The Girl in the Woods
Jan. 11th, 2019 05:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dray posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
everwoodCharacters: Boyce, Owen and Vi
When: About a year and a half after the contents of the comic
Wordcount: 986
Summary: Boyce is stuck with a baby he can't care for. Owen offers them both a second option.
Notes: Crossposted tofandomweekly, won 1st place in the first challenge of 2019!
Banner byzdenka
Something to say when the world of a lone forest man deep in the trees was drowned in the tears of a child. Boyce had been rocking the little girl non-stop. She fit in the crook of his arm, but she balled up her meaty little fists and her meaty little face and let her rip. He'd been getting a crick in his forearm. A man used to hauling lumber and hanging deer didn't have the right kind of strength for this kind of thing, he thought. Then again, neither had his ex, which was what put him in this mess to begin with.
Vianne--though her name was really 'Viande', or 'Meat'--was less than a year old and her unearthly mother had already run out of patience. She was a dryad, and the daughter they'd made wasn't of her people. But she wasn't of Boyce's people, either. He didn't have a people. At least, not until now.
He bounced her in his arm as she whimpered, preparatory to another wail, and in his deep voice he sing-songed,
"Orange is for carrots, yellow is for corn.
Green, for beans, and blue, for water-warm.
Red for these tomatoes, growing on a vine;
this would be much easier if you weren't yelling all the time."
He was no poet, but when chopping supper one-handed he was doing his best under unideal conditions. Vianne warbled a lone, sad note, like a nightengale in mourning, and then blasted her lungs so hard the house around him retracted. Boyce growled to himself and dumped the garden vegetables into a pot of boiling water.
A knock came, hesitant, before the door swung itself wide open. A short, long-haired man in crisp traveling clothing stood with one gloved fist raised, gawping at Boyce, who was glaring back with an expression made all the more dire by the dark bags under his eyes, a sallow mien, and a scrambled mess of coal-black, unkempt beard.
"Ah... how in the world did you come across... that?"
Boyce shifted the girl to his other arm and folded her up against his chest, rocking her harder as the blast of fresh air set her to wailing harder. "This is Vianne Boyce. My daughter, apparently."
"Good lord." The man stepped over the threshold uninvited, and Boyce struggled not to bristle. He hadn't slept in three days, and he was not the best at company in the best of times.
"Mr. Goodlace, what do you want? I'm busy."
Owen Goodlace came right up to him and looked the girl over, holding one finger up to her unusually green hair. Right now she was bright pink, blotched with red and tears, but her features had a definite cast to them that looked inhuman. Boyce turned a little away, shielding her from view. Goodlace looked like he was about to dissect her, he was so shocked and delighted. ...Boyce wouldn't have minded, if he wanted to think dark thoughts, but he already knew that wasn't true the moment the thought bubbled up. "She's not quite human." Goodlace had backed off, folding his hands behind him. "She's less human than you are, isn't she?"
"She came by it naturally, at least," Boyce growled. He allowed her back into view, cautiously, and continued to joggle her. She was quieting down a bit, if only because she needed to recover her breath.
"She's fascinating. Boyce, you're telling me you managed to have a child with a dryad? This is unprecedented, it's..." He paused, watching her eyes open for the first time, realizing the dark cast to her sclera wasn't due only to her wicked wailing. "Ah, where's the mother?" He sounded more hopeful than he had any right to, and Boyce shot him a dark look.
Ever since Goodlace had first found him, Boyce had remained recalcitrant about the whereabouts--and even the vaguer details--of the copse of dryads he'd helped remove from the threat of civilization. Though the intruder had proved more than once that he could more or less be trusted, Boyce was not at liberty to give any further information and he wasn't about to be allowed to be tricked of it. "Gone. They can't care for her. Gave her to me."
"And you can't care for her, either," Goodlace surmised. He approached again, carefully, from an angle, and offered a single finger for Vianne to grab. She took it and dragged it to her mouth. Boyce watched in disbelief as her torrent was stopped, and he sagged, the great full mountainous shape of him, as blessed silence returned to the cabin. "Oh, Boyce, you're really out of your depth."
"She won't last another week, let alone a lifetime," Boyce growled. He let Owen take her and watched with a jealous stab as she went meekly and delightedly into his arms. "How...?"
"I've had a few in my time." The man cooed, perfectly distracted, and then gave Boyce a sudden stare. He had that look. The crafty one. "Boyce, do you want to try, or are you actually planning anything..."
Boyce put up both hands, angered. "I wouldn't hurt her."
"No, but..." Goodlace settled her against his shoulder and patted her, thinking. "I know a couple. They have a girl about this age, and they're still nursing. Would you... Do you..." He reconsidered his words. "I trust them with my life. Would you like to trust them with hers?"
The offer was tempting, freedom gilded on a conscience made rancid by recognition of failure. Boyce slumped back into a chair and covered his eyes with the flat of his palm. "Oh, ancestors. Goodlace, I shouldn't..."
"I'll fetch them, you can meet them..."
"No!" Boyce bolted, straight-backed, in his chair. "No. Ah..." Vianne had fallen asleep, and he felt ready to as well. "I'll join you. Take us both. We'll meet them, and... ah..."
"You'll give her a second chance," Owen promised.
<< Back | Table of Contents | Next >>
When: About a year and a half after the contents of the comic
Wordcount: 986
Summary: Boyce is stuck with a baby he can't care for. Owen offers them both a second option.
Notes: Crossposted to
fandomweekly, won 1st place in the first challenge of 2019!Banner by
zdenkaSomething to say when the world of a lone forest man deep in the trees was drowned in the tears of a child. Boyce had been rocking the little girl non-stop. She fit in the crook of his arm, but she balled up her meaty little fists and her meaty little face and let her rip. He'd been getting a crick in his forearm. A man used to hauling lumber and hanging deer didn't have the right kind of strength for this kind of thing, he thought. Then again, neither had his ex, which was what put him in this mess to begin with.
Vianne--though her name was really 'Viande', or 'Meat'--was less than a year old and her unearthly mother had already run out of patience. She was a dryad, and the daughter they'd made wasn't of her people. But she wasn't of Boyce's people, either. He didn't have a people. At least, not until now.
He bounced her in his arm as she whimpered, preparatory to another wail, and in his deep voice he sing-songed,
"Orange is for carrots, yellow is for corn.
Green, for beans, and blue, for water-warm.
Red for these tomatoes, growing on a vine;
this would be much easier if you weren't yelling all the time."
He was no poet, but when chopping supper one-handed he was doing his best under unideal conditions. Vianne warbled a lone, sad note, like a nightengale in mourning, and then blasted her lungs so hard the house around him retracted. Boyce growled to himself and dumped the garden vegetables into a pot of boiling water.
A knock came, hesitant, before the door swung itself wide open. A short, long-haired man in crisp traveling clothing stood with one gloved fist raised, gawping at Boyce, who was glaring back with an expression made all the more dire by the dark bags under his eyes, a sallow mien, and a scrambled mess of coal-black, unkempt beard.
"Ah... how in the world did you come across... that?"
Boyce shifted the girl to his other arm and folded her up against his chest, rocking her harder as the blast of fresh air set her to wailing harder. "This is Vianne Boyce. My daughter, apparently."
"Good lord." The man stepped over the threshold uninvited, and Boyce struggled not to bristle. He hadn't slept in three days, and he was not the best at company in the best of times.
"Mr. Goodlace, what do you want? I'm busy."
Owen Goodlace came right up to him and looked the girl over, holding one finger up to her unusually green hair. Right now she was bright pink, blotched with red and tears, but her features had a definite cast to them that looked inhuman. Boyce turned a little away, shielding her from view. Goodlace looked like he was about to dissect her, he was so shocked and delighted. ...Boyce wouldn't have minded, if he wanted to think dark thoughts, but he already knew that wasn't true the moment the thought bubbled up. "She's not quite human." Goodlace had backed off, folding his hands behind him. "She's less human than you are, isn't she?"
"She came by it naturally, at least," Boyce growled. He allowed her back into view, cautiously, and continued to joggle her. She was quieting down a bit, if only because she needed to recover her breath.
"She's fascinating. Boyce, you're telling me you managed to have a child with a dryad? This is unprecedented, it's..." He paused, watching her eyes open for the first time, realizing the dark cast to her sclera wasn't due only to her wicked wailing. "Ah, where's the mother?" He sounded more hopeful than he had any right to, and Boyce shot him a dark look.
Ever since Goodlace had first found him, Boyce had remained recalcitrant about the whereabouts--and even the vaguer details--of the copse of dryads he'd helped remove from the threat of civilization. Though the intruder had proved more than once that he could more or less be trusted, Boyce was not at liberty to give any further information and he wasn't about to be allowed to be tricked of it. "Gone. They can't care for her. Gave her to me."
"And you can't care for her, either," Goodlace surmised. He approached again, carefully, from an angle, and offered a single finger for Vianne to grab. She took it and dragged it to her mouth. Boyce watched in disbelief as her torrent was stopped, and he sagged, the great full mountainous shape of him, as blessed silence returned to the cabin. "Oh, Boyce, you're really out of your depth."
"She won't last another week, let alone a lifetime," Boyce growled. He let Owen take her and watched with a jealous stab as she went meekly and delightedly into his arms. "How...?"
"I've had a few in my time." The man cooed, perfectly distracted, and then gave Boyce a sudden stare. He had that look. The crafty one. "Boyce, do you want to try, or are you actually planning anything..."
Boyce put up both hands, angered. "I wouldn't hurt her."
"No, but..." Goodlace settled her against his shoulder and patted her, thinking. "I know a couple. They have a girl about this age, and they're still nursing. Would you... Do you..." He reconsidered his words. "I trust them with my life. Would you like to trust them with hers?"
The offer was tempting, freedom gilded on a conscience made rancid by recognition of failure. Boyce slumped back into a chair and covered his eyes with the flat of his palm. "Oh, ancestors. Goodlace, I shouldn't..."
"I'll fetch them, you can meet them..."
"No!" Boyce bolted, straight-backed, in his chair. "No. Ah..." Vianne had fallen asleep, and he felt ready to as well. "I'll join you. Take us both. We'll meet them, and... ah..."
"You'll give her a second chance," Owen promised.
