[ It's the evening of the first day when Harry Goodsir, the do-gooder doctor, approaches Angelo. Within the medical tent, between medical equipment and drugs he has never seen, Angelo receives a curt warning about Cornelius Hickey - a man who would stab one he'd once appeared to hold close, and make a meal of him. (It's laughable to be warned, when there is nowhere else to go. When Angelo came here, to the end of the world, to stay with a man who is a monstrous predator, because he had nothing else left.) Goodsir's eyes never leave Angelo as he relays his cautionary tale, and it is clear that he does not like what he sees. These tired eyes that might once have exuded kindness look at Angelo with an exhaustion too deep to even give room for disappointment. It's a horrible way to be looked at. Angelo leaves the tent with a flippant goodbye and knowledge of a new name (Billy Gibson, more meat than man to him). The doctor never calls out to him again, and Angelo no longer allows their eyes to meet.
It's not hard to do, when they all spend so much of their days in harness, staring numbly ahead into the endless white void.
Hauling a boat across the shale turns out to be the most stupidly exhausting thing ever conceived of. It's not the worst thing Angelo's ever had to do, but it is the most physically taxing - he's more muscular than he looks, but these days he finds every single one of those muscles screaming when it is time to settle in for a night's rest. He won't let it show, however. Can't, not when the watchful eyes of Hickey's mutineers are always on him. Angelo is perfectly aware that he is merely tolerated for his physical health and connection to their leader, but these facts buy him as much tolerance as they earn him scrutiny. He must appear alien to all, a mystery to solve... or a problem to fix. He feels their eyes following him around camp, looking for an opening, for an explanation, for a weakness.
Though Angelo would hesitate to call De Veoux the boldest of them, he is the first one to graduate from staring to probing. Questions, on the face of it. Below the surface, palpable jealousy and spite. Angelo's had enough of it before the conversation even begun, so maybe it is not a surprise that his fist winds up meeting the other man's face before long. (He has to assert himself. He has to make himself untouchable, not in the Hickey way but in the only way he knows how. And he has to take it all out on someone). The satisfaction from the punch is shortlived, however, as De Veoux's gums give way far too easily and the way his tooth dislodges like it had barely been held in place at all gives Angelo a full body shudder of disgust. He leaves the scene before he can hear however Hickey smoothes it all over for him. He doesn't thank him for it either.
Angelo doesn't speak to De Veoux anymore. De Veoux doesn't approach him either. Nobody does. They haul the boat in silence. The watchful gazes fall away one by one, until it's only Solomon Tozer left. Angelo wishes that Hickey hadn't decided for the three of them to share a tent. He sleeps bundled up in the furthest corner, and he usually sleeps poorly.
It becomes harder to keep himself tidy, but that doesn't mean Angelo will stop trying. He has exchanged his uniform for a spare set of clothes from the castle, unwilling to let it get worn out by the hard work. He applies perfume every morning. He combs his hair, he shaves. He won't become one of those dead men walking.
And a week passes with growing grim motivation and dull ever-present ache in all his joints. It's Tozer's watch tonight, which Angelo appreciates, because it gives him and Hickey a rare moment of full privacy with each other. Just the two of them in the tent, the thin walls of which provide at least an illusory barrier from everyone else. It makes Angelo feel like he can finally exhale a little.
He sits cross-legged on his bed-roll, a hairbrush a rag and a bar of soap spread out before him. Material to burn is precious, and he understands he cannot waste the water they melt on something as frivolous as washing his hair, but that doesn't mean he's going to give up on some measure of cleanliness!! DIY!!!
As he works soap into the dry cloth best as he's able, he glances over at Hickey. ]
Can you never see the stars from here?
[ It's a random conversation opener, but the matter had been on his mind. The nightsky outside feels eerily bright and empty. ]
Early August of 1848 - a week after arrival
It's not hard to do, when they all spend so much of their days in harness, staring numbly ahead into the endless white void.
Hauling a boat across the shale turns out to be the most stupidly exhausting thing ever conceived of. It's not the worst thing Angelo's ever had to do, but it is the most physically taxing - he's more muscular than he looks, but these days he finds every single one of those muscles screaming when it is time to settle in for a night's rest. He won't let it show, however. Can't, not when the watchful eyes of Hickey's mutineers are always on him. Angelo is perfectly aware that he is merely tolerated for his physical health and connection to their leader, but these facts buy him as much tolerance as they earn him scrutiny. He must appear alien to all, a mystery to solve... or a problem to fix. He feels their eyes following him around camp, looking for an opening, for an explanation, for a weakness.
Though Angelo would hesitate to call De Veoux the boldest of them, he is the first one to graduate from staring to probing. Questions, on the face of it. Below the surface, palpable jealousy and spite. Angelo's had enough of it before the conversation even begun, so maybe it is not a surprise that his fist winds up meeting the other man's face before long. (He has to assert himself. He has to make himself untouchable, not in the Hickey way but in the only way he knows how. And he has to take it all out on someone). The satisfaction from the punch is shortlived, however, as De Veoux's gums give way far too easily and the way his tooth dislodges like it had barely been held in place at all gives Angelo a full body shudder of disgust. He leaves the scene before he can hear however Hickey smoothes it all over for him. He doesn't thank him for it either.
Angelo doesn't speak to De Veoux anymore. De Veoux doesn't approach him either. Nobody does. They haul the boat in silence. The watchful gazes fall away one by one, until it's only Solomon Tozer left. Angelo wishes that Hickey hadn't decided for the three of them to share a tent. He sleeps bundled up in the furthest corner, and he usually sleeps poorly.
It becomes harder to keep himself tidy, but that doesn't mean Angelo will stop trying. He has exchanged his uniform for a spare set of clothes from the castle, unwilling to let it get worn out by the hard work. He applies perfume every morning. He combs his hair, he shaves. He won't become one of those dead men walking.
And a week passes with growing grim motivation and dull ever-present ache in all his joints. It's Tozer's watch tonight, which Angelo appreciates, because it gives him and Hickey a rare moment of full privacy with each other. Just the two of them in the tent, the thin walls of which provide at least an illusory barrier from everyone else. It makes Angelo feel like he can finally exhale a little.
He sits cross-legged on his bed-roll, a hairbrush a rag and a bar of soap spread out before him. Material to burn is precious, and he understands he cannot waste the water they melt on something as frivolous as washing his hair, but that doesn't mean he's going to give up on some measure of cleanliness!! DIY!!!
As he works soap into the dry cloth best as he's able, he glances over at Hickey. ]
Can you never see the stars from here?
[ It's a random conversation opener, but the matter had been on his mind. The nightsky outside feels eerily bright and empty. ]