[BoB: Easy daemons] Noah had it easy. (1,157 words)
So last week, kaydeefalls had a birthday! (She has also, coincidentally, just posted a fantastic BoB vid set to Simon & Garfunkel's "The Boxer," which you should definitely check out.) I had promised her fic, and so it has happened! Many thanks to skew_whiff for the second read and telling me what was missing.
* * *
Blithe hadn’t moved in half an hour. Roy Cobb's shrike daemon had found a wire sticking out from the bunks. She flew out of sight, over and over again, and returned with scraps of cloth and paper to impale on the little spike. Cobb watched her idly. Blithe swallowed and lifted his eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he said, staring at the sagging tarp inches from his face.
“Don’t start.” Eula fluttered her wings and waddled closer over the blankets. “You start and everyone else will too.”
“I think you’re giving me too much credit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. His little owl daemon hopped up onto his chest, ambled to the edge of the bunk and peered over the edge.
The troop ship hadn’t been quiet a single minute since they’d left Brooklyn, and they still had six days to go. The food was horrible, the air was rank, the hull was packed with bored paratroopers and on top of living like sardines, Sobel kept trying to make them do calisthenics. The men were rough and rowdy at the best of times, but the most order anyone could expect down here came from not having the room to swing a real punch.
Eula swiveled her head fully backward, and Blithe opened one eye. “I’m going to take a look around,” she announced, and threw herself silently into the middle aisle. Blithe rolled forward to watch her glide. Each man had set himself up as high his daemon could get or be carried. All the birds were wheeling and dipping through the air. The floor was churning with creatures that couldn't scale the racks of beds. Midair, Eula's pinions brushed against a crow, and in another bunk across the divide Alley's head jerked up.
Blithe saw her light on a topmost beam. A masked face inched up behind her. Hoobler's raccoon peered at Eula, whiskers twitching. Hoobler himself gave her a curious glance, paired with his easy snaggletoothed grin. Eula took off again in a hurry, and Blithe held out his hand. “Same as usual,” she said, shifting from foot to foot.
He sighed and swiped a palm over his sweating face. Above him, something heavy dropped into Perconte's bunk, and a couple guys roared with laughter. A foot kicked Blithe through the tarp in the back of the head. Blithe clenched his jaw and shut his eyes to count to three. “I think I need some air,” he said. Eula fluttered to his shoulder. He swung his boots out over the edge of the bunk, ducked forward and began to climb down.
It should have been as simple as that, but it wasn't. Blithe had to dodge, weave and duck out of the way of limbs, daemons and bodies. Only Toccoa prepared him for navigating the floor, and he counted himself lucky it was Bull's razorback he nearly came down on, instead of somebody mean. Joe Liebgott squeezed past him, his mink perched on his shoulders; she hissed at Blithe as they passed. A moment later Guarnere's big hyena bumped against Blithe's leg, though since Bill was pretty much always cursing, neither he nor Bennie seemed to take any notice.
Blithe swallowed and tried to keep moving. Clouds of cigarette smoke burned his lungs. Dogs wove in and out of his path. An otter dashed underfoot while a bluebird darted perilously close to Blithe's face. Malarkey and Muck were tossing empty cigarette cartons at each other. Blithe grabbed for something to steady himself and wound up with a fistful of Dukeman's shoulder. He apologized and tried to hurry forward. “Almost,” Eula urged, pressed close to his ear.
He nearly caught Talbert's cat full in the face when she launched herself at Popeye's possum from across the aisle. Eula screeched, her wings thrashing, and Blithe stopped trying to be considerate. Someone yelled out a joke about having the runs, and he came perilously close to tripping over Toye’s wolverine, but Blithe was as agile as the paratroops required. He barreled past men and up the narrow stairs to the heavy door that led outside.
Frigid air slammed against him, and Eula braced herself on his shoulder. The sky was black as blindness. The ship's deck was a ghost town: all Blithe could hear was the rumble of the engine as they cut the North Atlantic. He looked out toward the ocean, but couldn't focus on anything. It was like a night jump, no horizon in sight. He took a deep breath and counted to four. This was all right. This was much better.
“Didn't expect to see you here.”
Eula's head swiveled before Blithe could turn. Down the rails, a tall silhouette straightened as another figure approached. Eula smoothed down her feathers. “They don’t see us,” she murmured. “It’s all right.”
Winters bowed his head a moment. Blithe couldn’t see his face. “Alma was getting a little snappy.”
Nixon’s smirk was audible. “Just Alma?”
Winters sighed. “I’m not an engineer, Nix. You heard the man.” He turned and leaned on the rails. Blithe took a tentative step back, not sure if he should eavesdrop on officer business. Winters looked like he was losing his temper, which Blithe had no particular desire to witness. “It’s not my place to tell Captain Sobel when we do and don’t have space for training.” Nixon’s fox strode up to Winters’ wolf and lifted her nose. Eula shuffled down Blithe’s shoulder, peering intently. Alma bent her neck while Nixon settled down next to Winters, something glinting his hand.
“Your men okay?”
Winters folded his hands. Alma sat down behind him. “I think we’ll all be better once we get to England.”
“Amen to that,” Eula muttered. Blithe thought he saw the fox’s ears prick up. He turned aside, trying to look casual. No one hailed him, and he hovered there at the rail, stealing glances.
“You know,” Nixon drawled, “you should really think about my and Harry’s method.” He held up his flask. “This is the first time I’ve been awake in three days. It’s marvelous. We’ll be done with this trip before you know it.” Nixon’s fox circled Alma and sat herself, haunch to haunch. Alma twisted but made no move to chase her away.
Winters paused, for quite a while, Blithe thought, and then shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to deplete your stock any faster than necessary.” There was something wry in his voice that never quite came out with the other men.
“You’re a gentleman, Dick.” Nixon chuckled. “I appreciate your consideration.”
Winters didn’t laugh, but there was something about the quiet that meant he was smiling. “Anytime.”
Blithe turned on his heel and started walking away. Eula lifted her wings. “I was listening to that!”
“We got to keep moving,” he said, eyes straight ahead. It was a clear shot from one end of the deck to the other.
Notes: I have a lot of sympathy for Blithe. I think his "hysterical blindness" in Carentan is a perfect metaphor -- there's such a thing as sensory overload, and I thought his daemon would be one that is incredibly sensitive even under normal circumstances. Owls have incredible senses, and... well, the other thing about owls is that they're hilarious. Sorry, there is an actual meaningful justification for making Blithe's daemon a little owl, but just look at them -- it makes so much sense.
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 | Nixon and Waverly, Aldbourne, England, September 1943 | Speirs and Petra, Toccoa to Foy, 1942-1945 | Guarnere and Benedetta, South Philly to Bastogne, 1936-1945
* * *
Blithe hadn’t moved in half an hour. Roy Cobb's shrike daemon had found a wire sticking out from the bunks. She flew out of sight, over and over again, and returned with scraps of cloth and paper to impale on the little spike. Cobb watched her idly. Blithe swallowed and lifted his eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he said, staring at the sagging tarp inches from his face.
“Don’t start.” Eula fluttered her wings and waddled closer over the blankets. “You start and everyone else will too.”
“I think you’re giving me too much credit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. His little owl daemon hopped up onto his chest, ambled to the edge of the bunk and peered over the edge.
The troop ship hadn’t been quiet a single minute since they’d left Brooklyn, and they still had six days to go. The food was horrible, the air was rank, the hull was packed with bored paratroopers and on top of living like sardines, Sobel kept trying to make them do calisthenics. The men were rough and rowdy at the best of times, but the most order anyone could expect down here came from not having the room to swing a real punch.
Eula swiveled her head fully backward, and Blithe opened one eye. “I’m going to take a look around,” she announced, and threw herself silently into the middle aisle. Blithe rolled forward to watch her glide. Each man had set himself up as high his daemon could get or be carried. All the birds were wheeling and dipping through the air. The floor was churning with creatures that couldn't scale the racks of beds. Midair, Eula's pinions brushed against a crow, and in another bunk across the divide Alley's head jerked up.
Blithe saw her light on a topmost beam. A masked face inched up behind her. Hoobler's raccoon peered at Eula, whiskers twitching. Hoobler himself gave her a curious glance, paired with his easy snaggletoothed grin. Eula took off again in a hurry, and Blithe held out his hand. “Same as usual,” she said, shifting from foot to foot.
He sighed and swiped a palm over his sweating face. Above him, something heavy dropped into Perconte's bunk, and a couple guys roared with laughter. A foot kicked Blithe through the tarp in the back of the head. Blithe clenched his jaw and shut his eyes to count to three. “I think I need some air,” he said. Eula fluttered to his shoulder. He swung his boots out over the edge of the bunk, ducked forward and began to climb down.
It should have been as simple as that, but it wasn't. Blithe had to dodge, weave and duck out of the way of limbs, daemons and bodies. Only Toccoa prepared him for navigating the floor, and he counted himself lucky it was Bull's razorback he nearly came down on, instead of somebody mean. Joe Liebgott squeezed past him, his mink perched on his shoulders; she hissed at Blithe as they passed. A moment later Guarnere's big hyena bumped against Blithe's leg, though since Bill was pretty much always cursing, neither he nor Bennie seemed to take any notice.
Blithe swallowed and tried to keep moving. Clouds of cigarette smoke burned his lungs. Dogs wove in and out of his path. An otter dashed underfoot while a bluebird darted perilously close to Blithe's face. Malarkey and Muck were tossing empty cigarette cartons at each other. Blithe grabbed for something to steady himself and wound up with a fistful of Dukeman's shoulder. He apologized and tried to hurry forward. “Almost,” Eula urged, pressed close to his ear.
He nearly caught Talbert's cat full in the face when she launched herself at Popeye's possum from across the aisle. Eula screeched, her wings thrashing, and Blithe stopped trying to be considerate. Someone yelled out a joke about having the runs, and he came perilously close to tripping over Toye’s wolverine, but Blithe was as agile as the paratroops required. He barreled past men and up the narrow stairs to the heavy door that led outside.
Frigid air slammed against him, and Eula braced herself on his shoulder. The sky was black as blindness. The ship's deck was a ghost town: all Blithe could hear was the rumble of the engine as they cut the North Atlantic. He looked out toward the ocean, but couldn't focus on anything. It was like a night jump, no horizon in sight. He took a deep breath and counted to four. This was all right. This was much better.
“Didn't expect to see you here.”
Eula's head swiveled before Blithe could turn. Down the rails, a tall silhouette straightened as another figure approached. Eula smoothed down her feathers. “They don’t see us,” she murmured. “It’s all right.”
Winters bowed his head a moment. Blithe couldn’t see his face. “Alma was getting a little snappy.”
Nixon’s smirk was audible. “Just Alma?”
Winters sighed. “I’m not an engineer, Nix. You heard the man.” He turned and leaned on the rails. Blithe took a tentative step back, not sure if he should eavesdrop on officer business. Winters looked like he was losing his temper, which Blithe had no particular desire to witness. “It’s not my place to tell Captain Sobel when we do and don’t have space for training.” Nixon’s fox strode up to Winters’ wolf and lifted her nose. Eula shuffled down Blithe’s shoulder, peering intently. Alma bent her neck while Nixon settled down next to Winters, something glinting his hand.
“Your men okay?”
Winters folded his hands. Alma sat down behind him. “I think we’ll all be better once we get to England.”
“Amen to that,” Eula muttered. Blithe thought he saw the fox’s ears prick up. He turned aside, trying to look casual. No one hailed him, and he hovered there at the rail, stealing glances.
“You know,” Nixon drawled, “you should really think about my and Harry’s method.” He held up his flask. “This is the first time I’ve been awake in three days. It’s marvelous. We’ll be done with this trip before you know it.” Nixon’s fox circled Alma and sat herself, haunch to haunch. Alma twisted but made no move to chase her away.
Winters paused, for quite a while, Blithe thought, and then shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to deplete your stock any faster than necessary.” There was something wry in his voice that never quite came out with the other men.
“You’re a gentleman, Dick.” Nixon chuckled. “I appreciate your consideration.”
Winters didn’t laugh, but there was something about the quiet that meant he was smiling. “Anytime.”
Blithe turned on his heel and started walking away. Eula lifted her wings. “I was listening to that!”
“We got to keep moving,” he said, eyes straight ahead. It was a clear shot from one end of the deck to the other.
Notes: I have a lot of sympathy for Blithe. I think his "hysterical blindness" in Carentan is a perfect metaphor -- there's such a thing as sensory overload, and I thought his daemon would be one that is incredibly sensitive even under normal circumstances. Owls have incredible senses, and... well, the other thing about owls is that they're hilarious. Sorry, there is an actual meaningful justification for making Blithe's daemon a little owl, but just look at them -- it makes so much sense.
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 | Nixon and Waverly, Aldbourne, England, September 1943 | Speirs and Petra, Toccoa to Foy, 1942-1945 | Guarnere and Benedetta, South Philly to Bastogne, 1936-1945