He spent the first day of his imprisonment in North's personal workshop. Not because he wanted to, of course, but because Phil had said something in yetish under his breath, and the burly Russian had been in complete agreement. If it was up to him, he'd be checking out new age toys and exploring the echoing complex, a venture he'd never been able to embark on since his first entrance in with the big man's permission, but it was becoming increasingly clear with each second that trickled by, it didn't matter what he wanted, his "fellow" guardians couldn't be moved on any matter.
It was fun at first, watching North work. The man could carve just about anything, and he did it using a chainsaw. The power he put onto each swipe, the hard-hitting angles, and the sparks and ice that flew like fiery confetti out of a wood chipper, it all filled Jack with the wonder North had been sworn to protect. He made a game out of trying to guess what it was he was trying to create from the glistening blocks of ice. With each layer sawed off, it's death heralded by the throaty, metallic cry of the chainsaw, Jack's assumptions were either dashed or given hope. He sat on the wooden seat of the window sill, his legs, crossed at the ankle, swinging back and forth with palpable anticipation. One moment he swears the figure's a bear, and the next he's certain it's a Christmas tree, and his face lights up when the latter turns out to be right.
But soon his body grows restless. His legs ache with the need to bolt, his knees beg to move, his arms long to pump and thrust through the air like propellers, he pines to feel the cool wind press against his face. He swings his legs nervously to try to dispel the extra energy, but he radiates the stuff day and night normally, and there's no way such a trivial exercise is going to change that.
He has been nearing the need to sleep these past few weeks, but he doesn't know how long it'll take to fall asleep. He hopes it's soon because he's beginning to feel warmer. It starts inside his stomach, a molten molasses brewing just beneath the surface. It spreads slowly, painfully so, and creeps up his shoulders like a lethargic snake taking it's sweet time. It curls itself around his neck, shifting back and forth as if trying to get comfortable around his throat. He tries to swallow, but his saliva comes back burning and scalds his tongue. He gives a yelp of pain, breaking North's concentration. His hand slips, causing the chainsaw to cut through the crystalline Christmas tree and get its revolving teeth stuck in the table. He quickly shuts the machine off, but the damage has already been done. Nicholas rubs his ruddy face gruffly before looking to Jack. The guardian of fun is a bit surprised at the older legend's eyes. There was no annoyance or blame (which he was all too familiar with). Instead there was concern etched into his icy blue eyes.
"Is everything alright?"
The heat reached the tip of his ears, steaming like an irritated Sandman. His eyes watered without his consent, but he was used to things happening without his consent, so it didn't come as a blow. It stung deeply and he blinked as if someone had thrown live cinders into his eyes.
"Yeah," he managed, despite the sudden dryness of his throat, and the inner well of energy threatening to overflow, "Yeah, peachy."
It was a lie, and they both knew it.
The bearded man gave him a wary glance before putting the chainsaw away and sitting next to him.
"Jack, I know it is not easy, but there is no need to make it harder than needs to be. Is summer months now and, just between you and me, we all slack off this time a year. If there is anything you need, you shouldn't hesitate to ask. Don't let Sandy get to you, this is not supposed to be prison." Jack tried to smile affirmatively, but his blood was starting to churn at inhuman speeds, and it felt like it would evaporate through his papery skin. The heat was a rash that spread through his skin with cat-like agility, and it prickled at his skin like tiny, smoldering mosquito bites. He felt as if he would vomit fire at any moment; he could feel the lava rise as bile in his throat.
"I… I need to move, to run and to be some place…" he panted, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, "…Cooler…"
North scratched at his beard and nodded in a way that jostled his whole being.
"Come."
He opened the door from his workshop and began to walk around the globe room. Jack had to fight the urge to dart out the window, and fought his own joints, which were pleased with the movement, but still not completely satisfied. He missed the wind, betrayal and all, more than he could've ever imagined. What he wouldn't give to be surrounded by the sweet, melodious howls of the ever-moving wind, to be wrapped up in its current, and savor its embrace. He gave a wistful sigh that wasn't lost on his jolly companion. They took the elevator down and the downward breeze only succeeded in taunting him, similar to how a bread crumb taunts a starving man, and North knew that tune all too well.
He started to miss the beautiful, frozen wallpaper of the workshop, but finally his guide through the endless, wooden catacombs opened a door that brought the two of them to an underground ice-excavation site. Jack lit up like a Christmas tree, and he wasted no time jumping down onto the cool, glistening structure. He gave a hysterical laugh as he pressed his head against the rejuvenating ice and felt the cold rush past his skin, chilling his bones in the most delightful way. He made snow angels, despite it being solid, and relished in the overwhelming relief that flooded him. North gave a small laugh himself at the boy's antics.
"Now, Jack, for my sculptures I normally need to cut this ice myself, but…do you think you can do it?" he asked, smiling knowingly.
"Piece of cake." He assured, sizing up the cavernous room.
It was a huge room carved out of ice, but with no intricacy to it. There was so much potential there, though, radiating off of it like a cold life force, Jack could feel it in the way his fingers curled around his staff in jubilant anticipation. He could change the unmolded ice into a terrain of his own making, with maze-like tunnels, artist lofts, slides, stairs, swings, and little nooks and crannies to hide in. It would single-handedly be the best snowball fight battleground the world has ever seen.
Not that the world would actually get to see it.
"Good, that's what I want to hear, but, um…first, there are ground rules."
Jack pried his eyes off of his beautifully untainted canvas to look back at North.
Oh, no wonder there were ground rules, Phil was right next to him, muttering things in yetish.
"Yeah?"
"No getting out of control, okay? And no pranks, or harming of the yetis."
"Say," Jack drawled, stepping closer to Phil, "What would happen if I did harm a yeti?"
"Vwalater."
"Um, yes... Phil is right. I would have to confiscate your staff."
Something akin to fear lanced through his eyes and he hugged the shepherd's hook close to his chest.
"You wouldn't."
Phil spat angrily in his native tongue, pushing Jack by the shoulders with both hands.
"Okay, okay, you would." He sidestepped the yeti's accusing emerald glare, instead choosing to appeal to the big man himself, "North?"
"I'll… have to side with Phil on this one. But the same goes for him too. Phil, no harming Jack. He is honored guest here."
Phil's shoulders slumped and Jack rolled his back, adjusting the collar of his sweatshirt with an air of mock aristocracy.
"I will be back within a few hours for more ice, do not let me down."
Jack did a mock salute as the door closed behind him.
Hundreds of tiny skylights adorned the half of the ceiling that supported Santoff Claussen with wooden boards. Some were drilled into the top parts of the ice he was getting to harvesting, but the rest of the ceiling and the east wall was composed of the remaining ice and it had a slight curvature that made it seem more like a bowl and less like a wall.
Jack beamed, feeling his blood course through him faster and faster, but it wasn't hot or uncomfortable. It was the use of that adrenaline that he had craved all day.
He got to work gathering the frozen blocks, finding just the right spot and just the right angle to part the ice, the same technique he saw North use up in the main workshop. The wind entered through the skylights in little drops, tiny little bursts, and formed a breeze at his feet. He hopped on, not feeling the least bit deterred by its past infidelity, and gave a long, loud whoop that echoed through the excavation site with great clarity. He was moving, finally moving, at speeds not even North's sleigh could match, and it didn't matter if he was on a collision course with the ice, his greatest companion was there to steer him away from danger, and it did, without fail, every time. Jack fancied it their own little interpretation of a trust fall.
When his limbs were done stretching themselves out, and his body didn't crave movement quite so desperately, he got back to the task he was given.
He first carved out raw blocks of ice from the east wall and set them in front of the large, hand-crafted door for pick-up. Once their numbers had reached the hundreds, he figured he could stop with that job. He had taken the ice from strategic places, so all he had to do was round off the edges and add a little personal touches, and his vision would be realized.
North came in more than just a few hours later. But his failure to be punctual was completely forgotten when the bistre doors parted, and he got a look of what was on the other side.
Jack had really out done himself.
There were tunnels forged through the ice, with a frozen chandelier sculpture hanging every few feet, and though there were many, North could make out some yet-to-be-realized pattern in progress. In the open space that he had already carved out, Jack had made snowmen and women, ice renderings of the four original guardians, Tooth suspended in the air with a skylight illuminating her figure, Sandy afloat in snow clouds, dreamsand flooding from him, North, looping through the sky with his reindeer and sleigh, and Bunny.
Then there was Bunny.
Jack had gotten every single detail of the pooka right, except where his face was supposed to be, he had made a simple angry face, with two circles for eyes, a curved line for a mouth, and two downward slants for eyebrows. North could tell it was done using the winter spirit's fingers, not his ice powers.
Said winter spirit was too busy slaving away on his newest addition to notice him walk in.
"Jack!"
The white-haired boy nearly jumped out his skin.
"North!" he called back, jumping down from the small wind-carpet at his feet, "You scared me."
"Yes, sorry about that. You got a lot of work done, I see."
"Yeah," he agreed, looking back to marvel at his handiwork, "It was a lot of fun."
"I take your word for it. You got a lot of ice hacked out. Think you can help me take it back to workshop?"
He nodded, using the small gust of wind to swoop down and pick up a block of ice. He flew past the door, and bypassed the elevator with his newfound flight. But the wind wasn't as strong as he was used to, and he slipped a bit, going up and coming back down, but he managed. It sure gave North a bit of a heart attack to see it the first time, even if he'd never admit it.
He followed in step behind Jack, taking six or seven blocks at a time with him as he rode the elevator up and down, trying to get as much ice as he could to his workshop.
It could be hours or it could be months Jack would have to be staying with him. On the chance it was hours, North wanted to get as much ice as he could. It was one of his least favorite parts of toy production.
North met Jack up at the workshop, setting the final blocks under his woodworking table. The others just barely fit inside of his walk-in closet, Jack hadn't been able to close the door no matter how many tries he gave it.
"Is that the last of it?" he asked, lying on the large window sill.
His eyes drooped a bit and his voice traveled slower through the air.
"Yes."
North had been working on a finer set of ice figurines with an assortment on miniscule hammers and chisels. He looks from his work station, and back to Jack.
He doesn't tell the boy to leave, but he keeps the door open so he knows he can come and go as he pleases.
He sits back down and starts working from where he left off.
"You know I used to work in coal mines when I was younger. It was good source of money and times were tough. I can still remember… Jack?"
The boy was slumped against the window, knitting frost across the glass in his sleep.
North sighed.
When Jack woke up, he almost had a heart attack. He had no idea where he was.
It was dark and everything was tinted a deep shade of red, but it didn't take a lot of struggling against the coarse fabric that stuck to his skin to figure it out.
He had woken up inside a sack, on top of one of the guest beds.
I just love the idea of North having Jack falling asleep on him, because he knows he has to get him to a proper bed, but he's not too big on manners or proper or even decent etiquette so he moves him the only way he knows how. By stuffing him in a sack.
Review, my lovelies.