frank-hauptman
yearning
"I would have found you anywhere.
I will find you anywhere.
— Venetta Octavia"
Keeper. Frank Hauptman. Earth attuned, and seven year resident of Meridium. Constantly missing his wife.
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Frank, Rose, and Josephine spend their final day together in Winthrop, MA. Eight years later, Frank and Josephine retire quietly to the Leander where they don't have to worry about things like betrayal.
An adios to Frank. Inspired by the various tasks we’ve had throughout the group. Inspired, also, by this song (x).
WHEN: June 2021 & July 4th, 2013
WHERE: Meridium & Winthrop, MA, USA
He remembers the day and every single one before it with clarity, but he’s not worried about the big details, he can’t imagine he’ll ever forget them. What slips away, year after year, are the smaller things. The way Josephine’s knit cap rubbed against his cheek as she slept in his arms, tired out from the kisses and cuddles she’d gotten from Rose’s parents. His arms still feel the weight of her, but the knit cap…
Sometimes he can’t remember if it’s purple like the first crack of fireworks on the starry sky above, or if it’s a dark red to celebrate the holidays, a playful nudge to Rose’s name.
Did Rose laugh about it, or scoff? Did they match Josephine’s cap to her coat, or did they do something to celebrate the holiday? Did they buy in the store, or is it a gift from his mother?
The memory feels further and further away with time.
…
Josephine sleeps quietly, her tiny head tucked into his neck. His cheek itches from her knit cap against his cheek, but he loathes adjusting her. Waking her from a nap promises a long day for them, and they have several hours to go still until the fireworks start. “It’s not too late for us to call it a day,” he tells Rose as they walk along the pier in Winthrop, scanning the boats for a familiar face or sight. His brothers are here somewhere.
“Is that what you want?” She pauses the stroller, foot against the break, tucking unruly strands of curly hair behind her ear. Her dark eyes flicker to his face, the knowing smile on her lips bringing a familiar crinkle to the corner of her eyes.
“No.”
“Then we’re here. What on earth is Xavier wearing?” Rose asks, bemused, waving at the tall, lanky man at the end of the pier. Xavier swivels around at the sight of them. For a second, Frank can’t see what she means. Xavier looks same as ever with his untidy dark hair, too bright clothes, and a smile much too enthusiastic for such serious eyes.
That is until he sees the vest. If Christmas is the time for ugly sweaters, Independence Day is for a time of ugly vests in Xavier’s mind. This flashes red, blue, and white at random intervals. “I just bet your father loved his vest,” Rose murmurs, and he laughs. His father has never much cared for American holidays; it’s probably the only thing he and Frank agree on. His father tends to be livelier whenever they are in England.
In his enthusiasm, Xavier nearly slips off the dock in his haste to gesture them over. He catches himself on the pole, and then abandons his attempts at waving to sprint down to them.
Rose sighs. He can’t blame her. His brother is twenty-four, loud, and more accident prone than anyone Frank knows. Every day Xavier avoids a catastrophe is a lucky one.
“Frank! Rose! Jo—Oh, she’s asleep.” Xavier skids to a stop, disappointed. “How come I don’t get to see her when she’s awake? I’m good with kids, too!”
Frank muffles a laugh, trying not to wake Josephine. Not that she’ll sleep long with Xavier here; his brother is only quiet when writing, and even then, prone to rambling as he works. “Didn’t you babysit Oswald’s son?” he asks, rubbing a hand up and down Jo’s back to keep her asleep, sending Rose an amused look. Her nose wrinkles, but her lips snapped closed without a retort. For now.
“I lost him once. In my defense, it wasn’t my fault.”
“He was two,” Rose interjects, skeptical.
“Yeah, the terrible twos. I nearly chased him around the city. Oswald thought it was funny, though, when it turned out he was asleep in the pantry. And, hey, I was like fourteen!”
Frank laughs. “You’re not setting a good track record.”
“Again: fourteen. I’m a fantastic uncle now, you can just ask Eli. I’m definitely his favorite uncle since Professor Hauptman is too busy to visit us,” he says with a snort. “I still can’t believe you two are sticking around. I thought you’d leave Boston behind a long time ago.”
He and Rose exchange a confused look, silently communicating. A time or two, they considered what it would be like to leave, across the pond or across the country, but each time they talked themselves out of it with little argument or persuasion. Boston was their home. He can’t imagine walking down the road and not knowing there was some memory attached to it.
Rose ventures the question. “Why would we? My work is here. Frank’s work is here.”
Xavier shrugs. “I know dad isn’t the easiest person to have around. He still asks when you’re going to come home, you know,” he admits, hands in his pockets.
Frank says nothing for a beat, eyes focused on the ground, lips pressing into a thin line. His family wonders often when he’ll change his mind and come home. They think his love for Rose and Josephine is a switch, turned on and off at will. It isn’t. It’s like breathing. He doesn’t feel it, nor does he think about how it works, he’s just thankful it happens.
“I know you aren’t, though. Only a fool misses the way you two look at each other. They’ll get the message sometime,” Xavier says, moving to slap him on the back. Rose clears her throat and Frank glances at baby Josephine in explanation. His brother nods, a lopsided grin on his face. “Don’t worry about it. They’ll get the memo. I mean, the only thing they read is those.”
He’s not so sure. His father is stubborn, and the closer he gets to this new family he’s building, the more his old one tries to tug him away. They won’t succeed, he knows. Them accepting defeat, though? It’s less likely.
…
When he thinks about his family, he’s never thought of his brother as a threat. Xavier and Oswald look alike with their big blue eyes and long, lanky frames. Of the three Hauptman brothers, Frank alone got their father’s broad shoulders and square features. His brothers were taller, and their faces sharper than his own, a touch of red to their dark hair. He thinks of them, and he thinks of the dimpled smiles and dirt smeared faces from his youth.
He doesn’t think of them as anything other than younger brothers. Family. As much the results of their families’ callous upbringing as Frank himself. But like all the other memories he has on the island, Frank wonders if these memories are slipping away. He wonders if the island is taking the bad ones as much as the good.
What does he really remember of it? It’s windy, his hair whipping around his face, and Oswald stands on the deck. Is he smiling? Or is he frowning as he usually is? The more Frank tries to remember it, the less he can grasp it.
…
Oswald is smiling at him in the same perplexing way he always does. Like he’s listening to a joke no one else can hear. Water splashes against the hull of their boat. They bob on swiftly moving waves, and lesser men would find it nauseating. He ignores it, well used to the feeling, still watching his brother. Still waiting for the question on his face. “What’s on your mind?” Frank asks.
“Father’s been waiting a long time for you to pick up the mantle.”
“I’ve never been one for business. He’s better off picking you, you have a hunger for it.”
“I know.”
They fall silent.
Oswald stops the boat, but says nothing, battling something. Frank sighs, back leaning against the railing. “You can tell me, Oswald. I’m not going to be mad at whatever you think.”
His face twists, smile drooping at the corners. “I know I’m the better choice. I want the Hauptman’s to go farther. I don’t want to be old money, losing more and more each year. I don’t want to fall into obscurity. But I know with you at the head of the family, we will. You don’t want the money or the reputation, do you?”
Frank thinks the answer is obvious. The last time he looked at their name and saw it with awe, he was a boy. A boy who might have grown into Oswald with his baffling smile and hard eyes, or like their father, a man who regarded his children with little more than scorn, who looked at his granddaughter with disgust. “No, I don’t. I’d be happy where I am. Rose and I, we’re happy as we are, I don’t want money to change that. I don’t want Josephine to grow up as we did.”
“Given anything we wanted?”
“Loved when it was convenient,” Frank corrects.
“Father won’t let you go. He thinks you’ll connect the dots. I don’t know why he won’t let you go. Does he think you can do better than me? Does he think I won’t have the family’s best interest at heart?” Oswald asks, beginning to pace. “Frank, there’s no future for me if you don’t leave.”
Frank taps his fingers. “Leave where? My home is here.”
“As long as you’re here, he’ll always think you’re going to turn into his heir again.”
“You’re talking like being heir matters. This isn’t the olden days anymore. I’m sorry, but I’ve already told him I’m not coming back. He’ll accept that someday.”
Oswald’s eyes are steely. His smile fades. “I can’t wait that long. I’m already in the hole, Frank. Couple more weeks, I’ll be running home begging for scraps.” Frank leans against the railing, running a hand over his face at the words. His brother continues, smile still gone, a look of contemplation on his face. “I need him to let me in, I need him to pick me. I can’t live like this.”
“Bloody hell, Oswald. What do you mean it’s gone? What have you been doing? No, wait.” Frank holds up a hand, forestalling the explanation he can see brewing. “I don’t want to know. It was foolish. Money like this can change people’s lives, Oswald, and you’re squandering it.”
“Better than you. You pretend it doesn’t exist!”
“I know it exists; it doesn’t need to be flaunted. I put aside for Josephine and for security. The rest is spread to others however I can give it.” Scholarships for students who need it, meals for neighbors who can’t feed themselves, rent for friends who struggle in ways he doesn’t – Frank tries to help where he can. Tries to live up to the revelation he had as a boy who nearly drowned and saw the fragility and importance of life.
Is it selfish to not do more with it? To not pick up the reins when his father leaves and change lives for the better? Frank runs a hand over his face. Oswald is silent, staring at Frank with keen eyes. “Why did you have to bring this up now? I haven’t seen you in so long, Oswald, and you want to fight.” He’s making Frank doubt. Not his choices, but on whether he’s living up to be a good example to Josephine at all.
He doesn’t want the Hauptman name to be left in the hands of his father or his brother. Frank turns his back to him, looking out over the water. Far in the distance, too small to see, he knows Rose and Josephine wait.
“I know father won’t ever pick me as long as you’re here,” Oswald concludes.
Frank blinks. It’s not what he thought his brother would say. “What does—” Something strikes the side of his head. His vision blurs, his head spinning. Their sail is broken, he thinks, holding a hand to his face. “Are you okay?”
Another strike. Frank collapses against the railing, blood trickling down
It’s not the sail.
He doesn’t realize how similar they are. Same height, same build, same dark hair. But as Oswald heaves him over the edge, the difference is stark. “Oswald!” he shouts, pushing to the surface, choking against the water flooding his lungs. He treads water, but only just. A spray of water announces his brother’s departure, and the wind carries the words back to him: “Goodbye, Frank.”
He shouts again. A plead, even, born of desperation as the boat sinks farther and farther into the horizon. For a moment, he stays afloat and kicks, fighting for a way back to shore. Relentless waves batter him, pushing him to and from, and a powerful one surges over his head, sending him down, down, down. He can’t find up. His vision wavers. His head pounds.
Rose! he thinks, finding the surface. Josephine!
He sinks.
…
“Daddy!” Past memories are snatched up in the wind on the beach. Josephine darts up to him, tiny fingers clutched around shells. They are large, pale things in her dark hands. Lackluster, even, if it wasn’t for the brilliant smile on her lips. “I found my seashells!”
“I’m proud, sweetheart. Do you have the bag for them?” he questions, looping rope over one of his shoulders. Their collapsed shelter – the future he and Rose attempted to build – is near depleted of their things now. He imagines this will be the last time he ventures this far from the Leander.
She nods very importantly and carefully deposits them into a ragged sack. Bits of colored thread are weaved onto the outside in the shape of a shell with a crown, a gift from one of the elder survivors on the Leander. Frank smiles when he sees it. Josephine closes it tight and then resumes prodding at the collection of items near their shelter. She prods one pile thoughtfully. “Why are we leaving these?”
Frank hesitates. His eyes linger on the maps. It’s eight years of work held down by a mere rock. “I don’t need them anymore.” Josephine makes a noise. It’s so Rose-like that his head snaps up, half hoping he’ll see her walking from the jungle. “If someone might use them, we should take them along still. Do you want to hold them?” He doesn’t want to see them right now. If Rose isn’t among the people in the lagoon, then she’s out there still. Somewhere. Leaving the island wasn’t possible now with hope lingering in the air.
Tempting as it was to search for her, he knows his responsibility. Josephine can’t lose both of her parents.
Josephine, delighted at her responsibility, scoops the maps up and deposits them into the bag with her shells. “Okay!”
“Do you have everything?” Frank says, gathering the last of their things. “We’re going to be on the Leander for a while, sweetheart.” He needs to distant them from certain people; he needs the time to prepare answers to her inevitable questions, too.
Her head bobs, hair flying. “Let’s go!” she announces. He follows her and as she runs across the sand, laughing and singing about the life of a pirate, he captures the moment in his mind’s eye. So much of their time together has been stolen. With all the things Frank has missed over the years, he doesn’t want to miss another second.
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In the fog’s aftermath, Tamyra and Frank have to find their footing and accept an inevitable truth.
@tamyrawilliams
Fishing the boats from the water leaves Frank weary, but it's compared to actually assessing the damage. Weeks of work and the only thing left to salvage is this... mess. He stares at it from his position on a rock, leg out stretched in front of him to rest. It's no better now weeks later - neither his leg nor the boat seem any closer to the pristine condition before the fog. "You have some life left in your bones. I hope," he says aloud to the boat, or to his knee, which throbs as he pushes up to his feet with a pained grimace. "What can I do to fix you? Anything? Nothing?" Talking to it doesn't make him feel any better. Up close, the boat is upside down, held up on four carefully placed boulders. It keeps him from crouching, though he admits to doing little more staring at the boat these days. Seems no point repairing them when Rose is gone, when Tamyra is gone. It's more routine to stare it, pensive, before leaving. He goes to do just that when he sees her. For a heart leaping moment, the beauty approaching is Rose. "Rose?" He asks, but a blink and it's Tamyra. His heart falls. Briefly, because the joy of seeing Tamyra has him striding to her. "Tamyra, you're alive!"
...
Tamyra wasn't even sure what she was doing, if she was being honest. Normally she would have been already trying to figure out the next step, the next plan for how to get off of the island, but these days there was no desire towards that inside of her. She just wanted to not feel so fucking tired, she would have been okay with that. And hide away from the world - the urge for that was still so strong, despite the fact that she peaked out of her hut these days, even if only for short periods of time. And when she noticed Frank, heading her way, calling for her, her first instinct was to turn around and run off. They were friends but even showing her face to friends felt hard. It was somebody new who didn't see her injury yet and she'd have to watch his face fall when he realized what happened with her. But this was also Frank and he was saying she was alive as if he actually thought he was dead, and she couldn't just run off. That would have been the asshole thing to do. So she stuck her feet to the ground and smiled (hyper-aware of the way her face felt when she smiled), pretending like nothing happened, like nothing was wrong. "What do you mean I'm alive, of course I'm alive! I was on the jag, had to deal with some stuff. How's-- how's your leg? Are you feeling better?"
...
Her expression remains shuttered, and Frank falters. It isn't like her to look at him in such a way - like the two of them are standing on opposite ends of an abyss. He comes closer, and there it is, the marks on her face. His eyes narrow in thought, cycling through thoughts one after another. "Remember when--" And he almost says her name. The frown falters, and he changes gear because saying Rose is too much in light of this dashed hope. "--my family got here? You would have thought I was gone if you hadn't heard about me. Tamyra, I haven't heard anything about you. I thought you had..." His throat constricts, and he shakes his head. "I'm just relieved you're here, I thought you were gone." Without pausing to think, Frank strides closer to her, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. "Sorry, it's just-- I'm fine. It's fine. Everything is--" And it's not, though, so he stops. "I'm as fine as you are, I imagine."
...
Tamyra was holding her breath, waiting for him to say anything about the scar, about asking if she was okay or ask how it happened, and only released the breath when instead of doing so, Frank reminded her of the time after the plane crash. If she didn't know Frank was spending time with his family, she really would have thought something bad happened to him. And still, it didn't occur to her while she was on the jag and then later hiding out in Aurélie's hut that people would assume she was dead. She just thought they'd assume she needed some time to lick her wounds after the boat turned out to be a huge illusion that fucked with their head instead of actual escape. "I'm sorry, I didn't-- I should have thought of it. I didn't mean to scare you, Frank, I swear. I just needed to collect myself a bit." The hug was still a surprise, though, and she stood there motionless for a few seconds before she wrapped her arms around Frank and hugged him back. She really hoped things changed from the last news she's heard and things were better for him, but from the sounds of it, that wasn't the case... "Does that mean--" she started, unsure how to even ask. "Emre told me Rose disappeared. In the fog." Better to rip the bandaid off, right? "Is she still lost?"
...
Frank holds her gaze, sadness tugging his lips into a frown. "I did the same to you then," he says as an answer. "Even if it was different. I just..." His words stumble over each other, falling short of conveying the bone-crushing worry, and the heart stopping relief. Frank holds onto her, and it sinks in fully how alive she is. How safe she is. "You scared the hell out of me." The swear surprises him, but he continues on. "What happened? No one wants to tell me anything. I only know that the boat is..." His expression twists. "I'm sorry, Tamyra, someone broke it during the fog. We fished it out not long after, but it's obviously..." Frank gestures to the remains of it. Still a boat, albeit missing too many pieces. His thoughts grind to a halt, stomach sinking as rapidly as this boat of theirs would if they set it to sail. "Yes," he breathes, breath catching in his throat. His conversation with Libby lingers in his mind."She's still--" Gone. He doesn't say it. His words come out ragged. "And I can't go after her. I can't even look. You and her just disappeared without a trace."
...
You scared the hell out of me. That was the consensus these days. Scared the hell out of Nora, scared Frank with disappearing, while Tamyra was too wrapped up in her own pity and her own grief to truly realize the impact of what she caused. "They don't tell you anything because I asked them-- begged them not to tell anyone. I--" She didn't want to talk about it, she really didn't, she hated the question and having to recall it, but she already scared Frank. "Aurélie, Emre came with me and we tried to get to the South Beach on the water. It-- didn't go well." Short and to the point. Hopefully after their own exurtion on the water before the fog and that awful night happened, Frank would know how to fill in the details. He talked about the boat and Tamyra expected the familiar surge of anger and annoyance to hit her that usually did when something like this happened, but she was done getting out. There was no reason to get angry over a lost opportunity when it wasn't an opportunity in the first place. "I don't care about the boat, Frank. I'm... I'm done with boats. And birds and flares and random phones and everything else you can think of that relates to..." she couldn't say it, though, not to Frank, so she ended up just gesturing towards the remains of the boat behind Frank. Rose was still gone. Great. Normally Tamyra would have suggested that maybe she just needed time, but Rose had a kid. She didn't know much about the woman, but she could still recall the way she insisted on getting back to Jo when the plane was flooding and they needed to get out of there. She wouldn't stay away if she could help it. "I'm so sorry, Frank," she said, but it didn't feel enough, didn't feel like it was sufficient. "The castaways got through the jungle for a long time, there is still a chance she gets out of there and she just needs some time." Not a lot of chance, but there wasn't any other hope she could offer in that moment for Frank, unfortunately.
...
They don't tell you anything because I asked them. Frank stares at her, surprise and hurt splashing across his face. His lips part, to comment perhaps, but stops as she continues. It's not just him she didn't want to know, it's everyone. And yet the sting remains. "You don't have to hide from me," he says. "Not unless you want to. And you did." He can respect that. He will respect that. His eyes flash from her to the remains of the boat, and it's not the damages done to it, or the story itself that makes him frown, but the key players involved. His voice is flat. "Emre did?" Well, he supposes he can't be surprised; there's more to Emre than meets the eye. Or is it a point in his favor that he didn't betray Tamyra? "I hope you're right. God, I hope you're right. I'd trade nearly anything to see her walk out of those trees." Despite the topic of Rose, despite the discomfort of mentioning the loss of her one more time, relief hits him. "You said you're done with boats. With... escaping. I'm glad you mentioned this because I'm... I'm done, too," he admits, sighing, pulling away from the boat to settle down on a log. His knee aches, and he rubs it as he speaks. "I can't leave Rose behind - and I can't risk dying and leaving Josephine alone."
...
Tamyra could see the flash of hurt rushing over Frank's face, and she remembered her conversation, sort of argument about this with Nora, too. She wasn't that happy about not knowing where she was, either. "It wasn't-- I wasn't hiding specifically from you, Frank, it was-- everyone. Everything." The reality of what happened with her, the fact that she wasn't going to get off the island, that she'd never see her family again, that this was her life forever and ever now. "I wasn't really in any place to see anyone either. Still don't really feel like I am, to be honest." But she had to move about, once she was out of Aurélie's hut, she knew she couldn't just lock herself away for the rest of time. There was a question in those single two words, though Tamyra didn't realize just how it affected Frank. "He's been helping me since he arrived with different ideas and then he made this promise to me that he'll do anything to help me if I promise to get Iyaz out of here, so since we tried to approach the island through the water, it made sense to bring him along. Bring water people along." Frank wasn't really even in question, especially not after she almost watched him sink to the bottom of the ocean and drown, though Tamyra didn't realize that different reasons crossed Frank's mind. Tamyra didn't know what else to say, what could help, so she just ducked her head and nodded. There wasn't really anything else to say, was there? She couldn't flick a wand and make Rose appear. And Frank was barrelling on anyway, switching back to boats and being done himself, and it felt like a huge rush a relief surged through her. She wouldn't have to explain herself, he got it. He was on the same page. Sort of. Different reasons, it sounded like, but similar conclusions.
She went and sat down next to him on the log. "Fuck. Fuck! All that time, all that effort, and it has come to nothing. We have absolutely nothing to show for it." Not even a single boat, considering all of them ended up at the bottom of the fucking ocean. "So if Rose ever gets back, you're going to be back to trying?" she couldn't help but ask. "And does that mean no more walks in the jungle, either?" The jungle was just as dangerous as attempting to get out of here, he was probably done with all of it.
...
Frank's frown softens. The hurt lingers; it's hard not to feel like he's been set aside, no longer trusted enough to be a friend sharing her worries. But her earnest expression has him nodding. "I'm just happy you're okay, I really did think you were gone, too. We lost enough that day, we don't need to lose more. I'd need space, too, to process things." No such luxury, but he doesn't begrudge her having it. He grimaces. "I almost died the last time we took a boat to water. Maybe it's best I wait until we're exploring more charted waters. Or not intending to return." And yet, he's thinking of a future that won't happen. There's no more boats or sailing in his future. Just the island, grasping as it ever was. She sits next to him, and he listens to her swear without interruption. "Yes," he agrees. Her venting makes him feel tired. She's saying all the things he hasn't. "We got friendship. Some tools, some skills. Maybe it wasn't all worthless." He'll hold onto that. Frank's chin lowers at her questions, one's he's only begun to ponder. "If she does, I will. I don't want to stay here, and even if she doesn't, I should leave. For Josephine's sake. But I'm selfish, and I won't leave without Rose. For Josephine's sake, I can't risk my life either." He stands, slowly, aching, and walks to a tree where his chest of treasures sits. "All these tools, all these maps, I don't know what to do with them now. Who will take over for us? Will anyone?" He wonders softly, uncertain.
...
Tamyra reached up to rub her scar gently. It was something she picked up in recent days - she just kept wanting to touch it and feel it and then feel repulsed by herself and get reminded all over again what happened. A vicious circle that Tamyra couldn't escape, wouldn't escape for a while at least. "Yeah, we lost it all." She lost it all, but she didn't say that out loud at least. So he didn't want to work on escaping now, but he didn't take it off of the table. Tamyra wondered for a moment if she should say something - a couple of weeks ago, she wouldn't have wanted to know, she wouldn't have wanted to hear it, but now she understood why others tried to tell her that it was impossible to get off of this island. "You shouldn't try, Frank. It's never going to work. It's safer if you stay here and don't risk the waters when there's no way out." Probably strange words coming from her, but he wanted to do what was best for his daughter- not drowning because of a fruitless boat excursion was the best for him and his daughter. People kept telling her that friendship was here, and she knew that, she knew that her friends were what kept her afloat all these years, that it was so important, but she didn't think it was enough, that it would be enough. She wanted to live and she still didn't get over not getting to in the future, not even a little bit. But she didn't say it, she didn't want to hurt Frank with the statement. Instead, she said, "You're not selfish if you don't take a kid onto an escape plan that is doomed to fail." She watched Frank move around, focusing on him rather than the tools and the half finished projects, reminder of what was now in the past. "There are still people wanting to leave, I'm sure they'll take over. There will always be people who want to leave. But they will not get the tools. We worked hard to get them, they can get their own, Frank. You might be selfless enough to offer, but I'm not." They won't get anywhere with or without then anyway.
...
A lump grows in Frank's throat. It does feel like they've lost everything. "We didn't lose all. I'm still here, you're still here. It has to mean something. I just... don't know what yet." It isn't enough, he knows, and lapses into silence with a sigh. "I know," he breathes, head falling back, eyes on the sky above them. Just trickles of light through dense leaves. "This isn't the childhood I had. I was lucky in many ways to be born with everything I could have wanted. Josephine doesn't less than what I had. She doesn't deserve this." None of them do, really, but Josephine least of all. He feels like, for once, his eyes are wide open and he just doesn't know what he's seeing. "I never thought you'd be the one to say that. I thought... twenty, thirty more years and we'd still be thinking about a way to escape. What number were we on?" He's forgotten, now. Hundreds of attempts, some worse than others. "The number seems so much bigger now than it did before." So much like failures than prototypes as he once called them. His gaze moves from the chest to her. "We'll start them from the beginning then? I don't know. We might not escape, but I have to hope someone will." He doesn't want to be remembered if they do. It's enough to know someone is gone, and he did his best. But, all the same, he crouches near the chest, reaching down to grab it. It's no use buried here, not anymore. "Well. You might be right. If we're here, we'll have an eternity to need them." And with that, he lifts it from the ground. "I'll store it on the Leander with my other things. It'll be safe there for when we need it. For whatever reason."
#tamyra#tamyra 05#title inspired by the mulan quote#except in this case the mountains (aka tamyra and frank) have bowed to the inevitable#also has been sitting in my drafts for a while#I was waiting to finish the Emre one to post#because I was gonna cry in the tags about how much I adored writing Tam and Frank and their unexpected friendship
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[Frank discovers the terrible truth about his brother Oswald and Emre; and how Emre nearly destroyed Frank’s family. The confrontation leads to bitter consequences for both men.]
@frank-hauptman
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akbartheolder:
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
“What’s…best for her, is growing up here, then?” Emre inquired, tone neutral if curious. He didn’t feel strongly about it one way or the other. He couldn’t, not after what he’d once tried to do to the youth and her mum. Maybe Frank would interpret Emre’s question as non-judgmental, find comfort in his role as dad to a child he’d only known as a baby. Now a full little person.
Emre tuned back into Frank at his question, and Emre shook his head. “I would if it were possible,” he lied. “But Yaz…he’s got a fiancé innit. That’s more important.” Even as Emre said it, his lip curled bitterly, jealous of a bond he wasn’t a part of, excluded. Lied to about.
“You hid the compass? Thieves?” Emre speculated, and one name popped immediately into Emre’s mind. But apparently, Frank seemed suspicious of the thing. The curse. The supposed curse he’d mentioned. It seemed Frank was affected by it. He likely wouldn’t have been, if it wasn’t for the youth. Every single one of Frank’s thoughts, shifted and adjusted to make room for the youth.
Case in point, as Frank tried to decide what to do with his girl. Emre watched, thinking he could never understand how a parent could reshape their entire life, all their decisions around a child - and making zero connection that this was exactly what Emre had done, for Iyaz. He just looked at Frank and smugly didn’t envy Frank’s life.
Interesting, how Frank thought the island chose him. Bloody posh blokes, raised to believe they were special, that an entire bloody island would choose him. “I’ll come with you, of course.” he said, abandoning the boat and following along to the farm.
“No, man. First I’ve heard you even had a brother,” Emre lied easily, faking innocence. The interest was not fake. “You didn’t even know why the bastard killed you? And still don’t understand why? How’d it happen then?”
At the farm, Tomas and Libby were together, and seemed willing to look after the youth. She seemed content to start on some craft project that Tomas had to show her. She’d be safe, so Emre waited for Frank to say his fare thee wells, hugs and kisses, dad and babygirl. And then they were off to get the compass.
[continued in discord, under the cut! @frank-hauptman]
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dreams-of-a-lark:
☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎
“Would it sound insane on another day?” He gives it some thought and decides, “Yeah, probably, I suppose. But yeah at the beginning it was a lot of trapping, arming myself with sharp sticks, and like… just awkwardly following him around. I think he probably did it more to save us both the embarrassment and personal risk.”
“You’re right of course,” Lark nods, “more of a toothpick to larger beasts than anything, yeah? But the sense of security it brings, however false… well, that’s a small, welcome comfort in situations like this one.”
Lark expected the questioning, the same worries ran through his mind, but he could offer little more than, “Yeah, Madi’s here. Followed us in I believe.I hope she’s alright, but I can’t be sure. I lost track of her not too long ago. Haven’t seen any others yet.”
Frank looks at him with surprise, perhaps he should have expressed more urgency, but he hasn’t felt cause to just yet. Not even Frank’s lack of plan concerns Lark all that much. This jungle isn’t friendly to planning anyhow. “Right, well, listen. Your daughter’s out there alone, isn’t she? So, as nice as it would be to get out of here with the others, perhaps we say sod it to that idea for now, yeah? Try and focus on getting you out of here and back to her.”
He closes his eyes, trying to listen for the sound of the ocean. The rustling of leaves and rushing waterfalls within the jungle are not kind when it comes to distinguishing danger from freedom. Nevertheless, Lark turns in the direction that sounds most like waves hitting shells and loose sand. “I think I hear the beach this way. If we’re walking this direction for a few minutes and don’t think we’re making progress, maybe I could try to climb a tree and get a lookout from up top.”
— ☼ —
“Perhaps. You’d think I’d been here long enough to know how this goes. A weapon is better than no weapon at all. Never been the sort to think everyone should have one without the knowledge and wisdom to use it, though,” he says after a moment’s thought. No, there’s too many things precious here for him to think it wise for people to have them.
Still, the more Lark speaks on it, the less concerned he becomes. “So long as you don’t run me through,” he says, though the attempted humor comes out too tightly, his thoughts straying to their location. He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. Where is Madi, then?
He doesn’t think the thoughts are so clear on his face, but he must be wrong. His measure of Lark rises as the man reads him. “She was on the Leander when this happened. She isn’t here. I hope.” And it occurs to him that he doesn’t really know. “I don’t know how many people it took. Can’t say I’ve ever seen it do something so forward. For all I know, it swallowed the beach whole.” How can he think otherwise, really, when the jungle seems so determined to drag them here and hunt them for sport?
“But that’s unlikely. Where’s the fun in that?” Frank shakes the worry off. Leave, find her. If he can’t, then he can charge back in here.
“Lead on.” Frank gestures him forward, and follows behind him. Their pace is slow going, as much for their attempts at moving silently as the ache in Frank’s knee the further they move.
Time moves sluggishly. He can’t say how long they’ve been walking, only that it’s been a while, when he feels something. His ears strain, attempting to listen, but whatever he sees or feels, it’s not something to hear. An odd feeling creeps over him, and he holds out a hand for Lark to halt. “Give me a moment, and stay close. The jungle is doing something,” he warns, recognizing the feeling from his last foray into the jungle with Iyaz.
The same feeling of vertigo washes over him and he sways. In the same moment, the trees around them rustle. It only takes a moment - a blink, really - for the path behind them to close. The jungle is still once more, but he’s uneasy. “That weapon of yours might come in handy,” he says quietly, rubbing his face as the feeling eases. Even quieter, certain Lark’s attunement will pick up his words, he asks: “Do you hear something? On our right?” He can’t hear it himself, but he can certainly feel it.
#Lark#Lark 01#stranded event 4#you're totally fine!!#I'm attempting to lead this to a wrap!#potentially the jungle separates them in one of the next couple replies?
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madibyrd:
— ✿ ❀ ✿ —
Madi rolled her eyes, giving Frank a small shrug as she shyly ducked her head. “Don’t sound so surprised, it’s not just men who can do the trying to protect the other people thing. Women can do it, too. –Or that was probably not why you gave me that surprised look, just because we don’t know each other that much and so it came as a surprise. Yeah, that could– that could be it. But you know, I did this– well, not this, my job had nothing to do with magical jungles, but just generally helping people, which is what this was and noth–”
She closed her eyes and took a breath. “Never mind any of that, that was just some rambling. I was a firefighter before, so… yeah, nothing like this, but in a way, it’s similar.”
She let out a small chuckle as she watched Maverick stroll about, enjoying himself. “Maverick has his own room on the Leander? Piper’s going to love hearing about this. As far as I know, he’s the one that gets into most trouble, so I’d assume that it was his, really.”
And then the two guys appeared and took up Madi’s focus. Whoever these people were, there was already some animosity between Frank and the two of them and whoever they called bitch. If it was any other situation, she would have teasingly pointed out that now it was Frank who stepped in front of her, but instead she just stepped right next to Frank. She didn’t want to undermine Frank’s gesture, but she also wasn’t somebody who needed to be protected from two frowning guys.
“You seem awfully cheerful for two people who don’t know where the beach actually is,” Madi pointed out carefully, taking the rope loosely hanging around Maverick’s neck. If worst came to worst, she could just set the goat onto the two guys to give them some time.
“We might not know where the beach is, but we just ran into a friend of ours in Arthur,” the dude said the name as a curse. “What’s the problem, huh?” he asked, voice condescending as he tilted his head at Frank. He looked over at his friend with a shit-eating grin before looking back at Frank. “What, you don’t have your little pebble trick anymore?”
That is when what Frank’s confusion could be about hit Madi. “Frank, did you eat the mango?”
“Yes, Frank, did you eat the mango?” The silent one raised his hand and bigger and smaller rocks rose up around them, the ground shaking. “Good thing for us, we didn’t eat the mango at all,” said the other one.
Frank can hope they don’t remember. Foolishly, given the way they creep closer. He starts as Madi steps up beside him. His friendship with others has always been on a footing where Frank stands in front, awaiting the first blow. Once, before the island, he might have been the one in back, a final defense for when Rose’s words prodded someone beyond their limits. But, like most things, the island craves differently.
It doesn’t bother him. His eyes move from her to them, lifting his chin in agreement with Madi’s words. “I see you haven’t changed much from our last meeting. Still as uncivil as ever,” he says sharply in response. The name Arthur will haunt him, but he hadn’t anticipated them remembering, or truly caring, about the spell of words Tamyra used to send them away all those months ago.
But his attunement is no use still. He grasps for it, jaw clenching. “Yes,” he says, quietly, though it seems useless to hide this fact when everyone here knows. “Do I want to ask what it did to me?”
Frank adjusts his stance, maintaining his balance against the rumbling floor. His hand reaches for Madi, resting on her shoulder. With their luck, the jungle will separate them. He won’t let it happen. His eyes narrow, and his words come out sharp: “Watch yourself. Do you want to bring the jungle’s favorite pet upon us?” The better question is: can Frank run if the jungle does send something? Can he fight if they do? The jungle seems all the more daunting without his attunement to protect him.
His knee flares red hot. A reminder of how little use he is these days. But all thoughts of worry fade as they continue speaking. His patience slips away as swiftly as his attunement: “What are you going on about? What about the mango? Is that what did this?” he asks, waving his hand, waiting for his attunement. Waiting for the rock to meet his palm. Nothing. Frank stares in surprise.
One of the men laugh. “Some jungle magic. Guess the island likes us better, huh? It gave us this.” One of them is water attuned, and he sends the water above their heads tumbling down. It hardens into ice, sharpened to a deadly point.
Maverick shoves them to the side with a bleat.
The rumbling ground and the hit around their ankles sends Frank tumbling off to the side. His back slams into a tree. Ice stabs the ground where they stood, sinking in several inches. It stays only a moment, slowly melting and reforming, water flowing to the man’s fingertips. “What the...” Frank’s swear is cut off with their laughter. Neither of them look winded, as though this feat of magic was nothing more than a simple parlor trick.
It’s a good enough pause for him, and he stalks closer. “Are you an idiot? What, are you going to just kill us in here and hope no one stumbles across us?” With each word, their laughter increases. His blood boils. Josephine’s face if he dies here swells to the surface. Frank punches the water attuned man.
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libbyblum:
“Sorry to break it to you, bud, but from what I’ve seen, the jungle’s chock full of new additions,” Libby returns to the muttering she probably didn’t need to pay attention to. But she can’t turn it off, the need to listen in on every rustle, every vibration. What’s routine? What’s a warning? There’s no way to know for sure. So she listens.
“I don’t make the rules here,” she quips back at Frank’s comment about the fire – but, all things considered, it’s fairly lighthearted. That is until Frank reasons that they can always cut off limbs. Libby lets out a shuddering breath, remembering precisely where they are, the horror that this place is capable of.
“This sucks.” Still, she’s trying to hack away at the vines, refusing to admit defeat. She never had, not even after thirty years in the Labyrinth. Why start now?
(Because it pulled you right back in and it’s trying to eat you alive and it could do it again as soon as you get back out and you can’t do a thing, useless, it’s –)
“Ow!” Libby hisses as one of the vines yanks at her hair, but it pulls her out of the circling of her own spiral, at least. Just in time to listen to Frank’s instructions, looking up at the vine he directs her toward. “Yeah, okay–” She starts, but then something else starts too, a rumbling growl that is far too close for comfort.
Of course, this leads to Libby looking away from the vines, which only begin to tighten their hold. “Good, great, super,” she hisses in a tight voice, then gets to hacking away again as Frank promises a distraction. He delivers on it, too, large rocks blossoming from seemingly nowhere, vaulted into the air. Surprise dances across Libby’s expression for a moment at the fairly impressive feat, but before she has a moment to comment on that, one of the rocks sprouts up beneath her.
“Motherfucker–” Libby deems it before trying to scramble down, only to be essentially punched in the ribs by another one, landing on her back on the ground. “Frank, your aim sucks,” she huffs, sitting up – but Frank doesn’t greet her. Trees do. Nothing more. Because of course. “Frank! Your aim sucks!” She shouts again toward the trees. Still: nothing more. Libby picks up one of the rocks for good measure, flinging it toward a tree out of frustration. The rippling breeze responds. Nothing more.
She gets up and keeps walking.
Libby doesn’t find his attempts at humor a relief. It’s probably for the best. He’s never been the sort for lighthearted quips and the swift changes in his life over the last year hasn’t changed this fact. “I’d like less additions. This place has given me enough heart burn. I don’t want to imagine what it’s been like for you after thirty.” No, he’s hoping it won’t come to that point.
The idea gnaws of staying here another twenty-two years gnaws on him. But then, he can’t go now. Not when Rose is somewhere here, not truly gone. For all he knows, he’ll look up and see her charging through the trees. His eyes flicker to the moving bush. Hope rushes in, and breaks against the wall of reality as the vines slither over them.
Rose isn’t here. Pain lashes through him. For a second, he falters, the rocks becoming a jumbled mess. Libby curses, but he ignores it. Getting consumed by these vines is a great deal preferable to living the rest of his life without her. But her voice in his ear, scolding and loving and all the things she’s always been, reminds him to keep pushing. Continue, as she did. Hope, as she did.
“Sorry,” he mutters, blinking. Frank renews his effort.
He tries, at least.
He no sooner prepares himself than he finds the vines tugging him along, his protests silenced by the vine snaking its way around him. Frank flails, the movement enough to loosen the vines holds. He yanks himself free, heedless of the thorns digging into his flesh. It leaves his hands bloodied, but free.
“Libby!” he calls, his words an echo off unfamiliar trees. It bounces back to him without a response. Wherever Libby is, it’s not here.
The rustling in the bushes is close. Too close. He has far too many responsibilities to die now. Frank finds the largest rock he can find, a headache pinching between his brows at the effort; he throws it far into the bushes. As whatever lurks in the jungle turns to it, he runs.
END
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madibyrd:
— ✿ ❀ ✿ —
The situation wasn’t good, to say the least. The jungle grabbing people, playing games with them, throwing challenge after challenge at them that felt more and more designed for them to either go mad or just simply to make sure they never leave the jungle again. She couldn’t stop thinking about her partner, and how they were probably out here somewhere (hopefully, she really really hoped they were). And not to mention how she kept losing people (along with others as well.) Emre was the latest person she’s lost in the day (and certainly the most painful and worrisome, too), and now she was trying to find either him or find the way out of the jungle.
And despite all of this, despite just how much danger there was around her, there was a levity inside of her that she hasn’t felt in a really long time. And she was optimistic. She’d find a way out, sooner or later, and it would all turn out okay. As okay as it could be on this island, but still okay. Whatever would come, she’d make it work, because she wouldn’t have to deal with her stupid attunement anymore.
Best decision she’d made all day.
She heard noises from the side and she carefully approached, squinting in the dark to see who it was, and once she realized that it was Frank, she went closer. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m just glad to see a familiar face. It’s been way too long of a day and too many people are circling around the jungle without a way out.”
She nodded at his question. “You know what? Yeah, I’m actually pretty good. Have some bruises all over my body and I’m tired, but I’m pretty good. You? Are you–” But she couldn’t finish the question, because a branch was crushing down onto the ground near them and Madi didn’t even think, she just jumped between Frank and the sound.
It was just a goat, though, nothing else, and Madi had to smile. “Maverick, of course you’re the one strolling the jungle. Can you actually lead us back, or are you going to be you and get us into more danger?” She looked over her should to explain, “This goat loves getting into more trouble than several people on this island combined. Also, he’s the meanest of them all, so watch out for him.”
Movement sounded from the same direction that Maverick came from and Madi was certain that meant the farm was that way, which was reliving to know. They were close. “So you brought a friend of your along now for the adventure, Mav?” she asked the goat, but instead of another animal from the farm, two people appeared in the dark.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the one and only Arthur Booth…” one of the guys said, looking directly at Frank and Madi looked over at Frank in confusion, and then back at the two new arrivals. Was the jungle throwing some hallucinations at them yet again?
“This isn’t– that doesn’t matter,” Madi shook her head. “Have you guys come from the beach? Are we near?” Why would they come back once they got out, Madi wasn’t sure, but Maverick was around too, that and more people had to mean they were close.
The last time he spoke to Madi, she was looking for her partner in the jungle. He feels a comradeship with her now; his wife wanders the trees, so far out of his reach they might be separated by an entire world once more. He rubs his face, a weary sigh on his lips. “You’re fine, I’m happy to see a familiar face among all this. Lot of people in here, and a lot of...” Monsters goes unspoken, but he grimaces which he hopes is an explanation on its own.
Madi jumps in front of him. He’s as dumbfounded by this development as he is about the goat. “Were you trying to protect me?” he asks her, surprised. Instinctively, apparently. “What did you do before this again?”
Maverick the goat enjoys the attention. He prances in the bushes, beady eyes watching them both. Frank meets his gaze for all of a second and then grimaces. “I think he and I have met. I hid in his room on the Leander once, or what I assume was his room. Unless this island has multiple goats getting into places that goat shouldn’t be able to get into on their own?”
The goat makes a noise like a complaint. Frank holds up his hands in surrender, and that’s what he’s doing as two people step from the darkness. Neither of them are familiar to him until the name Arthur Booth stumbles from their lips. He makes a face. “The one and only,” he says, hands dropping, positioning himself slightly to the side and in front of Madi, unwilling to take the chance the two men won’t get ideas again.
The first man snorts. “Get a load of this, Declan. They think the beach is near,” he mocks Madi, his hands folding behind his head. Declan, the silent one, a strange change from the mouthy man he once was, watches them with a silent, frightening intensity. The first man is still talking. “You think we’d tell you if you were? I don’t like liars. Where’s your other bitch?” he asks Frank.
His lips tighten at the insult to Tamyra. “If you don’t know where the beach is, keep walking,” he warns, his attunement straining for a rock and-- Nothing. His attunement slips through his grasp, impossible to hold. Frank blinks, lips parting, “What the...?”
#Madi#Madi 02#stranded event 4#just a day in the life for Enciii and her beautifully long replies#we love them
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libbyblum:
The assertion about parents leads to Libby giving a little huff of a laugh. It sounds familiar, though even closeness was probably a reach for the Blums. That’s an old song, but still, it’s enough to get her nodding. “Yeah, I’ll drink to that.” Frank may be noble enough to rise above, but Libby never quite has been. When she was done begging for affection from her parents, that’s when the bitterness had sunk in. It never quite left, though it’s unlikely that any member of her immediate Blum family still walks the earth.
With that semi-satisfying thought in mind and after Frank cracks a joke, Libby turns to him, blinking. “Is that what I am?” Catatonic. No, that can’t be right. She’s just… it’s just… “I’m tired. I’m just really tired.”
Frank gives her some reprieve in his assertion about the possibility of being in a right state of mind in a place like this. “Yeah, I mean, can you blame ‘em?” As if it’s someone else entirely. Not her, staring at trees and hoping maybe she’ll finally sink into the ground. But instead begins the work of rising, and Libby takes to her feet with a shuddering sigh, hoping that by doing this she’s not signing up for another half-lifetime of it.
Is that a good thing or a bad thing, Frank asks at the comparison to Kimiko, and without a beat of hesitation, Libby answers: “A good thing.” Not for the first time, she feels a pang of grief for their old leader. Surely Kimiko would know what to make of this. But that’s selfish, isn’t it? She should be glad. Glad that Kimiko’s free of this and –
And there’s no more time for that particular train of thought, not as they tumble into the thorns. Frank with his wounded knee, Libby with her scrambled brain, and both of them bloodied now. Thank you, Frank manages, and Libby laughs. This guy’s manners really know no bounds. “Yeah. Don’t mention it.”
Got to get up, got to keep moving – thus is the Labyrinth philosophy. Only she can’t, not when her ankles are bound tight. After a sudden memory of Miriam’s time in the Girl Scouts, learning to tie fancy knots, Libby shakes her head, pushing herself up on her palms and trying to get a good look at the things. “Nope, can’t say I am,” she grunts, jerking one of her feet only to feel the vice grip tighten. “Fuck.” Like the quicksand of vines. “Warded some of these off with fire earlier,” she remembers, hopefully helpfully… except there’s not much they can do with that now.
“But I guess that’s neither of our niches.” Some wiggling gives her a good angle to grab at a knife in her pocket, but there’s little to be done with it, given that the vines do nothing when she starts hacking away. “Great. Good. Alright. Well, I’ve got this–” cue gesture with knife “– if you’ve got any bright ideas.”
Frank doesn’t ask questions about her laugh though he has several. No, it’s more important to move along, to find their injuries and continue on, before whatever lurks nearby finds them. For this, he doesn’t argue with her assessment of tiredness, only nods in agreement. “Alright, tired makes sense. I’m tired, too.”
There’s some lightness in knowing whoever he reminds her of, it’s a good person. It’s a short-lived enjoyment with the jungle cracking down on them. He stays still, wary of provoking the vines into tightening; it already feels as though his foot will be torn clean off if he wiggles anymore. “A new addition to the jungle? I hope this isn’t adapting, I don’t know if I can fight something that learns like this,” he mutters.
“... Ah, fire. Very useful to two earth attuned. No, not a particular niche, I can only make a fire with some kindling and effort.” No boy scouts in his past. Everything he learned about survival is from the island, and it’s a moot point when neither can move. Except Libby, brilliant Libby, has a knife.
A useless one, apparently. Watching with dismay, he says, “I suppose if we get desperate, it won’t be hard to cut off one of our feet. It won’t help us escape, but at least we’ll be free of these vines.” The vines slither further, wrapping up and around their ankles. It’s mummification by vines, and he doesn’t want any part of it. The vines drag them closer together as the vines crossover each other, almost never ending. But no, there’s something. A thin vine near their heads where the others link up.
Frank looks down, pretending to focus on something else. “That one. Above your head. Cut it, and the others might loosen.” Or it’ll strangle them. He figures it’s die or maybe die, and he’s willing to bet on a maybe. He freezes as something in the shadows further ahead growls. The two are nearly spiders, trapped in its web. “Oh, bloody hell. You do that, I’ll distract... that.”
Frank digs his fingers into another vine, renewing some of the struggle. It’s silly, how he’s come to think of this jungle as a person. He manages to wriggle a hand free at the expense of the vine leaving a burn along the sides of his hand that wells with blood. This hand he plants into the dirt, wearily sending a pulse through the ground for something useful. Anything. Large rocks rise from the ground near them, trembling in air, his body too tired to do more than fling them far into the distance.
They clatter somewhere, and the shadow eases. For now.
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rebeccakoval:
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
“Oh.” Becca blinked, honestly unsurprised she’d gotten it incorrect. Anything she heard about the girl had been hearsay, secondhand. It was hard to ignore that slight feeling of disappointment in her chest though, another vague reminder. It’s just you. Still just you. “How is she finding it?” Becca asked, mostly out of politeness. She figured if Josephine was having trouble there were plenty other islanders to help out. People who were closer, or who would jump at the chance. “Not scared or anything?”
Her brows rose at the mention of possible catlike features. Either way, something that was a predator. An animal that might not lose interest in them and continue to prowl. The opposite of what Becca had been hoping for. She sighed and shook her head at Frank’s inquiry, “No, nothing standing out to me.” Her eyesight alone wasn’t anything extraordinary though.
Rebecca stilled on the rock, turning slightly to look in the direction Frank indicated. She was ready to jump and run from whatever might come out of the bushes. With no idea and no plan? Running was the best option. The woman…Esther? Well, Becca hadn’t been expecting that face to emerge from the shadows, and she looked to Frank first to see his own reaction.
She hopped off her perch, arms crossed over her torso as she stood a few feet apart from the others. “There’s lots of other islanders.” Becca muttered, just in case Esther wasn’t fully aware of the reach of the lively vines. “A jaguar?” She repeated, turning over the new information in her mind, “You can handle that alone? Let us help – or at least I can.” Becca corrected, not wanting to volunteer Frank for something he possibly didn’t want to do. “I want to help.” She wanted to help, wanted to see. Left could be the right direction out.
— ☼ —
“To her, it’s one grand vacation. Sometimes. Other times, she sees more of the darkness in this place than I’d prefer.” She’s better than she was some months ago, when her memories of ghosts is the jungle was fresh, and better still than she was some weeks ago, when Rose’s disappearance weighed on her mind. Both linger still, Frank sees it whenever she gets a little quieter, staring without her usual intensity at nothing specific.
Frank shrugs the worry over Josephine off. It’s harder to do, sticking to him like a second skin, and he covers it with a question. “Libby, I imagine, felt the same. You were born here, were you not?” he asks, brows raised, eyes on line of trees nearest them.
Unease fills him. Esther might appear, but the lurch in his stomach doesn’t. Frank looks at Rebecca in surprise as she volunteers, then to Esther in question. Esther nods slowly and heaves a sigh of wary acceptance. “Be careful, I will have no more blood on my hands,” she warns Rebecca.
“Libby won’t like you taking that risk,” he says quietly, eyeing Rebecca. She’s a short thing, and young too, though he knows age is a misleading thing on this island. “I... I can’t help you, either.” Well, he can. Frank’s no hunter, but an earth attunement is a useful thing, and a heavy hitter.
But he won’t. Returning to Josephine takes precedence over all else, even if this small girl beloved of a friend. What a terrible friend this makes him in return, unable to take the plunge for her child as she did for his. Frank frowns. Esther is already making her way to the trees. With a huff of annoyance, Frank moves to follow them.
The bush explodes. A beast leaps from the depths, knocking Esther clean off her feet. “Distract it, hit it!” His attunement finds the nearest heavy rock, flinging it towards the beast’s head as Esther fights it off with the handle of her weapon.
#Rebecca#Rebecca 01#stranded event 4#this is pre plot drop so attunements are normal thankfully#feel free to take the fight however you want lol it's not just me writing ofc
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WHERE: scary jungle
WHEN: it is dark
@madibyrd
The meadow is long behind him, and daylight fled with it. He must be close to the exit because the nonstop buzzing of the jungle seems far away. Without it, the aches and pains running through him seem manageable, a mere thought in the back of his head. A twig snaps; he’s surprised how easily he hears it, even though it takes several seconds for the figure to push their way through the trees.
A shadow stands to his left, but he can see no more beyond the humanoid shape. “Who is there?” he asks, squinting, blinking rapidly so his eyes can adjust. It doesn’t help. The leaves above a thick blanket, drowning out all light. But when he looks again, he can make out her features a little clearer. “Madi.”
Frank lets out a breath, relieved, stepping closer. “You startled me, I wasn’t sure if you were something else. The jungle is a lot more active than it was the last time we were in it-- Are you alright?” The question slips out before he can stop it. There’s little he can do if she isn’t. But no sooner does he finish asking than a branch comes crashing down near their feet. A bird startles, shooting through the leaves above, letting in a patch of moonlight.
In the bushes, something moves. Frank indicates it with his head, stepping silently across the ground to pick up the branch -- and he sees a pair of familiar eyes poking out of the bushes. “Bloody hell!” He jerks back, and then peers again. “It’s just the goat, we’re fine.”
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libbyblum:
Tutors. It’s enough to get Libby looking at Frank plainly, one pale brow arching as her head shakes. “Tutors. You know that’s worse, right? That’s definitely worse.” Maybe not, actually, considering what boarding school had been like. But the thought of private lessons with a tutor, seated so horrifically upright in a chair… Libby grimaces and doesn’t amend the statement. “Oh, I was called Mrs. Hardy once upon a time. But that was about thirty years ago, so. You can understand the surprise.”
Frank gets started on a thought that he doesn’t quite finish, but it doesn’t take a genius. Not when Libby can so clearly recall their last conversation and the warnings Frank had chosen to heed – but for how long? And how can she blame him? Only one person could have sent her back into this place willingly.
(Is he in here? The thought makes her nauseous.)
But she refrains from showing her greenness around the gills. Insteaed, Libby just shakes her head. “No, you won’t.” Frank doesn’t even need to land on a verb – Libby gets it. Just like she gets the talk of babysitters. “No one in their right mind would, anyway.” She mutters. But really, how many people around here are of their right mind? No one that’s ever even considered walking in here willingly, which the beach people seem to love to toss around the idea of. “She’ll be fine.” Libby sounds more sure of that than she really is – and she’s not sure at all about Frank’s wellbeing.
The mention of Big Man earns a little hum. At least someone had some sense, she’s tempted to tack on, but bites it back. What difference does it make? Matthew’s dead and they’re all here now. “It has.” It’s another mutter, pessimistic and sure, and Libby looks down at the vines, braced to see them squirming and snatching again. They’re not, but it’s temporary, she’s sure.
Libby’s back to staring for a while then, only half listening to Frank’s posturing and planning. Then fully listening, or at least three-quarters listening, when a swear escapes his lips. “That’s not very private tutor of you,” she deadpans, then hesitates. Can you walk? Yes, the twitching of her toes says, but Libby isn’t so sure. Will agreeing now lead to decades more of trekking?
“You sound like a friend of mine,” Libby eventually offers, remembering the many times that Kimiko had trailed a stream, seeking ocean. It had worked, once or twice, but had evidently never led to the North Beach. Any way out will do, though, so Libby rises. Slowly, hesitantly, on aching legs – but she still rises.
“Alright. Okay.” She murmurs to herself more than anyone else, then nods. “To the water.” Not that she can sense it. She just… walks, really, beginning down the clearest path she can. Until Libby does begin to sense something. A trembling that makes her hair stand on its end with its familiarity, and – “Shit!” Libby has time to gasp before turning, harshly shoving Frank toward brambles and bushes just in time for the square of land he’d been standing on to crumble. Once they’re thoroughly pricked, prodded, and lodged in their respective patches of vines, she tags on: “My bad. Had to do what I had to do.”
“I can hardly control how my parents chose to raise me. They wanted me close enough to feel parental, but distant enough to pretend they didn’t have the responsibilities of a child at all,” he says, and he’s beyond it enough to not sound bitter. His upbringing made him who he is. Frank sees few faults in himself, save the ones every person sees themselves holding.
He nods; he forgets how long Libby and Tomas have been here, so he can see the confusion. “Well, do you have a preference on your name when you’re catatonic?” he suggests, more to keep her engaged than any real interest in the answer, studying her face as she talks.
“I’m starting to think there’s no one here in their right mind. You and me included,” he says, trying for a smile and failing. Some levity is better than none, even the kind to fall flat. He’s thankful, though, for the certainty in her voice. “Better than us, at any rate.” Her words are all mutters and murmurs, words that respond but only just. It’s worrying, but despite his family aspiration, he’s no doctor. He can do no more than frown, looking her over.
Frank smiles at her comment. “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” he wonders as she rises; the motion is slow and careful in such a way that he thinks of an older woman rising from a chair. Walking gets easier with each step, and he takes whatever victory he can get, following. His stride nearly matches hers; his knee hasn’t recovered, aggravated throughout the last few weeks.
It’s slow work. Slower, still, when he’s too lost in his thoughts to notice anything amiss until Libby is shoving him. His knee flares with pain at the abrupt movement, and he grunts in surprise. The glare slides off his face at the crumbling ground, eyes wide with surprise. The thorns poking into his skin are a small price to pay for not being splattered upon the jungle floor. “I... didn’t remember it could do that. Rose said, I think, but I thought it different.”
Frank shakes his head. “Thank you,” he says simply, shifting his way towards steadier ground across the cluster of vines and brambles.
Or he tries, but in their distraction, the vines have crept across their ankles, ever so slowly tightening. Trying to shove it off only forces it to tighten, and trying to use his attunement only leads to thorns poking against his skin. Frank grimaces. “Don’t suppose you’re familiar with vines that like strangling people?” he says with feigned casualness, plucking a thick thorn from his hand with a grimace.
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dreams-of-a-lark:
☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎
‘Well, I’m no figment of your imagination.’ To his misfortune, Lark imagines. He smiles back at Frank and notices his smile fall, as if tasting something bitter. Understandably, niceties aren’t so easily afforded when fighting for your life. “Well, glad I’m not going mad, at least.”
He looks down at the weathered knife, “Oh this?” Letting out a slight chuckle, he explains, “Got it from Luke way back when I was first learning to hunt. Said I looked pathetic without a weapon so he gave me one of his… in exchange for a meal, of course.” He turns the blade over in his hand, examining every nick and scratch adorning it with history. As precious to him as it is useful. Focussing back on Frank, he places the blade back at his hip, “I try to keep it on me as much as possible, in case of emergencies. I’d say this probably counts as such.”
The blood and dirt covering Frank’s face makes it difficult to believe his nonchalance, but, out here, that sort of attitude can be a lifeline in and of itself. “Yeah I got snatched as well. Madi helped get me out of the vines, saw a couple others as well. I’ve been trying to find as many people as I can. What sort of plans did you have in mind before losing the others?” It doesn’t seem necessary to make it known that he’s in no hurry to make it out himself. If he can help Frank get back to his daughter, that’s enough for now.
— ☼ —
“You got some knife from Luke? I suppose that’s the most sane thing I’ve heard all day.” It’s not even sarcastic; he doesn’t talk with Luke much, but he knows the man is practical enough to have a knife. Two, if he’s giving one away to Lark. “Were you trapping instead? How did you hunt without a knife?” he wonders, waiting for him to sheath it.
Frank nods in agreement with his words. “If there’s any emergency warranting a knife on hand, this is the one. Though I’m not sure how it’ll fare against teeth longer than your fingers, like some of the beasts I’ve seen in here,” he points out, raising an eyebrow, and then relents with a shrug. “Any weapon is better than none, at any rate.”
“Madi is in here? Is she alright? Have you seen Magnolia, or Tamyra? Libby?” Frank asks quickly, hopeful that they are safe. Wherever they are. He waits patiently for the rest of Lark’s words, expecting something to follow up with his questions of helping others and a plan. A request, as most people ask of Frank. A reason, as most people tell themselves.
It doesn’t follow, and he blinks in surprise, processing. “I have no plan except leaving. Preferably with the others.” But if not, he won’t pick them over Josephine, even if the idea leaves him shifting from foot to foot with discomfort. There’s no time for it here, and Frank lifts his chin stubbornly. “But if you have one, I’m all ears. There isn’t much to be done about navigating, it seems to change whenever we make any headway.”
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rebeccakoval:
•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
“Yeah, the nickname can be misleading.” Becca laughed, one brow quirking in curiosity at the name. Now it was her turn to have slight recognition. “I’ve heard that name.” Becca took a moment to make another few connections and assumptions. “Wait, the little girl. She was born here right? People talk about her collecting shells.” Part of Rebecca wished Libby had brought her along whenever she’d seen Josephine about. Just to talk to her or ask her questions. Someone who would understand what only knowing the island was like. She didn’t even know how old Josephine was, but Becca knew kids were often smarter then adults gave them credit for.
There were other pressing matters at hand though, like what was possibly following this guy before they crossed paths. A beast wasn’t overly helpful, if the vines were going to act out like they had, the jungle could have conjured up anything remotely beast like as well. “There’s um…boars, birds, snakes, beetles. I saw a little monkey once. And this weird thing with a really long nose, it didn’t seem dangerous though. I’m sure there’s plenty of things I haven’t seen either.” So either way, without a sense from the ground or any description they were in the dark about what was following them, or now lying in wait.
She scoffed, “No way in hell am I staying here.” Becca hurried a few paces forward before climbing on a large stone to try and get any sort of wider view. The sun was blocked mostly by the large leaves and crowded trees of the jungle, but she still squinted, looking for any movement. She didn’t see anything, but turned slightly when she heard a few rushed beats of bird wings before it fell silent again. She shrugged in silent communication.
— ☼ —
“Josephine? No, she wasn’t born here. Her mother and I, we were together prior to the island, then separated, then reunited.” And separated once more, he supplies in his head with a pained grimace. To anyone who knows him - and even some who don’t - Rose’s disappearance during the fog is well-known. Poked, prodded, and explored, to such an extent that the wound of it hasn’t healed. “She’s only been here a few months,” he clarifies after a beat.
“No long nose. Just sharp teeth. Small eyes. It looked like a cat,” he says with a shrug. “But my knowledge of jungle cats is limited. ” And he’s not going to linger around, studying it for answers. Franks nods, relieved, as she follows him into the brush. The jungle doesn’t seem any easier now than it did in his initial run, and he falls behind. It doesn’t bother him as she squints into the trees.
When she climbs a rock, he approaches and kneels, touching the ground. “See anything? I feel something nearby.” A pond, maybe, it has the feel of water without the sensation of water eating away at the shore. He prods more, fingers digging a little deeper into the dirt, trying to feel something useful from the jungle.
His head shakes. “Nothing, I don’t-- Wait.” Something vibrates the ground, too heavy to be an animal, too cautious to be a beast. “I think there’s someone up ahead?” Frank straightens, wary, lifting his hand to indicate in the direction.
But no sooner does he straighten than the bushes part, and Esther walks through, looking weary. More so at the sight of them. “I was hoping no one else would be brought in here,” she says, disappointed. Dark eyes scan him and Rebecca over carefully, looking at the ripped clothing, bruised faces, and bloodied skin. She sighs and points to their left. “Keep moving this way. There’s something like a jaguar back there, I’m going to contain it.”
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rebeccakoval:
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Becca cringes slightly, her current attacker does have a point. How many times have they been tricked by hallucinations claiming to be anything but? It’s happened multiple times since she reached the beach with the rest of the castaways alone. She doesn’t know how many other instances this stranger has witnessed on his own. But what else can she say? Becca doesn’t know how to prove herself. Not in this position.
”Yeah, I totally get that.” She eagerly agrees, nodding vigorously. It’s the only thing she can do. She’s relieved when she can finally put a face to the voice and the man seems to recognize her. Well, he doesn’t know her – but he knows her people, and that’s good enough for Becca. “Right, right!” Becca offers a weak little smile, anything for reassurance. “I came with Libby. She calls me ‘kid’. You’ve probably heard her. My name is Rebecca, actually.” She doesn’t jump to shake his hand or anything, not yet. Becca isn’t too keen on being knocked on her ass in defense, she isn’t good with earth tremors, natural or otherwise.
“What were you running from?” Becca asks carefully, “Or…what do you think you were running from?”
— ☼ —
“’Kid’,” Frank echoes, unexpectedly amused at the title Libby has given her. Whoever this girl is -- Rebecca, she tells him, all smiles, weak as they are at the corners - she isn’t a kid. But then, Libby has spent thirty years here; for all he knows, this Rebecca is a kid. “I have heard of you. I didn’t picture you when she mentioned a kid though, I had wondered why she didn’t bring the kid along with her anytime she’s seen Josephine.”
He shifts. The slight tremors fade, though he crouches with a pained wince to press his fingers to the ground. Listening for anything. “I don’t know. It’s not a person, and I didn’t look over my shoulder long enough to verify anything else. It was...” Frank thinks, looking unnerved. “It looked like a beast. Maybe an animal that lives here. You’re perhaps more familiar than I am with the possibilities.”
With a sigh, he stands up again. “Whatever it is, it isn’t nearby. Or if it is, I can’t feel it. Let’s not linger here.” Frank invites her along without thought, certain in the knowledge that no one sane will want to linger here. But he’s only a few steps into the brush before he halts, turning to face her. “Please tell me you aren’t going to stay here and wait? We should continue onward. Higher ground, or a familiar marking, or somewhere that isn’t here.” God knows if something sensed his attunement, or heard their talking, or simply followed him here.
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sagetomashardy:
Frank asks if Tomas just wouldn’t want to have a spot in the Trio or if he thinks he’d suck at it, and Tomas leans back slightly, eyebrows raised. “Okay,” he says, “okay, if you want a real answer? Not just the standard line? I think I’d be fine at it, Frank. I think I’d be good, if I had to be. But do I fucking want to be?”
He stares into the fire, lapsing into a brood. “I’ve been here too long. This is the kind of thing that depends on very precise timing: somebody who’s been here long enough to know the ropes, but not long enough to have made indelible relationships. Nobody would see me as impartial, and y’know, that’s fair. So no. Not me, thanks.”
Tomas doesn’t want any more of the liquor, so he just watches and listens, then. To Frank declaring that he’d take his family being safe and unhappy, or maybe he’d take them being separated for a thousand years, or that he’d take them being physically close but emotionally far apart. It’s hard for Tomas to keep track of, but that’s being in the bottle for you: all things existing in a single point of time, each of them as true as the last contradictory thing. He doesn’t think Frank actually would take any of those things. But sitting here with death a pall over them, it’s easier to say it and believe it. The morning will bring clarity and Frank will have to find something more honest to take.
The one thing Frank can’t take, even through the drunken haze, is abandoning his child. Tomas is unsurprised. It’s hardly something that anybody would admit to, not if they wanted to face themselves the next day. “I know, man,” Tomas murmurs. At least Frank gives up on the bottle now, having come to a concrete conclusion among all the bobbing and weaving.
“No more going from item to item then?” Tomas says, although he’s not sure what Frank even meant by that, what these nebulous items are. “Look, it’s hardly some heinous choice you’ve made here, Frank. To keep your daughter safe now that your wife’s missing. It’s the conclusion you would’ve come to no matter what road brought you to Rome.”
The talk is wearing on him, though, and Tomas can tell because he keeps misplacing the thread of the conversation, wandering off after rolling spools of other things. Guilt, loss, culpability, forgiveness. It’s a mess, he’s a mess, and looking at poor old noble Hauptman miserable because he can’t save everyone doesn’t make Tomas feel any better. “Listen,” Tomas says, pushing himself to his feet, “I’m starting to be shitty company, this far in. You take care, Frank. I’m always around if you need anything, huh?”
END
#Tomas#Tomas 03#end#love this ending for them so no addition necessary#I love how much of Tomas you've brought into this thread#the little parallels between him and Frank#the similarities and differences and ugh altogether I just loved this real talk between people who have lost and found and lost
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libbyblum:
Frank’s question only occurs to her belatedly, after her own stupid inquiry about how frequently he visits the jungle. “Oh, I am peachy keen, let me tell you…” And then the name occurs to her, too, and she huffs: “Did you just call me Mrs. Hardy? Did you go to finishing school?” Frank doesn’t seem the type. He’s too… nice. Genuine nice, not the etiquette class sort where they’d ask you ever-so-kindly to pass the salt at the table then kick you under it.
But Frank – he’s kind. He hasn’t been here long, her conscience reminds her through the dull hum of shock and the actual hum of the jungle. But Libby shoots it down. Maybe it is possible to keep traits like that intact, even in a place like this.
So she musters up something like a laugh at the mention of a wise woman. “Not wise enough to see this coming,” Libby replies, tone dripping with a mixture of self-deprecation and weariness. It doesn’t let up even as she does listen to Frank, not sinking to sit so much as plopping herself down, commenting: “I’ll have you know I’m always this pale.”
But he’s right, it’s worthwhile to sit. And sit against a tree, at that. One that could crumble as soon as they peel their gazes away from it… but Libby doesn’t mention that. Not to thoughtful Frank.
Instead she sits for a quiet moment, gaze wandering again, the goddamn humming ringing in her ears – until Libby suddenly snaps to attention, her expression consumed with worry. “The kid. Jo. Did she –” Libby looks around but there’s no sign of her. Not that that really means anything. Not here. “She didn’t follow you in, right?”
Once that fear is assuaged (she does not want to guide another child through this mess), Libby presses her palms into the earth, trying to feel… anything. The crash of the waves against the sand. Footsteps. She gets nothing, no matter how she curls her fingers, nails digging into the dirt. With a sigh, she relents, looking back to Frank. “Has this happened out there before? People getting yanked in like this?” And then, backtracking: “How did this even happen? I thought it was a person and I couldn’t see a thing but… I’m guessing not.”
“Finishing school? No, my family thought they were above it. I had tutors instead.” Not too different, he feels, except one is from the comfort of his home and the other is a place he visited all of once. But if Libby is huffing, then they are getting somewhere. Catatonic Libby is... Well, he’s never been much use at handling someone in shock in a place like this. “I don’t know what your maiden name is, but I do know Tomas’ name. Have you never been called Mrs. Hardy?”
He frowns as Libby plops down. It isn’t like her, he thinks, to settle with weariness. She’s always seemed moving as swiftly as the earth far beneath their feet. “The island doesn’t care about wisdom, it’s contrary and spiteful. I’ll take wisdom still; it means I won’t linger. I won’t--” Look, he wants to say, but stops. The words get stuck in his throat. Rose could be here, and he’s already here. What does it hurt to search? To look?
Libby’s question hits him. It’s one he’s thought already, but Josephine’s name from someone else’s lips brings it home. It hurts nothing to look, but it hurts her. “She was on the Leander still. There’s another child on there. A boy. His mother watches her sometimes for me, and I watch him for her.” Failing that, there’s Libby and Tomas, there’s Tamyra, there’s... people. “She won’t let Josephine leave. I hope no one would let her come here. Not for me.”
Would Rose the wish the same?
Frank rubs a hand over his face. “Getting yanked in? No. Or. I don’t think so, no one has mentioned it, but Matthew... Matthew always told us to steer clear of it. Don’t wander close, don’t wander inside. It didn’t seem to matter sometimes. I’ve seen people enter and leave with only minor issues.” But maybe... Well, Matthew didn’t make rules for no reason. “Maybe it’s always had the abilities to do this, and we were lucky it didn’t.”
He doesn’t usually believe in luck. But now, more than ever, he wishes he hadn’t dug the compass up. The nonstop whirring of it needle is a curiosity, but it seems rather than north, it points danger. His head shakes, and he crouches some, pulling up the bottom of his pants. Blood oozes from a line around his ankle, one where jagged thorns on the vine or the branch or whatever it was cut through the skin.
His head shakes again. “No, not a person. Not unless there’s an Earth user older than Matthew hiding out in here,” he says, indicating the jungle. He lets the hem of his pants fall over his ankle once more. No point in really wrapping it until he finds a stream to clean it out. His eyes drift to Libby. The dirt under her hands seems inert. Empty. “Is there anything nearby? I can’t read anything here. It’s too... loud usually. But if there’s nothing, we should...”
Frank looks behind them. The way back is gone, and though he expects it, the sight of it still makes him sigh. “Well, shit.” A pause, and then he looks to Libby, eyebrow raised in question. “Can you walk? We should find a stream. Maybe it’ll lead to the ocean, or a landmark, or something useful.”
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