alittlehinky | PSL: Moonshine and honey ((For beeboy))

PSL: Moonshine and honey ((For beeboy))

Spring has just begun its work in the foothills of the Appalachian mountains. The trees are dotted with bright little green leaves, paler and more golden than they will be in a few weeks, but unfurling bravely in still-chilly air to soak up the sun. The last real frost was only ten days ago, and the mornings are still so cold a person can easily see his breath. Honestly, this is Cricket's favorite time of year, even if his legs ache when he first gets up. It makes starting the fires under the stills a real pleasure, and tending them in the little hollow where the Bondurants have set up is warm and peaceful.

He's got his lunch in a tin bucket with him as he makes his way down the path into the hollow, leg braces clinking softly with every step. Here the forest is dense with brush, and the first wildflowers are starting to bloom; mostly wood sorrel, dandelions and violets. There's a natural rock cleft where the stills are placed, and the Bondurants have built a roof overtop of that, and covered it with moss and sod to create a little shack for their illicit activity. Vines hang down over the entrance to obscure that some, too. The chances of revenue agents finding it are pretty slim. They don't have the time to comb every square inch of mountain in search of these things.

But a person lost in these woods and looking for shelter overnight could certainly stumble across the shack, and it's a much better alternative to sleeping on the forest floor.

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Cricket, in his turn, hears the sudden burst of running and pauses in his tracks for a moment. He's not precisely startled. There are plenty of animals in these woods that could make that kind of noise. Deer, foxes, bobcats. There are bears, too, now and then, but they're louder. Whatever just ran from him was on the small side.

He'd be inclined to dismiss it as just an animal, in fact, except it sounds like it ran into the distillery shack. A wild animal wouldn't corner itself. A domestic one might. Or a scared human.

He takes a breath and sidles closer, slow and careful and quieter as a consequence, looking around for signs of...well, anything. Nothing much jumps out at him. Broken bracken where something ran through, but nothing left behind, no fur or fabric. When at length he comes to the doorway of the shelter, he sets his lunch pail down and clears his throat. "A'ight. If there's someone here, I want you to know I can defend myself, but if you don't mean no harm, ain't nothing bad gonna happen to you. Gonna need you to show yourself now, though."

Hugh's eyes stay locked on the doorway, tensing more and more. He can hear the softer, more careful sounds of someone nearing. That's clearly no animal...

... and he has very little options, here. He could fight back -- but he's exhausted, and more importantly, he doesn't want to subject his bees to what that implies. They're all he has left. The thought of them giving their lives to sting a Trader is more unbearable than the thought of being taken again.

He won't do it to them. So it's resignation that is a heavy weight on his chest, as he prepares himself to go willingly. ...And then the voice speaks, though it's not familiar. The accent isn't English; it's something more foreign to Hugh, who has never been to America and doesn't actually know that's where he is now. The words spoken aren't... typical of the Traders, either?

There's a long silence, and then after a moment, a small hand is parting the vines hanging over the entrance and he steps out, cautiously. The young boy can't be older than eleven or twelve, small, thin, and practically all limb, on the cusp of an inevitable growth spurt.

For a moment, there's surprise as he blinks at the stranger. He looks young, much younger than any of the men Hugh has been running from. Even so, the boy is clearly frightened (but just as clearly trying to keep a brave face, as he lifts his chin up a bit). "I don't mean any harm."

Cricket carries a gun, precisely for occasions like this, when he's alone. He's never used it. Never even drawn it, but the Bondurants insist, and he does know what to do with a pistol if it's needed. When he hears footsteps in the shelter, he remembers it exists, but it stays where it is, tucked into his pocket, because he promised not to hurt the person unless they attacked him.

When the child emerges, he's immensely glad he took the high road. He's standing straight and tense and ready for trouble, but his expression and body language collapse at once into something more fretful and tender than defensive. "Jeezus, kid. Are you lost?? Hell of a place to rest for the night."

A meaner moonshiner could've shot first and asked later. Cricket takes a few seconds to consider the possibility the boy isn't alone, but dismisses it quickly. It's too quiet for anyone else to be inside, and there are no signs of other strangers.

He smiles a little, gently, and crouches slightly to be closer to his level. "You're a'ight. You ain't supposed to be here but I ain't mad as long as you promise to keep it secret. Can you do that?"

Hugh stares at the man for a few long moments. It's evident the stranger doesn't know who or what he is, and isn't one of the people after him -- unless this is a ruse to trick him into coming along, but he doubts it. Those men don't use calming talk to get what they want.

He must live around here or something. The boy casts a quick look around the woods, body still tense and cautious, but it's that little smile that has his eyes widening again, because it's the first time he's seen a small kindness in quite a while.

He could say no, he's not lost Mister, he just got turned around and had to spend a bad night for the woods, thank you for your concern but he'll be on his way now. And keep running. He's not used to getting help from adults; it's not usually the first option he'd turn to.

But he's tired, and hungry, and cold -- and most of all, afraid to be caught again. So there's something painfully childish to the way he has to swallow before he answers, and how his voice comes out softer and shakier than he means for it to. "I'm l-lost. I don't know where I am." He blinks up at the stranger, giving a nod as his fingers nervously pick at the ends of his dirty sweater. "I'll keep it secret, promise."

A pause, another fearful glance, this time to the woods behind the man. "Does that mean you aren't gonna tell anyone I'm here?"

"'Course not," Cricket answers promptly. "It don't belong to me--I'm workin' for some friends of mine, takin' care of it, but as long as you ain't hurtin' it there's no reason you can't stay for a little while."

Actually, there are a lot of reasons you don't keep a child at a still. Secrecy is the main one, but there's also alcohol and fire so it's not a playground. From the look of this one, though, Cricket doubts a playground is what he's looking for. "Howard'll be along in a few hours, but he won't mind, either, I promise."

If he has to, he will make Howard not mind. He's acting casual, but he can tell the child is in some kind of desperate situation, and his heart aches, beneath the friendly look he gives him.

He picks up his lunch pail and heads for the door with a soft smile and a gentle beckoning motion. "C'mon inside. I'll split breakfast with you. Don't tell me you ain't hungry if you been out here all night."

Once inside, he sets the bucket down on a rugged bench along the wall, and then pulls off his own jacket and tosses it lightly to the kid. "I'm Cricket. What do I call you?"

Hugh has little idea what a still really is or how it works, but he's nodding at the words as he follows the man, glancing over his shoulder every so often. Leaving the temporary safety of the shack is discomforting -- even though he knew he'd have to soon enough. He's probably bought himself a couple of days by coming out here instead of the nearest train station, because that's where they'll look for him first. But they'll no doubt be scouting these woods for him soon enough.

Once inside, the younger boy looks cautiously around, keeping an eye out in case he needs to try to make a run at any moment. The mention of food has him visibly perking up, though there's the fact that in order to eat, he has to let his bees out. And there's no way of knowing if this man knows what Peculiars are... He can't exactly outright ask. So he keeps quiet for a moment as he slips on the jacket that's tossed his way. It hangs off of his smaller shoulders and the sleeves fall past his fingertips, but it's warm and cozy, and a nice reprieve from the chilly morning air.

The direct question finally has him talking again, the boy looking up to the other. A name like Cricket isn't something he's heard of before, but he shows no sign that he finds it odd; Hughs find very little odd. He's simply grown up to be accepting of anything out of the "ordinary" -- or rather, with a different view of what ordinary even is.

"Hugh." He extends a hand to politely shake, sleeve falling back on his wrist. "Where... where are we? Which country, I mean."

Giving up his jacket leaves Cricket very slightly chilly, but he's about to start up the makeshift furnace under each of the two stills, so he won't suffer for long. Besides, this poor kid's been out all night in the cold. He shakes hands gently. "Good t'meet you, Hugh."

Leaving his bucket where it is, he gets out a box of safety matches, striking one to light the tinder in a furnace and blowing on it to get the fire to catch. It's weird that the kid doesn't know where he is at all, but the more he speaks, the more Cricket can hear that he's not from Franklin. "Which country? Well, we're in the United States. In Virginia, right up against the Blue Ridge mountains."

He repeats the lighting process on the second furnace with a frown, and then sits where he is for a moment, on the hard-packed earth. "Who brought you here?"

Because that's the only sensible reason he can think of why a kid of Hugh's apparent age wouldn't know what country he's in. Someone carried him here somehow without consulting him, and probably not his parents. Even bad parents would answer if their child asked where they were going.

Hugh watches the man -- Cricket -- poke about the furnace, eyes catching the sparks and staring for a long moment or two. It's the reply that elicits a sharp gasp from the boy, unexpectedly, and he regrets being so obviously surprised.

But, The United States... They're in America.

He's still wide-eyed as he's asked who brought him here, and Hugh isn't one who can spill deception easily. He can survive well enough on his own, he's a resourceful lad -- or has learned to be. But being dishonest is a different story altogether... His tongue catches on itself, words stuttering.

"The people handling orphans. I was-- I'm an orphan."

That much is true, but he can't divulge the finer details of that truth, can he? That the people after him are rounding them up, all the young parentless oddities, selling them off. It's common knowledge that many Peculiar children end up forced into working for side shows. And far worse places than that. The boy wets his lips, nervous again, taking a slight step backwards. He looks as though he might try to run again.

"I can't go back to them."

Cricket isn't sure if that gasp is a pleasant surprise or horror, but he remains where he is on the ground, waiting for the flames to catch and heat up. Hugh looks so lost right now, wrong-footed and confused and even before he says he's an orphan Cricket's prepared to do anything he can to help, susceptible to knee-jerk responses of raw compassion.

Then, the whole orphan thing--well. He leans forward a little, resting his hands on his knees. "Lost my mama when I was about six. Never knew my pa. I hear you, Hugh. I know it's hard."

Cricket knows nothing about Peculiar children, but an orphanage is no joke in Depression-era Appalachia. You will be put to work, and be expected to thank God and mortal man for every scrap of food put in front of you. Ordinary children get sold, too. Cricket escaped that fate, thanks to his Aunt Winnie, but he knows. The world is a pretty rough place.

"You don't have to," he promises. "You ain't gotta go anywhere you don't want, and especially not right now. I will find somethin' better for you."

Running is still the instinctual reaction his body is ready to turn to -- a desperate option, but one that has served him pretty well so far. Hugh may be young and small, but he can move quickly, and he's spent more of his life outside than he has in. Beneath the dirt dusting his hair and skin is a natural tan from many hazy hours spent in the sunlight, and he knows how to blend in with nature. If he hadn't found that shack last night, he'd probably have been up in a tree.

But that ready tension coiled in him pauses when Cricket speaks. His head is half-turned towards the door -- just to keep it in his sights -- but now he tilts it back. Hugh's encountered many orphans over his years. Most of the kids he knows, probably. But that's just it; they're all kids. This is the first time a grown-up's ever divulged that they can understand directly.

"... I'm sorry." He genuinely is, brows knitting together with a soft, sad frown. He barely remembers either of his parents, but losing a mother so young, yet old enough to remember it, must be one of the hardest things in this world. That's something to be haunted by.

His fingertips poke out of the the ends of the jacket's long sleeves, rubbing against the material, at he listens to what the other says next. The words are sobering and, again, kind. The rather adult sense of suspicion he's learned to possess is countered by the sense of comradery and safety that Cricket is currently offering him.

'I will find somethin' better for you.'

After a moment, Hugh moves quietly to where Cricket is sitting, slowly lowering beside him, cross-legged. The heat of the furnace is warm and comforting, and now that he's sitting down, the boy's eyelids lull a bit, fatigue catching up to him all over again. He wordlessly tilts his head to rest against the older's shoulder, both an acceptance of what Cricket's told him and a means to attach himself to the kind person who is helping him.

"It was the Spanish flu," he says softly, as if that explains everything about it. If Hugh were a local boy, it probably would.

Cricket knows next to nothing about this kid so far, but when he comes closer to sit beside him, he smiles a little, welcoming the company. He catches his breath when the boy leans against his shoulder, having not really expected such trust so quickly and feeling a bit like he's invited a wild creature to sit with him, one that might bolt if he coughs or moves wrong.

There's more work to be done to tend the stills, but it won't hurt to wait a little while the fire heats and stabilizes, and so after a moment he puts his arm around Hugh's shoulders gently.

"I ain't got a lot, but I reckon I can keep you fed, if nothin' else. I live with my Aunt Winnie. She's not quite right in th' head, so she wouldn't notice or mind you bein' around. Just don't ever ask her for biscuits. Not sure why that sets her off, but it does."

The shack is warming up around them now, the temperature getting more pleasant.

The boy is close to teenagehood, but this is perhaps a testament to how young he really still is -- defenses abruptly slipping away in favour of curling next to the closest warm body. When he's less exhausted, suspicion may rise again, but for now? He's in another country, with no home really to go back to, and Cricket is the sole immediate source of safety in all of that.

So it's a very childish clinginess that prompts him to lean against the older, and Hugh by nature is quite an affectionate boy to begin with. He's also exhausted, so when the arm slips around him, he's practically melting against the other. He nods sleepily to Cricket's words, not yet really absorbing the full weight of them -- that he's going to let him stay with him. Hugh's still a bit out of it from fatigue, and after only a few moments of sitting there getting cozy and warm, he's falling asleep.

It's calm, peaceful. For a few moments, anyway. It won't be too long at all until an odd sound begins to emanate from his small body, quietly at first, then a little louder. A hum, muffled but audible, and accompanied by the softest vibrations, if Cricket can feel them from his position.

The dozing boy isn't alone -- and what have been sleeping inside him are waking up now, lulled by the warmth from the furnace.

There will be logistics to work out later. There's no poverty like Appalachian poverty, especially in this era, so what Cricket has to spare is fairly minimal. But he does have a paying job and a place to stay, and that's a fair sight better than some other people can say.

How he'll get Hugh into school if he stays, he has no idea. Or what the alternative is, if he can't. But maybe he can pretend he's a cousin or something...

His reverie is broken when the thrumming starts. At first he thinks little of it, assuming it's just snoring or the poor kid's stomach growling. It becomes obvious there's more going on than that in short order, though, and he stares silently, holding his breath to listen and wonder.

"...Hugh?" He speaks up at last. "Are you a'ight? What's that noise?"

The bizarre occurrence doesn't seem to bother the boy at all and he doesn't stir, simply keeps breathing slowly in and out. Even when Cricket speaks, he's too tired to be fully woken from the words, the drowsy "Mmm?" sound more of a barely-half-conscious reflex than anything else.

In fact, he's nuzzling closer to the body next to him, comfortable as anything. The boy's head tilts back a bit, lips parting gently with soft exhales of breath. He seems as peaceful as a lamb, which is a stark contrast to the unsettling, perhaps even frightening, sound of buzzing that seems to be coming from inside his very body.

If that weren't enough, after a moment something small slips from right out of the child's mouth -- an impossible sight -- a small honey bee of all things, which flits into the air as it embarks on its quest to serve as a scout, buzzing around the immediate area.

Kids are notoriously hard to wake from a sound sleep. Even Cricket, who has no siblings himself, is well aware of that. He's not entirely shocked when the boy doesn't stir, and he's inclined to take the contented murmur and snuggling as a sign that he is not, in fact, sick in any way. There's even a little smile on Cricket's face for a moment, until something crawls out of the kid's mouth.

Then he freezes, horrified, body tensing. It's to his credit as a generally kind human being that he doesn't let go of Hugh or make any panicked sounds, or god forbid swat at the bug, but his immediate thoughts are of demons and possession and flies--

That's not a fly, though. That's very clearly a honeybee, now that he looks twice.

Cricket's only ever been stung by stepping on flowers being visited by such creatures. Bees are livestock to the farmers in the valley, boons to orchards and gardens in the hills, and valuable. Flies might well be evil omens, but he doesn't think bees could be. They're benign at worst, a godsend at best.

Of course, the buzzing inside the boy would seem to suggest there's more where that one came from. It's unnerving, and he's frightened, but he watches the bee quietly for a long moment. If the child's a living beehive, he supposes, that would be a good reason for him to be running away from people. It's weird as hell, and not everyone takes that kind of thing in stride.

Slowly, Cricket's panic heartbeat slows, and he tilts his head to give the boy a light kiss on the top of his head. "Hugh, I'mma need you to wake up now," he says a little more firmly. "'Cause I got some questions."

Truly, Hugh is extremely fortunate that his present company remains as calm as he manages to. It's not the sort of occurrence that many people would be able to handle well at all -- which would admittedly be well-justified. Despite the relaxed state the boy is in, everything else about the reality of it screams the opposite. It's not only unnatural, it's frightening, and no doubt could make him seem dangerous.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd be assumed to be possessed by something a lot worse than bees, in any case. Even among the diverse world of Peculiars, the way the boy's body works is something of an oddity. And not so much the welcomed kind. He wasn't exactly first on the list to be adopted out by anyone back when he actually did belong to a system.

The slight shift in the tone of the words is enough to have Hugh finally stirring, and he hazily blinks his eyes, manner almost bizarrely sweet for what eerie thing is going on with him. It takes him a moment to remember where he is exactly, and in that moment he spots the bee, eyes slowly widening.

"Y-- What are you doing?"

If this situation wasn't already outrageous enough, the fact is that the child is speaking to the insect with familiarity, eyebrows shooting up as he leans forwards. "You're not supposed to be out here!"

The bee guiltily darts around the small space, clearly evading him. Hugh scoffs lightly, and only then remembers they've an audience, looking over to Cricket again. Hugh doesn't seem bothered at all by the fact his stomach is buzzing; in fact, he hardly seems aware of it. He's become too focused on the other male, expression melting into apprehension, lifting the end of a long jacket sleeve to press near his mouth.

"I've got bees in me."

Well that's certainly to the point... It comes out hurried like a confession, bottled up truth spilling out in black and white.

Cricket is no more superstitious than anyone else in this region, but he is a reader, and an informal student of mythology and folklore. He remembers reading Bulfinch's Mythology, a story about bees building a hive in a sacrificial carcass. It struck him as a strange story. Wild bees in Franklin County are usually in trees or in the chimneys of abandoned shacks. Would honeybees build a nest inside a living body?

What would that do to the person?

Cricket's expression is gentle but troubled as Hugh wakes and scolds the bee. He only looks increasingly confused by the way they interact, as if they're actually communicating. Clearly he's not surprised by his own peculiarity.

Cricket is silent for a long moment after the confession, but at length he says slowly, "And they don't hurt you or nothin'? How do you eat?"

He can't see this child as any kind of threat to him. That's the bottom line. As strange as it all is, it seems pretty innocent to him.

Hugh's not too experienced with confessing things like this. He understands the concept of there being "normal" people and "peculiar" ones, but he hasn't had much experience living among the former. Peculiars in England stick together in small groups. Even while homeless, he'd found food and shelter under their roofs from time to time, and the small gangs of children he'd hung out with had all had gifts of their own.

So this is.. new. The whole explaining to someone "normal" thing, and he's probably not doing a great job with it -- after all, bees crawling out of someone's mouth is pretty much the stuff of horror, but it's just so normative for Hugh that he has to work to think of it any other way. Cricket's questions help him along, at least, as he realises this is something he should reassure the older boy about.

"Oh no, they don't hurt me. They're my friends!" There's a bright grin. Now that it seems Cricket isn't going to freak out, the strange child seems pretty nonchalant, chatting comfortably.

"Most of them will leave my stomach, but I don't really eat a lot anyway. Mostly just honey and things, so they like it too." An odd child indeed... Clearly his biological makeup is different from the typical in more than one way.

He probably should be more careful about spilling details, but Hugh's a personable child, friendly, open. He blinks at Cricket, vexing him with curiosity. The fact he's accepting this relatively well (on the outside at least) makes him wonder something, and he tilts his head then. "Do you know about Peculiars, or am I the first one you've met?"

Of course, it could be that some Normals are simply more accepting than others. But that's not something he has much knowledge in.

There's a kind of weird dream logic to it, Cricket supposes, listening with an expression of building bemusement. The child has bees inside him. They're his friends, and they leave his stomach occasionally so he can eat.

Actually, he's heard stranger stories, but he never had physical proof of them sitting in front of him.

Probably, he should keep his hands to himself, but since the kid has already cuddled up to him willingly, he takes a chance and touches his fingertips cautiously to his upper abdomen, just under where his ribcage ends. And he can definitely feel the buzzing.

"Uh...I ain't heard of Peculiars before," he admits, shaking his head. And casually, he reaches over to the bench to retrieve his lunch pail, getting out a battered coffee thermos. "There's biscuits and apple jelly in there, if you want," he offers, nudging the pail toward Hugh, but then he just pours himself some coffee and looks at him.

"I reckon anyone with an orchard or a big garden oughtta want you around, though."

Hugh doesn't mind the curious touch; on the contrary, his smile brightens as he places his palm against his stomach after Cricket's touched it.

"They were supposed to be keeping quiet, but I suppose they've been cooped up for so long that they're getting restless."

With that said, as the boy continues to speak, peculiar things continue to happen: one or two of the small bees at a time will fly quietly from his mouth inbetween lapses of words. Despite the unsettling nature of it, it's a smooth process: gentle, even.

He'll take Cricket up on the offer of food finally, still quite tired but now the sounds his stomach is making are normal hungry growls... not bees. As Hugh makes himself a biscuit with quite a bit of jelly (smothered in it, really), he continues to chitchat. "I've always wanted a garden. I'd spend all my time there, I imagine!" More bees are drifting from his mouth, humming curiously around, the majority of them hanging around Cricket's head as they examine this newcomer. To which Hugh takes a pause in jamming up his biscuit, tilting his head in their direction.

"This is Cricket. He's a very nice man who's going to help us. Just don't ask his Aunt Winnie for biscuits."

Finally, all the bees that want to come out have done so, so Hugh takes to eating with enthusiasm, talking up again with his cheeks full. Poor Cricket's stumbled upon a child full of bees and chattiness.

"Are there any orchards around here? Is that where the apples came from to make this jelly? ...Do you like climbing trees?"

Edited 2019-05-01 01:05 (UTC)

"Well, I reckon it's dark in there," he deadpans. This is so strange, but at the same time so utterly innocent, he kind of wants to just laugh and enjoy the novelty of it all. "They can't read or play cards or nothin'."

He watches the bees emerge in little clusters and finds himself thinking about cartoons, of all things. Those moments in silly musical animations where someone's had too much to drink or accidentally downed a bucket of soapy water, and they're hiccuping bubbles. It doesn't seem to bother the boy or the bees, in any case, and Cricket seems to be taking it in stride.

Cricket takes one of the biscuits for himself, but leaves the jelly for Hugh, dipping it in his coffee instead. They're very good, Southern-style biscuits, fat and flaky and the size of a tea saucer in and of themselves. They are not Aunt Winnie's biscuits; they're made by Forrest Bondurant, in point of fact, and they're well-beloved around the area.

He holds still as the bees gather around him. "I don't have one myself, but I know where there's a lot of blackberry bushes nearby, and all kinds of wildflowers, and the Bondurants have a little vegetable garden..."

His eyes are bright, considering the possibilities. "Mornin', ladies," he tells the bees politely. "Reckon you should try and keep a distance from the stills in case the fire sparks, and stay out of the mash. Otherwise, make yourselves comfortable."

"There's apple orchards all over," he says with a nod. "The bloom'll come up in a week or two, and then blackberries later on. I guess they need flowers to feed from, some? 'Cause if they help pollinate things like any other bee, that'd be a huge help to the people around here. Not that we don't have wild bees and some hives around already, but an extra pair of, uh, wings, won't hurt."

Come to that, Cricket could set up a small garden. Some tomatoes and cucumbers, maybe, if nothing else. The ground is rocky and there's a lot of shade around his place, but it'd be worth a try.

He blinks at the question and smiles, shaking his head a little. "I can't climb trees. I mean...I could, a little bit, if the branches start out low to the ground, but if I fell I'd be guaranteed to break my leg."

He taps his own knee, and the metal brace beneath his trouser-leg clinks softly. "I had rickets when I was little. Bones're crooked and a little frail. I get by, though."

Cricket's words elicit a bout of laughter from the boy, quite tickled by the deadpan joking and the mental image of his bees playing cards. It gives him the giggles, which continue on for a little even as he's inhaling jelly with a side of biscuit.

The bees seem normal enough (apart from the fact they just emerged from a young boy's belly) but there also seems to be something a bit extra there about them -- the way they focus on Cricket and perhaps even seem able to understand him. Hugh doesn't know how exactly it works, but any bee that makes a connection with his mind seems to gain a bit of intelligence beyond that of a simple insect. Certainly, they aren't average bees at all.

And unlike usual bees, they are a tad more individualistic. Evidence of varying personalities will emerge, a few bees breaking away to explore elsewhere around the room (heeding the warning to keep away from the stills). Some seem shy about the newcomer, eyeing him and buzzing closer, then darting back a few inches. And some seem braver about the prospect, drifting quite close -- bumping lightly against Cricket's shirt and then attaching to it to crawl around.

One even winds up on his shoulder, making herself very comfortable.

"Oh, blackberries!" Hugh is visibly excited by this news. Berries and vegetables and wildflowers... that's practically a dream come true. There wasn't much greenery where he'd been living, and he's nodding vigorously in response. "We can help pollinate, and make honey, too. I could set up a box for them to do that in." He doesn't need to be filled with bees to practically be buzzing with excitement as he chats.

However, the next bit has him pausing -- eyes dropping to the knee that's tapped, and the clink of something hard, metal-sounding. (A few curious bees move down to look, too). There are a couple of kids he knows that have to wear braces on their arms or legs, for various reasons, so it's not a new concept -- but it is one that has his lips tugging into a little frown.

"Does it hurt?"

Oh, that's so cute, though! Cricket is well-enough known to the kids around town that they'll sometimes approach him to help repair some toy, or identify some kind of bug they have in a matchbox. He's harmless, and their parents agree, even if he's one of the poorest around and on the bottom rung of any kind of social hierarchy. The more he talks to Hugh, the more like any other kid he seems, except for the bees.

The bees, on the other hand, seem like they're listening to him, and that's a little bit eerie, but Cricket accepts it the same way he would a talking animal in a fairy tale. He's not scared when they start to approach him; he's not threatening them, they have no reason to sting him if they understand that, and they'd have more to lose from aggression than he would. He grins a little when one settles on his shoulder.

"Wasps always look mean," he says thoughtfully, "whether they are or not. Bees look sweet, though. Honeybees and bumble bees especially. I think it's the fuzz and the big eyes."

He seems surprised by the offer to make honey. Here he was kind of thinking they made honey in some kind of space inside Hugh, and there was no way for them to share. "...I reckon I could get the materials for a box, if you mean that. Or a skep. Might be good cover in case anyone starts wonderin' where all the bees come from."

"Wouldn't want to ask 'em to work any harder than they wanna, but if they made enough to sell around town a little, that could be good." Or, really, even just enough to eat in-house. Blackberry and apple-blossom honey is delicious. But a little honey to sell would pay for some clothes and school supplies for Hugh.

He smiles weakly at the question, taking a drink of coffee before trying to answer. "Only sometimes. Aches a little after a long day, and sometimes in the winter. They're mostly just weak, though, not sore."

"Wasps are definitely temperamental." Hugh nods, finishing his one biscuit and licking his fingertips; that seems to be enough for him. True to his earlier claim, despite the eager eating, he hasn't really eaten that much for a kid who's been alone in the woods for a few days. "Soon I'll have to start watching out for them to make sure none hurt my bees." Spring is a beautiful season, but like any other, it can be brutal in its own way.

And while his bees could defend themselves as needed, they're clearly much more on the docile end of the spectrum -- judging by the gentle way they're behaving towards Cricket. They're sweet little things, and it's much easier to protect them during the winter when they don't really come out much.

Hugh props against an elbow, tilting his head against his palm as he listens to Cricket, a smile lighting up his face again as Cricket expands on the idea of a bee box. "They would like that so much! I think they could make a lot more honey that way." It does get kind of cramped inside him. His bees have never made honey to share with others before; it's always just been to store up for themselves, and he likes the thought of selling some.

He's looking down at the older boy's legs now, not meaning to be rude, just thoughtful. "One of my bees got hurt awhile back, and now he's only got one wing. It gets sore for him in winter, too.. but laying out in the sunlight helps it feel better. He's like a lazy cat soaking it up."

He pauses, before his brows lift and he sits up eagerly. "I can help you do things if you need me to. I'm not that strong, but I can run fast. And I can do any chore so long as you tell me how to do it."

"The red and black ones'll mostly leave you along unless you start something," Cricket says. "I learned to pick blackberries around 'em while they eat. But I ain't ever seen a yellow jacket that wasn't lookin' for trouble."

He should really get to work, but the bee on his shoulder and the ones crawling around his shirt make him want to stay put. He's not nervous any more; rather, he's finding them endearing. Like being covered with kittens; he doesn't want to disturb them.

"Is it nice, always havin' them as company?" He asks mildly. "I had a cat once. Her name was Baby Scratch, and she didn't like anyone but me, but she used to lie across my knees when I slept. I guess they ain't the same as pets, but it seems like it might be kinda similar company."

Cricket tilts his head to listen to Hugh talk about his hurt bee, and his expression lights up slowly. "That's sweet," he says. "And I'm glad he's got a safe place to stay with you. Sometimes...it's hard, because people either think I can do less than I can, or don't have patience for when I have to go a little slow. But I got work here, and I can fix cars and such, and I can still walk. I'm lucky."

"You want me to show you how to work the stills? You're gonna need to ask your bees to sit on somethin' other than me for a while. But they can come back next time I take a break if they want. I like 'em."

He doesn't fool much with wasps -- yellow jackets in particular really can get nasty. Theoretically Hugh supposes he could connect mentally with them, but there's not much reason to. Even he would be a bit wary about letting them so close the way his honeybees are.

"I like it," he nods, watching them have their fun exploring Cricket and the new setting. "I take care of them, but really they take care of me just as much." They've been his constant companions, not just creatures to protect, but also his closest friends. The tale of Cricket's cat makes him laugh delightedly again, amused and curious as he leans forwards. "Did she scratch other people, is how she got the name? Do you have any pets now?"

He smiles then, happy to be able to talk about this to someone. "Henry's really special. All of them are, but I've spent a lot of time with him in particular. He's sleeping now but I can introduce you soon!" Henry's a bit of a shy bee, and clearly doesn't get out as much as the others, but Hugh knows he'd appreciate some new company just as much. "Going a bit slow definitely isn't a bad thing. I don't know why people think life is all about going as fast as possible... You see more when you take your time, I think."

There's another nod at that; he's eager to help out in return, and the boy turns to address the insects, eyes traveling around to give all of them a bit of attention in turn as he speaks. "You guys want to go outside for awhile and explore? Just don't go too far." At once, the bees gather and drift in unison out of the entrance to the space -- even little miss lazy who was settled on Cricket's shoulder. Hugh turns back to the older then, brightly awaiting his instruction.

Cricket feels that all creatures have a purpose in Nature or God's Creation or whatever you want to call it. It's just that some of them, he can't see what that purpose is. Yellow jackets are one of the ones he's not sure of, and he would rather not find out at his own expense.

Bees of all kinds, though, are welcome in his personal space. He holds a fingertip out to one of the ones on his sleeve as if to let her investigate his hands.

He laughs a little and nods. "She scratched everyone but me. I think she thought I was her baby. She was kinda gray and orange with a white belly. Pretty cat, just ornery as all get-out."

"It'll get warmer over the next few weeks," he adds. "And the bees can all come out more. Even inside, back home. Aunt Winnie won't notice none."

He's fascinated all over again by the way all the bees respond to the verbal communication. Even the smartest, best-trained horses and dogs don't do that, from what he's seen. There is some kind of magic here, and it's exciting just to see it unfold.

When Hugh looks at him again, he's grinning, but he nods and pushes his lunch pail aside, getting up slowly. "A'ight. Now that the fires are hot enough, we put the pots on, with the mash in'em, and fill the condenser with cold water. I'm gonna need you to keep a distance from the pots once they're on, because if they heat too fast they can pop or let off steam and I don't want you to get hurt, but if you can watch the condensers, that'd help."

"I don't know much about cats," Hugh admits, scrunching his nose slightly in thought. "They always seemed a little scary." Probably because of the way they stalk and chase things. "Still, I'd like to meet one sometime." He enjoys animals very much, even if he has most experience with bugs, not furry critters.

He watches as the bees make their exit, no doubt to enjoy some fresh air and to stretch their wings. Get something to eat and drink, explore the area. They'll have to be careful not to attract any attention, however. The men who are after him know about the bees, and wouldn't hesitate to exterminate them.

There's only a straggler or two hanging back, which Hugh lifts his brows at, and they eventually drift off. That done, the boy's turning back to Cricket, those words catching in his mind: 'It'll get warmer over the next few weeks.'

Weeks... somehow that feels like a very long time to him now. It's taken him a little while to be able to process that Cricket is letting him stay, and there's part of him that still isn't sure exactly how long that means. There's some childish need for clarification, even though he's already really gotten it.

He's still thinking about it as he listens to the instructions, moving around to join his new companion. Hugh isn't too familiar with physical labor, not that this is anything too intense -- but despite clearly being outside a lot, his hands are soft, not calloused. Being outside for him mostly entails sitting there, napping in the sunshine (what little he could find back in England, anyway). It's probably clear by the softness of his fingertips that he hasn't done much work like this before. So it's a new experience, and that means it's exciting. His tongue pokes out from between his lips as he concentrates, following along with whatever Cricket will tell him to do next, and being safety-conscious along the way.

It's only after a few minutes, when he's taking a step back from the condensers like instructed, that the statement blurts out of him all of a sudden. "There's people after me."

He had skirted past this earlier, but... he should tell him. It wouldn't be right to let Cricket put himself in potential danger for a few days or weeks or however long he lets him stay. (Forever?) He's gotten attached to the idea already, of helping the man around his home, and having his bees make honey, and exploring orchards and gardens... but he has to be responsible, too.

"Because of what I am. A Peculiar. They... could be dangerous. I've seen them kill people before, just for being in the way." He looks up at Cricket. "I don't want you to get hurt just for helping me."

"Well, I reckon we can do that," he smiles gently. "There's strays and housecats around town. How d'you feel about chickens? As long as we keep 'em off your bees, I mean. They're friendlier than you'd think."

Cricket likes chickens just as much as he likes cats, which is a little unusual. He'll still eat fried chicken, or scrambled eggs, but he'll pick up and cuddle a bird, too, if it'll let him.

He takes note of how Hugh moves around and does the work. His hands are delicate in a way Cricket would normally associate with wealth and privilege, but in this instance, he doesn't think that's the case. Captivity, maybe, or city life, where the opportunity to work with his fingers hasn't come to him yet. He's young, too. There's no shame in it, but Cricket will be very careful about what he assigns him to do, making sure it's within his abilities before he leaves him to manage on his own.

But he's a smart kid, clearly, and eager to try, and that will take him a long, long way. It works, and aside from the fact that what they're doing is technically illegal and Cricket is therefore contributing to the delinquency of a minor, it seems like a decent pastime for the boy.

When Hugh blurts out his warning, Cricket is just about ready to sit down and take a short break, content that the stills are running right. He turns and blinks at him, surprised, and then frowns in thought. It's a different twist on the 'people handling orphans' Hugh mentioned earlier, but after consideration, Cricket can see how it might happen. A boy with bees in his belly is strange enough, either someone wants to keep him out of trouble or make money with what he can do.

It's already occurred to Cricket that Hugh could earn a decent living with his bees. Farmers will pay to have hives brought into their fields and orchards. It wouldn't be right for Cricket to use that, try and make the kid into a cash cow. He wouldn't force it, and he certainly wouldn't treat the kid like a slave and pocket any money for himself. If anything, he'd like to see them collaborate, like friends.

If there's anything at all more to being a a Peculiar that might be deliberately misused, Cricket's oblivious, but he knows where money is concerned, people get mean.

"You know what they call this place?" He sits and beckons Hugh over with a little smile. "The Wettest County in the World. There's these stills all over, even though it's against the law. Because in Franklin, we're stubborn, and we don't do what outsiders tell us to. We don't lay down for nobody."

"And it's hard for revenue agents to find these places," he says. "On account of no one local will help 'em, and the mountains is so old there's holes and caves and trails and hiding-places everywhere. Hugh, there ain't nowhere better for you and your bees to hide."

"On top of that, if you're part a of us, we look after our own. You look a little like me. Same eye color, same hair color. We tell people you're my kin, and ain't no one gonna question that. And if your bees are helpin' people--well, I think slow, careful introductions would be safer, to make sure no one's scared, but I reckon people will always protect the ones that are kin to 'em, and helping 'em."

"It wouldn't just be me helping you, and people who cause trouble for this community, they get run out of town real fast."

Or worse. But Cricket doesn't want to tell the kid if strangers come in after him they may well get murdered. That may be a little too much.

"You have chickens around here?" That earns an open-mouthed gape for a moment or two. Hugh's never even seen a chicken in person before, and he's clearly up for the task of meeting one, judging by the eager gleam in his eye. He hasn't had any experience with farm animals; the only birds he knows are the wild ones, more rare but occasionally spotted here or there back in London.

Putting trust in "Normal" people is a risk. Not because Hugh assumes the worst of people; in fact, he could be considered hopefully naive at times, with the way he'd willingly approach strangers around the city. It's because even the most well-meaning people might sway if presented with the right scenario.

But he's not really sure there's any other option than to continue trusting this stranger. Hugh knows he can't run and survive in the woods forever. And he doesn't want to do that. The prospect of living with Cricket is much, much brighter.

He moves to sit beside the older, drawing his hands into his lap and listening to him. It's when Cricket gets to the bit about them passing for kin that the boy blinks, eyes widening slightly.

"You'd really tell people we're kin?"

It startles him -- not in a bad way. It's simply a concept he never really pictured for himself. Even just to play the part of someone's family member is nothing he'd ever imagined. His bees are the only family he's ever really had, or has any memory of. He can't hide the hopefulness there in his expression, eyes wide and yearning, even if shyly, towards the idea.

Cricket doesn't own chickens himself, but the Bondurants do, and he's pretty sure they won't mind introducing Hugh to them. He's going to need to talk to them anyway, if the boy means to stay around. He works for them, and lives close by, and these are their stills he's got him working on. Technically, Cricket should've just run the boy off as soon as he saw him, but...well. He didn't, and he thinks his reasons were sound, and he's pretty sure he made the right decision in retrospect, too.

Of all the things for Hugh to latch onto in what Cricket's just said, the bit about pretending to be kin isn't what he expected. And it says something. Cricket's got no parents, no siblings, and his one living relative close by only remembers who he is about half the time. He's old enough now that that doesn't matter so much. He can take care of himself. But he was a child not that long ago, himself, and being a lonely child is awful.

He breaks into a smile, one that's surprisingly soft and warm considering he only met Hugh a couple hours ago. "Sure thing," he tells him, and ruffles his hair gently. "Have to come up with some excuse for your accent, but I reckon I could do a lot worse'n having a kid full of bees as a cousin or a half-brother."

There's nothing more important than home and family, as far as Cricket can tell. You can't take in every stranger, of course, whether they need or deserve it or not, but offering feels like the right decision here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

PSL: Moonshine and honey ((For beeboy))

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My apologies for the lateness!

no problem! glad to see you back.

Once again I have to apologise; RL slammed me this month. If this is too late, no worries at all!!

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