2020-08-22 - Diner Chat, Fire Chat

It's safe to say that Niall is a regular at the Black Bear or the Grizzly Den...whatever - the bear-themed diner. It's around 8 at night, and the park ranger is not in park ranger attire. Instead, he's wearing bermuda shorts and an indigo Hawaiian shirt with passionflowers. Somehow, he makes it work. He's looking a bit worn out, with gray curls disheveled. He's picking at a chicken pot pie and Caesar salad, looking not particularly interested in either.

It isn't Cecil's normal hangout, but he has been on a mission to get to know the town better. Since it looks like he's going to be staying. No matter how hot it is, nothing is getting him into shorts. He's in jeans, with a t-shirt with the logo of Georgetown University on it. It looks old and comfortable. He looks around, and when he spies Niall, a small smile comes to his lips, and he waves. Then he wanders over, tentative but amiable. "Hello, Mr. Tokoronga."

There's a little bit of a delay when Niall hears his name. He looks up, double-takes, then grins. "Evening. And it's Niall. Especially when I'm out of uniform." He looks past him, then motions to the stool next to him. "Have a seat, unless you're waiting for someone. In which case, don't worry about engaging the gangly fellah and go about y'business."

"Niall," Cecil says. He joins him. "I'm not waiting for anyone. There isn't anyone." He pauses, then adds, "I mean, there's my housemate, but I'm pretty sure she's busy tonight." He nods to the server as he's handed a menu, and he begins to peruse it. "How have you been holding up?" he asks, "all things considered?"

"Whereabouts have you got yourself set up?" asks Niall as he draws a glass of water towards him and takes a sip. The question earns a shrug, "Not sleeping great, to be honest. Too much..." he waves vaguely to his head. "...to think about. You? No bad side effects from the other day?" He won't say 'from reading a corpse' in mixed company, though the servers here have probably heard it all. "I've identified a couple of Henry's spots, by the way. But the person he was closest to has been off after his death. She's supposed to be back in soon and I'll try to ask her gently when she is."

"A few drams of whiskey in a hot cuppa might help," Cecil says, "sets me right as rain every time." He orders soup from the server and a cup of Earl Grey tea. "I've been all right," he mentions as the menu is offered back to the server. "A few disturbing dreams, but that's nothing new. I have them more often than I don't." He smiles a little. "That'll help, her input. I'm still so sorry about it all. He didn't deserve this."

"Just as long as they're not the capital 'D' Dreams, ay?" says Niall. He lifts his glass of water in a salute, then sips. "I'm more of a beer man m'self, but I do enjoy a shot of whiskey every now and again." A pause, then, "I'm sorry you've had some bad effects from reading Henry. I do hope it ends up being worthwhile."

Cecil says, "Oh, no. Not capital 'D' Dreams. Just the usual." He shakes his head. "God forbid. That's the last thing I need." When his tea comes, he puts the bag in the hot water to steep. "It will be worth it, when we catch whoever did this." He's got confidence, at least, that the killer will be found. "I'd go through worse, and I don't mind saying so. It disgusts me that those bastards walk free."

"This is new for me," says Niall with a half-shrug of Hawaiian-shirted shoulders. "I mean, my usual crime chasing is vandals. Poachers. People starting illegal fires or burning forest brush so I've got to come and shake m'fingers at them." He gives a demonstration of a mock-stern look and a finger-wag. "But murderers? Potential serial killers?"

Cecil arches a brow at the finger-wag, then smiles despite himself and says, "I would consider myself duly chastened, if I were the sort to vandalize or start fires." Then he sighs quietly and shakes his head. "I see too many of them. I can't really complain, I studied in this field on purpose, but it does a number on your faith in humanity. I'm glad, Niall, that this is your only contact with that part of things so far, and I pray it's your last."

"Unlikely," says Niall as he speaks a bit of romaine lettuce. "I mean, it's bloody Gray Harbor. I live here now. I spent a couple years beyond whatever bubble of weirdness surrounds the town, but I'm in it now. Have myself a little cabin and everything." Because of course, a park ranger'd live in a cabin.

"A man can hope," Cecil says. "Most of the people I meet in my work are dead. You always find out who they were after the fact. Your Henry seems wonderful, and it would've been nice to have met him while he was alive. I didn't really believe in ghosts until tonight, or any kind of afterlife, but... I don't know what I'm trying to say. Words of comfort, I suppose."

"Truth is, I didn't know the man that well. We'd only been working together a few months. We'd crossed paths here and there over the years, but when he came here, I was the boss. Which, I mean, the park service isn't that strict about things, but it's like any workplace. I was maintaining a professional distance of sorts." Niall takes a bite of his salad and then sets his fork down. "But he was a good man, and he trained a lot of rangers. That's what's hit people the hardest, I think. That he had a touch on a lot of peoples' lives." A beat, then, "Honestly, the existence of an afterlife would be one of the least strange things I've learned since coming to this town."

"I don't think I know anyone outside of work," Cecil admits. "Except you, and my friend Joe. Who's dating my boss, so I'm not sure that counts." He smiles a little. "I'm supposed to be a scientist, and not all that impressed weith things I can't prove. But I was on the beach, and I saw my da. He's been dead for five years now. He handed me a wreath to float on the water. What gets me is how calm I feel about it all. Not even scared, just... well, a little annoyed, actually. Because I'm supposed to be a scientist."

"Well, you know me. And I'm in a similar boat. This town..." Niall half-squints and looks around the diner. Then he leans in a bit conspiratorially. "...it's a small American town." As a fellow outsider, he figures Cecil will get what he's angling towards. "Even the friendliest small town is a bit insular by nature. Not because anyone wants to exclude you, but they've got their circles. The people they've known sometimes for their entire lives. And this town is worse, because people tend to stick with the people they've been through the fire with. And there is a loooot..." he draws that out, "...of fire in Gray Harbor."

Cecil leans in a little, and he nods knowingly. "Don't get me wrong," he says in a low tone, "they're quite friendly, but they're close-knit. And, full disclosure, I'm not the most social creature. I've been through some fire, but it was with coworkers, and my housemate is from work. Very friendly, but... well. It's a small town in America. I imagine we must be novelties, yeah?"

"Yip. But hey, at least people tend to remember us?" Niall smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Funny story though, I've actually got family here and was born here. I know. I sound so American." He really doesn't. "But my family left when I was quite young, to go back to New Zealand where they met and where my father is from. My uncle and his family are still here. They helped me sort out what..." he waggles his fingers, which seems to be his way of describing Glimmer, "...all meant."

"I never considered myself memorable," Cecil muses, "but I suppose they remember the accent, which is ridiculous, because they're the ones with an accent." Then he feigns a startled gasp. "You're one of the locals?" he says. "I feel so betrayed." Then he shoulder-nudges Niall to indicate the joke. "You're lucky, to have had someone around to explain it. I thought I was going mad."

Niall makes air-quote motions with his fingers to indicate they should go around 'local.' "Yes, I am crafty, with this disguise of Kiwiness. To throw you off the scent, y'see. I'm wiley." Eyebrows lift. "And I am, yeah, though I ran away from it for a long ruddy time. I'm only just starting to really deal with it, and use it, y'know?"

Cecil takes a sip of his tea now that it's good and strong enough to be bitter and full of tannins. Mmm. "I was just a boy. I was quite ill. They weren't sure I was going to pull through, and when I did, I felt like I'd gone mental. Begged to have my head examined, but my parents thought I was being dramatic." He shakes his head wryly. "Anyway, I worked it out. How are you handling it? You seem reasonably sane to me."

"That sounds like a particularly English way to handle it. Talking to someone after you came near death sounds totally reasonable to me." Niall lifts a shoulder. "Don't let my naturally laconic nature fool you," he purses his lips, leans on the bar, then says rather deadpan, "I'm scared shitless. But it helps to not be in it alone."

Cecil says primly, "It's just near death, nothing to get too excited about." He's got that stuff upper lip down pat. But then he's smiling again, and he really ought to do that more often. It transforms him. "Well, you don't have to be in it alone, if you don't want to. I'm officially trying to connect to the living. I had another near-death experience that made me realize, if I died tomorrow, I wouldn't have anyone to look after my cats."

Niall smiles when Cecil does. He smiles easily and often, but more with his eyes when he's saying something deadpan than with his whole face. "If it happened to me, some very tenacious spider plants might die. My aloe would last awhile. My tomato plants in my garden wouldn't do as well. So obviously I must carry on for my...plants."

"At least those things are useful," Cecil says. "My cats just lay around all day or chase each other. I got them so I wouldn't be alone, then ended up locked in a torture crate listening to men I didn't know talk about how they were going to kill me, and I thought: well that's going to be bloody inconvenient come dinner time. I suppose the housemate could do it, now, but I promised her I wouldn't make them her burden."

"That is..." Niall's eyes dance with amusement. "You really are/ English aren't you? If I died, my roommate would be inconvenienced. This is your thought?" But then he clicks back and really process what Cecil said. "...honestly? Locked in a torture crate? In a Dream?"

Cecil shrugs and says, "Well, I'm not wrong." He sips his bitter brew, steeped to the point of being paint thinner. "Occupational hazard," he says. "I was gathering evidence down at the Harbor, and I got a little too close to what I was looking for. So these thugs threw me in a crate that had been converted into a torture room. Joke's on them, when I didn't report back, the chief came looking for me. Now we've got mounds of evidence. That's what you get for rolling the forensics specialist."

"Christ," mutters Niall. "What even is this town? I mean, honestly? Crime mecca? A nexus of realities? A horror nightmarescape with really nice trees?" He looks around the diner, "Suddenly I'm wishing I had some of that whiskey you were talking about."

"I haven't quite processed it yet," Cecil admits. "I'm sure when it all hits me, I'm going to be a wreck, but my housemate is a criminal psychologist. She asked if I wanted to stay at hers instead of being cooped up in an apartment by myself, so I've just been floating on this nice situation without really thinking about what happened." He amiably sips his tea. "We should get some whiskey. I'm sure the sales are doing well in this town."

"Ah, the good ship denial. I know it well." And then, Niall tilts his head at Cecil. "Are you asking me for a drink?" It's a sing-song half-tease that the other can choose to slough off as a joke if he sees fit.

Cecil glances at Niall, half-speculative, and perhaps a little surprised when he puts it like that. "I could be," he replies. "If the answer's yes. I warn you, I'm terrible at this, but at least you'll get whiskey out of it."

"You're terrible at drinking with people? I've heard it's pretty easy. You just lift the drink to your lips..." Niall mimes taking a drink. "And then comes the.." he half-mimes being drunk. It's clear that he came up through the ranks entertaining and educating children in the park. He flows into goofball mode fairly naturally.

Cecil laughs, a quiet sound as his shoulders shake. "You're right, how hard can it be? I meant the conversation and entertainment part, but since you haven't said no, I can't be doing too badly." He takes another drink of tea and winces a little. So bitter. Some people just like to torture themselves. "I usually drink at Two If By Sea, but the downside is they know me there."

"Mate, that's going to be a problem just about anywhere we go. Someone's going to know one of us. Small town life." Niall lifts a shoulder. "The alternative is filling a flask and going for a stroll. Unless you're going to tattle on me to your police friends."

"If I was going to tattle to my police friends," Cecil says, "I'd just take you to Two If By Sea. No, I think America's liquor laws are ridiculous, and I won't have any part of them." He sets his tea down as his soup arrives. "Is it really illegal to drink and walk? That's insane. It's not like you're driving."

"Illegal to be drinking in an unlicensed public place, yip. Can get around it at campsites in the park, but you're not supposed to go strolling around with it. But if you're sneaky about it, you can get away with it." Spoken like someone who has in fact, gotten away with it. Niall: not always setting the best example. "I've definitely stepped on toes of some of the local cops when I've asserted my very limited authority in park matters over the years."

Cecil's brow furrows as though he's personally offended by this. Personally! "I suppose we could drink around a campfire," he says. "And if we happen to have a sip or two on the way, who will know?" His good humor starts to return as he says, "I doubt the chief would care, to be honest. He might even think it's me getting a life."

"I do have a cabin with a fire pit. But I wasn't sure if that was too forward of me, inviting you round." Niall angles in a little conspiratorially again. "A man has to protect his virtuous reputation and all." There's that twinkle again.

Cecil grins, and he ducks his head at the twinkle. "I don't think that's too forward. I mean, we're just a couple of blokes avoiding our friends so they can't tell stories about us, looking to get inebriated because this town is hauntingly terrible. Perfectly innocent."

"Also saving money, because drinking out, while social, does drain one's wallet. And I'm just making park ranger money. And we do deserve a drink after terrible things happen. Which in this town, is every second day." Niall head-wobbles, "And that shiz adds up."

Cecil nods and says, "Exactly. It's financially responsible." He works his way through his soup without much appetite. Eating seems to be a necessary chore. "Do you ever think about moving?" he says. "I hear Portland is nice. Seattle isn't so bad. I guess for a park ranger, there needs to be wilderness around. Sometimes I think about taking a job just about anywhere else." He shakes his head. "And then I don't."

"Well, I only just moved here," says Niall with an arch of his brows. "I was em, I've been in the area about eight years? But I've only started living in the sphere of Gray Harbor fuckery a few months ago. I suppose I could keep an eye on a transfer and scoot my way back outside that sphere. But it seems to make sense that there are people in various kinds of uniforms who know what's really going on in this town."

"I haven't been here very long, myself," Cecil admits. "But the twisted thing is I don't really want to leave. I'm starting to grow attached to people, and that's how places like this get you." He gestures to Niall with his teacup. "And now I've found someone to take care of my cats if I die. I can't just throw that away."

"Ooosh. I'm really more of a plant and goldfish person," says Niall with a twinkling grin. He looks down at his watch and says, "I guess I'm the one asking you for a drink if you're coming over to my place, hmm?"

"I'm sure they'll enjoy the goldfish," Cecil says, trying without much success to suppress a grin. He then takes out his phone and starts thumbing through it for pictures. "Here we go, I've become officially pathetic, showing off pictures of my cats." He shows the phone to Niall, and there's a picture of a ginger tabby and a torbie curled up together on a chair. They are, arguably, pretty cute. "Theodore and Esmerelda. And I suppose since you're asking, I'd love to go to your place for a drink. Should we hit the liquor store on the way?"

"Sure, if you don't trust my admittedly fairly meagre liquor cabinet." Niall does look at the photos and grins at them. He may have claimed to not be a cat person, but really, there are few people who don't appreciate cute furry creatures curled up together. "I don't have any pictures of my goldfish or I'd trade baby photos."

"You should," Cecil says. "Then I won't feel so sad about having far too many cat photos on my phone." He finishes his soup and tea. "We'll call the liquor store my contribution to the evening. I'd feel bad about taking undue advantage of an innocent and virtuous man by drinking all his alcohol."

Niall barks a reflexive bit of laughter at 'innocent and virtuous.' "When you put that in the same sentence with the word alcohol, it makes me seem even less innocent and virtuous than I already am." He pulls out his wallet and puts down enough cash to cover his meal. "Do you mind a walk? It's a nice night and I only tend to drive when I really have to."

Cecil shakes his head and says, "I don't mind a walk. A walk would be nice. Besides, I don't plan on being able to drive by the time this is over." He takes out his own wallet to put down money for his soup and tea. "Now, when you say walk, do you mean a couple of blocks or a couple of miles?"

Niall chuckles. "Oh, I won't send you on a hike, promise. I'm always wearing the shoes for it, but I realize others aren't." He slides off the stool and stands up to his full rather tall height. "And there's a place to buy liquor on the way."

Cecil glances down at his feet. "I'm in hiking boots," he says. "They're just starting to feel dry again. I walked into the ocean in them." He hops off the stool, and alas, his height isn't as impressive. Not that he's short, but he still has to look up at Niall. "Excellent. I'll get more than we need."

It's a pleasant walk and maybe a liiittle bit further than Niall let on. But he's got long legs and is accustomed to walking, so it didn't feel that far to him. On the way to the Liven A-Frames, they stop at a gas station with a limited liquor selection to pick up provisions. And then it's on to the quite lovely little cabins. His is more rustic than the others in the area. There's a jeep parked in the driveway with the National Park Service logo emblazoned on it. "Shall I put a fire on?"

"Hey, I recognize this neighborhood," Cecil says. "I'm still paying rent in it." For an apartment he rarely visits. He looks around the A-Frame and looks positively charmed. "I think a fire would be lovely. Gives you something to stare at as you're getting blotto."

"Better than staring at my ugly mug, ay? Beer, or whiskey?" They've stocked up on both. "As you can guess, I'm no kind of city slicker. This is still a bit swish for me, all this," Niall motions to the A-Frame. "I'd probably get on just fine with a hunting cabin."

Cecil clucks his tongue and says, "You're adorable, remember? You're going to have to get your story straight, mate. Whiskey. Please." He takes the liberty of finding a spot in front of the fire, and he gets comfortable. "I would never make it in the woods," he says. "If it's outside of where GrubHub delivers, I'd starve."

"Some things can be so ugly they're adorable. Look at pugs." And then, "Whiskey," says Niall with a snap. He pulls out the bottle they procured. Nothing great - just a blend, but actually good enough to be drinkable on ice. He sets it on one of the sawed down bits of log that serves as a seat, and disappears into the cabin. He emerges a few minutes later with a pair of tumblers and a mini cooler. Said cooler contains ice. "Pour us up a couple and I'll start the fire. And, I think you'd do better than you'd think. Most people would. The outdoors aren't intimidating if you plan."

"You can make a case for pugs," Cecil says, "but you're no pug. But it would be weird if I just stared at you while I drink. People think I'm creepy enough because I work with the dead." He pours out a pair of whiskeys on ice. "I've been a city boy all my life, but I do like the woods. There's something soothing to the soul in being surrounded by trees, where it's quiet."

"The Japanese have a term for being in nature and being aware of it. They call it shinrin-yoku. Forest bathing." Niall starts to build a fire with such ease that he could probably do it in his sleep. Or while hypothermic, sleep-deprived and starving, but that's outdoorsman training for you. "I don't think working with the dead is creepy. It takes a strong person to be around death all day, and what you do is important." He pulls out a magnesium firestarter (that he just happens to have in his pocket) and jumps a few sparks. Before long, the fire is starting to catch.

Cecil watches the fire-building with curiosity. "It's necessary," he says. "To work with the dead, and ot try to eke out their stories. I'd be lying if I said it didn't take a toll. A lot of my colleagues become cold, detached, sometimes flip. They forget they're working with someone who used to be a person." He shakes his head. "I never could do that. It weighs on me." He shrugs a shoulder. "But you do get used to it." He holds out one of the whiskeys to Niall.

"Ah, that happens in any high-stress job. You're around something all day, something hard to take, you make yourself numb to it. I used to do logging work, til I decided I'd rather preserve trees than chop 'em. We'd get real sloppy with the chainsaw after awhile." Niall tosses another log into the fire, then takes the glass from Cecil. He lifts it, "Cheers."

Cecil lifts his glass. "Cheers," he says, and he takes a healthy swallow of the stuff. He closes his eyes as it burns down his throat. Then he nods and says, "This is a fantastic idea. And I like your job. You help people, you help nature. It must be freeing." He sighs with contentment and leans back, taking another sip. "I'm actually looking forward to tromping around in the woods with you."

Niall sits on the stump nearest Cecil. "Well, you already own hiking boots. That's one up on some people I've taken into the woods." He grins. "Maybe I'll make a woodsman out of you. You never know." He sips his drink and coughs. "Whuff. Can't remember the last time I drank hard alcohol straight. I'm usually more of a beer man."

Cecil smiles and ducks his head. "Hiking boots are practical, especially at a crime scene with uneven terrain." He takes another drink, then admits, "I don't hate the idea of being a woodsman. Except when it got cold, I wouldn't be so fond of it then. Nature doesn't have central heating." He watches the flames crackle. "I usually drink beer, too," he says. "But tonight, there were ghosts, and I saw my dead da, so I'm drinking whiskey."

"That is...entirely fair. Some occasions call for something harder." Niall takes another sip of his. "And when it's cold, that's when people get closer. People...talk quieter. It's beautiful out here in the winter. Just far enough outside of town. All these little a-frames look magical and cozy." He shakes his head and grins. "And in the winter, I'll be waxing poetic about what it looks like right now. With the trees thick and allows everyone more privacy. The crickets. The deer that sometimes go wandering past early in the morning." He gets a sort of dreamy look on his face.

Cecil's gaze shifts to Niall, and his smile returns. "It'll be bloody cold, and getting closer is great when you have someone to get closer too. I sleep alone." He pauses, then adds, "I sleep with cats now, which would help with staying warm. Til you had to get out of bed to light the fire. It would have to be a staggeringly adorable deer to make it worthwhile."

"So do I. Goldfish make lousy cuddle partners," says Niall with another one of those smiles that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Look, I'm not going to convince you of the virtues of the great outdoors by telling you about it. You'll just have to let me show you."

Cecil tilts his head and says, "Is that an invitation? Because I'm not saying no. Starting with summer is a wise move, too. The woods are nice, there's no snow, and the wildlife is appropriately cute and innocuous." He pauses. "The wildlife is appropriately cute and innocuous, right? There aren't any mountain lions or bears around here, are there? I'm well aware of where I stand in the food chain next to things with fangs and claws."

Niall chuckles. "Well, there are bears. And cougars. But I promise to take you to the areas that are well-trodden and free of large predators first. The thing to remember about wildlife, is it's not out to get you. If you stay out of their way, they'll leave you alone." There's more to it than that of course, but that's the crux of it.

Cecil gestures with his glass as he says, "That's the part I don't understand. Why wouldn't they eat us? We're toothless, soft, and squishy. Easy prey. If I were a bear, I would think sod berries and fish, I'm having hiker tartare." He takes another drink, then tops off his glass and leans over to offer the same for Niall's. "Very well, I will allow you to lead me into the wilderness. We'll make a day of it."

"Because they've learned that humans have guns and bear spray and their berries and fish don't tend to fight back quite so hard. Human beings have more or less eliminated any creature you'd consider a man-eater. The only ones left are generally the ones that try to stay out of our way." Which Niall says a bit sadly. He looks as his glass fills up. "Why Mister Harvey are you trying to get me munted?"

Cecil laughs quietly. "Yes, I am. Don't worry, I'm a perfect gentleman and far too awkward to put the moves on my host. Your virtue is safe." He sets the bottle aside. "I don't actually have moves, is the thing. When I met my wife, she had to spell it out for me that we were going home together, and I was just agreeable."

"Shame," drawls Niall to the comment regarding his virtue being safe. He pauses a moment, then sets his glass down to go toss some more wood on the fire and poke at it a bit. "I'm just perpetually on my own. Part of that comes from being in situations where I'm working with a small group of people, and I've been the moss. At least the last couple've years."

Cecil waves a hand and says, "I'm divorced. It's been years now. She wanted the white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and the reliable 9-5. I had no desire to be a father, and I'd rather be locked in a torture crate than mow a lawn. It was amicable, but we don't really talk anymore. I've been on my own since, in some part due to the utter lack of moves." He shakes his head sadly. Then he says, "At least we're not alone tonight. That's something."

"You'd think that's the sort of thing that might've come up before marriage," says Niall. He means it as a joke, but pretty quickly, he realizes how that sounded. "I'm...sorry, that was a bit dickish of me." It's hard to tell in the firelight, but he might be blushing a little.

Cecil laughs a little and says, "It's fine. We were on the same page, and then she decided she wanted something else. The long hours and darkness isn't for everyone. Most people thought we got married to keep me in the country, though that wasn't it." He nudges Niall's foot with his own. "You're not wrong. We should have thought about a lot of things before we said I do."

"Still, none of my business. And it's not like I'm an expert on how to build a successful relationship." Dry, that. "You hungry at all? I might have some snacks inside. Hell, I might even have marshmallows if you feel like poking something in the fire."

"If we bring marshmallows into it," Cecil says, "we will end up burning this place down, but I wouldn't say no to snacks." He waves a hand again, unbothered by what is and isn't Niall's business. "Anyway, we can be terrible at building successful relationships together. And be very drunk about it." He drinks more from his glass.

"Should I prematurely make up my couch in case you're too drunk to hike home?" Niall asks as he stands to prepare to go rooting around for snack foods. "Because if we start talking relationship horror stories, I am going to want to drink more."

Cecil sits up a bit, and he nods as he says, "Yes, I plan on not being able to use my legs for much. Though, I do live just down the street. Rather, my apartment is down the street and I have a key. But if you make up the couch, I will pass out on it." He raises his glass to Niall and smiles amiably.

"All right. Back in a mo. No promises as to how comfortable the couch is for long term sleeping. No one's ever crashed on it before. Only got it a few months ago." Niall sets his glass down and disappears into the cabin. He's gone a few minutes, to dig out a blanket and extra pillows, and also to pop some popcorn. He also comes out with a bag of marshmallows. "I should've asked before I dressed the popcorn, but I added brown sugar and cayenne. Sorry. Just so used to making it for myself I realized belatedly I should've asked if you like that sort of thing."

Cecil watches Niall move about, and he looks a little guilty. "I should be helping you," he says. "And the popcorn's fine. It sounds delicious. I'm not all that picky. I've even eaten at Cracker Barrel on purpose before." He purses his lips. "There, now you know my deepest shame. You can blackmail me at will." He tops off both glasses, though he has slowed down his drinking a little.

"If that is your deepest shame, sir, then you will have a place among the honoured dead when you die," Niall sits down again and offers the bowl out to Cecil. It's sweet, salty and buttery with just a tiny bit of cayenne kick. It's also still warm, so he made it from scratch inside. "No shame in the Cracker Barrel. Well. OK. Maybe a little shame."

"I blame it on my years in Texas," Cecil says. "That place corrupts you. I can usually resist, but sometimes I have dark urges, and I just need chicken-fried steak in country gravy, whatever country gravy even is." He shakes his head in his shame, then helps himself to a few kernels of popcorn. He perks up. "Oh, that's lovely."

Niall looks pleased that Cecil likes it. He reclaims his glass and sips. "Are you getting the buzz on you were looking for? Oooh, actually, the popcorn goes fairly well with the whiskey. Sort of takes the edge off of it." Then, "I don't think too hard about what's in anything from an American chain restaurant."

Cecil nods and says, "Yes, I'm starting to feel it." For all that he mentioned staring at the fire, it's Niall he watches. "You're not drinking very much," he says. "And you're probably wise. Thinking about it too hard can't be good for the psyche. I think too much. That's what this is for." He gestures with his glass.

"I'm playing host. Minding the fire. And like I said, whiskey isn't really my drink." Niall smiles a bit sheepishly. He reclaims his glass and takes a sip, but it's still a relatively modest one. Then he goes quiet for a moment, gaze drifting towards the fire. It crackles pleasantly, burns strongly. It's a still night, so there's no smoke to dodge.

"I suppose that's fair," Cecil says quietly, and he settles into the quiet for a spell, watching the flames. After a few long moments, he says, "I wish we had met under better circumstances, but I'm glad we've met. I like you. You're nice and funny, and I love this popcorn."

"We met under about as good circumstances as people seem to get in this town," murmurs Niall with a twitch of his lips. "And, same. I feel like I've known you longer than I have." He clears his throat. There might just be a bit of a not-blush again.

Cecil smiles, and he glances to Niall. "It's strange, isn't it? I feel the same. Like we've been friends." He hesitates, picking over his words in his buzzed state. "I don't connect very often. To people. It has always been easier, I think, to keep a distance. But I've just clicked with you." There's warm humor in his voice was he adds, "And you are adorable."

"Is adorableness high on the list of traits you look for in friends?" Niall asks, lip curling in a grin. "Same for me. I mean, I'm good with people, but I'm not...good with people, if that makes sense? I can talk to a hundred people about fire safety, I can coordinate my staff. But..." he waggles the finger between him, to indicate a personal connection.

"I wouldn't say it's a prerequisite," Cecil says, "but it's something one notices. It's not something I usually pay attention to, so imagine my surprise." He half-smiles and takes a small sip from his glass. "I can work with my colleagues," he says, "but most of the things I know how to talk about are macabre. It doesn't make for great conversation. That's what the cats are for. Everyone likes cute furry things."

"Well, maybe I should grow a beard, then," Niall drawls, chin tilting upwards, eyebrows lifting. "Then everyone would like me." A slow smile spreads.

Cecil laughs. "They are fashionable," he points out. "Though I like the way you look. Not that it matters what I think. If you want a beard, you should go for it. I've tried, but it comes in patchy, and I look homeless and deranged." He rubs his smooth chin. "So this is my look."

"I had one. When I was logging. Real lumberjack look. I grew it and suddenly everything in my wardrobe transformed into plaid. Just overnight. Morphed." Niall pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth and chews while grinning. "And I can't imagine that. I think you'd look Britishly sophisticated in a burlap sack." He offers the bowl of popcorn Cecil's way. His glass is getting a little emptier now.

Cecil takes some popcorn, and there's brightness in his eyes as he munches. "I can see it," he says, "the plaid. And sadly, no, I look like a Terry Prachett character. Then again, I haven't tried to grow a beard since I was in my twenties." He sighs quietly. "You'd still be adorable with the beard, plaid and all."

"You keep calling me that. A man's going to start to get the wrong idea," says Niall. There's a bit of a long drawl and a touch of amusement in his eyes. He tips back what's left in his glass while looking at the other man.

Cecil laughs and admits, "It is kind of a weird thing to call another bloke. It's just an aesthetic observation. I assure you I'm not... I mean I don't think... Look. At best, I'm like a dog chasing a car, with no bloody idea what to do with it if he caught it." There's a slight stammer in his words, though the blush might just be from the whiskey.

"I've noticed..." Niall begins gently, "...that this town tends to push people towards...experimentation. Maybe it's the whole end of the world feeling. The danger lurking around every corner. Gets people wanting to get their pleasure where they can, y'know? Me..." he stretches his neck up towards the sky, then slowly back down. "Well, I'm the quintessential bachelor uncle who people wonder why he never seems to be with anyone. That's because everything I've ever done, I've done quietly. Logging camps...can be pretty...unforgiving. Same with logging towns. And park rangers...well, sometimes you get pearl-clutching parents 'cause I work around kids. Though somehow I feel like that'd be less of a problem in this town."

"You start to feel how alone you are in a town like this," Cecil says quietly. "It starts to weigh on you, and the need to be among the living becomes undeniable." He glances at his whiskey, then takes a small drink. With a gust of breath, he laughs, "Then it turns out all my mates are queer and hooking up, and I think oh, well. That's Gray Harbor for you. But I take your meaning. It's still not safe, not entirely. Companionship shouldn't be an act of defiance, but..."

"It's also possible that the weirdos and the people who don't quite fit are the ones who stick around when the find out the truth about this place. Better to be together in weirdness than alone, ay?" Niall picks up the bottle and refills each of their glasses, dipping into the cooler to add a few more cubes of ice to make it more sippable. Though he's fast approaching the time when that matters less and less.

"That's a good point," Cecil says. "Those who truly can't handle the unusual don't last here. They leave. It's like the town doesn't want them. But does that mean it wants us?" He frowns then and says, "You're not a weirdo. This predilection exists throughout species. An aversion to it is the only anomaly, limited to one. What I mean is there's nothing about you that doesn't belong. I admit, I've had thoughts. About blokes. Of course, my family would lose their minds, but they're not really talking to me anyway."

Niall chuckles and shakes his head. "I use the term weirdo fondly. Just to mean different from most people. And different doesn't mean bad. And yeah, if you're already living with being different from most people, it's easier to take the whole..." he finger wiggles at himself to indicate the Glimmer. Some people have words for it. He has a hand motion. "I'm guessing your family is also a fair distance away."

"Back in London," Cecil says with a small, sad smile. "I haven't heard from them in years. I couldn't make it back for my da's funeral, and they never forgave me for missing it. There was a case, though. There's always a case." He looks up from his glass and clears his throat. "Thus concludes the maudlin portion of the evening. Let's talk about something fun. What do you do for fun when you're not putting out fires and guiding the masses?"

Niall laughs a little, "I'm not a firefighter, Cecil. I teach people how not to let their own fires get out of control. Or did you mean metaphorical ones?" He'll let the conversation shift and not dwell on the difficult question of family. "Em, well, I'm kind of predictable?" He scratches the back of his neck. "Most of it has to do with the outdoors. Skiing in the winter. Trying to get better at cooking. What about you?" He makes slightly glassy-eyed eye contact. The whiskey is starting to get to him a little.

"I'll say metaphorical," Cecil says. He's all smiles, drunk enough to be feeling good, and with all the stress drowned in whiskey, he actually relaxes. "I've never been skiing. I've been camping, and I like it all right. Let's see. I'm trying to get better at cooking, and I take pictures. Not just for my work. I go around photographing things that look interesting. I also play piano, though not particularly well."

"There we go. Something we have in common other than accents and great hair." Niall means cooking. "Photography, ay? I could see that coming in handy. With the investigation stuff." There's a clear thought in there somewhere but it's gotten partially drowned in whiskey. "What kinds of interesting things've you photographed? You should bring your camera into the woods when we go."

"Oh, I plan on it," Cecil says. "I take pictures of trees, birds, urban decay. I bet the wilderness is rife with subjects. And yeah, it does come in handy. I take a lot of pictures in my line of work." He frowns faintly. "One of my best cameras got stolen by those thugs who threw me in the crate. It wasn't my best camera, thankfully, but I was fond of it. Of course, I've got enough photos of the cats to fill a book."

"Bastards," Niall murmurs of the crate-throwers. Then he swallows a bit of the whiskey a bit quickly - fast enough that an ice cube bonks him in the face. He scrubs a hand down his face and chuckles at himself. "I do believe I'm starting to feel this. How're you?"

Cecil beams. "Good! I'd hate to be the only pissed one in the place." He glances at his glass, which he's taken to nursing slowly now that he's got a good buzz. "I'm fantastic. My fingers are tingly, and I'm no longer freaked out about the ghosts. They're starting to feel normal."

"I've seen 'em. In the forests. At least I think they were ghosts. I try not to think too hard about it." Niall is reaching for the bottle again, which might be a bad idea. On the other hand, his house is right there. Then he looks to Cecil, eyes dancing with amusement. "Your fingers are starting to feel normal, or ghosts?"

Cecil presses his fingers together, one at a time, against his thumb. "No, that doesn't feel normal at all," he murmurs. Then, looking to Niall, he says, "The ghosts. The weirdness. The fact that I may very well be quite taken with you. It all feels normal." He wags a finger. "Your virtue is as safe as you want it to be. But to look at someone like that again... that shouldn't feel normal, but it does."

Niall shifts so he's facing Cecil instead of knees pointing towards the fire. He leans in, not deeply within his personal bubble but certainly on the edges. "As you pointed out, it's not abnormal, just a bit more rare. Cept in Gray Harbor." A big smile, a slightly sloppy smile. "Look, you're sorting some things out. And the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable. But you sir, are also quite adorable. So there."

Cecil grins stupidly and bows his head. "I'm not," he says quietly, and there's that blush. He doesn't draw back from the shortening of personal space though. He even leans in a little and lifts his gaze to Niall's. "You're not making me uncomfortable. Maybe a little nervous, but that's excitement. Ooh, I got rid of my inhibitions." He says that like it might be a tactical error.

"If you wanted me to believe you were not," Niall points a finger. "...that little grin and blush wasn't the way to convince me." His voice has dropped, but it's also gotten warmer. Then, experimentally, he reaches across to take Cecil's hand. He doesn't do anything but squeeze it gently. But then, after a moment, he starts to move his thumb over his inner wrist. "And if you want to wait until we're both sober, in case you feel like doing anything is something you might regret? I won't be offended."

Cecil reflexively takes Niall's hand in his, fingers entwined. That comes naturally, he doesn't even think about it. He smiles, and there's warmth in his eyes. They're nice eyes, too nice to be hidden behind coke-bottle glasses. "I want to do things that would make those randy sailors I drink with blush, but, er, I also want to make sure I'm not taking advantage of someone very kind and good."

"Good sir," says Niall, putting on a fake hoity toity accent that still sounds super Kiwi, "I am not that rutting drunk." Then he reaches up to take a strand of the other man's hair and push it back behind his ear. "Just happily tingled. Slightly basted. Comfortably numb, as the song says." And then he leans in the rest of the distance, and very softly, slowly, experimentally, kisses, lingering just a moment. His lips are a little tingly from the whiskey and the cayenne from the popcorn, but sweet as well.

Cecil tilts his head into the kiss, tentative and soft. It must agree with his delicate sensibilities, because he presses further, his lips sweet from whiskey. He murmurs a wordless sound of approval. Okay, so maybe he does like guys, or at least this one. He rests his forehead against Niall's, strokes his cheek, and whispers, "I'd like more of that, please."

Niall's cheek is a little rough with a rasp of stubble. Definitely a different experience from kissing a woman. He cups the back of Cecil's neck and draws him close again to kiss a little deeper. He even smells woodsy, but that might be from him minding the fire - but also might be from some gently pine-scented shampoo or body wash. He starts to lose himself in it, and forget that he's supposed to be taking it slowly.

Cecil's pleasantly buzzed enough to forget about taking things slowly, and he scoots closer to Niall, setting his glass aside so he can slip his arms around him. The stubble is well-received, definitely not like kissing a woman. He has the scent of a bonfire clinging to his hair and clothes, with notes of sandalwood beneath. He tries to murmur words, overthinking as usual, but the pleasant whiskey haze has him letting go into just kissing the man.

After a few delightful minutes of just leaning into it, he pulls back far enough to murmur, "It...may have been a good amount of time since I've done this. So forgive me if I'm rusty." Then he presses a kiss just to the edge of his jaw. "How are you feeling?" He sweeps a hand up and through his hair, and there's a sense that he's been wanting to do that for a little while. Because his fingers kind of dig in and explore the texture.

That untamable hair is rather soft, and the thickness of it is what makes it refuse to lay flat or in place. His eyes lid with pleasure at the touch, and his eyes are glassy and dilated as he studies Niall's features. "I feel good," he says, "and I've never been with a man before, so I, er, I mean, no complaints. His fingertips trail down Niall's cheek again, perhaps a bit enamored of the stubble. "I really like you, Niall."

Niall exhales a whuff of laughter. "So I'm doing excellently against your sample size of zero. Good to know." His eyes dance with amusement. "I like you, too. Truth be told, you're the type I always had a crush on back in school. The quiet, sort of nerdy boy. But I was in rugby and was outdoorsy and a bit of a jock, so those boys were always afraid I was going to bully them or that I wouldn't like them." He presses another kiss to the side of his jaw. "But I think we should be...slow. Especially since you've had something to drink. Because if you decide in the morning this isn't something you want, then we could try and still be friends. Yeah? You've taken the first step."

Cecil nods a little, then says, "Those were the boys that did bully me, or tried, but they were so cute." He laughs a little, then steals a small kiss. "Slow is good. I don't want us to wake up and you see me with morning hair and realize you're making a grave mistake. And I very much want to be your friend. I feel more alive around you."

"I think you're giving me a bit too much credit. I think this town might be doing that." Niall's tone is gentle, and he fingers softly through his hair, then flicks his fingers around to tap his chin. "I quite like your chaos hair, as owner of hair that can also be chaotic." His gray curls are fairly close cropped, but the few strands that aren't are going whatever direction they please. He takes a moment to look at the other. Then he shakes his head to get himself out of his reverie and gently grips the back of Cecil's neck. "Shall we turn in, and see how you feel in the light of day?"

Cecil smiles shyly and flips a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, let's sleep it off, and if my bedhead doesn't drive you off, I suppose we can have a conversation in the morning." He takes Niall's hand in his, kissing the back of it. "I'm not going to regret this. It's not just the drink." He takes a deep breath, then smiles. "So I guess this is good night."