Rufio (i_cancrow) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2011-09-20 23:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | baba yaga, rufio |
Rufio jogged through the trees that had survived the storm, leaping from branch to branch and kicking a soccer ball between his knees as he went. He was playing with the stolen item mostly to kill time, but it was also keeping his mind off the storm that had ravaged the City for so long. Rufio had been thoroughly frightened by the natural disaster, though he’d never admit it as long as there was breath in his body. It had been unnerving enough when the electricity had been knocked out and plunged him into utter and completely darkness in his warehouse, the howling wind and storming keeping him up all night. When Rufio had been convinced that it couldn’t get worse a section of the roof had been ripped off and the interior of his fortress had been decimated. Rufio had never lived through a storm like that, and then even when there had been thunderstorms in Neverland, he and others had been too focused on making the youngest boys feel better to be afraid themselves. This was the first time it had just been him, alone in the dark, at the mercy of the weather.
But now it was over, and causing some low key chaos was helping him put the unnerving feeling of the past nights behind him. And he was able to practice his flying as he dodged branches and trunks. He was getting pretty good at moving through the air faster and with more grace, he hadn’t slammed into a branch yet tonight, even when the men he’d stolen the ball from had thrown their bottles at him.
Rufio smirked at the thought, jumping onto another branch and kicking up the ball higher than ever, blinking as the white and black toy soared up.... and then out of sight. He darted to the next tree, but the ball was already too far down for him to catch in time, and he grunted in agitation as it hit the ground and bounced out into a clearing, disappearing in some large bushes.
Oh well. Nothing like a quick acrobatic dismount to quicken the blood when you got complacent flying. Aerial ability or no, Rufio couldn’t resist the rush of leaping forward and letting himself free fall, catching a branch and swinging around the limb before sending himself soaring out into the center of the clearing, landing heavily and laughing at the rush. Now he just needed to find the ball. Rufio looked around, starting to dig through the thick brush.
This got boring quickly, of course, and soon anybody entering the clearing would find a much more irritated boy hacking at the plant life with his sword, muttering under his breath. He wasn’t afraid of that giant fairy here, he was well away from her territory so he wouldn’t be punished for damaging her precious plants.
-----
Frustration. A great deal of frustration. Trapped. Cagey. It was all a symptom of being caught in one form and one form only. The crone didn’t know how the City was capable of doing it, but it had made a decision and was now limiting exactly what abilities the crone could. Mainly, it didn’t seem to like that the crone could be whatever shape she wanted, which was interesting as she had taken another’s face before. Either that or it was curious to see what the crone would do as a man rather than a woman. The crone would find revenge beyond the storm, which the City seemed all too willing to ignore. The crone didn’t like that either.
The handsome fella grabbed up the ball he found while walking through the woods. He’d nearly tripped over it and was tempted to destroy it. He felt a definite need to destroy and cause pain. The cabin, which thankfully still recognized the crone no matter the form, had noticed that its “master” was in one of her..his moods. As soon as Baba was out, the cabin took the moment to find a new place to settle. Perhaps unfortunately for it, Baba had remembered that there was something he/she might need.
So, while the boy was busy hacking at the greenery, the frustrated man stepped from the woods, and with a few running steps, drop kicked that damn ball on its merry way to wherever balls went when randomly drop kicked.
“Good riddens.” The accent was definitely English, and definitely male. Baba had taken a few liberties on the borrowed persona, but they worked out all the same. Certain people seemed to like them.
-----
Rufio was just about to give up when he heard the familiar sound of a ball being kicked, and a flash of white and black that shot up through the trees and out of sight. He looked down, seeing a man standing some ways away, and the realization of what he'd just done struck Rufio like a thunderbolt.
"HEY!" he yelled, turning and walking over to the man, gripping the sword in his hand furiously. "That was mine!"
What right did this stupid grownup have to come in and kick the ball away? Stealing it would have been one thing, but now nobody would get to play with the sports item unless somebody went after it and found it, something that would be hard and annoying. He couldn't understand why anybody would be so wasteful, even pirates wouldn't bother doing something like that. If they didn't want something they'd just leave it where it was. Well, or stab it, but holes could be mended.
This man though, he was just being a jerk, and that wasn't something Rufio was going to stand for.
-----
“If it was yours, you should have had it. Rather than wasting time doing whatever you were doing.” The man didn’t move. No, he did something he’d seen men do when they were bored, or had that more than a little better than whatever idiot/moron/child they might be speaking to. He put his hands in his pockets. He was definitely taller than the young man with the very interesting outfit.
“It’s gone now. Feel free to retrieve it.” He smirked, not at all bothered by the sword. Why should he be? He could send the boy flying into some tree or some such. “It’s not my problem.”
----
Rufio’s face scrunched up, and he charged forwards, sweeping up the blade in an arc over his head, bringing the blade down and stopping it a fraction of an inch from the man’s skin. His nostrils flared as he let out an angry breath, though internally he had to beat back the bit of satisfaction that two correctly executed deathblows in a row gave him. How many pirates hadn’t been so lucky? The number of men running around Neverland with crisscrossing scars on their faces, or missing noses or ears, had spiked since Rufio took a shine to the maneuver.
“Maybe I’ll make it your problem, snotface,” he snarled.
No, he didn’t care about the ball that much. It was more the principle of the matter.
-----
The man didn’t move. There was a definite brow raise at the action. So, the little boy wanted to play this sort of game. The eyes that stared out at the strange boy with the penchant for red were old, older than the face by so many centuries. Then again, the face was pretty old itself, just didn’t look it. A smirk claimed the lips that some might say were kissable.
“If you want to, but it is rarely a good idea to threaten someone you have just met.” Hands never left pockets. The man didn’t seem bothered at all by the display or the words. He just stood there.
----
“And you should know who’s stuff you’re stealing before you mess with it!” Rufio snapped back. He stared straight back into the eyes, paying no mind to the age in them. His own reflected how many years of war he’d played, just as his movements reflected the battle experience he had when he swiped the sword across the stranger’s neck, a hair breath from slitting the skin open. But the blade obeyed him, moving steadily and not touching a thing it wasn’t supposed to.
Then, almost as if to poke fun at his own image of maturity, he sheathed the sword and kicked dirt on the man, not caring that he managed to get mud on his own red boots at the same time.
-----
“How would it be stealing if I found it?” The man’s eyes stayed on the boy’s face, watching. This one felt...interesting. He was a lost little boy, wasn’t he? A child playing at war, who hadn’t quite realized that the blood he let would haunt him one day, if he did indeed let blood at all. The way the child held the sword, used it, suggested that he’d been doing this long enough to know how not to kill.
A hand pulled free from pants pocket and lifted, palm open. “Children should always beware what’s in the woods.” The smirk faded as the crone concentrated, not much as this was an easier task than others. Lifting the boy and holding him above the ground in unseen bindings was no mean feat, but it wasn’t one that would make the crone sweat. The crone was more interested in seeing how the child reacted; the boy would probably fight, even if he couldn’t see what was holding him.
----
Rufio blinked when he suddenly felt himself lifting. But he wasn’t trying to fly, he wasn’t even holding onto his happy thought. He looked down, startled, then up again at the man. Another fairy? No... this one had to be something else. Even if it was another grown-up sized fairy there would be some other indicator.
Rufio tugged at his unseen restraints, trying fruitlessly to free his hands or feet, but there was no pulling loose. He growled, then closed his eyes, grabbing onto the thought of the first time he’d actually used his sword, then grinned and lurched upwards with all of his strength.... and went absolutely nowhere. His eyes opened again and he looked down, then took a deep breath, speaking very slowly. “Let. Me. GO!” He immediately started to flail as best he could. Whatever was keeping a hold of him would get a good fight, even if it resulted in his death.
-----
The man’s head tilted slightly as the boy did indeed fight. Just as was expected. What was strange was that part of the fight actually felt like an attempt at escape, not just any sort of escape, but flight?
The open hand dropped, but the boy was kept right where he was as he flailed and thrashed, somewhat. The bindings did loosen enough to let the boy feel like he may actually be doing something. The man stepped back, just in case, and started to circle the boy.
Flying boy. Flying boy. The child had a hint of fairy to him, but not enough to actually say he was fairy. The boy was much too loud, brash, something. Yet, he reminded the crone of someone. The problem was, the crone couldn’t exactly put his/her finger on the name. A child that could fly, that knew how to use a sword, that had some issues with...well, could be any list of things a child might have issues with.
“What is your name?” Finally the man came to stand before the boy again.
----
As soon as he had any leeway he shot upwards, doing his best to fly away. Retreat, regroup, return and destroy. That was always the best tactic when dealing with magical beings. When flat out retreating wasn’t possible, anyway.
Though, he was able to move more now, and that had to mean he was winning. Rufio doubled over slightly, trying to break the invisible bonds with all his strength, letting out a loud rooster crow to encourage himself. It was force of habit, in Neverland the Lost Boys came running to the crow and it always got Rufio’s blood pumping, so even though there would be no rescue here he called out as loudly as he could, urging himself to break the bonds and free himself.
“My name’s Rufio, and I’m the Pan of Neverland!” he shouted at the stranger, almost snarling as he twisted in the grip of the magic.
-----
The man’s eyes widened, a look that would probably have been much more interesting and attractive on the face the crone would have preferred to be wearing at the time. The crow and the name, or part of it, rang more than one bell. The rung bells led to a child, a very old man child that would never grow up for more than one reason. He’d been something of a fighter, but Baba had always thought he was more of a myth for all the childlike Fables to believe in rather than something that actually existed.
“I have never heard of a Rufio Pan. A Peter Pan, yes, but not a Rufio. You certainly don’t strike me as being of the same kind. In fact, I’d say you may be a very rough copy of the Peter. Dark and scratched, hard.” The bindings tightened all of a sudden.
“Listen careful, child. I will let you go eventually, but you must stop fighting. You are no longer in Neverland. The Lost Boys do not exist here, nor do your little pixie friends. You are alone, and don’t let anyone tell you differently. You may find acquaintances, friends, even love, but you will always be alone.”
-----
Rufio struggled harder for a moment, then went limp in the holdings, completely breathless. It wasn’t working, anyway, as soon as the bindings tightened he realized that this... thing, whatever it was, was just playing with him.
He looked up and yanked one arm again, just to prove that he hadn’t lost his determination to fight, magic or no. He just needed to catch his breath again, first. “I’m not Peter. I’m better than Peter,” he said bitterly. “And I don’t care who you have or haven’t heard of. I’m the Pan, I have the sword.”
The comment about Neverland made him snort. Really? This pathetic, dark world wasn’t Neverland? As if he hadn’t figured that out as soon as he’d woken up here.
“Shows what you know. I have a pixie here. His name is Toot Toot and he’s bigger and more powerful than stupid Tinkerbell,” he jeered. As for the other Lost Boys... he’d worked that out, too, but he was determined not to let that get to him. It was only difficult at night, anyway, or at meal times. The moments when he was used to be surrounded by a large group of friends.
“Let me go, or you’ll pay.”
-----
“Mmm. You’ll find that your pixie, no matter what his side, will be nothing like what you want.” The poor boy was truly a Lost Boy. He had such potential, too. He wasn’t the Peter Pan that the crone knew of. No, he was something darker, twisted, not that Peter Pan was a bundle of fluffy happy puppies. The crone found this boy very interesting.
“Magic doesn’t work quite how it’s supposed to here. No matter how good you are it. That pixie of yours may do some terrible things to you. I’d like to see that.” The man smiled, stepping closer. The boy was lowered to the ground, his feet now resting on the grass.
“I am sure you are something of a danger, to me, to the City, and to yourself. I’m sure you’ll try to make me pay, and may even succeed at exacting some revenge.” The voice grew darker as he leaned in, lips closer to the boy’s ear. “You should remember, that revenge does not stop. It never stops, and whatever you do to me, you shall find it greatly returned to you.”
The man stood straight, his eyes locked on Rufio’s. “Not even Death will keep you safe from my revenge.”
-----
Rufio landed and caught his own weight, but didn’t move a muscle as the man leaned in. Goosebumps ran up his arms, but he still didn’t twitch, only looking to the side. He considered the revenge bit, and had to agree. At least with the ‘never ending’ part. Hook could never get over his need for revenge, and other creatures and people in Neverland suffered from the affliction as well. Just not with as much fire and steel as the Pirate Captain.
“Toot wouldn’t hurt me unless I deserved it,” he humphed, though he wasn’t entirely sure of it. Just another thing he would never admit to a stranger, let alone an adult. He turned his head then, looking the man up and down, then turned away.
“You’re not worth a game of revenge,” he decided, shrugging his shoulder and giving his sword hand an experimental yank. Still bound he went still and closed his eyes. “And I’m not afraid of you.”
-----
“Who said he’d do it on purpose? Magic doesn’t work as one expects it here.” The man shrugged, stepping back. First one step, then another. The boy moved fast, and the crone knew defense. But, why take chances?
“I may not be. But then, you have no idea who I am. I’m going to release you. You are going to go. You try to attack me, and you will find yourself in more trouble than you are now.” The smile returned to the man’s lips, and it was definitely dark. “There are many things I can do with a pretty boy like you, and there are a few you may come to like. Maybe all. If you wish to remain who you are, you will not want to tempt me into enjoying myself. Now, go.”
The bindings were released with no flourish, no hand wave. They were simply gone. The man did not move; he just watched the boy and waited. Rufio, the Pan of Neverland, had become a person of interest to the crone, the poor poor boy.
-----
Rufio landed more firmly, eyes opening. Pretty? Pretty? Jewels were pretty, Mermaids were pretty. He wasn’t pretty. He was strong and tough and vicious. He was the Pan.
Still, he didn’t much like the look on the others’ face, so he backed off a few steps, looking around as if the bindings that had held him would be visible now. They weren’t, of course, but he had to check just in case.
“Another Or Something,” he muttered to himself, remembering the green man and how he’d been different too. Something unique and powerful. He wasn’t going to push his luck. He tried to kick off the ground, but the experience was leaving him feeling too weirded out to keep a happy thought firmly enough in mind to fly, so instead he backed off on foot, walking backwards for a bit before he turned and bolted off into the woods. He hated running away, but he liked keeping all his limbs in tact.
-----
The man watched the boy and smiled even more. This one could be fun. The crone looked up at the sky and glared at it, as if this was where the City was to look down at all its little playthings.
“What I said to him is true for you.” It might have seemed crazy had anyone been looking, but the crone didn’t care. Instead, the man turned and headed in a different direction, mumbling about cabins and hoods and vampires.