Constable Benton Fraser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
maintiensledroit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-02-09 12:17 pm
maintiensledroit) wrote in singillatim2024-02-09 12:17 pm
[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.
i.
[ 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. ]
no subject
[ He still feels he shouldn't have told Lieutenant Little what he knows... but how could he lie?
At least they might have the comfort of the stories he'd heard from the Inuit, that perhaps a few of them had lived, after all, joining the tribes and disappearing into them. ]
But may I say what a remarkable analytical achievement it was for you to make?
cw: animal experimentation/death
[ Goodsir colours, ducks his head a little. Remembers Dr. McDonald and thinks: Fraser has much the same decency and kindness. ]
It was ... there was a line of discolouration in the gums, you see, much like contamination I'd seen with bismuth. Terror's surgeon, Dr. McDonald—he mentioned a case regarding cider presses. I tested my hypothesis on ... well, on the monkey that Sir John had brought on Erebus as a pet. I'm afraid the poor creature proved the case. But even when we abandoned the ships, I was still attempting to draft a paper that I would have submitted to the Lancet, when we returned.
no subject
Unfortunately, it seems to have come too late. ]
I wish I could have seen that paper, I'm sure it would be a fascinating read.
Unfortunately, I don't have much more information to give you. But there were stories from the local Inuit, who spoke of meeting some white men assumed to be from the expedition.
no subject
[ Goodsir's heart skips a beat, and he immediately thinks: Silna. Then he shakes his head. ]
Our encounters with them were less than happy, truth be told. What—
[ His throat catches; he has to swallow before he can finish the question, afraid of what the answer might be. ]
What sorts of stories do they tell?
[ Do they talk about the shaman who was shot? About the family slaughtered? ]
no subject
[ Possibly he shouldn’t say anything. What could it help? How much might it hurt, instead? But he’s always been an honest man, and so he remains now. ]
They spoke of meeting white men along the shores of King William Island. The men asked for food and indicated their ships had been caught in the ice. Later, another group met three white men who were hungry. They traded a knife for some meat and blubber and ate. The white men indicated they were attempting to go south overland, but neither side could easily understand the other.
[ He hesitates, but continues. ]
Other stories spoke of finding dead men in camps, or the remains of the ships, from which the Inuit took items and resources that would be helpful to them.
no subject
[ None of this quite answers Goodsir's unvoiceable questions, but it also confirms some of his worst fears. ]
I ... I see.
I beg your pardon—I don't mean to put you into an uncomfortable spot, speaking of these things. But I can assure you—
[ A faint, morbid smile. ]
—there is very little you can describe that would be any worse than what we lived.
no subject
I only don't want to make you relive what was clearly a terrible ordeal. This is a very strange situation to find myself in... there's so much I want to ask you, but I would hate for you or anyone to be harmed simply due to my own curiosity.
And, at the same time, I wish I could offer you better news. I'm afraid we still know very little about what happened. I can tell you the search for the expedition, for all you men, was extensive... it lasted years. Decades. I only wish it had managed to find you.