singillatim | [open] the lamp is burnin' low upon my table top, the snow is softly falling

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[open] the lamp is burnin' low upon my table top, the snow is softly falling

Who: Benton Fraser, Diefenbaker, and you!

What: Woodworking, guitar playing, ice skating, and more

When: Through February

Where: In Milton, at the basin, in the woods, others tbd.

Content Warnings: mention of animal butchery, hunting, others tbd.

[ Even in this icy weather, it's a good idea to preserve meat rather than simply stashing it, raw, in the snow, and so Fraser can be found in the first weeks of February in the woods, seeking out a likely-looking tree trunk, either fallen or still standing. Once found, he brings tools and begins hollowing the thing out, working steadily with Diefenbaker either lazing beside him in the snow or off in the woods, hunting for himself.

When the log is hollow, he hitches Dief in a jury-rigged harness attached to leather straps around the log and together they haul it back to the house where he's been staying with Heartman. Once back in town, Fraser can be found hammering nails and hooks inside the hollowed trunk, humming quietly to himself as he works. He'd be more than happy to answer any questions, should someone stop by to ask what he's up to. ]

ii.

[ Before he found the right trunk, while he was out in the woods, something else had happened in the early days of the month. Diefenbaker had gone stock-still and focused at his side, and when Fraser looked up, he'd seen the thing that had so caught the wolf's attention: a dog, enormous and mossy, watching them from among the trees.

No amount of calling and cajoling brings the best toward them, but when the dog had begun walking off Dief had followed without hesitation, leaving Fraser to come along or no as he would. They'd followed the strange animal on what began to feel almost like a path through the woods, strangely clear and easy to move along despite no signs of having been cleaned or kept up by man. It was hardly a surprise at all when the path led to a cabin he'd never seen before, sitting empty and cold but neat and sturdy for all that. He'd left Dief outside with the strange dog and gone to look for any signs of life.

There were none. The cabin was empty and mostly bare of supplies, but in the bedroom he found an impossible treasure: an old six-string acoustic guitar, tucked carefully away into its case. Even better, when he'd carefully lifted the thing out to inspect it, he'd found the case contained even more riches: extra packets of strings, a few picks, even a somewhat stiff capo.

Now, when he's finished work for the day, Fraser can be found on the porch steps of the house on Thompson's Drive with the guitar in his lap. On the first evening, he'll be there stringing it; on subsequent evenings someone might hear the rippling sounds of a fingerpicked accompaniment and a pleasant baritenor voice singing along. ]

ii.

[ But the Mountie isn't always in the woods. After an excursion to what remains of the outdoor gear store, he can also be found down on the frozen Basin, accompanied by the hissing sound of his hockey skates over the ice as he makes long loops or short sprints or simply skates backward in long, graceful swoops. Or perhaps someone nearby might hear the smack of a stick hitting a puck and the muffled thunk of said puck driving into a snowbank.

There's another stick and more pucks on the bank, just in case anyone would like to join him in his games. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Thomas doesn't know how to do anything except walk. He's only known walking. He's only known how to put one foot in front of the other on patrol, as he wanders through the snow, doing patrols with Edward and whoever else is around.

The sound of skating on the ice is new, though. It's not something he's used to. People who skate on the ice fall on their ass more often than not.

Thomas can't help but stare over the ice, watching as the man gracefully drives the - puck, is it - into the snow.]

What is that you're doing?

[ Nearby, a large dog – wolf? – lying in a snowbank lifts its head to look at the speaker. On the ice, Fraser straightens from where he's digging through the snow with the blade of his stick, trying to find the puck he'd just driven in. ]

Oh, just reliving some childhood memories.

[ A practiced flick of his hands and wrists and the puck comes scattering out onto the ice again. He pushes himself into a glide, guiding the small rubber circle over the ice with small adjustments of the stick's blade, until he comes to a stop in front of the other man, smiling. His hand is thickly gloved when he offers it to shake. ]

Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

[That certainly is a title and Thomas smiles, a little caught off guard by it. He steps closer, though doesn't dare step on the ice. Not in his regular boots.

He does offer his own mittened hand for a shake. It's a bit of a mock movement, since they can't actually move their fingers, but the intent is there.]

Thomas Jopson. We would play on the ice like this as children. But - with a ball or rocks and not this. [He leans down and picks up the puck, handing it over to him.]

[ Fraser takes the puck with a smile and a nod, tossing the hard rubber circle in the air and catching it again. ]

My best friend and I would play for hours, even after it got dark. He could drive a puck further into a snowbank than any of us.

[ There's a faint air of wistfulness in his voice at the memory; he's followed Mark's career since his friend was just a rookie, but, well.

They haven't spoken in a long time.

Fraser nods to a small pile of things on the shoreline: a bag, a pair of hockey skates, another stick. ]

I brought an extra pair of skates, if you'd like to join me.

[Thomas immediately shakes his head.]

I - don't know how to use those. [Despite being out on the ice for a good part of his life, Thomas has no idea how to actually skate. Not correctly. And not with actual shoes that are meant for it.

He'd rather just slip and stumble in his boots.]

You will end up taking me to Goodsir for a broken arm.

If you'd ever like to learn, I'd be happy to teach you.

[ For his part, he stands easily on the blades, moving in small shifts of his weight. These skates desperately need to be sharpened, but they work well enough for his purposes today. ]

And hopefully we'd avoid the broken arm. But for the time being...

[ He nods to Jopson's booted feet. ]

Those would work well enough, if you haven't gotten enough exercise just getting down here.

[He steps onto the ice and tosses out a hand, letting himself get used to the feeling again.]

I spent a very long time on the ice. Walking on it. Living on it.

Did you?

[ He pushes backwards on the skates without turning from the other man, moving in a slow, graceful back and forth motion. ]

Are you from an environment like this one?

No. I - I was on an expedition to discover the Northwest Passage.

[He's not sure if this man has met any of the others or which ones. Thomas isn't used to people not knowing.]

Ah.

[ Another Expedition sailor here... it's all so incredible. He hadn't recognized the man's name, but there is something familiar about it. ]

Were you on the Erebus or the Terror?

Terror. Though it hardly mattered in the end. We were all one crew, for the most part.

I was Captain Crozier's steward.

[His name will never be in any history books, he knows, save for the muster roll. He was simply a steward who did his job as well as he could. But Crozier - there's something about him that people will remember."

That must have been a fascinating occupation.

[ Captain Crozier's steward. Fraser looks duly impressed and curious all at once. The stewards don't make the history books, but someone in that position would be privy to almost all of the decisions and secrets of the officers. And, even aside from that, it's a position that requires a great deal of trust and competence.

Thomas Jopson grows more interesting by the moment, but then, Fraser's always enjoyed getting to know people.

He skates to the edge of the water and leans down, retrieving the other hockey stick, and comes over to the other man, offering it out with a smile. ]

Would you like to try?

It gave me the means to travel.

[He reaches out for the stick and smiles.]

You won't laugh if I fall?

I give you my word.

[ He does smile as he makes the promise, but there's no meanness in it. ]

That wouldn't be very fun for either of us, would it? And this is supposed to be a game, after all.

[He holds the stick and wraps his fingers around it rather tightly.]

How in the world does this work? So I - I just hit it?

You guide it.

[ Fraszer drops the puck he'd been holding onto the ice and demonstrates, showing the other man how to nudge it along with the concave curve of the blade, how to tap it with the arching other side. ]

And then –

[ He positions himself sidelong to the snowbank at the edge of the ice, lifts the stick in a swinging arc, and shows him a slow-motion slapshot that still sends the puck gliding at speed over the rough lake ice. ]

It takes a little getting used to, but the essence is very simple.

Oh.

[He grins brightly.]

That was wonderful! I don't think I can do that.

Try just this first –

[ He retrieves the puck and guides it slowly back over to the other man, then gently passes it, sending it nudging up against the blade of the stick Jopson's holding.

Fraser makes the motions with his own stick, smoothly back and forth, showing him. ]

Like this.

[The ice is slick under his boots, but he manages to maneuver himself into a position to hit the puck, experimentally at first and then with a little more gusto, laughing the entire time.]

Ah, I think I understand it.

You're a natural.

[ He's chuckling as he skates to intercept the puck where it's drifting across the ice, sending it back to Jopson with a flick of his blade. ]

Everyone I knew grew up playing hockey. All winter long, we'd play on the ponds in the village.

I can imagine it. [He steadies himself on the ice and returns it, not trying to get it around him or anything. It's like playing a game of catch.]

This would be - entertaining, I think.

[ It's simple, a child's game, but satisfying and fun, too. Passing the puck back and forth has him smiling just like he always used to, back on the ponds with Mark. ]

Well, when you grow up in the Northwest Territories, you make your own fun in the winter.

Of course. [He hits the puck back, sometimes angling a little now to try and get past him. What can he say - he's still a little boy at heart sometimes.]

But this is beyond boyhood fun.

There are those who make it their profession.

[ He reaches with the stick to catch the puck as it drifts past him, sends a similarly angled pass back. ]

But I was never that good.

[ And besides, there was never any question what career he would have. ]

What other games did you enjoy, as a boy?

[He reaches for it and slips, but manages to regain his balance.]

Ah, well. We would chase each other with sticks. That was my favorite game. [He grins, tucking his forelock behind his ear.]

We passed a ball around. We would talk people out of the coins in their pockets.

ii

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