James Fitzjames (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gildedlife) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2025-04-14 08:21 pm
gildedlife) wrote in singillatim2025-04-14 08:21 pm
Entry tags:
try not to worry that time is passing by
Who: James, and others
What: A terrible discovery, and the aftermath
When: Mid-April
Where: Milton
Content Warnings: Death, suicide, description of injuries/bodies, fire, dissociation, and other warnings to be added
What: A terrible discovery, and the aftermath
When: Mid-April
Where: Milton
Content Warnings: Death, suicide, description of injuries/bodies, fire, dissociation, and other warnings to be added
[Closed to Edward]
It's a long way to go, especially coming from Lakeside, and he knows there's only so much out in this direction. There are some good places to forage and a few places to commonly find animals, but nothing that he couldn't have found elsewhere, except for the people who live nearby.
He isn't really planning to visit, though. Things are awkward, at best, after all that had happened during the storm, and the more time that passes the more difficult it feels to break the pattern. He will, eventually--and maybe that's a part of why he's wandered this far out, to possibly run into either Francis or Raju on accident, and force the change in pattern that way--but doesn't intend to stop by the cabin this particular trip. He'll circle a wide distance around, instead.
And so he does. He makes a large semi-circle around the cabin, and as he makes his way through the trees, something feels wrong. It takes a moment to place the smell of a recent fire, something that makes him stop briefly in his exploration, but as he continues cautiously forward it quickly becomes clear this hadn't been a simple campfire or something. Trees are singed, and as he continues toward the source, they become more and more burned until eventually the trees are completely blackened to charred ashes. And then, finally, in the center of it all--
He does understand, immediately, that they're bodies. Two of them. But beyond that, nothing, and the discovery doesn't sink in; all he can think about are the bodies of the men pulled from Carnivale, and he can't allow himself to follow those thoughts too far, so he doesn't. Mentally he reels back, and only allows the simple acknowledgement of facts--there are two dead bodies here, burned by a fire--to run through his mind, nothing more.
So after a brief moment he's able to continue again, advancing closer, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what happened. Were these people caught up in a fire that got out of hand? Did one of them perhaps have the fire ability that some Interlopers have, and lost control? A brief moment of concern breaks through James' detachment as he considers the latter option--Raju has this power, and they're relatively near the cabin--but he dismisses it immediately, because the idea that one of these people is Raju doesn't even register as something that could be possible.
James circles around, carefully, taking in the scene from all angles, noting the strange positions of the bodies; he is, unfortunately, practiced at identifying the bodies of those who died by fire, and something is off here. They way they're positioned--one huddled over the other--is not like what James saw of those who died that way in Carnivale; in fact, the position of the body under the other one seems almost like whoever it was hadn't died from the fire at all.
Strange. Very strange, and James realizes he has to get closer if he's going to figure out who these people are. So he advances once again with purposeful but tentative steps, crouching carefully near the bodies once he's close enough that he could reach out and touch them if he wants to, and--
The lower of the two bodies is missing its left hand.
That doesn't mean anything. It doesn't meant anything. There could be other Interlopers missing a hand; one of them could have lost a hand since he last saw them. It doesn't mean anything.
Except that, this close, he can tell that the bodies are both men, that they're of similar heights with the man huddled over the other being slightly shorter, that the remains of shoes match with ones he's seen Raju and Francis wear. That the lower body, the one missing the hand--not just a hand, but the left hand--has other marks, other injuries, still evident despite the damage of the fire, and James can suddenly see what happened. It all fits together, perfectly, except that it's impossible.
He lurches to his feet, backing away several steps, logically understanding but unable to accept the information any further beyond that, because it can't be. He's hallucinating, or dreaming, or it's some horrible trick of this place because it loves shoving people together to work out their differences or spill their secrets or whatever. Certainly this is something more of that, showing him an awful scene that will turn out not to be real, and he'll have realized it's stupid to be allowing what happened during the storm to create this distance between them all. That makes sense. That must be what this is.
Except nothing is happening. The scene is still right there, right in front of him, unchanging. He isn't waking up, he isn't hearing anyone else talk, he isn't seeing weird messages appearing on the side of a tree or something. Nothing is happening except that he's still staring at these dead bodies, except he can't be, because this can't be real.
He sinks to his knees in the snow, and dimly remembers doing the same thing at the side of the fire hole years ago as he stared down into the bloody water below. This can't be happening. It truly can't.
But the seconds drift by, and then minutes, and logically, he knows. He knows this is real. But just as with the similarity to Carnivale, and his realization of the bodies' identities, he can't process any further than that; it's as if there's a wall, or perhaps instead a chasm, between being able to understand what is and being able to understand what it means.
Just after Sir John's death, James had asked Francis if he could feel what had happened. Francis had said yes, but James hadn't believed him, and in this moment he wonders, strangely, if this odd sense of disconnection might've been what Francis had truly felt. An understanding, but nothing further, and not through a lack of compassion but perhaps too much.
What is he going to do?
He knows, again, logically what he should do. He should get up, he should go to the cabin that Edward and Irving live in, and he should tell them what happened and get their help; they need to move the bodies somewhere they won't be scavenged by animals, until they can figure out a plan for them further. That's what he should do.
But if he does, it will be real.
He tries, every so often, to tell himself to do it anyway. To get up, to find one of the lieutenants, to do what needs to be done. But every time he considers it, the thought flutters away, replaced with a haze that blocks out any sense of connection with the world around him. With the scene in front of him.
It's only when he hears something moving in the forest that he snaps out of it, at least enough to realize that the sky has darkened, that it's been... He has no idea how long. But he's not alone here anymore, even though that thought prompts no real feelings either; he isn't afraid, or relieved, or even surprised. And so he barely reacts, other than to turn his attention just slightly toward the noise, waiting to see if the cause will reveal itself.]
no subject
It's easier to traverse those few dark hours as the wolf — if he's a beast then he's not a human, and he can keep some degree of separation between those selves, in that way. The beast thrives in the dark, isn't affected as severely by his human brain's anxieties about what's happened to him. It tosses its head freely, inhales the crisp air, enjoys the feeling of the terrain beneath its strong feet. It runs, runs hard and fast. It patrols around the perimeter of the town, maintaining Edward's vigilant watch, but it simultaneously enjoys the experience a little more than he would in human form.
Smoke. Something's burning — or burned, past tense. The remnants of fire. The wolf's nostrils quiver as he breathes in the smell and moves towards it, stepping through trees that become singed and charred with black the more he nears the source of whatever incident occurred. Even in this wolf form, though, a certain trepidation leaks through, because Edward can't forget what happened then, either — that night that felt like one long nightmare, the sounds of festivities shifting into those of horror. Men clawing, scratching, fighting to get out; screaming, crying, wailing in fear and then pain. The smell. He can't forget. There are still nightmares about it. He hates fire.
He pauses, almost unwilling to keep exploring, but there's a familiar scent through it all, something human and living — Commander Fitzjames? And that makes Edward keep going immediately again with a new urgency, until he's slipping closer to where the man is. This is near Crozier's cabin; he can smell that too, off in the near-distance through the wood.
He's confused, and concerned, a shaggy black head poking through a few feet away, eyes falling on Fitzjames first. He's on the ground, on his knees; is he harmed (again?) Is he bleeding (again?) No, there's no blood, there's no sign of injury upon him at all really, but— Edward comes closer, revealing all of himself, trusting Fitzjames will recognise him, hoping not to catch him off-guard. But something's very wrong.
There's death here. Two bodies lie nearby in a strange position, almost seeming to form one big mass; they're close together. Very close. The smell of charred flesh makes him want to run, and his tail tucks between his legs. It's difficult to identify the figures as human when they look and smell like that. It's like seeing something that shouldn't be possible. He wants to run.
He doesn't. He steps closer, one paw moving forward at a time, then turns his head to look at Fiztjames. Even with his senses, he can't quite identify the bodies just yet, he'll need to smell them up closer — a thing he dreads doing, a thing that makes his heart jolt unpleasantly — but first he needs to check on the man who looks.... strange, seems strange. Something's wrong with him. So Edward moves towards him, nosing his shoulder with a low whine. ]
no subject
That realization jolts him more toward awareness again, more so than he has been since discovering the scene; the wolf is Edward, and James should do something. He should try to make this situation less awful, somehow shield Edward from the worst of the realization of what's happened, something. With Francis... With Francis no longer here, Edward is the person James cares most deeply for, and James knows he's going to feel this loss perhaps differently, but no less terribly.
He tries to drag himself back to his surroundings, to come out of the distant haze, but it's a struggle and it takes so much. Still, by the time the wolf approaches, looking distressed and pushing his nose against James' shoulder, James has made it close enough to the present to speak.]
Edward.
[His voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else, but still somehow like it's stronger than it should be. Too normal, as though everything is just as it had been this morning, when that is not at all true. But hearing himself, even if it doesn't feel like his own voice, grounds him a little further to reality, and he raises a hand to touch the thick, fluffy fur of Edward's shoulders.]
I-I'm alright. It's... Don't go to them.
[The bodies. If Edward hasn't already figured out who they are, or perhaps even if he has, he shouldn't go closer; he doesn't need to see, or know, anything more than he already has. Not in this way, at least. James can tell him, he doesn't need this scene, the horror of it, imprinted any more deeply than it already is.]
no subject
But as James reaches out to touch his shoulder and says what he does, it reaches that human part of Edward tucked down underneath everything else right now. It takes him an odd moment to process things through the padding of his wolf self, but he's still able to, and....
'Don't go to them.'
What's happened...? What's so wrong, here? There are dead people, and James doesn't want him to go to them, and they smell like fire, like burned flesh and hair, like death. The wolf lifts his head to look over that way again, tongue nervously darting out and then back in with a soft sound. Both his human and wolf sides recognise the words as a sort of command, an instruction. Don't go to them.
The wolf is keen to obey, and for a long moment he does stand there like that, obedient. But then... Edward, Edward who knows and remembers that this is near to Crozier's and Raju's home, who knows and remembers that if Fitzjames is reacting so strangely, it must be because something emotionally upsetting happened—
...He stares. Stares wide, eyes roaming those two burned corpses mere feet away, and something starts to uncoil inside of him. Now he sniffs the air, smells what's around those charred bodies — remnants of footsteps leading here, of familiar scents around. There's another smell too; an animal's been here. But what stands out suddenly, horrifically, are those lingering scents of Crozier and Raju.
He goes very still, still staring right at them. It— can't be. No, it can't. He begins to whine again, a soft series of whimpers that start to rise in volume and turn into a longer note held out, distressed. As he turns his head to look at Fitzjames as though for some kind of understanding, he's whining harder, confused and upset in equal parts. ]
no subject
When the wolf--Edward--looks at him, with that terribly sad and almost lost expression, it's as clear and as painful to see as it would've been were he currently human. James' breath shudders, almost a sob but too retrained; he can't fall apart any more than he already has. Not yet. If he does, he'll never get off the snowy ground, and he'll leave Edward to deal with this all alone.
Instead, he takes another breath and meets Edward's gaze, dragging himself further toward the awful reality they're faced with.]
I know.
[It's the only thing he can say. 'Its alright' would be a platitude and a lie; it isn't alright, it's horrifying, devastating, surreal and impossible and permanent. He knows.
What are they going to do?
He needs to focus, to pull it together, but it's so difficult. It's so difficult, and he's so tired, and he knows it's real but he so desperately wants it not to be. But it's too late for that, he knows, and now so does Edward, and so will others. This needs to be dealt with, and not only in a practical sense; he owes it to Francis and Raju to do what's right, what must be done, to put them to a respectful final rest.]
Edward.
[His voice is weaker this time, despite his conviction being stronger, and his eyes more focused.]
Your things, are they far?
[Can he go to them, change back into his usual self, and return safely and reasonably quickly?]