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 says it smiling, faint creases at the corners of his eyes. And he means it; there are plenty of people here who simply want a listening ear, who want to tell their stories to someone sympathetic and attentive.
Any thought of discussing his own background never even occurs to him. ]
Have you been meeting many of the others?
no subject
[ She laughs, the sound a little musical and, by all appearances, genuinely amused; it wouldn’t have occurred to her to think of the role of listener as a thing that held worth or merit here when she could be performing much more useful tasks.
In response to his question, her shoulders lift a bit, a subtle shrugging movement. ]
Not many, but I don’t suppose there are many excuses for us to gather all together? Some sort of… festival, or happier occasion to acknowledge that isn’t the latest strange occurrence?
no subject
[ She has a lovely laugh; he feels the tips of his ears warming. He suspects she would have a beautiful singing voice, after all. Despite his faint fluster, his voice is earnest; maybe even more so. The very last thing he wants is for her to think he's being flippant or joking in some way. ]
It's a rare thing, being someone people want to open up to. And in this place, where we need to be able to trust each other and lean on one another, having someone who can be that person may mean the difference between someone feeling included and that same person isolating themselves and coming to harm because of it.
[ At her question, he shakes his head. ]
Not many happy ones, at any rate. But I think it would do us good if one appeared.
no subject
Still, it's not the widest option she could have chosen to take, and it does put them in much closer proximity than they were before. ]
Perhaps that means we should stop waiting around for an opportunity to be created for us and seize the chance ourselves. Even if it isn't pure revelry, just a night where we can all... come together.
[ She gives him a sideways smile, nodding intentionally in the direction of the guitar. ]
Some songs around a fire, possibly?
no subject
But it's just that she wanted to take a seat, he's sure, and he spares a moment to berate himself for not offering her one earlier before he chuckles at her suggestion. ]
That is a tried and true method of whiling away the time while in the woods. Songs and stories around a fire.
I'm sure, being an innkeeper, you must have plenty of stories to share. Ones you've heard or ones you've lived.
no subject
[ It's better for her to feign modesty in this instance — because Selene would never be in possession of any stories that would arouse anyone's suspicions about her.
She does inwardly wonder if she's overstepped by getting this close to him, if being so brazen would seem curious all on its own, but she doesn't slide closer even if the option presents itself. That would be too forward. ]
I'm not so sure my life is anything that others would consider so exciting. At least not the sort of thing that would merit a fireside tale.
[ She allows her expression to turn more thoughtful, more reflective, as her gaze drifts out ahead of them, as if she's becoming lost in her thoughts for a moment. ]
no subject
[ She settles where she is, there on the stair, looking out thoughtfully at the snow and the small town around them and he resumes lazily picking out a few notes here and there on the guitar, just for something to do with his hands. He keeps it quiet, not wanting to interrupt her reverie.
The same goes for when he speaks again. ]
I can’t be the only one who would enjoy hearing some stories of another world.
no subject
The Foregate is a sprawling place, outside of the city gates. Inside, Cairhien is made up of the wealthy, those who are more inclined to play political games and attend lavish parties. Outside those walls…
[ It’s more than she’s admitted to so far about where she’s come from — and it is a truth, in a sense, a place to begin when she can’t afford to reveal everything. ]
People are crammed into buildings that practically spring up from a woodpile. Structures built and added onto in haphazard manner. The inn is there. [ Her gaze strays to him, a sidelong look paired with a small smile. ] Though I have found my way into a Cairhienin party or two on occasion. You’d be surprised how far a well-made gown and a forged invitation can get you.
maybe for moving to fade with them chatting?
That in conjunction with her description of the city itself makes for a vivid picture. One he's certain he's envisioning incorrectly, but it doesn't diminish his enjoyment of either listening to her story or his own attempt at picturing it in the least. ]
I think you would be welcome at almost any kind of gathering.
[ She has a knack for talking comfortably with people, for watching them as they speak in a way that makes them feel like the center of the room. He can easily picture her in one of those elegant gowns, charming ambassadors and bureaucrats. ]
I come from a very small village... if there were parties, they were mostly simple gatherings at one person or another's home. But I'd be very interested to hear more of your time in Cairhien, if you're willing to share.
sounds good! would love to start a new thing whenever
[ Lanfear knows what he really means when he says that, though — that she has the sort of air about her that would make it easy for her to move within those fancier banquets, to play the games that the upper class has mastered to an art form. She certainly doesn't look like the type of woman who would be found within the ramshackle buildings and listing structures of the Foregate, even if the blue gown she's wearing underneath this coat isn't in the best condition.
While her time in Cairhien isn't all that significant, at least compared to the other long years of her existence, she can spin more than one story for his benefit, especially as she settles in beside him on the porch steps for a while. Some of them are details that were passed on to her courtesy of temporary guests, others revolve more around the gossip she picked up on while attending one of the finer balls.
If he just so happens to begin plucking at his guitar again, it doesn't distract her from recounting these tales as the sun starts to disappear behind the horizon. ]