#fjord I think would be able to compartmentalize a little better until he can process it just bc he was never like. attached to molly in

[wizardnuke]

it's just. how do you be normal after All That happens to you. how can you handle being around someone who looks exactly like and sometimes kinda acts like your dead friend who is also someone who looks exactly like and sometimes kinda acts like one of the most terrifying people you ever met. also your friend died for you and you killed that other guy. how. jester lavorre what is your post canon mental state I need to know how you're doing

[mnemememory]

The Life and Times of the Creature Known as Frumpkin, Cat

Frumpkin-the-cat likes sleeping in the sun. The crew of The Ball Eater live in fear. 

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PART 6: FJORD

Relaxing is hard work.

No one has come anywhere close to Frumpkin’s chosen sunbaking spot in a good three hours, which is just how he likes it. This is partially because he had strategically chosen somewhere on deck with the express purpose of having minimal contact with the crew, and partially because they were all terrified he was going to bite them again. Frumpkin regards the people swarming around his ship with thinly veiled thread; If you interrupt my nap, he thinks, Caleb-warm-master is going to pop me out for the things I’m going to do to you.

The message comes across. The crew stays out of Frumpkin’s way.

Frumpkin has had many opportunities to take in the atmosphere of the sea. Caleb-warm-master most definitely prefers the stillness of the land to the rolling motion of the waves, but Frumpkin doesn’t have any real preference. So long as there isn’t a storm, so long as Frumpkin doesn’t have to get his fur wet, he is quite content to laze around on deck and practice breathing.

He is getting better at it – mimicry. The first few years had been a real test of trial and error – over There, air had been an optional (if somewhat convenient) extra; Here, it is a necessity. There are so many parts to a physical body that require conscious thought. Frumpkin has become an expert of compartmentalization, but it’s a process. One that requires long periods of stillness in the sun. And naps. A lot of naps.

Someone settles down next to him.

Frumpkin opens up one eye to regard the interloper, cracking open his jaw and showing off his teeth in a kind of warning. Come any closer, and I’ll bite.

“Good afternoon, Frumpkin.”

Frumpkin settles back a little. It is just Fjord-drowned-thing; nothing to worry about. At least, Frumpkin thinks that there is nothing to worry about. Caleb-warm-master has never really had to dictate how Frumpkin is supposed to feel about his chosen companions (otherwise, Frumpkin thinks, he and Nott-sharp-teeth would have a much more amicable relationship), but he’s been awful chatty on the subject of Fjord-drowned-thing these past few weeks.

Still. Today is good. The sea is calm, the sun is high and shining, and Fjord-drowned-thing is good at scratching behind Frumpkin’s ears just the way he likes it. Frumpkin isn’t going to complain until Caleb-warm-master gives him a reason to.

“You’ve certainly got the crew in a right tizzy,” Fjord-drowned-thing says. His voice is low and gentle, drawing out the words in a way that Frumpkin finds soothing. There are many things about Fjord-drowned-thing that Frumpkin finds soothing.

If they hadn’t disrupted my nap time, Frumpkin thinks. I wouldn’t have had to attack them. He is a cat. He doesn’t know what the crew had been expecting, really, when they had tried to move him. They had actually attempted to pick him up, the nerve. Frumpkin hopes those claw marks scar.

…he doesn’t really hope those claw marks scar. Caleb-warm-master would be very disappointed in him if that happened. Nott-sharp-teeth would be amused, though. Does that balance it out? No, probably not. Caleb-warm-master has the final say on all things violence-related when it comes to Frumpkin.

Maybe biting down on that last man’s knuckles had been going too far. Just a little.

Frumpkin stares up at Fjord-drowned-thing, who is just sitting there, not moving. The light sea breeze brushes over his green skin and blows hair off his slightly sunburned cheeks. They are all a little darker, though Caleb-warm-master has more in resemblance to a boiled crab than, say, Beau. Frumpkin has watched Jester-blue-healer giggle to herself as she heals his patchwork of red skin every evening, running her fingers along his cheeks and across his wrists.

Stop going outside, she says, every time. You’re just making things worse.

I am not used to this amount of sunlight, Caleb-warm-master admits in a low voice. It is…unsettling.

Frumpkin can’t imagine not being able to go out into the sun. For most of his existence, Frumpkin hadn’t known the quiet pleasure of sitting still and soaking in the warmth of the sky. That Caleb-warm-master is unable to do so without spellcraft aid is…unsettling. Just a little. Frumpkin makes sure to sleep on Caleb-warm-master’s face a little more than usual after that realization, just to make sure he isn’t cold. Caleb-warm-master hadn’t appreciated the gesture as much as Frumpkin thought he should.

Fjord-drowned-thing drags his fingers lightly along Frumpkin’s spine, and Frumpkin lets out a rumbling purr. Yes…yes, a little lower…just there, green one…

Frumpkin wriggles his haunches and pulls in his shoulders. This is a good feeling. Frumpkin wouldn’t trade experiences like this for the world.

(He would trade them for Caleb-warm-master, though. If Caleb-warm-master wanted to stay inside and never see the sun again, Frumpkin would follow without a moment’s hesitation).

“I’ve missed this,” Fjord-drowned-thing says. It isn’t clear who he is talking to, if anyone, but Frumpkin perks his ears up in any case. “The feel of the sea beneath my feet. I’d forgotten just how much I loved sailing until now.”

Keep scratching, Frumpkin thinks. He resettles himself against the rough wood of the deck, tail flicking back and worth. Fjord-drowned-thing lets out a soft huff of laughter.

“There’s nothing quite like it,” he says. His eyes are distant, old and other in a way that Frumpkin is intimately familiar with. “What I wouldn’t give…”

Frumpkin glances over at him. Fjord-drowned-thing has trailed off and is staring out at the blurred horizon. The sun is inching further away from Frumpkin’s back and towards the sea, resting at the bottom of the sky like a golden egg. Fjord-drowned-thing looks quietly, thoroughly entrapped by the glitter on the waves.

“It’s so easy to forget things out here,” Fjord-drowned-thing says. “The ocean is so big.”

Frumpkin hits him with his tail. Don’t forget about my scratches, he thinks. I’m right here. No need to be rude.

Fjord-drowned-thing laughs, and the spell – if that’s what it was – is broken. He reaches out to stroke a firm hand down Frumpkin, from his ears to the tip of his tail.

“I’d better go make sure Cad is going okay for dinner,” he says. He tickles Frumpkin’s ribs, but not in a mean way. His hands are gentle. “Are you going to be okay up here, all alone?”

Frumpkin gives him a disdainful look. Cats are very good at disdainful looks. Obviously. That’s what I wanted, before I was so rudely interrupted.

Frumpkin has the feeling that Fjord-drowned-thing isn’t being intimidated. Probably because Frumpkin is lying.

“I’ll go make sure that Caleb gets something to eat,” Fjord-drowned-thing says. “So you can just stay here and relax for a little while longer.”

Frumpkin gives a soft sigh and settles himself back down, skin sinking heavily over his bones. Remember to breathe, he thinks to himself. The sun is cracking open on the waves, spilling out red-and-pink-and-silver into the sky. Frumpkin watches with half-eyes and feels a deep purr well inside his chest.

Maybe just a little more, he thinks, and goes back to sleep.