( 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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.]
no subject
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. )
no subject
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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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?
no subject
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. )
no subject
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?
no subject
( 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. )
no subject
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?