[location: Taxon Forest, mainly, but even the Woodsman goes into town for acquiring Stuff]

[tin_hearts]

Once upon a time, there was a man, who was so pained by grief that one day he simply stopped feeling. Not the pain of his own, not that of others; there was nothing that could move him to the point of pangs or aches of any kind. What had once been the most expressive face and bright blue eyes, was no more. Lack luster orbs and too little skin

Comments

[Location]

[smecker]

His tablet said Wyatt was here. Paul himself was ill at ease in the woods, not being a natury sort of guy, but with the city going fucking medieval he figured get with Cain, get a little sanity somewhere in the bullshit.

"Cain, you in here?" he calls as he walks, scowling and kicking at a leaf. "Don't make me get all Ranger Fucking Rick, I don't look good in those uniforms."

[Location]

[tin_hearts]

Unfortunately for Paul, once he finds Cain - or rather, the Woodsman finds him - there is not even the faintest glimmer of recollection in his eyes.

Perhaps even more alarmingly: his eyes are dulled from sheer lack of emotion, and his skin is glaringly red for a lack of caution in the weather of late. He seems - and is - completely unaware.

"Who goes there? Speak."

[Location]

[smecker]

....and of course, the problem with Paul's plan was that Wyatt was temporarily a part of the fucking medieval bullshit. He stopped walking, taking in Wyatt's appearance.

He knew the glitches by now, after this long in the city he sure as fuck knew them. He knew it wasn't going to be permanent, he knew it wasn't anything personal.

There's still an automatic and instinctive sort of revulsion at looking into the eyes of someone you know, someone you know well, and seeing absolutely nothing looking back at you.

Paul stands stock still on the forest trail for a few moments.

"Sorry. Wrong fucking number. Go about your.... your foresty business."

[Location]

[tin_hearts]

Skin stretching taut from the cold, the Woodsman looked the stranger over and gave a slight frown. A stranger though he was, he seemed more than that if only from what was clear to see in his eyes. There lay confusion in their depths, confusion and something else that made the Woodsman's jaw clench. Could it be disappointment?

He tilted his head, stepping closer yet. "Beg pardon, sir... I meant no offense. Are you looking for someone?"

[Location]

[smecker]

Paul took an automatic, reflexive step back when Wyatt... when the guy who looked like Wyatt stepped closer. He jammed his hands into his pockets. Cigarette. Maybe.

"...Not anymore. Aren't you fucking cold?'

[Location]

[tin_hearts]

Fair enough, thought the Woodsman and gave a shrug (and the shrug is the same, and the arch of the one eyebrow is the same, and the faint look of surprise).

"Not for a long time. I am unfeeling where the elements are concerned." He'd thought it common knowledge, when so many called him senseless, a few even going so far as naming him heartless - but apparently, this was not the case.

"It is a boon, granted me by magical means," he went on. "A fair trade, it was."

He's said the words so many times, thought the phrase so often the sentiment itself has started to ring false. A fair trade though it was, he bears the scars to prove just how fair.

[Location]

[smecker]

Paul looks away. He doesn't want to see Wyatt's mannerisms on.... this guy.

"Some fucking boon, you look like you've nearly got frostbite," he mutters. "Build yourself a fire or something, Christ, get indoors."

Not that he really thinks his advice is going to be listened to. Paul sighs and kicks a tree root. "I mean, you look like shit."

[Location]

[tin_hearts]

The Woodsman opened his mouth to speak - to explain or protest that his duties were more important than what he looked like - but then closed it again. He had a feeling any such attempt would fall on deaf ears.

So instead he inclined his head, and looked at the other man from under arched eyebrows. "I have a cabin not far from here. I assure you I don't stay outdoors after dark." A beat, then, "I would advise you do the same. The woods are dangerous enough in the daytime, lest you know your way."

[Location]

[smecker]

Great, he has a cabin. Fanfuckingtastic. Paul leans his head back taking a deep breath of the cold air, stares at the tree branches overhead.

He wants to grab Cain, shake him, maybe slap him, tell him to knock this shit the fuck off and be himself, it's not funny anymore, joke's over, let's stop with the fucking method acting, cowboy.

He recognizes the impulse in himself as irrational, as a coping mechanism, anger to cover up helplessness. Classic textbook really. He knows better. Sure. He jams his hands further into his pockets.

"Yeah. Yeah, 10-4 that, copy. I'll get the hell out of your hair."