( his legs are like jelly, and he collapses onto the ground with little effort. his hands are sore as his fingers drag through the wet soil, and he forces himself to stand. his teeth grind. his body aches. he's unsteady on his feet, swaying, as though a gentle breeze could knock him down, but the defiance sharpening his features says that he would get back up. again and again and again.
it's 1769. or 1967. he doesn't remember the year. he hardly remembers his name, but four fights in three nights will do that. the roar of the crowd around him swells, almost deafening him, or is that his pounding heart? he sucks in a gulp of hot night air, his lungs on fire, and shouts, )
I've been kicked outta better pigsties than this!
( his vision focuses, mind finally catching up. it is 1769, somewhere along the pee dee river in south carolina. for the last fortnight, he has participated in a series of bare-knuckle fights โ some entertainment for the farmers and traders passing through cheraw โ trying to scrounge some money before continuing north into virginia.
the night before last, george keene went down in the second round, while abraham carter lasted until the fourth. last night, a french son of a bitch tried to gouge his eyes out, so he broke some of his fingers. tonight was daniel jericho, a mean bastard with shoulders the size of boulders and fists like an axe. obviously, a ringer hand-picked by the tavern owner, george goodwin, to clip the butterfly's wings and humiliate the loud and brash man who had danced around the ring and easily dropped his fighters. with a mouth as quick and deadly as his right hook, he immediately established a reputation in the area as a braggart. most found him arrogant, but dislike is a hell of a draw as people flocked to goodwin's tavern night after night to watch "jack be nimble" fight.
he wipes his cheek, the dirt mingling with blood and sweat. ) Give me my winnings, Badlose!
( he got hit in the head a few minutes ago. his quips are usually better. but his memory is still intact: the winning purse was twenty spanish dollars, a hefty sum in these parts and even heftier since it's silver and accepted throughout the colonies. but goodwin refuses to pay, claiming that the fight was dirty and jack's behavior afterward was "not in accordance with honorable society."
after the fight, when jericho was flat on his back, jack crowed, "behold the walls of jericho!", and then mimicked a trumpet. the crowd's fervor surged, pushing him from the ring with their boos and howls for refunds. or a rematch, at least, so they could witness the devil finally be destroyed.
jack's fists tighten as he steps forward. a hush falls over the crowd. panic crosses goodwin's face. this devil will get his due, even if it ends with jack in chains. but, a man steps in between the two. while not a local man, his reputation on the trade routes is such that his intervention immediately defuses the situation before it escalates to violence. with a few calm words, he convinces goodwin to pay half of the purse, and jack has no choice but to agree. ten dollars is ten more than he has now, and he's smart enough to know when to back down.
the crowd begins to disperse, most disappointed that the fight was stopped, while others are disappointed that a major source of entertainment was leaving the area. before returning to his tavern, goodwin reiterates that jack is no longer welcome there. without the tavern and their fights, he was going to have to leave town and find someplace else to practice his trade.
he says as much to the man, and he's sympathetic. though the man is not local, the two had developed a friendship over the past two weeks. so it's not unusual that he offers jack a job down south. it's an opportunity to settle down and earn an honest living. though the offer is tempting, he declines. this is where jack and francis marion part ways. )
I plan to seek my fortune back north. ( jack tells francis. ) The full purse would've been useful. But I'm sure there are some bastards to fight along the way, huh? ( a grin cuts into his cheeks, and francis laughs, bright and cheery, as he clasps a hand on jack's shoulder. )
[Clutching her bag close to her, Brianna can't risk losing the money she had sold the horses for. Stepping out of the way as more people move forward, her eyes dart down the street in the direction of the Inn. She hasn't been out this late in this town before, having only arrived yesterday, Bree knows the risk of what happens in this time period to a woman out late at night.
She hadn't intended to be out this late, but she can't risk losing more time sitting around, especially with someone else able to look after Lizzie for now. Swallowing thickly as the crowd quiets down, straining to hear what's going on, she's relieved when the tension finally breaks and a fight is abated.
Starting forward again, her mind is filled with what her next steps will be. No one here seems willing to take her and Lizzie further North, so when she hears the men from the tavern talking of going north, Bree turns on her heels. Is it a stupid and reckless thing to do? Absolutely. But Bree is desperate to get to her mother, for both her sake as well as Lizzie's.]
Excuse me?
[Bree has grown used to people finding her accent strange, coming from 1960s Boston, she doesn't have the accent that most of the people here have.]
I couldn't help but overhear--
[She looks between the two men, knowing the danger she's possibly putting herself in. Bree only has a small knife for protection, which she's never had to use, and hopes she never has to.]
You're heading north? Are you going the way of Cross Creek by any chance?
[She heard him talking about seeking fortune, and while she doesn't show her hand yet, she's willing to pay him to take them there.]
( their conversation is interrupted by a woman possessing an accent that's strange to folks round these parts, but is normal to jack's ears. he's been to many places in his life. east to west, north to south, and back again. it doesn't strike him as odd. the woman's request, however...
he shares a glance with marion. although marion has no reason to distrust jack, while he is crude and brash in his boasting, he has always carried himself with a conduct of dignity and respect. his eyes never strayed to the women at the tavern, even when they spoke and flirted with him, and plenty did. while his true thoughts remain hidden like a hare in the fog, no badness or even true vulgarity ever revealed itself. so it is not so much as that that worries marion, but the thought of an unmarried woman traveling unaccompanied with a man. while life is wilder here, a sense of morality is still preached and upheld.
jack's mouth works, as if a seed is caught in his tooth, as he considers her questions. )
I'm goin' up the Pee Dee River towards Capefair. About two hundred miles north of here. ( eventually, the town will be renamed to "greensboro" and become a city, but now, it's a quaker settlement. he heard from someone that money can be found there. )
[Having grown used to the Scottish accent Bree has heard over the last few months, his accent catches her off guard. Momentarily distracting her from what she had been about to say next. Brows knitting together as she stares at him, she tries to play it off as though she's been debating whether or not that route could work.]
My maid and I.
[Bree finally says, looking between the two of them. Skirting out of the way when someone walks past, briefly looking over her shoulder towards the man who was eyeing the three of them. She realizes how odd this must look, a woman talking with these two men right after the commotion they had caused. Maybe odd wasn't the right word for what that stranger had probably been thinking, and her jaw sets at the thought of them thinking her a whore. Standing up straighter, Brianna manages to sound and look more confident than she feels.]
We need to reach Cross Creek as soon as possible.
[Lizzie will probably give some push back about traveling, alone, with two strange men. But she's ill, and the only one who can truly help her is Bree's mother. Not to mention the reason she's come here to begin with. The urgency to reach her parents is so overwhelming at the anxiety threatens to swallow her whole.]
Will you take us?
[She thinks it's smarter to not say that she has money, not until a deal is struck.]
( he's vaguely aware of the crowd still lingering around the tavern. all of them hoping to catch a glimpse of where "jack be nimble" ends up next or of his future plans. he's barely aware of what his future plans are. maybe it's in capefair, maybe cross creek, or maybe it's elsewhere. like the leaf caught on the whims of a breeze that he's been so often compared to, he is at the mercy of the currents.
but marion, having an idea of what jack's future plans are, clears his throat and bids farewell. he and jack shake hands, forever parting. "May God's blessing be with you, Jack", and he replies, )Shalom aleichem, my friend.
( and then marion leaves, returning to his plantation down south where he will join the patriot cause and eventually become known as "the swamp fox."
jack waits until marion is barely visible in the late evening light to address the woman. in the dim light, his eyes are dark and still like the surface of a pond. ) Only if I get paid.
( though he's an altruistic man at heart, it's better to be an altruistic man with a comfortable amount of money in his pocket. he has tried and tried and tried, but one cannot be generous with both hands in the world. pain and trouble are the only rewards for doing so.
not that taking two people along with him would be much of a hassle. there's already plenty of space on his keelboat tied up on the pee dee river, so two additional passengers would be no trouble at all. it's two extra sets of arms to push the setting pole down the river whenever he gets tired, and if they stick to the riverbank, there shouldn't be any threat from thieves or the law.
but he doesn't know where clear creek is. is it in south carolina, or further north in virginia? how far away is it? he hadn't planned on traveling that far north, but maybe that's where his fortune lies. regardless, he'll need to buy a map or seek directions. )
Twenty bucks, and I shall take you as far as I can. ( it's not much, but it'll cover the amount he had expected to earn from the purse. )
[Having grown up in Boston, Bree at least recognizes that he's just spoken in Hebrew, but not what was said. Other than the obvious farewell as the man walks off right after. Now it's just the two of them. She tries to not make it obvious how hard she's clutching her bag, her hands covered by the sleeves of her mother's coat.
She isn't surprised to hear him ask for money, in fact, she's relieved that's all he's asking for. Some of the men she's come across have been less than kind.]
Deal.
[Bree says, letting out a breath she hasn't realized she's been holding in. Opening her bag, she receives the purse she's been carrying her money in and takes out half the amount.]
I will give you half now, for assurance, and the rest when we set off. When are you leaving?
[She probably should've asked that first, but she assumes with him no longer being welcome here, that he'll be leaving tomorrow. She hopes. She can't do much to help Lizzie, they need her mother.]
( his eyebrows rise a little. he thought she'd try to negotiate the price down, but her swiftness to accept speaks of her desperation. it's fortunate for her that he has such a kind heart and didn't demand more. for every one good person out here, it seems as though there are five or six bad actors.
he softly hums, working out in his mind what needs to be done. additional provisions for three people would need to be gathered, but that couldn't be done until tomorrow morning when the local trader opened at 7. it's true that he's no longer welcome in this town, but he's not too eager to leave it without first making proper preparations. )
No later than midmorning tomorrow.
( with one hand he takes the money and holds out the other one for her to shake. after a moment, he realizes that it's sticky with blood, so he stuffs the paper money into his shirt pocket and switches to his left hand. ) Jack Kimble.
[To warn her parents of the fire to their home, and get Lizzie the help she needs? Bree will do what she has to. Looking down at his hand, she swallows thickly just he switches to his left one which is clear of blood.]
Brianna Randall.
[She shakes his hand, sealing the deal.]
Where should we meet you, Mr. Kimble?
[Once sheโs alone, it will probably hit her just how risky this whole thing is. The guy clearly has a taste for violence, and she assumes it will just be the three of them on this boat for god knows how long. But no one else was willing to take them, for one reason or another.]
( he shakes her hand. the deal is set. although he's little more than a bundle of lies tailored into the shape of a man, word with a civilian is law. he's bound to it. )
( he withdraws his hand. ) Jack. And I'll fetch you when I'm ready. ( no need for them to drag their belongings to the docks if he's not ready. ) You at the inn, right?
( obviously as there's no other place in the area for travelers to stay, unless they're willing to take their chances with sleeping out in the woods. dangerous since there have been a few instances of bandits harassing camps within the past couple of months. fortunately, no one has been killed, but the specter of the word "yet" seems to hang over each report of an attack, as if people are waiting for it. jack's been sleeping on his boat, using a piece of wood to create a flat surface and falling asleep to the gentle rocking of the waves. )
[Brianna's already thinking of how to broach this to Lizzie. She's not going to happy about them going on a boat with a stranger. A fighter, no less. She's about to ask him how he knows that, but then she remembers it was the only place to stay in this small town.]
Right.
[Looking over her shoulder, she glances at the Inn. She needs to get back to Lizzie.]
We'll be ready to leave by morning.
[She hopes Lizzie will be strong enough to make the journey. Frowning in thought, she looks back to him with a small smile of gratitude.]
I'll see you then. Thank you, again.
[She doesn't get much sleep that night, between worrying about Lizzie, and thinking about her parents...
Thankfully, Lizzie is doing better. Although she's still against going on this journey with Mr. Kimble, Bree is firm in the fact that he was the only one willing to take them. That morning, she stays downstairs after making sure Lizzie is okay. A cup of tea in her hands, she has her eyes set on the door. Already dressed and their bags packed for the journey.]
( the day is warm and humid, but the river's currents move with a calm alacrity, propelling the keelboat forward quickly enough that jack doesn't need to be sticking the setting pole into the river to punt. he does it anyway, feeling that appearing busy is better than being idle, and would subdue the suspicious, almost peeved expression of his second female passenger.
he met them a little after eleven at the inn, having gathered the necessary provisions and directions in the several hours since awakening. he's never needed that much sleep anyway, so he had already been up for a few hours before the general store opened. he spent most of that time checking and rechecking the reliability and safety of the boat. there are no life vests, so if a misfortune were to befall the party, they would literally be up shit creek without a paddle. jack's a good swimmer, but he doesn't know if the other two are.
he helped them with their little bit of luggage, and the scot โ ms wemyss โ glowered at him the entire walk to the boat. he overheard ms randall mentioning the woman's illness, but she didn't elaborate, and he didn't inquire. with these scottish women, it's difficult to tell when they're sick or healthy, angry or fine. honestly, though, as long as she didn't die on his boat, he didn't care.
she seems fine enough, and the boat continues its speedy but silent trip down the pee dee river. dense columns of pine, sweetgum, and birch flank the riverbeds like soldiers at inspection, and provide the travelers occasional shade. almost as soon as the journey began, he stripped off his jacket and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. not expecting nor wanting any conversation, jack absentmindedly starts to whistle a forlorn and yearning melody, like a lone wolf howling for its lost pack. )
[Making sure Lizzie is comfortable as she can be, Brianna stays with her for a while until she drifts off. The weather reminds her of her summer days spent at Carson beach with her friends, except instead of being dressed in a bikini she's dressed in far too many layers to be comfortable.
Leaving one of the fans by Lizzie, Bree steps up beside Jack. Staring out at the water and foliage that surrounds them.]
It's beautiful.
[Bree says her thoughts out loud, silent for a bit longer before asking...]
Are you a boxer?
[They hadn't talked about what happened last night, mostly because it wasn't her business. But she was curious.]
( jack remains silent, rather content to let her thoughts float and sink below the steady currents of the river. it's beautiful, sure, but he's seen enough forests and rivers that it has become a blur in his eyes and mind. what's the difference between this one and another one in france, or spain, or ecuador? everything becomes the same after all; just another thing after a thing after a thing after another thing.
his grip hangs loosely on the pole, but is still firm enough not to let it get stuck in the soft clay of the riverbed. fresh abrasions and scars blot his knuckles. in the daylight, bruises and cuts along his bristly jaw and around his eyes have blossomed, becoming apparent. his hat hides the slight purple bruising on his face that will eventually mellow into a dull yellow. a dull pain radiates through his body, and each step is a discomfort. but jack's known pain before. it's probably his oldest and only friend during his journey.
and when he wakes up in another time and place, the scars, bruises, and pain will be gone, and he will be alone again. )
Aye. I am.
( he gestures to the sleeping ms wemyss with a tilt of his chin. ) Malaria?
[Brianna's relieved when he doesn't hesitate to say that he is, indeed, a boxer. Which makes her think he's not lying, at least. Frowning when he asks if what Lizzie is suffering from was Malaria, she looks over her shoulder towards her.]
Yeah. My mother will be able to help her.
[Her mother is on her mind constantly, especially now. Which is why it takes her a moment to realize something...
How would he know what malaria was? There was no name for it, not yet. Slowly, she looks back to him, doing a terrible job of keeping the surprise and confusion off of her expression.]
( a frown pulls at his features. if they were further south in the spanish territory of south america, where cinchona trees grew, they could use their bark to treat the woman's fever. but this far north, the bark's price is too high, and that's if it was found. in these sorts of backwoods with little supply and help, life was fleeting. a cut, a misplaced step, or improperly stored food was the difference between life and death.
he leans against the pole, eyes trailing along the rushing river and wondering if ms randall's mother can help the scotswoman. then again, why should jack care? he doesn't know these women. they'll be dust soon. he'll be the only one that remembers them, and they will join the other shadows on the wall of his mind. )
The Jesuit priests called it that. I think it's Italian. ( no, he knows it's italian, since he's fluent in the language. but that's what the jesuit priests called it two thousand miles away and five decades ago: mal aria; bad air. )
[She stares up at him for a long minute before finally looking away. Her knowledge when it comes to the history of anything medical isnโt nearly as good as her mothers. Maybe the name came long before the proper treatment, because the man who had attempted to treat Lizzie here had no idea what he was doing.]
It sounds like it.
[Brianna says through an exhale, forcing a small smile on her face as she briefly glances up at him.]
( his blunt fingernails scratch along his bristly chin. he needs a shave and a good bath. some clean clothes. food that he doesn't have to worry about and wonder if it was stored and cooked properly. something that wasn't packed with salt for half a year. he deserves that much. ) On occasion.
( it must be... several years since he's done this trip. or several years until he does it. his mind is such a jumbled mess of numbers and memories that he isn't sure what's real, what's come to pass, and what's a lie. he can hardly discern the truth anymore. everything that comes from his mouth is cryptic and complicated, like a puzzle without a solution or even a purpose.
he glances down at the rushing water that speeds the boat along. the reflection that stares back at him is as tangible as the persona he bears and calls himself. he's just a man playing a man playing a man playing a man; a copy of a copy. he probably couldn't even remember his real name anymore if he tried. )
You never said how you ended up this far south. ( jack asks, more keen to focus on something other than his constant identity crisis and reaction formation. )
[Brianna figures she should at least come up with a reason as to why she's here that's more believable than the truth.]
Well--
[Looking over her shoulder at Lizzie once more, Brianna rests her hands against the wooden boat as she leans forward. Squinting out at the water.]
I'm from Boston, originally. Briefly went to Scotland to visit family. My mother moved to the Carolinas, and I was sent a letter from her that she needed my help. So here I am.
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no subject
it's 1769. or 1967. he doesn't remember the year. he hardly remembers his name, but four fights in three nights will do that. the roar of the crowd around him swells, almost deafening him, or is that his pounding heart? he sucks in a gulp of hot night air, his lungs on fire, and shouts, )
I've been kicked outta better pigsties than this!
( his vision focuses, mind finally catching up. it is 1769, somewhere along the pee dee river in south carolina. for the last fortnight, he has participated in a series of bare-knuckle fights โ some entertainment for the farmers and traders passing through cheraw โ trying to scrounge some money before continuing north into virginia.
the night before last, george keene went down in the second round, while abraham carter lasted until the fourth. last night, a french son of a bitch tried to gouge his eyes out, so he broke some of his fingers. tonight was daniel jericho, a mean bastard with shoulders the size of boulders and fists like an axe. obviously, a ringer hand-picked by the tavern owner, george goodwin, to clip the butterfly's wings and humiliate the loud and brash man who had danced around the ring and easily dropped his fighters. with a mouth as quick and deadly as his right hook, he immediately established a reputation in the area as a braggart. most found him arrogant, but dislike is a hell of a draw as people flocked to goodwin's tavern night after night to watch "jack be nimble" fight.
he wipes his cheek, the dirt mingling with blood and sweat. ) Give me my winnings, Badlose!
( he got hit in the head a few minutes ago. his quips are usually better. but his memory is still intact: the winning purse was twenty spanish dollars, a hefty sum in these parts and even heftier since it's silver and accepted throughout the colonies. but goodwin refuses to pay, claiming that the fight was dirty and jack's behavior afterward was "not in accordance with honorable society."
after the fight, when jericho was flat on his back, jack crowed, "behold the walls of jericho!", and then mimicked a trumpet. the crowd's fervor surged, pushing him from the ring with their boos and howls for refunds. or a rematch, at least, so they could witness the devil finally be destroyed.
jack's fists tighten as he steps forward. a hush falls over the crowd. panic crosses goodwin's face. this devil will get his due, even if it ends with jack in chains. but, a man steps in between the two. while not a local man, his reputation on the trade routes is such that his intervention immediately defuses the situation before it escalates to violence. with a few calm words, he convinces goodwin to pay half of the purse, and jack has no choice but to agree. ten dollars is ten more than he has now, and he's smart enough to know when to back down.
the crowd begins to disperse, most disappointed that the fight was stopped, while others are disappointed that a major source of entertainment was leaving the area. before returning to his tavern, goodwin reiterates that jack is no longer welcome there. without the tavern and their fights, he was going to have to leave town and find someplace else to practice his trade.
he says as much to the man, and he's sympathetic. though the man is not local, the two had developed a friendship over the past two weeks. so it's not unusual that he offers jack a job down south. it's an opportunity to settle down and earn an honest living. though the offer is tempting, he declines. this is where jack and francis marion part ways. )
I plan to seek my fortune back north. ( jack tells francis. ) The full purse would've been useful. But I'm sure there are some bastards to fight along the way, huh? ( a grin cuts into his cheeks, and francis laughs, bright and cheery, as he clasps a hand on jack's shoulder. )
no subject
She hadn't intended to be out this late, but she can't risk losing more time sitting around, especially with someone else able to look after Lizzie for now. Swallowing thickly as the crowd quiets down, straining to hear what's going on, she's relieved when the tension finally breaks and a fight is abated.
Starting forward again, her mind is filled with what her next steps will be. No one here seems willing to take her and Lizzie further North, so when she hears the men from the tavern talking of going north, Bree turns on her heels. Is it a stupid and reckless thing to do? Absolutely. But Bree is desperate to get to her mother, for both her sake as well as Lizzie's.]
Excuse me?
[Bree has grown used to people finding her accent strange, coming from 1960s Boston, she doesn't have the accent that most of the people here have.]
I couldn't help but overhear--
[She looks between the two men, knowing the danger she's possibly putting herself in. Bree only has a small knife for protection, which she's never had to use, and hopes she never has to.]
You're heading north? Are you going the way of Cross Creek by any chance?
[She heard him talking about seeking fortune, and while she doesn't show her hand yet, she's willing to pay him to take them there.]
no subject
he shares a glance with marion. although marion has no reason to distrust jack, while he is crude and brash in his boasting, he has always carried himself with a conduct of dignity and respect. his eyes never strayed to the women at the tavern, even when they spoke and flirted with him, and plenty did. while his true thoughts remain hidden like a hare in the fog, no badness or even true vulgarity ever revealed itself. so it is not so much as that that worries marion, but the thought of an unmarried woman traveling unaccompanied with a man. while life is wilder here, a sense of morality is still preached and upheld.
jack's mouth works, as if a seed is caught in his tooth, as he considers her questions. )
I'm goin' up the Pee Dee River towards Capefair. About two hundred miles north of here. ( eventually, the town will be renamed to "greensboro" and become a city, but now, it's a quaker settlement. he heard from someone that money can be found there. )
Who's needing a ride?
no subject
My maid and I.
[Bree finally says, looking between the two of them. Skirting out of the way when someone walks past, briefly looking over her shoulder towards the man who was eyeing the three of them. She realizes how odd this must look, a woman talking with these two men right after the commotion they had caused. Maybe odd wasn't the right word for what that stranger had probably been thinking, and her jaw sets at the thought of them thinking her a whore. Standing up straighter, Brianna manages to sound and look more confident than she feels.]
We need to reach Cross Creek as soon as possible.
[Lizzie will probably give some push back about traveling, alone, with two strange men. But she's ill, and the only one who can truly help her is Bree's mother. Not to mention the reason she's come here to begin with. The urgency to reach her parents is so overwhelming at the anxiety threatens to swallow her whole.]
Will you take us?
[She thinks it's smarter to not say that she has money, not until a deal is struck.]
no subject
but marion, having an idea of what jack's future plans are, clears his throat and bids farewell. he and jack shake hands, forever parting. "May God's blessing be with you, Jack", and he replies, ) Shalom aleichem, my friend.
( and then marion leaves, returning to his plantation down south where he will join the patriot cause and eventually become known as "the swamp fox."
jack waits until marion is barely visible in the late evening light to address the woman. in the dim light, his eyes are dark and still like the surface of a pond. ) Only if I get paid.
( though he's an altruistic man at heart, it's better to be an altruistic man with a comfortable amount of money in his pocket. he has tried and tried and tried, but one cannot be generous with both hands in the world. pain and trouble are the only rewards for doing so.
not that taking two people along with him would be much of a hassle. there's already plenty of space on his keelboat tied up on the pee dee river, so two additional passengers would be no trouble at all. it's two extra sets of arms to push the setting pole down the river whenever he gets tired, and if they stick to the riverbank, there shouldn't be any threat from thieves or the law.
but he doesn't know where clear creek is. is it in south carolina, or further north in virginia? how far away is it? he hadn't planned on traveling that far north, but maybe that's where his fortune lies. regardless, he'll need to buy a map or seek directions. )
Twenty bucks, and I shall take you as far as I can. ( it's not much, but it'll cover the amount he had expected to earn from the purse. )
no subject
She isn't surprised to hear him ask for money, in fact, she's relieved that's all he's asking for. Some of the men she's come across have been less than kind.]
Deal.
[Bree says, letting out a breath she hasn't realized she's been holding in. Opening her bag, she receives the purse she's been carrying her money in and takes out half the amount.]
I will give you half now, for assurance, and the rest when we set off. When are you leaving?
[She probably should've asked that first, but she assumes with him no longer being welcome here, that he'll be leaving tomorrow. She hopes. She can't do much to help Lizzie, they need her mother.]
no subject
he softly hums, working out in his mind what needs to be done. additional provisions for three people would need to be gathered, but that couldn't be done until tomorrow morning when the local trader opened at 7. it's true that he's no longer welcome in this town, but he's not too eager to leave it without first making proper preparations. )
No later than midmorning tomorrow.
( with one hand he takes the money and holds out the other one for her to shake. after a moment, he realizes that it's sticky with blood, so he stuffs the paper money into his shirt pocket and switches to his left hand. ) Jack Kimble.
no subject
Brianna Randall.
[She shakes his hand, sealing the deal.]
Where should we meet you, Mr. Kimble?
[Once sheโs alone, it will probably hit her just how risky this whole thing is. The guy clearly has a taste for violence, and she assumes it will just be the three of them on this boat for god knows how long. But no one else was willing to take them, for one reason or another.]
no subject
( he withdraws his hand. ) Jack. And I'll fetch you when I'm ready. ( no need for them to drag their belongings to the docks if he's not ready. ) You at the inn, right?
( obviously as there's no other place in the area for travelers to stay, unless they're willing to take their chances with sleeping out in the woods. dangerous since there have been a few instances of bandits harassing camps within the past couple of months. fortunately, no one has been killed, but the specter of the word "yet" seems to hang over each report of an attack, as if people are waiting for it. jack's been sleeping on his boat, using a piece of wood to create a flat surface and falling asleep to the gentle rocking of the waves. )
no subject
Right.
[Looking over her shoulder, she glances at the Inn. She needs to get back to Lizzie.]
We'll be ready to leave by morning.
[She hopes Lizzie will be strong enough to make the journey. Frowning in thought, she looks back to him with a small smile of gratitude.]
I'll see you then. Thank you, again.
[She doesn't get much sleep that night, between worrying about Lizzie, and thinking about her parents...
Thankfully, Lizzie is doing better. Although she's still against going on this journey with Mr. Kimble, Bree is firm in the fact that he was the only one willing to take them. That morning, she stays downstairs after making sure Lizzie is okay. A cup of tea in her hands, she has her eyes set on the door. Already dressed and their bags packed for the journey.]
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he met them a little after eleven at the inn, having gathered the necessary provisions and directions in the several hours since awakening. he's never needed that much sleep anyway, so he had already been up for a few hours before the general store opened. he spent most of that time checking and rechecking the reliability and safety of the boat. there are no life vests, so if a misfortune were to befall the party, they would literally be up shit creek without a paddle. jack's a good swimmer, but he doesn't know if the other two are.
he helped them with their little bit of luggage, and the scot โ ms wemyss โ glowered at him the entire walk to the boat. he overheard ms randall mentioning the woman's illness, but she didn't elaborate, and he didn't inquire. with these scottish women, it's difficult to tell when they're sick or healthy, angry or fine. honestly, though, as long as she didn't die on his boat, he didn't care.
she seems fine enough, and the boat continues its speedy but silent trip down the pee dee river. dense columns of pine, sweetgum, and birch flank the riverbeds like soldiers at inspection, and provide the travelers occasional shade. almost as soon as the journey began, he stripped off his jacket and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. not expecting nor wanting any conversation, jack absentmindedly starts to whistle a forlorn and yearning melody, like a lone wolf howling for its lost pack. )
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Leaving one of the fans by Lizzie, Bree steps up beside Jack. Staring out at the water and foliage that surrounds them.]
It's beautiful.
[Bree says her thoughts out loud, silent for a bit longer before asking...]
Are you a boxer?
[They hadn't talked about what happened last night, mostly because it wasn't her business. But she was curious.]
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his grip hangs loosely on the pole, but is still firm enough not to let it get stuck in the soft clay of the riverbed. fresh abrasions and scars blot his knuckles. in the daylight, bruises and cuts along his bristly jaw and around his eyes have blossomed, becoming apparent. his hat hides the slight purple bruising on his face that will eventually mellow into a dull yellow. a dull pain radiates through his body, and each step is a discomfort. but jack's known pain before. it's probably his oldest and only friend during his journey.
and when he wakes up in another time and place, the scars, bruises, and pain will be gone, and he will be alone again. )
Aye. I am.
( he gestures to the sleeping ms wemyss with a tilt of his chin. ) Malaria?
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Yeah. My mother will be able to help her.
[Her mother is on her mind constantly, especially now. Which is why it takes her a moment to realize something...
How would he know what malaria was? There was no name for it, not yet. Slowly, she looks back to him, doing a terrible job of keeping the surprise and confusion off of her expression.]
How do you know what malaria is?
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he leans against the pole, eyes trailing along the rushing river and wondering if ms randall's mother can help the scotswoman. then again, why should jack care? he doesn't know these women. they'll be dust soon. he'll be the only one that remembers them, and they will join the other shadows on the wall of his mind. )
The Jesuit priests called it that. I think it's Italian. ( no, he knows it's italian, since he's fluent in the language. but that's what the jesuit priests called it two thousand miles away and five decades ago: mal aria; bad air. )
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It sounds like it.
[Brianna says through an exhale, forcing a small smile on her face as she briefly glances up at him.]
Have you been up this way before?
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( it must be... several years since he's done this trip. or several years until he does it. his mind is such a jumbled mess of numbers and memories that he isn't sure what's real, what's come to pass, and what's a lie. he can hardly discern the truth anymore. everything that comes from his mouth is cryptic and complicated, like a puzzle without a solution or even a purpose.
he glances down at the rushing water that speeds the boat along. the reflection that stares back at him is as tangible as the persona he bears and calls himself. he's just a man playing a man playing a man playing a man; a copy of a copy. he probably couldn't even remember his real name anymore if he tried. )
You never said how you ended up this far south. ( jack asks, more keen to focus on something other than his constant identity crisis and reaction formation. )
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Well--
[Looking over her shoulder at Lizzie once more, Brianna rests her hands against the wooden boat as she leans forward. Squinting out at the water.]
I'm from Boston, originally. Briefly went to Scotland to visit family. My mother moved to the Carolinas, and I was sent a letter from her that she needed my help. So here I am.
[It's not a complete lie, at least.]
What about you? How'd you end up here?