[You have to get up earlier in the morning to evade Marcone on his own property. There is a blood-soaked purpose to these woods. The trees deaden a lot of the more suspicious sounds. In a grove, in unmarked graves now grown over with brush, one might find the Vargassi heir and his father. John's killed men in these woods.
He doesn't intend Harry Dresden to be one of them, but when the man falls out of a fucking tree into John's path, the warden almost catches a bullet in the head. Christ.
John takes another silent, slow breath and aims his rifle. His finger is safely off the trigger, but the red laser sight hovers right next to Dresden's face, impossible to miss on this particular night. There's no moon, and the darkness is almost absolute, so that pinprick of light is bold and vibrant.]
[Once John has Harry's attention, he says,] Are you after the dryad as well, or has the Council elected to mount an invasion in their usual understaffed manner? [His voice is dry, but a whisper, in case the faerie is nearby.]
[ It occurs to him that the last time he was in these woods, lovely dark and deep, he wound up in a similar position. Marcone with the rifle, the laser sight, and all of it angled inches away from giving him a bullet to the brainpain and lights out for good. Uncanny, how the emotions he'd felt then were so similar to then. Except there was a loup-garou, not a dryad. More teeth than splinters.
Harry's own sense of mortality comes and goes when it pleases, crouched before Marcone as he is - he feels very, very, alarmingly mortal. He curls his fingers back to his palm, diffusing the hum he can feel aching at the back of his teeth and puts the focus into the shield bracelet around his wrist. Nice and agonizingly steady. Just in case the Baron decides he's still going to put his finger to that trigger. ]
The dryad. [ He answers pointedly, voice as low to the ground as he is. ] I've been chasing her all over, working a case. [ Now she was here, somewhere, on Marcone's estate and Harry's a trespasser as well. He stands slowly, his left hand out in what could have been a placating gesture, but was more likely to be him wearing his shield at the ready. ] I thought she was after you next. It wouldn't have been the first time, and on your own turf too.
I've been watching it as well. [He's not going to offer the fact that he's made himself bait for the damn thing, because in hindsight that wasn't the brightest thing John had done. Next time, they'll make sure the dangerous heroics coincide with Gard's office hours.
The fact that Harry thinks John's going to shoot him would hurt if John had time to care. Perhaps the mead made that night too hazy to remember, or perhaps Dresden's gone through the usual repression. It's not the time to figure out which it is. That is the remarkable thing about them. The personal doesn't matter in times of crisis; John has always trusted Harry to act according to his nature.
That Dresden may no trust John in return anymore--
John lowers the gun and offers a hand to Dresden.] Winnetka is actually not my turf under the Accords. That was the point. [He looks Harry over, now close enough to see how the man looks.] Are you well enough for this?
Of course you have. [ It's less than an accusation and just about what he's come to expect from Marcone. Harry makes it a point to brush his knees clean of debris, dropping his guard the moment it's confirmed that they are on the same side. Guns aimed at him make him twitchy enough to second-guess everything, but even though the laser sighting might still angle his way, he saunters forwards and briefly touches his hand to Marcone's, agreeing to the temporary team effort.
Memories and emotions aside, there's a dryad to catch, and Harry looks out into the treeline. I've got splinters in my eye and know this is going to leave bruises in the morning, he thinks of his face and general health. He gestures to the abrasions absently and shrugs a shoulder. ] It's fine, I've had worse.
[ He puts his palm to the scope of the rifle, coaxing it down to John's side absently. It's not the man's intentions that he's worried about, not concerning something between them, nor the writ of the Accords. For all he knows, it's full of tranqs, not bullets. It's just that the rifle is a big ol' extension of Marcone's power, and Harry doesn't it want it between them when they talk low and private about their game plan. ] She hasn't killed anyone. Just watch out for the glamour-whammy, it's a doozy and you can take my word on that. We catch her, send her packing home to Summer with a message saying something like: "sincerely, warden dresden and baron marcone". Deal?
[John's lips tilt upward in a very slight smile. Things are not so bad. In the future, John should probably avoid announcing his presence with a red laser sight. Especially in combat scenarios.
Harry's instant invasion of John's space is comfortable and familiar in a way it really shouldn't be. A powerful entity without a sense of personal space would earn nothing short of a bullet between the eyes if they were not Dresden. It certainly makes the night more interesting. What more could a man want with his evening but a deep, cold night, a rogue dryad, and a tall, dark and magical man who smells like smoke and static?
John of course doesn't let any of that show. Not the time, especially after their last meeting. His voice is cold and quietly furious.] She has been preying on my people, and Summer is going to pay for their trauma and injuries. If any changelings have been seeded in these last weeks, I am going to want that dryad's life along with a weregild. [There's a sound to the right, and John swings the rifle up, peering into the dark.] I imagine a wood nymph burns quite well, Mr. Dresden. I wouldn't mind finding out for certain.
[It's that moment went the fucking tree seems to take offense, slamming a branch into John's side, sending him stumbling.]
[ There's enough distance between them to pretend things haven't changed, and not enough to convince anyone that it's anything but a lie. He might have his hand on Marcone's rifle, but the look in his bright eyes is anything but safety-on. Harry didn't know that his people were caught in the crossfires, and that changes the tune of the evening, because he does know how viciously John takes care of what's his. If he's on the warpath, something happened that he has already weighed and tallied, and has deemed personal action necessary.
Harry's seen him like this before, has heard the stories of those who wronged John Marcone -- in comparison to those who wrong his people. Instead of protesting, he emits a faint noise. A sigh that means he might not like it, but John isn't going to be stopped. Trauma and injuries, hell. ] All right, but again: watch out for the--.
[ Whammy. She's not flighty any more it seems, their combined threat must have pushed her to aggression. Harry reacts immediately, a glance to check on John's status before he triggers the rings at his fingers and takes chunks out of the tree in question. A mortal Signatory and a boy bitten by Winter: both of them can be harmed. ]
[ Now he's in his element, eyes fever-bright and grin the only thing holding back the flames. He might have dropped his staff around the time the dryad smacked him upside the head, but he's multi-layered ready for some payback if this is how it's going to go. ] Upsie daisie, or you'll miss all the fun!
[The blow is a glancing one, and John know better than to push back. He tips his shoulder downward and rolls, getting distance and his footing back in one moment. The sight of part of the tree exploding under a wave of invisible force is... remarkable. Something to replay in his mind's eye later.
The rifle comes up, the laser sight sweeping, and John is squinting into the scope. So much of him is built on John internalizing his own press, and this is a fucking junior Summer faerie taking a swipe at a Signatory. If took out the right-hand man of a Freeholding Lord. He wants its head on his wall.
There is a shadow, and John fires, and it's an iron bullet that makes contact with something that shrieks, but remains hidden.]
It's moving, Dresden, watch your back. [No time for nonsense. John moves over to stand behind Harry, covering him and in turn being covered. Harry is vibrant and ecstatic, full of fuel. It takes so little to set him off. John just hopes that they don't end up burned as well.]
[ Harry darts and fumbles his way across roots that try to wind their way up his legs, to immobilize him or put him to the ground where he can be pinned down. Things he hates. The moment the root touches anything higher than his knee, he shatters it with another well-placed blow and a vague snarl. Relying on force and wind, rather than his favored element, means a slight re-calculation of how to effectively attack and defend. Since he doesn't want to burn down the woods (a notion which he has oft attempted to avoid, only to commit to in the end), he's trying to hold back, to rely on John to back him up.
The dryad's shriek causes his head to swivel, and Harry backs in closer to John, one hand at the ready with shields, the other wrapping around his blasting rod to level it at the surroundings. ] You're at my back, Marcone. Are you trying to tell me something?
[ A snide, delighted little comment that precedes the act of Harry's head snapping to his left to gauge a movement he deems important enough to pay attention to. He's playing cautious and reserved because he can afford to with John practically breathing down his spine, a gun in his hands and they are the steady hands of a man well-suited to stressful situation. Dresden, on the other hand, starts whistling Tiptoe Through The Tulips while his breath mists around his sharp smile. ]
[There is the role. There is the rage of having his territory poached. But there is also a rising manic feeling in John when his back is against Dresden's. Like it is transferring through touch. John chuckles, heat flooding his veins.] Lesser evils, Dresden.
[Harry's head turns, and John forces himself to mirror that, looking away from the danger, in case it's a feint. They need back-up, John knows. They are courting danger like this. The trees are against them-- why did John lure the dryad here? Obviously because it was the fastest solution, but goddammit, a tree just attacked him.
The whistling is a bigger startle than the tree was, and John turns to snap at Dresden to stop taunting the faerie.
That's when it happens. He catches the eyes of something, glistening bright in the forest, and then he's down.]
[The ground should be cold, but it's not. The grass is alive and vibrant and springy, a pillow of green beneath him
it's 15 degrees out
the sun is warm in the perfectly blue sky, so clear and cloudless, like the sky over the lake in June
it's past midnight
the hot wind warms him and ruffles his hair and seeps through his clothes and draws the cold out of his lungs
Don't talk to me about lesser evils, Marcone. [ Harry snaps, hackles raised by more than just the other man. Being stalked was not high on his list of favorite pastimes, and the longer it took the nymph to show her face, the worse his temper got. Hence his habit of piping up when the situation didn't call for it. One more round of Rage Judo, and he was sure he'd coax her out, probably in a fit of annoyance, if anything. ]
[ His whistling cuts out when she blindsides them both. John goes down in his peripherals, and he hits dirt when the dryad takes a swing at the already-bruised half of his face. Up within a moment, he swings the blasting rod in her direction and barks an angered fuego to tell her to burn or back off. Then he gets up and moves for Marcone.
He's got a duster full of enchantments to stop bullets, but his head's still a prime target. Doesn't seem like he cares, because he drops down besides the man and fists a hand in his shirt and the other goes for the pulse at his neck. Harry shields him with his body and will with his actual shields, because he knows how vulnerable one is when whammied in such a way. ] John, [ that's the voice of the man about two seconds from slapping him across the face to see if that'll snap him out of the glamour. ] Earth to Baron John Marcone, hello! Now's not the time to go on vacation.
[John starts to stir, then stops. Where is, it's so lovely, it's like nothing he's ever seen before. Even in the most meticulously up-kept parks in the most privileged areas of Chicago cannot compare. He feels like a young man again, laughing with his friends, sneaking into the Gold Coast private lawns with brown-bagged bottles of alcohol and the idea to see how much trouble they could cause, just to hear the news about it on the radio in the morning.
The grass is almost wrapping him up in fresh springtime. It's twining between his fingers, around his wrists, gentle but firm. It's not quite the best time for a vacation--
[ oh please don't make him hit you don't give him a reason just snap out of it you are so stupid
Harry shakes John with more effort, a vigorous and staccato gesture that'll practically haul the man off the dead leaves and debris and maybe bring him back from whatever pleasant state he's living in. Harry remembers Lily. It's nice there, blinded and hopped up on faerie glamour to the point where you don't care if all your emotions end up washing out of you all at once. That's what's dangerous about it. ]
[ He knows how to use anger to fight back, and while John's anger is fearsome, Harry needs it. So, Harry leans down next to John's ear and singsongs, obnoxious and as cruelly as he can, something that'll set him off, shake him out of that state because physically shaking him isn't doing the trick: ] She messed up your people. You're not even here to do a damn thing about it.
[ It's probably about that moment that the nymph lunges for the two of them. ]
The memories of Chicago summers and cracking open the fire hydrants to drench the streets with cool water to dance barefoot through with rolled-up jeans and sunshine tea left on the window sill
they are nothing in the face of Nathan, likely laid up in the hospital by now. That Summer has taken people from his Barony and sent them back dazed with only sunburns and vague memories of faerie kindness, the kind that is like poisoned honey.
John comes out of it in the span of a blink, the spell shattered. There are roots, not friendly grass, reaching up from the ground to hold him down. It's only a burst of adrenaline that lets him pull his arm free.
Something leaps at them just right of Dresden's ear.
John doesn't think. Just aims and fires, to hell with the recoil that throws his arm back. With the shot comes aching as the adrenaline ceases to pick up the slack and there are roots all over him.
The rest is up to Dresden.]
Edited (GAH TYPOES) Date: 2012-11-08 06:31 am (UTC)
[ Okay, if that didn't work, Harry wasn't sure what he'd do. One of them down to glamour, and vulnerable in the middle of the woods with a dryad on their combined asses now? It'd be a lot of hauling Marcone around and trying to keep him from getting crushed or something. Not the best of situations to be in, but manageable. It could always be worse, don't let it get worse, he tells himself when he's able to, and opens his mouth to hiss "John" one more time--
but he gets up.
Harry's reaction is anything but dignified. He can't help throwing his hands up when the rifle swings, fires within inches of his own body and the dryad makes some agonized sound behind him. There's something he wants to say, but no time. Just a wide-eyed look at John before he spins on his toes and rises up. She's hurt people - maybe not killed them, but systematically got into their heads and hearts and hurt them. John's people, but just because he and John weren't friends it didn't mean that the bonds either of them had formed with others were invalidated.
Harry'd do the same. So he sets the dryad on fire and watches her burn. ]
So. [ His voice is terse, and his eyes are dark when he turns from the impromptu bonfire. Returns to John's side to pick apart the roots binding him to the ground. The tightness in his jaw is less anger and more worry. ] You okay? How'd you do that?
[John has never been so happy to see Dresden hurling fire magic around. It is rarely so richly deserved. John is making a mental list to present to Lady Lily or the Summer Knight, whoever he runs into first: breaching territory, entrapment, enthrallment of mortals, an unprovoked attack on a Lord. John is going to pry two weregild out of the Court, three if any changelings have been produced with this dryad's help. The victims could use the gold, at least for therapy.
It is a very difficult thing to sit still and let Dresden unwind the roots round John. Being held in place and having his mind invaded is too like--
Get it together, this isn't your first go-round.]
Nothing strenuous, just risky. I'll feel the recoil for a while, but getting a knife free would've taken too long. [Assuming Harry is speaking about the rifle shot, which is odd. It wasn't an impossible maneuver, just a painful one. John's good aim shouldn't be news.]
[ The forces of nature at at his fingertips. It's got to be a sight, watching him spin them with his will and a cantrip or two, throwing light and wind about with half-crazed smiles in the best of situations, hard snarls in the worst. He could feel John's eyes on his back, watching him as he put an end to their rogue. When he'd turned about, it was to meet those eyes of his, and help him free: gingerly, almost tenderly, taking a moment to run his fingers soothingly over the skin of John's wrists.
Teeth worry at his lip while he clambers to his feet, tucking the blasting rod away so he can offer John a hand, or two. ] Not that. How'd you get out of the glamour? I can't even wrestle my way out of one and you! You're - still a vanilla mortal.
[ The way he watches John now. Something careful, softer than every, understanding - there's some crooked, lopsided little thing on his face as he meets the man's eyes, and it might be a smile. He points to the nymph's form as she begins to burn out, then to the green of John's eyes as they reflect the flames. ] Heh. Only you can prevent forest fires.
[Laying on the ground was lovely when in the throes of a glamour hallucination, but the moment it was thrown off, the freezing cold settles back in. The roots that scraped along John's skin, digging in as he launched into action, hurt with that sort of numb stinging that comes from mixing the cold and pain. Harry's hands though are hot, so much so that John wonders if something about the spellwork heats his skin. Either way, the fleeting touches are a comfort.
John sits up, wincing. Nothing makes you feel your age quite like winter. He takes a moment to just breathe before taking Harry's hands and letting himself be pulled up.] I'm unsure what to tell you. It's just glamour. I've never had any problems with it.
[John looks where Harry is pointing and a fiendish grin takes over his face, something truly dark and unsettling in the smoldering firelight. So Harry did set the blasted thing on fire for him.] Oh, Mr. Dresden, you shouldn't have. [In that exact tone of someone who's gotten a lovely gift.]
Never had any--. But how? [ That stings in one of those impersonal "hey so guess what there are people out there who can shrug of faerie glamour like its a coat and you've just stepped inside so it's not necessary take it off and hang it up" ways. He loosely wraps his fingers around John's pulse, curls his hands around his and helps him to his feet without much problem. Fire still curls and prowls at the corners of his eyes, prepared to strike out against the roots that held John down, at the remnants of the glamour if he could.
He should let go now. But the knuckles of his fingers brush along John's palms and Harry swallows hard and allows himself that before he gestures flippantly and puts his game face back on. John's grin sends his heart crashing up into his throat, shivering there as he turns to look back at the embers and ashes of the dryad with what might be that characteristic guilt and brittle willpower of his. Shit, he's not supposed to be doing things like this. ]
She hurt you and yours. I'm not a taxidermist, but I'm pretty sure you know how to sweep her under a rug. Can you walk? I'd like to find my staff and get you home, it's freezing out here.
I have nothing to give you on that. I know that Gard briefed me extensively before we joined you in the Deeps, for instance, but it was only when Malvora stepped in that I felt anything significant. A fluke of human biology, perhaps? Or I'm just that dead inside, as some have said. [It is a joke, but there could be some truth to it, John thinks. With a few exceptions, he's subsumed the sort of emotions that the fae and others prey upon. Harry wears his emotions on his sleeve, letting them burn slow like embers just under the surface. It's so easy to stoke a fire in him.
There is so much care in Dresden's hands that it's a jolt when they're suddenly not there anymore. After the last time, John never expected anything but coldness and dispassion from Harry, because Harry seemed the type to hold a grudge. It was as though he'd forgotten to though. And looking at him, Harry looked like John felt: off center.]
I've walked away from worse. A bad fall isn't worth worrying about. [Then, just as carefully as Dresden had been holding his hands:] Will you accompany me? A quick written statement would help corroborate my formal filing against Summer. Also, I have central heating.
I'm supposed to be the terrible liar, you know. [ Harry arches a brow at John, particularly after the comment about the contents of his insides. Not the visceral ones, because he's pretty sure they're perfect mirrors of his own and he's glad neither of them got disemboweled by angry trees. The contents of John's soul, he means. Looking upon it was a two-way street, and if the man Harry likened to a tiger was going to hoist that banner high when he pleased, then Harry was going to whip it out when he wanted a leg up in the conversation.
Still, the mere idea of a vanilla mortal who could shrug off glamour that swiftly? It made him feel all sorts of scholarly curiosity. Maybe it was partly John's consolidation of power within himself and within Chicago that helped, maybe it was some biological adaptation. Regardless, Harry was - for lack of better term - as relieved as he was apprehensive of the new discovery. ]
[ It'd be best to finish out the night before the topic of last time was ever brought back up. Harry was going to make a point not to mention it - while he was still sore and confused, he was capable of using it as fuel for the flames. It was nice to unwind. ] Yeah. I'll give you that much - just give me a moment, don't go anywhere. [ And he walks off with a faint muttering into the woods, head bent low in search of something. Off in the distance, he could be seen reaching down - and he returns in less than a few minutes with his staff in tow. ] Okay, lead the way.
[Dresden is the terrible liar, and John isn't going to entertain the idea that he has the same affliction. John knows Harry's soul, that he is kind man at his core and constantly buffeted by his better angels, so taking him at his generous word is foolish. So John won't.
It's a few minutes of walking to cross. The temperature is dropping further as the night goes on, and the grass starts to crunch with light frost. The old shoulder injury feels like there is a dagger slowly boring into it. And god, it's only Dresden nearby to see, and he's seen John's scars. John shifts his rifle over so he can press the heel of his hand against the scar, exhaling hard. Nights like this are happening too often lately.
The house is not a home, but it's glowing orange in the night, and once they cross the threshold, the A/C indeed has held the cold out.] You are invited in, Harry Dresden, with all the powers of your title. [Gard had explained that a wizard leaving his powers at the door was an acutely unpleasant experience, like having a gap in your soul. Melodramatic, but when was magical theory not?]
[John toed his boots off by the hall closet and hung up his tac-vest like it was nothing more than a jacket.] I need to put this away, [he tapped his rifle] and see about Mr. Hendricks condition. Do you need anything, maybe medical attention?
[ Wisely, perhaps kindly, Harry doesn't make a comment on the gesture. A few weeks ago, he'd been inebriated and getting nice and intimate with the skin of John's torso (don't think about that), and knew the scar for what it was. Something that hurt on a cold night, during a battle, when finally alone and able to run a hand over it and remember it for what it was. Harry's got old scars, just like the one on his face - marred by splinters and abrasions, and he knows them for how they feel. Just like how John feels.
So, carefully, he drifts closer. A casual gesture - for all anyone knew, the path was a little more even where John was - that put him nearly shoulder to shoulder with the other man. There wasn't a sound from him, but a quiet offering. The sort given when hauling a comrade out of hell, the promise of a shoulder to lean on in time of need. He almost offered to take the rifle, a hand twitching up to mirror his thoughts, before catching sight of that status-symbol house he'd never come back to since that October night with the wolves and the agents and all the rest. ]
[ Of course he lingered in the doorway until invited in, and left his own shoes on in defiance -- how big did a place need to be. It looked empty, in that way only houses built ill-proportioned to human life did. ] Uh, [ stop gaping at the place jeeze ] just point me to the bathroom and a first aid kit, I'll clean myself up. Tell Cujo I said 'hi' and 'get well soon'?
[And again, generous, even against his better judgement. John's half certain that Dresden does this without actually realizing it. He's an empathetic creature, possibly a by-product of using his emotions to fuel his magic. It would be hard to maintain that and not be moved by certain situations, like a flower towards the sun. If John were to take that offer, to lean against Dresden's shoulder, would the wizard realize his doing, recoil and run away?
Best not to test it. Once incident between them didn't break their relationship. He should not be so eager to see if it'd survive two.]
All right. One is ahead and to the right, under the stairway. Help yourself to anything you need.
[With that, John excuses himself. There is an armory hidden in the walls of the house, and John slips into it to store his things. A detour to the office gets him a secure line to call the hospital. Nathan is awake by the time he calls, being held overnight for observation, but coherent enough to talk on the phone. A tension in John's spine loosens at the sound of his voice. If Nathan is all right, then everything is that much better.
Equipment put up and calls made, John thinks about neutral ground and decides the office is not it, all things considered. Too much lingering over the last time he and Dresden were in one. Instead, John picks up a legal pad and some paper, heading for the open kitchen. There is an island there with bar stool chairs along with food. It'll do.
John unplugs all the appliances he wants to protect (specifically, the coffee maker) before looking through the fridge for something palatable.]
[ A jaunty salute, and Harry takes off for the medical kit and the bathroom. While John is busy somewhere else in the house, Harry spends his time picking splinters out of his face, scrubbing the abrasions clean with meticulous skill, cussing under his breath because it stings and there's no putting clean bandages on that without wrapping half his head up in sloppy loops of gauze so it'll just have to stay uncovered and he'll suck it up. Harry avoids looking in the mirror for long, only for cursory glances at his wounds, washes his hands, packs the kit back up. Exits, puts the thing back where he found it.
There's a lot of fumbling about the house, he gets lost in the size of it, stretching hands up towards a ceiling he actually can't touch with a chuckle, meandering back in the direction of the entrance. Catching sight of John on the way, he sets his staff aside, shirks his duster over the back of a chair and slouches into it, propping his chin up on one hand. ] He's doing better, I take it?
[ Then he tugs the legal pad towards his edge of the table and begins to write something, his account most likely. He's not going to talk about it. Not about what happened last time. Not this close. He's not going to think about it either. Not going there. Even if he left hopping mad, still feels mad when he turns the situation over in his head-- ] You ever make change for me? For the Thai? [ WAY TO GO, MOUTH ]
Mr. Hendricks is very resilient, awake and coherent already. He'll be out tomorrow. [Watching Dresden make himself at home in this place is strange, like he's able to be more at home here than John ever has been. He fills the space in a way that even the parties John's been forced to host here haven't managed. The entire room feels warmer and the air somehow thicker, filling his lungs more completely.
There isn't much in the house that doesn't require cooking, and John is too tired to play host that well. And offering Harry a full meal feels fraught with danger. The ice they're standing on is thin, but holding; there's no need for John to test it.
But then. Of course. Just as John finds a box of blackberries that'd make a good snack, Harry opens his goddamn mouth.
John keeps his back turned, hiding his frozen expression as his mind whirls. What does that mean? Did he make change for him? From the twenty that Dresden forced him to take, even when John silently begged him not to? After John missed some crucial signal, something Dresden expected from him that he failed to comprehend.
Take a moment. Breathe once, deep but quiet. All right? Good.
John returned to the island after washing the fruit and tumbling it into a bowl. Normal, normal, utterly normal. He sits on one of the stools and pops a berry into his mouth.] I'm afraid it slipped my mind. What do I owe you?
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 05:32 am (UTC)He doesn't intend Harry Dresden to be one of them, but when the man falls out of a fucking tree into John's path, the warden almost catches a bullet in the head. Christ.
John takes another silent, slow breath and aims his rifle. His finger is safely off the trigger, but the red laser sight hovers right next to Dresden's face, impossible to miss on this particular night. There's no moon, and the darkness is almost absolute, so that pinprick of light is bold and vibrant.]
[Once John has Harry's attention, he says,] Are you after the dryad as well, or has the Council elected to mount an invasion in their usual understaffed manner? [His voice is dry, but a whisper, in case the faerie is nearby.]
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 05:48 am (UTC)Harry's own sense of mortality comes and goes when it pleases, crouched before Marcone as he is - he feels very, very, alarmingly mortal. He curls his fingers back to his palm, diffusing the hum he can feel aching at the back of his teeth and puts the focus into the shield bracelet around his wrist. Nice and agonizingly steady. Just in case the Baron decides he's still going to put his finger to that trigger. ]
The dryad. [ He answers pointedly, voice as low to the ground as he is. ] I've been chasing her all over, working a case. [ Now she was here, somewhere, on Marcone's estate and Harry's a trespasser as well. He stands slowly, his left hand out in what could have been a placating gesture, but was more likely to be him wearing his shield at the ready. ] I thought she was after you next. It wouldn't have been the first time, and on your own turf too.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 06:10 am (UTC)The fact that Harry thinks John's going to shoot him would hurt if John had time to care. Perhaps the mead made that night too hazy to remember, or perhaps Dresden's gone through the usual repression. It's not the time to figure out which it is. That is the remarkable thing about them. The personal doesn't matter in times of crisis; John has always trusted Harry to act according to his nature.
That Dresden may no trust John in return anymore--
John lowers the gun and offers a hand to Dresden.] Winnetka is actually not my turf under the Accords. That was the point. [He looks Harry over, now close enough to see how the man looks.] Are you well enough for this?
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Date: 2012-11-07 12:39 am (UTC)Memories and emotions aside, there's a dryad to catch, and Harry looks out into the treeline. I've got splinters in my eye and know this is going to leave bruises in the morning, he thinks of his face and general health. He gestures to the abrasions absently and shrugs a shoulder. ] It's fine, I've had worse.
[ He puts his palm to the scope of the rifle, coaxing it down to John's side absently. It's not the man's intentions that he's worried about, not concerning something between them, nor the writ of the Accords. For all he knows, it's full of tranqs, not bullets. It's just that the rifle is a big ol' extension of Marcone's power, and Harry doesn't it want it between them when they talk low and private about their game plan. ] She hasn't killed anyone. Just watch out for the glamour-whammy, it's a doozy and you can take my word on that. We catch her, send her packing home to Summer with a message saying something like: "sincerely, warden dresden and baron marcone". Deal?
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Date: 2012-11-07 01:35 am (UTC)Harry's instant invasion of John's space is comfortable and familiar in a way it really shouldn't be. A powerful entity without a sense of personal space would earn nothing short of a bullet between the eyes if they were not Dresden. It certainly makes the night more interesting. What more could a man want with his evening but a deep, cold night, a rogue dryad, and a tall, dark and magical man who smells like smoke and static?
John of course doesn't let any of that show. Not the time, especially after their last meeting. His voice is cold and quietly furious.] She has been preying on my people, and Summer is going to pay for their trauma and injuries. If any changelings have been seeded in these last weeks, I am going to want that dryad's life along with a weregild. [There's a sound to the right, and John swings the rifle up, peering into the dark.] I imagine a wood nymph burns quite well, Mr. Dresden. I wouldn't mind finding out for certain.
[It's that moment went the fucking tree seems to take offense, slamming a branch into John's side, sending him stumbling.]
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Date: 2012-11-07 04:11 am (UTC)Harry's seen him like this before, has heard the stories of those who wronged John Marcone -- in comparison to those who wrong his people. Instead of protesting, he emits a faint noise. A sigh that means he might not like it, but John isn't going to be stopped. Trauma and injuries, hell. ] All right, but again: watch out for the--.
[ Whammy. She's not flighty any more it seems, their combined threat must have pushed her to aggression. Harry reacts immediately, a glance to check on John's status before he triggers the rings at his fingers and takes chunks out of the tree in question. A mortal Signatory and a boy bitten by Winter: both of them can be harmed. ]
[ Now he's in his element, eyes fever-bright and grin the only thing holding back the flames. He might have dropped his staff around the time the dryad smacked him upside the head, but he's multi-layered ready for some payback if this is how it's going to go. ] Upsie daisie, or you'll miss all the fun!
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Date: 2012-11-07 05:08 am (UTC)The rifle comes up, the laser sight sweeping, and John is squinting into the scope. So much of him is built on John internalizing his own press, and this is a fucking junior Summer faerie taking a swipe at a Signatory. If took out the right-hand man of a Freeholding Lord. He wants its head on his wall.
There is a shadow, and John fires, and it's an iron bullet that makes contact with something that shrieks, but remains hidden.]
It's moving, Dresden, watch your back. [No time for nonsense. John moves over to stand behind Harry, covering him and in turn being covered. Harry is vibrant and ecstatic, full of fuel. It takes so little to set him off. John just hopes that they don't end up burned as well.]
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Date: 2012-11-07 06:36 am (UTC)The dryad's shriek causes his head to swivel, and Harry backs in closer to John, one hand at the ready with shields, the other wrapping around his blasting rod to level it at the surroundings. ] You're at my back, Marcone. Are you trying to tell me something?
[ A snide, delighted little comment that precedes the act of Harry's head snapping to his left to gauge a movement he deems important enough to pay attention to. He's playing cautious and reserved because he can afford to with John practically breathing down his spine, a gun in his hands and they are the steady hands of a man well-suited to stressful situation. Dresden, on the other hand, starts whistling Tiptoe Through The Tulips while his breath mists around his sharp smile. ]
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Date: 2012-11-07 07:00 am (UTC)[Harry's head turns, and John forces himself to mirror that, looking away from the danger, in case it's a feint. They need back-up, John knows. They are courting danger like this. The trees are against them-- why did John lure the dryad here? Obviously because it was the fastest solution, but goddammit, a tree just attacked him.
The whistling is a bigger startle than the tree was, and John turns to snap at Dresden to stop taunting the faerie.
That's when it happens. He catches the eyes of something, glistening bright in the forest, and then he's down.]
[The ground should be cold, but it's not. The grass is alive and vibrant and springy, a pillow of green beneath him
it's 15 degrees out
the sun is warm in the perfectly blue sky, so clear and cloudless, like the sky over the lake in June
it's past midnight
the hot wind warms him and ruffles his hair and seeps through his clothes and draws the cold out of his lungs
wait a minute]
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Date: 2012-11-08 05:42 am (UTC)[ His whistling cuts out when she blindsides them both. John goes down in his peripherals, and he hits dirt when the dryad takes a swing at the already-bruised half of his face. Up within a moment, he swings the blasting rod in her direction and barks an angered fuego to tell her to burn or back off. Then he gets up and moves for Marcone.
He's got a duster full of enchantments to stop bullets, but his head's still a prime target. Doesn't seem like he cares, because he drops down besides the man and fists a hand in his shirt and the other goes for the pulse at his neck. Harry shields him with his body and will with his actual shields, because he knows how vulnerable one is when whammied in such a way. ] John, [ that's the voice of the man about two seconds from slapping him across the face to see if that'll snap him out of the glamour. ] Earth to Baron John Marcone, hello! Now's not the time to go on vacation.
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Date: 2012-11-08 05:58 am (UTC)The grass is almost wrapping him up in fresh springtime. It's twining between his fingers, around his wrists, gentle but firm. It's not quite the best time for a vacation--
Vacation. What about it? Does it matter?
It does. Remember why.]
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Date: 2012-11-08 06:16 am (UTC)Harry shakes John with more effort, a vigorous and staccato gesture that'll practically haul the man off the dead leaves and debris and maybe bring him back from whatever pleasant state he's living in. Harry remembers Lily. It's nice there, blinded and hopped up on faerie glamour to the point where you don't care if all your emotions end up washing out of you all at once. That's what's dangerous about it. ]
[ He knows how to use anger to fight back, and while John's anger is fearsome, Harry needs it. So, Harry leans down next to John's ear and singsongs, obnoxious and as cruelly as he can, something that'll set him off, shake him out of that state because physically shaking him isn't doing the trick: ] She messed up your people. You're not even here to do a damn thing about it.
[ It's probably about that moment that the nymph lunges for the two of them. ]
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Date: 2012-11-08 06:24 am (UTC)That.
The memories of Chicago summers and cracking open the fire hydrants to drench the streets with cool water to dance barefoot through with rolled-up jeans and sunshine tea left on the window sill
they are nothing in the face of Nathan, likely laid up in the hospital by now. That Summer has taken people from his Barony and sent them back dazed with only sunburns and vague memories of faerie kindness, the kind that is like poisoned honey.
John comes out of it in the span of a blink, the spell shattered. There are roots, not friendly grass, reaching up from the ground to hold him down. It's only a burst of adrenaline that lets him pull his arm free.
Something leaps at them just right of Dresden's ear.
John doesn't think. Just aims and fires, to hell with the recoil that throws his arm back. With the shot comes aching as the adrenaline ceases to pick up the slack and there are roots all over him.
The rest is up to Dresden.]
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Date: 2012-11-09 12:52 am (UTC)but he gets up.
Harry's reaction is anything but dignified. He can't help throwing his hands up when the rifle swings, fires within inches of his own body and the dryad makes some agonized sound behind him. There's something he wants to say, but no time. Just a wide-eyed look at John before he spins on his toes and rises up. She's hurt people - maybe not killed them, but systematically got into their heads and hearts and hurt them. John's people, but just because he and John weren't friends it didn't mean that the bonds either of them had formed with others were invalidated.
Harry'd do the same. So he sets the dryad on fire and watches her burn. ]
So. [ His voice is terse, and his eyes are dark when he turns from the impromptu bonfire. Returns to John's side to pick apart the roots binding him to the ground. The tightness in his jaw is less anger and more worry. ] You okay? How'd you do that?
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Date: 2012-11-09 02:43 am (UTC)It is a very difficult thing to sit still and let Dresden unwind the roots round John. Being held in place and having his mind invaded is too like--
Get it together, this isn't your first go-round.]
Nothing strenuous, just risky. I'll feel the recoil for a while, but getting a knife free would've taken too long. [Assuming Harry is speaking about the rifle shot, which is odd. It wasn't an impossible maneuver, just a painful one. John's good aim shouldn't be news.]
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Date: 2012-11-09 04:18 am (UTC)Teeth worry at his lip while he clambers to his feet, tucking the blasting rod away so he can offer John a hand, or two. ] Not that. How'd you get out of the glamour? I can't even wrestle my way out of one and you! You're - still a vanilla mortal.
[ The way he watches John now. Something careful, softer than every, understanding - there's some crooked, lopsided little thing on his face as he meets the man's eyes, and it might be a smile. He points to the nymph's form as she begins to burn out, then to the green of John's eyes as they reflect the flames. ] Heh. Only you can prevent forest fires.
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Date: 2012-11-09 05:06 am (UTC)John sits up, wincing. Nothing makes you feel your age quite like winter. He takes a moment to just breathe before taking Harry's hands and letting himself be pulled up.] I'm unsure what to tell you. It's just glamour. I've never had any problems with it.
[John looks where Harry is pointing and a fiendish grin takes over his face, something truly dark and unsettling in the smoldering firelight. So Harry did set the blasted thing on fire for him.] Oh, Mr. Dresden, you shouldn't have. [In that exact tone of someone who's gotten a lovely gift.]
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Date: 2012-11-09 05:37 am (UTC)He should let go now. But the knuckles of his fingers brush along John's palms and Harry swallows hard and allows himself that before he gestures flippantly and puts his game face back on. John's grin sends his heart crashing up into his throat, shivering there as he turns to look back at the embers and ashes of the dryad with what might be that characteristic guilt and brittle willpower of his. Shit, he's not supposed to be doing things like this. ]
She hurt you and yours. I'm not a taxidermist, but I'm pretty sure you know how to sweep her under a rug. Can you walk? I'd like to find my staff and get you home, it's freezing out here.
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Date: 2012-11-09 06:11 am (UTC)There is so much care in Dresden's hands that it's a jolt when they're suddenly not there anymore. After the last time, John never expected anything but coldness and dispassion from Harry, because Harry seemed the type to hold a grudge. It was as though he'd forgotten to though. And looking at him, Harry looked like John felt: off center.]
I've walked away from worse. A bad fall isn't worth worrying about. [Then, just as carefully as Dresden had been holding his hands:] Will you accompany me? A quick written statement would help corroborate my formal filing against Summer. Also, I have central heating.
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Date: 2012-11-10 05:28 am (UTC)Still, the mere idea of a vanilla mortal who could shrug off glamour that swiftly? It made him feel all sorts of scholarly curiosity. Maybe it was partly John's consolidation of power within himself and within Chicago that helped, maybe it was some biological adaptation. Regardless, Harry was - for lack of better term - as relieved as he was apprehensive of the new discovery. ]
[ It'd be best to finish out the night before the topic of last time was ever brought back up. Harry was going to make a point not to mention it - while he was still sore and confused, he was capable of using it as fuel for the flames. It was nice to unwind. ] Yeah. I'll give you that much - just give me a moment, don't go anywhere. [ And he walks off with a faint muttering into the woods, head bent low in search of something. Off in the distance, he could be seen reaching down - and he returns in less than a few minutes with his staff in tow. ] Okay, lead the way.
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Date: 2012-11-10 05:50 am (UTC)It's a few minutes of walking to cross. The temperature is dropping further as the night goes on, and the grass starts to crunch with light frost. The old shoulder injury feels like there is a dagger slowly boring into it. And god, it's only Dresden nearby to see, and he's seen John's scars. John shifts his rifle over so he can press the heel of his hand against the scar, exhaling hard. Nights like this are happening too often lately.
The house is not a home, but it's glowing orange in the night, and once they cross the threshold, the A/C indeed has held the cold out.] You are invited in, Harry Dresden, with all the powers of your title. [Gard had explained that a wizard leaving his powers at the door was an acutely unpleasant experience, like having a gap in your soul. Melodramatic, but when was magical theory not?]
[John toed his boots off by the hall closet and hung up his tac-vest like it was nothing more than a jacket.] I need to put this away, [he tapped his rifle] and see about Mr. Hendricks condition. Do you need anything, maybe medical attention?
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Date: 2012-11-11 01:48 am (UTC)So, carefully, he drifts closer. A casual gesture - for all anyone knew, the path was a little more even where John was - that put him nearly shoulder to shoulder with the other man. There wasn't a sound from him, but a quiet offering. The sort given when hauling a comrade out of hell, the promise of a shoulder to lean on in time of need. He almost offered to take the rifle, a hand twitching up to mirror his thoughts, before catching sight of that status-symbol house he'd never come back to since that October night with the wolves and the agents and all the rest. ]
[ Of course he lingered in the doorway until invited in, and left his own shoes on in defiance -- how big did a place need to be. It looked empty, in that way only houses built ill-proportioned to human life did. ] Uh, [ stop gaping at the place jeeze ] just point me to the bathroom and a first aid kit, I'll clean myself up. Tell Cujo I said 'hi' and 'get well soon'?
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Date: 2012-11-11 02:35 am (UTC)Best not to test it. Once incident between them didn't break their relationship. He should not be so eager to see if it'd survive two.]
All right. One is ahead and to the right, under the stairway. Help yourself to anything you need.
[With that, John excuses himself. There is an armory hidden in the walls of the house, and John slips into it to store his things. A detour to the office gets him a secure line to call the hospital. Nathan is awake by the time he calls, being held overnight for observation, but coherent enough to talk on the phone. A tension in John's spine loosens at the sound of his voice. If Nathan is all right, then everything is that much better.
Equipment put up and calls made, John thinks about neutral ground and decides the office is not it, all things considered. Too much lingering over the last time he and Dresden were in one. Instead, John picks up a legal pad and some paper, heading for the open kitchen. There is an island there with bar stool chairs along with food. It'll do.
John unplugs all the appliances he wants to protect (specifically, the coffee maker) before looking through the fridge for something palatable.]
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Date: 2012-11-11 03:57 am (UTC)There's a lot of fumbling about the house, he gets lost in the size of it, stretching hands up towards a ceiling he actually can't touch with a chuckle, meandering back in the direction of the entrance. Catching sight of John on the way, he sets his staff aside, shirks his duster over the back of a chair and slouches into it, propping his chin up on one hand. ] He's doing better, I take it?
[ Then he tugs the legal pad towards his edge of the table and begins to write something, his account most likely. He's not going to talk about it. Not about what happened last time. Not this close. He's not going to think about it either. Not going there. Even if he left hopping mad, still feels mad when he turns the situation over in his head-- ] You ever make change for me? For the Thai? [ WAY TO GO, MOUTH ]
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Date: 2012-11-11 05:09 am (UTC)There isn't much in the house that doesn't require cooking, and John is too tired to play host that well. And offering Harry a full meal feels fraught with danger. The ice they're standing on is thin, but holding; there's no need for John to test it.
But then. Of course. Just as John finds a box of blackberries that'd make a good snack, Harry opens his goddamn mouth.
John keeps his back turned, hiding his frozen expression as his mind whirls. What does that mean? Did he make change for him? From the twenty that Dresden forced him to take, even when John silently begged him not to? After John missed some crucial signal, something Dresden expected from him that he failed to comprehend.
Take a moment. Breathe once, deep but quiet. All right? Good.
John returned to the island after washing the fruit and tumbling it into a bowl. Normal, normal, utterly normal. He sits on one of the stools and pops a berry into his mouth.] I'm afraid it slipped my mind. What do I owe you?
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