(no subject)

[holdingacat]

(OOM: Contract negotiations are the worst.)

(OOM: Practice makes perfect... right?)

The front door slams open, propelled by the shoulder of a radio host. Thankfully, the rest of said radio host follows that shoulder in the anatomically correct order, the shrieks behind him ghostly, soul-freezing, and thankfully... ultimately blocked out by the rapidly closed door.

Cecil leans against the door, panting.

Comments

[starrydome]

A person in a booth hurries to his feet and is by Devil's side in five long strides.

"Are you hurt?"

His voice is calm and full-time and he sounds vaguely British (only not really).

He is tall and regal, wearing robes of fine cloth the colour of a forest at dusk.

His face is fair and ageless and his eyes are radiant with the light of stars.

(There's also an ink smudge on his right cheek.)

[holdingacat]

'Carlos?' Cecil unhelpfully thinks before he can set himself straight - this fellows hair is long and dark, but doesn't have that alluring curl or the dignifiedvdash of premature grey at the temples. The chin is all wrong too. It is just as well - Cecil doesn't want Carlos to be anywhere near this situation.

"Oh, um," Cecil stammers breathlessly, sagging against the door. "Not acutely, I don't think."

[starrydome]

"Good. And the door will hold no doubt," Elrond says and offers a hand.
"Come. Sit."

[holdingacat]

Cecil's grip is firm, and as steady as you can hope for after being chased through a radio station.

His breathing is still short, between the running and the hiding in terror and the Creeping Dread earlier in the day.

His movements are stiff and hesitant one he rises, as the adrenaline that helped him flee his recording booth fades away.

Moving. Ugh.

[starrydome]

Elrond is tall and strong and well versed in the art of supporting people who've been running from terror.

And the booth is only a small ways away.

[holdingacat]

Cecil sinks into the padded booth gratefully, happy to not have to limp along any further.

"Thank you, this is very kind." And infinitely better than ending up on the floor.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric looks up sharply, his eyes flashing gold at the unearthly sound. "Cecil?"

[holdingacat]

Cecil, sagging against the comforting solidity of the door, offers a decidedly giddy wave. Adrenaline transmutates into such ridiculous things.

"Hello, Sinric, lovely night..."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric holds out both hands, offering Cecil physical support and a wave of warmth and steadiness. The gold light is still in his eyes, rimming his irises. "Lovely indeed. And you're here now, where whatever that was can't reach you."

[holdingacat]

Cecil takes the offered support, his breath still short and his movements increasingly full of halting hesitation. Running was... well, it was a good idea. Not running would have lead to premature cancellation of his show, and most likely of his life.

But moving. Ugh.

"I certainly hope so. They need some time to... refocus on contract negotiations." And not on murdering radio hosts. That would be good.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric holds his hands, taking a slow step back into the bar and drawing Cecil with him. His magic is running hot and free tonight so he has plenty of calm to share with Cecil. "Come. Let me get you some tea."

[holdingacat]

"Tea... sounds good, thank you." Some of the trained smoothness leeches back into his voice as he limps, unresisting, wherever Sinric chooses to lead him.

[lionlike_tabby]

The woman in robes looks up from where she sits at a table by the door, reading an enormous and beautifully ancient book.

Professor McGonagall doesn't appear to have startled, but her wand is - very suddenly - in her hand.

She raises an interrogative eyebrow.

[holdingacat]

Either Cecil is very comfortable with the idea of suddenly armed witches in his vicinity, or he hasn't yet learned that wants can be a threat. Most likely the latter. He says a bit bonelessly against the door, trying to catch his breath.

Eventually he offers a wave when he realizes he is being stared at.
"Oh! Um. I'll be up in... Just a moment..." Ugh. Moving.

[lionlike_tabby]

[OOC: Is Cecil sitting on the ground? I was going to have her offer him a hand up.]

[holdingacat]

(Ooc: as near as makes no difference - he'd love a hand up. :) )

[lionlike_tabby]

[OOC: Ta! :)]

[lionlike_tabby]

She gives a sigh as she closes her book - but only a very small one, because only a fool would try to combine 'working at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' with 'hoping for a quiet life', and really the same applies to 'trying to read at Milliways'.

Still, in spite of... whatever that noise was, he doesn't seem to be an obvious threat, so she puts her wand away in her sleeve (still in the easiest possible place to reach) before getting to her feet.

"The floor is probably quite unsanitary," she says, and offers him a hand up before the next person in can trip over him.

[holdingacat]

"You're ... Not wrong." Cecil agrees, a bit breathlessly, resolutely not thinking about the state of the floor in the space under his recording booth desk. Carefully he accepts the offered hand, his grip firm and his movements hesitant.

"Thank you."

[lionlike_tabby]

"You're welcome," she says, hauling him to his feet with a care that belies her matter-of-factness.

"Are you all right? That all sounded rather dramatic."

It possibly goes without saying that she disapproves of needless dramatics*. On the other hand, Cecil didn't seem to be the one actually making that hideous noise, so she hasn't yet begun to disapprove of him specifically.

*Things shouted sworn threatened said at Quidditch matches don't count.

[quick_clean_pure]

What in the fuck?

Graverobber's sitting at the bar top, his head jerking up at the what-in-the-everliving-fuck sound that emanates from the door. Thankfully, it seems to be behind the door still, with an unfamiliar person leaning against it.

"Uh. You okay there?"

[holdingacat]

Cecil, slumped against the door, trying to catch his breath, lifts a hand to waggle it, equivocally.

"Eeeeeeeeeeh. Better than hoped?" He offers, rather pleased with his escape.

[quick_clean_pure]

"That's, uh....that's good," he says, blinking a couple times. "Anything to worry about with regards to all them wailing noises behind the door?"

[holdingacat]

"Well, there's always worry, isn't there - they could find their way in, or close the way back, or any number of options I haven't thought of yet... but really, what is the sense in worrying about the future, or the past, or anything other than what is right now?" Cecil meanders as he pulls his breathing back under control, slowly.

[quick_clean_pure]

"...I suppose," he says after a second before shrugging. "That's a very philosophical take on it for someone who just got away from -- whatever it was."