oo3 ∞ i'm on your side when nobody is, 'cause nobody is [ location: the forest ]
Near where Solomon dozed off a few hours earlier, dappled with light coming through the thin gaps that still exist in the frame of what will be his home here, Ambrose stirs.
It would be more accurate to say that he tries not to stir, finding himself in something like peace and clinging determinedly to the dissipating sleep as a balm over his ( Read more... )
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So far, Ambrose has managed to resist the temptation that is the lake by his forming house; he has not managed to resist the impulse to go fishing with a small spear and a lot of patience. (The hatch is unnerving, all right?)
...he is, therefore, not thrilled by Hermes's appearance - sir, you are startling the fish. It's with a resigned expression that the thin, scarred man looks up at Hermes, his shirt hanging loose on his emaciated body and his lighter, longer hair and beard not entirely obscuring the uncanny resemblance to Solomon Koenig.
"Well met," he says, dryly.
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Leila is perfectly aware that Ambrose is presently evading her, and that's fine--but she eventually starts to worry, an hour or two in, and comes looking for him. She pauses a little ways away from the man himself and Hermes, too, when she spots him, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets, since it's cool enough to warrant wearing one.
"I didn't realize the forest was so popular," she says, dryly.
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Managing not to look in the slightest bit shamefaced for having been tracked down after giving Leila the slip to go fishing, Ambrose wades back out of the shallows to sit on the grass, dropping his spear next to what he's already caught.
"I prefer it." The forest, he means; he has no intention of venturing into what looks like an unusual sort of city. Whether or not this will last as long as he does is anyone's guess.
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"I think I'll be avoiding the boar, thank you--but Hermes, this is Ambrose. I'm bothering him for a little while, he's pretending he doesn't like me." She figures that Hermes--being a god and all--can figure out what's going on here pretty easily, or at least fill in the blanks provided.
"Ambrose, this is Hermes."
She realizes that to Verbena, this might have particular meaning.
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"Hello, Ambrose. It's a pleasure to meet you and I'm sorry for spooking your fish, but they were so cold, so tempting." Like plums?
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"I've enough already," he decides, glancing at his modest day's catch and back to Hermes, his back coming up straight and shedding some of the mild irritation that he'd had initially. Leila is correct, and while Ambrose's new respect isn't quite the same as Sol's borderline-irreverent fondness, it comes from the same place. "And they need cleaning, besides. Will you eat with us?"
What, you thought he was catching fish for fun? (No, it was an excuse to piss off on his own, actually. A delicious excuse.) That would be why he'd set up a small firepit near the house, earlier; the hell if he's trying to navigate the kitchenette, and he's a perfectly good campfire cook when called upon.
Ambrose will forcibly create his own normalcy in this small window of time.
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Leila idly thinks that this is sort of like hanging out with Bear Grylls, sometimes. She sits down on a high rock nearby, legs crossed neatly, somehow managing to maintain those ladylike manners even when in the middle of a forest. God only knows where she picked them up, but she clings to them, wears them like armor.
"I'm inviting myself," she tells Ambrose, sunnily. He did say 'us,' but where would they be if she weren't occasionally good-naturedly bratty about things.
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"I've never been much for hunting, not animals anyway. What's your favourite? Do you have one of those brilliant stories of the Big One?"
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"I'll clean them," Ambrose says, firmly, giving Leila a long, amused look in the process. He turns his attention away from her, then, explaining to Hermes, "The man as catches the fish, cleans the fish. My woman's been very clear on this point and it wouldn't do to fall down on her rules now."
He doesn't mean Leila, except for how in a way he sort of does.
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Leila is quiet for this--she often is, lately, just letting things unfold before her and making with them what she will--but she idly notes the charmingly archaic use of 'my woman' and considers whether Solomon still thinks that way. You know, just in his head.
Probably, she decides.
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"I judge you fair company," Ambrose says, picking up his fish to lead them all back to where he left everything else he'll need, "and that's more use than you know."
No, seriously.
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"Come sit with me," Leila tells Hermes, "we'll be decorative."
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