past time to go

POSTED: Fri Nov 29, 2013 4:19 pm

The sun was setting, and the bite of autumn bit at his nose though he couldn't feel the cold past his thick white pelt. Octavius sat at the river's edge, throwing stones into the water with a satisfying range of sounds from plop to schlorp, and considered the nippy season.

It had been over a year with the old man, and truthfully, it was past time for him to go. Though far from his mind on most days, the pact between the Witnesser triplets was the most important thing to the D'Angelo male, and it was never forgotten. He tried never to break promises, least of all to his family.

His time had run out months ago but, honestly, it was hard for him to think of leaving the little "settlement" near Quebec. He'd easily grown to adore Jefferson, curmudgeon that he was, and guiltily he'd put off returning to Nova Scotia. The thought of his little brothers waiting for him grew and grew in his mind (which didn't have a massive capacity anyway), and that first bite of the cold season was enough to prompt him into action.

The massive wolf stood, groaned at standing, scratched at the back of his neck. He nudged another rock into the water (skitter skitter down the bank and plish) and looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the den.

He needed to get this over with.

Octavius march-trudged back home, and because nothing that he did was subtle, stopped and cupped his hands to his mouth and hollered. "Hey, old man!"
i’ve got a fever and a childish wish for snow

POSTED: Sun Dec 01, 2013 3:06 pm

At first he had minded the company, the fatheaded D'Angelo boy who intruded on the cyclops's self-inflicted exile. Octavius had come from Anathema scarcely a yearling, if that, and more or less forced himself into the one-armed man's life. Jefferson had refused him, but at the time the boy did not seem capable of understanding the denial, like his head was a sponge already absorbed full of water and unable to retain a thing more. Jefferson would come to discover this to be a more permanent trait of the boy in the months that followed.

The ex-Patriarch allowed him stay at his small hovel near Quebec but at first promised nothing other than shelter; when Jefferson realized the boy did not know how to fend for himself a day in the wild, he had no choice but to begin instruction--and Octavius picked up each lesson displayed in a matter of days or at times, hours. Less effort on the old man's behalf.

The den was modest, outdoorsy; it was no ranch house as he had once been accustomed, but it suited purpose. Here Jefferson had remained many moons alone, thinking of older times when he had been a required and desired thing for those around him. He missed it, though he would not admit such, and his moods had only becoming increasingly foul as result. Octavius stumbled into his life and thought nothing of it, and with his presence Jefferson regained some purpose.

He would not speak of it, but he enjoyed their year together. The boy called for him that morning, loud and blunt as Jefferson knew him so well to be, and the veteran startled awake and narrowly caught his fishing pole before it tumbled into the river. "Fuck, Octavius," Jefferson returned, setting pole aside to rub his good eye with his remaining arm. His bones were damned frozen in place from the cold. How long had he been asleep this time? "What is it? Why the noise?"

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Lin
Luperci For you, my friends, I could never lose these memories again.
TANQUAM EX UNQUE LEONEM
STIPENDIUM PECCATI MORS EST
MEMENTO MORI

POSTED: Mon Dec 02, 2013 9:27 pm

The old coywolf was seated at the edge of the water with a fishing pole. He seemed to have been asleep before the shout woke him, and he responded grouchily. Another young wolf might have lowered their ears at the tone, or the sight of the one eye in a face scared to hell and back glancing their way at the reprimand, but Octavius only grinned.

That smiling acknowledgement of his mentor’s attention faded moments later, however, into something solemn and thoughtful—which might tip Jefferson off that something was wrong.

He rolled one muscled shoulder, faking nonchalance, though he was a horrid liar. That was one skill he’d never picked up on. “I, uh,” he said, and frowned. He settled down on the bank beside the scarred loner, his posture all slumped forward. Red eyes followed the current. “You know my brothers, right? From Anathema?” He thought he’d mentioned them enough—though the picture he’d painted of them was certainly many shades lighter than reality.

“We made a promise to each other, a year ago,” Octavius said, “that we’d all come back home, together. It’s time for me to do that.” He glanced up at Jefferson, still frowning.
i’ve got a fever and a childish wish for snow

POSTED: Wed Dec 04, 2013 8:50 am

Octavius grinned that typical goofy smile of his, then sobered enough to grant Jefferson discomfort. The Angelo clearly had something on his mind—not necessarily a rare occasion, but a somewhat momentous one when it sapped his spirit as it was appearing to do. Jefferson anticipated the reason before Octavius admitted it at last: He was leaving. Evidently soon.

An expression that could not be identified glimpse across his old, scarred face. Distress? Disappointment? Hard to say; it disappeared in a flash. Internally his anger stirred feelings of betrayal in his gut, but Jefferson knew them to be unfounded. Octavius would not have remained there forever, until the cyclops breathed his last. Jefferson would not have allowed it if it had been desired. But so soon, so suddenly... He would be alone again.

That was what he wanted, wasn't it? Silence and peace. No more bullheaded children getting in his business, pretending there was something to learn from him. Wasn't that how he was supposed to live?

"Oh," Jefferson muttered, gaze cross as he turned back to the river and flicked the fishing line into the water. He would not be seen wounded. It was supposed to be this way. "Fine. Enjoy yourself."

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Lin
Luperci For you, my friends, I could never lose these memories again.
TANQUAM EX UNQUE LEONEM
STIPENDIUM PECCATI MORS EST
MEMENTO MORI

POSTED: Wed Dec 04, 2013 12:33 pm

Jefferson’s face changed. Someone adept at reading faces and emotions might have been able to decipher it, but Octavius only watched him and lowered his ears submissively. He fretted, childishly, at what the twitch of those scarred features might mean.

But the old wolf turned away from him, casting his fishing line. His response was brief and curt. He wasn’t angry or forbidding Octavius from leaving.

“Oh, okay, cool,” the white wolf replied, though his deep voice was quiet and subdued. He frowned and stood up, knowing that he should be excited to go back to his siblings, to complete the pact—but as much as he itched to run and leave, he didn’t want to at the same time.

He struggled. He was often clueless as to what others really felt, but one could only be so stupid.

“Jefferson,” Octavius said, and sat back down beside his mentor of the past year. “I made a promise, so I’ve got to keep it. I waited as long as I could. I don’t…” He scratched his nose. “I don’t really want to go, you know? But, uh, you mean a lot to me, and you taught me a lot, and I’d be dead if you didn’t care just a little bit.” He broke out into a sudden, vibrant grin, and his tail wagged behind him. “So, uh, thanks. I mean it, really, thanks a lot for everything you’ve done.”
i’ve got a fever and a childish wish for snow

POSTED: Thu Dec 05, 2013 8:39 am

After some indecision Octavius made the expected time for thanks and gratitude, but Jefferson did not pull his one-eyed gaze from the fishing line in the river. It would be too cold to fish soon. He didn't have time for these foolish interruptions.

In truth, it ached. Every word the yearling spat the cyclops hoped he would take back and forget. Octavius was not the brightest of stars, but he was damn bullheaded: Jefferson knew there was no turning back now and that the decions were long considered and final. Octavius was brash, audacious, charming—everything the old man had hoped Pripyat would become but had never seen develop. What had happened to that boy of his? Would he have thought Octavius a replacement?

Certainly not. Jefferson had refused to let the red-eyed Angelo think in such a way. But if Octavius was like any other face in the old man's life, he would speak gratitude then disappear into the same fog that claimed every friendly soul Jefferson had ever known. Was that not why he had exiled himself, to avoid relied upon and left behind again? Laruku, Geneva, Iskata, Pripyat, and more still. Octavius would lead the cyclops to believe he had been of use and fine company, only to leave and never return, never consult the gimp again.

And Jefferson was damn tired of being left behind, whether it was through death or simple neglect. "I said go," rose the growl in his throat, caustic in his self-resentment, in his resentment of any face available. He hated to be left alone again though he would not admit it. Most of all he hated to see the boy he helped raise leave like all the rest.

User avatar
Lin
Luperci For you, my friends, I could never lose these memories again.
TANQUAM EX UNQUE LEONEM
STIPENDIUM PECCATI MORS EST
MEMENTO MORI

POSTED: Fri Dec 06, 2013 8:23 pm

*jefferson throws rocks at octy* LEAVE YOU DUMB ANIMAL

The thanks blubbered easily from his smiling lips. Despite a childhood brought up without many morals, Octavius desired to do the right thing -- and family was always the most important thing to him. After a year under the scarred man's tutelage, he considered Jefferson family, easily; his father, even if neither of them acknowledged that aloud.

So Octavius shared his feelings, and grinned thankfully, and it hurt that much more when Jefferson growled at him to go.

The white wolf stared at him, ears sweeping back to pin against a broad skull. His jaw opened to offer some protest, but really -- he had to go, didn't he? He could blabber all he wanted, but in the end, he had to go.

"Bye," he managed, not so much curt as flung out as defense, and got up. He stepped backward, watching the old one-armed man with his fishing pole by the cold river, and then he turned and left.
i’ve got a fever and a childish wish for snow

POSTED: Thu Dec 12, 2013 11:04 am

Damn. Jefferson knew he would regret that dismissal. He had learned from past mistakes, warding away his loved ones with hardened, false emotions; his relationship with Geneva and Pripyat both had suffered as due result. The old man struggled with emotional honesty and he knew it well. Much lurked beneath the surface, shielded and choked from surfacing. At the boy's farewell the cyclops tossed his fishing pole aside and climbed to his feet far too quickly for his aging bones to handle.

"Octavius," he called, no less gruff in manner, and halting the white yearling where he stood. The gimp staggered in place a moment, lonely hand on the tree to catch his breath, before stiffly shambling past the boy and with all the pleasantry of an old man dealing with his neighbor's annoying kid. "Don't be a fucking idiot. You're not going to walk all the way with nothing on your goddamn back."

In a haggard huff the man began to throw a few necessities from within his den onto a spread blanket, none of which belonged to Octavius: a flask, lighter, and knife amongst other things. Then he pointed at it with his one arm and wordlessly commanded the boy to knot it and take it, and as the Poer did so Jefferson marched to the dying fire and turned the wood, then threw a number of small fish from the morning's catch on to cook.

"You're going to eat before you go," he grunted. It wasn't a request, but within his bitter language and stony mood was a sad and caring sincerity Octavius would have come to know well by now. "That way I still did my part if you go and starve to death."

User avatar
Lin
Luperci For you, my friends, I could never lose these memories again.
TANQUAM EX UNQUE LEONEM
STIPENDIUM PECCATI MORS EST
MEMENTO MORI

Canon