IC Inbox for Ryslig

[certaininequities]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, DR_OSBORN.

FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 243.720.373.632

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<DR_OSBORN> You've reached Dr. Norman Osborn.
<DR_OSBORN> Please leave a message: I'll respond as promptly as possible.

Other Handles:
[Back2Formula] regular anon * [Pierglass] trolling anon * [LutinVert] Goblin/Alton Mode * [EpigaeaMemoriam] Support Group anon

Comments

<teslacoils> before the wacky broadway trauma event

[terribibble]

I saw your post about taking over the soup kitchen; if you ever need help butchering I've got plenty of experience and I'd be willing to come down and help.

More importantly I wanted to ask how you were feeling. Recovering? Want to talk about it at all now that there's a little distance?

[He is... barely aware of all that went on. It wasn't his business to pry; he's no stranger to how Ryslig fucks with people, and he doesn't need details to understand 'I need to work from home for a while to get my head on straight'. If Norman want to volunteer more details, that ball's in his court.]

<DrOsborn>

[certaininequities]

Hi, Fiddleford! Would you believe I've got more volunteers to help carve up donations than serve them at the moment? Absolutely wild. But it means I don't have to learn, so I'm not about to complain.

As for how I'm feeling, well ...

You know, I'd love to. Can we meet up somewhere? I have a sort of ... surveillance arrangement here at Hill House, and not everyone's comfortable with it.

[Chiikage burbles at Norman as if he can read his damn mind. Norman looks up at the blood golem and raises his eyebrows]

Well, it's true, ya know.

[worst hall monitor ever]

<teslacoils>

[terribibble]

Oh, that would be fine. If you wanted to come over and sit in the garden and drink some tea, you're more than welcome.

[He imagines this is not a conversation to have in a public coffee shop?]

Or I could come to you if you've got somewhere in mind.

<DrOsborn>

[certaininequities]

Oh, I haven't seen your garden yet. I think I'd like that a lot. What time would you like me to be there?

[he'll have to leave a note on the door in case anyone comes looking for him, but that won't take long at all.]

<teslacoils>

[terribibble]

You're in for a treat then. The pumpkins and corn are really starting to come in in earnest right about now. I have some chores I'd like to get finished up so let's say an hour?

[That will give him time to prepare some variety of snack. Which he has to do, obviously.]

<DrOsborn>

[certaininequities]

Sounds perfect. Oh - Peter made an entire mountain range of latkes recently... would you and Marco like any? We've been trying to give them away since even the crew here at the House can't eat them all.

<teslacoils>

[terribibble]

[How dare you snipe him springing snacks on you by springing snacks on him. Dad on dad violence. He has to scour his brain for a good few seconds to remember what 'latkes' are, but luckily Ford was often aggressively Jewish in his direction. His memory supplies 'hashbrowns but better'.]

I would! I'll never say no to any sort of potato. I don't know if I'll be able to get Marco to eat any but it couldn't hurt to give him the option.

<DrOsborn>

[certaininequities]

[DAD-OFF! Two Dads Will Enter. Only One Will Leave. Because IT'S NOT HIS HOUSE!]

Hey, if he doesn't, more for you. Never know when you need a midnight snack, after all. (usually around midnight)

See you in an hour. :D

[and with that, he goes to clean himself up a bit. rearranging the master bedroom to suit his tastes is warm work in the middle of July]

<teslacoils>

[terribibble]

See you. :8)

[It's bolstering that Norman is in a good enough mood to offer snacks and use emojis... or it's a sign that he's really, really pushing down how bad he feels. Fiddleford is no stranger to doing the same thing because it seems easier than facing the ache head-on. Iced tea in the summer heat will help either way, right? It can't hurt.

When Norman arrives it's to a snake waving at him from the side of the house on the path that leads around to the garden.]

Come on around.

[True to his word the garden plots between the house and the private lake are explosions of corn and pumpkins. Not just big pumpkins, but little decorative ones too, ones left over from the natural decorations Elsa grew for his wedding that he let go to seed because seeing them reminds him of how kind that gesture was.]

[certaininequities]

My God, this is really something.

[Norman gapes openly at the splendor, smiling, his eyes alight. There's a paper bag in one hand, spotted with grease, and he's wearing black shorts and a punny t-shirt. His hair is slightly damp, as though he'd sprayed it before combing it back to combat the effect the summer humidity has on it ... but the fluffy waves will eventually, over the course of their visit, refuse to be contained anyway.

also yes he is wearing sandals with socks, the Summer Dad Ensemble is complete]

Thanks for asking me over, Fiddleford, it's so good to see you.