sing it with me one more time: i am feeling fine [closed]

[ceciiil]

True to his texted word, inasmuch as any of his texting had contained actual words, Cecil determines to visit the TARDIS. Instincts are telling him that despite her words, a distraction in the form of a social call might prove useful. Plus, he really does owe her. What better way to show gratitude?

It's a matter of a few minutes to find out the address of the nearest butcher's shop that carries what he's looking for, and a matter of quite a few more to visit it. Of course he's told that the best they can manage on short notice is a pint, frozen, but Cecil supposes that's urban life for you. There's probably a delivery service cornering the market. Maybe he should try Amazon next time?

The little bucket of blood is still icy when he arrives at the TARDIS, even with the detour for roast beef sandwiches. He sets his burden down and considers how best to go about this; surprisingly, he's never attempted to ward anything outright trans-dimensional before. Do you just start with the outside? Are the outside and the inside considered the same, from a ritualistic standpoint? He shrugs and sets to smearing blood on the lintel, scooping around the frozen chunks.

Comments

[theoldgirl]

The TARDIS is still very much opposed to visitors. Finding out that Topher had survived Gabriel's revenge was a relief, of course, but it hadn't exactly made her feel better. Rather the opposite; seeing the angel's cruelty for herself had only devastated her more, made her question the wisdom in trusting others with her love and affection at all, when it was possible for her to misjudge someone so badly. The only one she is truly safe with and who really deserves her love is the Doctor, after all.

And no one else can replace what she's lost, so she has no interest in anyone else's company, either. Especially not when they're being as overbearing as Cecil, climbing through the Ramble towards her with his sandwiches and... is that pig's blood? She's slightly confused but remains stoically silent while he considers who knows what, until he starts marring her with the blood, at which point she becomes silently irritated. It doesn't matter if it's mud, paint, graffiti or, apparently, blood, she has certain standards regarding her exterior and this definitely won't do. The constant low hum she emits now intensifies angrily, and she turns up the temperature of the wood for good measure to make her displeasure known.

[ceciiil]

Well so much for the outer wards being a surprise. The humming and warmth are clearly a protest, and he tries to make his motions more soothing as well as more hurried. Maybe you weren't supposed to work from the outside in after all, maybe it's like mopping, that way. Probably she just doesn't like the cold.

"I know, I know! Frozen was all they had. C'mon, don't be such a baby, it only has to set til the new moon."

[theoldgirl]

Oh the nerve of him. Bristling at his words, the displeased thrumming sound increases even more sharply. She'd hoped her display would be enough to make him cease his weird and inappropriate painting, but clearly more drastic measures are in order. Without warning and with rather a lot of force, the doors he's standing in front of swing open, intent on hitting him in the face pushing him away. With any luck, she'll make him spill the blood too.

[ceciiil]

Wow, touchy much? Well, maybe his commentary was a little over the line; he doesn't know her that well, after all. He stumbles back from the sudden door onslaught, looking more than a little hurt. "I'm just trying to help, wards are important. What, do you want angels to get in?" That's a joke, it's hilarious because angels aren't real. The unspeakable truth being, of course, that he doesn't want librarians to get out. But she's clearly in a mood, so he'd prefer to keep things light.

[theoldgirl]

At the mention of angels, her doors snap shut as though he startled her. Then the angry humming resumes, with the front windows darkening in a distinctly glowery sort of way. That was the opposite of lightening the mood, well done. As though she needed the painful reminder of how enjoyable angel visits used to be, and how dangerous they would be now.

Though, now she's remembering that Gabriel mentioned something about wards once, when he couldn't transport that candy inside. Is it possible that Cecil has some actually useful knowledge? It's been over a week since their fight and Gabriel has left her and the Doctor alone so far, but she can't be sure it'll stay that way, as much as she hates having to even consider it.

After a minute of more threatening humming, the doors open again, but this time slowly enough for Cecil to get out of the way. Inside, just on the threshold, the TARDIS stands with her arms crossed, glowering at him as sternly as the windows had. "Nothing can get in," she corrects him impatiently. She'd already told him that when he came to her about that street cleaning fuss. But that's not why she's finally deigned to put on her body. "What do you know about angels?"

[ceciiil]

Good thing Cecil is quite used to structures that hum and glower ominously. That wasn't at all the thing he had expected her to ask about, though, and he looks confused a moment while his mind catches up. Perhaps the TARDIS is even worse off than he thought. "...Angels? Only what I am privileged to know as a citizen who is not on the city council, which is to say, nothing. Angels don't exist, and any angel who says otherwise is lying. If not about that, then about something, for sure. There's also all the stuff I learned in Intro to Transmigration, back before they cracked down on that kind of thing. Why?"

[theoldgirl]

She's in no mood for his odd and contradictory way of talking, and her frown deepens at his explanation. The fact that this conversation is necessary galls her enough without him making it even more difficult. Though he's right about the lying, and her mouth presses into a firm line to hide a more obvious expression of dismay.

"What did you learn there?" she asks, completely disregarding his question. The faster she can figure out if he has any useful information, the sooner she can stop thinking about the whole thing altogether. Not that she's been doing a terribly good job of that, with nothing here to distract her.

[ceciiil]

"Well, the usual stuff..." He hesitates, looking a bit sheepish. "I didn't really pay as much attention as I should have. But I think I got the basics down pretty good, for most transmigrational soulicules. Identification and taxonomy, signs and sigils, diet and habitat, y'know." Why is she so interested in this? He swings from embarrassed back to regular old confused. "Why?"

[theoldgirl]

Most of those things don't really sound relevant, she notes with a strange mix of disappointment and relief. Except maybe the signs and sigils, which could potentially be linked to the way names and words have power in Gabriel's universe. But that raises the question of whether any of this would even apply to an angel from a different universe, and such uncertain information is practically useless to her if she needs to rely on it for protection.

She sighs in frustration and lowers her gaze, more affected by trying to plan for a possible fight with Gabriel than she wants to admit. "I might... find myself in need of assistance, at some point in the future," she replies morosely.

[ceciiil]

Ah, he should have known. Time travel and transdimensional existence can draw the attention of all kinds of metaphysical pests. It's really just an occupational hazard, though at least she's not a pasty intellectual guy from the New England area; those always seem to draw the worst kinds of attention. Still, she's noticeable enough, which is precisely why he's here, offering his help with the warding.

"Already got you covered," he replies, brandishing the bucket of blood in a way that hopefully inspires confidence. "But what in particular makes you think you'll need help? Are you in trouble?" Look, he knows how it is. He got a bit overzealous surfing wikipedia one night, and do you know how unnerving it is to have one's apartment infested with shadow-children? Solid weeks of creeping horror, that you brought on yourself and don't want to ask for help dealing with. "I'm willing to do whatever I can, but it helps to know the specifics."

[theoldgirl]

Almost despite herself, she has to appreciate his genuine concern and his eagerness to help. It's an unexpected kindness, and if he knows anything about angels, he's probably aware of how powerful they are and that trying to oppose one might be dangerous.

But she still doesn't appreciate being smeared on with blood, eyeing the bucket in a way that hopefully conveys her distaste. And it certainly doesn't mean she's any more willing to talk about what happened now than she was before. "I'd like to believe there will not be trouble," she admits, reluctance tinged with sadness. "But I suppose I need to be prepared regardless. I'm not sure how much help you could be, though, given that the angel in question isn't from your universe, nor mine. Your rules may not apply to him."

She sighs again, feeling wretched with uncertainty and the idea of having to treat Gabriel as an enemy. Then she latches onto one thing she can say for certain, and adds sharply, "However, I do know he can't get inside without my consent, so I expect you to clean this mess off of me before you leave."

[ceciiil]

"Well, angels aren't really from universes, I don't think. That's the whole point of warding against interdimensional beings, the wards have to be able to account for that. But if you say they can't get in, I'll just have to believe you." He's almost pouting by this point. His painting was going so well, it would be such a shame to have to undo it now. And angels hadn't really been what he'd been worried about in the first place. Perhaps they can work through her specific angel related problems and then move on from there to why general purpose warding is a good idea. Can't be any harder than teaching a tarantula to read, right? "Why don't we talk about this over sandwiches? I can clean it off before I go if you still feel that way. ...Is there somewhere I can wash my hands?"

[theoldgirl]

Actually she's quite certain that Gabriel is a creature specific to his universe, since she's never encountered anything like him anywhere before, and she is dubious, if not disdainful of the notion that wards could affect her as an interdimensional being. But still, as long as there's a chance that Cecil's knowledge could apply to Gabriel, she can't dismiss it entirely or refuse his offer of help.

She considers this for a long tense moment before she replies, just as tersely as before. "I will continue to feel this way. And I'm not hungry." Despite all that, she grudgingly steps aside and gestures to the first corridor out of the console room. "You will find a bathroom that way." She doesn't want him smearing blood on her inside anymore than her outside, after all. And there will be a conspicuous bucket filled with warm water and a rag conveniently placed by the sink.

[ceciiil]

A rag? What kind of barbarity is this, if he has to clean up blood he should at least be allowed a stiff bristled brush, maybe some 409. What a blood cleaning novice. That's okay though. Hopefully he won't have to clean it off in the first place. He pointedly ignores the bucket as he scrubs his hands clean. "Well I am," as he inspects for blood under his fingernails, just like his mother always fussed at him to do. "I worked up a real appetite looking for this blood. Do you eat, actually? I guess I didn't think about that. If that's not a thing you do, then that's fine, but otherwise, you'd really be missing out. I even got curly fries." He looks at the TARDIS expectantly. Isn't there a homely kitchen somewhere? Or like a really cool banquet hall? He remembers there had been some real oddities here last time. And he's not going to leave without providing some kind of assistance, now she's admitted to needing it, not to mention the librarian/warding issue which is really a public health concern.

[theoldgirl]

Although she hardly needs to physically follow Cecil around to keep an eye on him, she accompanies him to the bathroom anyway because she's not sure where he's going with this visit, now that she foiled his blood-related plans.

"I don't need to eat; I keep this body artificially sustained," she informs him, but then admits rather reluctantly, "But... I do like to." Food and drink have always helped a little to distract her from unpleasant things, after all. And with Cecil, getting this conversation over with quickly doesn't seem to be an option anyway. "I don't believe I have had curly fries yet." She still doesn't really like to look at his mind too closely, so his expectant thoughts are lost on her.

[ceciiil]

The answer surprises him--not the not needing to eat part, but who hasn't had curly fries? Well, expansive and incomprehensible creations of alien technology, apparently; that's not really that unreasonable, when you think about it. Still, what kind of life is that.

"Then you are in for a real treat. And in return, you can tell me how I can help with your warding needs. Where to?" Because this is going to be a legitimate, sit down, sandwich-eating planning session. Cecil is so psyched.

[theoldgirl]

If he's going to get sandwiches and fries everywhere, she'd better not take him back to the console room, so instead she turns around and leads the way to the closest kitchen. Which today happens to be a rather old-fashioned one, with wooden furniture, whimsically decorated pots, a vase with wilted flowers on the table and an arcane looking stove. There's a window over the sink which usually depicts a beautiful summer morning, but lately it's only shown an indistinct grey mist. The kitchen still has a fridge though; humanoids don't seem to be able to live without those.

On the way, she tries to give his suggestion some more thought, but she still can't get past the despair of having to think about Gabriel like this. "As I already said, I'm not certain how much you could help at all. Perhaps... is there a way to test your wards without the angel noticing?" The last thing she needs is to provoke Gabriel.

[ceciiil]

He hmms consideringly, as he follows his host to the kitchen. Cecil most certainly is not going to get sandwiches and fries anywhere they aren't supposed to be, because that's not how he does things. Sandwich-approved receptacles only. Like this fetchingly rustic table. He takes a seat and sets to taking foil-wrapped sandwiches and oil-stained paper cartons of fries out of the bag.

"That might be difficult. I think your best bet is a strong, general-purpose warding. That wouldn't be hard to test, even without any helpful angels to play guinea pig. But even if I were to set up something geared specifically towards angels, these hypothetical angels wouldn't notice, until they encountered the ward." He hesitates, finally concerned that he might be sticking his nose where it isn't wanted. "...You sound like you want to target a specific angel, though."

[theoldgirl]

She sits down across from him and eyes his elaborate food unwrapping while considering his answer. It doesn't really sound like he can do what she'd need - she isn't looking for some nebulous general warding, she needs the assurance that she would have reliable additional protection against Gabriel if necessary. And Cecil seems to have finally picked up on that part.

"I don't want to target him," she objects unhappily, gaze cast down at her folded hands. "I... we were very close. But now... I simply don't know what to expect of him." He'd said he didn't want them to be enemies, but how much can she really trust him anymore? He feels threatened so easily, and he was only civil to the Doctor for her sake, so what happens if he changes his mind? These thoughts alone are making her miserable, darkening the mist outside the window.

[ceciiil]

Ah. One of those. He'd been right to come, and doubly right to bring sandwiches. And blood. He only regrets that he hadn't brought milkshakes. "Yeah, breakups are the worst. Especially with your more...unpredictable beings." Not that an ex has to be an unpredictable supernatural entity to get drunk and smash your car windows. Night Vale might be a small and tight-knit community, but sometimes that just makes the drama more virulent. Cecil's hardly a stranger. He pushes food in her direction solicitously.

"Well, I don't really know you, and of course I don't know your non-existent angel. So I don't want to presume." That cat is preposterously out of the bag long ago, but Cecil is belatedly trying to avoid seeming meddlesome. "But if you were that close and then had a falling out, taking some precaution doesn't seem like a bad idea." He hesitates, trying to be a delicate as possible, "Do you have anything of his? That would make things a lot easier."

[theoldgirl]

She'd hardly use something as simple and mundane as a 'breakup' to refer to the end of her relationship with Gabriel, but she doesn't have the will to correct Cecil. And as he goes on, she finds herself a little comforted by how delicate and understanding he's trying to be, even if he was awfully pushy about the blood earlier. It's enough to make her pick up a single curly fry and give it a thoughtful bite while considering his suggestion.

Even now she's reluctant to give up anything Gabriel feels protective of. A part of her still doesn't want him to get hurt by her or anyone else, but she morosely reminds herself that he no longer deserves her protection. "He gave me a feather from his wings," she admits hesitantly, recalling that it had been a show of trust. "What would you do with it?"

[ceciiil]

Good, if she's accepting curly fries then she has to be on the emotional mend. "Just use it to tailor the warding to him specifically. But with a thaumaturgic link that strong that's pretty much a guarantee. I mean a feather is basically equivalent to hair or fingernails, when you think about it, so it's a step up from just a hoodie or whatever. And it's definitely a lot better than just having his name to work with. Especially in this case." It's funny, because, y'know, Erika. But now probably isn't the time for humour; what a social misstep that had almost been. "How're the fries?"

[theoldgirl]

It doesn't sound like Cecil would need to destroy the feather or intends to use it for anything else than what she's requesting, so that at least is a relief. She kind of doubts the existence of a 'thaumaturgic' link, but a genetic link would certainly make sense. And there's that name thing again, like she'd suspected, though her train of thought is momentarily derailed by his irrelevant question.

"Good, I suppose," she answers distractedly and with little conviction. She might enjoy the fries quite a bit, if thoughts of Gabriel weren't weighing so heavily on her. "What do you mean, in this case?"

[ceciiil]

Cecil greets her lackluster endorsement of curly fries with a moue of disappointment. Maybe not as on the emotional mend as he had hoped. Perhaps he should have sprung for milkshakes after all, but in the face of being told the grasshopper shake wasn't made with real grasshoppers, it hadn't felt worth it.

"Wellllll, you know." He isn't eager to answer her question, either. It's just kind of embarrassing? When you say something that's a little bit funny, but not funny enough to stand up to an explanation if someone doesn't get it the first time around. Awwwwkwaaaard. He's really having some trouble not being wrong-footed with this entity. "Angels. Not the best with individuality, right? Not that there's anything wrong with being called Erika. There were quite a few Erikas in my town." He feels fine saying that, even though the wards aren't finished. How quickly some habits fade.