Re: The Huntsman and the Wolf [1a/??]
anonymous
November 16 2009, 01:43:12 UTC
Alfred stops walking. He turns and gives his brother the incredulous eyebrow raise that Matthew can never quite take seriously on a face like his.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“Matt. We’re in a friggin’ foreign country.”
“And? Can you do it or can’t you?” He’s beginning to feel that pleasant, nearly sadistic little niggling in the back of his head that tends to show up the few times he gains the upper hand against his brother.
Alfred stares him down. “Like you could do it.”
“Well. Since I’m so obviously worse at ‘nature’ than you are, it shouldn’t be a problem to show me that you can.”
A brief silence, Alfred toying with the camera strap and glancing at the setting sun. The thing is, he can’t refuse, because this is Alfred, and Alfred just doesn’t turn down dares. So Matthew’s won already, really. He would be worried, but “this is Alfred” works against that, too.
Alfred meets his eyes seriously, before cracking a - slightly nervous, Matthew thinks, despite all the evidence to the contrary - smile.
“Shit, Mattie. People don’t believe me when I tell them that you’re the spawn of Satan, either. Just don’t tell Papa when he gets back - if he calls Dad, he’ll have a conniption.”
Matthew just smiles demurely and shucks his red jacket.
ffft...mind that it's going to be a bit more then I asked for? As if! (Now I'm torn between doing some digging to see if I can figure out which Russia folk-tale you're talking about or if I should just enjoy the ride and check it out after, probably I'll wait until after)
This is an amazing start and both of them are so in character (and I always adore Matthew when he's written as more of a can-hold-his-own-against-his-brother/snarky fashion then the woe-is-me-I'm-Invisible mode) and I'm always up for FrUk Family stuffs so that was a nice addition too. (Or maybe I'm jumping the gun on my assumption who Dad/Papa are)
Absolutely can't wait to see where this is heading next!
Author!Anon
anonymous
November 16 2009, 03:32:11 UTC
I'm glad you're enjoying it, 'cause dude, I think snarky!Canada is my new lover~
I'll probably post brief explanations of the tales; just not sure if they should be whenever the tale shows up in the story or all in a big chunk at the end.
I know he's sneaky that one...I was rather ambivalent towards Canada and then I wrote him (or at least implied that he had it in him) in his snarky passive-aggressive glory and now I sort of love him. It's RL canon anyway, he's all sweetness and light and "invisible" towards the other countries but towards the US he can be really snarky and obnoxious. Well sometimes he can be like that to France but that's just when France is trying to touch his stuff.
The Huntsman and the Wolf [2/??]
anonymous
November 16 2009, 05:11:10 UTC
One more before bed. Sorry for the slow start. It's getting there, I swear. ><
Alfred whistles to himself. He doesn’t really have a tune in mind, drifting between pop and rock and maybe that’s a bit of Dixie mixed up in there.
This really isn’t so bad after all.
It’s kind of pleasant, actually, the way he’s surrounded with just the sound of nature and his own whistling, how even the birds are starting to quiet down now as the sun slips closer to the horizon. Of course, that last bit could be seen as something not entirely pleasant, but who wants to look on the negative side of things?
He shifts himself slightly to avoid the root prodding into his lower back - sitting against a tree is alright, he decides, but not nearly as comfortable as they make it look in the movies. He could have had a sleeping bag. Mattie had suggested that, as the lodge-like hotel was in walking distance from the forest edge, but Alfred had told him that getting it would be a waste of time, as he is definitely man enough to go without.
(It doesn’t have anything to do with how might be dark by the time they got back to the woods that way. It’s not that Alfred is afraid of walking through a creepy Russian forest at night, just worried that he might trip on a root or a deer or something. Because there is nothing to be afraid of here. Nothing at all.)
As of now, he has only three assets: Matthew’s red zip-up jacket is the largest, and a good thing because it is definitely colder now. Next to his sprawled legs lies Matthew’s drawstring sports bag containing the flashlight he had brought on their dusk walk in case it got dark before they were back, and what’s left of the sandwiches Matthew made for their trip. Well, at least his brother prepared him well.
Speaking of those sandwiches. Alfred pulls out the Ziploc baggie, because he’s still sort of hungry and there isn’t much else to do.
The sun is just barely above the horizon, at least as far as he can tell from between the branches, when a thin gray cat steps onto the path. It sidles towards Alfred in a passive-aggressive cat begging way, dark eyes too big in its face. It takes him a moment to realize that a cat really has no business being out in the woods.
“Hey, there,” he says as greeting, and, after only the briefest hesitation, holds out half a bologna sandwich. As the cat reluctantly inches closer, Alfred looks for a collar with no success.
The cat refuses to come within two feet of him, and he has to settle for tossing the sandwich to the side and letting it run to gobble it up. Alfred has little knowledge in the keeping of cats, but even if cats aren’t supposed to eat bologna, he figures it won’t do the little gray any harm, looking as emaciated as it does.
“What do you think? You gonna stay with me for the night?” he asks, propping elbow on knee and chin on hand.
The cat, however, is not given time to respond.
The rush of cold wind comes first. It howls from the north against Alfred’s side, blowing hard enough to spur small twigs up towards his face and making him hug closer to his jacket.
Then comes what sounds like the barest echo of horse’s hooves, pounding away towards the west.
Before he can digest this he thinks he hears something else and it sends a horrible thrill up his spine because there is not supposed to be a woman’s laughter here, goddamnit, this isn’t some cheesy Halloween story to spook children.
It isn’t possible that he heard the laughter, the high cackle of the infirm or insane. He must have imagined it.
Re: The Huntsman and the Wolf [3/??]
anonymous
November 28 2009, 21:57:57 UTC
Alfred’s muscles tense and his heart plays mind games with his head, one on one off, and the beats aren’t quite steady yet when he gets his nerves together and laughs. The cat stays long enough to give him a mildly disdainful glance before padding off towards the last corner of light in the sky. Alfred is sorry to see it go.
“Guess there are wolves in here, huh?” he says out loud, a dare to the now rapidly dying wind. “Doesn’t matter, though. They’re probably a lot further in. Nothin’ to worry - ”
Another howl to the east, between himself and the forest’s edge.
Shit. There aren’t supposed to be wolves here, Matthew couldn’t have known that and still dared him to stay out, this has to be an exception -
Except not really. He’s taken the dare and has to follow through. He’s Alfred Jones. Had he really expected the woods to be lifeless at night? Besides, wolves don’t attack people just because, do they? They have to have some way of knowing when a human means them harm. If he just stays put, they’ll see that there’s no need to -
The howl is closer this time.
“Dammit.”
Alfred scrambles to his feet, peering cautiously into the dark east. He doesn’t know much about wolves, other than the ones in scary stories and his old adventure books. He’s fairly certain they travel in packs, though - where had the first howl come from, anyway? He can’t remember. How many wolves could be surrounding him right now, and what are they hunting? It can’t be him, there must be some big game somewhere nearby that they are closing in on, circling, fixing with glowing eyes…
There is breathing in the underbrush.
Alfred’s breathing stops.
The tiniest wheezing, feet away. Rhythmic and fascinating, just soft enough to border on the imaginary. It could be the breeze, or something else completely non-threatening, but there is a shadow there that seems to creep between leaves and branches, a moving dark mass that is breathing and Alfred cannot move, he is trapped by the dark and the cold wind. Transfixed by smoldering yellow eyes.
A twig snaps.
Alfred sprints.
He nearly falls twice, fueled by adrenaline and panic, crashing almost blindly towards anywhere not here. Somewhere along the way the path gets indistinct, and he can only pray that he hasn’t left it yet, that he’ll find his way back when his mind isn’t fogged by fear and what he thinks might be the sound of great animal feet. Shadows swim on the edge of his vision, slipping between foliage to make the branches sway like ghostly grasping hands, taking form just off the path to keep pace on his right.
Alfred veers left, crashing through the tightening trees, struggling only to go faster amidst the slaps and cuts of twigs and the rocks reaching up from the dirt to drag him down to themselves -
His face smashes into the ground, his ankle a sudden flash of blind pain. He lies still, expecting claws at any moment, savage teeth ripping into his skin…
Any moment now.
Trees whisper in the empty breeze.
He lies still for a full minute, staring cross-eyed at the new scratch on his glasses before sitting up slowly, propping himself up on his elbows. He stares in the direction he came, straining to hear between his own ragged breathing and the heartbeat in his ears.
Maybe…maybe the thing got bored along the way. Maybe it had been toying with him, because there is no way he could actually outrun a full-grown wolf in the dark woods, as athletic as he is. Maybe he had just been stupid, seeing things out of some lingering apprehension about the dare.
Right. The dare. Keep calm, Matthew will never let him live it down if -
The only thing he really comprehends is the return of the eyes before his world becomes horror and weight and snapping jaws blowing hot breath in his face, rancid like decaying meat.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“Matt. We’re in a friggin’ foreign country.”
“And? Can you do it or can’t you?” He’s beginning to feel that pleasant, nearly sadistic little niggling in the back of his head that tends to show up the few times he gains the upper hand against his brother.
Alfred stares him down. “Like you could do it.”
“Well. Since I’m so obviously worse at ‘nature’ than you are, it shouldn’t be a problem to show me that you can.”
A brief silence, Alfred toying with the camera strap and glancing at the setting sun. The thing is, he can’t refuse, because this is Alfred, and Alfred just doesn’t turn down dares. So Matthew’s won already, really. He would be worried, but “this is Alfred” works against that, too.
Alfred meets his eyes seriously, before cracking a - slightly nervous, Matthew thinks, despite all the evidence to the contrary - smile.
“Shit, Mattie. People don’t believe me when I tell them that you’re the spawn of Satan, either. Just don’t tell Papa when he gets back - if he calls Dad, he’ll have a conniption.”
Matthew just smiles demurely and shucks his red jacket.
“You’ll need this. It’s getting cold out.”
What? Hinting at my OTP? NEVAR.
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This is an amazing start and both of them are so in character (and I always adore Matthew when he's written as more of a can-hold-his-own-against-his-brother/snarky fashion then the woe-is-me-I'm-Invisible mode) and I'm always up for FrUk Family stuffs so that was a nice addition too. (Or maybe I'm jumping the gun on my assumption who Dad/Papa are)
Absolutely can't wait to see where this is heading next!
Reply
I'll probably post brief explanations of the tales; just not sure if they should be whenever the tale shows up in the story or all in a big chunk at the end.
Reply
Reply
Alfred whistles to himself. He doesn’t really have a tune in mind, drifting between pop and rock and maybe that’s a bit of Dixie mixed up in there.
This really isn’t so bad after all.
It’s kind of pleasant, actually, the way he’s surrounded with just the sound of nature and his own whistling, how even the birds are starting to quiet down now as the sun slips closer to the horizon. Of course, that last bit could be seen as something not entirely pleasant, but who wants to look on the negative side of things?
He shifts himself slightly to avoid the root prodding into his lower back - sitting against a tree is alright, he decides, but not nearly as comfortable as they make it look in the movies. He could have had a sleeping bag. Mattie had suggested that, as the lodge-like hotel was in walking distance from the forest edge, but Alfred had told him that getting it would be a waste of time, as he is definitely man enough to go without.
(It doesn’t have anything to do with how might be dark by the time they got back to the woods that way. It’s not that Alfred is afraid of walking through a creepy Russian forest at night, just worried that he might trip on a root or a deer or something. Because there is nothing to be afraid of here. Nothing at all.)
As of now, he has only three assets: Matthew’s red zip-up jacket is the largest, and a good thing because it is definitely colder now. Next to his sprawled legs lies Matthew’s drawstring sports bag containing the flashlight he had brought on their dusk walk in case it got dark before they were back, and what’s left of the sandwiches Matthew made for their trip. Well, at least his brother prepared him well.
Speaking of those sandwiches. Alfred pulls out the Ziploc baggie, because he’s still sort of hungry and there isn’t much else to do.
The sun is just barely above the horizon, at least as far as he can tell from between the branches, when a thin gray cat steps onto the path. It sidles towards Alfred in a passive-aggressive cat begging way, dark eyes too big in its face. It takes him a moment to realize that a cat really has no business being out in the woods.
“Hey, there,” he says as greeting, and, after only the briefest hesitation, holds out half a bologna sandwich. As the cat reluctantly inches closer, Alfred looks for a collar with no success.
The cat refuses to come within two feet of him, and he has to settle for tossing the sandwich to the side and letting it run to gobble it up. Alfred has little knowledge in the keeping of cats, but even if cats aren’t supposed to eat bologna, he figures it won’t do the little gray any harm, looking as emaciated as it does.
“What do you think? You gonna stay with me for the night?” he asks, propping elbow on knee and chin on hand.
The cat, however, is not given time to respond.
The rush of cold wind comes first. It howls from the north against Alfred’s side, blowing hard enough to spur small twigs up towards his face and making him hug closer to his jacket.
Then comes what sounds like the barest echo of horse’s hooves, pounding away towards the west.
Before he can digest this he thinks he hears something else and it sends a horrible thrill up his spine because there is not supposed to be a woman’s laughter here, goddamnit, this isn’t some cheesy Halloween story to spook children.
It isn’t possible that he heard the laughter, the high cackle of the infirm or insane. He must have imagined it.
But he knows he hears the howl.
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Cliffhangers already?
But seriously...loving this one so hard already!
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Love the atmosphere you've created thus far!
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“Guess there are wolves in here, huh?” he says out loud, a dare to the now rapidly dying wind. “Doesn’t matter, though. They’re probably a lot further in. Nothin’ to worry - ”
Another howl to the east, between himself and the forest’s edge.
Shit. There aren’t supposed to be wolves here, Matthew couldn’t have known that and still dared him to stay out, this has to be an exception -
Except not really. He’s taken the dare and has to follow through. He’s Alfred Jones. Had he really expected the woods to be lifeless at night? Besides, wolves don’t attack people just because, do they? They have to have some way of knowing when a human means them harm. If he just stays put, they’ll see that there’s no need to -
The howl is closer this time.
“Dammit.”
Alfred scrambles to his feet, peering cautiously into the dark east. He doesn’t know much about wolves, other than the ones in scary stories and his old adventure books. He’s fairly certain they travel in packs, though - where had the first howl come from, anyway? He can’t remember. How many wolves could be surrounding him right now, and what are they hunting? It can’t be him, there must be some big game somewhere nearby that they are closing in on, circling, fixing with glowing eyes…
There is breathing in the underbrush.
Alfred’s breathing stops.
The tiniest wheezing, feet away. Rhythmic and fascinating, just soft enough to border on the imaginary. It could be the breeze, or something else completely non-threatening, but there is a shadow there that seems to creep between leaves and branches, a moving dark mass that is breathing and Alfred cannot move, he is trapped by the dark and the cold wind. Transfixed by smoldering yellow eyes.
A twig snaps.
Alfred sprints.
He nearly falls twice, fueled by adrenaline and panic, crashing almost blindly towards anywhere not here. Somewhere along the way the path gets indistinct, and he can only pray that he hasn’t left it yet, that he’ll find his way back when his mind isn’t fogged by fear and what he thinks might be the sound of great animal feet. Shadows swim on the edge of his vision, slipping between foliage to make the branches sway like ghostly grasping hands, taking form just off the path to keep pace on his right.
Alfred veers left, crashing through the tightening trees, struggling only to go faster amidst the slaps and cuts of twigs and the rocks reaching up from the dirt to drag him down to themselves -
His face smashes into the ground, his ankle a sudden flash of blind pain. He lies still, expecting claws at any moment, savage teeth ripping into his skin…
Any moment now.
Trees whisper in the empty breeze.
He lies still for a full minute, staring cross-eyed at the new scratch on his glasses before sitting up slowly, propping himself up on his elbows. He stares in the direction he came, straining to hear between his own ragged breathing and the heartbeat in his ears.
Maybe…maybe the thing got bored along the way. Maybe it had been toying with him, because there is no way he could actually outrun a full-grown wolf in the dark woods, as athletic as he is. Maybe he had just been stupid, seeing things out of some lingering apprehension about the dare.
Right. The dare. Keep calm, Matthew will never let him live it down if -
The only thing he really comprehends is the return of the eyes before his world becomes horror and weight and snapping jaws blowing hot breath in his face, rancid like decaying meat.
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How could you just end it there...evil..evil...evil!
Seriously though still love and adore this and anxiously awaiting more!!
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