a struck link // christopher lightwood {3}

twenty // lost and confused

"Well," said Pluto, "I'm not sure how much my presence really helped, but..." they trailed off the way they did when they really weren't sure where a sentence was going.

"You help more than you think you do," said Christopher.

"Okay...say more."

"Even when you're wrong, or stuck and unable to see a way forward, or lost and confused and unsure how to proceed, or unable to offer anything but stories from your past...you have an incredible gift for making people think, and for getting us all out of our boxes and making us talk to each other."

"I can see that. At least, I hope so. I'm just doing my best to help, but it's good to know that at least someone knows what I'm doing, even if it's not me."

"Well, I'm glad for it. I've been in a bit of a strange...what you call a headspace, lately. I needed something to shake me out of it."

"Have you considered that maybe you're burnt out?" Pluto asked gently. "Maybe what you need is not something that'll help you push yourself to work harder, but a little rest? A break? To do something else with your head for once?"

"That's probably right," Christopher said. "I'm worried about James, and about Matthew, and about Cordelia..." he closed his eyes. "And I've got the revolver to work on, and the fire messages—and they're just befuddling me. I probably do just need to rest."

"I think I do, too." Pluto leaned against the parlor sofa, propping one foot on their other knee. "I mean...Dash's mind is still looping back. I'm not sure I can trust Bryn anymore. There are murders, I'm playing psychologist for Cordelia, and I'm caught in a love triangle for Pete's sake. I just need to put everything down for a little bit."

"How is Dash, by the way? Other than the condition of their memory?"

"Well, they're going to be staying here for the morning, actually. They've offered to keep at reading and taking notes, to try and make this move along a little faster. But they're moving out this afternoon, actually—going to stay with Brigitte and Da. They've got better resources for looking after Dash than I do." Pluto reached for their bag and started putting things away. "Y'know, I'm both surprised and not surprised at the same time that Dash has thrown themself into this the way they have. They probably need something to do and...I think they're afraid James'll end up where they are."

"I think that's highly unlikely."

"I know, but...we both know how anxiety works."

"Well," said Christopher, "I need lunch. And I need to drop some things off at my house anyway. But if you'll meet me there...we could go to the British Museum for the afternoon. It's only a very short walk away."

< & >

Alan Lochlyn answered his front door and found Charlotte Fairchild on the other side. He nearly dropped the newspaper he was holding. "Mrs. Fairchild. I...what can I do for you?" He was still adjusting to the customs of the early 20th Century, and to speaking somewhat frequently with one of the most famous Consuls to ever hold the title.

"May I come in?" Charlotte asked. "And do you have a study—I believe we ought to sit down for this."

"What happened?" Alan asked, stepping aside to allow Charlotte into his foyer.

"Nothing bad, I assure you. At least, not by my standards."

"Not by...your standards." Alan pushed open the door to the study. "Britta?"

Brigitte, seated at the desk, looked up from her stack of notes. "Hm?"

"The Consul's here. She...wants to speak to me?"