connor est le (grandemauvais) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-09-05 22:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | door: tales, snow white, wolf |
Who: Wolf and Snow
What: Having a chat while heading to the Beast's castle.
Where: Red's cottage, then the forest.
When: Recently.
Warnings/Rating: None.
Snow wasn’t exactly in high spirits when she came to Rose’ cottage. Not that she was ever really in high spirits. Worse, she was doing unnecessary favors for her sister, and though she wasn’t busy and the trek to through the woods wasn’t a taxing affair, she wasn’t overly pleased to be there.
The cottage was, for better and worse, much as Snow remembered it from her childhood and it always struck her so whenever she returned there. Because of that, she rarely returned and when she did, kept the visits brief. Standing at its door she recalled days long sinced passed when she’d scurry about with her twin, a very young girl so long ago. She felt so old, standing there, nostalgia thrumming through her and yet feeling like a complete stranger in the presence of the memories. You can’t go home again, they said, and she felt truer words were never spoken.
Briefly she paused at the door, ready to knock and realizing it was unnecessary. Wolf was a guest and this was her childhood home. Niceties weren’t needed, and she sincerely doubted he knew of them in the first place. Opening the door and striding in with sure steps, black boots heavy on the floor, she looked around. “Wolf?” Standing in a pair of jeans and a burgundy long sleeved shirt, dark hair tumbling loose over her shoulders, she didn’t seem to care that she looked wholly out of place in the Homelands. Snow had been traipsing through there for months now and with all the people from far off lands coming through, she stopped caring that people would know she wasn’t a local.
Wolf, too, looked out of place, for a variety of reasons. Like Snow, he wore clothes from the Homelands, since they were the only men's clothes Rose had in the cottage. It was more than the clothes, though. It was the eyes, really, too black, the way they followed her with the subtle head tilts of a born predator, if one that wasn't on the hunt at the moment. It was the shade of long blonde hair that hung in his eyes. It was the roll of his voice, low for what looked like the frame of a young boy. "Rose's sister," he said, identifying Snow. He wore a pair of dark, stiff jeans freshly cleaned in water from the well, and a loose white t-shirt. His feet were bare. He didn't bother with the shoes or socks Rose had sitting by the door. He was meant to have the grass underfoot, and he kept it that way, despite how much had changed.
"They call you Snow," he said. He'd been sitting at the kitchen table when she came in, and he slid from the chair, walking to her in the doorway. "Why?" Names had meaning. Maybe it was because her white skin looked like snow unblemished by human footfall or paw mark, the sign of untrod territory, clean and protected, and the sign of the long winter without end. He looked her up and down, and unmistakably sniffed at her, leaning in a little. She smelled of cold, and white flowers shaped like stars.
Snow wasn’t often overly thankful for Bigby’s wolf side, but as the boy came by and sniffed her, she was at least grateful that between him and everyone at The Farm, she was used to such behavior. A sniff was harmless, really. Enjoying it had nothing to do with it, however, and though she tilted her head ever so slightly for him – sniffing, fine, but touching wasn’t going to fly – she lifted her eyes skyward in a moment of exasperation.
“My skin,” she replied simply, the echo of children’s stories already beginning to resound in her ears. Skin as white as snow … Her thoughts tapered away as she thought, for but a moment, that the air around her cooled. She tilted her head more, looking to the side for a window where a draft could blow in, but that and door were closed, leaving no explanation for the hairs at the back of her neck rising. No sign how the sudden and soft chill that brushed her after her explanation. She frowned and stepped away, licking her red lips almost nervously before righting herself once more. And just like that, it was warm once more, pleasant and temperate, as if nothing happened at all.
Odd, but this was still the Homelands, where strange things happened and magic in the air wasn’t a fun turn of phrase. Dwelling on it would waste precious time.
Her gaze fell to his bare feet and then over at him, returning the once over before surprise flickered in her blue eyes. “She gave you mundy clothes?” That didn’t exactly count as blending in but she wasn’t one to talk, and he did have the convenience of shifting. “Have you been to the castle before?” She canted her head slightly as she surveyed him, looking for strength under his shirt with a cool eye. “Have you met him yet?” The Beast—Henry, as her sister was calling him these days, was a bird now but who knew how long that would last.
The Wolf felt the blast of cold. It was the sort of thing that would have made his ears flick up, then back in his old shape. In this one, he simply lifted his head a tick. The air grew cold, then warm again, and he turned his head a little, eyeing her. "...Witches," he mumbled with scorn and found the shoes on the floor he never wore. He despised the things and their constriction, but they would have a long way to walk to get to the castle, and these feet weren't weathered yet for travelling long distances.
The shoes were soft leather with laces, more moccassins than mundy shoes. "Yes," he said, in his grating voice. "All she had." His fingers fumbled a little with the laces, but he didn't look up. He wrinkled his nose when she asked about the castle. All his expressions were peculiarly open, without guile or concealment. Whatever he was thinking, whatever he was feeling, there it was. "I keep clear of it," he said. He got the laces on one shoe into some semblance of order, then started on the other. "He is bigger than me," he admitted, with reluctance. That had been consistent even when he was still a wolf. "No sense tangling with a thing like that. The edges of his territory smelled like magic and something too big to kill on my own." There. The other shoe was tied, and though the knot was a mess, it would be good enough to keep the shoe on. He stood. There was strength beneath his clothes indeed, the wiry, lean muscle of an athlete, as if a wolf's long sinews had been packed tight under human skin.
He pointed to the door. "You know the way." He knew how to get to the edge of the Beast's territory, but beyond that was undiscovered country - the only part of the forest he had never been.
Snow tossed him a look for his mumbling. “Wrong sister,” she reminded him. Rose was the one with the magic. She was the one who could make flora do her bidding. This was… who knew what this drop in temperature was, but it wasn’t hers. Instead she focused on him pulling his shoes on, nearly reaching forward with her hands as he fumbled with the laces. But in the end he managed, messy and unorthodox but he’d get there in one piece, and the hands that hovering between them were pulled back as she folded her arms over her chest.
“I do,” she conceded, tugging the door open and stepping back outside. Staring off through the woods she thought about their trek before them. “It’s not that far,” she admitted, checking her clock at the time and checking the sun to make sure everything was cooperating. Land of magic, and all. Couldn’t be too sure. “We should move quickly. He’s a bird now. I’m not sure how long he’ll stay that way. Or how long Rose will be stay safe there.”
As she started down the direction she knew the castle lay, she spared him a curious glance over her shoulder. The temptation for distraction aside, surely he would have moved faster as a wolf. “Why are you favoring a human form anyway? Because Rose asked?” If anyone could get her way, it would be Rose.
Wolf saw her withdraw her hands and realized she'd intended to help him get his stupid human shoes on. He narrowed his eyes, briefly, but didn't say anything. He didn't need help. He'd gotten along on his own so long that he hardly remembered what it was like to run in a real pack, where everyone served a function. Working for Rose wasn't the same thing. She needed him, but she also tolerated him. He knew she was strong enough in her magicks to do real harm to him if she liked. She'd made easy work of him when he attacked her as a wolf. As a man, he had even less to threaten her with. As for Snow not being a witch, he merely sighed through his nose. If she didn't want to acknowledge it, he wasn't going to argue her into it. What did he care?
"He's a bird?" the Wolf asked, quizzical, looking over at her. He remembered Rose saying that he was changing all over the place, but still. The great creature he'd caught glimpses of in scent over the course of long years was now a harmless feathery thing. It was funny enough to earn a small smile at the Beast's expense. "She'll be safe," he said. He did believe that. He'd come to believe that the girl might sometimes need help against foes her magic could only partially defend against, but surely if she could take down the biggest, nastiest wolf in the forest, she could handle a bluejay for a while.
Snow's question about being human earned her a long look. He set his jaw. "Nobody asked me," he said, sharply. "I'm cursed. Your sister cursed me this way. I don't get to change back. She didn't tell you that she cursed me?" The mere mention of it made his blood curdle, and his lip draw back from his teeth.
“For now,” Snow pointedly reminded him. Harmless as an owl was, it was only a temporary state. He could turn into something just as innocent, or quite the opposite, at a moment’s notice. Not to mention her worry that he’d escape. In retrospect, it had been her chief worry. Leave it to her sister to ignore the more pressing matters, like safety.
She regarded his bared teeth with a cool look, not even remotely afraid of his angry display. “She did,” she admitted, as if Rose had been speaking of something simple and unimportant like the weather. “But curses aren’t her forte, despite what people say.” Immediately, Quasimodo sprung to mind, and all the talk of Rose being the catalyst for his change. That, of course, brought up the beginnings of thought of Faust and she pushed them from her mind as they pushed through the forest.
“Besides, last I checked, I was the only one with a dagger that could turn a wolf into a man.” She hadn’t thought about that knife in centuries and she shook her head ruefully. She always had to run into wolves. “The fact that you can’t change now doesn’t really mean it’s impossible. Find yourself another witch to undo a curse.” Ah, Homelands logic.
"Oh, good," grumbled the Wolf. If the Beast turned into...well, a Beast again, then this would be a problem indeed. He could only do so much without sharp teeth and claws on his side. He hoped Snow was being bashful about her magic and had a trick or two up her sleeve.
Wolf didn't know what 'forte' meant, but he grunted in disagreement. "She's good at them," he said, with more than a little vitriol. "I wonder how many other creatures she's cursed into humans. Or the other way around." It wouldn't surprise him, not even a little. He looked over at Snow, all suspicion and curiosity. "What dagger?" he asked. He'd never heard of such a thing. If it could change him back, it only made sense that Snow hadn't told him about it. "Looking for one," he added. "Thought you might do the trick." He grimaced, since that was clearly off the table, now. Things just were not going his way.
“A magical dagger,” she replied airily, for it truly hadn’t occurred to her that anyone would want it, not until the words left her mouth and she felt his gaze on her. “Well I don’t have it anymore.” It was a small lie, words defensively tumbling out of her mouth, but it wasn’t a complete untruth. The dagger was for Fabletown, not her and therefore not for him. “I used it already to turn one wolf into a man. I don’t plan on trying to see if the reverse would work.” There were certainly worse things than being human for an unforeseeable amount of time.
She gave a soft snort at the idea that she could change anything. Magical dagger aside, of course. “Rose inherited all the magic. All I can offer you is a way to the castle.” She saw it is a particularly bad thing, what with all the trouble having and using magic could bring. Then again she supposed there were certain perks, and as they moved through the woods she wished for the convenience of magical travel at the very least. “You don’t find anything helpful about being human now?”
Wolf would have disagreed with that assessment, had she voiced it. Yes indeed, he did think there was little worse than being human potentially forever. But no. He wouldn't let that happen to him. He eyed her suspiciously, but said nothing. A likely story.
"Right," he said. It seemed the Wolf had been born suspicious and cautious, and perhaps that was the case. Maybe that, or maybe a dozen hard winters scrounging for scraps and snagging the odd human meal had hardened him, made him more defensive, quicker to suspect. Helpful about being human? He shook his head, but his shoulders tensed. Something about the question irked him in a way he couldn't put his finger on. "It's wrong. What does it matter if it's helpful? The other wolf, did he like being human?”
Snow continued her small signs of annoyance, this time in a small wrinkle of her nose as they walked. “Wrong or not, it’s the lot you have now. To not try and find its advantages is simply a waste.” The question regarding Bigby was completely unexpected and the absolute surprise on her face was only masked a moment too late. “He… He complains a bit but makes do.” In truth she never really asked, mostly likely that she didn’t want to know the answer. “What’s done is done. We made an agreement. He took the form and the responsibilities it entailed. If he doesn’t like it, he’s got his share of the responsibility. He shouldn’t have let me cut him with it if thought there wouldn’t be any advantage to a new form.”
The Wolf grunted, ducking his head beneath a low-hanging branch, brushing the odd tree trunk with his fingers. His scent was everywhere for miles around the cottage, but it never hurt to reinforce it a bit. "You don't understand," he said, eyes on the undergrowth. He was talking, and listening, but keeping his ears pricked for trouble, too. The closer they got to the Beast's territory, the less likely it was that they'd see anything that posed a threat, but you stayed alive by being on your guard. Snow dismissed. She was cold, like the air around her. He could dismiss too. "It's not a thorn," he said, the words finding the edge of his teeth. "I can't walk on it and forget. It's a leg gone. Can't fight, can't hunt. Useless.”
Snow was quick with her eyeroll, and a low, loud huff of exasperation. “So adapt,” she replied, a slight bit of steel edging her words. Her footsteps grew heavier, agitated with his complaining. “You’re only as useless as you let yourself be. Your leg is gone? Then you keep going. You adapt. You crawl. You limp. You push your way through it until you manage without it. You learn to hunt again. You learn to fight in a new way.”
As the words left her lips she found her hands curling at her sides, palms itching as she recalled that feeling of helplessness of her youth, of feeling unsettled under her skin and unlike what she once was. And then came power. That push to be better than this, to never again be like so useless. To not let the change stop her, curb her, chain her, and then emerging battered but not completely broken on the other end. The air around her chilled slightly but she didn’t mind or notice, the heat of irritation thrumming through her palms as she looked over at him. “Or you can keep snarling about your fate, if that’s a better use of your time.”
The Wolf looked over at the cold woman, with her cold skin and the cold air around her. No use bothering, it seemed. "Do you see me slowing down?" he asked, pointedly, and ducked beneath a thick tree branch. The trees were growing darker, and he could smell the old, stale must of the Beast's passing, long since gone. He hadn't been out to this part of the forest in some time, it seemed, though who knew why. The Wolf's nose wasn't as good as it had been in his old shape, but better than it ought to be, good enough to know who had passed and when. He moved on through the brush, adding nothing more. They had a ways to go before the castle presented itself, after all.