howtheyshine | A... British New Englander in King Arthur's Court?

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!"

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

The two figures are walking a few feet apart, but the rain doesn't seem to be touching either of them. This, however, definitely took time, and thus both of them have definitely taken some rain. All the same, upon hearing Edwin's voice, the larger of the two's head pops up and golden eyes brighten as he takes in Edwin's presence here. He looks once to Arthur before turning back to Edwin, his brother, who-

Who made it. Whatever had come between then and now, he'd made it. He was here. He could feel that, the senses in this new body so much more expansive than what he'd become accustomed to.

"That was you?"

And then guess who's getting tackle-scooped in delight whether he likes it or not? Edwin, that's who.

The dark red robes, still bloodstained and ruined because there had been much more pressing things to attend to first, like the fact that suddenly a body practically fell out of the sky for John, weigh Arthur down like a millstone, and he turns sharply at the unexpected voice (he can't even hear the footsteps over the rain) but John's already meeting it halfway and he hears bodies collide.

Fuck. Any semblance he had of what to think of their situation right now was already taken out back and shot by Kayne, what the fuck else do they have to deal with?

"Yellow?" But he turns towards the voices, still - this Arthur is scarred in the way he remembers, more unhealthily gaunt than the Barge, hair short and ragged around the once-trim moustache - his eyes flicking blindly over the scene, still. "I-I thought-- w-wait, how-?"

He manages a pleased squeak as he's swept off his feet and squished into a hug, and it's so unequivocally a John Hug that Edwin flings his arms around his brother and clings back without a second thought.

"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?"

It is a very long story, and this John doesn't know... most of it, really. He only knows what he's been told, what he's chosen to believe, what he's chosen to trust. He heard his brother, saw how he fought, heard his pain as a man brained himself to death. The two of them were thick as thieves in the short time they'd spent together, so while John's nature is suspicious in general... well.

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."

"Edwin," he echoes again. Flat, not in disbelief as such, but more 'this is just one more item on the tire fire, let's hope it doesn't explode'. "Right, sure, bring him with us as well, it'll only make us more noticeable."

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!"

Edwin judiciously decides not to mention that he could get rid of the pneumonia easily. That's not the point, probably.

"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?

Edited 2024-05-21 14:01 (UTC)

He's being dramatic. I'm not going to let him get a pneumonia.

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."

I can help! I'll see if it's empty.

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.

He doesn't quite flinch, at the sound of two voices in his head, so jarringly fucking familiar, and he just pulls the robe tighter around himself like it'll help keep the cold and damp away. "Right. Sure. John, which way?"

Because he's going to march determinedly forward if he's not course-corrected and he doesn't care. He's just- so tired.

More quiet, less cheerful, now that Edwin's flown off-

"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."

He doesn't settle down, when he feels the rail stop, because now he thinks he's about to walk into a tree and hesitates, which lets John get a few steps closer. And it's hard not to flinch at the presence behind him, which makes him start moving again.

"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...?"

There's plenty of room under the eaves of the building John spotted for a cardinal to get into the space. There's not much to it--it might have been a way station, at some point, a spot to rest, with the hard-packed dirt floor, barely-hanging front door, and the space that was the back door roughly boarded up. A peek through the cracks shows him the rubble of a stable.

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.

Edited (lil rephrasing) 2024-05-23 20:28 (UTC)

Edwin isn't as good at this as he should be. Which, well, that's true of-- of all of it, so that's not new. But this, specifically, is delicate, and the way he's doing it is harder than if he worked on the other side. But he knows for a fact that doing it without permission, beyond being a bad idea for friendship, is generally unacceptable.

All that to say: Edwin has his eyes squinted half-shut and the vague equivalent of a headache as he watches Arthur sleep, gently prodding half-formed nightmares away without letting himself see what they are.

John is leaning back against the wood and the rotting hay and he's watching, unsure at first of what Edwin is doing... until he realizes and there's a momentary swell of possessiveness. Followed by a sinking feeling of shame and frustration. Finally-

"If he finds out you're doing that, he's going to be angry."

Edwin almost, almost glances at John, but it feels like looking away from Arthur will end badly. No, he doesn't have wisps of possible nightmare twining out of his subconscious at every moment, but it's easy to not look at them when there's nothing there to see yet.

"I'm not... doing anything, exactly, I'm just not letting something else do something."

Even if the something else is an unsettled inkling from Arthur's wells of self-loathing.

"...yeah, that's not going to fly, just to let you know," he says quietly but he's not doing anything, not saying anything further. He's taking notes, watching Edwin at it. He's sure that if he does it, Arthur will ask eventually, about the lack of nightmares, about whether he's doing something. But that doesn't mean he can't use it sometimes, when Arthur needs his rest.

"I'm just letting you know."

"I know, but..." He frowns, and finally has to squint his eyes shut entirely and massage his forehead. He's not had as much practice at that as John. Well, John... Hart? It feels weird to think 'his brother' when this John is just as much, maybe even moreso.

With his attention off the patterns of Arthur's unformed dreams, he can think enough to think at John instead of risking more words aloud.

But you seeing things means you can do them, right? L-like with the bird. He might let you without getting... as mad. And even if he does get as mad... You'd still do it, right?

Their second night is more-- no, to say it's more relaxed would be a lie. It's less tense, which isn't exactly the same thing. John and Arthur at least know the most pertinent details now, that Charlie is okay, that Edwin has no idea what happened to Larson and isn't going to go to the Dreamlands to find out when he doesn't know he'll be able to leave. They know the general shape of what the barge is, though very little about their counterparts on it.

Their second night is also spent camped on the floor of an old windmill, after a day of finding what edible plants they could for Arthur to eat. Edwin couldn't help being a little pleased with how much he found.

John takes the first watch outside, which means he'll be taking the whole watch probably, but Edwin will let him and Arthur fight about that one.

So John is on watch when Arthur's vision returns. And Edwin is curled up under a large square of burlap as he passes some time with a nap, snugged up as close as he can possibly get to Arthur without actually touching him.

Protecc.

Even if John is outside to protecc.

No. Part of being partners is... if I can let him choose, I should. Even if I don't like it.

Arthur tells him about his dreams, after all. It's not as if Arthur is alone with his dreams or his nightmares. But he can't expect that to continue if he does something like that, if he doesn't let him share it.

Edwin looks at Arthur, worry lines wrinkling his forehead for a minute. Does he really not understand still, is he really that far off from getting it the way he wants to, the way he should?

I've... never really had a partner. Not like that.

A heavy homesickness settles in his chest and that, somehow, is even stranger.

He changes shape without thinking about it, shifts into the form of a leggy half-grown gray fox and trots over to try and climb on John's lap.

Edited 2024-07-06 02:00 (UTC)

John will glance over at Arthur as he sees everything that Edwin's done. It's not that he isn't worried about Charlie. It's not that he isn't worried about everything that just happened. It's just that-

"Let's take that break," he says quietly under his breath over to Arthur, "and then we can think about the rest."

John will happily gather him onto his lap, still amazed at the joy of physicality, of physical touch. He'll start petting Edwin's fur, more out of wonder for the feel of it, and then as a matter of comfort.

Well, if you're joining us here, you're going to be part of... part of the team. And being part of the team is similar.

They should have told Charlie before they did. He wonders if things would have gone better if he had. He wonders a lot of things about what happened.

He stretches luxuriously, gives a yawn and a little yip.

Yeah. I-- I would like that too. Back h... home, I'm on the team. And I have my dads, and they've been introducing me to their family. I can't wait for you to meet my dads.

The fact that they've managed anything for Arthur to eat is a saving grace for his temper and patience, but Yellow- Edwin's presence is a complicated reminder of just how much they don't know.

Edwin isn't secretive about the fact there is another John and Arthur; it's less jarring than it would have been forty-eight hours ago, but it's still too much for him to have the space mentally to care about.

It's hard to think past Kayne's stick.

Arthur spends most of the day sleeping. Catching up on what rest he can get before they head out, because he can't do anything else blind. So when he wakes up late, to the sound of the wind picking up roughly outside and making the shack they're in creak uncertainly, it's easy to believe he's still blind for a moment.

Then he blinks, and rubs his eyes, and he realises the shadows have depths, and his breath catches in his throat.

"Fuck."

Edwin hears the soft sound of Arthur's voice as he dozes, and shifts to press his back against Arthur's leg without properly waking.

After all, fuck is basically punctuation. Everything is probably fine!

...dads?

Yeah, he's got no context for that as a thing. No context for how that could be.

Another yip as he scrabbles sideways so he can roll over and sit up, still on John's lap.

Yes! Jedao is my first dad, he adopted me, and then he got married and now Hakkai is my dad too. Jedao was the first person to be kind to me other than y... you?

That's going to get confusing fast.

Yeah, yeah it is.

And who, or what, is he? How did you meet?

Whargarble where to even begin?

Well, when I first got to the barge, I had no idea where I was or what was happening. Arthur and uh, y... The other... pair...? They didn't even know I existed apart from-- from us?

Okay now he's really confused.

Anyway, uh, I was exploring, and I came out on deck and... the view from the ship, John, it's like swimming in galaxies. And for us, seeing the way we can... sometimes we still just go up and watch the sky together when everyone else is mostly asleep.

But, right, Arthur was on deck, and I... he panicked when he realized who I was. I... I pushed him down a steep set of stairs, and I broke his neck, and I killed him. People... people on the barge don't stay dead, wardens, they come back after a certain amount of time no matter what, but inmates the Admiral needs to get a request.

Some other wardens took me to Zero, which is where there are cells that can contain pretty much anything. It feels... awful in there. Not for everyone, probably, but it felt awful. Jedao heard about what happened, heard about who I was, and he came and got me out and talked to me. He understood so much, because he was made from someone else, too, a partial version of them that no one thought was good enough.

The unexpected press against his leg makes him jolt upright, but he manages not to scramble away when he sees the mop of hair next to him, rugged up under a sack.

(They've done inventory already; the robe stays, but only because it's the softest thing to sleep on right now, so he's got it draped on himself as a passable blanket.)

John had told him what Edwin looks like, sure, but it's different to seeing the young man next to him. "Jesus..."

The sudden movement is enough to wake him, but it's a sign of how Edwin's been socialized that he doesn't flinch in reply. Just yawns until he thinks he can feel his jaw creak and blinks owlishly at Arthur.

"Is it morning?" Hang on, he'll remember why Arthur looking directly at him is Meaningful in a moment. "Do you need anything?"

Edited 2025-01-15 02:19 (UTC)

There's a long pause before this John has to ask-

Did he know that other John?

The fox looks up at John and cocks his head, confused.

Yes.

He almost elaborates on how well, but decides that's not a currently relevant detail.

I don't- I don't think John asked him to, though.

Did he? Would it matter? What difference would it make? Only now he's wondering about it, so clearly there's some part of it that makes him want to know.

Edited 2025-01-15 02:18 (UTC)

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

A... British New Englander in King Arthur's Court?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject