ph_logs | Cold And Lonely December [Open]

Who: Erik & Open
What: Picking up the pieces now that Max is gone
When: December (or we can backdate to November)
Where: All over town
Warnings: Topics of loss and grief abound

But it feels like an eternity, Since I had you here with me
It's been over a month now, since Max departed. Erik resisted the urge to run into the woods and go feral this time, but he still can't remember much of what he did for most of November. He was already broken from surrendering to The Hunt, he wasn't prepared to lose Max too. None of it feels real. The town was quick to appoint a new baker, because life goes on and people still need bread, but nothing feels right.

Poor Crumpet lost her place as the bakery greeter too, so now she lingers at his side wherever he goes. He didn't mean to adopt the Fidough, but when she followed him home that first night and cried so pitifully in a corner of his bedroom, he couldn't help but beckon her into his bed to snuggle. Now they sleep that way every night, and Erik would be lying if he said it didn't help him feel better. Maxley, Erik's mischievous Haunter, was jealous at first, but now the two Pokémon are fast friends. Max would probably be happy to know that. It's just about the only positive thing Erik can find in all of this.

Now Open For Business
A new sign on the bulletin board announces that Erik has reopened his home for business and is taking appointments now. He'd closed for a period of mourning, but just like the bakery, life here must go on. Therefore, any knocks on his door during daylight hours, or any phone calls he receives, will be met with his most professional greeting. "Lord Osborne, at your service. How can I serve you today?"

He's noticeably been dodging a lot of attempts to reach out over the last month, so now might be the time to try and catch him.

Walk The Dog
So, it turns out, there is a big difference between keeping a ghost Pokémon as a pet and keeping... whatever Crumpet is (fairy type). When Maxley wants to go outside he just does. No wall can contain him. When Crumpet needs to go out someone has to actually open the door.

"I ought to have you do this," he tells Maxley, as all three of them stroll down the walk on their way to the park. "You have hands now. You can open the door for her."

"Haunt!" Maxley huffs back, positioning his floating hands so he looks like he has arms crossed over is chest. "Haunt-ER!"

"Oh, please. The two of you spend more time with each other than you do me. Besides, I have work to do. Can I really not trust you to keep her safe for me while you're both out of the house together?"

That seems to soften the ghost type. "Haunt... er..." He spins in a little circle while thinking. Fidough watches that with interest, all while not really seeming to grasp the conversation as a whole.

Finally, Maxley seems to have made up his mind. With a brisk nod, he snatches up the lead, holding it in one of his ghostly hands.

"Thank you, Maxley," Erik sighs in relief. "I knew I could cunt on you--"

Before he even manages to finish that statement, Crumpet spots a rabbit up ahead and takes off running for it.

"Haaaaaaaaunnnnnttttteeeerrrrrr!!" Maxley cries out as he's dragged physically through the air behind her off into the distance.

Erik is left in the dust uttering one very resigned "Fuck."

Laugh Until I Cry - Shady Merchant
It's high time he got around to replenishing his stock of blood fruits, so that means he has to take a trip into that despicable merchant's shop. Normally, he would hurry through the entire transaction and get out of there as fast as possible, but today, it turns out, Max left one last surprise for him.

"What the--" He cries when he pulls several fruits into his basket only to find that the one left at the end of the shelf is looking at him--with googly eyes.

"M-Max," he says with a wet giggle, "You...just had to get me one last time..." It had to be Max, because who else would think of sticking googly eyes to a blood fruit at the back of the shelf? Erik should have known the day Max came to show him his proudest purchase, an entire box of those eyes, that pranks would be coming. If only he could take out his stone and call the man to jokingly chastise him for this.

If only...

Laughter bubbles up in his throat, but it thickens into a sob by the time it leaves his mouth. Tears sting his eyes, and roll heavily down his cheeks as a sudden explosion of fresh hot grief grips him right there in the aisle. The pain drags him to his knees, where he weeps uncontrollably for what feels like an eternity.

"Max... why did you have to...go?"

APPLES, PUMPKINS, AND POTLUCKS - OH MY! (borrowed from the test drive)

There's one last possession of Max's that Erik has been reluctant to let go of, but he thinks it might finally be time to try sharing it.

For as long as Erik knew him, Max always kept a private journal to take notes in for his recipes. Over time, it became something like a sacred tome, full of every recipe Max ever learned, filled with notes all around the margins about ways he'd change or make them better, or in some cases the way he'd sub ingredients that weren't available, or, most heartbreakingly, for certain people to make it to their specific tastes. If a daily diary existed for the baker, this would be it. As much as Erik wants to hold it close, he isn't the only one grieving a loss and Max would want his bounty shared widely.

That's why Erik has come to the potluck today. While it's true that he can now properly enjoy a potluck with his human tongue, he still wouldn't have thought of coming out here so soon if not for his mission to memorialize Max. He's standing behind a lone table with that magnificent journal opened to the Macarons page. Next to it sits a plate of poorly made macarons as an example. Erik did them himself. They aren't as abysmal as the fudge he tried bringing last time, but the the shells are sadly deflated and cracked on top, with no feet to stand on, and the filling inside is sickly sweet but somehow also grainy. Overall, Erik feels he's made a massacre of Max's legacy, but he can practically hear the man in his ears saying 'that's okay, you just need more practice.' So, practice he will.

"I... wouldn't eat that," he'll warn anyone who approaches. "But you're welcome to peruse these recipes and try a few yourself."

[ooc: anyone who had any kind of relationship with Max is welcome to say that they found a margin note about themselves in Max's recipe book and point it out.]

Wildcard
Hit me with whatever. If anyone wants to do a thread with Erik for the November event (backdated) I'm open to that too!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Erik isn't the only one mourning the departure of Max. Sorceress had made it a weekly (or even two to three times a week) endeavor to buy delicious sweets for breakfast from the bakery ever since he gave her her favorite broom, not only to give her friend business and chat with him, but also share Max's delicious food with Wizard. Because everyone deserved to eat Mr. Maximum's amazing foods.

So, as the witch walks through the different tables to see what other recipes people brought, she does a bit of a double take and stops at Erik's table. Scarlett leans over to inspect them, delicately picking one up and giving it a quick sniff.

"... Well, it smells edible, at least? You picked quite the recipe to start with," she sympathetically informs him, glancing over at the book.

And she immediately recognizes the handwriting.

"... Is this... Mr. Maximum's recipe?"

Edited 2025-12-06 04:49 (UTC)

The person who's knocked on the door might well be the last one he'd expect to see in this context.

"Lord Osborne," says Cassandra, meeting his eyes steadily. "Might I inquire as to the fee for one hour of your company?"

"Yes. This is his personal cook book," he answers somberly. "I started with these because they were always his favorite. Even if mine did not turn out well, I like to think he'd be proud of me for making the effort."

He can feel a fresh wave of grief coming on, so he attempts to ignore it by pressing on with the conversation. "Did you know him well?"

He's said his usual bit before fully realizing who he's opened the door to. That much becomes clear as his jaw drops and he blinks dumbly at her for several long seconds.

"You want my company?" he finally manages to choke out. "For...?"

In contrast, her face remains perfectly straight.

"For conversation, actually. I haven't been able to reach you this month, so I conclude that your time is scarce at the moment. It seemed only reasonable to pay you for some."

A beat.

"You are, of course, entirely within your rights to refuse my custom if you wish."

He's still looking at her like she's speaking a different language. What on earth is she doing? Can't she see he isn't in any shape for these games today?

"I--" Come on, Osborne, pull it together. "Don't be ridiculous. You don't need to pay to have a conversation with me. Please, come in."

What this conversation could be about? He can't say, but he worries it's to do with Max.

She steps in, closes the door behind her, and turns to face him with a searching look.

"Have you been that busy, then? Or have you been avoiding people? I know I'm not the only one who's had difficulty reaching you."

He seems to subconsciously shrink away from her look. "I needed some time alone. That's all. I didn't think I would be missed that badly."

But what is he doing letting himself be interrogated by her?

"Now, what was it you wanted to speak to me about? Is it urgent?"

"I'm inclined to agree," she says as she takes a delicate bite of the macaron. Sorceress winces a bit, not so much because of the flavor but the texture. "It's not as terrible as you think. The cream is just a tad sweeter than it should be... but the texture is off. Still, it's not bad at all for a first attempt. Macarons are difficult to make."

"Ah, as for Mr. Maximum... I wouldn't say well but I very much enjoyed his company and his cooking.. I wish I had gotten to know him better..."

Seeing as this man has Max's cookbook and knows what his favorite recipe was, they must have been close. No need to ask him that in return. "What I knew though was he was a wonderful man. I'm sorry... that he's gone."

"It may be. That's what I need to find out. Lord Osborne ..."

Her indrawn breath, steeling herself, is almost invisible -- but Erik can probably hear it.

"I can think of three possible reasons you might be drawing away from others in light of recent events. One of those possibilities alarms me greatly, and I can't gauge its likelihood without at least talking to you."

He does hear it, and inwardly he's steeling himself, too. As long as he's known her, she's never been one to mince words with him.

"I believe I can guess what alarms you. Fear not. I am in control of my bloodlust. I'm not more dangerous now than I was before this recent... incident."

Ah, fuck. He shouldn't have said that last part. Now she's surely going to want to know what he means by it.

"I admit that, at first, I was keeping distance out of an abundance of caution. The time for worry about that is now well past."

"That's good," she says slowly, "and I'm pleased to hear it. But there's more to it than that. It isn't only the prospect of loss of control that worries me."

(If she's noticed his mention of a recent incident, she isn't asking about it just yet.)

Now he really is confused. His head cants to the side like a bird of prey inspecting the distance between them.

"Well what else could it be? I doubt you came here out of care for my personal well-being."

That birdlike gesture does chill her a little, but --

"Not directly, no. Though that does concern me. Truth to tell, I don't worry that you might lose control of yourself -- not nearly as much as I worry that you might, in grief but in full command of your faculties, decide that you no longer care about anyone else."

A beat. "You would be far from the first."

His instinct is to protest but that last from her snaps his mouth shut. The silence stretches for a few beats while he wrestles the rest of his guard down. She really isn't here to accuse him, is she?

"No," he answers wearily. "In the past I might have, but... no. Just the thought of how much that would disappoint Max is too much. He was the one who reminded me that isolation isn't the same as peace."

She nods, slowly.

"That's good." And, more gently but still formally: "I'm sorry for your loss. I know I don't need to tell you how deeply he'll be missed."

"It's a profound loss for us all," Erik says with a heavy sigh. "He is a rare breed of person, one who enriches the world around him almost effortlessly." Erik had only just begun to appreciate that fact after watching Max come into his own here.

"I suppose this means we'll have to get to tearing this barrier down soon, won't we?" If there is a way to move between these worlds, he needs to find it. Max was free here; he belongs here, and Erik will make returning him a life mission if he must.

A small, slightly bleak smile; not an offer of comfort, exactly, but of understanding. "I suppose it does. And until we do, should you find yourself wondering what the point of it all is ... please consider me among the people you might call on, to remind you."

He goes very still for a moment, forgetting, in his shock, to keep pretending to breathe. And then a small smile begins to tag at the corner of his mouth.

"All right. I will. Thank you."

"And thank you, in turn. I hope it won't be necessary ... but it's good to know that you will, should it become so."

Mutual respect isn't affection, but it might be alliance, of a sort. And perhaps that can be enough.

Cold And Lonely December [Open]

Potluck!

Open for Business

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wrap?

wrap!