(no subject)

[holdingacat]

(OOM canon: In which a strange new ad campaign appears in town, but don't worry, the dog is okay)

(OOM: In which Cecil has an opportunity to enact a plan)

Cecil enters, looking worn and weary. When he slumps at the bar, Bar presents him with a mug of coffee, just the way he likes it.

Cecil ignores it for the moment (though the gesture is appreciated), instead, lowering his head to gently bash it against the polished wood. Over and over, because... How. Is. He. So. Bad. At. This??




(OOC: Replies may be slow, but I've missed Cecil, so. :) Have a too-sappy-for-his-own-good radio host)

Comments

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Self-harm isn't something Sahaal's particularly used to seeing around Milliways. But there's an exception to everything.

The Night Lord moves down the bar to the strangely dressed man, a questioning look on his face.

"Are you alright?"

[holdingacat]

"I. Am. An. Idiot." Cecil replies, emphasizing the words with a few more thumps for good measure. Finally he sits up (or slouches up, posture is for people that aren't him today), a picture of woeful radio host. "Other people can ask for dates just fine. Me? I can't even get him to admit he knows what the weekend is."

Context is also, evidently, not a thing happening today.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

No. No. Astartes aren't made for this. Demigods of war aren't made for this. And Sahaal's rather lacking in social skills anyway, so he has no idea what to do.

The relationship terms go right over his head. Of course.

So he does the only thing he knows to do.

"Would you... like a drink?"

[holdingacat]

Cecil sighs, and reaches out to draw the mug of coffee Bar provided closer.

"Tempting, but I don't want to risk re-education if I forget the latest forbidden knowledge edict from City Council. Thank you, though."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Fair enough."

Re-education, he's pretty sure, means the same thing in the 42nd Millennium as most other universes. Same with forbidden knowledge.

"What makes you fear a city council so much?"

[holdingacat]

Cecil blinks owlishly, sipping his coffee in an effort to aid comprehension.

"I'm sorry, I must have banged my head harder than I thought. Fear? I.. don't?" Much, anyway, but everyone should be a little fearful of their government officials.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal cocks his head to one side, an interested look behind his goggles.

"No, you definitely fear them. I'm an expert in terror tactics, I know what scared mortals look like. And you didn't hit yourself that hard."

[darkeryetdarker]

The bang startles Gaster, and he glances in the direction of the sound.

He floats over to the bar, concerned.

[Cecil?] He types out. [Are you alright?]

[holdingacat]

"Ugh." Cecil says, his face mashed against the wood. Maybe he can just stay here, like this, forever, and stop proving he is horrible at everything to do with Carlos. Buuuuut... then he won't be able to read what Dr. Gaster wrote, and that's rude.

Reluctantly he slouches up.

"Hi, Dr. Gaster. I'm... an idiot." Thump, goes his head on the wood.

[darkeryetdarker]

[Did something happen?]

He's guessing it involves that scientist Cecil was clearly infatuated with, but he won't jump to conclusions.

[holdingacat]

"Carlos came to the station today. And called, later! And... neither of those times were for personal reasons. Not even a hint of personal reasons." Cecil sighs, morosely.

[darkeryetdarker]

Bingo.

[That doesn't mean that he doesn't like you. ] Although Gaster is probably not the best person to be giving relationship advice.

[Why did he come in?]

[holdingacat]

"He said he was worried about us, and wanted anyone who had seen lights or heard strange sounds by Radon Canyon to call the lab. Obviously, me announcing that request on the air would be the fastest way to spread the news." Cecil replies, matter-of-fact about the efficacy of his radio show.

[curlytop]

Have a towering mountain of a Scot peering over your shoulder, Cecil.

"Are you okay, mate? I'm afraid you might spill your coffee, not to mention your brains."

[holdingacat]

Cecil considers this, his face mashed against the wood. The risk to his coffee is a compelling argument.

"Ugh." He says, emphatically, and slouches up a bit, refusing to have anything to do with something so energy-expending as posture. "For the coffee then. Because my brains are stupid, and entirely useless."

[curlytop]

"For the coffee," George agrees. "Though I'm pretty sure repeated trauma is not a way to get your brains to be more useful."

He gets it, though. Brains are rough.

[holdingacat]

"It's worth a try." Cecil grumbles, not willing to give such a treacherous thing a pass here. "Works on soundboards."

[curlytop]

George opens his mouth to argue, but...that actually seems like fairly sound logic to him. "Even so. You'll end up with a nasty headache."

[holdingacat]

"Ugh." Cecil repeats, because honestly, that just seems deeply unfair. "So, settling in alright?" Look, his life is an utter disaster of a not-at-all romantic comedy, but he can have hope that other people are managing alright.

Also, sudden subject change says what?

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric silently fetches a cushion from the sofa and waits till the right gap between bangs to slip the cushion under Cecil's head.

[holdingacat]

Thump.

Thump.

Squish.

...

Cecil, startled, sits up a bit to investigate this sudden texture change.

Oh. Oh.

"Hi, Sinric." His attempt at casual nonchalance works about as well as it did earlier today, failing in the face of a dull blush.

[thewidewideworld]

"Hello, my friend." Sinric answers with a soft and kind smile. "Would it help to talk?"

[holdingacat]

"... I don't know. I think my brains are permanently defective." Cecil sighs, thumping his head down once more for good measure, even if it goes squish thanks to the cushion instead. "Carlos came to the station today." He explains, slightly muffled by fabric.

[thewidewideworld]

"Oh." Sinric rests a gentle hand between Cecil's shoulder blades. "I take it things did not go well?"

[holdingacat]

Cecil considers this for a long moment, because if nothing else, he's truthful. He sighs, slumping.

"It wasn't... bad? But... he didn't come for personal reasons. But he said he was worried, about me!" He'd been so happy, that'd been the sweetest thing ever. "Except when he said 'I'm worried about you' he meant 'you' as in 'All of Night Vale' and that changes the meaning. A bit. Ugh."