InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "KNEEEEEEEL!"

Will Stutely (sly_stutely) wrote in nevermore_logs,
@ 2021-06-26 00:41:00

Entry tags:

alan-a-dale, will stutely

WHO Will Stutely (open to any Merry Men and pals, or can stand alone)
WHEN Friday afternoon, June 25
WHERE Stoots’ workshop, around the corner from the Sly Fox
WHAT An anniversary
WARNINGS None

The day itself had passed by forgotten, which had to be some kind of irony.

Wasn’t like he didn’t know what time of year it was. He knew. He set his mind resolutely to other things, planted his feet firmly in the present. He focussed on giving Clio stability and reassurance, on getting caught up on lost time with Art and Johnny, on listening to Tuck’s starry-eyed descriptions of Evie and Sapphire, on finishing off Elaine’s rocking chair— on being solid, reliable Stutely, making himself useful wherever he could and keeping to himself the dreams that woke him in a cold sweat. He was pretty good at all that.

Even still, there were days, more than he cared to admit… He’d catch a sudden movement at the corner of his eye on the subway, or he’d glimpse a patrol car idling in the street, or he’d lift his face toward the shower head, and the memories would start to seep in.

This time last year—

Shut up. Shut up.

A year didn’t mean a damned thing. It was just a stupid, arbitrary measuring stick. It was an excuse to wallow, and Will had more important things to do than wallow, which was why he wasn’t doing it now.

It was an innocent, offhand comment from Tuck this morning that had brought it back. In amongst flicking through the latest crop of baby photos, he’d mentioned something about his and Scarlet’s anniversary – they’d been properly together almost a year now – and Will had realised with a strange queasiness that he’d missed his own anniversary.

And so what, anyway? What was the damn point in marking the day when he’d been brought back from the edge? Only served to remind him how long he’d been there in the first place. Stupid. Waste of time. ‘Sides, if he wanted to hit his head against a brick wall, there was a perfectly good one in the alley.

And telling himself as much, he’d pushed the thought firmly out of his mind and made work his only focus. The rocker needed a final sand and varnish; simple tasks, but fiddly, demanding concentration. All the more reason not to get distracted thinking of pointless things.

He worked the sandpaper over the seat and arms and back-spindles, carefully smoothing down the finest of bumps, and he didn’t think about drowning. He went over his work with a tack cloth, and he bent all of his attention toward erasing every speck of the sanding dust, leaving no room at all to remember the feeling of being shoved to the ground, of a heavy boot pressing his face into the asphalt, of an ugly grin of recognition sliding across a face he didn’t-shouldn’t-couldn’t recognise himself, of drowning again, drowning without even knowing he was goddamn drowning—

He was doing such a good job of not thinking about it that by the time he dipped his brush into the varnish, all he could think about was how much he wasn’t thinking about it.

But at least part of him wasn’t buying it, because he couldn’t banish the tremor from his hand.

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waxingthepoetic
2021-06-26 02:54 am UTC (link)

It had been almost two months since Telos had been back with Melpomene, and while Alan had spent so many hours wondering what they were like together (what were they doing? did he smile up at her in the sweetest way? did she sleep in the same bed with him? was he a baby that cried a lot?), he also felt more like himself than he had since before he'd lost his Muse. No longer was he drowning in misery and unable to do anything but mourn the life that he could have had.

Instead he was helping his friends, and going to work, and volunteering free group guitar lessons for kids. He was back to being the Alan who had something to give to the world, and not the one who needed everyone else to look after him.

It was better, but that didn't mean he didn't wake up some mornings and long for the warm body of Melpomene beside him.

But it was better.

Today he was on his way to the Fox and had figured it was a good time to drop in on Stoots in his workshop.

The door was (unsurprisingly) locked, and Alan knocked, hearing the sounds of movement inside. "It's Alan," he called out. "And coffee!"

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sly_stutely
2021-06-26 10:14 am UTC (link)

Will was so deep in his own head that when the knock sounded at the door, he flinched. (That had to be the reason for it. Be bloody daft to be jumping at shadows still.) Of course an instant later Alan sang out – like it was ever going to be anybody but one of the handful of friends who knew to find him here; he'd known that – and with a low sting of chagrin he set aside the brush and rose.

"Just a tick!" he called back. The place was little more than a glorified garage – he gathered that was exactly what it'd been originally, some kind of loading area that had since been sectioned off from the shop that fronted onto the street – and it took only a few strides to cross to the entrance, flick back the bolt and pull the door open. "C'mon in," he said, waving Alan through. "You can sit anywhere but the rocker."

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waxingthepoetic
2021-06-27 01:12 am UTC (link)

"Got you a proper manly coffee for your manly needs," Alan told him, handing over the takeaway cup. Alan's own drink was not manly in the least, but a choc-mint Frappuccino loaded with a giant swirl of cream and sprinkles. The paper straw sticking out of it was striped with silver and pastel green.

Taking a sip, he came over to look at the rocker being worked on and let out a low whistle. "This is lookin' gorgeous, friend."

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sly_stutely
2021-06-27 08:58 am UTC (link)

"Cheers, mate," The compliment drew the small uptick of a smile. Will took a quiet pride in his work, and as long as it'd been since he'd made a Windsor (always a more complex job than simple tables of cabinetry, demanding a certain level of finesse and precision, but damned if it wasn't satisfying to bring the pieces together) he found himself pleased (or maybe just relieved) to find he hadn't gone too rusty. "'S for Elaine, she was after a reading chair. What you been up to?"

Following Alan over, he leaned against one of the work benches and took a sip of his coffee. Strong, piping hot, and with just a dash of milk; just what the doctor ordered. Matter of fact, maybe a pick-me-up was all he needed. Bit of a caffeine jolt to set his head back on straight.

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	waxingthepoetic 2021-06-27 01:10 pm UTC (link)
	"Just finished recording some backing mandolin for an up and coming popstar type," Alan said, stirring his cream with the straw, still admiring the rocking chair. "Was going to see our Marian and she told me you were here makin art. And she's right, this chair is most definitely art." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

sly_stutely
2021-06-28 07:41 am UTC (link)

Will only smiled into his coffee and shrugged. Art was for admiring, the sort of stuff that didn't need to exist but made the world that bit more interesting because it did. Alan's music, that was art. Chairs? They were for sitting. It took a certain skill to make one that was balanced and comfortable and nice-looking, sure, but it wasn't the same thing. "Just glad I remember how, is all. It's been an age and a half."

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	waxingthepoetic 2021-06-28 12:19 pm UTC (link)
	"Mate," Alan said with a shake of his head, "you'll forget woodwork when I forget how to sing. Not ever happenin!" There were some things to engrained in them, and Will's ability to make incredible things out of wood was something Alan remembered even in the beginning. (Sure, Alan could do amazing things with wood too, but this wasn't the place to bring that up.) (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

sly_stutely
2021-06-29 03:28 am UTC (link)

He shouldn't have voiced the thought aloud. Now he found himself darkly wondering about it. He hadn't been a babe in the woods, those lost years. He'd held onto some stuff. Hadn't forgotten how to live in the world, how to drive a car, pick a lock, run a job. The life he'd been leading, he'd never had occasion to lay hands on a bow or a spokeshave. If he had, would he have known what to do with them? Would that have been enough of a lifeline to bring him out of it?

The bitterness that flooded his mouth had nothing to do with the sip of coffee he'd taken. Will swallowed hard and grimaced. "Yeah. Just been a long time, is all," he found himself repeating.

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	waxingthepoetic 2021-06-29 11:56 am UTC (link)
	Will seemed a little off, and Alan couldn't quite blame him. His girlfriend had been so recently kidnapped and Alan had seen how much it had torn Will up. "How's Clio doing?" he asked his old friend, hoping to hear something positive there. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

sly_stutely
2021-06-30 08:28 am UTC (link)

The change of subject was enough to jostle Will out of his own head for a moment, and he realised with a touch of chagrin he was being a mardy-arse again. Al had come in here with a coffee, praised his work, and here he was stewing in his own rammel. "Better," he said. "It's... you know how it is," although neither of them did, in truth. "Day at a time. But she's healing up. Feelin' more herself, I reckon. Having Ella back home's made a difference."

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waxingthepoetic
2021-07-01 11:21 am UTC (link)

Alan nodded solemnly, and couldn't help but wonder if Melpomene was helping her sister through it. There had seemed to be a little friction between some of the sisters when Alan and Melpomene had been together, though he could only assume they were all closer now after Melpomene's son had been stolen and Clio had been taken.

"Reckon you're helping too," Alan reminded him, because sometimes Will liked to discount himself when it came to how helpful he could be.

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sly_stutely
2021-07-02 05:04 am UTC (link)

"Doing my best," Will said. Wasn't much he could do, except for be there, and that was all she asked of him and it still never felt like enough.

(What he really wanted to do was be there before, when she'd called out in her prayers. To spare her the horrors of the chain and the violence and the fire. To crush Martin's throat between his hands and watch the ratfucker die. She'd been there through everything and when she'd needed help herself, she'd been alone.)

"I know it's nothing new." He was frowning at the floor. "Men and gods, treating women like things. Property. Still fucks me up."

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waxingthepoetic
2021-07-03 01:18 am UTC (link)

Alan remembered when he'd been a little more like that himself. No, he'd never been the Sheriff or Guy or John, never been kidnapping or raping women, but... hadn't he also thought of women as property, and that it was the natural order? He had been - and still was - a product of the culture that made him, and sometimes there were unkind things to be said about that culture.

But in this day and age, there was no excuse. Especially for humans, who could form and forge their own paths. Guy of Gisborne was a piece of shit because he was born to be an irredeemable piece of shit, no matter what Marian had said about how she'd thought she could 'fix him'. (He wondered - but would never ask - if she still felt that way about their enemies after what had happened to her with the Sheriff.) Guy couldn't be fixed, but humans... dammit, they should be fixable.

"At least guys like that monster aren't the norm anymore," Alan said. "Though that's not exactly a comfort for Clio. But I have to eventually hope they'll all die out like the Neanderthals they are and leave us with something more egalitarian."

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sly_stutely
2021-07-03 08:18 am UTC (link)

"I don't reckon," Will said, scuffing the fine layer of sawdust with his toe. "Not all of 'em, anyroad. 'Salways them who'll grab onto power wherever they can find it. Some things don't change."

It's happened before, Clio had told him afterwards. People who'd caught a whiff of inspiration off her and couldn't get enough, needed to have it all to themselves. She'd told it as if it were her fault, like she were the one turning their heads, forcing them to kidnap and imprison another person. Will didn't buy that. The women were always asking for it, and the poor were always scoundrels, and the rich were always entitled to more. The world moved, inch by in-fucking-furiating inch, and the day-to-day got better, but slice it down the middle and the stories being told were still the same.

"And then there's the gods," he added darkly. Apollo, Hermes, Ares. They never changed.

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waxingthepoetic
2021-07-03 11:28 am UTC (link)

Well. Alan supposed Will was right about all that, but Alan still wanted to believe that, with each passing day, mankind became a little kinder. Maybe that was naïve and childish. It didn't pass by Alan's notice that Will had been kidnapped and tortured right before his girlfriend had, so he didn't have much reason to believe in goodness.

Luckily for Will, Alan could try and believe in it enough for both of them. "Then I measure that the best we can do is keep on being the sort of men we want to see in the world, and keep encouraging the next generation to do the same. That's why I'm teaching the free music classes for these kids," Alan said, thinking back on the little room of tweens and their guitars. "Some of them boys've got no outlets, no one expectin' them to be anything at all, just followin' down the same bad paths. They're not bad kids, but it'd be so easy to turn into bad men because no one gives 'em a chance. But you should see the way some of them soften and light up when they learn to play their chords. Brings me joy to see it."

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sly_stutely
2021-07-03 02:29 pm UTC (link)

Despite the mardy state of his thoughts, Will's mouth sketched a small smile as he listened to Alan speak. It was a hopeful picture his words painted – he always did know his way around words, their bard – Al and his guitar, bringing a scrap of possibility into the lives of kids who'd never known there was any path out there but the ones their dads and uncles and brothers had walked before 'em. Didn't fix all the ills of the world. Maybe it didn't do much at all in the big scheme. But then, how many lives did you have to change for something to be worthwhile? Couldn't one be enough?

"Huh," he said, glancing up from the ground. "That sounds real great, Al."

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