lark_in_flight | (no subject)

(no subject)

Cosette spends a great deal of her Milliways time out back, at least in good weather, taking a stroll with her hand tucked into Marius or Valjean's elbow. She's very fond of that. It's like walking in their dear old Luxembourg Gardens, which of course she still does too at home, but here everything is wilder, and the passersby can be so peculiar; it's lovely.

But right now she's alone, except for the little grey dog trotting at her heels. It feels deliciously wild and daring to be out here alone, as it always does. But she's going to meet her mother for a morning picnic out by the lake, and what could be more respectable than that?

"Come along, ma puce," she says to her dog happily, "you know Mother is very kind, so you'll have plenty of tre-- did you hear that?"

Panza doesn't answer, of course, but she's looking in the same direction the sound seemed to come from, towards a clump of bushes near the forest's edge.

And it was a high, stifled whimper, like the sound of some small injured animal.

Cosette's alone. But the sun is shining and Panza is with her and it's a clump of bushes, not the forest's dark shadows, and -- and it's a hurt animal, something small and uncomprehending and in pain, and what if she can help it?

Her young face firms in decision, under the brim of her lace-trimmed bonnet, and she turns her steps that way.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Bahorel is not exactly a small animal, nor in any obvious way injured, but he was definitely near the forest's edge. He comes sauntering out now,with an expression of curiosity probably not very unlike Cosette's little dog, looking around for the source of that noise.

--It's probably not the still-newly-Madame Pontmercy, or the little ball of fluff padding at her heels. He lifts a hand in greeting to them both. "Madame! and your very charming friend." He grins at Panza. But this is a shorter time for pleasantries than usual. "Did you hear--"

There, that. There is it again, sounding a little bigger than before. Whatever it is.

Oh good. M. Bahorel is not only a friend of her husband's, and therefore someone she can speak to respectably, even out here alone, but also seems like the kind of man who will know what to do about things like hurt animals. Cosette relaxes gratefully into the presence of somebody to hand difficulties off to if needed.

She smiles back at his grin, automatically, and opens her mouth to respond--

And there it is again. She doesn't know what the animal is -- a dog, a cat, something strange of Milliways? -- but it's unmistakably a whimper, even if it's an oddly fluting one.

"Hello, monsieur! Yes, I did hear. I think it's in those bushes, perhaps? The poor thing, it sounds hurt. I don't know if there's anything I can do, but...?"

But if there is, she'd like to.

Perhaps it's silly. It's a forest, there are predators (there are monsters), animals die every day. But that whimper wrings her heart, and she wants to help, silly or not.

Bahorel is not so secretly a huge sap himself. But that noise is-- not something familiar. And he thought he knew these woods fairly well...

"Let's see what it is then!" He sets off with the certainty of a man who's already dead, and who also has a fairly decent knife in his pocket these days.

...All right, maybe it's going to be dangerous, maybe he should send Cosette away. But it's not like she's alone. And besides, that little dog of hers looks about ready to bolt ahead.

Cosette is happy to let him take the lead! She trails in his wake with an earnest face and a rustling of skirts. And there, in the bush, there's something that isn't leaf or bark. Something grey-brown, and larger than she'd thought, but she can't quite see what it is.

It shifts, and then there's a scramble of motion, and she can't stifle a cry of surprise.

It's a peculiar creature, after all, about the size of a large dog. Its skin is leathery, and the grey-brown is striped and spotted with green. It has a small head, a long neck like a snake, a long tail just the same, heavy legs and a trunk of a body --

And it is hurt. There's a deep gash in one flank, still seeping blood, and it's holding that leg off the ground instead of putting weight on it.

"Oh! Heavens, what a strange little thing!"

Panza, bristling, nudges forward to growl defensively at the creature, just in case it gets any ideas.

"It's a dinosaur" says Bahorel,voice low. "--They're from our own world, at least some times, but this one is much smaller than I'd thought they would be." And cuter!

..And it is getting ideas, with Panza growling at it and the two humans looking at it now. And that idea is to run. A bad idea, since that seems to be opening its wound again, and it's limping already; and worse , since Panza takes after it, as if to emphasize her point.

There, see, M. Bahorel does indeed know what even this strange creature is. All of her Marius's friends are men of such learning! It's only fitting, of course, for someone as clever as he is.

All of this flits through her mind in an instant, because Panza is growling, and the creature is starting to run -- and there's fresh blood on its flank now --

"Oh, no!" she cries. "Panza, you naughty, no, stop that!"

But Panza has always been an independent-minded little dog, and she shows no inclination to stop. And the creature is limping worse. And if they catch each other, what will happen? One of them will do the other harm, and the long-necked dinosaur creature is doing itself more harm already.

Cosette doesn't think; if she thought about it, she might not do this. But it's pure impulse to grab at her skirts and run after them, crying again to Panza to stop that, to let the poor little thing alone.

They at least have to stop Panza from chasing the poor beast, even if they can't help. One of them is likely to hurt the other.

But this isn't a terribly high-paced chase, so Bahorel is loping at speed , rather than running, as he goes after Cosette and her dog. Which is why he has time to notice a certain symbol glowing on the bark of a tree as a stray branch springs out of Cosette's way, a little glowing delta. Ah.

It might be wise to call out a warning, or tell Cosette to stop, to try to keep her from entering the Labyrinth. That kind of carefulness isn't really his first instinct, and there's only time for a first instinct. But he does pick up his speed enough to make sure he's right beside her when she goes through--ah yes, there's a little arch of branches, that will do for an entrance. And he can feel it, as soon as they step through. The air is heavy and hotter and humid, the sound of the air is different, the smell!

They're in the Labyrinth. And still running after a small dinosaur. Who has , it seems, gotten itself trapped against a cliff by an even smaller dog, and is starting to look a bit upset about it , to judge by the tail-waving.

She doesn't go far into the forest by herself. She promised her father, and she doesn't much want to, anyway. There are monsters in the forest, he told her, and she knows it in her heart: deep forests are cold, shadowy, places where it's horrible to be small and alone, even though she couldn't say why or how she has that conviction.

But this is just a little ways under the trees, not even much off the path, still quite sunlit, and Panza and the little dinosaur creature are just ahead --

--

and suddenly the air is heavy and hot and humid, the world is strange and shifted, and there's a cliff ahead of them and huge green plants everywhere and everything, everything is different.

Cosette stumbles to a halt, abrupt and graceless, her mouth hanging open.

He turns on his heel for a moment to look back through the little arch. As he expected, it's gone to large, alien branches and leaves filling the gap, with no sign of the open grounds of Milliways. He lets out a resigned whistle. "--It's the Labyrinth; it's taking us for a game."

He looks over at Cosette, where she stands shocked and open-mouthed."It's the Milliways Labyrinth--it shows up, from time to time. " He smiles; they're fine, probably! "I'll tell you all I know about it--" which isn't much "--but we have to sort out this little disagreement first, I think."

He nods towards the dinosaur and Panza, now looking for all the world like they're ready for a showdown. It's ridiculous-- the dinosaur, small as it is for its kind, is more than large enough to trample little Panza into paste. If they're lucky, they can calm things down before the dinosaur realizes that-- since Panza clearly has no idea of it.

"But what -- how -- oh, I didn't mean --"

She's trying to look everywhere at once, and trying to see through it back to the real world, too. But of course she can't; this is where they are, now, with the same sort of instantaneous impossible change that takes her from Paris or Italy to Milliways. She takes a faltering step backwards, and stops when her dress bumps against something. A bush, she sees, when she spins to look.

But Bahorel is still talking, smiling and cheerful and calm. When he says this little disagreement and nods to Panza and the dinosaur, she follows his gaze out of dazed social habit.

And all of a sudden, she feels quite decisive. Her mouth closes, her chin firms, her shoulders straighten.

She'd run after Panza on impulse, but she'd had the leisure as she ran to feel a complicated mixture of feelings: the frisson of not-quite-transgressive joy of running outdoors, self-consciousness at the same thing, worry about the forest, worry about the dinosaur, exasperation at Panza. Now, for at least this moment, everything has narrowed down to a clear focus. She can stand here and dither, or she can do something. And in a situation as mad and overwhelming as this, with small creatures at risk of harm, hadn't she better just do what needs doing, and sort out the rest later?

She sets her jaw and strides forward to snatch Panza up into her arms. It might be foolhardy -- even a dinosaur the size of a large dog could do her plenty of damage too, if it wanted to -- but she isn't even thinking about that, and she catches Panza in one swift motion.

"You naughty thing! You will listen when I call you back, my Panza, you must learn better! And you" -- this to the dinosaur -- "are I suppose a poor dumb creature without a word of French, but you know you're being very silly. My Panza is tiny next to you, and you would feel very much better if you'd let us help."

The dinosaur doesn't seem to understand a word of these arguments, but it does understand at least that the small menacing creature has been pinioned. As for Panza, sheepishness doesn't come naturally to her, but she hangs in Cosette's arms with a faintly startled passivity, so perhaps it counts.

Bahorel steps slightly in front of Cosette, between her and the dinosaur, without thinking about it at all; habit beyond ingrained. He's not really worried about her in the moment, now that that dumbstruck look is gone. Bahorel is a great supporter of taking a moment to be awed by the world, but not to numbness. Especially when there's still a minor crisis in front of them. So: moving from act to act.

"Good; let's hope she minds when you put her down. --Do you know how to bandage a wound?" He nods at the obvious gash on the little dinosaur. "--I can, if you don't, but it would be as well if there was one of us to keep it still." And he is obviously the better choice for that, by sheer body mass alone if nothing else.

She notices, of course, though she doesn't think twice about it either. He's a man, so of course he steps between her and danger, not to mention that he's a brave fighter besides; of course her dear Marius's friends are honorable and kind. If Bahorel is used to putting himself between danger and the more vulnerable, Cosette is just as accustomed to being shielded from the dangers of the world.

"She shall or I shall -- I shall tie her up with a vine!"

It's mostly hyperbole, but not entirely. There are vines about. She didn't bring a leash or a cord, because she's never needed one.

She remembers when she first came to Milliways. She thought it was a dream, then. There's something of that same dreamlike feeling in the back of her head, teetering between disbelief and acceptance, but it's easy enough to ignore. Didn't she tell herself then that she might as well act as if it were real, either way? The same thing's true now.

"I think so. That is, yes, certainly, I know how, for a person. I've never tried it on something like this, not even a dog or a horse. But it must be basically the same thing, mustn't it?"

Right? Bandages are bandages, a cut is a cut.

"Right, not too different. Just wrapping a different shape, that's all." He's not really looking at Cosette now, instead scanning their surroundings for ...something that's not there. He sighs, resigned. "--And you'll need cloth." Cosette's dress is out of the question. The fabric in those billowing skirts might work, but damn, it's a good dress. "Better my shirt than your skirts, Madame, but give me a moment here for the buttons--they're better than any of those later-year snaps and I stand by that, but they will take just a second to go through." And this is one of his double buttoned waistcoats, too. Damn. Rip them all off..?

He's keeping an eye on the dinosaur as he talks. It doesn't seem eager to run or fight, right now. It only leans against the cliff's wall, watching them like a horse that's been run too hard.

"Oh! No, monsieur, you needn't, there must--"

Oh dear.

She's turning red and she knows it, but there really isn't anything else, is there? No rolls of bandages, no spare cloth, no storage chest to open or Bar to ask. All she has is a handkerchief, not even enough to cover the dinosaur's cut, let alone bandage it properly. Around them, only vines and leaves.

They're not even plants she knows, none of them. Even the ferns are unfamiliar sorts. She's never been anywhere that was true -- not Italy, not Milliways. It would be deeply disorienting if she let it.

Anyway, she's pink and flustered now, but trying not to be, because she sees the necessity.

"I am sorry, monsieur. Here I went running ahead like a fool, and now we're -- somewhere -- and you're having to ruin a perfectly nice outfit."

It's a great outfit, in fact, in a deeply eccentric way -- daring, more than a little bizarre, but perfectly tailored and impeccably made -- but it could fit him like a sack and that wouldn't be the point. At least it's only the shirt that's being sacrificed, which is the most easily replaceable part of any outfit. But still.

(And he's still having to strip down to shirtsleeves so he can tear them up, which is only a step or two from nudity so far as their society is concerned. It's for manual work in its way, so at least that's something. Still, Cosette feels desperately awkward about the entire necessity of this.)

Cosette's a good kid, and she's trying very hard to be calm, so Bahorel will not laugh at her very Respectable embarrassment. Keep everything moving along until no one's bleeding who doesn't want to be, that's the thing. "Do you hear me scolding you? You wanted to help something that needed help--not that running ahead needs a reason. --It's what your mother would have done." His grin is entirely approving.

It is a well made shirt, which means he hands her his working-knife when he hands her the strips of shirt. "Cut it up as you need to." He's got his jacket in one hand, still, and lifts it a little now. "I'm going to put this over its head-- like blinders on a horse, right? Maybe make this a little easier for it."

"Is it?" She's startled, and hesitantly pleased.

(Though, is it a good thing? Her unmarried mother -- but yes, it is, she's determined to believe, so much so that she barely lets herself notice the possibility of thinking anything else. Her mother is wonderful and saintly and dear and sweet and beloved -- and she is all those things, Cosette knows that to the bottom of her heart -- so anyone who'd speak a word against her is just wrong. She won't let herself think otherwise for even a moment.)

--He's handing her a bundle of linen strips that were a shirt a moment ago, and a knife, not a little penknife but one that's large and solid and practical. She accepts them, automatically.

"Oh, yes, that's a good idea."

She casts a quick glance at the dinosaur, which has been watching all of these proceedings in what seems to be wary bafflement. It's still pressed up against the cliff face, though. She doesn't know if its leg hurts too much for it to want to try another run, or if it's just not quite afraid enough to go.

"I hope it helps, the poor little thing. I'm afraid your coat will get awfully dirty, though. And it's such nice fabric!" The cut is aggressively, loudly bizarre. But the fabric's great! "But if you're sure, if you think it'll help...?"

It probably is for the best. It just seems a shame, when he's already sliced up one piece of apparel, to get dirt and dinosaur spit and maybe blood on another.

He spares a moment to give her an amused smile in return for the comment about his coat. Yes, fair, he can't honestly pretend offense, he thought about it. " A good thing I have time to make new ones, right?"

Mostly keeps his eyes on the little dinosaur as he gets closer and--on impulse-- clucks to it, like he was trying to soothe a chicken.

...It seems to work! Anyway, some of the panicked rigidity goes out of the long neck. He keeps clucking, softly, as he puts the coat over its head. The dinosaur does...nothing. If anything, it relaxes more, while he adjusts his position to where he can stop the tail swinging if he needs to, kneels, ready to set his knees on the tail if it starts to move.

"I think he's getting tired." He nods to Cosette--ready if she is!

Edited 2017-10-04 05:09 (UTC)

Cosette looks a little flustered at the amusement. She didn't mean --

-- well okay she kind of did, but he must know, that's not the kind of coat you wear by accident. But all the same she shouldn't have said it, maybe, but the fabric part was a sincere compliment, and --

OH LOOK A SUBJECT CHANGE.

In this case, the genuine distraction of fascination with the dinosaur's reaction to what Bahorel's doing.

"How did you know to do such a thing?" she cries in an undertone, lest she rouse the little creature. "Have you met these dinosaurs before, monsieur?"

But without waiting for an answer -- though she's very interested to hear -- she puts Panza down, and holds her in place for a moment. "You sit, little one! You stay! Stay right there, you naughty thing, you shall be in deep disgrace if you don't. I tell you, stay."

She lets go, cautiously. Panza's gaze is fixed on the dinosaur, and her hackles are up, but she doesn't move.

"Stay," Cosette tells her one more time for good measure, and then turns (also cautiously) to move towards the dinosaur, pulling the first strip of bandage out of the bundle Bahorel gave her.

He grins at the little dog; she's being a very good protector! And a terrible nuisance. He has found they are often the same thing, after all.

" Ah, I could pretend to be very wise and mysterious and learned in the ways of these beasts-- but in truth it's from talking with Combeferre. You've met him? one of our number? He has an endless curiosity about everything. --And he managed to send us back to the proper era for these beasts for a while , too." Bahorel is probably wrong about that , but doesn't really care! Sorry Combeferre. " He's told us they're-- ah!"

The dinosaur's starting to stomp and shuffle around a little. He gets a better grip on it, one leg pinning down that lashing tail, one arm around its hind legs, cooing an automatic litany of reassurance while he waits for it to settle down.

She nods -- she's met M. Combeferre, and he seemed both very kind and formidably intelligent -- but doesn't interrupt. (Sorry, Bahorel. She'll get better at friendly rudeness eventually, probably, maybe.)

Back to the proper era--? is on the tip of her tongue to ask, though she's not sure how much conversation will disturb the poor little dinosaur, when its stomping and shuffling and re-capture makes it a moot point.

"I'm sorry," she says to it, in a soft undertone, wincing with sympathy. "I'll be just as quick as I can. Poor thing! This is to help you, truly it is."

Heedless of the grass and dirt, she kneels down next to it to begin bandaging its wounded flank.

It's a somewhat complicated business. She does know how to put on a bandage, but it's different on a dinosaur's flank than on a human leg. More importantly, it's different when the patient has to be restrained so as not to squirm or bolt. And there's dried and half-dried blood and dirt smudged all over the dinosaur's leathery skin, but no water to wash it clean. Besides that, there's the difficulty of working around Bahorel as he (coatlessly and mostly shirtlessly) holds the dinosaur -- partly for the simple practicality of trying to bandage a creature without tying your assistant to its leg, but partly also out of thoroughly internalized habit. He's a man who's not her husband nor her blood relative, even if he's Marius's friend, and she's very aware of how awkwardly close she is to him, in this mysterious jungle-smelling air; ingrained reflexes don't stop just because there's an emergency which overrides them.

Still, she's managing well enough. This is neither the swiftest nor the most efficient bandaging job that's ever happened, but the wound is gradually disappearing beneath layers of linen. She can't be sure it'll hold once the dinosaur starts moving again, but she thinks it will.

Bahorel is mostly unaware of Cosette's automatic efforts at delicacy; he has his hands full of the dinosaur, in the most literal way, and is much more aware at the moment of how close he is to that stomping, twisting bit of prehistory than to a woman who appears to be doing a reasonably good job of work.

At least the little thing is fussing more than really trying to escape; a that makes it easier to hold without hurting it. It's not entirely unlike trying to hold a reluctant animal for a shoeing- except for the tail. He's still cooing to it and muttering it along like he would one of the farm's livestock, too, because dammit, it feels unnatural to tell a creature nothing. "You'll be fine, then, ah!, she's being gentle, you know. Gentler than you were with yourself, eh?"

...Or than something was with it. He puts that thought to the side, but not very far away.

"Do you think he did it to himself?"

She's a little surprised. It's possible, but she hadn't been at all certain of the cause. M. Bahorel is so much more knowledgeable than she is, though; perhaps he's seen something that he recognizes as clear proof?

Then she colors slightly (more), feeling silly. "Oh -- you mean the running, I suppose, of course. Poor little scared thing. He could have hurt little Panza a great deal, he's so much bigger than her, but I'm very glad he didn't. But do you have an idea what might have happened to him?"

She's still working while she talks, and looking more at her hands than at Bahorel. She's very nearly done. The wound itself is well bandaged, but the trouble is tying everything up and tucking all the ends away, and making as sure as she can that it'll stay in place no matter how the dinosaur moves. She's just hoping it doesn't try too hard to pull it off; there's only so much even good and well-knotted linen will hold up to determined biting, she suspects.

He nods at her-- in approval for her work, and in response to her question. "I've a fair idea of what could have hurt him. I've seen pictures of some of them; and then we have a patron or two who has the same sort of look. The age of the dinosaurs had their wolves and lions too-- and this is a deer of its kind, I'd say."

That is not how taxonomy works! But it's a more useful approach, in his never humble opinion.

"I don't know how large they'd be; I don't know how large this little fellow's parents might be. He's much smaller than I'd expect, and a good job of it, or I'd never have been able to pin him for you to work.--I don't want to keep him still too much longer, though. How's it look?" Nearly done?

It's an approach to taxonomy that makes sense to Cosette anyway. She nods, repressing a shiver.

Wolves and lions, or whatever mysterious leathery equivalents this deep leafy jungle has. Who knows what shadows they might be lurking in?

But she has M. Bahorel here, and her little protective Panza, and the sun is shining down through those broad green leaves. It's not as scary a forest as it could be. But still, something did hurt this little dinosaur, somewhere.

"Smaller! Why, how large did you imagine him? Big as a cow? Do you think his parents are something like that? --There, do you think that will hold? I've never done something like this; I'm afraid he'll shake or bite it off. But I don't know how much more secure I can really make it. What do you think, monsieur?"

He's much more learned than she, and clearly much more comfortable with handling livestock, too.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only