#c alistair

[kadavernagh]

@deathsplaything replied to your post “You can only keep one bone, what bone are you...”:

Come on, just one. It's the whole game.

​Bones are not a game. Bones are... they are everything... they hold your future in their marrow, sometimes.

[user is still in the sims. the human simulations are speaking to her. she doesn't know their language. some of them cry. user panics. user constructs walls around the crying sims to comfort them but cuts off their air supply.]

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Out and about PARTIES: Regan and Alistair SUMMARY: Brutus's howling impresses Regan; Alistair isn't so sure he wants to let her hire his guide dog.

“Damn these cicadas,” Alistair murmured to themselves as they walked Brutus down the street, their incessant screams enough to make anyone lose a bit of their hearing. At least it wasn’t night and they didn’t have a light on them to attract them. They’d heard horror stories of them crashing through glass, destroying things to get to the light. Deciding it was a hard pass on having the store or their apartment destroyed by a giant, disgusting-looking cicada, Alistair elected to keep the lights off. Not like they needed it anyway.

As the cicadas screeched, Brutus decided to take the opportunity to sit, stop, and begin howling the song of his people. “Oh, not right now!” Alistair grouched, trying to tug on the lead to get the dog back into his walk. But Brutus knew he wasn’t working and kept howling. “Dammit, Brutus.” The necromancer hissed as they stood there on the sidewalk, completely stranded and useless as the dog continued to howl.

“Maybe I should put one of the cicadas into your harness, maybe they’d be a better guide dog than you are right now,” Alistair spoke to the dog, making a face of annoyance as they continued to stand there, tapping their foot with their arms crossed over their chest, miffed. Man, they hated bugs. They were gross and crawled and… Gods, it was enough to make them have a full-body shudder. They shuffled to the left, knowing that if they were stranded, they shouldn’t take up the entirety of the sidewalk as they heard approaching footsteps. “Sorry, don’t mind us.” Alistair muttered, tugging on Brutus’s lead one last time, completely in vain. Brutus was lost to his howling.

__

Day by day, more cicadas flew into town, attracted to a beacon of light pollution shining them out of Maine’s woods. Jade hated them, of course. She was still unsure on the reason why, but it was hard for Regan not to feel increasingly self-conscious as the screadaíl nubs on her back branched out into an expanding network of veins and membranes. She had taken to wearing her necklace again, a topic that she and Jade seemed equally eager to dodge. Whenever she half-humored the thought of not, another cicada would fly by or scream, and Jade’s face would twist in fear and disgust. So Regan would continue to loathe her own wings, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the cicadas, especially when they sang so sweetly. She had been enjoying (was that what this was?) their screaming when a second voice howled along with the cicada. It was, Regan thought, an equally beautiful voice. 

She made a brisk approach, eager to see who was behind such sonic brilliance. Except all she saw was a black dog sitting stubbornly on the sidewalk, its owner trying to convince it to… what, walk? Regan was an expert on so many matters: pathology, death, humans, screaming, and – most relevant right now – inserting herself where she didn’t belong (she had plenty of practice, because she didn’t particularly belong anywhere).

“Cicadas should not be leashed.” At least not these ones. She didn’t think there were any collars or harnesses small enough to fit the more typical cicada species around here. “They should fly free. But other than that, no apology is necessary.” Regan admired the dog now that she was closer. It looked like an ordinary dog, but as its jowls flapped and it tilted its head back further to aroooo into the sky, Regan found herself admiring the simple creature. It was not a secret that she held no fondness for animals – not live ones. Other than the simple value of their lives, and her moral compass that resolved to do no harm, she gave them little regard. They were more interesting dead. But this dog might be different. It seemed like the canine equivalent of Katy Perry, if Katy Perry could sing. Was this what Jade heard when she listened to Spot If Eye? 

“I have to ask about your dog.” She caught the stranger’s gaze, but found that they did not catch hers back. Probably. The dark glasses offered an assumption of blindness. Regan cleared her throat, only momentarily surprised. “This is a remarkable animal you have. Where did it acquire such a talent? I would like to know the dog’s age, and how long you expect it to live. These cicadas will not make it to winter, you know…” Something like sorrow crept into Regan’s voice, but just barely, “and I will need a replacement. Is he available for hire?”

—

As soon as a voice cut through the incessant howling, Alistair let out an annoyed groan, throwing their head back and letting out a sigh. “No, he’s not for bloody hire, he’s a guide dog. For the blind. I’m blind.” When the woman didn’t comment further, Alistair shook their head. “Brutus here may be very talented with many things, the main one being the ability to eat his weight in food, but he ain’ fer bloody hire.” 

Brutus, for his part, kept howling. Either the noise of the cicadas was bothering him, or he, just like Regan, thought that the cicada’s noise was beautiful. Either way, something was seriously wrong here, and Alistair absolutely hated it. “Bugs don’t last long, especially not giant bugs like these.” Alistair shrugged a shoulder, clearly unbothered by the lifespan of the bugs. “I don’t plan to actually use it as a guide, I’m just trying to get Brutus to move. I’m kind of stranded here until he’s back in working order again.” 

Alistair began to tap their foot impatiently, tugging on the lead attached to Brutus’s harness to no avail. “Please, Brutus. I’m tired. Tommy is waiting at home, and I don’t like leaving him alone longer than he has to be.” Alistair tapped their foot, knowing that Brutus wasn’t going to budge any time soon. Alistair was well and truly stuck there. They turned their head in the direction of the woman, frowning. “Guessing you don’t have any tricks to get a dog to stop howling, do you?”

__

“Your guide dog, functioning as your eyes. Hm. I understand.” Regan considered this new information, and decided that it was not incompatible with what she was requesting. “I will not purchase your dog, then. But I would still like to hire him. I suppose you can also come. You can think it over – is that acceptable?” He probably needed the dog, considering. And who would choose to part with such a fine canine specimen anyway? “You would be compensated, of course. I only wish to hear your dog sing like this every once in a while.” More interesting than this person’s blindness was their accent. Scottish. Easy to identify, even if it had been smoothed out through years of living overseas. 

Couldn’t all dogs move on their own? Regan wasn’t sure what use a guide dog would be if it suddenly stopped moving. Maybe she should have pushed more to just buy the animal. She didn’t want to get too close to the dog, but she circled halfway around it, looking for any overt problems. She didn’t know a lot about live dogs, but she knew a medical concern when she saw one. Nothing visible. Just a block of a dog with its nose pointed to the sky. “It looks to me as though your dog is admiring the sound of the bugs. That makes your animal more sensible than most humans. They speak like you. Derisive at worst, and ignoring them at best.” As if on cue, another cicada joined the chorus. Maybe it was responding to the dog’s howling, thinking it was one of them.

Whatever the case, it was obvious this person was in a hurry, needing to get back to someone named Tommy; she had a suspicion of who that was based on context clues. “Tommy? Is that a child?” It sounded that way. That was unfortunate. Regan wouldn’t get in the way of a parent from returning to their helpless child. In fact, she was inclined to help. She wasn’t going to send the dog running with a scream, and it did seem content here just singing its lungs out. “I could howl, too, but I don’t think anyone would like that. You said your dog enjoys food. Is that more enjoyable than howling? I’m still a little unclear on what constitutes enjoyment.” Regan reached into her bag, past the nitrile gloves and chipmunk skull, until she found the small package of peanut butter crackers. She had purchased them as a reward for someone (every once in a while, a human exceeded her expectations), but she could always buy more. Regan offered them then realized this person couldn’t see that. “I have peanut butter crackers here. Do you think they would get him moving? I could even pay his wages in them after each future performance.” Because she was not dropping that.

—

“You want to… hire… my dog,” Alistair repeated slowly, trying to understand what this woman was asking of them. “My dog.” They pointed over to Brutus, who was still singing the song of his people with the cicadas. What a ridiculous concept, right? They weren’t even thinking about taking her up on this offer, but Brutus, well… Brutus loved people. Brutus would drop everything if it meant meeting a new person and sharing a connection (treats) with them.

“Oh, I know he’s admiring the sound of bugs. He loves anything that’ll make him sing like this.” Alistair rolled their eyes, seemingly annoyed that they were stuck in place for the foreseeable future with a stranger who wanted to hire their dog so she could hear him sing. What? The cicadas were joining in, and it was enough to drive Alistair up a wall. “I’m really not a fan of bugs. I’m glad I can’t see them, bug eyes, they freak me out.” They suppressed a shudder. Brutus paused his howling to listen to the cicadas for a few seconds, then started up again. He was truly in his element.

“Tommy, yes. He’s my son.” Alistair explained, deciding not to get into the intricacies in which Tommy wasn’t their son. “Not that Tommy minds a little alone time now and again, but I still get nervous.” Especially when Tommy was still grieving his mother. Then, the woman was pulling something out of her bag. As soon as they were presented in front of Brutus, the dog stopped howling and sniffed the air. “Oh, I think that’ll do perfectly,” Alistair spoke, holding out their hand for the stranger to deposit the crackers. “I appreciate your assistance in this matter, so I suppose that you could hire him in peanut butter on occasion.” Alistair relented as the crackers were put into their hand. “Brutus will definitely work for treats.” Alistair opened up the package and pulled out a peanut butter cracker, to which Brutus immediately stood up, tail wagging a mile a minute as he waited for his snack. “Why do you want to listen to my dog howl, anyway?” Alistair asked, brows furrowing.

__

“Yes.” So they had an appreciation for clarity. Regan could accommodate that– no, she could thrive with it. “Your dog. I wa– would like to hire your dog to sing. Is he only available for specific events, or all occasions?” There. That could not be more clear. Why was it that even when she spoke as straightforward as possible, she was still met with looks and glares like Regan had two heads, or a third leg. In fact, when Regan had moved here, she often found herself checking that her necklace was working, and the gawking wasn’t wing-related. No. They just couldn’t wrap their head around what she was saying.

Apparently the cicadas were not so unique. This dog had a knack for sharing its vocal talents with the world. “What about sirens? Fire alarms? Does he react similarly?” If so, she and this animal might have something in common – a kinship with some of the finest sonic experiences the world had to offer. There was another fragment of information in what they said: once, they could see, and well enough to observe and fear the eyes of insects. Regan tilted her head, curious, but that was a question for when this person wasn’t in a hurry to get back to their son. “Bug eyes aren’t so bad. Their wings vex me.” She had no phobia like Jade, but she couldn’t imagine anyone else’s thoughts were as complicated as her own when looking at a cicada wing. Were they beautiful? Awful? Would she tolerate slander? Would she champion them? Did they remind her of what she lost, or of what she was regaining? If she traced the branches down the tree of life, would she find herself related to them? Regan had sunk into silence for too long without realizing it (at least the cicadas and the dog prevented it from being a true silence). “Yes, vex me. Anyway, consider putting your dog on TV, too. And radio. He has more talent than most of what they play on there. Good road trip music.”

Regan’s face lifted at what they said: she could hire the dog. Oh, this was spectacular. Even when the cicadas were gone, she would have something to fill the… wherever she will be living… that place, with a lovely sound. Jade would like it too. Perhaps not the howling, but the dog. Speaking of… at least Regan didn’t need to feed the crackers to the dog herself; she wasn’t sure if she could ever feed an animal out of her hand. Even if her lungs weren’t stirred into a panic at what could happen, seeing the scars on her hands would remind her that animals once served much the same purpose, and she had no business attempting to right that wrong.

This person really didn’t appreciate the talent of their own animal. But Regan would be nice; she was getting what she wanted, after all. That was compromise (which she was skilled at, famously). “Then there will be treats. Tell me what your dog favors and I will get it. As for why I request him… he is telling the world, ‘here I am, admire my voice’. He has no shame, and we bend our will to him– you were forced to stop, and I supplied food. He is loud, confident, and in control. I suppose I admire that.” Regan turned to the dog one last time. He had his head raised high and the sun put a dot of light on his wet nose. Her mouth curved into what most would call a blank expression, but to her, it was a smile. She was glad for the blindness of the dog’s owner.

“Where can I find you and your dog when the time comes?”

—

This woman was weird, Alistair finally decided with a little nod of their head, cementing their opinion into fact in their mind. She wanted to hire their dog to sing. Their familiar. Who was howling with the cicadas and refusing to move, She wanted that. “Well, who am I to stop someone from having a good time, right Brutus?” Brutus was busy eating his peanut butter cracker to notice that he was being solicited for more howling. “Oh, if it’s loud and droning, he will howl along, rest assured,” Alistair replied with a nod of their head. 

“Luckily I can’t see the bugs, so I’m better off. But oh can I hear them,” Alistair bemoaned, throwing their head back dramatically. “I will not be putting my dog out on media, he’s better than that. Plus, he wouldn’t be yours to listen to exclusively that way.” Alistair rolled their eyes, realizing how ridiculous the entire situation was. 

“He likes anything edible and safe for dogs,” Alistair replied when she asked what he liked. “You’re safest with peanut butter, however. He goes nuts for the stuff.” They decided on, pulling out another cracker and handing it to Brutus, who was snuffling at his hand for more before they pulled another one out. 

“I own the Sugar Pot in Oldtown,” They spoke with a sigh, knowing that they could at least do something that made someone else happy, something that wasn’t bringing a loved one back from the dead or healing a stab wound at the expense of someone else. They couldn’t do it as easily as they could before, the Good Neighbors were gone. “The name’s Alistair.” They added, nodding their head once. “And you, who are you?” 

__

Regan had really needed a W. A wrist. Like Jade always said. Though she would have taken the L, too; she was fond of the larynx. Happily, this was a W. When the cicadas were gone, there would still be the singing dog. And more than that, she was sure Jade would be entertained; she might even be able to use this in lieu of a recorder or vuvuzela for Elias’s welcome back. She may not have had any fondness for dogs, but this one was a special case, a true talent among canines.

“Peanut butter. I see.” She made a mental note, watching the dog lick its owner’s hand. Unhygienic. “Is that the tea shop? Then I’ll visit your store when I’m ready to hire your dog. I can’t say I’m likely to buy tea, though.” Familiarity struck her, an online conversation recalled. Who are you? Every time someone asked that, Regan berated herself for finding it difficult to answer. It shouldn’t have been. If she had been less of a failure – as a banshee, or as a human – she would have an easy answer to deliver. But of course, most people didn’t mean it literally, did they? 

“I’m Regan. I don’t own a store, but I do work in one.” She tensed her lip between her teeth, no longer fully comfortable with tethering Apple to her emerging identity. Instead, something else formed in her mouth, and considering how rarely she shared anything about herself, she couldn’t quite explain why other than desperation that had pooled somewhere in the furrows of her brain. “I used to be a Medical Examiner, a doctor. Life isn’t as linear as death, is it? It twists and turns like intestines while the dead rest.” 

The dog was quiet now, and while Regan was not going to shake Alistair’s hand, she would give them something else. “My condolences. I remember your post. We may hear a howl, but perhaps your dog is keening.” Just as the quiet began to grate on her, a cicada stirred again, its song thrumming down the entire street. “Maybe they are, too, hm?” And maybe Alistair would find some newfound appreciation (or peace) in the cicadas and the talents of their companion if they thought of things that way. 

Even if not, Regan planned on listening for hours.

[ariadnewhitlock]

[pm] What do you mean I accidentally ordered 300 boxes of earl grey??? I said THREE.

[pm] Hi sir! I don't order tea for you!

I am sorry if I did that though!!

Maybe you can have a special on London Fogs?