better company (incomplete)
Nov. 30th, 2022 06:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sidewaysTitle: Better Company
Rating: PG
Series: The Feasting Years
Wordcount: 924
Summary: Fisher and NM, on the run.
Remarks: Set a couple of months after LNMOP.
Apotheosis lay belly-down on the pavement in an oversized Judo Kings shirt and a thick green beanie, scribbling in a widening semicircle about itself with a half-stick of chalk.
Fisher leaned over to look occasionally. If the mysteries of the universe were contained somewhere in the scribblings, they belonged to whoever could decipher the tightly woven patterns of lines looping monotonously back and forth across themselves, none particularly pleasing to the eye. More amusingly, repeating in the spare spaces was a series of squat web-footed birds, rendered in everything from sweeping abstraction to blocky and cartoonish stylings. It would seem the delight it had shown at the park's lakes was to be a lingering fancy.
The drawings had mostly swallowed the words he had drawn on the sidewalk, the real purpose for the chalk (SPARE CHANGE - GOD BLESS) but Fisher wasn't worried. The need was superficial enough, and already a few passerbys had taken more pity on a child's impromptu busking than they would have the grimy-haired man sitting nearby anyway. That anonymity was more valuable than whatever crumpled dollars might come their way.
More valuable was the welcome contentment his companion had found in its doodling. It had been skittery and temperamental all day, loud complaints mixed in with shrewder resentments. Sometimes the smaller towns and their dimmer electrical grids seemed to help - but not today.
"How much further," it had groaned as they crossed the bridge, hanging off his backpack with a two-fisted grip as if it might skate across the concrete behind him on skis instead of being tugged along one dragging step at a time. "We're tired of walking."
"I," he had said in gentle reminder, halting, and pressed a finger against the flat nose.
The body of a boy had warbled a series of mocking, descending tones and snapped its heels together, throwing a robotic salute. "I," it intoned. "Aye-aye, captain. Ay ee eye oh you." The brown gaze blinked up at him as he stood over it, waiting patiently, with a sly interest. "How did you lose your eye, Fisher?"
"Hm. Guess," he had said, unthinkingly, and the brightness vanished into the depths as swiftly as a marble tossed into a lake.
It surged a step forward, mouth gaping, snarling choked wordless sounds a moment, before it had found its way around, "We should know!"
He knew better than to touch, lifted his hands in placation only.
"One cell in a battery!" It thumped fists bruisingly hard against the narrow chest, hooked fingers into the shirt and pulled, the faint crackle of snapping elastic sounding from the neckline. "Scarce fragments, and you expect us-" the mouth twisted, "this one, me, to wring out truths?" It jerked its head to the side, fingers now plucking at the skin, at flesh, crawling dangerously towards nape of neck, back of skull, swaddled carefully under the beanie. "You should have taken one of the bigger ones. At least then there might be room to think."
It was not very good at detecting lies, Fisher had learned. So he had simply said, "You were easiest to carry."
It twisted back towards him, eyes narrowed. Not very good with lies, no, but hardly incapable of suspicion. "Aren't you super strong?"
Fisher spread his hands silently, palms up, shrugging lightly.
The lips folded down, pouty, shoulders slowly drooping. "I hope someday someone pokes you in your other I," it said grumpily; but the hands had retreated, winding into the sleeves with a quieter restlessness. It looked down at the ground, shuffling in its sneakers. "I am tired, Fisher. Really, really. Please?"
The bridge stood over a river; it was not a town Fisher wanted to stay in for long. But the body was small, and the thing inside it had asked nicely.
He had left it to solve its own riddle, even after they found a patch of sidewalk to settle on and it had calmed. Perhaps, then, he shouldn't have been surprised to feel fingers at his cheek as he dozed, trailing along the skin just under the eyepatch.
Fisher jerked away, head coming up off the brick wall he had been resting against. Having abandoned its scribbles, it crouched at his side, brown eyes staring down at the fingers it rubbed together; then it looked to him with too much fascination to be properly sympathetic. "Were you having a sad dream?"
He touched his own fingers to his face, felt the wetness there. Something began distantly receding somewhere inside; a cool withdrawal that left behind damp sands and stranded creatures. Fisher rocked forward and dug fingernails under the patch to widen the gap, and salt water gushed into his palm, dripped down his wrist in foamy streaks.
The body beside him made a startled noise. "Bubbles?" it exclaimed, laughing; then it went abruptly quiet, and looked at its damp hand again, frowning.
Their street was mostly empty. A silhouette shadowed the far end, just turning the corner. Another stranger in this small town with a river striped down its centre like an abyssal crack in the earth.
Fisher hooked a grip under his companion's arm and pulled it ruthlessly up and forward as he rose directly into a loping stride, then fixed a better hold on the back of the shirt to keep it upright as it stumbled.
"But," it said, hopping on one foot and twisting back, "but Fisher, our stuff-"
"Leave it," he said.
Rating: PG
Series: The Feasting Years
Wordcount: 924
Summary: Fisher and NM, on the run.
Remarks: Set a couple of months after LNMOP.
Apotheosis lay belly-down on the pavement in an oversized Judo Kings shirt and a thick green beanie, scribbling in a widening semicircle about itself with a half-stick of chalk.
Fisher leaned over to look occasionally. If the mysteries of the universe were contained somewhere in the scribblings, they belonged to whoever could decipher the tightly woven patterns of lines looping monotonously back and forth across themselves, none particularly pleasing to the eye. More amusingly, repeating in the spare spaces was a series of squat web-footed birds, rendered in everything from sweeping abstraction to blocky and cartoonish stylings. It would seem the delight it had shown at the park's lakes was to be a lingering fancy.
The drawings had mostly swallowed the words he had drawn on the sidewalk, the real purpose for the chalk (SPARE CHANGE - GOD BLESS) but Fisher wasn't worried. The need was superficial enough, and already a few passerbys had taken more pity on a child's impromptu busking than they would have the grimy-haired man sitting nearby anyway. That anonymity was more valuable than whatever crumpled dollars might come their way.
More valuable was the welcome contentment his companion had found in its doodling. It had been skittery and temperamental all day, loud complaints mixed in with shrewder resentments. Sometimes the smaller towns and their dimmer electrical grids seemed to help - but not today.
"How much further," it had groaned as they crossed the bridge, hanging off his backpack with a two-fisted grip as if it might skate across the concrete behind him on skis instead of being tugged along one dragging step at a time. "We're tired of walking."
"I," he had said in gentle reminder, halting, and pressed a finger against the flat nose.
The body of a boy had warbled a series of mocking, descending tones and snapped its heels together, throwing a robotic salute. "I," it intoned. "Aye-aye, captain. Ay ee eye oh you." The brown gaze blinked up at him as he stood over it, waiting patiently, with a sly interest. "How did you lose your eye, Fisher?"
"Hm. Guess," he had said, unthinkingly, and the brightness vanished into the depths as swiftly as a marble tossed into a lake.
It surged a step forward, mouth gaping, snarling choked wordless sounds a moment, before it had found its way around, "We should know!"
He knew better than to touch, lifted his hands in placation only.
"One cell in a battery!" It thumped fists bruisingly hard against the narrow chest, hooked fingers into the shirt and pulled, the faint crackle of snapping elastic sounding from the neckline. "Scarce fragments, and you expect us-" the mouth twisted, "this one, me, to wring out truths?" It jerked its head to the side, fingers now plucking at the skin, at flesh, crawling dangerously towards nape of neck, back of skull, swaddled carefully under the beanie. "You should have taken one of the bigger ones. At least then there might be room to think."
It was not very good at detecting lies, Fisher had learned. So he had simply said, "You were easiest to carry."
It twisted back towards him, eyes narrowed. Not very good with lies, no, but hardly incapable of suspicion. "Aren't you super strong?"
Fisher spread his hands silently, palms up, shrugging lightly.
The lips folded down, pouty, shoulders slowly drooping. "I hope someday someone pokes you in your other I," it said grumpily; but the hands had retreated, winding into the sleeves with a quieter restlessness. It looked down at the ground, shuffling in its sneakers. "I am tired, Fisher. Really, really. Please?"
The bridge stood over a river; it was not a town Fisher wanted to stay in for long. But the body was small, and the thing inside it had asked nicely.
He had left it to solve its own riddle, even after they found a patch of sidewalk to settle on and it had calmed. Perhaps, then, he shouldn't have been surprised to feel fingers at his cheek as he dozed, trailing along the skin just under the eyepatch.
Fisher jerked away, head coming up off the brick wall he had been resting against. Having abandoned its scribbles, it crouched at his side, brown eyes staring down at the fingers it rubbed together; then it looked to him with too much fascination to be properly sympathetic. "Were you having a sad dream?"
He touched his own fingers to his face, felt the wetness there. Something began distantly receding somewhere inside; a cool withdrawal that left behind damp sands and stranded creatures. Fisher rocked forward and dug fingernails under the patch to widen the gap, and salt water gushed into his palm, dripped down his wrist in foamy streaks.
The body beside him made a startled noise. "Bubbles?" it exclaimed, laughing; then it went abruptly quiet, and looked at its damp hand again, frowning.
Their street was mostly empty. A silhouette shadowed the far end, just turning the corner. Another stranger in this small town with a river striped down its centre like an abyssal crack in the earth.
Fisher hooked a grip under his companion's arm and pulled it ruthlessly up and forward as he rose directly into a loping stride, then fixed a better hold on the back of the shirt to keep it upright as it stumbled.
"But," it said, hopping on one foot and twisting back, "but Fisher, our stuff-"
"Leave it," he said.
