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rainbowfic2019-03-07 01:05 pm
dray) wrote in rainbowfic2019-03-07 01:05 pm
Kondo #3, True Blue #17, Blue Caravan #4
Name: Dray
Story:everwood
Colors: Kondo 3) "Tidy a little a day and you’ll be tidying forever" True Blue 17) "To have a friend, be a friend" Blue Caravan 4) "And so you're preparing to swear every oath."
Supplies and Styles: Frame, Pastels (Fluffbingo "Budding Romance"), Graffiti (S19 Spring Cleaning)
Word Count: 1,990
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Notes: Direct follow-up to this earlier post. Any con-crit is always welcome!
It turned out that Owen needed more than a sip of searing liquor by the time they were done hauling dead trees in from the heavy brush. He ached to his bones, and even through his gloves he could feel blisters had formed. Scratches marred his arms and a nice bruise was developing above his knee where a log had struck him. A little liquid comfort and a good, solid meal were looking more appetizing than anything the king's court could offer.
Boyce had taken Owen's inevitable lapse in strength with magnanimity, hauling a little more, pushing a little harder without actually pulling ahead. It was unbearable, the way he could be so gently accommodating when he didn't have to strike up conversation. It was hard not not feel chastened; Owen would have preferred some competitive edge to soothe the bruising to his ego, though he knew this was going to be a losing bet even when he'd stepped up to the challenge.
Still, he knew he'd been equally magnanimous to Boyce when the big man had fallen short, or perceived himself to be lacking. He couldn't be surprised that he was getting the same treatment now. By the time they returned to the cabin he had washed the resentment away with a tired chuckle, and when Boyce had passed around the bottle, he took a contented swig. "Remind me to ask what you have in mind the next time you ask for help," he said, looking longingly at the stoop as Boyce lowered himself down to sit. He couldn't join him quite yet; there was still a lot to discuss about locating missing mermaids and voyages to distant shores. About what Boyce would need for the next year and a half, about his daughter and what he might need to make visiting her and keeping in touch with her mothers achievable... there was so much he wanted to offer Boyce, that now the prospect of asking for something in return felt difficult.
Owen passed the bottle back and retrieved a saddlebag, from which he withdrew a few jet-black dinner plates--not plates: scales. They all nested magnificently and were tied with some twine, and he finally sat down next to Boyce with a heavy sigh, as the big man watched him with growing suspicion. "I swung by an old friend's place and he had a few things lying around he didn't need anymore... I figured you might like these. They're serpent-scales, so they resist heat and cold, and they've been scrubbed down well, so they're ready for food. They'll last a hundred years. Just scrub them with sand in the river and you'll have them clean in no time. They, um... they stack nicely." He was watching Boyce's face, hoping that this little gesture would open up some conversation that had been lacking all day, but to his falling hopes, the man was looking more closed off than ever. "You don't like them?"
Boyce remained silent for long enough that Owen was worried he'd broken him, but finally the man responded with with an almost heartbreaking tone, "you keep doing so much for me. Why?"
"Uh," Owen raised his brows, trying to find a way to word his response without scaring Boyce off. The man didn't have friends in the traditional sense, he knew, and he had had a very unusual life. It was hard to dance around that. "It's only half a bribe, if that helps."
Boyce lowered his brows, quirking his lips to one side. "Been dragging you into my messes time and again. Feels more like I should be offering you compensation, not the other way around."
"Well..." Owen pressed the plates on the big man, settling them on his lap, ignoring the way Boyce's thigh threatened the seam at his leg as he folded his hands back in his lap. Boyce didn't live all that luxuriously... but he knew that he would not accept pity. "There is that. But I have something important I need to do, soon, and I was asked a favour by a close friend that I may not be able to fill. It may also be time sensitive, and I don't have anybody else in this part of the world that I trust as well as I trust you."
"You... barely know me." Boyce frowned. He was looking down at the plates, carefully cupping them, refusing to make eye contact. That was fairly normal, and Owen remained quiet, waiting to see if Boyce had anything else bubbling up. In a few moments, he did. "This sounds big. What do you need?"
"It doesn't involve hauling deadwood," Owen responded, voice dry. "And you're not going to like it. Still, it could very well be a do-or-die. It's... it's about on the scale of Vi."
He watched Boyce flinch, and clenched his jaw to refrain from trying to build an apology or an excuse off of that. He didn't want to hurt the man any more than he already had, calling back on the fact that Boyce had had to give up his infant daughter for lack of ability to care for her. But he was fairly certain that wherever the mermaids had got to, they'd have wandered back to their home lake for spring. That meant they were in a lot of trouble, if there was anything left to do to help them at all. The River Road was an increasingly dangerous place for non-humans, as more and more settlers laid claim to the banks and hacked out a life for themselves. Stories of Urda's famous peace treaty with the river folk three hundred years ago were not always respected as truth.
"My friend... he grew those," Owen pointed to the plates. "His great-grandchildren are more our size, and they used to have free rein of the river, taking it out to sea and back. That's... not so easy these days. My friend thinks they're in trouble, and I may have an idea about where they are, but I won't have time to escort them back up the river--and they're going to need an escort. I know a man in Oraston who I could trust well enough to leave a message with, but he doesn't know the forest in the way you do. I don't think he'll be able to get them back."
"But you think I could." Boyce mused this out, his brow troubled. "It's time to pay you back. That's what you're saying."
"It's... it's more complicated than that," Owen said. "I mean, yes, I think we're on a level that we can make big requests of one another and expect the other to understand how important they are. But I know how much this would put you out, and I don't ask it lightly."
Boyce plucked at the twine binding the plates together, and Owen watched his shoulders begin to hunch. He licked his lips, wishing he could break the moment but not sure the best way to do so. Boyce was strange; challenging, sometimes. He was about to open his mouth again when Boyce straightened, feigning--poorly--a composed attitude. "Tell me about it. I'll get it done."
They took their time. Boyce put together supper while Owen leaned back against a post to knead at his sore back, and he spooled out the story of the River Road's underbelly. People came to the Evermarches who were interested in exports--magic, resources, people. Non-human people were very rare, but there was some demand for sentient creatures. There always was. He spoke quietly, watching Boyce grow furtive. The conversation was fairly one-sided, but Owen understood that as the norm... still, when they had finished eating--roasted potatoes fresh from the earth with rabbit stew garnished with forest herbs, surprisingly tasty for such simple fare--Boyce leaned back tiredly in his rocking chair. They were still out on the porch, watching the faerie lights flutter out from the underbrush as the sun set.
"This Nanceton toll town. They keep all sorts there?" He meant the black market, which Owen had been alluding to. Owen nodded, frowning. "And you plan on doing some looking around, get them out? You don't need me for that."
"I have enough sway with the bailiff to get me reasonably deep into things without attracting much notice. You would... have a more difficult time." Even now, he noticed that Boyce, as troubled as he was, seemed to be growing little green buds out from his jawline. It was fascinating, and distracting, and Owen was torn, given their conversation had turned so serious.
Boyce heaved a sigh, kicked one foot up over his knee. "You keep an eye out for anyone looks like Vianne, will you?"
Owen threw him a sharp look. "You think your dryad friend might have been taken?"
Boyce didn't say anything, not for a while. Then, "I don't know. Been a long time. Not the sort prone to visit, but... they've had run-ins before."
"I'm not surprised." Owen climbed the last step to the porch and took the other chair, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. Boyce had said something small, just then, but very important. 'They', not 'she'. There was more than one dryad, then. He rubbed his hands nervously together, forgetting for a moment that they were blistered. The pain brought him back to the moment, and he cleared his throat. "I'll keep alert--and that's not a favour, or something to hang over your head. I know she was important to you. I'm... I'm sure she's fine. There's an entire forest out there, Boyce, you know that better than me."
But Boyce had taken another swig from his bottle, the last drops at the bottom emptied out as he leaned back and rocked a few times, looking disconsolately out into the growing gloam. Owen felt a heartstring tug at how lonely the man looked just then--why did he do this to himself, when he obviously wanted for company?
He cleared his throat again and gathered Boyce's plate. "I'll wash up. The donkey needs watering and I suppose I should stake out a place to stay for the night, if you'll have me. I'll be off in the morning." Questioning, a little, just enough aloofness in his tone to give Boyce an out. Owen always left the door half-open, as any further and he knew the other man tended to shy away.
It was enough to shake Boyce out of his reverie. "You can stay here," he said, distracted but earnest enough. "Don't have to set up on the lawn."
"Trellis won't spit out my bones in the middle of the night?" Owen joked.
Boyce gave him a twist of a smile, but he was rousing from his chair and as Owen descended the stairs into the yard, the man leaned against his open door. "How long you say you were gone for, again?"
"It's seven months by sea, and I'll be in the city of Jandaki for only the ancestors know how long. I'll be back the autumn after next at the earliest." Owen looked up at him, feeling something tighten in his chest, spooling up. Boyce was looking at him steadily, for once, and he could see something being measured in those dark eyes. He found himself holding his breath.
"You like to have people in your pockets, don't you?"
That wasn't what Owen had been expecting. The dissonance was strong enough that he laughed sharply, totally unbecoming. "In a matter of speaking, I guess you could say that..." He cleared his throat, feeling almost indecent. "I like to help. I don't do it for the debt."
Boyce nodded, pursed his lips. "Best get washed up. Thirsty ass, and all."
Owen scoffed, and cast a rueful look over his shoulder as Boyce slipped inside. He untied the donkey and bit his lip on an unspoken sass-back all the way down to the stream.
Story:
everwoodColors: Kondo 3) "Tidy a little a day and you’ll be tidying forever" True Blue 17) "To have a friend, be a friend" Blue Caravan 4) "And so you're preparing to swear every oath."
Supplies and Styles: Frame, Pastels (Fluffbingo "Budding Romance"), Graffiti (S19 Spring Cleaning)
Word Count: 1,990
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Notes: Direct follow-up to this earlier post. Any con-crit is always welcome!
It turned out that Owen needed more than a sip of searing liquor by the time they were done hauling dead trees in from the heavy brush. He ached to his bones, and even through his gloves he could feel blisters had formed. Scratches marred his arms and a nice bruise was developing above his knee where a log had struck him. A little liquid comfort and a good, solid meal were looking more appetizing than anything the king's court could offer.
Boyce had taken Owen's inevitable lapse in strength with magnanimity, hauling a little more, pushing a little harder without actually pulling ahead. It was unbearable, the way he could be so gently accommodating when he didn't have to strike up conversation. It was hard not not feel chastened; Owen would have preferred some competitive edge to soothe the bruising to his ego, though he knew this was going to be a losing bet even when he'd stepped up to the challenge.
Still, he knew he'd been equally magnanimous to Boyce when the big man had fallen short, or perceived himself to be lacking. He couldn't be surprised that he was getting the same treatment now. By the time they returned to the cabin he had washed the resentment away with a tired chuckle, and when Boyce had passed around the bottle, he took a contented swig. "Remind me to ask what you have in mind the next time you ask for help," he said, looking longingly at the stoop as Boyce lowered himself down to sit. He couldn't join him quite yet; there was still a lot to discuss about locating missing mermaids and voyages to distant shores. About what Boyce would need for the next year and a half, about his daughter and what he might need to make visiting her and keeping in touch with her mothers achievable... there was so much he wanted to offer Boyce, that now the prospect of asking for something in return felt difficult.
Owen passed the bottle back and retrieved a saddlebag, from which he withdrew a few jet-black dinner plates--not plates: scales. They all nested magnificently and were tied with some twine, and he finally sat down next to Boyce with a heavy sigh, as the big man watched him with growing suspicion. "I swung by an old friend's place and he had a few things lying around he didn't need anymore... I figured you might like these. They're serpent-scales, so they resist heat and cold, and they've been scrubbed down well, so they're ready for food. They'll last a hundred years. Just scrub them with sand in the river and you'll have them clean in no time. They, um... they stack nicely." He was watching Boyce's face, hoping that this little gesture would open up some conversation that had been lacking all day, but to his falling hopes, the man was looking more closed off than ever. "You don't like them?"
Boyce remained silent for long enough that Owen was worried he'd broken him, but finally the man responded with with an almost heartbreaking tone, "you keep doing so much for me. Why?"
"Uh," Owen raised his brows, trying to find a way to word his response without scaring Boyce off. The man didn't have friends in the traditional sense, he knew, and he had had a very unusual life. It was hard to dance around that. "It's only half a bribe, if that helps."
Boyce lowered his brows, quirking his lips to one side. "Been dragging you into my messes time and again. Feels more like I should be offering you compensation, not the other way around."
"Well..." Owen pressed the plates on the big man, settling them on his lap, ignoring the way Boyce's thigh threatened the seam at his leg as he folded his hands back in his lap. Boyce didn't live all that luxuriously... but he knew that he would not accept pity. "There is that. But I have something important I need to do, soon, and I was asked a favour by a close friend that I may not be able to fill. It may also be time sensitive, and I don't have anybody else in this part of the world that I trust as well as I trust you."
"You... barely know me." Boyce frowned. He was looking down at the plates, carefully cupping them, refusing to make eye contact. That was fairly normal, and Owen remained quiet, waiting to see if Boyce had anything else bubbling up. In a few moments, he did. "This sounds big. What do you need?"
"It doesn't involve hauling deadwood," Owen responded, voice dry. "And you're not going to like it. Still, it could very well be a do-or-die. It's... it's about on the scale of Vi."
He watched Boyce flinch, and clenched his jaw to refrain from trying to build an apology or an excuse off of that. He didn't want to hurt the man any more than he already had, calling back on the fact that Boyce had had to give up his infant daughter for lack of ability to care for her. But he was fairly certain that wherever the mermaids had got to, they'd have wandered back to their home lake for spring. That meant they were in a lot of trouble, if there was anything left to do to help them at all. The River Road was an increasingly dangerous place for non-humans, as more and more settlers laid claim to the banks and hacked out a life for themselves. Stories of Urda's famous peace treaty with the river folk three hundred years ago were not always respected as truth.
"My friend... he grew those," Owen pointed to the plates. "His great-grandchildren are more our size, and they used to have free rein of the river, taking it out to sea and back. That's... not so easy these days. My friend thinks they're in trouble, and I may have an idea about where they are, but I won't have time to escort them back up the river--and they're going to need an escort. I know a man in Oraston who I could trust well enough to leave a message with, but he doesn't know the forest in the way you do. I don't think he'll be able to get them back."
"But you think I could." Boyce mused this out, his brow troubled. "It's time to pay you back. That's what you're saying."
"It's... it's more complicated than that," Owen said. "I mean, yes, I think we're on a level that we can make big requests of one another and expect the other to understand how important they are. But I know how much this would put you out, and I don't ask it lightly."
Boyce plucked at the twine binding the plates together, and Owen watched his shoulders begin to hunch. He licked his lips, wishing he could break the moment but not sure the best way to do so. Boyce was strange; challenging, sometimes. He was about to open his mouth again when Boyce straightened, feigning--poorly--a composed attitude. "Tell me about it. I'll get it done."
They took their time. Boyce put together supper while Owen leaned back against a post to knead at his sore back, and he spooled out the story of the River Road's underbelly. People came to the Evermarches who were interested in exports--magic, resources, people. Non-human people were very rare, but there was some demand for sentient creatures. There always was. He spoke quietly, watching Boyce grow furtive. The conversation was fairly one-sided, but Owen understood that as the norm... still, when they had finished eating--roasted potatoes fresh from the earth with rabbit stew garnished with forest herbs, surprisingly tasty for such simple fare--Boyce leaned back tiredly in his rocking chair. They were still out on the porch, watching the faerie lights flutter out from the underbrush as the sun set.
"This Nanceton toll town. They keep all sorts there?" He meant the black market, which Owen had been alluding to. Owen nodded, frowning. "And you plan on doing some looking around, get them out? You don't need me for that."
"I have enough sway with the bailiff to get me reasonably deep into things without attracting much notice. You would... have a more difficult time." Even now, he noticed that Boyce, as troubled as he was, seemed to be growing little green buds out from his jawline. It was fascinating, and distracting, and Owen was torn, given their conversation had turned so serious.
Boyce heaved a sigh, kicked one foot up over his knee. "You keep an eye out for anyone looks like Vianne, will you?"
Owen threw him a sharp look. "You think your dryad friend might have been taken?"
Boyce didn't say anything, not for a while. Then, "I don't know. Been a long time. Not the sort prone to visit, but... they've had run-ins before."
"I'm not surprised." Owen climbed the last step to the porch and took the other chair, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. Boyce had said something small, just then, but very important. 'They', not 'she'. There was more than one dryad, then. He rubbed his hands nervously together, forgetting for a moment that they were blistered. The pain brought him back to the moment, and he cleared his throat. "I'll keep alert--and that's not a favour, or something to hang over your head. I know she was important to you. I'm... I'm sure she's fine. There's an entire forest out there, Boyce, you know that better than me."
But Boyce had taken another swig from his bottle, the last drops at the bottom emptied out as he leaned back and rocked a few times, looking disconsolately out into the growing gloam. Owen felt a heartstring tug at how lonely the man looked just then--why did he do this to himself, when he obviously wanted for company?
He cleared his throat again and gathered Boyce's plate. "I'll wash up. The donkey needs watering and I suppose I should stake out a place to stay for the night, if you'll have me. I'll be off in the morning." Questioning, a little, just enough aloofness in his tone to give Boyce an out. Owen always left the door half-open, as any further and he knew the other man tended to shy away.
It was enough to shake Boyce out of his reverie. "You can stay here," he said, distracted but earnest enough. "Don't have to set up on the lawn."
"Trellis won't spit out my bones in the middle of the night?" Owen joked.
Boyce gave him a twist of a smile, but he was rousing from his chair and as Owen descended the stairs into the yard, the man leaned against his open door. "How long you say you were gone for, again?"
"It's seven months by sea, and I'll be in the city of Jandaki for only the ancestors know how long. I'll be back the autumn after next at the earliest." Owen looked up at him, feeling something tighten in his chest, spooling up. Boyce was looking at him steadily, for once, and he could see something being measured in those dark eyes. He found himself holding his breath.
"You like to have people in your pockets, don't you?"
That wasn't what Owen had been expecting. The dissonance was strong enough that he laughed sharply, totally unbecoming. "In a matter of speaking, I guess you could say that..." He cleared his throat, feeling almost indecent. "I like to help. I don't do it for the debt."
Boyce nodded, pursed his lips. "Best get washed up. Thirsty ass, and all."
Owen scoffed, and cast a rueful look over his shoulder as Boyce slipped inside. He untied the donkey and bit his lip on an unspoken sass-back all the way down to the stream.
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Well it better not bud too soon because askgahg;josh it sounds like Owen's gonna be gone for a TON of time. You absolute beast. You monster. I love this.
Owen's characterization is really sweet in this. Here's someone who understands and makes use of social manuevering, and the economy of favours, and still just enjoys doing things to make people happy, safe and healthy. No wonder Boyce is confused; it'd be easy to have someone be manipulating rather than sincerely offering, and that's without having been raised in the woods. I love the careful dance these two have to make their way through.
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You wanted 'slow burn', so deal with it! :D (Then again, you don't know what they did overnight, maybe they got some, maybe they didn't~ Who knows??)
I'm glad you're enjoying Owen! He's a fun character and a bit of a mellow medium by which the more conflagratory characters can coexist. I have really been enjoying his traveling as a means by which to carry the narrative. It's going to be fun exploring court life and then the ocean with him! You read a lot of lovely juicy details into things I've only been half-thinking about when I put these two together. It's great to hear back because that reflection gives me a better feel for the characters, weirdly. I really like that, thank you!
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Once the page I've got to organize all my content for this story is spruced up, I'll link to it, but it's a little bit embarrassingly badly coded right now.
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Now, for the next step which involves some actual writing, lol.
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I really like this, by the way. Their conversation and Owen's general Owen-ness (relatable) and Boyce's reluctance to talk to people (RELATABLE) and all of this. The black market thing is properly disturbing too.
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The black market thing is gross and I think one of those underlayers that make the Duke a gross person for letting happen. One of those 'look the other way' things that's not cool... I'll have to put some warnings up once I swing back around to Owen because he does tend to stumble into disturbing situations on occasion.
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I kind of dread what Owen might find at this black market.