Happy Reapers (Guidesman, C2)

Chapter Four: We Labourers Few

C2 on Tumblr: First - Previous - Next

(C1, The Lost Boys)

(This is a bit of a long one, but it's split up into scenes, and it's also sort of cozy.)

~~*~~

“So what’s the plan?” asked Greg as soon as they stepped outside of the barn. “Because I started thinking about Linus meeting the Great Pumpkin and Charlie Brown getting my Rock Facts Rock and Beatrice being Lucy cause she’s blue and crabby, so I didn’t hear anything you guys said.”

“Well, apparently,” Wirt snapped, though he wasn’t looking at Greg, “we’re staying here in Pottsfield for the rest of the day, even though we’re in kind of a hurry to get home!”

“There’s no need to be cross, boy,” the Woodsman said, and Greg turned to look at him. “The Pottsfielders have been hospitable and—”

“But we don’t even know if that… th-that Enoch thing will tell us anything!”

Greg perked up at the name and looked at… hmm, Schroeder. The piano one. “That’s the Great Pumpkin, Schroeder!”

“Greg—”

“I will not have you speaking of Enoch so disrespectfully,” interrupted the Woodsman, looking very sternly and loomingly at Wirt. Dad used the same exact look, but only on special occasions. Like if somebody was crabby about going to church or sassed Mom or something. “He will do as he said he would, and he will not break his word.”

“Yeah! Like Linus says!” Greg gasped—that gave him the perfect idea! “C’mon, Wirt, we gotta find the most sincere pumpkin patch so he can come there!” And he tugged on Wirt’s blue cape.

Wirt frowned and turned away. (Greg knew what that meant: he didn’t want to come this time either.) “But…”

Happy Reapers (Guidesman, C2)

Chapter Three: The Goodman and the Great Pumpkin

C2 on Tumblr: First - Previous - Next

(C1, The Lost Boys)

For @why-bless-your-heart :)

~~*~~

Now, it wasn’t that Wirt exactly liked the town. In fact, its utterly empty and silent streets—almost as if its inhabitants had been “raptured away,” as Greg's friend Mrs. Daniels liked to say—seemed a little eerie. It made him uneasy. What’s more, it made him… uncertain. He wasn’t supposed to be there, if only because it was a place meant for other people than him.

So it wasn’t that he liked the town. It was just that he disliked the idea of being led around by a talking bird (whether she claimed to be magic or not) more.

Thus, when Beatrice made the snide comment—

“Hey, not to be obnoxious, but an abandoned ghost town doesn’t seem like it’s gonna be that helpful in getting you guys home!”

—Wirt scowled, despite having had similarly nagging doubts (for a moment or two, anyway). And when the Woodsman replied simply with the words—

“It is not abandoned.”

—Wirt nodded decisively and folded his arms, as if he himself had been proved right in something or other. “There! See, Beatrice?”

“No, I don’t see. There’s nobody here!”

“What? But there’s lots of people here!” interjected Greg. “There’s you, and Wirt, and me, and Alford, and Mister Woodsman!”

“Sh-she means other people, Greg.” He took a couple steps, then stopped. “And isn’t that supposed to be Alfred?”

“It sounds better my way. Do you guys hear that?”

Happy Reapers (Guidesman, C2)

Chapter Two: Shoulder

C2 on Tumblr: First/Previous - Next

(C1, The Lost Boys)

~~*~~

According to the bits of conversation the Woodsman heard over his shoulder as they walked, it seemed their new companion’s name was ‘Beatrice’.

They were coming now to the end of the trees. Though the damp of the morning still hung in the air, the path led out of the woods entirely, out from beneath the roof of leaves under which he lived out so many of his days.

The Woodsman glanced back at them over his shoulder. The half-early day was bright, and all was cast into a golden haze by the lingering mist. No shadows lurked behind. Or at least, none seemed to.

Happy Reapers (Guidesman, C2)

Chapter One: One Is A Bird

C2 on Tumblr: End of C1 - First (you are here!) - Next

(C1, The Lost Boys)

~~*~~

Beatrice shifted her uncomfortable position—meant to give the appearance of being trapped in vines—and peered up through the leaves at the sun. Still there. Still getting higher. Just like it was an hour ago. And still, nobody else was there to see it.

“Ugh,” she moaned.

The little bluebird had been waiting in that bush since dawn. She’d already had to turn away some blond guy with a mustache who tried to ‘free’ her (after subjecting her to his long-winded blather about joining the circus to buy a ring). Her boredom was getting irritated. Those boys should’ve been there by now.

Frowning (as well as a beak would allow), she muttered, “Honestly, if they got themselves killed on the way out, I’m gonna be mad for wasting a morning.”