[BoB: Easy daemons] The Harry, Nix and Winters Show (991 words)
I am drinking mangosteen juice for the first time, courtesy of a really great Vietnamese restaurant nearby. It's delicious, and if the way my wonton soup smells is any indication, I will have chosen wisely, I think!
There is no purpose to this, other than to be fun and adorkable. No, really. Nothing happens. It's just ridiculous. (But I hope it makes you smile.)
* * *
“We’re lost,” said Waverly smugly.
“We’re not lost! How could you say that?” Nixon lowered his binoculars and glanced down at the map in his hand. “This is an intelligence exercise. I’m the S-2. We’re not lost. We’re just still in recon.”
His fox daemon twisted to look up at him. “Did I say it was a bad thing?” She lifted her brush of a tail and trotted primly ahead of him, leaving small, delicate footprints in the soggy English lane.
Nixon smirked. “You’re so cynical. Always such a cynic.”
She didn’t bother turning around. “Someone has to keep you in check, Pollyanna.”
“I’ll ask you to remember that when we find the pub in town.”
Waverly snorted, and Nixon grinned, tucking his binoculars into a pocket. “I’m not saying this is a bad thing,” she continued, after a pause. “What better than to stretch our legs after ten days of the worst Atlantic crossing we’ve done yet?”
“I don’t know,” said Nixon thoughtfully. “There was that time we all took the dry liner to set an example to society.”
“Good thing Europe was waiting for us on the other side.”
“How history repeats itself.”
“Are you kidding? I’d much rather be at war.”
“See, there you go again.”
“I’m here to tell you the truth, Lew.”
“Funny, that’s not what I read in the brochure.”
Waverly didn’t respond, but stopped, ears pricked forward. Nixon looked up, startled, only to see Winters standing by the side of the road, hands clasped behind him and the smallest of smiles playing at his mouth. Alma, his equally laconic wolf daemon, sat at his side, watching Waverly intently. Both had been waiting unnoticed for some time.
“Who won?” Winters said. Nixon glanced down at Waverly.
“No one won. We were having a friendly discussion. Where did you come from?”
Winters craned his neck, scanning the sky. “I came out here for the quiet.”
Nixon jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Think I found some a little ways back. It might have moved on by now, though. You might still catch it if you hurry.”
Alma got to her feet, eyes locked on Waverly, who had sunk into an attentive crouch; both daemons had gone very, very still. Winters crooked an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind. What are you doing here?”
Nixon glanced down at his map. “Me? I was working out a shortcut back to Aldbourne. For the purposes of getting out to the base, obviously. Less so the other way around.”
“Mm.” Winters nodded. “That’s real devotion to your job, on a Saturday.”
He shrugged. “It’s all just a matter of initiative. I found a problem and I’m fixing it. I like to think I’m just the kind of go-to man the Army turns to in its time of need.”
Without warning, Waverly launched herself into a near-vertical leap. Alma sprang forward, jaws open, and tumbled to the side as Waverly pounced onto her shoulders. Alma’s tail thumped as she thrashed in concert with Waverly’s onslaught. Winters didn’t bat an eye, though he did slip his hands into his pockets.
“I guess running into you means I’m on the right track,” Nixon continued.
“And why’s that?”
“Well, you just came from town, didn’t you? To, you know, go do stuff in the wilderness.” He gestured vaguely at the side of the lane, which was remarkable for a bramble of anemic pine trees but little else.
“I just finished up a run,” said Winters, as Alma swatted at Waverly with an enormous paw, and Waverly danced away.
Nixon’s mouth twisted. “That’s not actually an answer.”
“Shouldn’t you be able to deduce it, captain?”
“Oh, come on, I’ve already got her for being smart. There’s no need for this to be a pile-on.” They both looked down at their daemons tussling in the mud; Alma blinked and grunted tolerantly as Waverly tugged her ear down to the ground. “I’m sure that’s not necessary either,” he said. Waverly let go, hopped up on Alma’s back and sat down. Alma let her perch for all of a moment before rolling sideways and tipping her off.
“I was thinking about going back to town,” Winters said.
Nixon frowned. “Or doing what?”
“What do you mean?”
He nodded at the expanse of empty countryside. “Not exactly many options out here.”
Winters huffed softly, his version of a chuckle. “It’s the Army, Nix. There’s always something to do.”
Waverly made a spectacle of stretching and began threading through Nixon’s legs. “Do you hear that?” she asked, neck craned. He reached into his pocket and took out his binoculars again.
“Problem solved,” he announced, grinning. On cue, a jeep rumbled around the bend in the lane and slowed to a stop. A Jack Russell terrier sailed off the passenger seat and bounded into the thick of the group. Harry Welsh pushed himself up on the windshield, the engine still running.
“You fellas don’t need a lift somewhere, do you?”
Winters smiled. “We were just getting to that. Where’re you headed?”
Welsh glanced at the road in front of him. “Captain Sobel needed someone to find Colonel Sink for an urgent message about allocating weekend passes. I was the first officer he found.”
Nixon laughed. “Lucky you. You find him yet?”
He shook his head. “Still working on it. He wasn’t at Littlecote. I’m trying Aldbourne next.”
At their feet, Bridie bounced between Alma and Waverly, her stub of a tail wagging furiously. Alma leaned down to touch noses; Bridie cheerfully headbutted her. Waverly reached out and batted at her with a dirty paw, which was rewarded with an enthusiastic tackle. Nixon looked at Winters.
“Well, I’m game. A ride’s a ride.”
Winters canted his head. “What about your shortcut?”
“Oh, it works.” He opened the door of the jeep. “He showed up, didn’t he?”
“Now there’s optimism,” Alma murmured as she climbed into the back seat.
Notes: Coming up with daemon names is one of my very favorite parts of this AU. I wanted to give Nixon's daemon the WASPiest, most splendidly New York old money name I could think of. Apparently Waverly means "quivering aspens." Bride is an Irish saint, but mostly I thought it fitting for someone as wedding-obsessed as Harry Welsh. That may be the extent of my way deep notes, although this is Waverly's preferred opening gambit.
Daemon master list | Webster and Lucy, Toccoa, Georgia, July 1942 | Doc Roe and Clementine, Upottery, England, June 4, 1944 | Renee and Alexis, Bastogne, December 1944 | The prisoner from Eugene and Liesl, D-Day, 1944
There is no purpose to this, other than to be fun and adorkable. No, really. Nothing happens. It's just ridiculous. (But I hope it makes you smile.)
* * *
“We’re lost,” said Waverly smugly.
“We’re not lost! How could you say that?” Nixon lowered his binoculars and glanced down at the map in his hand. “This is an intelligence exercise. I’m the S-2. We’re not lost. We’re just still in recon.”
His fox daemon twisted to look up at him. “Did I say it was a bad thing?” She lifted her brush of a tail and trotted primly ahead of him, leaving small, delicate footprints in the soggy English lane.
Nixon smirked. “You’re so cynical. Always such a cynic.”
She didn’t bother turning around. “Someone has to keep you in check, Pollyanna.”
“I’ll ask you to remember that when we find the pub in town.”
Waverly snorted, and Nixon grinned, tucking his binoculars into a pocket. “I’m not saying this is a bad thing,” she continued, after a pause. “What better than to stretch our legs after ten days of the worst Atlantic crossing we’ve done yet?”
“I don’t know,” said Nixon thoughtfully. “There was that time we all took the dry liner to set an example to society.”
“Good thing Europe was waiting for us on the other side.”
“How history repeats itself.”
“Are you kidding? I’d much rather be at war.”
“See, there you go again.”
“I’m here to tell you the truth, Lew.”
“Funny, that’s not what I read in the brochure.”
Waverly didn’t respond, but stopped, ears pricked forward. Nixon looked up, startled, only to see Winters standing by the side of the road, hands clasped behind him and the smallest of smiles playing at his mouth. Alma, his equally laconic wolf daemon, sat at his side, watching Waverly intently. Both had been waiting unnoticed for some time.
“Who won?” Winters said. Nixon glanced down at Waverly.
“No one won. We were having a friendly discussion. Where did you come from?”
Winters craned his neck, scanning the sky. “I came out here for the quiet.”
Nixon jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Think I found some a little ways back. It might have moved on by now, though. You might still catch it if you hurry.”
Alma got to her feet, eyes locked on Waverly, who had sunk into an attentive crouch; both daemons had gone very, very still. Winters crooked an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind. What are you doing here?”
Nixon glanced down at his map. “Me? I was working out a shortcut back to Aldbourne. For the purposes of getting out to the base, obviously. Less so the other way around.”
“Mm.” Winters nodded. “That’s real devotion to your job, on a Saturday.”
He shrugged. “It’s all just a matter of initiative. I found a problem and I’m fixing it. I like to think I’m just the kind of go-to man the Army turns to in its time of need.”
Without warning, Waverly launched herself into a near-vertical leap. Alma sprang forward, jaws open, and tumbled to the side as Waverly pounced onto her shoulders. Alma’s tail thumped as she thrashed in concert with Waverly’s onslaught. Winters didn’t bat an eye, though he did slip his hands into his pockets.
“I guess running into you means I’m on the right track,” Nixon continued.
“And why’s that?”
“Well, you just came from town, didn’t you? To, you know, go do stuff in the wilderness.” He gestured vaguely at the side of the lane, which was remarkable for a bramble of anemic pine trees but little else.
“I just finished up a run,” said Winters, as Alma swatted at Waverly with an enormous paw, and Waverly danced away.
Nixon’s mouth twisted. “That’s not actually an answer.”
“Shouldn’t you be able to deduce it, captain?”
“Oh, come on, I’ve already got her for being smart. There’s no need for this to be a pile-on.” They both looked down at their daemons tussling in the mud; Alma blinked and grunted tolerantly as Waverly tugged her ear down to the ground. “I’m sure that’s not necessary either,” he said. Waverly let go, hopped up on Alma’s back and sat down. Alma let her perch for all of a moment before rolling sideways and tipping her off.
“I was thinking about going back to town,” Winters said.
Nixon frowned. “Or doing what?”
“What do you mean?”
He nodded at the expanse of empty countryside. “Not exactly many options out here.”
Winters huffed softly, his version of a chuckle. “It’s the Army, Nix. There’s always something to do.”
Waverly made a spectacle of stretching and began threading through Nixon’s legs. “Do you hear that?” she asked, neck craned. He reached into his pocket and took out his binoculars again.
“Problem solved,” he announced, grinning. On cue, a jeep rumbled around the bend in the lane and slowed to a stop. A Jack Russell terrier sailed off the passenger seat and bounded into the thick of the group. Harry Welsh pushed himself up on the windshield, the engine still running.
“You fellas don’t need a lift somewhere, do you?”
Winters smiled. “We were just getting to that. Where’re you headed?”
Welsh glanced at the road in front of him. “Captain Sobel needed someone to find Colonel Sink for an urgent message about allocating weekend passes. I was the first officer he found.”
Nixon laughed. “Lucky you. You find him yet?”
He shook his head. “Still working on it. He wasn’t at Littlecote. I’m trying Aldbourne next.”
At their feet, Bridie bounced between Alma and Waverly, her stub of a tail wagging furiously. Alma leaned down to touch noses; Bridie cheerfully headbutted her. Waverly reached out and batted at her with a dirty paw, which was rewarded with an enthusiastic tackle. Nixon looked at Winters.
“Well, I’m game. A ride’s a ride.”
Winters canted his head. “What about your shortcut?”
“Oh, it works.” He opened the door of the jeep. “He showed up, didn’t he?”
“Now there’s optimism,” Alma murmured as she climbed into the back seat.
Notes: Coming up with daemon names is one of my very favorite parts of this AU. I wanted to give Nixon's daemon the WASPiest, most splendidly New York old money name I could think of. Apparently Waverly means "quivering aspens." Bride is an Irish saint, but mostly I thought it fitting for someone as wedding-obsessed as Harry Welsh. That may be the extent of my way deep notes, although this is Waverly's preferred opening gambit.
Daemon master list | Webster and Lucy, Toccoa, Georgia, July 1942 | Doc Roe and Clementine, Upottery, England, June 4, 1944 | Renee and Alexis, Bastogne, December 1944 | The prisoner from Eugene and Liesl, D-Day, 1944