Khamul is the Shadow of the East (khamul) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-05-27 01:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, frodo baggins, khamul, merry brandybuck |
"Baggins?"
Who: Frodo Baggins, Merry Brandybuck, and Khamul
What: A late-night lurking. A motorcycle is sold. Frodo admits what he looks for in a woman.
When: Tonight. About 1AM.
Where: Frodo’s home in Laguna Beach
Rating: PG-13 (Triggers: Mentions of guns and blood, without any actual violence)
Status: Complete
It was late, probably around one in the morning, although Frodo had given up checking the clock. He was still a little drunk, but he was definitely on the downswing, which meant it was the unpleasant kind of drunk: the kind that feels less like a party and more like a bad headache. It was difficult enough to focus on Merry as he paced the room, let alone a watch face with a minute, hour, and second hand.
Merry was pacing because he was trying to work off the alcohol and clear his head. He knew that if he could just find a little more room in his brain, he’d come up with the perfect argument to convince his cousin that he had acted with his best interests at heart.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t realize what you were doing?” Frodo asked. Headache or none, he was still a far better drinker than Merry, who could only reply with a grunt. “I’m not as brain damaged as our family makes me out.”
Merry shrugged. “I thought--just thought that you would enjoy meeting some new people.”
“Yes, people. Especially people with breasts.” It wasn’t much by normal standards, but that was about a blue as Frodo went.
“Well, why not?” Merry replied. “What’s the harm?”
Frodo was sitting by the fireplace, where there were a short series of levels not unlike a staircase. He leaned back against the exposed brick wall. He pulled back his dark curls with his hands and sighed.
“You told me you had trouble meeting women,” said Merry.
“Yes, but I didn’t ask for help,” Frodo all but growled.
Finding Frodo had proven ridiculously easy. The Baggins' computer trail had been easy to follow and while he was no expert, he knew enough to know what to google for.
So Khamul found himself standing outside a strange man's house, arms folded, observing the place. He ducked into some hedges to think. Why had he come here? Because of some dream? The ring on his finger glinted in the streetlight, and he clenched his fist. He willed the thing to stop whispering at him.
Fucking hell, he was losing his mind.
The argument discussion continued inside, neither man quite drunk enough to reach a fever pitch, nor sober enough to put the issue to rest. If there were any sounds coming from the outside, they went unnoticed. The window, however, was quite open.
"I'm sorry," Merry said. "But I'm pretty sure that you did ask for help."
Frodo shook his head. "Well, I have no memory of that."
Khamul scootched closer to the window, listening carefully. Why did he need to find Baggins? He didn't know. He didn't remember, he just knew it was this compulsion, this need. He had to find the Baggins and...then what?
What did he do with Baggins once he found him? Bring him somewhere? Bring him where? Bring him to...
An eye ever watchful. Serve the eye, serve your master. Your master wants Baggins. Bring him to the eye.
Khamul pressed his fist against his forehead, gritting his teeth, rocking back and forth for a moment. He ignored the call of the ring. But he was here now. With Baggins. He listened in.
As Merry continued to offer his various explanations and excuses, Frodo vacillated between wanting to be a good friend and wanting to get an early start on sleeping through his hangover. His hand slipped into his pocket, for seemingly no reason whatsoever, other than that he knew he’d find the Ring inside. He wanted to make sure it was safe, though it sounded odd to think that thought through.
Something. A momentary something and then the feeling past. Khamul groaned to himself. He got up, and walked to Frodo's door, lifting his hand to knock. But he hesitated. The man had no excuse for being out here, but here he was, about to knock on Baggins' door.
Shire...Baggins
Khamul knocked.
Frodo and Merry responded simultaneously to the sound, and then looked to one another at the exact same moment as well. Frodo finally looked at his watch. He kept the other hand in his pocket.
Merry shook his head. “Don’t you have a gate?”
Frodo rose to his feet. With his free hand, he took hold of the poker from the fireplace. They were alone in the house. The help had their own quarters, and they had long ago gone to bed.
The room grew very silent as they began to approach, as if the sound of even their heartbeats were being sucked out the window. Even the crashing of the ocean seemed to disappear. Merry placed a hand on the doorknob. He suddenly felt very sober.
Slowly, the door was opened.
The Chinese man stood on the doorway, his arms folded. The porchlight illuminated him from above and behind, giving him an almost supernatural glow, harsh shadows obscuring his face. It looked, briefly, as though he ought to be shrouded in black robes, an aura of shadowy terror swirling around him with the sound of an otherworldly scream. The ring on his finger glinted malevontly.
But the moment passed, and a man stood there. He opened his mouth and asked, "Baggins?"
Frodo gulped. Merry had the wherewithal not to turn around and look his cousin in the face. “And you are?”
Well that had been a particularly creepy way to introduce himself, but Khamul gave a mental shrug, and continued to give one word answers, “Khamul.”
He didn’t expect them to know the name, really outside of Hong Kong only a few people did, and he liked to keep it that way. But something had drawn him to this place, to these people and he felt powerless to resist the pull. It was a feeling that disquieted him.
A few seconds felt like a few hours, and Frodo’s fingers caressed the Ring in his pocket. He turned it over and over, slipping it on and off his finger while his heart pounded. The name Khamul sounded familiar and foreign at the same time.
Merry gave a cool nod and began to close the door. His heart, however, had also begun to rattle against his ribs. “Yes, well, Mr. Khamul, I think you should try again during normal, daylight hours.” His palm was so sweaty that it slipped on the knob.
"I wanted to get a look at the bike," The man lied, looking past Merry and at Frodo. He really had no intention of buying it, but it was as good an excuse as any. Warnings prickled along the back of his neck - he didn't want another repeat of what had happened to Nienor, so he couldn't stay much longer.
Had Frodo any idea that Khamul had anything to do with his lovely doctor, he would have encountered a Baggins no one at the door had ever dreamed existed beneath Frodo’s disarming exterior.
“The bike?” Merry asked, still speaking for his cousin. Now he was just plain confused.
“He means my motorcycle,” Frodo explained, his voice strangely distant. He shook his head, as if to clear it, and dropped the Ring deep into his pocket. “I already have an offer,” he began, although it wasn’t true. He felt someone might make one, a certain Mr. Summers, but he’d yet to hear back about it. “But I suppose... if you want to see it...”
"I'd like to see it." He wanted to inspect Frodo more than the bike. There was something familiar about the man. Something that was like a draw. His eyes never left Frodo's face.
Maybe he could blame the alcohol for the fact that he stepped outside, because it really was a dangerous business, going out his door. Foolish, really. Damn foolish. But the fool had the wherewithal to motion to Merry about a safe they had discussed at an earlier time. A safe with a gun inside. He mouthed the word birthday.
“Is Khamul your first or last name?” Frodo asked, as he led him to the garage. He didn’t really care and would likely immediately forget, but he wanted to keep the man talking.
"Khamul is not my family name," He replied, wanting to leave it at that. He followed Frodo, studying the way he walked. This was a man who'd suffered in the past. Khamul could respect that.
Whatever he saw in Frodo’s gait, Frodo himself was more concerned about the sharp pain that had appeared in his right shoulder. He winced. “I’m Frodo, by the way.”
At the garage, he typed in a code and the door began to lift. Frodo bounced anxiously on his heels, taking in Khamul with sideways glances. His age was anyone’s guess. He had a weathered look.
Khamul took notice of the code, filing it away for safe keeping. He had the impression this door wasn’t opened all that much, and it could be a safe bolt hole for a day or two. Or if he needed to see the Baggins again.
He just wished he’d known why he wanted to see the man. The whispering in his head grew louder, before he silenced it, “Nice to meet you.”
The courtesy sounded hollow.
Frodo crossed to a light switch and the fluorescents flickered to life, revealing a space that was more den than garage. The floor had been designed to look like hardwood, though it was clearly something much stronger. The walls held enlarged photographs, obviously taken by either Frodo or his uncle, posing with various vehicles. Inside were cars that spanned the last century, each meticulously kept: shiny and untouched. The red Harley was in the corner, occupying a spot that had previously been empty for many years. The front tire obscured a reddish stain that no one had ever been able to get out of the floor.
“Well,” Frodo said with a gesture, “There she is.”
Khamul stared, looking around, clearly impressed. He hadn't expected something like this. Hobbits and their mathoms
"This is a lot of cars." He looked at Frodo and shook his head. There were several that he'd stolen driven, in the past, but he walked over the the bike and circled it, "You really can't ride it?"
“I can,” Frodo replied. “Sort of. I just don’t think it suits me. It looks like it would suit you, though.”
Khamul sat on the bike, pondering it’s weight and the balance. It was a really good bike. Probably worth about twice what he could afford, if he was really there to buy it. He then spotted the spot of blood and eyed it.
Frodo, in typical Frodo fashion, failed to notice what Khamul had noticed. He did, however, speak as though he had a sixth sense of another sort. “If you’re wondering what I’d like for it, feel free to take advantage of my desire to just get rid of the thing. Money really isn’t the issue here.”
Yes, truthfully, the bike had stubbornly continued to remind him of the woman who had sold it to him, and he wanted to be rid of those memories as well.
Khamul thought about it. He could get it cheap, and then turn around and sell it for what it was really worth. Money would be better than a bike.
But having reliable transportation wasn't necessarily a bad thing, either.
"I can go ten thousand."
Maybe someone could give him more. Someone probably could.
The speed with which Frodo responded was a bit surprising to even himself. “Deal,” he said, with some inkling of an idea that it would likely be resold, but he didn’t care. He wanted it done. “Did you want to make the exchange tomorrow?” He hoped.
Well that was quick. Khamul gave a little shrug of his shoulder and could imagine Elektra's expression if he rode up on a motorcycle.
"I can come back around two if that's what you wanted."
Maybe in the light of day all this would make more sense in his head.
In Frodo mind, it really couldn’t have gone any better, ignoring the 1AM knock at the door and the way his spine felt like it would burst out of his skin when Khamul asked for Baggins. He motioned to led him back outside.
Khamul nodded his head, casting another glance down at the blood stain. There was something about that, he couldn't wrap his head around. He followed the other man outside, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"Have you ever been in Hong Kong?"
Both Frodo and Merry felt this was a very strange question. Yes, Merry, who was lurking around the corner, with a shotgun in his trembling hand and sweat stinging his eyes. He held his breath.
Frodo scowled. “No. I haven’t. Have you?”
"That's where I'm from. There's something familiar about you but I can't place it."
He folded his arms again, and from this angle the red serpentine dragon tattoo all along his upper right arm was visible. It snaked up towards his shoulder and disappeared up his sleeve towards his chest.
“Well, if we’ve met before it wasn’t there,” Frodo said, tone growing distant. The only China he’d ever been too was in EPCOT. But he seriously doubted they’d met. Anywhere. This man, Frodo would have remembered. He rubbed the pain in his shoulder. “I’ve been told I have that kind of face.”
"Maybe you do." The former wraith wasn't convinced of that. He was certain he'd met this person. It felt like he needed to hunt this person.
The idea was incredibly abhorrent.
Funny that Merry was the one around the corner with the gun.
Frodo shrugged. Or tried to. The pain was too intense. Had it been the other shoulder, he would have considered the possibility of a heart attack. It was more, however, than physical pain. “I think I’m going to turn in now, if you don’t mind. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Khamul didn’t generally say sorry. He might say it to Nienor, but those were special circumstances. But Most anyone else? Nope! “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He turned to go.
Frodo turned as well. Only then he turned back. “Wait. One quick question. How did you figure out where I lived?” Yes, this had only just occurred to him. Although by now he could say he was sober.
“I used google,” He turned, flashing a white, cheshire like grin. “Information is easy to come by if you know how to look.”
“Yes...” Frodo said slowly. “I suppose...” He had some experience with that.
Khamul nodded once at him. Baggins... Then he continued away from the house, hopping over the gate and disappearing from sight.
Frodo remained planted until Khamul had disappeared. What it looked like was the darkness engulfing him, like a mouth taking a bite. Frodo shook his head and turned around. It was very late. And he still needed to get something other than alcohol into his stomach if he was going take a painkiller for whatever had gone so terribly wrong in his shoulder.
No... wait... Well, that was odd. The pain. It was gone.
Frodo looked back, eyes narrowed on the spot where Khamul had vanished.
That he continued to walk forward without looking was something of a bad habit. A few steps later, he walked smack into Merry. The gun jabbed him in the chest and then fell to the ground. Where it went off. Loudly, as guns tend to do.
"HOLY SHIT!" Merry exclaimed. "Frodo! Shit! Watch where you're going!"
Frodo clutched at his chest. Clawed, more like it. "What were you doing there?"
"I thought you wanted me to," Merry said. His hands were shaking as he tried to pick up the now-warm gun.
"Yes, but not..." Frodo sputtered. "Not. Not like that."
"I'm sorry," Merry said. "But I'm pretty sure you did." The nodding to the safe, the whispered code. “Seemed pretty clear to me.”
Frodo sighed. He felt the urge to look back towards the shadows, as if Khamul might reappear. The streets were empty. “Sleep. I need sleep,” he said. He clapped Merry on the back. He wasn’t really upset, not about the near miss with the gun, not even about the party with the alterior motive of finding him a ladyfriend. Frodo shook his head and chuckled. He had to.
“Well, it’s good to know you have my back,” he said. He started up the path to the house. “I’ll be at that party. It will be good to meet some new people.”
“People with breasts?” Merry asked as he followed.
Frodo nodded. “Oh yes. Big ones.”