#deepbluececil. Cecil

[townofcadence]

A bunch of others' OCs as Chibis!! I used bases by Cosmind! Thank you all for being here, you guys are amazing and i'm so grateful to interact with you!! And thank you for liking or reply to the post to get one lol.

If you like yours and want a bigger version just hit me up! i have them all with white borders and bigger sizes like stickers in my art program :3

[townofcadence]

"Mmhm." He makes a noise of agreement. "Guess most collectors with the money to get what they want have the money for a middleman." He shrugs. "At least it seems to do well by people like you who have what they want, probably." It was kind of weird to think about his role as just. Guy who collects things and brings them to people. It sounded so mundane. Like he was a food delivery guy almost.

Artair brushes back his hair. "Ideally, as soon as possible." He wasn't safe here if anything else decided he was on the menu. And chances of that seemed high nowadays. Maybe he was just... reaching a level of fucked up, even his charm was having trouble hiding him. It wouldn't shock him.

He shook his head to focus. "I can contact them? See what they want to do? If you can wait. I can't afford to pay for the item itself right now, let alone a fee, but I'm sure the guy who wants it wouldn't mind negotiating something. I just knows he wants it as soon as possible."

At first Cecil-- blinks, when Artair says that he doesn't want it. His first thought is reverse psychology, but after hearing the other out he nods. "Ooh I get it-- paid to do a collector's dirty work. Isn't that just the way?" He laughs. "A lot of my regulars are collectors, actually-- between you and me, there's a lot of overlap between the ones who want to collect and the ones who don't want to do the dirty work to get the items themselves. But I'm sure I don't need to tell you that; you're here and not them, after all."

But now comes the issue of what to do about all this. The fact that the guy before him wasn't the one who wanted it... admittedly complicated things. Cecil hated middlemen, a big part of his business was fostering interpersonal connections to ensure repeat customers. And it was hard to make a repeat customer out of someone who wasn't even a real customer in the first place. But the guy before him did have at least two magic items already... so it's not that far of a reach that if the deal went favorably and he ever needed something in the future, he might just reach out to him. But then again-- he doesn't even know what to charge for it without processing!

"Well... I suppose for a first time customer I could make an exception... but I'm afraid I'd have to add a pretty steep fee to the cost if I have to skip my processing entirely. Of course, if you could spare a few days, maybe a week, that would be ideal-- when do you plan on leaving the area?"

[townofcadence]

Commission for @deepbluececil of their fishy guy :3

Thank you for the commission! 💛

[townofcadence]

@deepbluececil // Continued!

"...You know what, fair enough. Have you ever considered using something to make sure every spirit in a five mile radius doesn't come for your ass? It might be helpful."

"What are you talking about? Of course I have something for that. That was like.... the first thing I got after my first encounter with a malevolent spirit ghost thing. I may be trouble, but I promise you, that's all natural, baby."

[townofcadence]

“It was my fault. I should have known better.” (Maybe we could have Cecil get a little bit hurt doing something on a case or something?)

Dealing with Trauma

"No--- no it wasn't." Artair's voice wavers as he insists. It's not life-threatening, but the cut is deep. He feels far away but his tone is calm and collected. "It wasn't. You're not at fault. It's my job to distract things, right? So you can get through without trouble? So it's not your fault I missed one. I should've known better! I know how they-- the fucking things like to hide. I should've realized, it's not your fault I didn't think to check, it was a rookie mistake and I should just--."

He realizes how his voice is sounding, how threaded with tension he's become. He slices through the cords all at once, shoulders dropping and volume evening out. "...Sorry. Just... worried. But I should've checked. This wouldn't have happened, otherwise. So--- it's not your fault, okay? But I can fix it. Just-- give me a minute, and I'll get you patched up." He's already rummaging through his pack.

[townofcadence]

Echoes of the past for Artair >:3c

Echoes of the Past

Artair ran up the steps, the minute he was at the house. He clutches his bag closer to his chest, and while he heard someone call out in the living room, he rushes for the flight of stairs. He didn’t want to hear it. He pretends he didn't. If they were in there with the TV on, then they were in a mood.

He didn’t want to be in there or he knew what would happen. He knew what they’d say, or how they’d respond. He knew they were grieving and it was his fault, and he knew he deserved everything that could be said and done for being wrong, for being born, for ruining their lives and everyone around them like they always liked to remind him. But he didn’t want it.

He didn’t.

Up the first flight, he took to the second. There are footsteps climbing the stairs below. He can feel sweat crawling down his back. He fumbles with the drawstring to the attic. It was too high, and he had to jump, once, and then again. They bark something and he felt his body tense at the tone, but it only makes him move faster. It didn't make sense to. He was making it worse. He was going to get punished-- but the fear kept him going, running, fleeing because maybe just this once this one time, it would make a difference.

On the third jump he pulls the cord down and then the ladder. The steps were on the second flight and picking up speed. The ladder unfurls and he scurried upwards, rushing along the rungs. The ladder vibrates with something– someone, heavy as he reaches the top, and he darts to the other side of the room under the sound of wood creaking, of an angry voice. He couldn’t remember what they said anymore. The words distort but they're angry and red and feel like knives.

Artair ran to the other end of the room, behind some of the boxes of paperwork. If he hid good enough, maybe it’d be okay. He threw his book-bag in one of the boxes, and drops to his hands and knees to crawl behind some others.

He was inside a crevice he’d built, when fingers grabbed the box hiding him and ripped it back and away. His hair was grabbed, and a voice was angry, loud, gouging through him. Between the two his eyes stung, and the tears slipped when he was lifted, and thrown against the wall. His back ached. They asked questions he hardly remembered. He answered answers he didn’t remember, either. They all ended in Sir. It wasn’t Ma'am’s turn yet.

The words worthless were spit in his face. They are the first of many, an onslaught to remind him of his place. His nothingness. If he wasn't here the world would be better. They'd be happier. Their son would live and maybe he never would have left. They yell something else and shake his shoulders, lift him with a hand so close to Sir's face. He can smell sour on his breath, the sharpness distinct of drinking. He whines and squirms and pushes back about something that was probably one of a thousand things it could’ve been. He does not remember what it is this time, because this time and all the others run together. But Artair protests in a sharp voice, defensive, and it earns him a pink cheek and a hard jerk as his face snaps to the side.

He was dropped, and Ma'am shows. A belt in her hands snaps as it unrolled, metal buckle clinking. Their faces are not kind and not full of love. He cries because they are not his Mam or his Da and he wants them, he wants them so badly to look at him and tell him how much they love him. He wants to feel loved.

But he is not. He is not in this house, and they remind him that he would not be loved by them anymore because of what he had done. If they ever loved him, if they were here now, they wouldn't. He is nothing, he has nothing, and the only thing he is good for is to take their sorrow, because he is the cause. It is what he deserves, and he should be grateful they let him live here at all when he is so disruptive, such a horrible unforgivable thing that takes up their resources. He should be grateful it hurts because at least it means they love him.

He cannot remember what happens next.

When the 'conversation' is over, he is dragged to a little door. The crawlspace of the attic. They keep saying words. His fault. His fault his fault his fault he made this happen look what he made them do why couldn’t he just be good and quiet and why did he always cry? Why did he try to make them feel bad when their loss and their tragedy is the blood on his hands? Be a good boy, be a good quiet boy, and do not cry. Don't make them angry, it's so simple, so easy. Just be a good boy. Prove you can be good and maybe they won't be so angry.

But he will never be good. He will never good enough. he will always fail, and he will always end up here.

It was all ringing in his ear. Stinging and screaming in his skin and in his head. A creak tells him they’ve open the slatted crawlspace door, revealing a dark space with a blanket on the floor. He says something, begs something, but then his cheeks are made to match. Good ***** listen, they don’t disobey. He isn't good and he never will be at this rate.

He’s thrown in without ceremony. He hurts, it hurts so much. He curls up on the little blanket in his seat, hugging himself small. They remind him that they are being kind by not restraining him to the chair, but if he makes too much noise that may change. So be good, be quiet, swallow it because you do not want Sir and Ma'am Angry.

The door locks. He needs to think about what he’s done. He doesn’t have time to think before he’s a mess, he’s wet and covering his mouth so he doesn’t make any noise and bring Sir and Ma’am back.

Next time he should sneak in— hide in here. From here on out. Lock the door from the inside. Find something tomorrow, to jam it shut.

Maybe for once he’d feel safe again.

[townofcadence]

Gives him a big ole smile and ruffles up his hair!

Secret Thoughts

"HEY--!!" Artair squawks as his hair is messed up. He puffs his cheeks at Cecil before dipping his head forward with his hair in front of him. After a few messy combs through with his fingers, he flips it back.

"You're such a shit! You know that, right? You're lucky your hair is so hard to reach!" He pouts, maybe a little. "Not that I could do much to it anyways. Do you even own a hairbrush? That you use?"

[townofcadence]

Talk about Cecil

Talk About ___

"..... I don't know where I stand with him. I think we're friends. But he.... I don't know. He worries too much. And it ends up with us fighting. I wish he just understood that I'm---..... I'm just trying to keep him safe and alive. I'm doing my best. And like.... he's smart and resourceful. And he's good at getting a feel for people. I don't know why he gets so worked up when it's me. Maybe I'm just...... not what he's used to? Or something. I just don't think he understand that this.... what I do doesn't affect me the same way it might someone who doesn't come back."

[townofcadence]

What are you cooking?

Get a Meal

"Alright, look look look." Artair waves a hand over the grill. "Okay like--- you probably eat seafood all the time, right? Like you live in the ocean man. So I bet it's probably what you have most times. So I thought I'd shake things up a little." Artair uses the spatula to take the simmering burger from the grill. The smoked Gruyere and American blend of cheeses is still bubbling from the heat, as he slides the burger onto a potato bun, and passes it Cecil's way. "You can add any ingredient you want! I like pickles on mine, but do what makes your heart happy. There's fries about to come out of the air fryer too, though I'd toss some of that on there to give them a good kick!" He points with the spatula towards a seasoning bottle with the name peeled off.

[townofcadence]

"Of course.... I wouldn't leave you down here." Artair falls silent, unsure there's anything else to say. He knows Cecil doesn't want him here. He knows it. But he doesn't have a choice. And with the last time they spoke, he just......doesn't have the right words. He's here because he was asked to be, and he did pretty well getting here relatively unscathed, but he is still an intruder.

It's a trap though, a mechanism set up to trigger and encase the whoever didn't know they should avoid it. The trap formed a triangular dome cage over Cecil, and there wasn't a way to pick a lock when there wasn't even a cell door to unlatch or open. So somewhere in the room or nearby, there had to be a release. He doubted whoever built it intended it to be a permanent; these kinds of mechanisms were about temporary confinement to stop intrusion.

"Do you know what activated it?" He asks, circling outside the perimeter. "It might help me turn it back off."

☰ !

He hadn't wanted to do it. He'd tried literally every other option but for all of his strength and all of his cunning, Cecil hadn't been able to escape. Artair was the last person he'd wanted to call even then, after he'd had to damn near break the guy's heart by telling him they couldn't work together anymore. It was just better for him that way but of course Artair wouldn't see that, he just thought he'd failed somehow! And... it was hard to watch. Cecil didn't want that for him.

But he didn't have anybody else.

For all his strengths the one thing Cecil has always been is alone. It's never been an issue he couldn't push past before, but this was different. He had no choice but to call for help from his singular lifeline. He wouldn't have been mad if Artair hadn't shown, but he knows Artair-- he'd make it down here if it killed him a hundred times. A fact that didn't settle in his chest without it's spool of barbed wire.

He tries not to look too directly at him when Artair shows up. He doesn't want to see if he's hurt, or-- what his expression might be. It's Artair, he's probably got that look of soft concern even after everything. He tries to steel himself a bit. "Mm-- not a word, ya hear? But, I... thank you. Fer, y'know. Comin'."

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

“This perticular contest—yeah! I got a treasure box full’f antiques and valuable jewels too f’course, but lil’ Valentine’s more precious than anythin’ money could buy!” Not that he’s any less grateful for the more material aspects of his winnings, but—just look at her!

Butch is already outstretching his arms, holding the piglet out towards Cecil’s face. She snorfs quietly, curiously.

"...What. You win a contest and you get a pig?? Are you sure you weren't the loser? You're supposed to win useful things like-- money, or something."

[townofcadence]

The excitement is schooled excellently from this guy's face, hardly a wiggle of a fin to denote how he felt. But the eager feelings came through clear to Artair, who-- expected it, even if he really wished it could be otherwise. That sensation meant the guy was eager for profit--- and of course he knew he had something of value, the way he'd said it might just be his next big ticket item. This probably wasn't going to go well. If not for the fucking house-drake thing....

"I'll be honest-- I don't want it." He admitted. "Not-- not for me, anyway. I was kind of.... hired. To find it. Apparently this guy...he wants it for his archive. I don't really know much, except it'd help out a friend if I brought it back. I don't think it's really going to get used. Just.... stored properly."

The deal wasn't necessarily a bad thing.... if the guy intended to keep it. ".... I'd really like to bring it back with me. It's been.... a long trip." He tucks his head back against the wall. "Is there any way we could...expedite the process? Somehow?"

"Mhm." Cecil agrees with a nod. It is nice, after all. It was hard to find such things-- especially in such amazing condition.

But the next thing out of the washed up stranger's mouth has his ear fins flick-- even if he tries not to let the excitement show on his face. Maybe this day was going to turn out better than he thought. Finding an item and a heavily potential buyer for it before he's even hit the water? He's never even thought about having such a fast turnaround! "Oh...?" His voice is even, light, but interested. "And what would you be using something like this for, anyway?" A good opportunity to fish for information-- if someone was looking for something specific, there was always a reason why. And it'd give him a good heads up for his testing phase.

"Well..... normally I would say no. Have to make it fair, after all. But I guess I could make an exception this once, for a new customer." He grins again. "How about this: I'll get it processed and contact you first before I put it up for sale, and if you find the price agreeable then it's all yours-- and nobody but you will ever even have know I had it to begin with."

[townofcadence]

It's clearly a bemused comment, despite the heavy sarcasm. Artair huffs an exhale, but he doesn't argue. If he pretends he doesn't think it's sarcasm, then the guy wouldn't keep poking at the notion, probably.

He does lean closer, but more in the way one would to inspect something interesting. His eyes glide over the blade, the bone handle, and internally, he groans.

"It... is very nice." He pauses, thinking. His head hurts. This is the worst situation to deal with someone over something like this, especially someone who's whole deal is probably wheeling and dealing and haggling. But he has to.

"I... was in the area looking for something. I think that might've been it." He admits. It might be a bad idea to, but he doesn't want this guy to vanish with it, or sell it to the highest bidder. That would be worse than showing his hand because he can't think well enough to have a better one. "I know you said it's only a sneak peek, but... if there's some way I could take it off your hands before it hits the market....?"

"Mm, right. You definitely seem it. Or at least more fine than you seemed when I found you knocked out on the beach a minute ago, I guess." He can't help but to snicker just a little at the insistence the other had on the matter. He could understand it sometimes, but wasn't the jig already up? It's obvious he's been knocked around and isn't just "waterlogged". Or, at the very least, he certainly wasn't "fine".

An eyebrow raises at the shift of expression on the other's face, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he reaches for the bag strapped to his tail. "Of course." A clawed hand delves in, and lingers only a moment before coming back out with a bundle of what looks to be old leather, bleached white. He opens it to reveal the artifact, all deadly sharp with a blade as black as the void. Like it sucked in the light around it, even. Cecil appears relaxed and is for the most part but there is a tension in his hand, ready to close around his prize for safekeeping if the stranger should make any too sudden moves towards it. "Pretty, isn't it? Wicked looking too. I'm sure it could cut through anything you aimed it at, if you really followed through."

[townofcadence]

"I'm-- fine." He insists, but it's a little flatter than he would've liked it to be. "Maybe. Or just-- you know. Waterlogged." It was an interesting point he made though, about what laid in the deep. He was pretty sure even he had an item or two lost to the water growing up. His losses were nowhere near as valuable as some... but the ocean wasn't a space where many scavengers could venture low enough to get to whatever might've been lost in voyages or happenstance.

The description--- isn't one he can keep his face from falling at hearing. He should be relieved. But in the hands of a tradesman...? ".... I think I would love a look, if you don't mind."

Cecil almost snorts when he laughs again, the slit-like nostrils flush against his face flaring for just a moment. "Oh you're out of it, aren't you? Maybe you really did hit your head." A hand raises, propping under his chin. "A lot of mundane things can bring in extra cash. Gemstones, jewelry, certain types of equipment or materials; anything you can think of, really. Lots of people lose all kinds of things in the ocean, you know."

He nods at the questioning of his adventure, and his energy reads as very proud of himself for his latest find. "Well, I won't say too much about it now..." Not that he could, really-- he hasn't found out what it can actually do yet. Still, better to keep the mystique! "But it's a very powerful knife of sorts. Carved from bone, it's end as black as the night." He raises an eyebrow. "If you want... I could let you take a little peek. A first look at my upcoming big ticket item."

[townofcadence]

"Network...?" Artair asks, a mild curiosity that he's slow on the uptake for. He simply can't fathom how a half alive guy in the ocean would be particularly helpful or useful to this humongous guy coiling on himself kind of like a sea serpent. But he wasn't feeling good so maybe he just-- wasn't synapsing something. But what could someone who sold things want from someone like him? Unless he was still hoping for the bag somehow?

"What kind of mundane items have value...?" He asks next, out of curiosity. Artair could imagine maybe he meant things like jewelry or something. The mental image of a creature as long and large as this guy combing a beach with a metal-detector for lost valuables cracks a smile on his face, at the absurdity.

But then he mentioned a magical item in a cursed underground temple, and Artair has to tilt his head. It's like a faint alarm bell is ringing in his ears. "Near here....? What....did you end up finding?"

"I guess that's how it is, the ocean can either be very forgiving, or very... very cruel. For what it's worth, though, I'm glad it got you here too. Sure I would've enjoyed the looting, but I never turn down a good opportunity to network, either." And either way it would've been unfortunate. If he did manage to find the other in the water, there might not have been much to salvage. He definitely would've been dead, his bag probably would've been taken by the current, and who knows what damage might've come to that metal arm of his. No, that would've just sucked all around.

"Well, if you're sure." He shrugs lightly, his tail shifting and flipping over itself in the equivalent of him curling up and getting comfortable. At the questioning though he grins again, eyes closed in a very pleased expression. "Well, I am a merchant who deals with magical items. Selling or trading, and dabbling in some mundane items-- but only if they're valuable enough. And I collect all of my own stock. I'm actually on my way back from hunting down a new item now. It was a bit of a hassle, a whole cursed underground temple type of place, but the stock's in amazing shape and I'm positive it's gonna run a very pretty penny." At that the very end of his tail flips upwards, in what seems to be a sort of excited gesture.

[townofcadence]

It wasn't enough. The words echo in his head but stay unsaid when there isn't anything he can do to convince Cecil to listen to him. He doesn't understand and he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to just give in, but.....the idea of wasting time and maybe hurting Cecil in the meanwhile feels so much worse. He knows what he did, how he failed, and that's all that matters. Cecil didn't have to agree for him to be right.

Standing watch, Artair crosses his arms. He should be paying attention, but more and more he drifts towards the feelings inside, and his arms turn more to a hug, and then to something punishing. He feels the upset, the frustration, the horrible cocktail in his chest and the anger so thick he could drown. He also feels the pain of that injury with every movement. It burns against his legs in hammerstrikes of pain. There are pricks to the skin, and the next feelings practically have him doubling over and sitting on the floor. He bites his lip, and the room stays silent. His hug is crushing the breath from him as much as his fingers dig into both arms.

He's rushing and it hurts more. But at least they share that. It was his fault this happened. So he deserves to feel it. It feels better if he feels it, so it's what he focuses on. Trying to soak it up as much as he can and steep in that agony he'd caused. He'd take it on again later when he healed Cecil too. And then Cecil would be better and he'd have made up for his blunder at least a little.

Artair looks back towards Cecil, when he calls out. He nods. "Alright...." Something felt off and weird but he couldn't place it. But it was probably Cecil. Maybe just talking to him. Or he was disappointed or something.

"It's not an excuse, it was an accident! And even then, I will reiterate that you took care of all the other ones!" He doesn't want to get louder, but Artair isn't listening! What was he supposed to do or, say-- he doesn't want to just give in, because then Artair would just feel... he doesn't know, justified! But he's not, because he didn't do anything wrong.

Fuck, and now his eyes are all watery. He catches the slightest glimpse before Artair hides it, not that hiding it wouldn't have been a bit of a giveaway anyhow. And his voice pitches until it finally breaks, like a thin wine glass shattering. Cecil is silent, and he hates it. But what could he do? Artair finding his voice again doesn't help either, in fact all it does is sink like a block of steel in his chest; cold and painful. Artair is leaving. He... Cecil wants to send him away. Home. But for now that might be too dangerous given where they were. Like squeezing through a tight tunnel, it was easier to go forward than to try and turn around.

Fuck. God dammit. Shit.

He'll handle this later. For now, sitting and stewing in it's doing nothing but making him feel horrible. So he reaches up to his scarf and stuffs it in his mouth, enough to bite down on. First up is a syringe and vial, some kind of surface level numbing thing. Each prick around the wound is like agony, but he clenches his jaw, bites harder, and he doesn't make a noise. Next is sutures, and that hurts like a bitch too, surprise surprise. But he's trying to be quick about it, quicker than he'd normally be. And then it's wrapped in bandages.

It's fine. All better now, right? His eyes shift over to where Artair is standing, as he fixes his scarf back. The nostrils on his face flare a bit with a heavy exhale. "Artair, I'm done. Let's keep going so we can get outta here."