Post by Solomon Moon on Jan 25, 2020 13:41:08 GMT -5
As the dark-haired man whipped around, Jack knew he had made a mistake.
Objectively, Jack was a solid two inches taller than Solomon, but he felt damn near five feet tall all of a sudden as a single eye locked onto his soul, somehow cold as ice and hot as hell in one instant. The way he clutched at his blade was alarming enough that Jack ought to have done the same, if his bones weren't suddenly made of concrete, and his skin full of bricks. He couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to, for a solidly thick moment, as he realized the extreme gravity of his fuckup.
Good gods.
Finally, he managed to muster the nerve and the resolve to speak, excreting the first flurry of words he could come up with to greet the steely man, but even as he spoke, he felt like he was only digging himself deeper into a pit. With every other word, he could feel the man's visceral annoyance increase by leagues. It seemed to be taking everything in him to keep from lashing out at Jack, and the corvid faunus was very grateful for that hint of restraint.
He was considering turning tail and running back the way he came, but couldn't before a low growl rumbled at him, suspicious and frigid. Followed? By... By what, exactly? Grimm weren't especially known for stalking their prey, or at least not any Jack had encountered. They seemed mostly content to ambush and give immediate chase, not creeping through the woods, waiting for a chance to strike.
Still, suddenly he was worried that maybe he had actually drawn Grimm to this poor guy's camp site. In retrospect, he felt like a complete idiot for coming here. His own camp had already been overrun and destroyed, and he couldn't imagine how the big man would react if he told him as much. This was an increasingly stupid and arguably dangerous decision, and he was regretting every second of it.
Then, as plain and cold as he'd warned him of potential pursuers, Solomon ordered him to get inside the shelter, and he was quite inclined to oblige the man. More out of fear than anything else, honestly- fear of the Grimm that were no doubt watching in the shadows, and fear of the militant man in front of him.
The man who made Jack intensely grateful for the protective qualities of Aura.
As he brushed by him, with the all the force of a Beringel boxing with a sci-fi Atlesian mecha, and all the tact of a sci-fi Atlesian Mecha boxing with a Beringel, it took everything in Jack to keep his feet mostly planted on the ground, as he quickly pulled himself out of the path of the unstoppable object called Solomon Moon. Despite his crow-like appearance, and the folkloric associations with arrogance attributed to it, he wasn't nearly so proud as to hold his ground in front of a beast of a man who seemed full of sulfur and brimstone.
Better to live, a smart coward, than die, a cocksure fool.
He followed swiftly behind and hurried out of the path of the entrance, and indeed, as far out of Solomon's way as he could make himself, where he sat in an incredibly awkward silence until the brusque man spoke up, in what was almost a comical attempt at softening the harsh edges of his stormy, wine-dark, baritone. It didn't work- as friendly as he had tried to sound, the words hit Jack's ears like gloved fists, pounding and bashing away. He jumped, wide-eyed at the sound, and took a moment to process the fact that he had been asked a question by the man whose face now wore a name.
"Erm, u-uh, I'm, um... Uh, J-jack... S-sorry again for uhh... F-f-f-f-for, for-" Fuck, he was having a hard time getting his words out. It happened sometimes. The stutter was always there, at least a bit, but the more nervous or uncomfortable he was, the worse it got, until, well... He got stuck. But this wasn't his first rodeo. He took a few deep breaths, stopped talking, and in his head, counted to ten.
...Eight. Exhale. Nine... Inhale... Ten. Exhale.
He made another attempt. "F-for startling you, and for um, being near your campsite. S-sorry."
Objectively, Jack was a solid two inches taller than Solomon, but he felt damn near five feet tall all of a sudden as a single eye locked onto his soul, somehow cold as ice and hot as hell in one instant. The way he clutched at his blade was alarming enough that Jack ought to have done the same, if his bones weren't suddenly made of concrete, and his skin full of bricks. He couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to, for a solidly thick moment, as he realized the extreme gravity of his fuckup.
Good gods.
Finally, he managed to muster the nerve and the resolve to speak, excreting the first flurry of words he could come up with to greet the steely man, but even as he spoke, he felt like he was only digging himself deeper into a pit. With every other word, he could feel the man's visceral annoyance increase by leagues. It seemed to be taking everything in him to keep from lashing out at Jack, and the corvid faunus was very grateful for that hint of restraint.
He was considering turning tail and running back the way he came, but couldn't before a low growl rumbled at him, suspicious and frigid. Followed? By... By what, exactly? Grimm weren't especially known for stalking their prey, or at least not any Jack had encountered. They seemed mostly content to ambush and give immediate chase, not creeping through the woods, waiting for a chance to strike.
Still, suddenly he was worried that maybe he had actually drawn Grimm to this poor guy's camp site. In retrospect, he felt like a complete idiot for coming here. His own camp had already been overrun and destroyed, and he couldn't imagine how the big man would react if he told him as much. This was an increasingly stupid and arguably dangerous decision, and he was regretting every second of it.
Then, as plain and cold as he'd warned him of potential pursuers, Solomon ordered him to get inside the shelter, and he was quite inclined to oblige the man. More out of fear than anything else, honestly- fear of the Grimm that were no doubt watching in the shadows, and fear of the militant man in front of him.
The man who made Jack intensely grateful for the protective qualities of Aura.
As he brushed by him, with the all the force of a Beringel boxing with a sci-fi Atlesian mecha, and all the tact of a sci-fi Atlesian Mecha boxing with a Beringel, it took everything in Jack to keep his feet mostly planted on the ground, as he quickly pulled himself out of the path of the unstoppable object called Solomon Moon. Despite his crow-like appearance, and the folkloric associations with arrogance attributed to it, he wasn't nearly so proud as to hold his ground in front of a beast of a man who seemed full of sulfur and brimstone.
Better to live, a smart coward, than die, a cocksure fool.
He followed swiftly behind and hurried out of the path of the entrance, and indeed, as far out of Solomon's way as he could make himself, where he sat in an incredibly awkward silence until the brusque man spoke up, in what was almost a comical attempt at softening the harsh edges of his stormy, wine-dark, baritone. It didn't work- as friendly as he had tried to sound, the words hit Jack's ears like gloved fists, pounding and bashing away. He jumped, wide-eyed at the sound, and took a moment to process the fact that he had been asked a question by the man whose face now wore a name.
"Erm, u-uh, I'm, um... Uh, J-jack... S-sorry again for uhh... F-f-f-f-for, for-" Fuck, he was having a hard time getting his words out. It happened sometimes. The stutter was always there, at least a bit, but the more nervous or uncomfortable he was, the worse it got, until, well... He got stuck. But this wasn't his first rodeo. He took a few deep breaths, stopped talking, and in his head, counted to ten.
...Eight. Exhale. Nine... Inhale... Ten. Exhale.
He made another attempt. "F-for startling you, and for um, being near your campsite. S-sorry."
Solomon
Jack? It was a tragically average name for a specimen with such a unique aspect. Sol would have guessed something like "Corvus", "Corax", or something similarly elaborate. The fact that these names, chosen for such self evident qualities would have been redundant at the equivalent of just naming himself "Cyclops", escaped him entirely. Sol had never been very sensitive to those of the faunus persuasion, and the fact that this expectation represented a failure in that regard did not even occur to the one eyed mercenary. Instead he imagined that perhaps names like "Corax", or "Corvus", were as common in Jack's culture as "Jack" was in Solomon's. Again, the assumption that Jack must represent another culture, simply by the accident of his birth as a faunus represented perfectly SOl's very narrow understanding of the animal folk.
The strip of jerky hovered between them. Sol's right hand held out the offering as if it had been cast in that position from steel rods, and this fact wasn't far from the truth at that, but the moment stretched on awkwardly long and Sol wondered if the faunus had even seen the attempted gesture of hospitality. But of course Jack hadn't, one had only to look at the boy to see that he was radiating anxiety to the point of panic, unable to even meet the disfigured man's gaze. It frustrated Sol. He'd made what was, for him at least, a heroic effort in being as non-threatening as he could manage, and the other boy was still treating him like some terrible slavering beast that might lash out at any instant. The fact that Solomon could not even blame him for this completely reasonable instinct only served to drive the knife of shame deeper into Sol's chest. Jack was practically trembling, and he had to visibly master himself just to squeeze out more than a handful of unbroken syllables. Sol felt at once pity and irritation for the display.
Sol had hoped to make the boy feel safe by offering him shelter. For Sol, there was nothing more comforting than having stone to his back and an unbroken line of sight of every point of access and egress, but it was clear that instead of feeling secure, Jack felt trapped in this confined space with a dangerous man he neither understood, nor trusted not to become violent at any instant. Sol deserved nothing less.
Before he'd resigned from his position as Lord Commander of the Celestial Legion, his temper had been legendary among the troops.The fact that this assessment of his temper had come from observation of how he behaved under the most extreme of duress, did nothing to soften the blow of the black reputation that it earned him. If anything it was worse to know that when times were hard Sol could be counted on to take out his frustration on friend and foe alike. This mistrust from his own soldiers had been a major factor in the decision to give up his position, at least until such a time that he felt he'd earned the responsibility. Looking at how Jack cowered, Sol wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to retake his post.
Then Jack tried to, of all things, apologize for startling Sol, albeit with several stammering gaps that made the already excruciating experience that much more so. Sol had to admit that he'd been angry at the boy for his unexpected appearance, but in hindsight it was easy to recognize that anger as simply a reaction of nerves frayed to shreds by a life of violence in which every new moment concealed some new threat of death. It wasn't Jack's fault that Sol was wound up more tightly than the coils in a gauss rifle. If anyone here were to blame for that, it was Sol. If a powder keg took light, one could not reasonable hold the spark responsible for the subsequent explosion when it was the addition of the gunpowder that made the situation dangerous, not the presence of a spark.
"Forget it." Sol grunted, his gravel tone grinding out the words so that they came out sounding sharp and heavy, drawing out the words as he tried to come up with some explanation that would make sense to the young man, and more importantly wouldn't make Sol sound like a violent madman. It wasn't easy.
"Have you ever been ambushed?" He asked finally, holding up the offering of jerky even higher so that Jack might actually notice it for the peace offering that it was, "Even low velocity ordinance travels much faster than sound. You could be walking through the woods, and not even know you are under fire until a dozen of your friends are dead. You often don't even hear the shot that kills you."
Sol had been involved in many an ambush, and on both sides at one time or another. In fact, name just about any evil that could be committed in warfare and Sol would be able to place himself on either side of it at some point. The memories squirmed indistinctly in the back of his mind, and it made his blood feel cold, his stomach feel like an abyss in his guts, and the jerky in his mouth taste like putrid meat. He counted his breaths, swallowing the thing that was trying to rise up out of him through that lens of violence, and averted his gaze to the floor until the sensation passed.
He did what his therapist had taught him to do when he felt those thoughts begin to intrude, and focused on the grain of the stone beneath his rump, counted the cracks, focused on the coolness of the stone behind him, focused on the sounds of his breathing, anything that was real and wasn't the poison that lived in his head. When the danger passed, he didn't feel relief, rather he felt as if the intrusion had take something away with it, leaving him just a little more empty than he'd been before. He wondered how much he'd left for this little ritual to steal from him.
Sol's gilded gaze slid across to find the avian attention of his companion. He lifted his left eyebrow, his expression as stoney as ever, and only the faint feverishness of his single eye betraying the pitched battle that had just taken place behind it.
"After living like that for a while..." He continued, clearing his throat of what sounded like an entire landslide, trying to find the words that would make it sound less like an accusation and more like explanation, "You start to expect that every unexpected sound is going to be the last thing you ever hear."
The strip of jerky hovered between them. Sol's right hand held out the offering as if it had been cast in that position from steel rods, and this fact wasn't far from the truth at that, but the moment stretched on awkwardly long and Sol wondered if the faunus had even seen the attempted gesture of hospitality. But of course Jack hadn't, one had only to look at the boy to see that he was radiating anxiety to the point of panic, unable to even meet the disfigured man's gaze. It frustrated Sol. He'd made what was, for him at least, a heroic effort in being as non-threatening as he could manage, and the other boy was still treating him like some terrible slavering beast that might lash out at any instant. The fact that Solomon could not even blame him for this completely reasonable instinct only served to drive the knife of shame deeper into Sol's chest. Jack was practically trembling, and he had to visibly master himself just to squeeze out more than a handful of unbroken syllables. Sol felt at once pity and irritation for the display.
Sol had hoped to make the boy feel safe by offering him shelter. For Sol, there was nothing more comforting than having stone to his back and an unbroken line of sight of every point of access and egress, but it was clear that instead of feeling secure, Jack felt trapped in this confined space with a dangerous man he neither understood, nor trusted not to become violent at any instant. Sol deserved nothing less.
Before he'd resigned from his position as Lord Commander of the Celestial Legion, his temper had been legendary among the troops.The fact that this assessment of his temper had come from observation of how he behaved under the most extreme of duress, did nothing to soften the blow of the black reputation that it earned him. If anything it was worse to know that when times were hard Sol could be counted on to take out his frustration on friend and foe alike. This mistrust from his own soldiers had been a major factor in the decision to give up his position, at least until such a time that he felt he'd earned the responsibility. Looking at how Jack cowered, Sol wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to retake his post.
Then Jack tried to, of all things, apologize for startling Sol, albeit with several stammering gaps that made the already excruciating experience that much more so. Sol had to admit that he'd been angry at the boy for his unexpected appearance, but in hindsight it was easy to recognize that anger as simply a reaction of nerves frayed to shreds by a life of violence in which every new moment concealed some new threat of death. It wasn't Jack's fault that Sol was wound up more tightly than the coils in a gauss rifle. If anyone here were to blame for that, it was Sol. If a powder keg took light, one could not reasonable hold the spark responsible for the subsequent explosion when it was the addition of the gunpowder that made the situation dangerous, not the presence of a spark.
"Forget it." Sol grunted, his gravel tone grinding out the words so that they came out sounding sharp and heavy, drawing out the words as he tried to come up with some explanation that would make sense to the young man, and more importantly wouldn't make Sol sound like a violent madman. It wasn't easy.
"Have you ever been ambushed?" He asked finally, holding up the offering of jerky even higher so that Jack might actually notice it for the peace offering that it was, "Even low velocity ordinance travels much faster than sound. You could be walking through the woods, and not even know you are under fire until a dozen of your friends are dead. You often don't even hear the shot that kills you."
Sol had been involved in many an ambush, and on both sides at one time or another. In fact, name just about any evil that could be committed in warfare and Sol would be able to place himself on either side of it at some point. The memories squirmed indistinctly in the back of his mind, and it made his blood feel cold, his stomach feel like an abyss in his guts, and the jerky in his mouth taste like putrid meat. He counted his breaths, swallowing the thing that was trying to rise up out of him through that lens of violence, and averted his gaze to the floor until the sensation passed.
He did what his therapist had taught him to do when he felt those thoughts begin to intrude, and focused on the grain of the stone beneath his rump, counted the cracks, focused on the coolness of the stone behind him, focused on the sounds of his breathing, anything that was real and wasn't the poison that lived in his head. When the danger passed, he didn't feel relief, rather he felt as if the intrusion had take something away with it, leaving him just a little more empty than he'd been before. He wondered how much he'd left for this little ritual to steal from him.
Sol's gilded gaze slid across to find the avian attention of his companion. He lifted his left eyebrow, his expression as stoney as ever, and only the faint feverishness of his single eye betraying the pitched battle that had just taken place behind it.
"After living like that for a while..." He continued, clearing his throat of what sounded like an entire landslide, trying to find the words that would make it sound less like an accusation and more like explanation, "You start to expect that every unexpected sound is going to be the last thing you ever hear."
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