tunicaintima | Supernatural AU for Roland

[Firo tears his eyes away and tilts his head at the Shade. Can he really not tell? Surely, even for someone who didn't live it, this is plainly a good time.]

It's my family.

[He goes back to watching, but a second later realizes that he may need more explanation to get across just how important this is.]

It's one of the first times we hunted together. It's almost impossible to take one of those things on on your own, but we could all do it together.

[He studies the scene for a second or two. It's impossible, of course, to see his expression, if he has one, but the tone of his thoughts - his voice, such as he has in this place - sounds like he's frowning.]

You can take smaller things, can't you? As a wolf or a man. Enough to feed yourself. Is there really any need for all that?

[Firo sniffs, offended and intent on heading off any skepticism about his hunting skills.]

Of course I can. We all I can.

But this is different. Everybody gets some--it just works better when we do stuff together.

[Really, he just likes spending time with them.]

[For a few seconds, he doesn't respond. While he watches the memory a few more seconds pass. Then he looks back in what might be the direction they came from.]

We've lost the path. I don't know if that's important. It takes an able mind to determine what is and isn't in a place like this. Do you feel pulled anywhere, even vaguely?

Pulled?

[What's this guy talking about? Probably just more craziness--anybody who accepts this stuff as readily as this guy does is pretty weird.]

...My clothes are back there. I can't leave without 'em.

[He'd be stuck not being able to change back without them, which could be very inconvenient. Path or no path, Firo tries to follow his nose back the way they came, but the trail goes cold before he even gets out of the clearing.]

[The shade follows, only speaking once it's become clear the boy's having some trouble.]

Might be time to make some new ones. What would you like to be wearing?

[He's not looking at the wolf, or even at the memory of them celebrating their kill. He's looking through the trees, at the long green clearing that hadn't lain beyond the forest until just a second ago. He's looking at the fog rolling in.]

You know, I don't know what makes you think I can control this place, but--

[He cuts off his complaint, because it's suddenly unmerited. Here he is, human and fully clothed again. He doesn't remember picking up his clothes or transforming back, and the crunch of bone, flesh, and muscle rearranging themselves isn't something you just zone out for. Firo rubs his eyes and looks down at himself to make sure he's really seeing what he's seeing.

Whatever. This place is weird.

He tries to follow the shade's gaze.]

What're you lookin' at?

[From the path ahead, the trees clear. Or maybe the view was always clear. The field is green. Along one side, a river burbles quietly. Behind them there's a castle, one which ought to be very familiar. Above it all first morning's sun catches in the fog, casting the whole of the view with light, with wet, glittering motes of gold. It's hazy and, the shade thinks, impossibly beautiful. He doesn't look away from it.]

You showed me a cave where you were- What's the word? Turned? Or is that word for the bloodsuckers?

Nevermind. Your home. Was it all caves? Did your people ever dwell in the light?

[What a weird question. Firo snorts.]

Of course we go outside. We can't hunt in caves. We go to the town too, as long as we look human.

[He's not sure why the guy cares. Is he trying to dig up dirt on them? Firo reminds himself to be wary, and he tries to shift the topic to the new view before them.]

What's that?

[Only one way to find out. Firo jogs ahead through the new path. He only turns around to see if the shade is following after he's gone quite a few paces.]

[Following, almost. He's stopped in the middle of the path, one hand-shape turned palm-forward, as if wanting to run its fingers through something. He takes a few steps forward, stretching out his hand, but the sunlight won't touch him. The scene itself won't touch him: at a distance of about a foot from his shape the grass and the sun and the heavy golden mist start to crumble away from him until it seems he's standing in a morning meadow surrounded by a forest at night. He doesn't seem surprised about it. Just moves slow, staring around him.]

I didn't ask where you hunt. I asked where you lived. Wherever was home for all of you. Was it beautiful?

Edited 2016-12-18 23:05 (UTC)

[Firo turns to watch the shade in his little island away from the light. He's stunned by the way it fades and wraps around him--or maybe away from him would be more accurate.

He blinks slowly as he stares. It's hard to focus on the question when he's so curious about what else is going on. But he does tear himself out of his daze to fix his eyes on Roland's.]

The place doesn't matter. As long as we're together, then everything's fine.

[They have places where they bed down for the night--the caves during the full moon, places in town otherwise--but those are shelter. Home is something entirely different to Firo; it's more of a feeling than a place.]

Beautiful... I don't know. But everything's better with them.

[The shade stares at him a moment after he's finished, expressionlessly. Of course expressionlessly. His thoughts on that particular sentiment, though, might be hidden even if he did have a face. No particular reaction seems required, anyway; he grunts acknowledgement and heads off, the meadow crumbling away ahead of him and failing to mend behind. He leaves a trail of dark forest cutting through the scene behind him and does not, of course, head for the castle at the meadow's edge. No point. Whether he's outpacing the boy or not he moves on, makes his way quickly - maybe even hurriedly - around it.]

[Firo had expected some sort of response, so he pouts as he jogs to catch up with the shade.]

So? Why the hell'd you ask, huh?

I-

[His movement away doesn't stop but his words do, rather abruptly. In the feeling-thought which comprises his speech in this place, there's an impression of puzzlement. It's an impression says that if the shade had brows, he'd be furrowing them. Then it passes, as the sunlight passes into dark before them.]

Well, I asked because I wanted to know. What kind of reason are you looking for?

You don't know me or my pack. What's it to you what kinda place we live in? Or if it's beautiful--what are you, a freak?

[His tone is milder than might be expected with those words. He asks as if that's a normal thing to ask in conversation.]

[If it's not a normal thing to ask, he'll be hearing no different from this quarter. It's not spoken as an insult, so it does not occur to the shade to take it as one.]

Suppose I must be. Is that not the done thing anymore? Asking after a man's home? A boy's. Harder to read people than it used to be. Can't tell if I've crossed some kind of line or if you're hiding something.

I'm not hiding anything. We don't have anything to hide.

[He looks off into the light, and the corners of his frown cut even farther down his face.]

And I'm not a boy either.

[He's an adult. How could that not be obvious?]

Aren't you? Hm. If I can't call you boy, then what shall I call you?

[Ever so slightly, he lifts his chin into the air. He thinks it makes him look a little more impressive.]

Firo Prochainezo. What's your name, anyway?

[Everybody has a name, so he just assumes that this guy does too. No matter how strange he is.]

Edited 2017-01-02 03:28 (UTC)

[He opens his mouth. A couple seconds pass. He closes it.]

[He walks through the unending meadow, splitting the sunlight apart ahead of him, and thinks on this.]

Why do you ask? Do I need one?

Edited 2017-01-02 15:54 (UTC)

I told you mine, so it's only fair that you tell me yours. Even a--whatever you are, you've still got a name.

[Because that's just how it is.]

So what do I call you?

[There's a moment of silence and of, as far as possible, distinct confusion. Then he makes a noise, abrupt and frustrated.]

Call me Robin Goodfellow for all I care! Call me what you like so long as it moves you onto important matters, like getting us out of this damned sun!

...No way. You don't have a name?

[Firo twists around to try to stare up into... not the thing's face, but where a face could be. Those spots of blue.]

Why don't you just make one? Anyway, I don't know how to get outta this sun, so it doesn't matter. Don't you know?

Of course I do. But I-

[But he won't. For thoroughness' sake, he takes a moment to figure out why.]

I can do it. But I can't stand to. It'll have to be you. What I don't know is how to make names. You can't make a name. You simply have one, if you need it. Isn't that how it works for your people? For werewolves?

The hell're you babbling about? Me? You want me to name you? What's to stop me from coming up with something dumb?

[He shakes his head and plods on doggedly.]

We had names before we turned, I guess. From our parents.

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is it silly sappy-theme obvious-metaphor time

But of course

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