Cato

[Cato was just minding his business this morning - getting ready to go to the lake, as he had been for the last few months on a daily basis, without Clove. It was sort of a godsend that she hadn't been going out there much lately. But his good luck would run out soon, he knew it.

So it was sort of horrible that, as he was leaving, he saw Clove's journal. And...might have...peeked inside. And saw her latest post that way. The big snoop.

Which prompts this:]

Don't anybody tell her what I'm doing! [Oh god he's super serious. Also maybe your apartment isn't the best place to be giving this warning, Cato.]

It's suppose to be a surprise and I don't want any of you jerks to fuck it up, got it?

If you can't help yourself from telling her than just avoid her, if I find out she knows about it I'm going to kill whoever does it.

[It's kind of horrible that it's up in the air whether or not he's just saying that or if he actually means it. He does have his murder face on for emphasis but it sort of melts away to something a little less angry. A lot less angry, really.

But much more contrite.]


But it...it occurs to me that I might .... [siiiiiiiiiiigh. It hurts admitting this so he just speeds through the last of the sentence.] actually need some help on this?

[But! Once he admits it, it's less awful to continue. Marginally]

I don't really know what I'm doing or how to do it. And I know I've been... [irritating? pig-headed? muleish? an asshole?] stubborn with refusing help but I could actually use it.


[Say the magic word Cato.]

Please?

[It looks like that word leaves an extra bad taste in his mouth and Cato twists his face up like he just ate something sour before closing the journal so he could leave and get to work.

He'll be at the lake the rest of the day, digging out space for a foundation some ways from the actual lake itself.]