Yay for passing! *^5* not so yay for colds... Bleh. *offers chicken noodle soup*
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That sounds like a great deal of not-fun. Hope it went alright.
Works for me. I like the style. Maybe not forever, but it's doing its job now, and it's fun getting the little glimpses and wondering about people. :P
*dances about*
“Oy, Dreefus!” The shout was the only warning, and it came too late to be of any true use. The yelp that followed was echoed by laughter from the rest of the men, used to the display of temper whenever the poor recruit tried to lighten the mood. Given the boy’s apparently never-ending optimism, it was a regular sight. Their leader hopping after the flung boot in mad bounds, red-faced and swearing, was worth the few minutes of wanton warbling.
And as both men endured the amusement of their peers and subordinates, Commander Loric Rundall, or Lurch as he was known colloquially, grabbed his boot out of Dreefus’ hands and gave the lad a cuff for good measure before sending him off to get his crutches so he wouldn’t have to hop back. The cold bit fiercely at the lungs, and such exertion in the bitter air was bad for one’s health, he was sure of it, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. He’d saved the ears of everyone else, put on a good show, and quieted the distraction before the dogs got too excited.
Rough bluster and heavy hands were an ever present part of Rundall’s daily rituals, as was his permanent scowl. Yet while he didn’t smile, and certainly didn’t approve of insubordination, he didn’t mind making himself part of the entertainment. A leader who couldn’t take a good joke was a poor one, but so were those who let their men laugh at them. So, he sent a glare at anyone paused in their work for good measure, but didn’t expect he’d have to do much more. Of the 20 currently men beneath him, of which only ten were present (the other half of the unit having been left to set up a guard post on the warmer side of the gate), eight were veterans of several hunts, at least one of those beneath his command prior to this excursion. They’d gotten to know each other; they were unlikely to think less of him for making a spectacle. One of the younger men was on his second hunt and Dreefus, poor sod, was learning again and again that having only one leg didn’t stop his commander from moving quickly.
The boy, to be fair, was somewhat slow-witted. Not stupid, no, the Church was not sympathetic to stupidity, rather, he saw the world differently than the rest of them and got his wires crossed sometimes. Not always useful on a dangerous mission, but he had the makings of a Gatefinder and could see some details even the sharpest among them missed. Lucky, some said. Blessed, the Church called it, and Rundall did, too. Though he often added nuisance under his breath. Singing! In this weather, and when they didn’t know where or what their quarry was yet. Coming from the Green Wold, all the rest of them knew it was likely to be dangerous. But there Dreefus was, singing like a… well, not a lark, maybe a rooster. Had the enthusiasm down, anyway.
Well, the boy needed experience in the field if he was going to learn, and even with his missing leg bearing witness to his mistakes, no one could say Commander Loric Rundall didn’t know what he was doing. 30 odd years and still mostly all in one piece was a good run. He was used to training the greenhorns. Not so well accustomed to training up the Gatefinders though, and as the youth, still a boy, really, came scurrying back with a face fit to guilt the dead and Rundall’s crutches hugged to his chest, the man sighed into his beard, grimacing at the ice collecting there.
“Thank yeh, lad, now git on t’th’fire ‘fore yehr froze the rest th’way if yeh’ve fed th’lot naow.” He might need reminding of the basics more than most, but the kid still listened well enough, and looked after the dogs better than their mothers had when they were young. He might be needing to rethink his training strategies with this one, but old habits died hard.
As he set the crutches under his arms and swung back to the chair he’d been using before the fuss, he raised his voice to carry over to the fire. “Eh Bart, ifen yehr finished there, Ah’d like a word.”
And as both men endured the amusement of their peers and subordinates, Commander Loric Rundall, or Lurch as he was known colloquially, grabbed his boot out of Dreefus’ hands and gave the lad a cuff for good measure before sending him off to get his crutches so he wouldn’t have to hop back. The cold bit fiercely at the lungs, and such exertion in the bitter air was bad for one’s health, he was sure of it, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. He’d saved the ears of everyone else, put on a good show, and quieted the distraction before the dogs got too excited.
Rough bluster and heavy hands were an ever present part of Rundall’s daily rituals, as was his permanent scowl. Yet while he didn’t smile, and certainly didn’t approve of insubordination, he didn’t mind making himself part of the entertainment. A leader who couldn’t take a good joke was a poor one, but so were those who let their men laugh at them. So, he sent a glare at anyone paused in their work for good measure, but didn’t expect he’d have to do much more. Of the 20 currently men beneath him, of which only ten were present (the other half of the unit having been left to set up a guard post on the warmer side of the gate), eight were veterans of several hunts, at least one of those beneath his command prior to this excursion. They’d gotten to know each other; they were unlikely to think less of him for making a spectacle. One of the younger men was on his second hunt and Dreefus, poor sod, was learning again and again that having only one leg didn’t stop his commander from moving quickly.
The boy, to be fair, was somewhat slow-witted. Not stupid, no, the Church was not sympathetic to stupidity, rather, he saw the world differently than the rest of them and got his wires crossed sometimes. Not always useful on a dangerous mission, but he had the makings of a Gatefinder and could see some details even the sharpest among them missed. Lucky, some said. Blessed, the Church called it, and Rundall did, too. Though he often added nuisance under his breath. Singing! In this weather, and when they didn’t know where or what their quarry was yet. Coming from the Green Wold, all the rest of them knew it was likely to be dangerous. But there Dreefus was, singing like a… well, not a lark, maybe a rooster. Had the enthusiasm down, anyway.
Well, the boy needed experience in the field if he was going to learn, and even with his missing leg bearing witness to his mistakes, no one could say Commander Loric Rundall didn’t know what he was doing. 30 odd years and still mostly all in one piece was a good run. He was used to training the greenhorns. Not so well accustomed to training up the Gatefinders though, and as the youth, still a boy, really, came scurrying back with a face fit to guilt the dead and Rundall’s crutches hugged to his chest, the man sighed into his beard, grimacing at the ice collecting there.
“Thank yeh, lad, now git on t’th’fire ‘fore yehr froze the rest th’way if yeh’ve fed th’lot naow.” He might need reminding of the basics more than most, but the kid still listened well enough, and looked after the dogs better than their mothers had when they were young. He might be needing to rethink his training strategies with this one, but old habits died hard.
As he set the crutches under his arms and swung back to the chair he’d been using before the fuss, he raised his voice to carry over to the fire. “Eh Bart, ifen yehr finished there, Ah’d like a word.”
There we are. Hope that works. If I need to change anything, let me know, I'll be happy to edit. :)
ANDREW
Nice car, friendly enough face in the driver’s seat and damn, was that champagne? Someone was splurging, and he hoped this wasn’t coming out of his wallet. Or Dr. Maddison’s. Still, as he settled into his seat, Andrew took advantage of an opportunity he hadn’t expected, shoulders slumping, back loose, feet stretched out because why not use all that leg room. But the best bit, the most excellent surprise, was the ice bucket. Who knew coincidence could be such a lovely thing?
Andrew pulled out the handkerchief he’d stuffed in his pocket out of habit more than necessity, since he tended to use them at work to clean his hands and they weren’t exactly white anymore. He then took some of that ice, grinning at the tightness of the chill against his fingers, wrapped it up in the linen square and leaned back with it pressed against his cheek. It was too late to do much good, but better late than never, and it felt like bliss anyway. It could chase away the impending headache, at the very least, he hoped.
He relaxed with his head back, trusting, perhaps more than he should have, that the driver knew where he was supposed to go, and took a deep breath of satisfaction. Maybe this thing wasn’t going to be so bad, after all.
He was so, so very wrong. And confused.
But mostly wrong. Extremely confused.
He didn’t land gently. He’d never been light on his feet. But when the handcuffs let him go, he was still dozing just enough that he didn’t need to tell his knees to bend. They weren’t about to hold him up anyway, and down he went.
Hello again, floor.
This felt awfully familiar. Except this floor needed a lot more than a simple vacuum. It could do with a leaf blower and a scrubbing. Maybe some bleach.
It probably wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t his floor, and that meant he wanted to get his face off of it as quickly as possible. Thankfully, he didn’t see any feet about, so he hadn’t managed to thoroughly embarrass himself with the fainting, though that it had happened twice in one day, and he couldn’t remember getting out… of… the- Yeah, okay, no, off the floor, now! Disoriented or not. Throbbing skull or not (well, he needed the skull, but he could do without the throbbing).
He shoved himself onto his knees with a groan, motivated more by the chance to get a hand to his face and make sure it was still generally face shaped, the way it was complaining about the jostling, than by the whole, getting up off the floor thing. But he stared about him with growing concern, and took far less time to get his feet under his body and force himself upright than his head would have liked. The wall helped, the more restrictive material he was wearing did not. “Th’ hell isis?” His words slurred together in some small panic and bleary not wanting to understand as he plucked at the jacket he didn’t recognize.
“There a dress code I missed?” Joking at empty walls didn’t work as well as one might like, when one was forced to try it out for themselves. No one laughed. Not even a forced chuckle to break the ice creeping up his spine. Something was very, very wrong. But why was he wearing… Whatever the hell he was wearing? Where were his pants? His shirt? His phone?
Where was he?!
Looking around, one hand still on the wall, the other trying to hold his head together, Andrew finally saw the table. Adrenaline helped him take the first step and then he was almost racing for it, hopeful that there’d be some hint as to what was going on. Please let it be a really fucked up prank.
He didn’t make it to the table though. Halfway there and his footsteps started to echo. He turned to make sure he was still alone, because it seemed worse to go through this with someone watching, and didn’t even have the chance to register more than kid-shape before he decided, without actually thinking about it, that this was going to hurt.
“Oof!” Was now a statement of protest, pain, breathlessness, and swears. The body slammed into him. But before they could both hit the floor, their momentum pushed a suddenly lighter Andrew just that little bit farther, slipping out of the kid’s reach even as he skidded through the floor and finally fetched up on the other side of the table.
Down again, and halfway vanished into the ground, the young man glared at the ceiling as hard as his now splitting headache would allow, and slowly pushed himself back onto solid ground and sitting up, leaning on his arms and making sure he wasn’t about to get attacked again before he raised his density. But since fate seemed to be conspiring against him, or it was some kind of sign, he decided not to risk standing again. Floors were safer. You couldn’t fall if you never got up. He tended to keep that saying for the literal moments, since it was depressing as all get out, but just now, it seemed highly appropriate.
So, from his seated position, heart hammering, head trying to break open, bruised, confused but glaring, Andrew eyed this gung-ho stranger with all the suspicion he could muster. “What the hell was that for?”
Andrew pulled out the handkerchief he’d stuffed in his pocket out of habit more than necessity, since he tended to use them at work to clean his hands and they weren’t exactly white anymore. He then took some of that ice, grinning at the tightness of the chill against his fingers, wrapped it up in the linen square and leaned back with it pressed against his cheek. It was too late to do much good, but better late than never, and it felt like bliss anyway. It could chase away the impending headache, at the very least, he hoped.
He relaxed with his head back, trusting, perhaps more than he should have, that the driver knew where he was supposed to go, and took a deep breath of satisfaction. Maybe this thing wasn’t going to be so bad, after all.
****
He was so, so very wrong. And confused.
But mostly wrong. Extremely confused.
He didn’t land gently. He’d never been light on his feet. But when the handcuffs let him go, he was still dozing just enough that he didn’t need to tell his knees to bend. They weren’t about to hold him up anyway, and down he went.
Hello again, floor.
This felt awfully familiar. Except this floor needed a lot more than a simple vacuum. It could do with a leaf blower and a scrubbing. Maybe some bleach.
It probably wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t his floor, and that meant he wanted to get his face off of it as quickly as possible. Thankfully, he didn’t see any feet about, so he hadn’t managed to thoroughly embarrass himself with the fainting, though that it had happened twice in one day, and he couldn’t remember getting out… of… the- Yeah, okay, no, off the floor, now! Disoriented or not. Throbbing skull or not (well, he needed the skull, but he could do without the throbbing).
He shoved himself onto his knees with a groan, motivated more by the chance to get a hand to his face and make sure it was still generally face shaped, the way it was complaining about the jostling, than by the whole, getting up off the floor thing. But he stared about him with growing concern, and took far less time to get his feet under his body and force himself upright than his head would have liked. The wall helped, the more restrictive material he was wearing did not. “Th’ hell isis?” His words slurred together in some small panic and bleary not wanting to understand as he plucked at the jacket he didn’t recognize.
“There a dress code I missed?” Joking at empty walls didn’t work as well as one might like, when one was forced to try it out for themselves. No one laughed. Not even a forced chuckle to break the ice creeping up his spine. Something was very, very wrong. But why was he wearing… Whatever the hell he was wearing? Where were his pants? His shirt? His phone?
Where was he?!
Looking around, one hand still on the wall, the other trying to hold his head together, Andrew finally saw the table. Adrenaline helped him take the first step and then he was almost racing for it, hopeful that there’d be some hint as to what was going on. Please let it be a really fucked up prank.
He didn’t make it to the table though. Halfway there and his footsteps started to echo. He turned to make sure he was still alone, because it seemed worse to go through this with someone watching, and didn’t even have the chance to register more than kid-shape before he decided, without actually thinking about it, that this was going to hurt.
“Oof!” Was now a statement of protest, pain, breathlessness, and swears. The body slammed into him. But before they could both hit the floor, their momentum pushed a suddenly lighter Andrew just that little bit farther, slipping out of the kid’s reach even as he skidded through the floor and finally fetched up on the other side of the table.
Down again, and halfway vanished into the ground, the young man glared at the ceiling as hard as his now splitting headache would allow, and slowly pushed himself back onto solid ground and sitting up, leaning on his arms and making sure he wasn’t about to get attacked again before he raised his density. But since fate seemed to be conspiring against him, or it was some kind of sign, he decided not to risk standing again. Floors were safer. You couldn’t fall if you never got up. He tended to keep that saying for the literal moments, since it was depressing as all get out, but just now, it seemed highly appropriate.
So, from his seated position, heart hammering, head trying to break open, bruised, confused but glaring, Andrew eyed this gung-ho stranger with all the suspicion he could muster. “What the hell was that for?”
Well hey there stranger. :D Glad to see you around again. Yissyissyiss! Post coming hopefully tonight, but might have to fall into bed and finish it tomorrow, depending on how long it takes me to finish. :P
Blargh, only managed one post and I need sleeeeep. I'll be writing while I'm off, but typing it up will have to wait until I get back home. But I'm excited for this, I am, I am. :D
Thought as much, but figured I'd better check, just in case.
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