[ He gives an acknowledging hum to Peter’s instructions. The teleportation spell that brought Charlie to the whistle was strictly a one-way deal, and teleporting anywhere else was going to take more time than they had right now to prepare. ]
It’s a wound, Peter. Wounds tend to hurt.
[ He ties the bandage off and gets to his feet, offering Peter a hand up. ]
Once we get somewhere safer I’ll patch you up a bit better.
[ A year and a half, and Peter nearly forgot what a fucking smart-ass Charlie could be.
He straightens out his shirt once Charlie is finished and loops the strap of his satchel over the shoulder of his good side. Wrapping his arm around his middle, he bites down on his lower lip as he takes Charlie’s hand and hauls himself upright. Discomfort punches a small noise out of him, and his fingers tighten briefly at his side, but he stays on his feet.
A few unsteady steps take him to the front door, and he peeks through, watching for movement. When no one arrives, he gives Charlie a curt little nod and leads the way out.
This part of town is quiet – almost unnaturally so. Disease, maybe – something that either killed the inhabitants, or at least made the rest of the town run the area out. Peter doesn’t have mind enough to puzzle out this little mystery, focused as he is in getting out safely.
What he does have the mental acuity for, apparently, is this: ]
[ He actually manages to smile a little, in spite of the circumstances. Gods, he missed Peter, though this is hardly the time to appreciate that. The way Peter seems unsteady on his feet has him worried, and he’s running through their options for hunkering down somewhere closer when Peter pipes up. ]
I, uh. Yeah I did. It's harder for people to recognize me this way.
[ Never mind that Peter recognized him almost immediately. He’d hope that was because Peter was still sort of expecting him. ]
[ And with that stellar compliment, Peter holds up a hand to halt their progress. The quiet murmur of shouts muted by distance, and Peter tucks the two of them against the wall of another empty little cottage just as a few men in red coats appear around the corner. Peter peeks around, sees the three men conferring, and one of them kneels, peering at something on the ground.
A splotch of Peter’s blood, if he had to guess, especially since the man gestures up the road. ]
Shit.
[ Peter licks his lips, hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword; he glances over at Charlie, gives him a thoughtful sort of look. ]
You remember how to fight, or do we need to make a run for it?
[ Well, it’s not much of a compliment, but he’ll take it. When Peter guides them back into cover, he sticks close, tense and ready for whatever should happen. He watches the three men carefully, and it’s obvious they’ve picked up Peter’s trail.
He cuts Peter a glance, mildly offended at the question. It makes sense, though. If they take these guys out, that’s three less people on their tail. ]
[ He answers Charlie’s affronted look with a mild one of his own – Sorry, not sorry.
A year and some change is a long time, after all; more than enough to fall out of practice.
It’s fair, when Charlie turns the question back on him, and Peter echoes that offended look – though only for a second, as it melts into something hesitant, thoughtful. ]
Maybe. Probably.
[ He glances down at his sword, but seems to think better of it as he switches to his bow – the same bow Charlie enchanted, with dark, worn wood. It’s going to hurt, using the bow instead of the sword; it’s going to put a strain on his back in a way the sword wouldn’t, but he can pick them off from a distance, this way. ]
Can you still do that spell? [ This, as he’s nocking an arrow. ] The— [ And he fumbles for a way to describe it. ] —the one that— makes everything... quiet.
[ Like the one Charlie had used the first time they had met. ]
[ He supposes he ought not to be offended, considering it’s been a damn long time since they saw each other, but Charlie hasn’t forgotten the things Peter taught him, and he’s been doing more than just sitting in his little cabin with his herbs.
Peter goes for his bow, and Charlie frowns a little. That’s going to be hell on his back, but it’s the logical choice. ]
I didn’t forget how to do magic, you know.
[ Which is a yes. Close as they are, the men are bound to notice the surge of power that comes with activating the spell, but they’re going to have a hell of a time finding the source. Charlie concentrates for a handful of seconds and then that ripple of magic goes out, makes the hair on the back of his neck prick, as everything around them goes quiet, like it’s covered in a layer of thick cotton. ]
[ Distractedly, listening in for the approaching footsteps of his old teammates. ]
Listen, kid, it’s been over a year. For all I know, you’ve forgotten everything to take on the mantle of a humble pig farmer, okay?
[ But he falls silent as Charlie’s expression goes distant with concentration. He waits, holding his breath, steeling himself to take his shots, and when he feels that prickling sensation wash over him – like the air before a thunder storm – he peers out of cover.
The men shout in alarm from several houses away, going for their weapons, looking around wildly. The Ravagers were naturally distrustful of magic, after all, something instilled to them by Yondu. Magic was a corrupting force, he had said, made men lazy, made men dangerous. People with magic were almost universally bastards not worthy of trust.
(A pointed look at Peter, whenever he made that speech. Yondu knew about the Mark on his back and was determined to use that particular lecture as a reminder to Peter – keep the Mark hidden. Forget he ever had it.)
Their gazes slide right over Peter, half out of his hiding spot though he is. A part of him is almost glad none of them are Yondu; Peter’s not sure if he would’ve had the guts to put an arrow in him.
He has no such compunctions with these men – assholes he only vaguely recognizes from his youth. Peter draws the first arrow, a pained sound punched out of him with the strain. He grits his teeth, carefully taking aim, and looses it into the temple of the man who drifts closest. More startled noises from the other two men, who crouch beside their fallen companion.
Peter’s face turns ashen with the effort of drawing again – another arrow, sent through the heart of the second man. The final man stands, starts darting toward the source of the arrows without actually seeing Peter, trying to let out some sort of battle cry. Peter doesn’t give him the chance, sending the final arrow through his throat.
As the last man crumples to the ground, Peter sags, slinging his bow back over his shoulder, and he immediately wraps his arms around his middle again. ]
[ He nearly corrects, "Apothecary, actually", but the spellwork has him distracted. They can catch up later.
It's a bit of an effort of will to keep the spell in place while Peter fires off his arrows, but given that Charlie is a far cry from the exhausted, hungry thing he was when Peter first saw him cast the spell, it's not much of a strain. ]
[ Brusquely, and he takes a second to catch his breath. ]
Or as fine as I can be with an actual hole in my back.
[ When he feels more steady, he starts back in the direction they were headed – though he picks up the pace, this time. Less caution, more get the fuck out. ]
[ Well, that makes two of them slightly confused, at least, because Peter doesn't quite understand that. Why Charlie would opt to show up when Peter came calling.
It's strange, really. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense.
But that's a riddle he can unravel later, and the two of them hurry to the edge of the dead village, following the trails worn into the ground by the hunters and fur traders who traveled the areas. Only when they're reasonably far away does Peter hear the echo of a few shouts from the town – the corpses of his former teammates found, probably – and he pulls them off the paths into the underbrush.
It's there that his strength flags, and he has to stop for breath, propping himself up against a tree while a hand clenches around the bloodied fabric of his shirt at his side. ]
Goddammit. [ Hissed out, and he glances over his shoulder, as if waiting for the old crew to come bounding through the trees. ]
We really need to do some catching up, because I am not a pig farmer.
[ he glances back at the abandoned buildings, frowning at the shouts that echo over to their little hiding spot. His brow knits together in thought, and he licks his lips ]
I could create a distraction. Or like, an illusion. It might buy us some time.
[ He goes where he’s guided, his free arm curled protectively over his middle, hand glued to his side. They move further into the underbrush, off the beaten path. ]
Just— don’t get us killed. [ As wryly as he can manage. ] That’d really spoil this reunion.
[ He snorts a little and rolls his eyes. As if getting chased wasn't spoiling this reunion already.
He gives a light wave of his hand- hardly needed, but he wants to give Peter the visual cue- and the spell keeping their presence concealed dissolves around them.
Charlie then goes very still, a hand extended in front of him and he concentrates. He concentrates on Peter, how he looks and moves, and the air in front of him starts to shimmer. In a few moments, an exact duplicate of Peter solidifies into being. The illusion looks over at the real thing and flases a smirk, before tuckng his am around his middle and running back towards the town, his gait stilted but still quick.
The wizard hasn't moved much, his expession stony and intense as he mentally guides his creation along the outskirts of the town. Soon enough, someone spots it and gives a shout of warning, Illusory Peter dashes off into the trees in the opposite direction of the real one's hiding place, the men in the red coats giving chase. ]
Edited (tablet tags are hard) 2017-03-25 01:47 (UTC)
[ He lets out a breath as the magic falls away from them, propping himself up with another tree as Charlie concentrates. It's odd, slipping back into this easy sense of trust, knowing that Charlie isn't going to try and screw him over.
Dangerous, probably. Careless. There's no telling how this time has changed either of them or whatever used to lie between them, but he slips back into the habit as easily as falling.
The air shimmers, and Peter jerks back when the copy of him appears. It's— him (though maybe not quite as handsome, he might say if his voice hadn't suddenly escaped), and he answers his double's smirks with a blank stare. The copy runs off, adopting his awkward stride, and when it captures the attention of Peter's old teammates, Peter waits a few tense moments before he lets out a sigh of relief.
He waits almost a full minute as the footsteps and voices die away before quietly clearing his throat. Then, with hardly any inflection, ]
[ he doesn't reply right away, his focus is on his illusion, but after a little while, he lets it go. Peter's old crew can keep chasing the wind for all he cares. It should buy them some time at least. ]
[ Peter wastes another second just staring, expression slack and lips slightly parted. Charlie's nonchalant response earns a flat sort of look, before Peter just huffs out an exasperated breath. ]
Nothing, apparently.
[ Other than that being creepy as shit.
He watches the area where Charlie sent off the copy of Peter, wondering how far those bastards will try to follow before they discover the trick or before they just plain give up. A long while, hopefully.
Which is just as well, because Peter is feeling drained, and he sags against the rough back of the tree. ]
Good trick.
[ With the lackluster delivery of someone who just watched a magician produce a coin from behind his ear. ]
[ He just sort of. Blinks at Peter a couple of times. ]
I, uh. Not really? Sorry.
[ Another frown, and he goves Peter a once over. Theyneeded to get him off his feet and resting sooner rather than later, but lingering too close to the village was surely a bad move. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It’s a wound, Peter. Wounds tend to hurt.
[ He ties the bandage off and gets to his feet, offering Peter a hand up. ]
Once we get somewhere safer I’ll patch you up a bit better.
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[ A year and a half, and Peter nearly forgot what a fucking smart-ass Charlie could be.
He straightens out his shirt once Charlie is finished and loops the strap of his satchel over the shoulder of his good side. Wrapping his arm around his middle, he bites down on his lower lip as he takes Charlie’s hand and hauls himself upright. Discomfort punches a small noise out of him, and his fingers tighten briefly at his side, but he stays on his feet.
A few unsteady steps take him to the front door, and he peeks through, watching for movement. When no one arrives, he gives Charlie a curt little nod and leads the way out.
This part of town is quiet – almost unnaturally so. Disease, maybe – something that either killed the inhabitants, or at least made the rest of the town run the area out. Peter doesn’t have mind enough to puzzle out this little mystery, focused as he is in getting out safely.
What he does have the mental acuity for, apparently, is this: ]
You grew your hair out.
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I, uh. Yeah I did. It's harder for people to recognize me this way.
[ Never mind that Peter recognized him almost immediately. He’d hope that was because Peter was still sort of expecting him. ]
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[ And with that stellar compliment, Peter holds up a hand to halt their progress. The quiet murmur of shouts muted by distance, and Peter tucks the two of them against the wall of another empty little cottage just as a few men in red coats appear around the corner. Peter peeks around, sees the three men conferring, and one of them kneels, peering at something on the ground.
A splotch of Peter’s blood, if he had to guess, especially since the man gestures up the road. ]
Shit.
[ Peter licks his lips, hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword; he glances over at Charlie, gives him a thoughtful sort of look. ]
You remember how to fight, or do we need to make a run for it?
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He cuts Peter a glance, mildly offended at the question. It makes sense, though. If they take these guys out, that’s three less people on their tail. ]
I can fight. Can you?
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A year and some change is a long time, after all; more than enough to fall out of practice.
It’s fair, when Charlie turns the question back on him, and Peter echoes that offended look – though only for a second, as it melts into something hesitant, thoughtful. ]
Maybe. Probably.
[ He glances down at his sword, but seems to think better of it as he switches to his bow – the same bow Charlie enchanted, with dark, worn wood. It’s going to hurt, using the bow instead of the sword; it’s going to put a strain on his back in a way the sword wouldn’t, but he can pick them off from a distance, this way. ]
Can you still do that spell? [ This, as he’s nocking an arrow. ] The— [ And he fumbles for a way to describe it. ] —the one that— makes everything... quiet.
[ Like the one Charlie had used the first time they had met. ]
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Peter goes for his bow, and Charlie frowns a little. That’s going to be hell on his back, but it’s the logical choice. ]
I didn’t forget how to do magic, you know.
[ Which is a yes. Close as they are, the men are bound to notice the surge of power that comes with activating the spell, but they’re going to have a hell of a time finding the source. Charlie concentrates for a handful of seconds and then that ripple of magic goes out, makes the hair on the back of his neck prick, as everything around them goes quiet, like it’s covered in a layer of thick cotton. ]
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Listen, kid, it’s been over a year. For all I know, you’ve forgotten everything to take on the mantle of a humble pig farmer, okay?
[ But he falls silent as Charlie’s expression goes distant with concentration. He waits, holding his breath, steeling himself to take his shots, and when he feels that prickling sensation wash over him – like the air before a thunder storm – he peers out of cover.
The men shout in alarm from several houses away, going for their weapons, looking around wildly. The Ravagers were naturally distrustful of magic, after all, something instilled to them by Yondu. Magic was a corrupting force, he had said, made men lazy, made men dangerous. People with magic were almost universally bastards not worthy of trust.
(A pointed look at Peter, whenever he made that speech. Yondu knew about the Mark on his back and was determined to use that particular lecture as a reminder to Peter – keep the Mark hidden. Forget he ever had it.)
Their gazes slide right over Peter, half out of his hiding spot though he is. A part of him is almost glad none of them are Yondu; Peter’s not sure if he would’ve had the guts to put an arrow in him.
He has no such compunctions with these men – assholes he only vaguely recognizes from his youth. Peter draws the first arrow, a pained sound punched out of him with the strain. He grits his teeth, carefully taking aim, and looses it into the temple of the man who drifts closest. More startled noises from the other two men, who crouch beside their fallen companion.
Peter’s face turns ashen with the effort of drawing again – another arrow, sent through the heart of the second man. The final man stands, starts darting toward the source of the arrows without actually seeing Peter, trying to let out some sort of battle cry. Peter doesn’t give him the chance, sending the final arrow through his throat.
As the last man crumples to the ground, Peter sags, slinging his bow back over his shoulder, and he immediately wraps his arms around his middle again. ]
Can you keep the spell going?
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It's a bit of an effort of will to keep the spell in place while Peter fires off his arrows, but given that Charlie is a far cry from the exhausted, hungry thing he was when Peter first saw him cast the spell, it's not much of a strain. ]
For a bit, yeah. You okay?
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[ Brusquely, and he takes a second to catch his breath. ]
Or as fine as I can be with an actual hole in my back.
[ When he feels more steady, he starts back in the direction they were headed – though he picks up the pace, this time. Less caution, more get the fuck out. ]
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How many of them were there?
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[ A pause. ]
Three less, now.
[ He casts Charlie a thoughtful sort of look, taking in the differences quietly. Then, slowly, ]
... I probably shouldn't have called you. And you probably shouldn't have come.
Sorry.
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I came because I wanted to. I didn't have to answer that whistle.
So don't apologize, okay?
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It's strange, really. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense.
But that's a riddle he can unravel later, and the two of them hurry to the edge of the dead village, following the trails worn into the ground by the hunters and fur traders who traveled the areas. Only when they're reasonably far away does Peter hear the echo of a few shouts from the town – the corpses of his former teammates found, probably – and he pulls them off the paths into the underbrush.
It's there that his strength flags, and he has to stop for breath, propping himself up against a tree while a hand clenches around the bloodied fabric of his shirt at his side. ]
Goddammit. [ Hissed out, and he glances over his shoulder, as if waiting for the old crew to come bounding through the trees. ]
Any tricks, pig farmer?
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[ he glances back at the abandoned buildings, frowning at the shouts that echo over to their little hiding spot. His brow knits together in thought, and he licks his lips ]
I could create a distraction. Or like, an illusion. It might buy us some time.
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Whatever you need to do. [ He takes a deep breath, offers a small self-deprecating sort of smile. ] Think I’m kind of spent.
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[ he puts a hand on Peter's elbow to carefully guide him future off the trail ]
I'm going to have to drop the shielding spell to do it.
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Just— don’t get us killed. [ As wryly as he can manage. ] That’d really spoil this reunion.
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He gives a light wave of his hand- hardly needed, but he wants to give Peter the visual cue- and the spell keeping their presence concealed dissolves around them.
Charlie then goes very still, a hand extended in front of him and he concentrates. He concentrates on Peter, how he looks and moves, and the air in front of him starts to shimmer. In a few moments, an exact duplicate of Peter solidifies into being. The illusion looks over at the real thing and flases a smirk, before tuckng his am around his middle and running back towards the town, his gait stilted but still quick.
The wizard hasn't moved much, his expession stony and intense as he mentally guides his creation along the outskirts of the town. Soon enough, someone spots it and gives a shout of warning, Illusory Peter dashes off into the trees in the opposite direction of the real one's hiding place, the men in the red coats giving chase. ]
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Dangerous, probably. Careless. There's no telling how this time has changed either of them or whatever used to lie between them, but he slips back into the habit as easily as falling.
The air shimmers, and Peter jerks back when the copy of him appears. It's— him (though maybe not quite as handsome, he might say if his voice hadn't suddenly escaped), and he answers his double's smirks with a blank stare. The copy runs off, adopting his awkward stride, and when it captures the attention of Peter's old teammates, Peter waits a few tense moments before he lets out a sigh of relief.
He waits almost a full minute as the footsteps and voices die away before quietly clearing his throat. Then, with hardly any inflection, ]
What the fuck, Charlie.
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What the fuck, what?
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Nothing, apparently.
[ Other than that being creepy as shit.
He watches the area where Charlie sent off the copy of Peter, wondering how far those bastards will try to follow before they discover the trick or before they just plain give up. A long while, hopefully.
Which is just as well, because Peter is feeling drained, and he sags against the rough back of the tree. ]
Good trick.
[ With the lackluster delivery of someone who just watched a magician produce a coin from behind his ear. ]
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What? Was it not a goof likeness?
[ he thought it was pretty good. ]
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Shit. [ More breathed out than said. He shakes his head at Charlie, though there's a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. ]
Ever occur to you that making copies of folks might be creepy?
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I, uh. Not really? Sorry.
[ Another frown, and he goves Peter a once over. Theyneeded to get him off his feet and resting sooner rather than later, but lingering too close to the village was surely a bad move. ]
You good to go or do we need to hunker down here?
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