tsukumo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
acrobatically) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2015-10-12 01:18 pm
acrobatically) wrote in bakerstreet2015-10-12 01:18 pmthe picture prompt meme.
|
acrobatically) wrote in bakerstreet2015-10-12 01:18 pm
|
no subject
no subject
It's Jack Frost, alright, and some spirit he doesn't recognize; a fae? Vicious chittering confirms it. The Nightmare King remains unseen, observing, until something else catches his eye: blood, spattered along the ice on the ground. His eyes dart upwards, catching sight of the fae first. It looks mostly unharmed. Pitch is confused, for a moment, until he catches sight of Jack long enough to also see a splotch of red.
It hadn't really occurred to Pitch that Jack could be wounded. Some subconscious preconception thought that if he hadn't been able to bleed the frostling, neither would some lesser spirit. Then again, fae were nasty things, easy to cross and quick to temper. Jack Frost isn't the type to mince his words. It doesn't take much to imagine where this might've started.
There's a streak of white and blue that jets by, and Pitch thinks the Guardian is fleeing. If that's the case, Jack must have injury enough to hinder him. The fae is close behind.
He moves without thinking, and by the time Pitch is really aware of his own actions, the fae has landed some feet away, stunned by a blow from a gnarled black staff held in Pitch's hands. He panics a little - if Jack Frost was wounded by this thing, how was he supposed to fight it? What the the hell was he doing? Eyes wild, he makes a sweeping gesture with the staff, and shadows stretch under the fae before it can collect itself. It slips into them, and the shadows vanish. He couldn't send it very far, he didn't have the strength to, but it would be far enough away to be disoriented and Pitch had no intention of sticking around.
The Nightmare King slips away into the shadows again, this time to find where Jack had gone, or where he was headed.]
no subject
checking behind him for his pursuer would slow him down too much, and he needs to move as fast as possible, his thoughts focused on running through places he can hide. the Workshop and Tooth Palace are too far away, he can't get to the Warren on his own, but maybe if he can make it to Pitch's lair—?
it isn't until Jack loses his balance and falls off the winds that he realises there's no one after him anymore. he sits in the snow with his staff held out, panicked and wild, waiting... and nothing happens. did it get bored? the fae are usually vengeful in his experience, but he supposes that it might have found something more worth its time than chasing a frost spirit across the country. he can hope that's what happened, at least, because he really doesn't want to get up and start flying again.
he groans and lies on his back in the snow, one hand going to clutch at his side when the pain flares. ]
Who cares, as long as it's gone...
no subject
The Bogeyman is oddly out of breath, and even as he's attempting to upright the Guardian, he keeps looking over his shoulder. There's nothing there, for now, no beating of wings or the sound of magic. Pitch intends to be gone before that changes. It's not until he considers where his lair is that he notices it seems like Jack was headed straight for it -- but no. Even if they'd been on remarkably peaceable terms the last couple of times they had met, Jack surely wouldn't consider his lair a safe place.
Pitch however, did, and that was where he intended to go, with Jack in tow.
He shifts to the side and, whether he merely has to support Jack or just drag him, he's pulling him along into inky blackness. The trip is short, and they emerge to a place that should seem somewhat familiar to Jack: Pitch's lair. Although now, it seems much different.
Similar to the dilapidation that had begun in Toothiana's palace after the teeth were stolen, the walkways, stairways and arches here have all crumbled away or cracked to some degree. A fine layer of nightmare sand remains on some surfaces, though it has lost its glimmer, no more than black dust. The biggest change was the fact that most of the cages had been torn from their chains. They lay dented and broken as if trampled in the cavernous opening below where once the teeth coffers had been.
Pitch releases Jack's arm unceremoniously, staggers back a couple of steps, and falls against the nearest wall, struggling to catch his breath. The panic turns to anger.]
What were you doing? [He seethes, glaring at the other spirit.]
no subject
Pitch leans against the wall when they make it into the lair (Jack hadn't understood how much weaker he really is, seeing him so worn out by a few instances of shadow manipulation is so unnerving and wrong) and in the absence of that grip to keep him standing, Jack supports himself with his staff, even if it aggravates his side and he really just wants to lay back down. he should at least make an effort to seem somewhat composed in front of someone who was just recently a direct enemy and a genuine threat. the fact that he would have come here of his own will in an equally terrible state if Pitch hadn't intervened doesn't matter anymore; now that he's actually in this situation, it replaces the threat that the fae had posed until a moment ago. ]
Well, it turns out that fae get really pissed off when you stop them from stealing kids!
[ Jack gets riled up just as quickly, in no mood to be scolded when he was doing the right thing. in truth he hadn't even thought about it, he'd just seen the girl and he'd gone into such wild terror, just no no no, please not her like watching the ice crack under his sister's feet. that fear still sits in his chest now, caught up in a mess of adrenaline. ]
What else was I supposed to do, huh? It's not my fault they're all such creeps!
no subject
Why had he risked his life for Jack Frost? Why had he saved him, and put himself at risk? His anger is mostly directed towards himself; he'd been stupid, and stupid was not something Pitch usually did. That didn't stop him from projecting his anger, anyway.
It finally clicks, what Jack said, and Pitch's gaze flickers skyward momentarily. Of course it was a child. He can sense fear from the Guardian, and he takes private pleasure in it. Even if he's not the cause, Jack had still felt fear, and Pitch could certainly appreciate that.
He realizes that they're just snapping at each other like cornered animals, and somehow that's enough to pacify him enough to come to his senses.]
Hnh. [Creeps, huh. Pitch regards Jack, before his eyes moves to his side.] Not getting hurt is a start, theoretically. [He motions towards the wound, still heavily leaning against the wall, but regaining his breath.]
Let me see.
no subject
It's not that bad. I'll just ice it and it'll be fine. [ he tries to give a wry smile. with his expression pinched in pain, it comes across as more of a grimace. ] My own stupid fault for getting hurt.
[ there are a lot of reasons he doesn't want to show his injury; stubborn pride, for one thing. he would hide it from the Guardians too just because of that, a part of him recoiling from the idea of being a burden, anything that might garner disdain. the fact that he can't actually trust Pitch yet is another problem. their previous encounters have been downright amicable, but this is completely different, Jack isn't naive enough to make himself that vulnerable without hesitation. besides, surely Pitch doesn't want to be stuck with this either and— something about that makes it even more uncomfortable. Jack doesn't want any gesture if it's out of some kind of begrudging pity, not from anyone. ]
no subject
The Guardian is in pain and that's something of an odd sight to Pitch. Jack could get thrown from high in the sky, bounce off a roof and a dumpster lid before hitting the ground, and still roll upright as if he'd just taken a small tumble. But here he is now, still grimacing. Strangely, as much as Pitch gets (perhaps petty) vindictive pleasure from the boy's fear, he doesn't feel the same sort of schadenfreude at open wounds.
So he thinks of how to stop the bleeding somehow, but, it isn't as if he keeps a medicine cabinet or a first aid kit. They're spirits. He also doesn't know just how much this will affect Jack. Spirits could be killed in a sense, but could they bleed out? Not that the wound was that bad, but would he be weak?
Mild annoyance settles in the downturn of his brow as Jack passes it off.] You're bleeding on my floor. [Pitch says it flatly, as if that somehow makes it his problem too, and Jack was being ridiculous for assuming otherwise. He's frustrated, too, that he doesn't know what to do. Icing the wound over made sense in that it would stop the bleeding, and it isn't as if Jack can get frostbite.]
...Will that heal it? [His voice comes out softer than he meant it to in his uncertainty, as his eyes remain on the hand pressed to his side.
It would take more energy, which he could ill afford, but he could retrieve supplies from somewhere close by easily enough. Pitch has seen enough battlefields to know how humans dress wounds. (Ugly thing, war, but there was no better or more abundant source of fear.) Irritably, he points as if to motion for him to sit on the ledge of a walkway and says curtly,] Stay put.
[Sometimes later he'll berate himself about the sheer nonsensical stupidity at offering to help his enemy, but now he hasn't quite gotten that far.]
no subject
still, he isn't in much of a position to argue on every single point anyway. he voices his resignation dryly: ] I don't think I could get far if I wanted to.
[ he does as he's told, glad to finally sit down for a moment and curious to see where this is going. it's not like he's sad to see the state of the lair, given that he's hardly fond of the place, but he does look around with a frown, unsettled by it. there's something disquieting about the way magic just decays along with the strength of a spirit, and it rings no less clear here than it did for Punjam Hy Loo. ]
no subject
[He steps into he shadow of a half-crumbled archway, and disappears. When he emerges again, this time off to the side, he's holding a roll of bandages, and gauze.
This was ridiculous. A spirit, sneaking away things from the backs of shelves in a pharmacy, human methods for a spirit's injury. Pitch sees the absurdity in it, but not so much the humor.
Pitch motions impatiently at Jack as he strides closer, as if he expected the other to have his hoodie either off or up so he could get to the wound.] Now let me see? [There's not a lot in his tone to suggest it's a question, rather than an order -- so far as he can give orders to Jack Frost. He holds up the roll of bandages as if that might prove he intends to help, and it might convince Jack he's not just going to drive a nightmare sand knife into his side or some such.
The Nightmare King has decided, in this little trip, that he's only helping because if someone, anyone, should be able to defeat Jack Frost, it should be him, and he's not going to take cheap shots by kicking him when he's already down.
Nevermind that this was certainly not a fatal wound, so by that logic, he could just leave Jack alone for a while and he'd be fine.Besides. If Jack trusts him more, that's hardly a bad thing for Pitch.]
no subject
it takes an effort not to say anything about this, not to ask why Pitch is doing this, why he didn't leave Jack aboveground to the fae or try to take advantage of his hindered state. if he acknowledges any of this, makes any remark about how strange it is or questions what either of them are doing, it seems like it will ruin the peace. as much as he really does want to push his curiosity and figure out what Pitch is thinking, he doesn't want it to be completely pointless for them to have made it here.
choosing to run with the absurd humor of this whole situation, rather than how confusing and bizarre it is, Jack grins wide to himself. ] Tell me the truth, doc, am I going to make it?
no subject
Pitch keeps focus on his task, brow knitted and mouth in a tight line. It's odd, his fingers again bare skin. He's not so warm as a human, but there's definitely a temperature difference between him and Jack. There's also the small matter of being enemies. The blood doesn't seem to faze him, other than to be mildly annoying when it hinders him. Gauze first, then the roll of bandages. Pitch isn't exactly a gentle nurse, but he's not unnecessarily rough, either.
He looks up from what he's doing, almost startled out of his concentration. His eyes lift, and as it actually sinks in what Jack said, Pitch's expression deadpans, but he gives a small chuckle despite himself.] It's hard to say. [As if to punish the frostling for that crack, he tugs a little harder than necessary on the bandage.
The oddity of the situation strikes him again, kneeling next to the Guardian, leaning so close so as to be able to get the bandage around his small frame.]
no subject
when the bandage pulls tight he whines, pained and petulant, and hisses on the exhale. ] Ow, shit. Has anyone ever told you that you have a horrible bedside manner?
[ the mild complaint is more collected than he otherwise seems. without the stinging pain to focus him, Jack's expression is somewhat dazed, and he sits quiet and still. he's easily directed by Pitch moving and adjusting him to wrap the bandage, leaning into touches without even realising it, rendered pliant and completely unguarded by simple contact. it's strange behaviour to anyone unfamiliar with it, but a confirmation of how touch-starved Jack really is. ]
no subject
When he considers that the reaction might not from pain, but maybe his touch instead, it unnerves Pitch. Like Jack, he had spent centuries without so much as a friendly word towards him, much less touch in any sort of kind capacity. The distraction is enough that he wraps once too loosely, and, cursing himself silently, pulls to adjust it though not so roughly this time. He finds himself unsure of what to do with this information he's figured out.
Maybe it's because Jack is so young, at least compared to Pitch, that he's so unwary. His eyes flicker up more than once to take note of the Guardian's expression, and his work slowly considerably. Finally though, he's finished, and he ties off the wrapped bandage. It's not a professional job by any means, but it should be tight enough to do the job.
Pitch doesn't pull away immediately, one hand running across the bandage away from the wound as if inspecting his work. It's a test of his theory, the only thing he can think of that wouldn't be immediately suspicious.]
no subject
Are— [ his voice cracks high, and he hurriedly clears his throat to try again. ] Are we done? All in one piece?
[ he feels surprisingly calm, almost drowsy, even while the pulse of his magic flutters in his chest. whatever fears he came in with have drained away to something below even his usual baseline anxiety. it hasn't yet sunk in just how much he lost track of things and how alarmed he should be about letting himself become so vulnerable while he's sitting here, wounded, in the Nightmare King's lair. ]
no subject
Eyes narrowed slightly, Pitch watches Jack as he pulls his hand away. There's something about that reaction, and it seems to him that Jack wants the touch, that he enjoys it. It makes him not want to pull away at all.
When the realization of that thought strikes him, Pitch does pull away, quicker than might be expected. He scowls, more to himself but it's still visible briefly. This was-- this was ridiculous. Pitch stands, and finds himself slightly unsteady. He recalls the amount of energy he's used, and he decides he's probably better off than he would've thought, given his current state. He thinks of moving away before sitting, but there's a certain draw that makes him not want to.
So Pitch sits back down somewhat carefully, shaking his head in attempts to clear it of the dizziness, and more than that, of the odd urge to not stray too far from Jack, as if another opportunity might present itself that he could touch the other spirit again, and observe the same reaction.
Pitch isn't used to touch either, but even more rare is being wanted in some way. He chides himself mentally, angrily, that even if Jack did want the touch, it was because it was contact, and not who the contact was from. Anything outside of this situation would be refused or at least ignored.
He's almost forgotten that Jack has asked him a question, and belatedly he answers.] Mostly. [He tries to keep the sarcastic sort of joking tone, but it doesn't carry in his voice. He leans his head back a little, gaze flicking up towards the vaulted ceiling.
The hell was wrong with him? With them?]
no subject
he's uncomfortably aware of the fact that Pitch has done him several kindnesses — and at his own expense, judging by how exhausted he had been when they first reached the lair, how worn he still seems now — and he struggles through the uncertainty of how to respond. it would definitely be easier not to make a big deal of this, but... it doesn't seem fair. ]
Thanks. [ he only hesitates for a brief moment before he goes on, ] For, you know, grabbing me and for playing doctor. I was running here anyway, but the plan was to sit in the tunnel and bleed all over my hoodie until it was safe to leave. So, hey. Better than expected.
[ far better than expected; he would never have even imagined this outcome at all. the best case scenario he had considered, when he decided in his panic that his only option was Pitch's lair, was Pitch not immediately throwing him back out into the snow. the worst was getting caught by the fae before he could make it there, and the most likely thing he had envisioned was being thrown out of the lair, but after a short delay of questions and arguing that meant Jack managed to barely avoid the fae for long enough. he hadn't thought there would be very many possible scenarios.
now that Pitch is finished with the wound, Jack pulls his hoodie back down (cringes at the blood soaked into the fabric and the shredded side, he'll have to steal something new later) and his hand hovers over where the bandage sits beneath it, considering. ] I, uh— I think this means I owe you now.
[ the thought isn't as bad as it would have been once before. he isn't opposed to doing Pitch a favor, exactly; he's only wary of it being exploited, especially if it's done in such a way that Jack won't even notice until it's too late. ]
no subject
He's still staring upwards when the other speaks, and his gaze slides to meet Jack's at the sound of his voice. A 'thank you' isn't really surprising, but it feels irrelevant. He wants to comment on what just happened, but there's some fear that speaking of it will break the spell or...whatever this is. He makes some small sound in the back of his throat in acknowledgment. So he wasn't wrong, the frostling was headed directly for his lair. It made sense in that the entrance was a nondescript hole in the ground which was easily passed over. Not so much in that if Pitch was stronger, if he was being just a little less friendly, he could've taken advantage of the situation.] Indeed.
[Pitch turns his head to frown pointedly at the dark stain on the hoodie. Not that Jack really had much other option at the moment, but:] The goal isn't to soak the bandage through on both sides, Frost. [He just went out of his way to bandage you up, boy, the least you could do is not hasten the need to change it.
...Owe him?] If you insist. And how do you plan on repaying me? [He sounds a bit smug, due course for the Bogeyman, but beneath that there's a certain thin quality to his voice, worn and tired.]
no subject
[ it's a petulant complaint more than anything genuinely irritated, and although he huffs, he takes care to try and sit in a way that doesn't cause too much contact between the bloodied material and the clean bandage. he rolls his eyes at Pitch's question, too — but he considers that maybe it shouldn't be a surprise that Pitch doesn't expect the version of owing that Jack intends. maybe he has more experience with appeasement than gestures returned out of gratitude or a sense of fairness.
he shrugs. ] I don't plan on anything. The whole point of an I.O.U is you call the favor. Either now, or you save it for later. [ he holds up a hand (not on his injured side, this time) and hastens to add, ] And before you even say anything, I'm obviously reserving the right to turn down anything that screams "bad guy".
no subject
He listens to the explanation of what Jack intended, and finds a smirk.] And here I was already thinking up plans for world domination and how your 'favor' might fit in. [A joke, of course. Really, a favor that was screened to be 'appropriate' really didn't seem useful to the Bogeyman, but...] I'll think on it. [Hell, nothing else seemed to be going as expected, so maybe he'd unexpectedly find a use for a favor from his enemy.
He keeps coming back to that term, 'enemy', as if that might ground him from getting too invested in whatever this unnatural sort of peace was. That he wouldn't sink too far, become too trusting or too open. As concerned as he is that exact thing might happen, it seems Jack is struggling with the same. Maybe more than Pitch - it seems Jack is more trusting, if the little episode that just happened was anything to go by. He'd have to be, to just sort of go slack when the spirit that incapacitated him just a few short years ago was bandaging his wound. Or maybe it was the touch that did it, rather than trust.]
...You should feel honored, Frost. It's not anyone I'd risk my neck to save. [It wasn't a serious tone, and in saying that, he invited the conversation of 'well why the hell did you', but it's a calculated statement. He decides that as long as it suits him, he's not going to disrupt this peace between them. In fact, part of him is curious to see just how far he can get.]
no subject
Aha, right. I'm so flattered by your kindness, Lord Vader. [ he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing again, knowing that Pitch won't understand the reference. ] Not that I needed saving — I had it all under control.
[ and the fact that Pitch brought this up by mentioning the fact of his assisting Jack means that he must surely be expecting to be asked why, especially since the question has been hanging there unspoken since they reached the lair. despite wanting to know, Jack still feels some apprehension about the question. he doesn't know what the worst answer could possibly be; he does know that he doesn't want it. but if he leaves without at least getting some kind of answer, whether sincere or not, it's going to bother him for weeks. ]
Any particular reason for risking your neck? [ he brings his head back down and tilts it to the side, smile flattening somewhat as he goes on, ] Or were you just not thinking.
[ if he had to bet on anything, it would be that. ]
no subject
Oh? That Guardian pride. I'll remember that next time you're, what was it - bleeding all over your hoodie in the tunnel?
[Why was the question, wasn't it? He invited the obvious question, so he doesn't show irritation at it, but he does take a moment to consider it. Jack was right in that he hadn't been thinking, but the subconscious action that the Bogeyman defaulted to while 'not thinking' certainly should not have been 'save my enemy', and he knows that, and it doesn't make sense. He can justify it, decide what he's going to make of the decision, but that doesn't explain why it was made in the first place.]
I don't know.
[The answer is a raw, open and honest one, and the quietened tone of his voice reflects that. He frowns momentarily, but seems to have relaxed into acceptance of the whole situation.] Perhaps I've claimed you. [He looks to Jack with a small, almost challenging smirk.] If I can't defeat you, neither can anyone else. -- Yes, yes, I know you had it 'under control'. [It at least made more sense than 'I've come to have something of a soft spot for you in this blackened hole where my heart should be."]
no subject
Pitch's theory startles an incredulous laugh from Jack, not loud but still bright as it usually is. ]
Claimed me? [ honestly, he wonders if Pitch has always sounded this much like a supervillain or if it comes with the territory. Jack isn't sure whether to be amused or indignant, so he settles for somewhere in between. ] Okay, that's not a thing, nobody does that. But — hey, if that means my fate is sealed, and the only way I can lose is if you take me down...
[ he hums, pretending to consider the idea. ] I don't know, I think I could live with having immunity.
no subject
Laughter hadn't been a reaction he expected in response to that. He fixes Jack with a sidelong stare for a few moments, expression rather blank. Immunity? Did he mean to say he didn't mind if he defended Jack with the pretense that one day it would be the two of them at odds again, or did he mean to say that Pitch would never be able to harm him? If it's the latter, Pitch will let the little Guardian fledgling think that. Let him have his confidence. They may be amicable now, but there's nothing keeping it that way but Pitch's own weakness. Well, that and the lack of the Guardians' interference, thus far. He's sure peace will be short-lived, once they find out.
But...maybe it wouldn't come to that. Pitch wavered between the idea that one day he would have regained his strength and the fighting would resume, and the odd, tentative idea that had surfaced during their quiet talks on snowy nights: the idea that maybe the peace could remain between them. Jack has been remarkable friendly towards him for an enemy, and it recalls to Pitch the conversation they had, and their little running 'game': was it too late?
He leaves Jack's comment about 'immunity' unanswered, and instead remains silent, thoughtful. He'd thought of asking, but Jack had reminded him clearly last time that his life certainly didn't revolve around Pitch, so he doesn't push it now.]
no subject
he sits well in the silence for a while, his eyes drifting shut, and... with the magic of this place gone, as unnerving as it is to see such disrepair, it feels a lot less oppressive. it might be a surprise to most that Jack prefers the quiet a lot of the time; he'll always be unabashed in how loud and energetic he is when he's playing games with children or causing mischief in cities, but even the Guardian of Fun can't be without limits. he likes the softness of silent, snowy nights; he's spent a lot of his time over the centuries in the forests of Russia or on the rooftops of isolated log cabins in Scandinavia. eventually, though, he opens his eyes again to consider Pitch, searching his expression. ]
You know, [ he cants his head to the side, leaning it against his staff, still smiling ] it's probably safe by now. Promise I won't call you a bad host if you want to throw me out into the snow.
[ the Guardians have their fortresses, each one a cacophony of sound and color, always full of life — but they can also go anywhere else in the world whenever they like and still feel just as welcome. Jack is sure that this is more of a sanctuary for Pitch, one of the only places that remains his, different to the workspaces that the Guardians' "homes" operate as. he doesn't want to intrude on that, not anymore. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)