Yellow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
howtheyshine) wrote2024-05-20 10:39 pm
howtheyshine) wrote2024-05-20 10:39 pm
A... British New Englander in King Arthur's Court?
It will be, he decides, for a "weekend." A quick trip to make sure other-John-and-Arthur are okay, to help them if they aren't. It scares the shit out of him and he debates bringing his John and Arthur, but that... seems like it could end badly for the Arthur part of the group. Edwin isn't sure why he has that particular conviction, but he trusts it.
So popping back to his timeline, he tells John, is to find the Charlie there and heal him. Get him home if he needs the transportation. It's not a lie! It's just not the whole truth, either.
He doesn't introduce himself when he finds Charlie sputtering blood in the middle of a field in Spain. Just fixes up that injury and takes them both to New York, before leaving Charlie at the address of a 'friend' that John mentioned. It's a church, not a house, but Charlie should be safe enough either way.
He's preoccupied during the whole undramatic rescue, searching this plane for the feel of his other-brother, but he gets nothing until he stops looking for place and starts looking through time on a whim.
Then, Charlie and the one-armed priest Edwin brought him to are treated to the vision of the weird teen boy in the corner frowning into the air, muttering, "What in the fucking--" and vanishing without finishing his sentence.
It's raining. It's soggy with rain, where he blinks back into existence, and his loose sweater immediately feels ten times heavier. Not that it matters, really, but it's not pleasant. Which is why he dries it with a thought and nudges the rain to fall around him instead of on him.
He squints through the gray and starts walking, following the feel of his familiar-unfamiliar family, until he sees two figures through the downpour.
Two!
Edwin grins, almost saves himself time by teleporting the last thirty feet, then realizes that will probably startle them both, badly.
"John! Arthur! I-Is that you?" He's jogging toward the shapes as he talks. "It's--it's Edwin, uh, Yell-- Yedwin-- I mean, I was Yellow, but I picked a name. I told John."
He wipes damp bangs out of his eyes, those still wet even if his clothes aren't and the rain is now leaving him alone.
"The body! It worked! You got it!"
So popping back to his timeline, he tells John, is to find the Charlie there and heal him. Get him home if he needs the transportation. It's not a lie! It's just not the whole truth, either.
He doesn't introduce himself when he finds Charlie sputtering blood in the middle of a field in Spain. Just fixes up that injury and takes them both to New York, before leaving Charlie at the address of a 'friend' that John mentioned. It's a church, not a house, but Charlie should be safe enough either way.
He's preoccupied during the whole undramatic rescue, searching this plane for the feel of his other-brother, but he gets nothing until he stops looking for place and starts looking through time on a whim.
Then, Charlie and the one-armed priest Edwin brought him to are treated to the vision of the weird teen boy in the corner frowning into the air, muttering, "What in the fucking--" and vanishing without finishing his sentence.
It's raining. It's soggy with rain, where he blinks back into existence, and his loose sweater immediately feels ten times heavier. Not that it matters, really, but it's not pleasant. Which is why he dries it with a thought and nudges the rain to fall around him instead of on him.
He squints through the gray and starts walking, following the feel of his familiar-unfamiliar family, until he sees two figures through the downpour.
Two!
Edwin grins, almost saves himself time by teleporting the last thirty feet, then realizes that will probably startle them both, badly.
"John! Arthur! I-Is that you?" He's jogging toward the shapes as he talks. "It's--it's Edwin, uh, Yell-- Yedwin-- I mean, I was Yellow, but I picked a name. I told John."
He wipes damp bangs out of his eyes, those still wet even if his clothes aren't and the rain is now leaving him alone.
"The body! It worked! You got it!"
no subject
"Yes! Me and-- and my friend Hunter. It was his deal, his wish, he gave it to both of us." He leans back enough to see the face that John picked, his expression as excited as his voice. "I got back there, to the ship. The barge. Oh, oh, and the best part is that Kayne can't influence it. He can't take it, or damage it, or pull you out."
He looks Arthur's way, sees those scars that are somehow less familiar now than the ones on the Arthur he knows, and falters. Arthur might not be able to see it yet, but Edwin--still very much bescooped by John--shrinks a little. Not literally, but there's a nervous uncertainty that wasn't there a moment ago.
He forgot, somehow, that he and this Arthur aren't friends.
Not yet, says his brother's voice, though it's his own internal guide-John, not something actually spoken.
"W-well... uh. It's a long story?"
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The body certainly fucking helps, he'll say that.
It had been quite the boon, dropped along with them as they'd come into existence here in the middle ages. There'd been a brief squabble, a discussion over whether it belonged to someone or not ('I'm telling you, it feels like it's made for me') and then a brief, hasty, worried discussion about whether or not they should separate that had ended when they'd both come to the conclusion that with everything that was on the line, they couldn't discount any advantages they were given. There'd been a brief worry that the body was a trap but Kayne wanted them to succeed, after all, and once John was inside, he'd determined that this didn't 'feel' like Kayne at all. Their walking since then had been quite a lot of 'skin is weird when it's your own' and 'my hair is longer than yours' and Arthur had gotten to feel that beard with his hands in a way that made John feel warm in his newly-formed chest despite some of the other awkwardness.
It'd been a packed 10 minutes, and they'd been allowing some time to cool off when Edwin had appeared. John doesn't put him down, but he does double back over the obvious considering.
"Yellow is here, Arthur, though I told you he prefers Edwin now. So. Edwin is here and he's in a body much like mine, it feels like, except his is much younger. He looks like he's just under twenty years old, give or take a few, with lighter skin more like yours, brown hair, and a shorter haircut that he's kept dry from the rain. I've got him in my arms right now. That's why I ran ahead."
He looks to Edwin.
"He can't see quite yet; his eyes have to heal somewhat from holding me. But he should have his vision back in a day or so."
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At least Edwin knows now that it's not directed at him specifically. Arthur is just horribly overwhelmed and snapping is the easiest way out.
"Can we at least find somewhere out of the fucking rain to deal with introductions? We cannot afford to catch pneumonia on top of everything else!"
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"I can be unnoticeable."
And he proves it by shifting into a cardinal and clinging to his brother's beard.
His psychic voice is still younger, but there's an echo of how he used to sound in it. The question is for both John and Arthur.
Where are we going? Why are we here?
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John's voice in Edwin's mind is wry and practically comes with an eyeroll even if he doesn't do one. It feels like the kind of thing Arthur would feel despite not being able to see. Instead, John's hand will rise up to gently stroke over the back feathers of the little bird.
"Arthur, Edwin's turned into a small bird. I think I could do that, now that I've seen him do it." But- "...which we can try out once we've found shelter, of course." And on that note- "I think I see a somewhat ramshackle shack not too far from here. I doubt it will have supplies, but it should keep us out of the rain."
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He drops into the air, flutters awkwardly for a moment until he gets a grip on both flying and keeping the rain off, and then zips off toward the shack John spotted, which leaves him and Arthur briefly on their own.
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Because he's going to march determinedly forward if he's not course-corrected and he doesn't care. He's just- so tired.
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"This way, Arthur. And-"
And seeing how Edwin was able to do it, he's able to shield Arthur from the rain as well. He hasn't figured out drying him off without setting his clothes on fire, but it's something. Hopefully.
"I can tell him not to do that. If you'd prefer."
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"I don't know, John. I just- I need a fucking break." The word is a growl, lips curled around it, unhappy - but moreover, stressed. "I can't- I-I don't know how to think right now, everything keeps fucking happening a-and we can't do anything about any of it. What the fuck happened to Larson, then, if Y- if Edwin is here, what about..." He pauses again, throat suddenly aching as he chokes quietly on the name. "Charlie...?"
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It's drafty and damp, the latter of which is easy to take care of, at least. He's been practicing state changes and environmental manipulation. Basics anyway. He pops outside to claim some wood from the stable, blinks back into the shack, and dries the wood so he can get a very small fire going. He pops back outside two more times to gather as much wood as he can to dry and stack against one wall.
By the time Arthur and John catch up, a fire will crackle softly away in a scraped out pit, and there will be enough wood to one side for it to stay fed through the night. The shack is even edging toward warm.
Edwin-as-himself stands near the boarded-up door out to the stables, and he'll be locked on their reactions as they come inside. Look see he can most definitely be helpful.
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"Let's take that break," he says quietly under his breath over to Arthur, "and then we can think about the rest."