Author Topic: savepoint -- wolfweed  (Read 385 times)

* Brooklyn Jones

    (12/06/2018 at 22:19)
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sunday, july 3, 1955
caldron pool
12:16 am



"Wait, so," it came impatiently, cutting through his (second) retelling of four children and their escapist tendencies, of a world of beasts and soldiers and (funnily enough, given the story's external setting) war.

To her credit, she tried her best to keep silent until the end. He wouldn't repeat himself a third time, this he'd threatened.

"The whole thing's a metaphor for heaven?"
« Last Edit: 12/11/2018 at 00:09 by Brooklyn Jones »

Jeremiah Smallweed

    (12/07/2018 at 16:12)
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He didn't wait, partly because he was unwilling to leave this second attempt at an explanation half-finished, and partly because he was not in the general habit of doing what Brooklyn Jones asked of him.

"And then," Jere continued as if she'd never interjected at all. "What happens is--wait, what? Where the hell'd you get that from?"
« Last Edit: 12/07/2018 at 16:13 by Jeremiah Smallweed »
'cause my baby, she's a real peach
even when the night come crashin' down
real peach, and the nighttime rolls away, alright
and we're comin' back to the demon-killin' work of love

* Brooklyn Jones

    (12/08/2018 at 20:14)
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The toes of her right foot, closer to the water than her left, lifted, wriggled, and then came back down, creating the smallest of splashes; her impatience was bubbling, just like the pond that frothed at their feet.

"You just said--last time, you said they all die in the end. "

She remembered it because that was when she had decided to start listening, tuning in as the story came to a sudden, morbid end.

"And they do all these things to what? To"--her chin inclined, eyebrows lifting expectantly, prompting him for an answer; when the right one didn't come, she continued--"to prove that they're worthy of being in Narnia, aka heaven."

Another theory cut in, and she voiced it, though with less confidence than her first, "Or were they dead all this time?"
« Last Edit: 12/08/2018 at 20:18 by Brooklyn Jones »

Jeremiah Smallweed

    (12/09/2018 at 17:58)
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"I never said they all--Jesus Christ, Jones, it's like you didn't even listen the first time 'round. I said the lion dies, not the kids. And then he comes back to li--"

He stopped mid-sentence, trying to figure out how exactly they had ended up arguing about the ending of a book neither of them actually cared about well after midnight.

"Y'know what, forget it. It's a shit story, anyway, and all your bloody questions've done my head in. Let's talk about somethin' else."

A grin twitched, "Like the fireworks between you and Becca last night? I'd watch that again."
I've been dreamin' 'bout us
workin' hard and savin' it up
we'll go and see the man on the moon
my girl, we've got nothin' to lose

* Brooklyn Jones

    (12/09/2018 at 21:14)
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A groan, drawn-out and embarrassed, was her only response. It was a short while before she offered anything more, and in the span of those silent seconds, she rolled onto her back with her palms covering her face.

Through her hands came the muffled reply, "Absolutely not. Next topic."

Jeremiah Smallweed

    (12/10/2018 at 18:44)
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He, too, moved, not onto his back but onto his stomach to lie next to her instead. Propping himself up on his elbows, Jeremiah Smallweed grinned down at Brooklyn Jones.

"What, you didn't like it? Not even a little bit? 'Cause I reckon that's a lie, Jones."

Shifting his weight onto one arm, he reached for her with the other, his fingers closing around her wrist and pulling her hand away from her face. "Look me in the eye and tell me you hated it, go on."
god-god-god damn, the girl was fine
and I was glad to call her mine
but she weren't mine and I weren't hers
I lost her at the five and dime

* Brooklyn Jones

    (12/10/2018 at 22:21)
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She allowed him to touch her freely, to pull her hand away from her face, to force her attention, because that was what they did now; they reached for each other without flinching, and they ribbed one another without fighting. She still wasn't quite used to it.

"It's not--" Despite the ease with which she turned toward him initially, propping her body on its side as she did so, she ripped her hand away now, huffing indignantly. "--that I liked it, ok? It's just that I didn't not like it."

The freed hand slipped under her head, supported by her elbow. Forced to face her embarrassment--at Jeremiah's insistence, no less--Brooklyn let the thoughts that rattled in her brain since yesterday, since the kiss and throughout the night, echo, unfiltered, in the haven of her mind. Then, they spilled forth, still without a filter.

"I think...I think if it hadn't been Becca, I would've liked it--" her eyes broke away from his, shy suddenly, "--more? I'm not sure why."
« Last Edit: 12/10/2018 at 22:41 by Brooklyn Jones »

Jeremiah Smallweed

    (12/10/2018 at 23:00)
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"Jesus Christ, I weren't bein' serious?"

She, on the other hand, seemed very serious indeed.

"What, you kiss a girl once--hell, you don't even bloody kiss her, you, like, tear her face off, or somethin', I dunno--and now suddenly you're a lesbian?"

He felt a little bit like he'd felt when Althea had told him that she'd kissed Helen Kane: confused, betrayed, slightly -- irrationally -- angry. And, on top of all that, extremely conflicted, for when he'd told Brooklyn not even a few minutes before that he'd have watched her kissing Rebecca Silvers all over again, he had been telling the truth.

"Alright, alright, I know how to fix this. Don't move." He shifted closer, and closer still, until they were touching. One hand came up to tilt her face towards his. He leant in towards her. He managed, just, to keep a straight face, but a hint of laughter shot through his next words, "Kiss me. You gotta kiss me, go on."
and watch him grow into a shell of a man
everythin' is takin' shape and goin' to plan
how quickly, though, life can turn around
                   one step forward,
two steps back,
he’s lost in the crowd

* Brooklyn Jones

    (12/10/2018 at 23:52)
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"Jesus Christ, I weren't bein' serious?"

"You s--"

"--and now suddenly you're a lesbian?"

She didn't flinch--remarkably enough, she would note later--and there was very little time to dwell on what she actually felt because Jeremiah didn't stop there; he was like a whirlwind, up in arms one moment, spitting an uncomfortable half-truth at her, then down, and playful, and so utterly boyish in the next.

It was his boyishness that settled her. The ego he so proudly displayed at having found an obvious answer to her offense was a rueful reminder of the boy he used to be, and she was glad for it--she knew these things could change friendships irrevocably.

"Oh, do I now?"

Like before, she allowed him to get closer, tucking her hands in and pressing them against the firm wall of his chest. When he was close enough, and when she was sure he would move no further, she waited there, also not moving closer. Cradled between the ground and his warmth, for once, Brooklyn took their nearness for what it was--good fun.

"And what if you make it worse? What if you swear me off men forever?"

Unlike him, she didn't try to hide her laughter.

Jeremiah Smallweed

    (12/11/2018 at 00:10)
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"If I didn't think you'd break my nose again, I'd kiss you right now, I swear to god."

He was only half-joking.

tuesday 4 july 1955
brooklyn's cabin
10:34 am



"Jones!"

He'd been waiting for her to appear all morning, and when she finally stumbled out of her cabin, he was ready.

"I got a question."
« Last Edit: 12/11/2018 at 22:23 by Jeremiah Smallweed »
god-god-god damn, the girl was fine
and I was glad to call her mine
but she weren't mine and I weren't hers
I lost her at the five and dime

* Brooklyn Jones

    (12/11/2018 at 00:18)
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When she emerged, haggard, bone-weary, and every bit the raging witch she was rumored to be, it was silently.

She shoved past Jeremiah without a word.

Jeremiah Smallweed

    (12/11/2018 at 14:55)
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"Oi!"

This was delivered indignantly as she barged past, looking simultaneously like she was ready to kill someone and like she had already followed through with the murder.

"Jones! Jones, wait!"

She did not wait. He had to jog to catch up.

When he finally fell into step beside her, he added almost conversationally, "You look like crap this mornin'."
« Last Edit: 12/11/2018 at 14:55 by Jeremiah Smallweed »
god-god-god damn, the girl was fine
and I was glad to call her mine
but she weren't mine and I weren't hers
I lost her at the five and dime

* Brooklyn Jones

    (12/14/2018 at 04:32)
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(Not today. Please.)

It was a plead more than it was a demand, and it was said under her breath, imperceptible to the boy that came up on her left side. She did slow for him, though, waiting at least a beat before picking up speed again.

She chose, for his sake and for the sake of the children watching them, to ignore the comment about her appearance.

"The answer's no--whatever it is."
« Last Edit: 12/21/2018 at 14:53 by Brooklyn Jones »

Jeremiah Smallweed

    (12/15/2018 at 00:12)
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"Jones, just stop a sec, alright?"

His hand shot out to grab hers, his fingers curling too tight around her wrist. He gave her no time to squirm away, but instead yanked her in towards him.

"What's gonna happen tonight?"

He asked it not for his sake -- he was no longer afraid of her like he had once been -- but for hers.
'cause my baby, she's a real peach
even when the night come crashin' down
real peach, and the nighttime rolls away, alright
and we're comin' back to the demon-killin' work of love

* Brooklyn Jones

    (12/21/2018 at 17:46)
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"Ow!"

It hadn't hurt, not really. But it seemed she was in the mood for dramatics that day; a pity, then, that the conversation took a swift turn.

Brooklyn looked at him--really looked at him--to catch the glimpse of humor that she expected in his gaze. It wasn't too long ago that these types of conversations elicited laughter from him--crude laughter that made a mockery of her pain, all without even a twinge of remorse. What she didn't expect to see there now, in this new age of friendship, was a streak of concern.

"The same thing that always happens." Her answer was curt and matter of fact. "I lock myself away and howl at the moon for a couple of hours."

Since he wasn't making fun of her--and if he was, he would sorely regret in a moment--she allowed her skepticism to give way to her own brand of humor.

"...why? Lookin' to come with?"
« Last Edit: 12/21/2018 at 18:18 by Brooklyn Jones »

Jeremiah Smallweed

    (12/22/2018 at 14:12)
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Trust her to make this into a joke, to brush it off like it was nothing when they both knew that it wasn't. He'd seen it happen firsthand, and she? Well, she lived it every month.

"Nah, I'm good."

Jeremiah thought back to the last time he'd found himself there with her, outside the Shrieking Shack. Even now, he could still picture her, fangs bared in a snarl, up against the window and just inches from his own face. His fingers loosened where they'd caught her, and then dropped away entirely.

"Seriously, though," he insisted, not willing to drop it yet. "Where they gonna put ya?"
« Last Edit: 12/22/2018 at 14:12 by Jeremiah Smallweed »
god-god-god damn, the girl was fine
and I was glad to call her mine
but she weren't mine and I weren't hers
I lost her at the five and dime

* Brooklyn Jones

    (01/10/2019 at 23:18)
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She held his gaze for a moment longer, long enough for the humor to seep back out of the conversation. He was being insistent, and naturally, her mind turned to the only possible reason: he wanted something.

Very well. She wouldn't make it easy.

"Tell me, have you heard the rumor of a bear up in the mountains?"

tuesday, july 4, 1955
brooklyn's cave
9:03 pm



That rumor, pertaining to a bear cave hidden deep in the heart of Stormness Head, was perpetrated by both Clinton and Brooklyn, at the behest of Ella. It was important to instill a certain measure of fear for the unknown, like was the case for the Shrieking Shack and the Forbidden Forest. Ella believed this fear created a boundary that others, for the most part, were reluctant to cross. This boundary then established the perfect place for creatures such as herself to hide away.

The rumored cave in Stormness Head was, in fact, a real thing. Standing before it now, with the light of the setting sun casting long shadows over its entrance, Brooklyn was grateful for Ella's foresight, and for her own. She'd led Jeremiah through a winding tale of bears and traps and missing children, all to keep him away from the truth.

She hadn't lied to him outright, per se--she'd known better than to break the tenuous trust they were starting to build--but it hadn't been easy to keep him distracted.

If his curiosity meant what she thought it did, her minor deception had been for his safety.

At least, she hoped it had.

With one last lingering look at the setting sun, Brooklyn wandered into the cave.
« Last Edit: 01/20/2019 at 21:46 by Brooklyn Jones »

Jeremiah Smallweed

    (01/11/2019 at 00:02)
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She'd thought she was slick, with that whole song and dance about the bear in the mountains.

She wasn't; he'd seen right through it.

Jeremiah Smallweed was a hell of a lot smarter than Brooklyn Jones gave him credit for.

He watched now, from where he stood behind a cluster of pines, as she disappeared into the darkness. Only when he was convinced that she was safely inside -- ironic, really, that he was concerned for her safety this time, and not his own; oh, how far they'd come -- did he venture closer, and closer still, until he found a spot that dipped inwards and sheltered him somewhat from the evening wind.

It was here that Jeremiah stayed all the way through the night. He dozed off more than once, but his sleep was a broken and fitful thing, shattered more than once by the sound of a chilling howl ripping through the air.

He didn't mind.

wednesday 5 july 1955
brooklyn's cave
too early



He minded more so now, as day began to break and he struggled to shake the chill that had seeped into him over the course of the night and still now clung to his bones.

He minded more so now, as he took the stony path back down Stormness Head, stumbling over his own numb feet and the uneven cut of the track.

He minded more so now, as he finally collapsed into his bed, its sheets smelling of Virtue, but the girl herself painfully absent.

tuesday 2 august 1955
brooklyn's cave
before sunset



He was ready this time, and he beat her up there. 

Again, he waited behind that same clump of pine trees until he saw her disappear; another five minutes ticked by before he deemed it safe enough to steal closer.

This time, he'd come prepared: snacks, for he'd inevitably be hungry before the night was out; and a blanket too, stolen from one of the many rooms in Cair Paravel.

tuesday 2 august 1955
brooklyn's cave
the moon is rising



There was a howl.

Even in sleep, he must have registered it, for a ghost of a smile flickered at the sound.

wednesday 3 august 1955
brooklyn's cave
the sun is up



The sun was had broken the horizon long ago, its pinks and oranges having settled and faded in the past hour, so that nothing more than the occasional streak of coral gave away that those colours had ever existed on this canvas at all.

Still, Jeremiah Smallweed slept.
« Last Edit: 01/11/2019 at 00:21 by Jeremiah Smallweed »
'cause my baby, she's a real peach
even when the night come crashin' down
real peach, and the nighttime rolls away, alright
and we're comin' back to the demon-killin' work of love

* Brooklyn Jones

    (02/04/2019 at 06:14)
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What many people failed to remember was, despite Brooklyn's unyielding exterior, her seemingly impassive responses to things like love and the idolization of such, she was still a girl at heart. Though she didn't actively seek it or commend it, she still recognized the beauty in things like poems, art, and meaningful gestures.

Why she didn't reciprocate any of it was another matter entirely; one that revolved less around her opinion of what that would look like--her, Brooklyn Jones, writing love poems? Merlin, help them all--and more about who she was as a person.

Displays of affection, to her, were a sign of weakness for anyone to exploit. She wasn't a fan of the idea of exposing herself so publicly, so out there for anyone to see. Like her illness, she held her emotions--her true emotions, for she was more sentimental than she let on--as closely guarded as her secrets.

There were moments, however, when she was forced to let those secrets out, for they, for once, demanded the forefront of her persona--and out they spilled now.

They softened her expression, turning the lifeless look in her eyes, the ever-present one after a night like the one she'd just had, to one of sudden and overwhelming appreciation; her fingers, normally so quick to prod and seize and bruise, trailed delicately over the curve of a cheekbone, further still, fondly, along the arch of a thrice-set bridge. When he stirred, she pulled her hands away and kept them loosely intertwined between the gap of her squatted knees.

There, in the light of the rising sun, the emotions she hid away from the world decided five minutes more wouldn't hurt; it was the least she could do.

fin.
« Last Edit: 02/04/2019 at 07:21 by Brooklyn Jones »