Investigator of the Supernatural, Brewer of Tea (sedulus) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-07-12 15:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | bertie eden, lucien swinton |
Who: Lucien Swinton, Bertram Eden, and the Black Park Pack
What: Falling for a wolf pack
Where: Black Park
When: Backstory: October, 1886
Rating: G
The annual pheasant hunt was usually cause for celebration at Black Park -- it had a generally festive air, and it wasn’t unusual for guests from London or neighboring packs to join in on the fun. The morning was spent shooting, there was a picnic lunch, and a country dance in the evening.
The picnic was a relaxed affair, with the pups rolling around on the grass, some wolf, some human, but all yipping and gnawing playfully at one another, and a handful of young wolves who’d turned to fetch and roust the birds that stayed as they were for the picnic, playing about the blankets, jumping for tossed tidbits and chasing one another. A few other wolves dotted the scene as well -- Neddie, for one, was shy and quiet natured, and preferred to keep to his wolf form for larger social events -- he spent most of his time curled affectionately at Matthew’s feet as his mate ruffled his fur affectionately and fed him the choicest bits of ham.
Luce managed to steal away for a quiet moment to join them after having played tug-o-rope and wrestling with the pups, and being taken aside for some business or another too many times to count, and he sat, arm flung companionably around the shoulder of his Beta, talking quietly about what the coming weeks had in store, laughing at the japes of the younger wolves.
Bertie had been growing gradually more comfortable with the Black Park pack, or so he'd thought. He knew many of the pack members on sight and by name, and a few of the important family connections and ranks. He'd been absorbing etiquette at every opportunity, peppering investigators at the Night Watch with questions and then confirming what he'd been told with the pack members themselves. He'd learned some of the history of the pack, digging through records and asking for stories, hoping not to embarrass himself and to live up to the honor the pack had shown him by giving him this glimpse into their lives. He'd thought he had his head wrapped firmly around everything to do with Black Park.
He hadn't really understood at all.
There were pack members in their wolf forms, all around, and though the first moments of interaction filled Bertie with surprise and an instinctive apprehension, his hesitance gave way almost at once upon introduction, because these were merely other shapes of the people Bertie already knew. Not that there was anything 'merely' about it; the pack were subtly different in these forms, stronger and faster and more instinctive, Bertie thought, but they were also themselves, in any shape.
There was also a structure in place that Bertie could almost feel in the air, layers of rank that everyone around him seemed to understand automatically, like members of a royal court, with connections between everyone from the highest to the lowest. There was an atmosphere of freedom and belonging that took Bertie's breath away when he really stepped back and took it in; which was a rare occurrence, as he had thrown himself into the festivities with exuberance and could hardly stand to be separated from the feeling of camaraderie and celebration.
He had greeted each member of the pack he'd come across in any form, deferred to everyone, and tried to make himself useful whenever someone seemed in need of an assistant. In most instances, that meant entertaining children to get them out from under their parents' feet, which with wolf cubs resulted in Bertie being out of breath, exceedingly rumpled, and with scratches - although no bites, they took care with him - in a few places where claws had won out over more tender human skin.
He was in good humor, then, when he approached a small group on a blanket to pay his respects, although not as tidy as he had been upon arrival. On seeing Lord Black among them, Bertie bowed, eyes lowered and head down to bare the back of his neck. "Lord Black. I thank you for your invitation." He ought have made his courtesies before this, but he had been caught up in the whirlwind of activity and not seen the Black Park alpha until now.
"Sir," Bertie continued to Matthew, with a lesser bow to the pack's beta, and then paused when he caught the gaze of the wolf curled at their feet. Form of address was made more complicated when you knew neither the rank nor gender of the person whom you were addressing. "May I bring you some water? It is warm out today," was what he settled on, and then he stammered, flustered, "I beg your pardon, is it rude to address someone directly who cannot answer? It seems more rude to ignore you, but I do see the difficulty. Perhaps I should not have asked a question."
Neddie looked up at him, then over at Matthew with laughing eyes, and they both gave a huffing sort of amused sound that was remarkably similar, despite the fact that one was wolf and one was man.
“Aye,” Matthew replied, nodding his head, his expression warm and easy as he ruffled Neddie’s ears. “Ned wouldn’t mind a bowl, I’m sure.”
Lucien gave Matthew a bit of a side-glance that was met by another huff of amusement; his Beta knew full well that Lucien had some concerns regarding Malcolm’s shadow, who’d started popping up at the London house with increasing frequency of late, as well as being occasionally sighted at the Fosters and Lewises, or visiting Mal at his parent’s. A school crush was one thing, but his aide had rekindled his affections with the eager Mr Eden after they’d both started working for the Ministry, and while Lucien was currently tolerating this youthful indiscretion, he hoped for his aide’s sake that the two of them weren’t becoming more entangled than would be appropriate.
He was a liberal man, and he’d been young once -- but he wouldn’t have Mal’s future at risk, so he was keeping a wary eye on the two of them. And to call Mr. Eden eager was a disservice -- he seemed hard-wired to want to please, and practically starry-eyed.
Despite his reservations, however, it was obvious the young man had done his due diligence, and Lucien had yet to find fault with his comportment, although it was at times a touch overly reverent, and there was a small part of him that didn’t entirely care for the feeling that the young Mr. Eden considered their customs, the pack itself, sometimes him personally as a thing to be studied, even if it was with (sometimes excessive) admiration. He was modest by nature, and didn’t enjoy the notion of being on display -- he experienced more than his fill of attention as a necessary part of his title, the duties of his office and role in the pack, and this struck to the very heart of his identity as a wolf with a scrutiny that could be mildly disconcerting.
He nodded in acknowledgement. Bertie’s attentions to his second were yet another sign the young man had studied up; not many humans would’ve been canny enough to give Matthew the respect he was due -- they tended to look at his homespun clothes and work-roughened hands and stop there. And, to his credit, the young Mr. Eden hadn’t spent the entire day ostentatiously draping himself around Malcolm either.
“Mr. Eden,” he said, mildly. “I do hope you’ve enjoyed your visit here so far.”
Knowing Ned's identity in his current form set Bertie instantly more at ease, and if Ned and Matthew seemed to be keeping very intimate company, then first it was none of Bertie's business, and second he knew that werewolves could be more physically affectionate with each other than humans often were, at least in public, and this was hardly even that. This was home for them, family, pack, and surely they deserved to be able to be themselves with one another in comfort here, if nowhere else.
"Very much, Lord Black," Bertie replied eagerly, biting back the desire to call him Alpha, to show him the honor of both titles. There was a great deal to be proud of here; a thriving estate, and a happy, well-contented pack. "If you would permit me, sir, I will only be a moment."
He sped off toward the heavily-laden tables with alacrity, but it took him longer than he would have liked to find both a suitable bowl and a source of fresh water. Finding a nearly-empty punch bowl and relocating its contents, Bertie found himself unexpectedly on the edge of the first argument he'd heard all day.
The youths were his age, or close to it, though not gentlemen by their clothing. Which didn't matter here, Bertie reminded himself, although it was difficult for him not to make the automatic assessments of rank and wealth, of status, much as he imagined the wolves must do in their own ways, amongst themselves. They were both dirt-stained and sweaty, likely from flushing pheasants, and the subject of their dispute appeared to be a pie.
"I won, fair and square. Five to four," one of them insisted stubbornly. "It's mine by right."
"The fifth should have been mine and you know it," the other groused. "I'd've won without your cheating."
"Say that again," the first snarled, and Bertie was abruptly aware that he was passing by two agitated young men with their blood up, who were fully capable of turning into large predators with impressively-sharp teeth. What had been a petty quarrel was now turning sour, and for reasons he couldn't define - perhaps only because Bertie could not leave anything alone when there was an opportunity to stick his nose into it - Bertie found himself veering toward the argument rather than away, punch bowl held in front of him like a glass shield.
Not that a punch bowl would do very much good against werewolves.
"It seems that if the fifth is in dispute," Bertie offered cheerfully, interrupting a pair of low, rumbling growls, "it is four against four, which is clearly a tie, and no one has won. You should give me the pie instead, so that neither of you will suffer the loss of it."
The growls cut off abruptly; probably, Bertie guessed, from sheer surprise. Then the man holding the pie broke it deliberately in two, muscles flexing deliberately (as if Bertie didn't already know he was outmatched), handed one piece to his fellow, and crammed nearly the entire remainder in his own mouth, glaring at Bertie all the while as if daring him to make something of it.
"Or not," Bertie carried on, since neither of them had actually spoken to him, and he was thus left to continue speaking in their stead. "A pity, it did look very good."
The second man flashed his teeth, and took an equally deliberate bite from his portion.
"No pie, then," Bertie conceded, with regret that was not entirely feigned, and hastened on to fill the punch bowl with water.
The enormous glass bowl had been heavy on its own, and brimming over with water it was even heavier, but Bertie staggered gamely back to the pack leaders, only briefly heading in entirely the wrong direction when he lost track of where they'd been sitting when he left them. In the end he was victorious, however, and set down the bowl almost without sloshing any water all over himself. Or Ned. Or the alpha and beta of the pack.
"I hope this will suit, and that it does not taste like punch. I did rinse it, but I expected you would not appreciate the taste of fresh soap. It seems a sensible way to drink," Bertie added, just in case Ned was embarrassed, or thought Bertie would judge him somehow for licking his water from a bowl. "Very like a wide goblet, in fact. I should have brought wine," he added in dismay, looking up to the humans in the company. "I apologize, I hadn't thought of it until just now."
Lucien had taken notice of the brewing storm -- Neddie’s ears were pricked and a low whine rumbled in his throat, and upon seeing the source, Lucien slipped his arm away from Matthew’s shoulder as the larger man shifted, ready to get up and wade in. The tension among the small party on the blanket increased as they saw the human approach, and Matthew made so far as to stand and start walking that way -- a fight between two young hotbloods might knock over a few tables and bloody them both, but a human caught in the middle of it could end up decidedly more injured, and Mr. Eden was a guest -- but he paused, and the three of them watched in all astonishment as the intrepid Mr. Eden toddled up to the spatting pair and managed to diffuse it handily.
Matthew returned to his seat, a little more alert now, but the moment had passed; one of the young wolves, his mouth full of pie, was making fun of the way Bertie was wading through the crowd with the punch bowl, and the other snorted and scoffed, and that was all that took.
“Well,” his Beta remarked as he sat and shared a look with Lucien, who had to make himself relax again after the brief spike in adrenaline at the thought of a guest injured. But Matthew clapped him on the back, and bumped his shoulder, and huffed again as the young lad went weaving through the party in a roundabout way, and that was all that took too.
Mr. Eden laden with an enormous punch bowl was indeed ridiculous, with patches of wet splotching his shirt, and Lucien bit back a smile as the young man tried his best to be courteous to Neddie, who was likewise equally amused at being waited on. The wolf yipped and wagged his tail, his front paws dancing a little, and after turning to give Matthew’s face a lick, set to the water.
“There’s no need for apologies, Mr. Eden,” he replied. “Truly. Water will more than suit. And please do try to not get yourself in the middle of too many scuffles while you’re here,” Lucien said, evenly, before shaking his head and fetching an apple to toss his way in a slow, underhanded lob.
Bertie didn't know how Lord Black had known about that - he had gone off in the wrong direction at one point, so perhaps they had been closer than he'd realized, or perhaps it was some mysterious supernatural ability to sense both trouble and young men who frequently found themselves in it.
"Of course, Lord Black," he responded at once, chastened, but couldn't help the way his face lit up almost at once again, looking up from the apple he'd managed to catch without too much fumbling.
"Is there anything I can do to assist, this afternoon?" Bertie asked, hoping the question was not too presumptuous. "I'm certain I am not so fine a hunter as some here, but I would be happy to join in." If nothing more, Bertie could stand for someone and follow along for someone who needed a partner. It was traditionally the role of a lady, but Bertie had a feeling that suggesting he could hunt better than the ladies here - ladies who were natural hunters - would see him laughed out of the party.
Although there was a certain appeal to that, of having these particular ladies, some of them wearing hatpins and some of them their own fur, puff up in order to take him down a peg and show off what they could do. He might have to see if he could stir anyone up.
Without getting into any scuffles, of course.
He was also trying not to look at Matthew, who had such a look on his face in gazing at Ned that Bertie thought he had read published verse less compelling. Somehow that moment of a lick to the cheek, such as any hound might do, had an entirely different implication when one was aware of the mind and sentience behind the action. It seemed instead rather like a kiss.
“If you’ve had some experience shooting, you might pair with Mrs Lewis,” Lucien replied. “I believe she was looking for a second earlier, and that you’ve already been introduced. She might let you pop off a few rounds, but she will correct your form, fair warning.”
Matthew looked up, grinning. “Hobbes over there has been keeping track o’ those who wish to go out after lunch, he’ll get you settled.” He nodded his head towards the direction of the Lodge gamekeeper -- a rangy, tall fellow with an impressive red beard who was leaning on his elbow and smoking a pipe across the lawn. “He don’t stand much on form, so he don’t need introductions neither.”
“And Mr. Eden,” Lucien added, as an afterthought, elbowing Matthew a little for his cheek, “It is laudable, but please don’t feel you must be under obligation to volunteer your services -- you are our guest, after all.”
"Oh, well," Bertie stammered a little, flushing. "I thank you for your hospitality, but with your permission, I would be grateful indeed to participate, after the kindness everyone has shown. The least I can do is to bring in a pheasant for the pot. Or," he amended with perhaps more accuracy, "to carry a game bag and ammunition for a lady infinitely more capable of doing so. Do you think she will shoot me if I talk too much and frighten off the pheasants? Only it is occasionally a concern, I'm afraid, though I do try."
Bertie felt as though he had been ignoring Ned for too long, as Ned had by necessity not much to add to the conversation. "Will you be joining the hunt, sir?" he asked Ned, and then after a brief pause asked all three more hesitantly, "Is there...are there signs a human might interpret, to facilitate communication? Ways I might understand a pack members signals or commands, or requests if they should make them? Only I feel I may be at a disadvantage, in pack hunting, without such an understanding, and I would not like to let down the company through my ignorance."
Neddie looked up at Matthew, sitting back on his paws, his ears flickering, and a bit of a whine in his throat. Matthew shook his head. “He don’t care for the sound o’ guns, and ain’t much for talkin’ even when he’s on two legs, so don’t take offense by it,” he said, before ruffling the fur on the top of the wolf’s head as Neddie curled once more at his feet with a sigh. Matthew frowned thoughtfully. “Just as long as you keep in mind we ent dogs, and familiarity and trust is earned -- so hands to yourself, careful where you point your gun, don’t take game from no-one, and thank ‘em for assisting. We can understand you far bettern’ you can us, but that needs time, patience, and payin’ mind.” He looked up at Bertie. “For a start, tail waggin’ and tongue out is a good yes, a flash of teeth and a bit of a snarl is a hard no -- and one you ought to take note of.”
“Agreed,” Lucien replied quietly to Matthew. “And Mrs. Lewis is both polite and patient,” he added to Bertie. “You’ll be quite safe with her.”
"I would never," Bertie swore at once, breathless and earnest. "That is--why I asked, you see, I don't wish to...I would never assume...you are nothing like dogs." He was vehement upon that point, and hoped never to say or do anything which might cause the pack members to doubt him. "Your intelligence, your skill, your cleverness...that is why I hoped to begin learning how to understand your body language, and speech. I would not for a moment assume that anything I know of hounds can even compare to what I am certain you can communicate. It's just," Bertie finished, drooping very slightly at his shortcoming, "I cannot understand the language as yet."
Reflecting on what Matthew had said, however, and the steady, quiet authority in Matthew's voice, Bertie thought that perhaps this was something he should not learn by asking incessant questions and reading notes, but by watching and listening to the wolves themselves until he understood. Paying mind. It was a different sort of test, but Bertie was instantly determined to rise to it.
"I shall be patient, sir, I thank you," Bertie promised Matthew with newfound resolution. "And attentive. I hope that I may learn all I am sure you have to teach. You and your pack," he clarified, with a nod of respect to the alpha whose pack it was.
Neddie sat up suddenly on his haunches and raised a paw, tilting his head before dropping back to the ground in a sprawl, tongue lolling, an action that made Matthew snort and Lucien murmur “Hardly.”
“He’s a joker what can’t take a compliment,” Matthew explained, laughing, looking back up at Bertie before looking back to Ned. “And I seen you fix somethin’ after lookin’ at it the once, so don’t you say you ent bright, now.” By way of reply, Neddie rolled onto his back in a relaxed stretch, and Lucien politely averted his eyes. “Showoff,” Matthew replied, his voice quiet and infinitely fond as his Mate curled back at his feet with a self-satisfied yawn.
Lucien cleared his throat. “You present a very impassioned defense, Mr. Eden,” he said, looking up at Bertie, a small smile dancing in the corner of his mouth despite himself. “I am glad you find us worthy of your attentions, and hope you find today instructive.”
This time, it was Matthew who elbowed Lucien.
There was something Bertie was missing - quite a few things, he thought - but his mind was busy cataloging all that Ned did, the gestures he knew (showing his belly: trust and submission) and those he didn't for future study, so that he would recognize them when he saw them again.
Belatedly, he saw Lucien glance away and did the same, a flush of embarrassment on his face. He hadn't been thinking....well. He hadn't been thinking. The curl of Ned's front paws and the look Matthew had fixed on him had Bertie entirely entranced.
"I should speak to Mrs Lewis," he said aloud without thought, because Lord Black had just spoken with what, in Bertie's fluttering heart, he thought might be approval, and suddenly there was no other thought in his head but to keep that tone, and to earn that hint of a proud smile. "With your permission, Lord Black."
The twofold authority of aristocracy and alpha of a wolf pack made it easy for Bertie to remember his manners, his neck bending along with his back as he scrambled up and bowed. "Since you speak so highly of her as a teacher, I shall offer myself as a student, and hope she has not yet found someone else for the post." He would also hope that Mal wouldn't mind the abandonment, and that he would be reasonably subtle with the disgruntled cheek-rubbing that would no doubt ensue, to make certain Bertie correctly smelled of him while Bertie went traipsing after another werewolf in the underbrush.
Bertie couldn't help the smile, which broke out as soon as he'd raised his eyes from the ground. "Thank you again for the hospitality." He was a half-dozen steps away when he tripped over his feet twisting back around and called, "I shall do my best to bring you a pheasant!"