lucetilogs | I've seen your flag on the Marble Arch; Love is Not a Victory March

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I've seen your flag on the Marble Arch; Love is Not a Victory March

Who:

lists_to_port
What: Seeking Refuge at Cullen House
When: Monday evening, after this.
Where: Cullen House
Summary: 8| and :(
Rating: It's scaling toward a very emo PG at this point.

"Now watch yer step, Bonesy---this path's a bit iced over today." Jack Sparrow picked his way easily across said icy path, completely ignoring the Are We There Yet--

Damn it, why am I calling her that now?!

--because looking at the boat made him think of Jilly, and he did not want to think of her right now. Looking at her also made him think of Buffy, and he did not want to think of her, either. Of course, what one wants and what one actually gets are often two drastically different animals, and Jack was very busy having a lovely garden party in his head with both women in attendance.

It was the sort of garden party where it rains, and everyone's hats get wet, and then horribly misshapen lobster monsters rise up from beneath the crudité and finger-sandwich cart and begin attacking the guests, and the only thing you can do is draw your sword and try to fight them off, and the hats end up getting even wetter because of course it starts to rain HARDER, and that one lummox who always shows up uninvited complains about the state of the brie.

"Bonesy.....where.........where are we goin', again?"

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"It's not meant to be a place to want to stay in, McCoy. I came here to--"

To heal. To not run mad in the village, but instead do so in privacy. To chatter with his fetches and a small monkey.

Said monkey soon came bounding over to greet them, angry at having been ignored all day.

"Say hello, Jack."

Seeing Jack the monkey chatter angrily at the pirate reminded him of Cupcake back at the house and he inwardly winced. Damn it. Well, he could count on Scotty to take care of the cat for him as he... did what? Moped in this damn glass mausoleum? Recover from experiments that, once upon a time, happened monthly?

The monkey made many angry demands before leaping aboard Jack's shoulder, where the pirate scratched its head absently. This seemed to calm the animal a bit.

"Hungry, Bonesy?"

McCoy looked up. "Hmm? What?"

"Hungry? Food?"

Jack had a little in the house. Since Buffy and Dawn had visited, there were traces around showing the pirate had made more of an effort. Warm blankets were folded over the back of the couch, and there was a reliable stack of firewood by the giant fieldstone fireplace. The pantry had much more to offer, too.

"Could make you something, if you like."

"You couldn't even make a pie without messing up my kitchen, Sparrow. Or putting it in the oven." McCoy retorted dismissively and walked further into the house. It was his own way of refusing the offer as he pulled at the bag and dropped it next to the couch with a thud. This had been well thought out instead of an opportune moment like it had been with Kennedy and prepared himself -- no more impromptu visits back home.

Sparrow watched the bag drop. It looked heavy--like he might be staying for a while.

So now Cullen House was a refugee camp for a madman, a heartbroken doctor, and a giant eleven-foot-tall or some such thing Blackbeard, on occasion. And the monkey, of course.

"Want to see your bedroom, McCoy?

One hell of a refugee camp, but he couldn't deny it was better than sticking around in Iowa. His nose scrunched up as the questions kept on coming. It felt damn alien being treated like an infant by Sparrow and he turned around to face him. "If you're going to keep this act up, I'll go elsewhere." It lacked any real conviction since the trip back was not appealing in the slightest despite being treated like glass.

"Suit yourself--only it's probably in your interest to take a room, mate. Blackbeard has a horrible habit of walking about the place nude."

Not necessarily true, but it was a pretty good reason to take a bedroom instead of leaving McCoy parked in the middle of the hall.

It might have not been true, but it had the desired effect of taking his mind off the past week. In possibly the worst way imaginable.

"... What."

"I'd suggest the third door on the right; there's a lovely window looking out on the forest there."

Sparrow would have suggested another room, but they looked onto the lake, and he figured the doctor would not appreciate that as much.

No, he wouldn't have appreciated the view of the lake. The underwater hotel room from the last draft still elicited recurring nightmares and he went to investigate the room in question, scooping down to pick up his shoulder bag again.

Jack, meanwhile, fed the monkey his daily ration of Monkey Chow and began to attend the washing-up that Blackbeard had left behind. He placed a pot on the stove and began heating some water, with no clear idea of what he was actually planning to cook.

As Jack puttered around aimlessly in the kitchen, McCoy came face to face with... a hammock. Somehow, he suspected this would be the case as he tossed his journal onto the sling, sighing at the accommodations. Maybe he should have just picked an empty apartment and stayed there as he tried to get his head sorted out.

Cullen House was much more better than some apartment because it had stellar views through immense windows, a cool fireplace, and no beds. Sparrow had made the hammocks himself from spare rope and fabric.

They were on the tippy side.

McCoy knew that from the way the journal simply slipped straight off the hammock and hit the floor with a thud. The hammocks were a failure and he headed into the kitchen to tell him this.

"You need proper furniture."

"What? OH. Hammock. They do take a bit of getting used to, but I think once you've hit the floor once or twice you'll perform admirably, McCoy."

"Do you know what's worse than sailing, Sparrow? The sensation of it." And it was clear from his tone that he held hammocks in the same regard as sitting on a boat in the middle of the lake. It was a distraction and he embraced it.

"You could sleep on the couch," Jack began doubtfully. Since the night Buffy had spent with him, he'd taken over the couch as his own. He fancied he could still smell the intoxicating scent of her hair in the pillows.

Did McCoy manage to pick up on the doubt in his voice? No. Mumbling a noncommittal reply under his breath -- possibly cursing the clichés of pirates or something like that -- he looked at the pot.

"What are you doing."

"Spaghetti?"

So hopeful was Sparrow in voice. Like somehow, him boiling spaghetti was going to heal both of their hearts.

That was when the spaghetti caught fire.

"MY GARDEN PARTY! IT'S RUINED!"

"... How have you survived out here on your own?"

".......Buffy brings food? Sometimes?" That was all Jack had time for; he had to extinguish the fire.

Buffy again. It seemed the list of things she was keeping from him was increasing... but at least he could count on the pirate to not point a gun at her.

The pirate at that moment was trying to throw a lid over the fire. He was very sensitive to burns, for good reason; and the idea of even a small one made his lip curl.

"Out! Fire! No! Out!"

Finally it died down. However, now there was nothing for dinner at all.

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hippocraticly.livejournal.com - 2011-02-22 18:41 (UTC) - Expand

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