Leo's wandering, because he doesn't really know what else to do here. In reality, he's waiting for something to change: to wake up or make a breakthrough and be back on the dock, or in his tent, or even in his bedroom at his parent's house. Anything that isn't some random, apparently magical reality from which he has no escape
( ... )
Leo nods once, making his way out into the surf, glad the sand is so soft under his bare feet. He looks up at the man he's about to assist, taking in his appearance before saying simply, "I'm called Leo."
A week isn't a long time, really. Seven days isn't much, but for Hobbes it's been enough to change his life more than once.
This time it wasn't life-changing, but it had felt like a long time.
He's waiting when he sees them. The speck becomes a figure becomes a clearly defined silhouette. It's not even until Mike gets out of the boat that he pushes off the tree and walks down. He's walking slowly, casually, but he doesn't even pause when his feet hit the surf. Keeps going. One foot in front of the other and one prolonged movement as he pulled - wrenched - Mike against him, crushing him, water up to their knees but that didn't matter.
He breathed out heavily against Mike's neck, shuddering a little.
Maybe he's been alone for too long, sunk too far into himself, but he doesn't really notice Hobbes until he's being yanked against him, almost stumbling as the waves lap at his knees.
Awkwardly, he curls one arm around his waist and holds him close, the rope still gripped tight in his other hand. If he loses the canoe he's not sure he'll ever be able to talk to Lennox again.
"Missed you too," he says. His voice is low and rough with disuse. He hasn't spoken a word in seven days.
"You missed the magic," Hobbes said, loosening but not letting go. His forehead was still pressed against Mike's neck, something that had been tense for a long time finally untangling in his gut.
"You missed the magic, and I missed your birthday." He sighed softly, laughing to himself. "Sorry."
"Don't care about my birthday," he says, smiling very faintly and pressing a kiss to the crown of Tom's head. But for Eostre, he'd barely noticed it. It's been a long time since he's cared about things like that. There's been no room for it.
"What magic?"
At some point he needs to move again and get the damned boat up the beach, but right now that seems distant and unimportant. Days since he's spoken, days since he's touched someone else, and for some reason he hadn't been conscious at the time of missing Hobbes but now it's hitting him like a physical force. He's almost breathless with it.
Mike had disappeared...again. This time, though, Eostre didn't seem quite as worried as she had before, so Abby didn't think she needed to kick his ass. She might anyway. Some people just needed the occasional ass-kicking, and Mike might be one of those people.
She was walking along the beach when she spotted him, trying to haul a canoe by himself and failing spectacularly. She approached him and asked cheerfully, "Hey Mike. Need a hand?"
He glances up at the sound of the voice, though for some reason it takes him a second to fit it to a face. Things are calmer, yes, but the price of that is that they're also not all connecting the way they normally do.
He gets it after a second, though, and smiles slightly.
"Yeah," he says, glancing back at the boat. "Guess so."
"This is sturdy. Did you make it?" She wouldn't be surprised if he did. From what she knows of his past, he's had to be pretty resourceful just to survive.
He looks...better. It's sort of indefinable, but maybe it's something in his face. Like he put something (or somethings) to rest.
He shakes his head. "I didn't. Lennox did. Let me use it." For some reason. Maybe just to be rid of him for a while. He likes to think that things are better there now, but he just doesn't know for sure.
He palms sweat and water off his face. "Eostre and the girls doing okay?"
Annagovia trotted up to the shoreline to watch the man with his small boat with a keenly intelligent gaze, but that was a direwolf for you.
"It's rude not to help," Duo told her, ruining her magisterial poise by shaking a hand through her ruff, which she immediately rounded on, playfully flipping herself over and rolling on the sand. Duo rolled his eyes and jogged over to the canoe.
"I've got this weird impression like you weren't out there fishing," he said, glancing Mike over, eyebrows inching up.
For the last week, off and on, there have been voices in his head. He had known at the time that they weren't real and was never frightened by them, but he's been so withdrawn into himself that until he looks up he thinks this is merely more of the same.
"Hi," he says, and it comes out sounding rough. He clears his throat and glances back at the canoe.
"Needed to get away for a while. Deal with some things."
He nods. "Far as I know. Haven't seen 'em in a week." It strikes him now, and had before he'd left, that what he's done might not actually sound that good to a lot of people, leaving Eostre here with two barely two-month-old babies. Not that she hasn't had help, but still.
He just has to trust that the right people will understand.
He tilts his chin back at the boat. "Gimmie a hand? Need to get it up past the high tide line."
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Everything feels weirdly distant.
He shrugs, the movement a bit hampered by the rope over his shoulder. "If you want."
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At another time in other circumstances he might have considered trying something.
Now, though, he simply nods, gaze landing on the kid's face again. "Mike," he says, and inclines his head to stern. "Get the back?"
Talking feels awkward and a little unfamiliar. He hasn't done it in a week.
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This time it wasn't life-changing, but it had felt like a long time.
He's waiting when he sees them. The speck becomes a figure becomes a clearly defined silhouette. It's not even until Mike gets out of the boat that he pushes off the tree and walks down. He's walking slowly, casually, but he doesn't even pause when his feet hit the surf. Keeps going. One foot in front of the other and one prolonged movement as he pulled - wrenched - Mike against him, crushing him, water up to their knees but that didn't matter.
He breathed out heavily against Mike's neck, shuddering a little.
"Jesus , you look like hell."
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Awkwardly, he curls one arm around his waist and holds him close, the rope still gripped tight in his other hand. If he loses the canoe he's not sure he'll ever be able to talk to Lennox again.
"Missed you too," he says. His voice is low and rough with disuse. He hasn't spoken a word in seven days.
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"You missed the magic, and I missed your birthday." He sighed softly, laughing to himself. "Sorry."
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"What magic?"
At some point he needs to move again and get the damned boat up the beach, but right now that seems distant and unimportant. Days since he's spoken, days since he's touched someone else, and for some reason he hadn't been conscious at the time of missing Hobbes but now it's hitting him like a physical force. He's almost breathless with it.
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She was walking along the beach when she spotted him, trying to haul a canoe by himself and failing spectacularly. She approached him and asked cheerfully, "Hey Mike. Need a hand?"
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He gets it after a second, though, and smiles slightly.
"Yeah," he says, glancing back at the boat. "Guess so."
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"This is sturdy. Did you make it?" She wouldn't be surprised if he did. From what she knows of his past, he's had to be pretty resourceful just to survive.
He looks...better. It's sort of indefinable, but maybe it's something in his face. Like he put something (or somethings) to rest.
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He palms sweat and water off his face. "Eostre and the girls doing okay?"
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"It's rude not to help," Duo told her, ruining her magisterial poise by shaking a hand through her ruff, which she immediately rounded on, playfully flipping herself over and rolling on the sand. Duo rolled his eyes and jogged over to the canoe.
"I've got this weird impression like you weren't out there fishing," he said, glancing Mike over, eyebrows inching up.
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"Hi," he says, and it comes out sounding rough. He clears his throat and glances back at the canoe.
"Needed to get away for a while. Deal with some things."
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"Babies okay?"
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He just has to trust that the right people will understand.
He tilts his chin back at the boat. "Gimmie a hand? Need to get it up past the high tide line."
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