There had been a short while of silence between the two outside of a brief call, once Jon had broken things off with Neil. He needed a bit of time (mostly to sit with the guilt of it all), but would reach back out once he's processed everything, and that he was alright.
Today, after that time to himself, Jon woke up with fresh resolve that an anxious mind wouldn't rattle so easily.
And, during the afternoon, just before the hours began to bleed into evening, Martin's sending stone chimes softly before it begins it's glow. Jon's voice comes through, clear, a bit tentative, but there's a barely-restrained excitement that lies just beneath the surface.
"Martin? It's Jon, do you have a minute or two to chat? It's alright if not, I can call back later."
When Martin's bracelet stone begins to glow, he taps it gently to answer the call, and his heart soars at the sound of Jon's voice.
After they'd revived post-plague, Martin agreed to give Jon some time to break things off with Neil. As much as he needed, Martin had promised, and was silent until then. It had been more than a week at this point, and every day was a test of will, waiting like that.
Whatever the hell Martin was doing (work), it could wait.
"Yes, I'm free!" He shouts behind him. "Laios tell Tasha I'm going on my fifteen bye!"
After a moment of shuffling to a quieter area: "Hi Jon! How, ah, how's it going?"
Jon barely catches the fading sounds of Laios' surprised sounds of confirmation, unable to help a snicker at the absurdity of it all. Well, that certainly helps keep his spirits up, and makes the guilt of a mere week between a long-term broken off relationship easier to shelf.
"It's going alright, and I won't keep you from you terribly long. I don't want to take up your entire break." A lie, plain and simple, but he's trying to be courteous here. "I was calling to see if you were maybe, ah. Free from work tonight? I know you mentioned that you tend to work the day-shift, if I'm remembering right?"
"Oh, four? That's not too far off, perfect." Jon sounds entirely pleased. "I know we're probably--- a bit beyond that, considering everything, but, ah. I was wondering if you'd like to go... on a date? I was thinking Empty Pockets. Bit of food, not too far a walk, open late if we get caught up talking...?"
Oh, Martin's heart just melts at that. After all of that, he still wants to go on a real date. Jon has asked Martin on a date! The normalcy of it is almost too much of a relief to bear.
"I'd love that! I've been to Empty Pockets a few times," Martin agrees. "I really like it there. Let me--- let me have a little time to spruce up when I get out of here, and I'll meet you at five?"
"Five sounds excellent to me," Jon's barely-restrained buzzing excitement slips a little further out of his grasp. On his end, he's shuffling around, looking for something just a bit nicer to wear. "Should I go ahead and get us a table when I get there, or wait at the door?"
He's lucky to have the time to reel himself in, and once he's gotten one of his nicer button-ups and pants chosen out, tying his hair back into a tidier bun than he's started to worry about, he sees himself out of his home.
The walk across town is both a blessing and a curse, allowing him to work out his jitters - but, in all his excitement, he manages to show up early. Alas, there goes all that progress. He's back to trying not to buzz at the table, having picked out one in a cozy booth with a decent view of the door, only able to distract himself so much with complimentary bread.
As soon as Martin's through the door, his arrival doesn't escape his notice, and he goes to stand--- a bit too hurriedly--- and smacks his knee right into the table, fussing over the light sting as he awkwardly shuffles himself out. So much for making himself look a bit more put-together for all this, that thoroughly ruins that image.
Martin's heart leaps at the sight of Jon, and he's about to hurry to the table when Jon smacks his knee. Then Martin's rushing to him for a totally different reason. "Oh--- Oh my god, Jon, are you okay?"
Despite the kerfuffle, Martin's clearly dressed for the occasion, wearing a nice little black waistcoat and a slender bowtie over his button up. He's clearly leaned into the aesthetic of the place. Also, his hair is done very nicely.
It takes Arthur a few days to find the tea shop Gerry directed him to - less for the difficulty in finding it and more that he's got a shitload of other things he has to get established first. But now he's got time to actually investigate and follow up on that lead.
Gerry's description rings true, as he steps into the tasteful shop, and immediately he heads for the counter to speak with the man there. Tall and broad isn't much of a description but it's better than nothing, so.
"E-excuse me," he calls, lifting a hand in greeting as he approaches the counter. "I was- told to ask for Martin?"
Blackwood Brews. That's the name of the tea shop, according to the little sign above the door. Within the timber and stucco outer facade that is common to the town, Arthur will find a quiet, classy dark wood interior with a small dining room that features bookshelves covering the walls floor to ceiling anywhere that doesn't have a window. Separating the dining area from the counter space is a half-wall lined with pre-bagged tea blends for sale. The counter is bathed faintly in a green glow from latticework lanterns hanging on chains from the ceiling, and behind it is a man who absolutely fits the description of "tall and broad" to a T. So much so that, as per Gerry's description, that's all that really needs to be said. He's setting up tea service for someone when Arthur comes in, pouring hot water into a small, personal-size teapot on a tray next to a matching cup, but he pauses when Arthur comes in.
"Hi there! Welcome in." Martin's about to tell the gentleman to have a seat wherever he likes when he hears his name. Someone told a newcomer to ask for him by name? "Oh-- y-yeah that's me. Give me just a tick here to take this where it goes--- But have a seat at the counter! You can try our tea of the day while you wait. It's a gingerbread blend. You know. For the holidays."
Hurriedly, as he's speaking, Martin pours Arthur a cup from a large pot he has behind the counter, before bustling off with the tray to the customer in the dining area.
He's not all that bothered by the haste in which Martin serves him and then rushes away; he's used to diners with far worse attitudes, and even then he did bother the man in the middle of serving someone else.
So while he's waiting he'll try the tea curiously, and there's a soft surprised hum from him at how good it tastes. He can say with confidence he's never tried something like it before, and it's damn good.
He looks up when he hears footsteps coming back - for a big man, Martin's lighter on his feet than Arthur expected - and gives him a light smile. "My name's Arthur Lester - I'm terribly sorry to be a bother, but I was actually hoping to speak with Jon."
"Ah." Yeah, that tracks. Martin's momentary flattery at being asked for by name ends there. But there are worse things to be a stepping stone for, worse things to be than a point of contact for Jon. (Who is his favorite person, after all.) Martin spares a glance to the back of the house. "He's here, yeah, he's in the back doing the admin. I'd be happy to get him for you!"
Martin leans a little bit to get a more direct line of fire down the hallway. "Jon!"
[ I'll have Harv bring Jon in next and then give you two the floor :3 ]
No movement comes from the back of the house, no footsteps, nor the appearances of anyone. Instead, at most, there's a scoot of a chair down that short hallway, painting a clear image of someone shifting to lean back, before Martin gets a called-back reply, largely unbothered with just an edge of the distinct sound of 'I'm in the middle of something' to it.
[ A letter, addressed to Jonathan Sims, has been mixed into some other mail, and left, seemingly torn open, upon the desk in the entrance of the house, deposited there by an unseen, disembodied hand's work. Inside, it reads the following, in careful, thoughtful penmanship: ]
Jon,
I'm sorry to hear things have been so difficult as of late. I know you've been in quite a period of transition, coming to shore more often with the tea shop! I would have hoped that Martin would have been more accommodating to the strain of such a change, but I imagine it's been difficult for him, as well. Spaces becoming more shared in a sudden change can cause strain on a relationship, and I hope it doesn't come across rude when I say that, considering how prone you are to bearing these sorts of stresses quietly, I'm not particularly shocked to hear that it's only just now taking its toll on you.
I'd offer to speak with him myself, but you and I both know that he wouldn't exactly care to hear from me. Perhaps you should get someone more direct to have a word with him? I'm certain if you told Daisy what you've told me, she'd be less inclined to mince words to spare his feelings.
I hope things improve for the two of you soon. In the meantime, I hope that you know I'm always here to be an ear to listen and a shoulder to lean on during these turbulent times. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm here for you always, Jon. I still care about you deeply, and don't want to see you bear any of this unnecessary strain on your own. Martyring yourself does no one any good!
As always, you've got my word that all of this stays confidential. If it'd take a weight off of your mind, we could always discuss tha matter further over tea by the docks, when next you take to your shipwork.
For the most part, things have been good in Martin Blackwood's world.
Since the opening of Blackwood Brews, which Martin put his entire time and effort into the casino to earn, things have been... well, as close to idyllic as Pumpkin Hollow would allow. There were demons and nightmares and all manner of problems, as usual, but the in between moments were nice. Martin can't remember a time in London since joining the Archives when things were nice. And for all he knows, Jon feels the same. He's not the most emotionally open man, surely, but... he seems happy.
At least until this strange letter arrives.
Martin reads through it once. Twice. Five times. Ten. It doesn't make sense, and yet makes all the sense in the world. Of course Jon has hidden issues he won't talk about, of course! Why wouldn't he! And of course he's talking to Neil about them.
If Martin were calm, he would see all the hints that don't line up. But he's not. He's devastated. And so he just keeps staring at it until Jon gets home.
Even with as scattered and fearful as Jon's been as of late, he's tried to maintain senses of normalcy.
Such normalcy involves trying to not let himself slip into the same habits he had back in the Archives; trips out to the market, visits with friends (that he struggles not to be especially guarded during), work without diverging into side-projects, anything he can do to try to make life feel stable as possible. Today's excursion was one of the same, a brief trek to the market, to grab some ins and odds for groceries.
All-in-all, the day's been a breath of fresh air, compared to some of his recent ones.
That is, of course, until he steps inside his home, finding Martin looking like he's received the worst news of his life.
"Martin?" He speaks up the second he's in the door, hurriedly setting the grocery bags aside. He's already abuzz with whatever might be the trouble, with a letter like that, stepping into the main area of their living room as quickly as he's able. "What's wrong? What's going on? Are you alright?"
Fog haunts the floor of the room, swallowing their feet in its thickness.
Martin looks up to him coldly, looking utterly drained, and the fog around them flares and roils. "I don't know, Jon. Maybe you should ask Neil." He shoves the letter into Jon's hands accusingly.
The letter crunches into Jon's palms for only a moment, before, equal parts alarmed and confused, he lifts it. No questions that race his thoughts are answered, try as he might to read it, over and over again, to glean any sort of understanding.
This is a conversation, certainly. It reads like Neil's writing, not too dissimilar the notes he'd seen around the office to himself. They've exchanged letters before, when he was sailing - this would easily have a place among them, from what he can catch at a glance. It's mid-conversation, a seemingly timely correspondence.
Jon doesn't know what any of that conversation could have been about.
"Wh--- Martin, I---" Jon sputters, lowering the paper. He gestures with it, wide and sweeping, disbelieving. "I don't know what this is about. I haven't spoken with Neil in--- months. Where did this come from?"
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lofi_charm) wrote2024-08-25 09:26 pm
A Sending Stone Call in the Afternoon, Pending a Visit
Today, after that time to himself, Jon woke up with fresh resolve that an anxious mind wouldn't rattle so easily.
And, during the afternoon, just before the hours began to bleed into evening, Martin's sending stone chimes softly before it begins it's glow. Jon's voice comes through, clear, a bit tentative, but there's a barely-restrained excitement that lies just beneath the surface.
"Martin? It's Jon, do you have a minute or two to chat? It's alright if not, I can call back later."
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After they'd revived post-plague, Martin agreed to give Jon some time to break things off with Neil. As much as he needed, Martin had promised, and was silent until then. It had been more than a week at this point, and every day was a test of will, waiting like that.
Whatever the hell Martin was doing (work), it could wait.
"Yes, I'm free!" He shouts behind him. "Laios tell Tasha I'm going on my fifteen bye!"
After a moment of shuffling to a quieter area: "Hi Jon! How, ah, how's it going?"
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"It's going alright, and I won't keep you from you terribly long. I don't want to take up your entire break." A lie, plain and simple, but he's trying to be courteous here. "I was calling to see if you were maybe, ah. Free from work tonight? I know you mentioned that you tend to work the day-shift, if I'm remembering right?"
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"I'd love that! I've been to Empty Pockets a few times," Martin agrees. "I really like it there. Let me--- let me have a little time to spruce up when I get out of here, and I'll meet you at five?"
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He's lucky to have the time to reel himself in, and once he's gotten one of his nicer button-ups and pants chosen out, tying his hair back into a tidier bun than he's started to worry about, he sees himself out of his home.
The walk across town is both a blessing and a curse, allowing him to work out his jitters - but, in all his excitement, he manages to show up early. Alas, there goes all that progress. He's back to trying not to buzz at the table, having picked out one in a cozy booth with a decent view of the door, only able to distract himself so much with complimentary bread.
As soon as Martin's through the door, his arrival doesn't escape his notice, and he goes to stand--- a bit too hurriedly--- and smacks his knee right into the table, fussing over the light sting as he awkwardly shuffles himself out. So much for making himself look a bit more put-together for all this, that thoroughly ruins that image.
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Despite the kerfuffle, Martin's clearly dressed for the occasion, wearing a nice little black waistcoat and a slender bowtie over his button up. He's clearly leaned into the aesthetic of the place. Also, his hair is done very nicely.
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Visit (if this is okay!!)
Gerry's description rings true, as he steps into the tasteful shop, and immediately he heads for the counter to speak with the man there. Tall and broad isn't much of a description but it's better than nothing, so.
"E-excuse me," he calls, lifting a hand in greeting as he approaches the counter. "I was- told to ask for Martin?"
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"Hi there! Welcome in." Martin's about to tell the gentleman to have a seat wherever he likes when he hears his name. Someone told a newcomer to ask for him by name? "Oh-- y-yeah that's me. Give me just a tick here to take this where it goes--- But have a seat at the counter! You can try our tea of the day while you wait. It's a gingerbread blend. You know. For the holidays."
Hurriedly, as he's speaking, Martin pours Arthur a cup from a large pot he has behind the counter, before bustling off with the tray to the customer in the dining area.
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So while he's waiting he'll try the tea curiously, and there's a soft surprised hum from him at how good it tastes. He can say with confidence he's never tried something like it before, and it's damn good.
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Martin leans a little bit to get a more direct line of fire down the hallway. "Jon!"
[ I'll have Harv bring Jon in next and then give you two the floor :3 ]
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"What?"
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"Would you please just come out here?"
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A Letter? [Mean Missives!]
Jon,
I'm sorry to hear things have been so difficult as of late. I know you've been in quite a period of transition, coming to shore more often with the tea shop! I would have hoped that Martin would have been more accommodating to the strain of such a change, but I imagine it's been difficult for him, as well. Spaces becoming more shared in a sudden change can cause strain on a relationship, and I hope it doesn't come across rude when I say that, considering how prone you are to bearing these sorts of stresses quietly, I'm not particularly shocked to hear that it's only just now taking its toll on you.
I'd offer to speak with him myself, but you and I both know that he wouldn't exactly care to hear from me. Perhaps you should get someone more direct to have a word with him? I'm certain if you told Daisy what you've told me, she'd be less inclined to mince words to spare his feelings.
I hope things improve for the two of you soon. In the meantime, I hope that you know I'm always here to be an ear to listen and a shoulder to lean on during these turbulent times. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm here for you always, Jon. I still care about you deeply, and don't want to see you bear any of this unnecessary strain on your own. Martyring yourself does no one any good!
As always, you've got my word that all of this stays confidential. If it'd take a weight off of your mind, we could always discuss tha matter further over tea by the docks, when next you take to your shipwork.
Wishing you all the best,
Neil West
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Since the opening of Blackwood Brews, which Martin put his entire time and effort into the casino to earn, things have been... well, as close to idyllic as Pumpkin Hollow would allow. There were demons and nightmares and all manner of problems, as usual, but the in between moments were nice. Martin can't remember a time in London since joining the Archives when things were nice. And for all he knows, Jon feels the same. He's not the most emotionally open man, surely, but... he seems happy.
At least until this strange letter arrives.
Martin reads through it once. Twice. Five times. Ten. It doesn't make sense, and yet makes all the sense in the world. Of course Jon has hidden issues he won't talk about, of course! Why wouldn't he! And of course he's talking to Neil about them.
If Martin were calm, he would see all the hints that don't line up. But he's not. He's devastated. And so he just keeps staring at it until Jon gets home.
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Such normalcy involves trying to not let himself slip into the same habits he had back in the Archives; trips out to the market, visits with friends (that he struggles not to be especially guarded during), work without diverging into side-projects, anything he can do to try to make life feel stable as possible. Today's excursion was one of the same, a brief trek to the market, to grab some ins and odds for groceries.
All-in-all, the day's been a breath of fresh air, compared to some of his recent ones.
That is, of course, until he steps inside his home, finding Martin looking like he's received the worst news of his life.
"Martin?" He speaks up the second he's in the door, hurriedly setting the grocery bags aside. He's already abuzz with whatever might be the trouble, with a letter like that, stepping into the main area of their living room as quickly as he's able. "What's wrong? What's going on? Are you alright?"
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Martin looks up to him coldly, looking utterly drained, and the fog around them flares and roils. "I don't know, Jon. Maybe you should ask Neil." He shoves the letter into Jon's hands accusingly.
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This is a conversation, certainly. It reads like Neil's writing, not too dissimilar the notes he'd seen around the office to himself. They've exchanged letters before, when he was sailing - this would easily have a place among them, from what he can catch at a glance. It's mid-conversation, a seemingly timely correspondence.
Jon doesn't know what any of that conversation could have been about.
"Wh--- Martin, I---" Jon sputters, lowering the paper. He gestures with it, wide and sweeping, disbelieving. "I don't know what this is about. I haven't spoken with Neil in--- months. Where did this come from?"