xp_logs | Rictor & Sharon, backdated to July 29

xp_rictor posting in

Rictor and Sharon are both struggling through their recent woes, but find some comfort with each other.

Everything was awful. Rictor had thought himself a strong, grounded, unflappable young man, but the Slender Men had proved him deadly wrong. Combine that with over a year now of no progress at all with magic despite Amanda seemingly trying every trick she knew, and Rictor was reaching a breaking point. Now, the only things keeping him going were the rainforest in his suite and the greenhouse he and Clea had put together.

So the latter was where he was spending much of his free time now. Armed with his lunch (simple chicken, rice, and beans) and his planner detailing his daily duties, he set about checking that the irrigation system had watered everything properly.

Something in a bush rumbled, followed an instant later by a familiar purple face emerging from beneath the foliage.

Sharon liked the greenhouse. It was warm and relatively low-traffic, and its variety of natural scents and textures made for a welcome respite when she was feeling overstimulated. She hadn't been pleased to hear someone else come in, but her fur settled once she saw it was Rictor. Rictor was permitted. This was his space. Besides, he was one of her pride, and right now they were some of the few presences tolerable to her.

Rictor started at the sound, instinctively lifting one bare foot so he could slam it down and shake out the interloper. But his hackles fell as he and Sharon simultaneously recognized each other. All this uneasiness had him so off that he had not even recognized the footsteps of one of the people he spent the most time with. "Sorry, Sharon, I was not expecting anyone else here. Were you looking for me?"

The great cat shook her head. She slunk from beneath the bush and padded to a more visible spot for him, though still some distance away. It was a courtesy she gave to few, but some people preferred to see who they were talking to. She gave her tail a small flick of acknowledgement and settled down again, watching.

He returned her gesture with a nod of his head and returned to his plants. "I'm sorry I haven't come to see you or Liam in a while, I . . . have been busy," he said as he gently tapped the soil in each pot, assessing the general health and hydration of each and mentally translating those data to an estimate of the plant's health. The sage was doing just fine, so were the varieties of orchids. The marigolds were looking a little dark, and he sensed a deficiency in the soil.

"Fósforo," he muttered, searching for a bag of fertilizer to replenish the flower's nutrients. He then wiped his hands on his legs and jotted down a note in his planner.

An ear twitched. Wordlessly, the great cat disappeared towards the far end of the greenhouse and returned a few moments later dragging a bag of phosphate fertilizer. She set it at Rictor's feet, then worked her jaw and tongue in a manner that suggested that, despite evidence to the contrary, there did exist some things Sharon didn't enjoy having in her mouth.

That little expression elicited a snicker from Rictor, maybe the first real laugh he'd had in days. "Thank you, but save your tongue. This is not Sharon food." He tore open the bag and scooped up a small handful of the fertilizer that he dumped into a watering can, which he then filled from the tap. "You can have some of my chicken, though, if you're hungry. I was lazy and did not season it with anything that should make you sick. Can you eat pimentón?"

Sharon gave a final sneeze before turning her attention towards his tray. She raised her nose in a delicate sniff, then shook her head. Capsaicin, the gesture said, was not a friend to her, which may have been one reason why Rictor's food disappeared far less than some others'. Instead the great cat redirected her attention to washing her face -- always a slightly unsettling habit in hybrid form, where her hands and arms were nearly human. Now, though, the affectation served as another reminder. Every time one hand came up to rub her face she flashed the healing wounds on her forearms.

Rictor looked over his shoulder to check if he was going to have a little less meal, but his amusement died when he saw her injuries, and the dread and despair he'd been able to ignore for two minutes came rushing back. He'd heard about her and Liam's ordeal through the grapevine, but had been too wrapped in his own angst to check on them. Shameful behavior on his part, he had to admit.

"How, uh, how are you feeling?" he asked hesitantly. "Does that hurt? Oh, is that why you are using this shape now?"

The cat dropped her arms and nodded in what was perhaps an intentionally non-specific reply. She rumbled in the back of her throat and flicked her tail in his direction. The motion had the flow of a conversational riposte: Enough about me, what about you?

"Me? I'm fine." Though he could not look her in the eye as he said that, instead returning to watering the thirsty plants. "Our last group adventure was weeks ago."

An ear flicked. Sharon gave another rumble, this one dubious.

"Stop. Scary ghosts scared me, but Amanda, Topaz, and Clea killed them all with their magic." His lips twitched when he said that, and he balled his fists to keep himself from mimicking the witches' hand motions when they practiced their art. "I do not need to talk about it."

The cat regarded him for a moment, unblinking, and paced forward. Lightly, very lightly, she brushed her uninjured cheek against one balled fist, then sat. Waiting.

He quickly picked up what she put down, and unclenched his fist so he could gently scratch her. He couldn't help but smile. And then the words poured out despite himself. "Gracias. It's . . . they showed me these times where I could have helped people in danger but I was too much a coward. So they all died because of me. Why couldn't I do anything? Why did I let it all happen?"

Sharon's body went a little stiller under his hand. She hadn't spoken about what had happened to herself and Liam to anyone. It wasn't unreasonable to suspect Rictor's words had struck a chord.

Instead of words a purr rose in her throat. She pressed harder against him, allowing the deep thrum to reverberate through his hand, his wrist, his arm.

His hand on her matched the vibrations exactly, a gentle pulsing from his heart, down his arm, through his fingers now buried in her coarse fur, and back to her. A different kind of trembling feedback loop than what he and Shatterstar shared, though this was calming, soothing, the tension slowly melting off.

"I have to do better," he insisted.

A rumble of agreement met, then mingled, with his vibrations. A closed-circuit of comfort without judgement or recrimination.

They stayed like that for a few moments before Sharon pulled away. Still wordless, she pressed her nose to Rictor's hand one last time and slunk off into the bushes. From the set of her shoulders it was possible she felt Rictor wasn't the only one in the greenhouse who should have done better, but she would never tell. Cats kept their own counsel.