op (maldito) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-02-23 23:49:00 |
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It was easier in captain's quarters than it was in Vegas, Jan decided. He felt a little guilty for refusing to let Hook stretch his legs after their first visit home, but this was just easier. He didn't have to ride around in the pirate's mind, trapped, with the city sprawling all around, and he didn't have to think about how he might very well be out of a job before this whole thing was over (if it ever ended). Here, on this side of the door, on the Jolly Roger and off, everyone saw the dark-haired boy was a captain. It was as if they hadn't noticed that Hook was gone. It hurt Jan's head to think about it. He also found himself with inclinations and cravings he would never have otherwise had, he didn't think. Not only had his hand been replaced by a hook, apparently his own preferences had gone the way of the pirate as well - he felt himself looking at women in a way that would have had his old self blushing, and very often found himself in seedy pubs with a pint in his hands with little knowledge of how he'd even gotten there. Tonight was one of those. Seated at a low, round table in the middle of the crowded tavern, with its floors covered in rushes and the thatched ceiling hanging low, Jan was dressed for the part. He had a black, deep-cut shirt on, paired with tight leather pants, and his normally well-gelled hair stuck up in a decidedly rakish manner. He held a flask in his hand as he animatedly entertained a small, enraptured group of men and women. A little voice deep inside him told him that the woods, the trees, nature as it was, would provide nearly everything that he needed. Food could be found, hunted for. Water from the streams. And a little ingenuity saw him the fire to keep warm in the cave the Huntsman called home. There was no need to emerge from the depths of the trees, and even October had to admit that there was a certain peace to be found there. But there was a part of him that was still him, no matter the Huntsman’s lack of feelings on nearly everything, so that night he had made his way from the woods, a solemn figure that emerged from the treeline within sight of the tavern, smoke curling from the chimney towards the quickly darkening sky. There was a wolf at his side, a grey thing that came to his mid-thigh, his hand resting atop the animal’s head. "Stay," October ordered it, and then he picked his way through the underbrush towards the tavern. He didn’t say anything as he entered, looked at no one, paid no attention to anyone as he made his way to an empty seat at one of the many tables that filled the smokey tavern. He was nearly unrecognizable as the somber psychiatrist, dressed in shades of green and brown, fur to ward off the chill of the evening, his glasses lost who knows where. Black hair was shaggy, his beard a new thing, still more stubble than anything. "A pint," he murmured to the girl who ventured close enough to take his order, and then October settled in to wait, fingers laced together, dirtied nails and torn cuticles, keeping his own company. A long-fingered quiet spread throughout the squat little building, washing from wall to wall in a wave, until the tavern sat in near silence. The music tapered off. The lutist, a stick thin man with a head of red, fled the small dais erected at the front of the room and, all at once, every eye swiveled to land on the man in the moss and fur, with his wild hair and wilder eyes, and stared. Jan’s mouth was partially open, caught in the middle of a tall tale - or a drink - he couldn’t remember, and the surprise he felt upon recognition only served to open it farther. Toby. The whispers started then. No one seemed to know this stranger. And the heart in Jan’s chest that was still his own thumped loudly. Without a word to his compatriots, the captain stood from his chair and crossed the room in just a few confident strides. Once at Toby’s table, he seated himself once again, dragging the rickety wooden chair out with his hook. He sat with his legs opened wide and flashed a smile that was most certainly Hook’s at the man across from him. "Brother," he said in a tone thick with amusement. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jan knew he was supposed to hug Toby - and that he was worried about him. But the longer he stayed on this side of the door, the less like himself he felt. There was something in him that told him that whispers weren’t unusual; he wasn’t like these people, didn’t know these people or talk to them enough to even be passing acquaintances. The Huntsman was something removed from the rest of the world, and whether it was by choice or circumstance, he filled his role perfectly. So the silence didn’t bother him, or the whispers that followed in its wake. He let them roll over him, ignored, pressed aside, and October kept his gaze to the top of the table. There was no desire for a fight in this place. He simply wanted a drink, something warm in his stomach, and then he would be on his way. So when he heard the sound of the chair beside his being dragged out and summarily occupied, he paid it no attention at first. Someone who wanted trouble, to antagonize him for the reasons people bothered others; amusement, fear, boredom, things he wanted nothing to do with. He expected nothing less, so when the warm tone was issued, the word ‘brother’ licked out with familiarity, October turned his head to the side slightly, just far enough to catch sight of the newcomer out of the corner of his eye. There was no mistaking who this person was, not with as familiar as he was with his brother, his presence, his very person, but October also knew that his brother would just call trouble upon himself by acknowledging him in this place. "Go back to your own table, January," October said, turning his attention back to his folded hands, his eyes narrowing slightly. Perhaps, if he had know that January would be here, he might have passed by, settled in the woods for the night with rabbit roasted over a fire, but there was no taking back the decisions that he had already made. The whispers grew all the louder as the scene unfolded in the tavern by the woods. And the men and women Jan had left behind glanced at one another, not entirely sure of what they were to do. Was the captain taunting the loner...? They couldn’t tell. Not from the table across the room. Were they supposed to saunter over to back him up? They didn’t know. Tentatively, as blood had yet to be drawn, the lutist clambered back onto his small stage and struck up a jolly tune that no one paid the slightest bit of attention to. Jan’s own overly earnest smile broke out on his face, making him look all the more like himself, when Toby looked up at him. It fell just as quickly, however, when his brother said his short piece, in a voice almost wholly devoid of emotion. It wasn’t that Toby was normally ...effusive - but even this was a little dry for him. Jan squinted at the man, curious and somewhat hurt. "But, you’re here," he managed to squeak, the swaggering facade gone and the little brother left behind in the chair. It was a good thing. He thought it was a good thing. Maybe, if he stayed with his brother, they could remind each other of who they really were - none of this pirate business or... uh, whatever Toby was. Jan reached forward to take one of his brother’s hands in his own. He patted it gently with his hook. "We have to stay together." October didn’t say anything for a long while, though he did notice that smile fall, recognizing that normally, this would cause him some matter of concern. But as it was, he couldn’t bring himself to muster up even an ounce of worry. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, because he did; he just lacked the ability to display that to anyone. When the hand came up - no, not a hand, a hook, October gave it a long look before lifting his gaze to January’s face, one brow arching in question. "You’re going to draw unwanted attention to yourself if you keep this up," he said simply, drawing his hand away with a smooth gesture, glancing up moments later as the girl arrived with his drink. He nodded a thanks in her direction before taking it, hands winding around the mug and giving January no opening to try touching him again. "Go back to your friends. They’ll have enough questions for you as it is. You should not have come over." What he said was true enough. His shipmates and whatever other onlookers had circled around him at the table would have questions. They would wonder how their captain knew someone like the man at the table - the man who seemed more a part of nature than the world of men. But Jan wasn’t worried about that. He could tell them whatever he wished and they would believe him, he was sure of it. They were in no position to question him. The smirk flitted across the boy’s face once again, but only just, and the swashbuckling captain was gone again. "I don’t care," he said offhandedly, only casting a brief glance over his shoulder at the table he’d left. Jan bit his lip in an expression of worry that hardly fit with the careless demeanor he’d been living with for who knew how long now. He wasn’t so oblivious as to fail to understand the movement behind Toby’s hand as it withdrew from under his own (well, his hook, but still). Jan was aware of the intention, even if he couldn’t understand it. For him, it seemed, seeing his older brother was enough to jar him from the skin he’d slipped into. Not so for Toby. His face betrayed no emotion and that - that was bad. "Please let me stay with you. Or you can come on m - Hook’s ship. There’s plenty of room." Jan gave his brother a pleading look, the selfsame one he’d often turned to as a child to get his way. All he could do was hope it still held some sway over the other man. Where January’s pleading might have worked upon Toby, the same could not be said for the man sitting beside him right then. Yes, it was still Toby beneath the forest-colored clothes and furs, but there was something else there to, just at the surface, masking everything beneath. He recognized that this was his brother, and if there was reason to be concerned, to worry, he would have rose to the occasion without missing a single beat. But January was not in any trouble, other than that which he put himself in by remaining in his presence. "I don’t belong on ships, January," October said gruffly, taking a long drink from the mug, his brows knitting together. "And you don’t belong in the woods. You need to return to your friends. Listen." The tavern was electric with energy, suspicion and wariness tossed in October’s direction. "I cannot stay here long. They won’t permit it." October looked towards January then, and deep in those brown eyes, there was a flicker of something almost recognizable. "You need to remain safe. Please leave me be." Leave me be. Jan frowned deeply, never once taking his eyes off of his brother - or, perhaps better, the person that looked like his brother. To be honest, the boy was beginning to doubt himself there. Nervous habit had him running a hand over his hair, checking to make certain everything was in place. But nothing was, was it? Not his hair. Not his brother. Nothing. Fuck. "They will permit it," stated the captain stubbornly, his hook hitting the hard surface of the table with a loud thump. "And if they don’t, I shall introduce them to a friend they’ll like even less." They weren’t Jan’s words, but he spoke them. His lips formed them. He even went so far as to pat the sword that hung from his hip before he managed to stop himself. The boy heaved a very frustrated sigh, likely appearing to most as a madman swinging from mood to mood. "This is absolutely ludicrous." He shook his head, sending his loose curls bouncing. He really didn’t care. The tavern patrons could think what they wished. They could whisper about whatever. Jan just wanted to stay with his brother. With his hands over his hair, trying desperately - and fruitlessly - to flatten it to his skull, he glared at Toby. "I’m not leaving." The words that filled the air between them rolled off of October as though he was a well-oiled piece of leather. He heard them, he acknowledge them, but the words had no effect on him whatsoever. Instead, he took another drink from his mug, finishing nearly the entire thing in one draw, and then the mug was sat down and a piece of copper pressed against the tabletop as payment for the ale. If Jan would not leave, then he would take it upon himself to part ways. There were no further words offered as the man had said his peace and saw no need to say anything further. Instead, he stood, pushing his chair back as he did so, and giving a nod to the man he knew as his brother, at least in a world apart from this, October began to stride away. Every eye in the tavern was upon him as he moved, and though he did not allow it to show upon his face, he noticed. They were uneasy around him, this man who didn’t fit into society, who lived with the animals and called the forest his home. Toby left. A copper on the notched and scarred tabletop and he left. Jan watched him go before he stood himself. He held up the palm of his hand to the men and women still gathered at his table, asking them silently to stay, before he hurried out of the tavern and into the night, on the heels of the man in the fur. He left no money to pay for his drink, but he was hardly thinking on that - or the eyes that followed them. No, he just wanted to catch Toby before he disappeared. Nothing more. "Toby -" Jan shouldered through the door and stumbled over the threshold, only just managing to catch himself before landing in the well-trod dirt. "You can’t go." He wasn’t surprised at all that the other man would follow him, because that’s simply what he did. October didn’t begrudge him that in the slightest, but that did not mean he had to enjoy it, especially here and now when everything had been turned on its head. As the sound of footsteps ceased just feet behind him, he turned slowly to look at the other, and as though sensing his moods, the wolf was at his side in an instant, pressed flushed against October’s leg, yellow eyes upon January. "I can’t go?" October echoed, his voice flat, carrying no emotion upon the words. "By whose rules?" Jan's eyes fell onto the thigh-high creature that appeared next to his brother's leg. A wolf. An unnatural wolf with eyes that made the captain feel as if he'd just been doused in a bath of ice. He frowned, very uncertain. He didn't want to lose another hand. But nor did he want to lose his brother. Out of someone else's instinct, Jan's hand found his sword's hilt and hovered there. He forced himself to drop the hand to his side and to look away from the beast and back to Toby. "You want to go?" His voice was plaintive and unbelieving and hurt all at once, because Jan didn't understand what was happening and all he wanted was for everything to turn out alright. "I don’t belong here," he started, settling a hand atop the wolf’s head, calming it with just a touch. "You can surely see that much. That place," and October gave a nod to the tavern in the distance, "is not my world. I am not wanted there, and they would sooner I don’t show my face there." The sense of kinship that pulled at January did not affect him in the same way. He could acknowledge that the man in front of him was his family, his brother, but those words did not come with any emotions attached to them. It was not that he was a cold man, but simply one who felt nothing, who only existed from one moment to the next. "Go be with your friends, January. They will wonder soon where you’ve gone, and their curiosity will end badly for all of us." There was no question with those words what would happen if he were attacked. Blood will be spilled, and his heart would not move at the sight of it. "This isn't our world, Toby," Jan tried to remind his brother, taking a half-step closer. He didn't know what else he could do. He fought internally with the impulses he recognized as not his own, and, for the moment, had gained the upper hand. The boy who stood in front of the Huntsman was Jan. He may have looked different, his hair flyaway and darkness edging his eyes, but he was Jan. That much was plain in the searching look he gave his older brother. He bit his lip. His eyes flicked from wolf to man. "You remember who you are, don't you? You remember who I am?" For whatever reason, the change the doors had made between the person in Las Vegas and the character through the door had affected October Fischer more strongly than it had others. Perhaps the similarities between him and the Huntsman, Toby’s natural inclination towards solitude, his somber attitude, made it easier to slip into this new skin, to not just fill the role that had been abandoned but to become it as well. He knew, of course, who he was, who he had been in that world filled with neon lights and bustling crowds, but the emphasis was on ‘had been.’ That was not him any longer, and it was becoming difficult to remember how it felt to be that person. "I remember. But what does that have to do with things here?" October asked, his eyes narrowed faintly, fingers threading through the short grey fur of the wolf at his side. "I would not see you harmed. I ask that you return to your friends. Why do you refuse?" Jan was on the brink of tears; his eyes shined with them. It wasn't something a pirate would do, no, but he wasn't a pirate. He felt very much like he had as a child, when he was alone and he needed Toby, but he couldn't reach him for whatever reason - he was at school or work, and Jan had to face his mother alone or had to try to deal with whatever he was feeling without help. Those situations usually ended with him in his room, hiding under his bed for lack of any better solution. If only he had a bed here. "I don't understand," was all he could manage to say, his voice small and unsure and childlike. He was the boy in the doorway in the woods in the snow. Jan heaved a helpless shrug, a useless gesture, and moved backward a step, back still to the door. He raised his hook and hand, hanging them in the air between himself and his brother. Maybe it was the tears, the vulnerability in them, the shrug of the shoulders, that broke through to October. It could have been a million things all wrapped up into one moment, but something stirred in him. It was dull, barely felt, but the flicker of recognition was in his eyes for a moment. But affection was not displayed the same way here as it was back home. Instead, it came with a lift of his chin as he turned away from the tavern, boots heavy in the fresh-fallen snow that carpeted the world. "Come with me," he said quietly, the words loud enough to carry towards Jan but no further; it would be up to January if he wished to follow or not. Something changed. Jan saw it. There in Toby's eyes. He stood there, so confused, for a moment after his brother had turned away and beckoned him. His own black boots pushed through the snow when he followed after. His shirt was open to the cold and he held it at the throat and ducked his head to the wind that wound through the trees. He tried to keep far enough behind to not bother the wolf and tears still stood frozen on the rims of his eyes, but he said nothing. He just did as he was told. The role of the Hunstman had given October a set of heightened senses that, at first, had been wholly overwhelming to him. But he had settled into them easily, and now they were as familiar to him as if he had been born this way. The path he led through the trees was a winding one, guided by landmarks that were only visible to him. And as winding as it was, it was not short, either. They walked for nearly half an hour at October’s quick pace until he came to an abrupt stop, turning to look towards January with dark brows knitted down. It was a wordless look, but soon he was shedding the furred cloak he wore, his own clothes beneath it sturdy and heavy, made for warmth and nothing like the flimsy shirt that his brother wore. Striding over, he swung the cloak around him, made sure it was settled upon his shoulders firmly, and then he sat off again, the path as winding as before. Ten minutes later, his pace slowed and a hand gesture saw the wolf running off into the woods, released from duty at the Huntsman’s side. He moved towards a low outcropping of stone that stood covered with brush and branches, moving many aside to reveal the opening to the cave that he called home. "It opens up more within, but watch your head. The ceiling is low." Inside, the cave was comfortable but sparse. A pile of furs, several heavy, squat candles, a bucket filled with water, a wooden bowl and spoon. Two blades in leather sheaths were leaned up against the wall, the ground covered in straw and leaves. No fire burned in here, no light shined, but a crack far up in the ceiling of the cave let light stream in, just enough to see by. October followed January in, kneeling to light one of the candles from the torch he had lit outside the cave before settling the thing in a holder against one of the stone walls. "Sit," he directed him, hand gesturing towards the pile of furs, what served as chair, couch, and bed. He sat himself on the ground, legs bent, arms resting atop his knees. It was a long, long walk. They ventured deeper into the pathless wood than either Jan or Hook had ever gone. It never grew as dark as it did at sea - when a complete blackness was all that made up the world. The trees provided enough surface for whatever little light there was to bounce off. There must have been a sliver of moon overhead. It was only that that kept Jan from losing sight of his brother's thin form and getting lost. He hurried as best he could without tripping over roots, only pausing for breath when Toby circled around halfway through to place the heavy, impossibly warm furs atop Jan's shoulders. Then they were at the... cave...? Jan squinted in the darkness and followed his brother inside, feeling a little more at ease now that the wolf had departed. He ducked his head as told and swept his eyes around the small opening of a room, taking in the sparse furnishings, the beds of leaves and needles, the candles, the knives, all of it, and he wondered how someone could live here. Jan sat himself tenderly on the furs when the light flared in the room. He shielded his eyes and tucked himself deeper into Toby's cloak. He looked out with big eyes and still said nothing. When October had made the decision to bring January here, he had had certain things he had wanted to say, things which he could not say where anyone else could hear, but now, faced with those big eyes that remained fixed on him, silent and rimmed with tears, he could not remember what it was. Words did not come as easily to him here as they had in the other place, but something must be said because this silence, as accustomed to it as he might have been, could not continue. "This place," he finally began, dropping his gaze to the floor, not so much in avoidance as it was simply to focus on something other than January’s large, dark eyes, "seems to affect me more than I would like." He paused, his brow furrowing before he let out a sigh. "It’s hard to brush off. Do you know his story? The Huntsman’s story?" "No," Jan sniffed from the safety of the furs. After kicking the snow and mud from his boots, he pulled his knees up and under himself, the tight leather of the trousers squeaking as he did so. Hook didn't know the Huntsman, as far as Jan could remember. Everything was so hazy now, it was hard to say for certain, but he wanted to hear it again, anyway, from Toby. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, swatting away the tears, and tried to make sense of the situation. At least Toby had taken him here. That meant he was still in there, somewhere, didn't it? Jan had almost lost heart, but this was good, even if he hadn't gotten a hug or anything so comforting. He would take what he could get. There was no pomp or circumstance as October related to January the story of the Huntsman. It was told without embellishing the details, a simple relaying of facts as he knew them, as he had lived them (even if that wasn’t him, not really). He told January of the Queen, of her desire for an assassin, of how he had refused to kill the girl. How he had lied to the Queen and paid the ultimate price: his heart; some might argue that it was worth it, the loss of a heart in order to live, but he knew it for what it truly was. A chain that was leashed tight around his neck, one that he could never think to shrug for fear of losing his life, of ending everything that he was here. "The only reason that I walk free on this side," he finished after several minutes of relaying all that he knew to the other man, "is that there is no queen on this side. Yet. I fear the day that one arrives." Oh. What? Jan's dark brow furrowed from the shadows of the blankets as he listened, attempting to parse the knowledge he'd just been given. Was Toby telling him he was literally heartless? Was that why he was so devoid of emotion - so... blank? It had to be. At least there was an explanation. At least this was the Huntsman, and once this whole thing was over, Toby would Toby again, heart and all. Right? "I -" Jan shifted on the bed, moving to lie on his side on the pallet. He peered out and blinked slowly, a frown forming on his lips. "I'm sorry." "Nothing to apologise for," October said without missing a beat, watching for a moment as January moved to lay down on the pallet of furs. Nothing more was said as he shifted to his feet in one fluid movement, possessed with a certain grace and athleticism that was not normally something Toby could exhibit. He stooped in front of January, lifting one of the furs and pulling it up and over the younger man, cocooning him in warmth. "Are you hungry?" he asked, his voice quiet. That was it. When Toby came to tuck the furs in tighter around Jan, that was all he could take. Whether it was out of relief or fear or confusion or a mix of all three, he couldn't have said, but once he started crying, he knew it was going to be hard to stop. But there wasn't much he could do about that. His cheeks were cold and the tears that welled over and through his dark lashes were warm. They left little rivers there, bringing some of the black from around Jan's eyes with them. He wasn't a loud crier. Years of practice made him quiet and unobtrusive, though his shoulders still shook and he still sniffed and made sounds of sorrow or confusion or whatever it was. "Y-y-yes," he stuttered between his fingers, trying to turn himself away from his brother in the dark of the cave and failing. Tears. October didn’t know how to deal with the tears, wasn’t entirely sure what he should be doing about them, so he did what came naturally to Toby. A callused hand came out, wiping the tears away from beneath each eye with the pad of his thumb, and then he was standing again. "I’ll find food. Stay here. Keep yourself warm." Another look, and then the man was exiting the cave again, leaving January alone in the flickering light of the torch and candle. It was all Jan could do to make a weak sound of acquiescence through his lips as he pressed them together. He didn't want to be crying now. It was a childish thing to do, he knew. And he was an adult. (And maybe a captain?) But, sometimes there was nothing else to do. When Toby's thumb came to wipe away his tears, Jan thought it was lucky that he was bundled up so, like the baby he was, or else he knew, he would have had his arms around his brother's waist and he wouldn't have wanted to let him go. As it was, he just nodded at his orders to stay and keep warm and closed his eyes within his warm cocoon of furs. He reminded himself that he was with Toby now and everything was going to be okay. |