Hi.
My name is Dragomir.
This is my diary. And I'm reclaiming it now, before someone else starts writing in it. Bloody freeloaders.
Logan's been so self-involved this week that I think we require a teensy recap of current events. After fleeing Trademore - and the Non and bounty hunters therein - we remained in hiding for a day and a half, the Dauphine continuing to idle beneath a thick blanket of snow. We partied over Logan's return, we watched the mysterious Nagi treat us all like crap, aaaaaand eventually we left. Once we saw an opening.
We've been travelling the entire week with little of note happening, besides a buttload of snow falling outside our transport. That didn't change 'til yesterday, when the walruses arrived.
Migrations are a little rarer in the Imperium than they were back home. Animals still move about out here, of course, but they seem more inclined to choose habitats and remain there. I find such behaviour radical and weird, but you have to adjust to the times. And they're not all stationary, given that, y'know, we were surrounded by walruses.
Ever since Logan came back - hell, before Logan came back - I've been contemplating the manner in which we should heal the breach between father and son. Logan and Jeffrey are two very different people, especially now that Jeffrey's reverting to a nerdy penitent, but they have one thing in common: they kinda suck at expressing how they really feel. I needed to find a situation in which they could open up to one another.
I hate to say it, but I eventually drew inspiration from my dad. Jeffrey and Logan would bond over a round of hunting.
I don't like hunting. I recognize the necessity of it, mainly because I love seeing a fresh, hot pile of beef and gravy on my plate, but I don't like it. It's barbaric. Necessarily barbaric. So necessarily barbaric that I encourage my hunters to do it, but I won't do it myself. I would starve to death if I had to kill anything on my own. Killing just ain't my bag. I would be scarred were I to kill anything.
Nevertheless, I figured getting out into nature with two good buds and hanging out in the cold while trying to kill something would be a peachy idea. Juuuust peachy. As far as expression of emotions goes... well, I was half right in the end.
Jeffrey's pretty good at waking up in the mornings, but Logan still sucks at early rising. I had to knock on his door a dozen times before he would even get up, and then it was just to tell me to get lost. Only got him out of there when his girlfriend (the snake tail conflicts me) kicked him out. Yes, yes, I know she's not really his girlfriend, but you have to tease young men. It's part of growing up.
We'd pulled far ahead of the walrus pack the day before, as they're pretty damned slow on land, and on the advice of my hunters we found a nice, big rock to sit on, spears in hand. And there we sat, in silence, for three hours, waiting for the migration to arrive.
Yep.
Threeeeee hours.
It's amazing how those two can shy away from one another. Fear and loathing permeated our rock, and I was caught in the middle.
To my surprise, Logan broke the silence first. He sounded bored and annoyed. "So did you ever figure out why you can't hold a weapon, Dragomir?"
"Oh! Oh." I stared at the shaft of the spear, curled against my bicep. "Uh. Yeah. I, um, have a... thing. A red thing. In my... hands."
"A red thing."
"Yeah. It... it's... it's like a weapon. Already. So I guess my fingers... I guess my fingers figure that I don't need another weapon. Would be... like... overkill."
He picked at the snow at the base of our rock. "You have a red thing and it's a weapon and it keeps you from holding other weapons."
"Thaaaaat sums it up."
"... can I see it?"
"Nnnnnnno. I, uh, I dunno how to make it... go."
"Oh." He tapped the rock a few times. "What does it do?"
I scratched my head. "I... I don't really... know? I think it's bad if it hits things..."
"It's usually bad if a weapon hits things, Dragomir. That's the point."
"Y... yeeeeep."
"..."
"Well..." I spat off the edge of the rock, hoping it would give me inspiration. Somehow, it did. "Well, hey, the last time it came out, at least in public, your dad saved me! Saved my life! It was pretty amazing."
"Really."
"Yeah! He, he, he, um... he, um..."
"I shot Eve in the face with a cannonball," Jeffrey added quickly. He shut his mouth as though it'd betrayed him.
"You what?!"
"It's okay!" I blubbered, acutely aware of where this was heading. "It's fine! She's... she's fine! I think. I'm pretty sure. She doesn't, y'know, send letters or anything -"
"You shot my fiancee in the head with a cannonball?" Now Logan was on his feet, yelling and pointing at Jeffrey. "You're a psychopath! A lunatic! Hells, you were crazy enough for bethrothing me to an infant! She wasn't even a year old!"
Jeffrey cringed. "I... I... I... it seemed like a good idea... at the time..."
"YEP! AT THE TIME! EVERYTHING SEEMED LIKE A 'good idea' AT THE TIME!" Finger quotes flew like daggers. "You know what? You know what, 'dad'? YOU CAN TAKE YOUR TIME AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!"
"Hmmmmmph."
"SHUT IT, DRAGOMIR, YOU STAY OUT OF THIS!"
"I didn't say anything!"
"YES YOU DID, YOU'RE TOTALLY -"
"Hmmmmmmph."
"... oh."
Broken out of the moment, we three turned. A sea of walruses looked back at us from all sides. Their jowly whiskers twitched in disapproval of the ruckus, and their sizable muscles - much bigger than I'd remembered, gods are they huge! - rolled threateningly.
I slowly pulled Logan back onto the rock. "Easy, now. Don't provoke 'em."
"Don't provoke 'em?" He hissed back. "I thought we were gonna hunt these mofos."
"Yeah, well, that one ate your spear. And your dad's." Which was true.
"He's not my dad. I'm fucking disowning him. He's an idiot."
"Doesn't change the fact that it ate your spear." I scrambled back as a walrus nipped at my heels. It snorted at me and continued shuffling past the rock, the pack on the move again.
"I... I think this was a bad idea," Jeffrey mumbled. He'd not provided much of substance to the conversation, and this tidbit didn't help. "Really bad."
"Everything about you is a bad idea." Logan spat out 'bad' as though it was staining his vocal chords. "I wish DRAGOMIR'd been my dad instead."
My name caught the attention of more than just a small knot of walruses that was passing by. All three of us, yes, including Logan, seemed shocked at the admission. The boy with a man's face rocked backward, eyes wide, then shook his head and glared at the sky.
I checked Jeffrey. I figured he'd be on the verge of tears. Instead... hell. He looked as though he's expected as much.
The walruses parted. Eventually. We didn't bag a single one. I guess I'm not surprised.
I have three kids. Now another one wants to be adopted into my fucked-up family.
Thaaaaaat's just great.
Sincerely,
Dragomir the Wanderer
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