping there with him, eventually, but her debt's taking longer to pay.
[He takes a moment to think if that answer's John's question.]
And we're out of crunchy nut. Otherwise, scraping through.
[ he's still surprised, occasionally, by the insanity of some people's lives here. the demon bit isn't fresh news but it's been easily forgotten and his rising brows tug his hairline down - sometimes he's incredibly grateful that he's managed to have such a normal experience here. but it's an answer, a real one, and it slowly catches up: she's been left behind, however temporarily, by someone important.
[At last, a serious conversation. Freddie idly attempts moving in the moments that follow, but the height seems dizzier now than when he'd come up here pre-wine, and swaying on his knees isn't a good sign for what might happen on his feet.
Wow. [ that was decisive. also not something he's in a particular position to contest, being more of a toast man himself. ] Good to know you've got strong opinions on cereal. Hope is not lost for the youth of today.
[ but he thinks there's some shuffling, John's not deaf, and he falls quiet to listen just as the shuffling stops. a beat, and: ] Are you stuck.
[Don't be stupid, John. He's actually offended by the insinuation. Haven't you met him: lithe as a mountain goat and twice as horny. He could get off the roof if he wanted, but he doesn't so he'll just lay back down and
John sweeping his hand down his face can be easily heard ]
Are you in danger of falling.
[ it's a flat tone both out of vaguely amused exasperation and the knowledge that the answer will be some form of denial while the reality is probably yes and these are the last moments of peace he'll have before he gets up in search of keys ready to speed off into the night ]
[ ... hang on. if that's not a deflection, he doesn't know what is. he's also not going to bother pussyfooting around it: Freddie's stuck in a roof, there are more important things to worry about than whatever it is he doesn't want John to see, which it's now impressively obvious is something. ]
Whatever you've got secreted away in the attic, I can ignore it. Or if you really don't want me there I can get in contact with Jem. I'm not leaving you in a roof.
No- [A small flare of irritation, don't you call Jem.] Don't fuck up the Jem plan. I do have a phone, you might have noticed.
[He'll just detach his leg from the hole. Or possibly just detach his leg. One of these options is bound to work. Meanwhile, enjoy the sounds of tile confetti.]
And there are no secretions in my attic. You've seen it. It's too cold for that.
You're being strange about the attic— [ which is fine, John's not going to push it, the tone isn't indicative of a desire to know why it's just a statement that he's not completely stupid except then there's tile confetti and he's trying not to get nervous, he really is, but— ] Could you stay still? You're on a roof.
[ he knows he's on a roof, John. if he didn't before, you've mentioned the roof about nine times. he knows. ]
First you want me to get off... do make up your mind.
[A moment while he grumpily reaches for the wine and more grumpily realises there's none left in the bottle.]
I have to stay still, don't I. I've only got one leg. [Obviously. he slowly watches the wine bottle roll away down the roof until the motion makes him dizzy. Dizzier.] I suppose you've dealt with loads of them - amputees.
[This situation may sound more dramatic than it is.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I don't mind. Being watched. As long as no one fucking records it - it's impossible to get those things off the internet.
[Sleeping over may be more of a challenge. They've fallen asleep together - after sex and not (Claire's couch, arms muddy, John's face smeared against his shoulder, his leg in the man's crotch long before anything else was there) - but Freddie's internal alarm tends to wake him early. To tell him to shower and go before anyone can assume this state is permanent.
He's learned to be careful not to outstay a welcome (and to extend only a short one in return)]
I can give you a list of things not to google, if you do go home.
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[ different worlds. leaving those search terms almost inevitably free of Freddie's face, or anything else, were he to try. ]
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I could be there. You wouldn't know. How often are you trawling for cock in Mantos on a Tuesday night?
[It's not wistful, but only because that's an emotion Freddie refuses to acknowledge. He sends another tile skimming off the roof with a rattle as he sits up, reaching for the dregs of his drink.]
You're not made up. Yeah, all right, someone wrote stories but... different worlds. What if it's someone who came here and met you, then told some writer all about it, back home. Translated into a version they understand. Fuck's sake, it could be Claire.
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[ a beat - there's a frown in his voice. ]
Can you do me a favour and go inside? You're making me nervous. Where are you, anyway?
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Yeah, yeah, she'd leave that out just to spite me. [His voice echoes into the near-empty bottle, a swallow and then.] Anyway, they couldn't write about me. People think 50 Shades of Gray is fucking scandalous, I'd be relegated to... I don't know. Pay per view. Or late-night Channel four. Maybe that's where you should look.
[Movement sends another little shower downwards. The shower above them seems to have stopped now, the stars are fixed back in their places.]
Roof of the warehouse. These tiles are shit, no wonder we've got leaks.
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or maybe not. there's a lot he can't be allowed to remember. maybe they'll just wipe it all. ]
Yeah, alright, just don't prove the point by stepping on the wrong one and sliding off with it.
[ you will probably be the death of him, get off the damn roof he can't catch you from here ]
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[It's possible this is a trick of the alcohol, but the point is he's fine, and the view's beautiful, and (now) the company's not bad either. There's a whole collection of new arrivals out there but he's not tapping his fingers, impatient to sort through their number. They'll be around later.
Or they won't.
That's just how this place works. He's getting used to it now, a state someone might call settled, if they didn't know how he works.]
Jem's not going back to her world, she says. And she says you look like her dad so can you ruffle her hair when you meet her please? Ask how she's keeping up at school.
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—Oh, definitely. [ a throat clear to get rid of the rest of the roughness ccchrist and no, no, he's not quite recovered. all else that follows is just a simple: ] God.
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[You can tell when he's smiling, it's like his voice turns up at the corners.]
You don't look like mine. [And he's only just old enough to be parent to either of them, really. It's nothing to dwell on.] Do it, though, it'll be brilliant. Especially if it's first thing and you're just in your pants.
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still, there's a snort, and a small throaty noise that marks John pulling himself up to his feet to usher a grumpy cat inside with his foot and shut the door behind her. ] Hi, nice to meet you. Hope you enjoy that permanent mental scarring. Did you want tea? I'm just brewing up.
[ fhumph, he's back down and seated. another sip from a reclaimed glass, the storyteller's voice discarded in favour of a question: ] You two doing alright over there?
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[Look, he owes her. And he knows Jem, she'd laugh about it once the trauma wears off, and she could use that. Which is why he pauses for a moment on the latter question, not defaulting to his usual fine, or throw-away disclaimer.]
Her demon boyfriend went back to his demon home. So she's a bit fucked. Then again, apparently she's eloping there with him, eventually, but her debt's taking longer to pay.
[He takes a moment to think if that answer's John's question.]
And we're out of crunchy nut. Otherwise, scraping through.
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he doesn't know her, but he knows that.
a second or two, and then: ]
Plain or clusters?
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[At last, a serious conversation. Freddie idly attempts moving in the moments that follow, but the height seems dizzier now than when he'd come up here pre-wine, and swaying on his knees isn't a good sign for what might happen on his feet.
He can sleep here, it's fine.]
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[ but he thinks there's some shuffling, John's not deaf, and he falls quiet to listen just as the shuffling stops. a beat, and: ] Are you stuck.
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[Don't be stupid, John. He's actually offended by the insinuation. Haven't you met him: lithe as a mountain goat and twice as horny. He could get off the roof if he wanted, but he doesn't so he'll just lay back down and
clatter-atter-atter-shatter-smash.]
...Well I wasn't when you asked.
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oh my gggggod
John sweeping his hand down his face can be easily heard ]
Are you in danger of falling.
[ it's a flat tone both out of vaguely amused exasperation and the knowledge that the answer will be some form of denial while the reality is probably yes and these are the last moments of peace he'll have before he gets up in search of keys ready to speed off into the night ]
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[He may or may not have put a leg through the roof, he couldn't possibly comment. There's no panic in his voice, at least. Mild pragmatism.]
It isn't far.
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Is Jem in?
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[He's fine he can just work this hole a little bigger and fall through.]
It's fine. It's like I just installed a new shower.
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Have you made a hole in your roof? [ another..... sigh..... ] At least you don't need to worry about the deposit.
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[A sudden stop. A pause long enough to swallow a word.]
Things. Could use brightening up. Actually, Jem's probably on her way back by now, it's fine.
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Whatever you've got secreted away in the attic, I can ignore it. Or if you really don't want me there I can get in contact with Jem. I'm not leaving you in a roof.
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[He'll just detach his leg from the hole. Or possibly just detach his leg. One of these options is bound to work. Meanwhile, enjoy the sounds of tile confetti.]
And there are no secretions in my attic. You've seen it. It's too cold for that.
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[ he knows he's on a roof, John. if he didn't before, you've mentioned the roof about nine times. he knows. ]
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[A moment while he grumpily reaches for the wine and more grumpily realises there's none left in the bottle.]
I have to stay still, don't I. I've only got one leg. [Obviously. he slowly watches the wine bottle roll away down the roof until the motion makes him dizzy. Dizzier.] I suppose you've dealt with loads of them - amputees.
[This situation may sound more dramatic than it is.]
Still, my face and my cock are both fine.
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