bottlecaplogs | [Catchall] Settling In

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[Catchall] Settling In

Who: Agnes and You
What: The process of getting acclimated to a new body and a new world
When: October
Warnings: Mention of Agnes' canonical death (no details), discussion of gruesome use of human remains, cult activity, fire used to destroy important things.

She never actually put any milk in it. She never even drank it. She’d just take it over and sit there, staring out the window into the street for an hour or so, then stand up and leave. I’d go over to clear away her coffee. It was always scalding hot.

The way she always used to order the coffee, it always sounded like she was enjoying it. The order, I mean. Like the phrase “one black coffee with room for milk” was a delightfully novel thing for her to say.

1. Coffee
There was a cafe back home, the Canyon Cafe. Agnes started visiting in 1991, and she was certain that the staff noticed she didn't seem to age a day between then and 2006, when she...before she arrived here in Bottlecap Bay. She'd gotten into a habit, ordering a black coffee with enough room for milk, and then setting with the cup and not drinking a drop. It was the normalcy of the act of ordering she craved.

Here, though, adjustments need to be made. As a Ninetales (what a silly name), she can't exactly hold a mug, so the coffee is prepared and put into a shallow bowl for her. And as a Ninetales, rather than what she was before, she can actually drink it.

She's surprised, with the first sip, exactly how bitter it is. In fact, the look on her face might be comedic for onlookers. There is absolutely sputtering happening, and her tails all standing up straight like a row of exclamation marks.

2. Canopy
For some reason, Rimbombee went out of his way to ensure that Agnes's living quarters up in the Canopy are water-resistant, if not completely impervious to rain, making her more comfortable than some of the other Cheri Berries. In the meantime, though, she can be found exploring the Canopy as a whole or bringing messages from those standing watch to the main building.

There's a restlessness to her that's obvious if you watch her for long. But that restlessness was one she had since she was anchored by Gertrude Robinson. Then, she existed unable to fulfill her purpose. Here and now, she doesn't know what her purpose is.

If you're around the Canopy, perhaps this is a good time to meet the new recruit? After all, she's fully herself instead of Froslass's pet bitch now.

3. Chitin
Agnes has no issues with bugs, in the abstract. But the first time she sees a spider web bridging the gap from the branch of a tree to its trunk, her response is more than a little 'kill it with fire'. Which is especially dangerous considering she's capable of launching a Flamethrower without even thinking about it.

And now the tree's on fire, and the Joltik whose web she just immolated is very upset. Someone should do something about that. Like, now.

4. Wildcard
Catch me on darkersolstice, wherever you get your social media, to plot.

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Make it a coffee. Even in his sorry state, Bigby did indeed remember that.

His order leaves no room for anything but a sprinkle of sugar. Strange, considering his general distaste for sweets, but it helped cut through the bitterness when he first started drinking it however many decades ago now. Even when finally learned not to scrunch his nose at every sip, the habit managed to stick with an ever growing collection of mismatched sugar packets at his desk to show for it.

He holds his own cup (perhaps too big for someone his size) with both paws, blowing against the steam before finally taking a drink. As he watches her reaction over the rim, Bigby can't help but smirk.

"Taste even better than you imagined?"

"Stronger. I might actually need the milk. And some sugar." And it looks like there's a shaker of nutmeg on the condiment counter that inexplicably smells like the autumn and winter seasons to her, so some of that may get added to the cup too.

"I don't think it's bad, though. I'm just not used to it, yet. I never expected to get the opportunity."

"Here," he hums quietly, first setting his cup down before sliding over the sugar bowl in her direction. It's far too much for him alone, but good that they gave him enough to share. "Start with one scoop. It helps tone it down."

Bigby wonders if he should at least put it in for her, considering her lack of thumbs, but he chooses to wait rather than assume. His paws wrap around the cup again, just to hold for now.

"You're fine. Most people don't take it black." Good thing she left room for milk. He taps at the ceramic. "Why is that, anyway? Not a lot of coffeeshops where you're from?"

She is learning how to manipulate (ah, the etymology of the word betrays her) tools and utensils with her mouth, so even if some of the sugar is spilled along the way, she does get a spoonful into the cup and stir it.

"No. There was one I visited every Tuesday, the Canyon Cafe in Sheffield. I ordered this same thing every week." And never drank it, apparently.

His face scrunches slightly. That's... something. Can you be allergic to coffee? Was she not allowed coffee? The (hamster) wheels are clearly turning in his head while he finally takes another sip.

"Forgot you can drink what you order or what?" he teases, glancing at the spilled sugar. She seems to be handling the no hands thing pretty well. "I'm sure this Canyon Cafe appreciated your weekly fifty cent donation either way."

Coffee sure was cheap in the eighties.

"More like a pound and some change. You were American, then?"

She is using her question to blatantly attempt to dodge his, but from how her ears lower slightly in anticipation, she's not expecting it to work.

"... You could say that." He raises a brow at the sight of her ears flattening. "New York, specifically."

For now, he'll let her have this, keeping the conversation on himself. Consider it a grace period, Agnes.

"Prefer coffee carts myself, but I'm usually just stuck with the burnt pot in the office."

"Oh? What sort of office? Did you sell insurance? Conduct market research? Were you an archivist?"

These are all joke suggestions, woefully mundane jobs she can't imagine suiting Bigby.

Edited (words are hard.) 2025-10-04 22:37 (UTC)

He huffs, unable to see himself as any of those, either.

"No, no, and worked with one. Technically." He pauses for another sip, ears flicking just slightly. Now that he thinks about it, he didn't think he'd miss the monkey of all people, but he did enjoy their occasional back-and-forths. Whenever Bigby was in the mood for it, anyway. "I guess he's more of a librarian. When he wasn't drunk off his ass, anyway."

He leans back, a wry sort of smile crossing his face. For a bunch of Fables, they sure were creative with this one: "But we work at the Business Office."

"I knew an Archivist, too, back home. Well. We never met in person. But she was my greatest enemy. She anchored me." There's a load of respect in those words, and something that might approach wistfulness, but there's also a gleam in Agnes's eyes that serves as a reminder that she's a Fire type. This corner of the cafe suddenly feels just a little warmer than it did a moment ago.

And then she considers Bigby's comment.

"...Business office. That's...vague to the point of meaninglessness. What were you actually, when you were at home?"

"Is it? We do quite a lot of business in that office." His grin gets a little bigger. He might be looking closer to how a Morpeko usually should. As for the actual question, he hums first, before sighing out an answer: "A sheriff."

His expression falters as he says that. That question seems to have used up whatever time was left on her grace period.

"Enemy's a big word to use for someone you've never met. She from Sheffield, too? That's in England, right?"

"Sheffield's in England, yes. About midway up the country. And my beloathed anchor was from London. She operated out of Chelsea."

How interesting, given their species, that it seems they're about to play a sort of game of cat and mouse. Him being a sheriff, that might give him reason to dig into her. But it's clear he's got secrets of his own. The Business Office sounds about as opaque as the Magnus Institute.

"Are you hoping to regain that sort of authority here, little mouse?"

"Hm. Lucky guess." Not really, given the accent and use of pounds. He shrugs while his ears tilt slightly. "Don't think I ever made it out to England myself."

Beloathed anchor. What a strange turn of phrase. His thoughts linger on it while he leans forward again. Could just be British. Could mean a lot more than he knows now. His ears perk, suddenly feeling the warmth of her side slowly take over his. He goes in for another sip, eyes staying on hers. His brows furrow slightly at hearing little mouse, but he responds in earnest.

"No. Got enough on my plate back home. Don't need another jurisdiction on top of it."

"And this one seems to be frontier territory. Harder to impose order on than a nice city with office buildings and paperwork. Though there are archives here. That's certainly a thing."

She's decided to avoid the archives personally.

She gives Bigby a thoughtful look, before lapping at her coffee again in the undignified manner of most canines drinking.

"Nice?" he huffs, sliding back toward a slightly amused expression. "I see you've never made it to New York either. Nothing ever nice about a city that big."

He's joking, even if, maybe, there might be some truth for him in his words somewhere. Carefully, he swirls his cup with both paws — a funny motion to watch a small rodent like him do, perhaps — before he looks at her again. He almost looks like he wants to say something, about the way she laps up her drink. There's a small trick to it, to keep it from spilling too much on your muzzle, but he stays silent.

"... Still need milk and nutmeg?"

Better than asking about her feelings on the archives here, he imagines.

"No, I suppose not. The sugar helps, and you get used to the bitterness over time."

And if that's not a metaphor for something...

"But next time, I might try something else."

"Hard to have it any other way after a while."

A pinch of sugar to handle the bitterness, he means. Metaphors abound, but that's neither here nor there.

"... So I was right about the hot cocoa from the start?" he adds, glancing at her dish again as he drinks. There's still quite a bit in his own cup, but he sets it down to fold his arms. "A slice of pumpkin pie might help you finish that for now though. You have that across the pond?"

"We have it. I've never eaten it before, but I'm up for trying it."

She gives him a serene look, this time inviting the obvious next question, in whatever form it takes. Yeah, they're doing this, aren't they?

So much for all that talk about pumpkins and coffee. He catches her expression with a slight furrow in his brow. Then, he looks past her before standing.

"Give me a minute."

Briefly, Bigby takes his leave, not looking back as he makes his order at the counter. His ears remain alert instead. A few moments more, and he comes back with a single slice, already cut into distinct, bite-sized pieces. He places it beside her coffee.

"First time for everything, huh?" He takes his seat across from her again, pulling his cup closer. "Lucky for you this place has more than coffee and pie. I'm sure they could make your usuals from home, if you ask nice."

The inevitable question stays at the tip of his tongue.

Her ears perk at that suggestion, but it's more wry amusement than anything.

"I find that rather unlikely. My diet was very specialized, back home. What fed me wasn't what normal people consumed, in their ordinary little lives."

A glance at the pie, and then back at him. "Thank you, Bigby. You're being very kind to me. I don't understand why, but...it is nice."

Huh. Now that is definitely more than just something. There's a look in his eyes, curiosity mixed with a strange sense of recognition. He doesn't know her, not really, but he feels more familiar with that sentiment than anything else.

"Well? What was it, then? Sacrificial lamb?" Facetious. He already knows she's the type to keep the details close to her chest. So, he diverts with a soft smile before she can even answer. "... I'm partial to goat myself."

Humor aside, he follows up with a quiet sigh, his eyes wandering as she continues.

"But don't mention it. You're the one that helped me out first, remember? A promise is a promise."

"Not that I'm only doing this because I owe you or anything. I mean, you're also new around here so..."

Suddenly, he seems to lose a bit of his composure. Nice. What a strange word to get tripped up over.

She lets out a hint of laugh when he suggests sacrificial lamb. No, in a sense that was what she was, as the messiah of the Cult of the Lightless Flame.

"Try this: tallow candles made with human fat. Priceless books prized for their rarity or the secrets they contain. The last photograph of someone who was once beloved. Letters confessing love, never delivered. That which burns, with lost potential or great pain in the losing."

She looks right at him, the glow in her eyes intense. "I never ate food, drank coffee. I consumed hope and fed off of fear and anguish."

"Hm..."

He didn't expect an answer. A misdirection, a distraction, even now he wonders if her words are steeped in some sort of doublespeak he can't quite pick out yet. As she looks at him, he looks back at her with eyes narrowed. If Agnes speaks as sincerely as she seems to, then she truly would be an archivist's worst nightmare.

"... And did you enjoy it? The taste of fear and anguish?"

His curiosity turns morbid. For a creature who ate and ate and ate, he can't say he really grew tired of it himself. Meat tastes better run ragged, heart pumping, adrenaline flowing. Even if only by metaphor, there will always be a part of him that can say he loved that taste most all.

She allows that question to sit in the air for a moment, considering whether it would be wiser to draw her line here, to stop talking about herself. But after a moment, she lets out a huffy breath that inexplicably smells like incense smoke.

"I did. It was everything for me. Bitter as the coffee may be, it will never match the intensity of pure fear."

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