multiversallogs | OPEN | Woodland Song

Entry tags:

OPEN | Woodland Song

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.

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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.

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.

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.

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?"

Faramir stands quietly for a moment, listening. There is a reaction to the name but it is no more than a slight quirk of an eyebrow. He has a hard time believing that this creature - no, he, there is now a name involved, no matter how odd - would be concerned about fire safety.

"I am Faramir of Gondor."

And with the introduction he finally moves forward and sits down opposite of him. "I have yet to settle down so I make camp in this forest for now. I only arrived in this city a few days ago." There is a pause. "I apologize if my actions were rash. This place is new and unfamiliar to me."

Only Hellboy Can Prevent Forest Fires, apparently.

Hellboy gives his best approximation of a delighted smile. (With his severe, stony features, it's less reassuring than he might like.) "Hey, no kidding? I know a guy from Gondor, name of Boromir."

He muses on the multiversal application of the Small World Phenomenon as Faramir explains his situation, then nods. "A little rash, but it's fine. No harm, no foul. I can understand you're still experiencing a bit of culture shock." He gives a little one-moment gesture, then reaches into his belt and pulls out a flat silvered case, which he flips open to reveal several of what might be smaller cousins to the woodless pipe from earlier. "The moment for cigars is lost, but I'll manage with a cigarette instead. Care to join me?"

Faramir should not be surprised that his brother is so famous in these realms already. It actually brings a smile to his face, but his eyes keep glancing warily, trying to determine what the relation is. "He is my brother."

He eyes the cigarettes curiously and accepts, taking one - because everything else would be rude and it strikes him that so far the creature has shown more manners than he has. "Thank you."

Holding it up to his nose he sniffs, smelling the familiar scent of tobacco but in a way that is unfamiliar to him.

Hellboy's smile gets just a little bit wider, just about stretching the meager limits of his ability to do so. "Excellent! I'm sure he'll appreciate having family around. It doesn't seem to happen terribly often. He tell you about the work he's doing these days?" That may at least suggest how he knows Boromir.

Once Faramir has his cigarette, Hellboy glances about briefly for the twig he'd used to light his cigar, then decides that wouldn't work well enough for this case anyway. From a small box inside the cigarette case, he pulls out a wooden match, then puts the case away. He strikes the match against the rough surface of his Right Hand, lights his own cigarette first to demonstrate the process, then holds out the flame for Faramir to light his on.

Enjoy the smooth, blessed flavor of Holy Smokes, Faramir.

"Some of it, yes," Faramir answers, watching Hellboy carefully, trying to guess just what their relationship might be. "He has not mentioned you, however."

Which seems odd because one would think that the acquaintance of a huge, red creature would be something worth knowing. But then again there had been so many other things they had to speak about, Faramir had already found it hard to keep track of them all.

He looks a little skeptic but accepts the fire, lighting the cigarette and carefully tasting the smoke.

Hellboy sighs the sigh of the not actually seriously put-upon. "Man. You fight alongside a guy, you train him on writing field reports, and he doesn't even mention you to his brother. What is this city coming to." He reaches into his belt and pulls out his badge. "I'm a Senior Field Agent with Hellsing, like him."

He's not actually offended that Boromir didn't mention him. If anything, he may even consider it a sign of being considered some kind of normal, to not merit special mention.

Faramir looks at the badge in surprise, then back up at Hellboy.

"Then I must ask for your forgiveness once again. I did not realize and I am shamed to have disrespected one of Boromir's brothers in arms."

Look at that, Hellboy. You get a bow of apology.

Hellboy gives a dismissive wave. "Yeah, yeah, don't sweat it. I try to be casual about it, but I am aware of what I look like and the reactions people might have. Apology accepted."

"I thank you."

Faramir smiles at that. "I set out to teach a lesson, yet it seems I shall be the one to learn from this night."

Hellboy chuckles. "It's funny how often that happens."

With one final cloud of smoke, he looks down at the burned-down end of his cigarette, then tosses it into the campfire. "I should finish my walk home, get some sleep." He stands up and extends his left hand for a shake. "It was nice to meet you, Faramir. If you ever visit the Guild Hall, maybe I'll see you there."

Faramir rises as well and takes the hand.

"Well met, Lord Hellboy. Next time you seek out my campfire, know that you will definitely be invited."

He winces, not at the handshake, but at the form of address.

"Well thanks, but, uh... not 'Lord,' please. It's..." This is rather an uncomfortable topic for him to have to get into. (The fact that it should technically be 'King' doesn't help matters any.) He waves with his Right Hand to indicate that he can't really bring himself to get into explaining it. "If you have to be formal, 'Mister' will do just fine."

Again. Faramir frowns for a moment, because this has happened to him a lot since he got here. Maybe the addresses from his world are some form of insult here and people are just too polite to tell him?

"Very well, then." He accepts with a nod. "As you wish."

"Thanks." He gives a self-deprecating little shrug and grin. "Personal issue. Long story. Anyway... I'll see you around." A final wave, and continues on his way home.

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OPEN | Woodland Song

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