OPEN | Woodland Song

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

Who: Faramir and OPEN
What: Rangers Gonna Range
Where: The woods of Sobek Croix
When: the first days after his arrival
Notes: none so far
Warnings: He's out hunting, so, uh. Try not to look like a rabbit? :D


It is not that he is mistrustful because that is not his nature and if Boromir decided to pledge loyalty to Hellsing his heart would never allow him to doubt their integrity. Still, it is not in him to stay within the organization's walls for long, not until he has a better understanding of this place and not until he has sorted through all his thoughts and doubts and confusion. Until he can be at peace with the idea that there might be a reason for him to be here.

He mostly camps out, exploring and wandering the ranges of Sobek Croix' woods, hunting, thinking. Accepting to be here is hard. Coming to terms with the idea that he failed is hard. Not being with his Rangers any longer is hard, too, and should they not be here with him as they set out for Osgiliath together? Because that is what he assumes to be his fate. Faramir, too, must have fallen in battle. That it shall not be for him to know what is to be of Gondor and Middle Earth is probably the hardest of all. He can only try to imagine how that very feeling must have been like for his brother upon his arrival.

He is studying his CiD as well, still careful, respectful, watching the news and conversations unfold before his eyes while he sits by a small campfire in the evening, wondering how any of this is possible, getting edgier with each passing day, hungry for information. Clockwork and lightning. How does it all work? Once he is more accustomed, more at ease with his device he will set out and ask for libraries, schools, places of lore and knowledge.

For now he will keep roaming the district, collecting berries and mushrooms and testing out the new arrows made from Croix wood.

Comments

[hehaseatenthepancake]

One evening, after Faramir makes camp and darkness has just begun to settle in, there are the sounds of something moving through the woods. Whoever or whatever it is isn't very subtle about it, twigs snapping sharply underfoot and underbrush rustling.

From the sound of its footfalls, it's rather heavy, and the silhouette that can be seen approaching from the distance is very tall, very wide, and very lumbering. Every so often, there is a brief glint of light in its vicinity, never bright enough or long enough to provide any actual illumination, just enough to register that it's there before it's gone again.

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

Faramir's ears catch the sound early on and he stills for a moment, pinpointing distance and direction, staring into the dusky underwood ahead.

The shape he sees is quite alarming and he gets up, slowly retreating into the shadows outside the fire's glow. He figures that at this point it will attract more attention to put it out than to leave it abandoned. Ducking behind a stump he watches and listens, quietly reaching for his bow.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

The intruder continues to approach. It's actually possible that, at the distance Faramir first spotted it, it could've been traveling at an angle that would've missed the camp, but having spotted the fire, it's made the slight course correction to intercept it.

By the time it gets close enough that the campfire can throw any light on the shape, it is apparent that the initial impression of hugeness was entirely accurate. Walking up on two cloven hooves, firelight and shadow play across bright, deep red skin with a texture like a cross between leather and stone. Solid orange eyes glow faintly beneath a formidable brow topped by the stumps of what would otherwise be a majestic pair of horns.

The earlier glints of light turn out to be from reflections off of a mighty sword held in a four-fingered right hand that looks like it should be attached to a statue twice the creature's own size. The slight stains still evident on the sword suggest that whatever the golden metal is that the sword is made of, it's not actually gold, which would not stand up to such treatment. (Also, if Faramir has any sense for such things, it's strongly magical.) A filthy rag is clutched in the more normal sized left hand. Covering its sloping shoulders and back and dangling down its body are the tattered remains of what may once have been some sort of coat.

The creature stands slackly at the edge of the fire for a few moments, as though catching up with the fact that it had stopped walking. It then drapes the rag over its shoulder to free up the hand to stroke its chin.

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

Faramir draws in a small, inaudible breath, his eyes widening at the sight. The grip on his weapon tightens. To him, this unfamiliar being looks like a creation of the Dark Lord himself, even though he finds his heart not frozen in the same fear that powerful minions such as the Nazgûl evoke.

He watches with a mixture of fearful respect, tense with adrenaline. Reaching back for an arrow he draws his bow quietly, getting ready for the eventuality of a battle.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

After some pondering at the fire, the creature starts to look around, first craning its neck, then doing a slow spin in place. While its eyesight is very good on a basic "lowest line on the eye chart" level, its ability to see in the dark isn't much better than the average human's, and seems to completely miss Faramir in the shadows.

Finally, having concluded that the campsite has apparently been suddenly and mysteriously abandoned, Hellboy mutters, "Man. Smokey Bear would be pissed." Not really sure how to handle it just yet, but not wanting to leave it, he decides that he might as well take a load off for a while, and sits down nearer to the fire.

From somewhere on the belt that had previously been hidden by the coat and the shadows, he pulls out a cigar. He nearly reaches into his belt for his cigar cutter, but decides that since he already has it out, his sword will work just as well. A nearby twig stuck into the fire serves as an impromptu match. Once he's got the cigar going and puffing away, he pulls out a canteen, pours some of its water onto a slightly less dingy portion of his towel, and goes back to work on cleaning the sword.

"Geez, what the hell was that stuff, anyway?!"

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

It speaks.

Faramir winces back into the shadow for a moment but not too long. This should not concern him too much now, should it? Orcs can speak and most of Sauron's vilest creatures possess that very same ability. True, Faramir cannot distinguish what the strange words mean - something about a smoking bear, maybe a self-reference? - but he watches, eyes narrowing.

Because while the creature lights the strangest pipe Faramir has ever seen, there is still the sword, red with evidence of recent slaughter. And Faramir knows that while he is a skilled warrior his chances in this fight remain in the shadows of the woods. Boromir might be the one to slay such a creature in the open, he is not. He aims at the creature's head, just between the eyes, like he has done a thousand times before, his duty a painful routine, cleansing the woods of his homelands from intruders. And yet he hesitates.

Is not he the intruder, the trespassing creature in this new and unfamiliar land? Faramir does not know exactly what it is but something in that thought lowers his hand and the arrow jumping forward hits nothing but the woodless pipe instead.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

Apparently, water did the trick, loosening up the red gunk on the sword enough that it could be wiped clean, leaving nothing but gleaming gold. Hellboy's so pleased by it that the close shot with the arrow is even more of a shock than it otherwise might've been.

"Son of a--" he exclaims, his head rocking back in the one concession to the instinct to dodge that's available to him in his seated position. He puts the towel down in his lap and plucks the wrecked stump of the cigar out of his mouth, looking at it with narrowing eyes and tightening lips. For a long moment, he looks incredibly angry and like he's about to scramble to his hooves and start some mayhem... but then he takes a deep breath in and out, and settles back down.

"Okay, pal," he calls out into the darkness, with the tensely even tone of someone restraining his temper, "I can understand you maybe didn't want me at your fire, but that was a perfectly nice cigar you just ruined. Now, I'm going to put my sword away. If you shoot me, it'll probably just piss me off, so don't do that. How about you come take a seat, and we can chat like civilized folks."

Hellboy does indeed put his sword away, switching it to his left hand and sheathing it in the scabbard slung on his back, slowly so that his unseen assailant can see how non-threatening he's being. This may not be the most tactically wise move, but he's right about arrows being more of a nuisance than a danger. Just in case, though, his Right Hand is not laying idle in his lap; instead, he's holding it up like he's being mugged, where it can readily move to block any arrows aimed at his face.

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

Faramir waits in the shadows, narrowing his eyes at what is happening. He frowns, because of all the reactions he anticipated and silently prepared for, this comes not even remotely close. So for a moment nothing happens as he ponders his next move. The anger in the creature's voice makes him extremely wary - the fact that it's not acting upon him bewilders him.

But he is being called out here and despite all the guerilla warfare that is his specialty, there is no way he can ignore that and just aim at a vulnerable spot like a coward.

"You were not invited." Bow still in hand he leaves his hideout, moving slowly but signaling that he is ready to do just that - talk. It was his decision to expose himself with nothing more but a warning shot after all and he has to own up to that now.

"Who are you?" He could have said what, but the words civilized intrigue him. And kind of trigger his good manners.

[hehaseatenthepancake]

Faramir's point about not being invited is met with a nodding half-shrug, acknowledging it but not especially apologetic about it. For the moment, he makes sure to keep his hands noticeably open and out in the open, resting on his knees so that Faramir doesn't get anxious.

"My name is Hellboy. Yes, really." The way he says that suggests maybe that he regularly deals with people not believing his name. "I live about half a mile from here, past the woods. I saw the fire on my way home, thought I'd say hi to whoever was camping out. Then you weren't here, and I was taught that it's irresponsible to leave a fire unattended." Again, that half-shrug, inviting Faramir to do the math on his sticking around. "So that's me. How about you?"

[joiedeviolet.livejournal.com]

Sobek Croix is way out of Kate's way, but the farther away she is from home base, the less likely she is to run into somebody who doesn't need to know that she is skilled in archery. Anybody who knows is fine, she doesn't care. But Erik, Raven, and John are in the 'Needs to think that Kate's just a regular teen' department. She'd like to keep them there until further notice as well.

Stalked out on a low tree branch, Kate quietly eyes Faramir as she raises her bow, arrow locked and loaded. One eye on him in case of sudden movements, she tugs the bow's string firmly and carefully and releases her fingers with just a bit of finesse that comes with experience.

Just because she timed it right means the arrow enters the flickering flames of the fire far away from Faramir and exits the other side aflame, sparkling all the way in a shower of purple glitter as it slams into a nearby tree. Man, she loves these trick arrows a little too much.

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

It is familiar - the high, sirring sound of the arrow's flight, registering only after the low impact into wood when it finds its mark.

Only the sudden blaze startles him and Faramir stares at the flames engulfing the arrow longer than he usually would. It's all one fluid motion from there. Determining his aggressor's position from the angle he retreats to the nearest treeline, resting his back against a trunk as he reaches for his own bow.

It was no more than a warning shot, obviously, but that doesn't stop him from taking cover and getting a swift aim ready as well.

[joiedeviolet.livejournal.com]

It's not even a warning shot; just Kate trying out her new weapons and seeing a prime opportunity for real world practice. The arrow itself is practically safe. No metal tip and just an angled wooden one and it's mere velocity that sticks it to the tree bark.

She shimmies down the tree, catching her jeans' back pocket on a stray branch and ripping it on the way to the forest floor. "I come in peace," Kate confesses with a sheepish look and her hands raised shoulder height, bow still held in her right. "It's me, Kate. Lady Kate, if you will."

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

When Faramir recognizes the voice he lowers his bow. A quick glance around the trunk confirms the words and he steps away from the trees, heading back towards the fire. "My apologies."

He takes off his hood, giving a slight bow in greeting. "You startled me, my lady," he confesses with a measuring look at her bow. "This is unfamiliar land for me still."

[joiedeviolet.livejournal.com]

"No, it's my bad," she says with a laugh. "You weren't in any danger anyway. It's just a sparkler arrow."

To prove it, she crosses the space between her and the tree and plucks the spent arrow, holding it up to show him. "No metal tip and it's really just a firecracker. I use these for practice instead of the real deal."

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

"Sparkler arrow," Faramir repeats, watching it curiously. "A most fitting name. Their effect is quite interesting."

He tilts his head. "I had no idea you were skilled in archery."

[joiedeviolet.livejournal.com]

Slipping her quiver along her shoulder, Kate walks back to the fire and looks around for a tree trunk or a rock to sit on.

"I picked it up at music camp a few years ago," she explains, ripping off the rest of her torn pocket and tossing the scrap of fabric into the fire. "I also play the cello."

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

"The cello?" he inquires. "An instrument of your world?"

When he notices her searching gaze he follows her, motioning to the small camp he set up. "Please, sit, my lady."

[gifted-hands.livejournal.com]

At some point the sound of hoofbeats will be heard over the crackling of the fire, the sound of a horse approaching at a steady canter. Tadhg is out stretching his legs after neatly evading a man who thought to capture the friendly "animal". As if Tadhg couldn't smell the halter he concealed behind his back.

He can smell something else now, though, woodsmoke from a burning nearby. This place has few enough trees to risk any being lost to a careless blaze, so he detours to investigate. Before long he draws close enough to realize two things: that the fire is small and under control, and that he can pick out a familiar scent the smoke had covered.

He pauses among the trees, a deep grey shape among dappled shadow. A small, furry shape (http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y61/karihan/RP%20Whossits/4168405-8-week-old-chocolate-sable-ferret-kit.jpg), until now concealed by his mane, scrambles up to perch between his equine ears, chirping his own recognition of the man on the other side of the campfire. Why hello there.

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

Faramir takes a bite of roasted rabbit meat and raises his head at the familiar sound of a rider approaching. He heard people on the roads before but this one here actually approaches him. When the horse stops outside the fire's reach the dark shape is enough to make him aware of its presence and he gets to his feet.

"Who is it?" he asks into the darkness. Boromir would have greeted him by now or otherwise make his presence known.

After two careful steps into Tadhg's direction he stops, realizing that this horse comes without halter and saddle.

[gifted-hands.livejournal.com]

He does have a rider though, if one counts the ferret. With a soft nicker, Tadhg steps into the firelight, blinking large, liquid brown eyes. The impulse to once more tease and trick a human who thinks him to be an ordinary horse rises, but he restrains himself. That's no way to treat a man he's coming to think of as a friend.

But before he can answer Faramir properly, he needs to return to man-form, and before he can do that, he needs to give Dána somewhere else to perch. He steps to the side and lowers his nose to a low, flat boulder. Obeying his silent command, the ferret skitters down his nose and onto the rock. Obeying his own curiosity, Dána slides off the rock and bustles toward Faramir, chittering a greeting and licking his lips at the smell of roast rabbit.

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

Faramir looks surprised for a moment but recognizes Dána soon enough. "Greetings. I did not take you for a lone rider."

He offers his arm, should the ferret wish to climb it, without showing any intention of simply picking him up himself. He does however look up, eyeing Tadhg curiously - maybe a bit concerned.

"And you, where did you leave the man you carried? Is he in danger?"

[gifted-hands.livejournal.com]

Dána accepts the invitation, swarming up to Faramir's shoulder as he so often does to Tadhg's. He pokes his nose in the man's ear, though only for an instant.

As for the horse, well, he has only one way to answer Faramir's question. Angling himself so that his hooves no longer point in Faramir's direction, Tadhg rears ... and transforms. His stallion-form melts into a shimmer of white fire, before contracting into the body of a familiar, dark-haired man.

"No danger." Somehow Tadhg produces a smile that blends cheek with apology. "I was just out for a run."

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

Faramir's eyes widen and he takes a few steps back. He has come across wizardry but never of this kind. So what actually happens is that by the time the white fire disappears and Tadhg's features become visible, he has drawn his bow, aiming straight at him.

The muscles in his face relax when he recognizes the other man - just slightly though. The rest of his body remains still and tense. "That must have been quite the run."

[gifted-hands.livejournal.com]

"Passable." Though Tadhg's smile drops away at the sight of an arrow pointed in his direction, he shows no other reaction beyond a small sigh. Taking a step backward, he seats himself on the rock Dána so recently vacated. The ferret himself chirps softly, sensing the tension in the shoulder on which he sits, but remaining as calm as his master does.

"I have offered you no threat, Lord of Gondor." He gazes up at Faramir with the dark, animal eyes he didn't bother to hide after transforming. His voice carries clear, calm and quiet, holding no note of either fear or anger, but only the faintest trace of disappointment. "You will have no need--" a jerk of his chin in the bow's direction "--of that."

[itisforfeit.livejournal.com]

"No, you have not."

Faramir holds the gaze, uneasy with what he is facing, but the truth of these words make him relax a bit. He lowers his weapon. "But will you offer me an explanation?"