fourstrings | the woods are lovely, dark and deep

the woods are lovely, dark and deep

[ What’s so special about this tree, huh?

For Wolfwood, the answer is simple. He’d done a job that pissed off the wrong people, was going to have to move again and dreading packing up all his shit, when a man pale as moonlight and broad in the shoulders as your average wagon had walked up to him like he was trying to put his feet through the earth instead of on top of it and told him he was now a guard. And Wolfwood had laughed – guarding is a shit job, too much sitting around, the payoff too brief when someone finally tries something – until the man produced a bag of more money than Wolfwood had ever seen in one place. He'd said yes, obviously. Before he’d asked what he was to guard.

He should have asked.

He’d roared with laughter when he saw the tree, which had gone… badly. The man who was paying him told him (in a voice that sounded very like he hadn’t used it in a long time) that he had already accepted the payment, and if he wasn’t going to take his job seriously there would be more serious repercussions than paying the money back. So Wolfwood thought… fine. It was out of town, there was a little cottage for him to stay in – not right next to the tree, but close enough to see it. Tough not to, really; it was big, must have been old as hell. And it was… nice, out there. Quiet and green with a well for fresh water, a river running to a lake that would be good for fishing, plenty of game to hunt, and a few wild fruit trees scattered around if he got a sweet tooth. He could use some peace and quiet after things had gone so badly. So he settled in, and became a guard for a tree.

It's still hard to imagine why a tree is worth enough money that Wolfwood will never need to obtain more of it, but he’s grown fond of it. He’s not sure what kind of tree it is; the bark is pale and smooth but knotted and burled in ways that mean Wolfwood almost sees pictures in it when he runs his hands over the trunk. The leaves change colour with the seasons; riotously green in spring and summer, bright and cheerful gold and red in autumn. But trees like that drop their leaves in winter, and this one… doesn’t. Those leaves turn dark but they stay on, providing shelter for all manner of woodland creatures while everything is cold and wet. And he starts to imagine he understands why the moonlight man is so fond of it, too. There’s… a feeling about this tree. Wolfwood find himself returning to it often, sitting under its branches to whittle (other wood, not this one – you don’t take risks like that when you’re paid this much), sometimes talking to it because there’s not another speaking being out here since the one time a dude approached it with an axe and Wolfwood had sent him off with a promise that if he came back the axe would be going through his skull. He gets attached. He rests under it as he makes things, eats his lunch under the shade of its branches. Gets drunk one day, tells a story about his escapades as a street urchin and thinks he hears the leaves rustling on this still and breezeless day, lets himself think that the tree is laughing along with him and pours a little of his wine at its roots like sharing a drink. When summer comes and the sun beats down hot he strips off under its branches, goes for a swim in the lake, and when he returns to the tree to doze while he dries off before dressing again he could swear the branches shift until the shadow of them keeps the sun off him, safe from burning. A woodpecker lands in the branches one day, starts hammering at the bark with its beak, and Wolfwood is nuts enough out here with no company but the tree by now that he swears he feels a wave of disapproval when he pegs a stone at the bird to move it away.

Sorry, tree, he says, but some lunatic paid me good money to make sure you’re not damaged. He runs a hand over its smoothly knotted bark, and tells himself next time he’ll just shout.

It’s a quiet life, but nice. He’s been there nearly a year. Complacent. Which is why it’s the thud of an axe that wakes him, not the sound of people. He rushes out, dressed in the pants he fell asleep in but sword in hand. There’s a brief yelling match – apparently this tree is magical and the men want the wood for – some shit, Wolfwood doesn’t listen. Swings his sword instead. He doesn’t actually want to kill them, because then he’d have to deal with disposing of bodies. That’s probably what gets him, in the end. They leave, injured but not imperilled, but one of them throws an axe at him as a parting shot. Not as bad as it would be if they’d swung it, but he knows from the sick, hot pain deep in his thigh that the bone is broken. It’s some kind of mania that keeps him on his feet until they’re far gone, and only then does he allow himself to go to the ground, drag himself back under the shelter of the tree and wonder how the fuck he’s going to get back to his cabin and tend this wound. He puts a hand over the shallow gash they’d made in the tree like the one he has pressed to his own leg, and counts himself lucky that these idiots apparently didn’t know how to use axes on men or trees. ]

This is a fine fuckin’ mess we’re in, huh?

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[ did he? it’s… maybe a little hard to tell! it wasn’t a conscious effort, but the forest tends to move to adapt itself to vash’s moods and wants, and… this past year, one of those wants has become very much to see wolfwood happy and taken care of.

but! it’s not like wolfwood knows that well enough for vash to have to be embarrassed about it! it can just stay his little secret. ]

Noooo! I’ve put all my faith in your skills! You’re the expert on dinner with friends, here.

All me, then? Good thing. I'd hate to disappoint.

[ Not bothering to hide his doubt of the absolute truth of what Vash has said, but it's entertained rather than suspicious - if Vash is letting him win, he should at least accept it with grace. He uses the little fold-out knife that lives in his pocket to dispatch the fish quickly - catching them can be fun, but watching them flop around gasping for breath isn't - washes the blood away in the lakewater and walks back to Vash with their prize. ]

I dunno if I'd call myself an expert, but with a catch like this I can fake it. C'mon, Blondie. The fresher this is the more worthy it's gonna be of a forest god.

Oooh, so you upgraded me from just a tree, huh?

[ falling back into step with him as they begin the trek towards the cottage, stepping as lightly across the forest floor as a deer. ]

Yeah, well. You seem like you're settling into it, now.

[ Even the way he's walking, graceful and light as if his feet are touching the ground for the tradition of it rather than necessity. It's a world away from how he was before, stumbling, trapped by his borrowed pants. And the funny thing is it doesn't even seem like he was pretending before - just like having the secret out has made him more able to be himself.

It's a good feeling, to think Wolfwood played a part in that. ]

's a good look on you.

[ there’s a little laugh, and he turns a smile towards wolfwood. ]

I didn’t say I was a god, either. Only that some people used to think so!

[ Every time Vash smiles right at him, all Wolfwood wants to do is kiss him. And he may be a little rough around the edges, may have been living with very little human contact for almost a year, but he knows you can't go kissing someone for the first time with a dead fish in your hands! So he ends up quiet a moment, halfway between basking in it and stunned, before he remembers to smile right back. ]

You gotta cut 'em a break. Now I see you like this, I get it.

[ He's still hurrying a little more, now. The sooner they get in the cabin the sooner he can cook this fish and make his dinner-with-a-friend offering, and that frees him to make... other offerings. ]

Wh --? [ he blinks, casting a look down at himself. ] Why?

Just because I look more like a human?

[ whoa! maybe wolfwood is just now realizing how hungry he is, because vash has to lengthen his own stride to catch back up with him. ] I thought you had a thing for trees!

Ha ha.

[ Dry, but he's grinning. He did walk right into that tree thing, after all. ]

Nah, I mean all regal and shit. The robes, walkin' like you could float if you wanted and you're just walkin' 'cause it's the done thing. It's pretty different to seein' you get all tangled up in my pants. You were pretty damn cute before, but now you're... [ Wolfwood wracks his brain for a moment. He doesn't use a lot of words that would be suitable, in general, so it takes a beat to come up with one ] majestic.

[ that gets another one of those flustered sounds out of him, and vash can feel the heat that rushes into his cheeks. ]

I — [ it’s embarrassing, having wolfwood say all of that to him with such sincerity, but vash would be lying if he said there wasn’t a secret little part of him that liked the praise. ] I just thought…

You're supposed to wear clothes when you’re having dinner with friends! Right?

[ Okay, that's... even better. The perfect combo of the flustery, blushing Vash he met initially (other than the tree, of course) and the guy who looks like he's made out of magic. And what he says gets a belly laugh out of Wolfwood, deep and hearty. ]

Yeah, yeah you are.

[ Pushing the door to the cottage open and setting right to starting on dinner as he talks - gutting the fish (inelegant, for discussing someone's regal bearing, but it needs to be done), planning which of the wild herbs he's relocated and half-domesticated to go with it, grabbing some fiddleheads he'd harvested earlier in the day to go alongside. ]

It's not about the clothes. It's... you. At first I thought you were sometimes a tree, and sometimes a man. Now it feels like you're both all the time, and the forest too. Just choosing a form I can wrap my little mortal head around.

[ that’s… a pretty apt description, actually! enough to get a little hum out of vash that might almost be agreement. ]

Well… I guess I’m doing a good job? [ that hint of playfulness is back. ] You said you liked the way I look, right?

You're underselling it.

[ Like is a very mild description for how he feels about how Vash looks! He's trying to focus on putting the food together - layering fish and herbs and fiddleheads so they can all cook slowly together, which should give them tender, flaky fish and still-crisp vegetables - but he does take the time to flash Vash a grin while he does it. ]

I'da thought it was more magic if I didn't already know your brother looks like you. And I'm damn sure he wasn't trying to charm me.

[ It's almost funny how they can look so alike and so different at the same time. ]

[ vash can’t help but float closer, curious to watch the process of their meal coming together. it’s not that he’s never seen it before, but it’s been awhile! and never with someone this good-looking being the one to do it, which greatly ups the entertainment value. ]

Hehehe. Just luck, mostly! I guess I could’ve ended up looking like I was a thousand years old or so.

Are you?

[ Is that a rude question? Probably not, when the person you're asking is some kind of tree/nymph/forest spirit and the point is that they don't look it, but Wolfwood's never been a great judge of what's polite. And even if he was, that little laugh would have scrambled his ability to tell anyway.

How can someone be so magical, so ethereally beautiful, and so goddamn cute? ]

[ there’s a gasp, even though he’s mostly playing up any offense taken! ]

Wolfwood! You’re not supposed to ask! That’s the kind of thing that gets you cursed!

[ Maybe it's even ruder to laugh at that, but since Vash seems like cursing people is probably at the very bottom of his to-do list, Wolfwood's not too worried. ]

Oh yeah? What kind of curse can I expect for that?

[ And with the food set to cook, he can wash his hands and return his full attention to the conversation.

And looking at Vash.

Hardly a trial. ]

[ hmmm. that’s a good question, especially since vash has never exactly cursed anyone before! so he takes a moment or two to think about it, chewing on the inside corner of his lip.

… and then, almost like he thinks he’s getting away with something: ]

Maybe… getting cursed to get trapped in this forest forever? [ … wait, is that mean? ] I mean, uh, at least until you really decide you want to leave!

[ That's quite the threat! Wolfwood ponder for a moment, the process of thinking this through clear on his face. Then he levels a broad smile at Vash. ]

So about as old as rocks?

Wh —?!

[ having your voice crack isn’t a very majestic or regal occurrence, but. ] Rocks?! That’s way older than just a thousand!

[ Oh, right. Whoops. ]

Damn, that's even ruder than I planned. Guess you better curse me to hang around extra, huh?

[ Moving to a cupboard, peering in. He'll have to make anther run to stock up on some essentials soon, but there's at least set for booze. ]

So the whiskey was a bust. You drink wine? I could rustle up some tea. Or... water, I guess.

[ oh! right! extra cursing means wolfwood would get stuck staying here even longer, right? which… is a very selfish thought, but!

wait! the last bit makes him perk up, and there’s an excited arm wave that sends the sleeves of his robe fluttering. ] Wait! Hang on! Just… stay right there, don’t move!

[ which is all the warning wolfwood gets before vash bolts right out the door.

… at least it only takes him a few minutes to return, arms cradling a stoppered earthenware jug and expression bright with excitement. ] Guests are supposed to bring something to dinner, right? So… here! It’s berry wine!

[ That was... sudden! And a few minutes is all it takes for Wolfwood to wonder if he's been had and this was all just a cunning ploy to run away and re-tree, but luckily he doesn't actually make it to the door before Vash reappears. He doesn't look out of breath, which is... probably to be expected, given he's a forest spirit, but he does look a little flustered and proud. It's a killer combo, and Wolfwood's smile is warm as he raises an eyebrow and brings two cups to the table. ]

Perfect. Means I don't have to spoil the whole forest theme by servin' you somethin I bought in town.

You make this?

Uh-huh! Well… sort of?

[ since he’s mostly just gathering up the fruit from his sisters, it always feels a bit like they do all the work, but! he can’t resist the opportunity to show off just a little bit in front of wolfwood. ]

I always keep some buried down in my roots, just in case!

[ because it’s been a long time since he’s had any company, but that doesn’t mean he’s ever stopped hoping.

and now there’s a little grunt of effort as he tugs that stopper free, setting it aside and then pouring some into both their glasses. and then… he’s leaning forward a little, almost bouncing on his toes, very obviously waiting for wolfwood to try some. ]

[ It's probably just down to how much Wolfwood enjoys being around Vash, but even the noise of that stopper coming free is refreshing. And god help him, but he's far enough into this that i keep some buried down in my roots sounds like a totally normal and reasonable thing to say. So he picks up a glass, raises it in Vash's direction - ]

To good company.

[ - and takes a sip.

And listen, Wolfwood isn't a wine connoisseur. He's not an expert able to pick out notes of almond or tobacco or whatever the fuck, probably wouldn't know the difference between expensive shit and cheap plonk if it bit him on the ass. But this is good. It's smooth, rich without being heavy, carrying the bright, sweet flavor of berries without being cloying. He pulls the cup back from his mouth to blink at it a moment, eyebrows rising, and then grins at Vash. ]

Holy shit, Blondie.

[ the grin is instant, and it’s the kind that lights up every inch of his face and ends up sparkling in his eyes. ]

You like it? It’s good?

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