Ripping a Spider From His Web
By: Texmex007
WIP. Like, severe WIP. I have so many plans for this fic it's not even funny. This is for WishesAtMidnight, but anyone else I guess can read it too.
Location: Coulter Zeppelin, Brytain.
Year:1983
"Mrs. Coulter?" a male voice carried from the doorway, urgency seeping through his deep voice.
"Please forgive me, Mr. and Mrs. Adler," Mrs. Coulter apologized to the New Denmark couple, her eyes darting to the man before refocusing on the duo in front of her, "I believe this is quite urgent, but I assure you I will be back in a moment."
"No, no it's quite alright," Mr. Adler assured her warmly as his arm rested on his wife's waist, his grass green eyes twinkling in acknowledgment, for he too knew the urgencies of business, "We understand."
"Do help yourselves to more champagne." Mrs. Coulter said as she gestured to a servant who had just stepped forward with a fresh tray of the bubbling alcoholic beverage.
"Thank you kindly." Mrs. Adler chuckled, daintily picking up a glass with slender, polished fingers.
She turned away from them with a charming smile and slipped past many of her guests, her golden monkey daemon clinging onto her shoulder as she approached the man and shut the door behind them and the party.
"What is it?" She demanded of him, her normally cheerful and melodic voice flat and cold.
"The Witch spoke." The man answered proudly, "It took a good while of-well, you know…" Mrs. Coulter nodded, mindful of her guests outside the door, "but she finally gave in and told us what we needed to know about the reason why our experiments were not working before."
"Oh?" She replied, the monkey on her shoulder staring down at his Standard poodle daemon with dark, intense black eyes.
"Apparently," he continued, "we are in need of a specific type of child."
"Like what?"
"A twin," the man explained excitedly, "a twin who, in the womb, consumed the other twin. The Witch said that because of the absorption of the sibling, it will allow the space needed to store the amount of Dust needed to support the different alters daemons."
Mrs. Coulter's eyes bore into his with such intensity that he had no other choice but to look away.
"Do we have any contenders?" She asked, her tone silky with approval as she stroked her daemon's golden fur.
"As a matter of fact, we do-"
"Tell me after the party." She barked, turning away from him with a dazzling swirl of her glittering amethyst cocktail dress and back to the main room, "I've already lost a great deal of time here with you. Wait for my call."
"Y-yes Mrs. Coulter."
Mrs. Coulter could be called many great and terrible things, but "inattentive" was certainly not one of them. She tended to her guests with all the charm of a flamboyant and elegant butterfly as she seemingly danced and weaved about the room, attending to each and every invited guest with the utmost care and interest that every good hostess worth their salt should, while simultaneously acquiring all the knowledge and most up-to-date gossip about the Magisterium and their knowledge about her newly developed baby-the General Oblation Board, with the doggedness and precision of a collecting honeybee.
She certainly was the "to-see" person in the room, her gem-like purple dress standing out considerably with her daemons golden yellow fur, ever mindful of the complementary nature between the two colors, and in short, between human and daemon. She knew the complexities behind the relationship between the two, for she had spent a great deal of time in her recent Scholar years undergoing research about what connected the two, and what made children's daemons so different than their adult counterparts. Dust, in itself, had proved to be the very key as to why a child's daemon settled, but with the answering of one question, Mrs. Coulter had soon come across a great deal others which were in need of solving as well.
Like, for example, with the recent studies of Dissociative Identity Disorder and the patient's alters-otherwise known as the other personalities that take residence in the body-having their own personal memories, personalities, identities even. What would that mean for the individual's daemon? Would the daemon settle into one form, and one form alone, despite the alter's own individualities?
The only studies had been on adults, however, and their daemons seemed to remain in their original form, although they acted differently for each alter. It seemed as if that was that-there was nothing else to look into. Until the Witches got wind of what the GOB was doing, and began to talk amongst themselves and their human lovers. One of the men, a GOB scientist by the name of Henry Buchanan immediately reported to his superiors of the women's gossip-that it was possible, if done correctly.
As soon as it was confirmed by another Witch that the word was true, a superior high-tailed it to Mrs. Coulter's docked zeppelin to report to the enchanting woman in person: that if the survivor of a pair of twins from the womb was enlisted and put through the necessary conditions to induce DID at the age of six until adolescence, the child's alters would produce separate and individual daemons.
The location had been set-the operation would occur in New Denmark under the sponsorship of the Adlers in whom Mrs. Coulter had personally invited to her party solely for the reason of recruiting them. Now, all that was needed was the child.
"Now," Mrs. Coulter said as she reclined in her arm chair, her daemon curled up in her lap contently as the man and his poodle daemon stood rigidly in front of her, "what is the child's name?"
"His name is James," said the man as he read off a sheet of paper, "James Moriarty. He is six years old, and lives in Ireland."
"Moriarty?" She echoed, tilting her head in thought, "that name is familiar. Are you meaning to tell me that this boy is the son of Aiden Moriarty? He's one of the inventors that developed the Maystadt anbaric scalpel, isn't he?"
"Yes Ma'am."
"Hmm. Small world." She paused, pursing her carefully lined lips, "that won't do too easily, now will it?"
"He's the only shot we have-"
"I didn't say we would just drop him and try to look for someone else, now did I?" she snapped, shutting him up in the matter of seconds. She continued, "We will have to send Mr. Moriarty off towards Svalbard to work on the scalpel, and while he is gone, and the boy's mother is at work, we will take him." She looked up at him, daring him to disagree. He nodded swiftly, his daemon bowing her head in submission.
"Now, go set it up. I'm counting on you." Mrs. Coulter said with a charming smile as she held out her hand to him. He took it quickly and pressed a soft kiss to her hand before heading out the door. The moment the door closed behind him, Mrs. Coulter took out a handkerchief and wiped her hands rigorously.
Location: South Western region of Brytain, known as Ireland
A couple of weeks later
"Goodnight, Seamus. Mommy loves you." Jim could hear his mother's voice lingering above his head, calling him by his native name in favor of his English name before she pressed a soft kiss to his temple. She would never tell him, but 'Seamus' was going to be his brother's name before…
She refused to continue that thought, the thought that her son was in a twisted way, a murderer. Cool hands brushed back black stray strands of his bangs and he sighed contently as his daemon Kertoja, now in the form of a calico Turkish van cat, snuggled up beside him underneath the covers.
"I Love you too, Mama." He whispered, "When will Papa come home?"
He couldn't see his mother's face because of the darkness, the only light trickling into the room came from the doorway which was nearly closed, but through Kertoja he could feel his mother's daemon's stress as the red and cream Stoat paced back and forth near the door. Papa had not been home for about two months now, and although Jim wasn't supposed to, he and Kertoja had spent many evenings reflecting on the night before Papa had left, listening just outside the study room where Mama and Papa had talked in harsh whispers about "Dust" and "Work" and "Her".
Jim would lie awake late at night with Kertoja, discussing what could be so important about Papa's work, which Mama had said dealt with something called the "General Oblation Board", which was "still in its infancy and for helping children with growing up". Jim couldn't see why dust was so important, other than the fact that it made him want to sneeze sometimes, but Mama always kept the house very clean, so that never really happened much.
"Papa will come back soon." Mama answered vaguely, pressing another kiss against his temple, "Now, when you wake up, we will have chocolate chip pancakes-how about that?"
Jim grinned, his thoughts easily turned away from his absent father and focused on tomorrow, "With chocolate sauce?" he asked, hope filling up inside his heart like one of the air balloons his parents had taken him for a ride on last year for his 5th birthday.
His mother chuckled, the sound as light and airy as the tinkling of bells, "Aye, my darling boy. With chocolate sauce. Now, go to sleep. I'll be going to work tonight, but I will be back in time to wake you."
Jim nodded. It wasn't uncommon for his mother to leave him alone at the house, she had to work at the local hospital, and Jim was a good boy after all. Mama liked to say he was "mature for his age", which never failed to fill him up with pride. She was right, he could take care of himself-he had Kertoja. He rolled over to face Kertoja and placed a hand on her tricolored fur as the door closed behind him, all light gone, save for the light of the moon peering into his window. When the revving sound of Mama's truck signaling her leave reached their ears, Kertoja spoke.
"Would you like me to tell you a story?" she asked, her tail flicking minutely as she lay beside him.
"Aye." Jim closed his eyes and waited for the imagery to appear along with his daemon's words.
This happened often, since his parents were always gone and never had time to tell him stories. Mama had been able to take time off once or twice here and there; however the best storyteller had always been Kertoja. She knew how to supply him with the vivid details needed to imagine clearly the sceneries in each of her wild, unique stories. He listened to her speak of dragons, merfolk, faeries, and kingdoms, his mind's eye actively painting canvas after canvas of detailed illustration of discovery, heartache, and triumph. He fell asleep, his mind full of potential dream fodder, waiting for the REM cycle to take its turn.
In his dreams, Jim traveled freely amongst the planets in the solar system that his Papa had taught him in grand detail, immortal and without need of oxygen as he walked along space as if he was traveling an unseen road. He started with Pluto, and sat for a while, gazing into the stars with Kertoja by his side in the form of a Maned wolf, her long black legs elevating her to heights that his six year old self couldn't see yet as they crossed the rocky, icy terrain with no difficulty at all. It reminded him of the one time he sat on his Papa's lap and listened carefully to the tales of the North, where Ice Bears roamed in granite kingdoms and snow could be seen for miles.
Neither of them spoke in his dreams, there was no need to. What Kertoja felt, he felt. What she thought, he thought, and vice versa. The duo traveled alongside the planets towards the sun on the invisible yet very tangible road, both admiring the splendor of the celestial bodies laid out before them. When they reached the Earth, the two paused and stared down at the countries, taking turns in naming each one they recognized-Brytain, New Denmark in the West along with Texas; Hispania Nova below it, before they continued on towards Venus and Mercury.
It was when they reached Mercury that Jim noticed how high the temperature had risen since leaving Pluto. He thought about turning back to the cool planet, but Kertoja herded him along towards the Sun. Now the temperature was really hot, and he was starting to feel very uncomfortable, the longing to turn back even greater than before. But Kertoja kept insisting to the point where she changed into a huge Black rhinoceros and hauled him onto her back. The heat was palpable, even, and it wasn't until he opened his eyes to the sound of Kertoja yelling at him that he realized the end of his dream had become a living nightmare.
"Hold on to me tightly and don't let go!" Kertoja commanded as she charged ahead, knocking away whatever threat she found with her sharpened nose, whether it be overturned furniture or a closed door. Jim clung on to her thick hide and fought hard to keep his eyes open against the smoke and fiery light as flames gorged on the innards of his home.
"Where's Mama?" he coughed as he inhaled thick, black smoke, "Is she okay? Do you know?"
Kertoja shook her massive head, "Remember? She said she was going to work. Now don't talk anymore and keep your face close to my back." Her voice was strained, as if she would be crying if she wasn't so preoccupied with protecting him. Jim obeyed, rested his cheek on her back and thought, and thought, and thought as she broke through the front door and dashed away from the house before turning around to watch it burn. 'Why did a fire break out? Where had it started? Was it accidental?'
He shivered, not at the cool night air stroking his back but at the next thought running through his mind.
'Was it intentional?'
"Jaja," he muttered after sliding off her and crumpling to the ground in his blue flannel pajamas, "What are we going to do?"
She transformed into a Roe deer and nestled herself beside him in the grass before licking his hair into place.
"We'll go to the neighbors," Kertoja replied soothingly, her doe eyes focused on the fire in front of them, "It isn't too far of a walk, and I can carry you."
"Are you sure, Jaja?" he asked, glancing down at his bare feet only to remember that his shoes and what little else he possessed was inside the raging fireball that used to be his house. He knew he should have been panicking, screaming, crying, throwing a fit, but all he could feel was Kertoja's warm fur against his skin and her muzzle nuzzling his head. She was radiating tranquility, from her posture to her form, trying her best to calm the six year old boy who she loved more than anything else in the world, including herself.
"I'll be fine. Here, get on my back." She shifted again into a brown Shetland pony and lifted her head determinedly towards the nearest house after he clambered up onto her back.
They traveled for about a mile before reaching the house, and found that the lights were already on.
"That's strange." Jim tilted his head at the light peering out from the house, "why are they still up at this hour? What time is it, anyway?"
"Does it matter?" Kertoja snorted, "Go and knock on the door."
Jim jumped off and knocked on the door in great haste, "Hello!" He cried out, "Hello? Mr. O'Brian? Ms. O'Brian? Are you there? It's me, James Moriarty from next door!"
There was no response.
"Well?" Kertoja inquired, now perched on his shoulder as a Blue jay, "Why won't they open the door?"
"I dunno," Jim replied, "but maybe if I…" he reached out and grabbed the doorknob, opening it quite easily before entering the house.
"I don't like this, Jim." Kertoja whispered, as they entered the eerily quiet house, "let me look ahead."
Jim nodded. Kertoja darted ahead, flapping her stain glass-like blue, white, and black wings as she headed into the kitchen, where she was overtaken by a huge, weighted net that knocked her down to the floor. Jim darted towards her, but before he could reach her a pair of two strong hands shot up from behind him and held him, preventing him from moving. With a frustrated growl, Jim struggled and kicked against his attacker, biting the man's arms until he tasted blood, earning him a good shake.
Kertoja wrestled with the net on the floor, transforming into many different forms-fox-snake-wolf-bear-eagle, but she still couldn't get free. She even transformed into a fly, but because of the highly dense mesh of the material she couldn't even break away as two men walked towards her net and forced her into a pet carrier made with the same dense material and what appeared to be some sort of wood.
"Stop fighting!" the man behind him roared into his ear, but Jim didn't listen. The man boxed him on the ear twice, causing the six year olds ears to ring and his vision to blur and Kertoja to cry out in pain.
"Stop, Jim." Kertoja cried softly from the cage she was in, now curled up into herself as a King cobra, her hood flattened against her scaly body as she watched the men around them with increasingly droopy eyes. Jim turned to her, his brown eyes wide as he stared at the cage. He could feel it-her tiredness seeping into his bones, suffocating his conscience, along with something else that wasn't from his daemon.
A quick prick against his neck startled him, but the pain was gone in an instant. Still, he continued to struggle, albeit rather weakly afterwards. 'Was it the stinging thing in my neck?' he wondered tiredly as his expressive brown eyes drooped too, and his increasingly unconscious body sagged to the floor.
As Jim and Kertoja were carried away, a couple of men stayed behind to survey the corpses of Mr. and Mrs. O'Brian as they lay sprawled out in their bed, their daemons long gone and their hands almost touching but not quite, blood drying around the bullet hole wounds on their temples.
"You were right," one man, a stout brunette, said to the other with an amused smirk, "Cedar wood definitely works."
The other man, a tall strawberry blonde, spared him a small sideways glance and scoffed, "Of course it works. The Board has been using it for months ever since the Witches told her."
"Hmm." The brunette hummed approvingly.
"So I can leave you to this?" the blonde asked as he turned towards the door, his Barn owl daemon swooping to perch on his shoulder.
"Of course," the brunette replied, careful not to scoff at his coworker's jab towards his capabilities. He waved the question away, "leave it to me. I will make sure it doesn't lead back to the Board."
They shared a knowing stare before the blonde's daemon sank its talons warningly into her human's shoulder, and then they were gone, leaving the brunette standing in the middle of a crime scene.
Two days later Mr. and Mrs. O'Brian made the front page of the local newspaper, their murder pinned on a local gang nefarious for murdering elderly couples and stealing their possessions as it should have been and the Moriarty home was ruled out as "accidental", a body too charred to identify but could only be little James Moriarty, son of Aiden Moriarty and Eliza Moriarty was found.
As Mrs. Moriarty and her husband grieved over the loss of their only child, their neighbors' children and grandchildren gathered around to mourn and explain to Mr. and Mrs. O'Brian's distraught great grandchildren why they couldn't visit Mimi and Popa anymore while he brunette man received a considerable bonus in his paycheck and didn't lose a wink of sleep. The rest of the world quickly forgot about the elderly couple and the accidental fire in the matter of weeks.
Meanwhile, the world around Jim slipped and slid from his grasp as if he was trying to catch tendrils of smoke with his hands, and when he tried to open his eyes, he felt too tired and had to close them almost as quickly as he opened them. The only comforts he had each time he awoke were he didn't dream, and the solid presence of Kertoja lying beside him, on top of him, surrounding him, in her various forms. It felt like the sixth time he sank back into consciousness when he opened his eyes and was able to keep them open enough to sit up and observe his surroundings.
The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer wearing his pajamas, nor any clothes for that matter, save a pair of grey underpants that weren't even his own. He felt the material with his fingers and noticed they were newly bought, but cheap, and could have been purchased at any nondescript clothing store. Kertoja stirred beside him in her calico Turkish van form and he gently shoved her awake as he called her name.
"Kertoja," he whispered close to her ear, his eyes searching the room for cameras as he was unsure if they were being listened to or not. "Kertoja wake up."
Kertoja opened her eyes and looked up at him groggily before the previous night's events jolted her awake and into the form of a fluttering Giant Leopard moth.
"Jim!" she whispered harshly after he pressed a finger to his lips, indicating her to be quiet, "where in world are your clothes?!"
Jim ignored her question and looked around the dim, concrete room and the metallic door in front of him, "More importantly," he answered as he stared at the only camera in the room resting above the door, "where in the world are we?"
She fluttered up close to the anbaric light emitting from the bulb in the center of the room and fluttered back down to his bare shoulder, tickling him just a little with her small furry feet, "I believe we are in a holding cell."
"I agree," Jim said, turning his head to look at her beautiful white and black form, "now the question is "why"."
"What do you remember?" she asked, suddenly jogging his memory back to the fire, the trip to the neighbors and the men.
"I remember you waking me up," Jim replied slowly as the details siphoned back into his memory, "I remember knocking on the O'Brian's door, and then…The men, the men who took us away. Kertoja, I believe the man that got me injected something into my neck and that's why I feel asleep."
"I remember becoming very tired when they shoved me into that wooden carrier," Kertoja muttered, "and that was before you got injected. I think it was the wood—I mean, why use wood when metal will prove stronger?"
Before Jim could answer, a cold draft blew out from underneath the door, caressing his pale skin with chilly finger-like tendrils of air. He shivered before holding his gooseflesh ridden arms in his hands and hunched forward, his eyes squeezed shut. Kertoja quickly flew off and morphed into a polar bear before encircling him in her warmth.
"T-thanks," Jim muttered into her fur. She huffed in response.
They sat huddled together for a couple of minutes before the anbaric light overhead grew stronger in intensity, lighting up the bleak room even more. They looked up in confusion at the light before Kertoja's head snapped back to the door as it let out a soft, nearly inaudible 'click!' as a lock was undone. She stood up on all fours against Jim's soft protests and lumbered around him until she stood between him and the door and whatever potential threat it held behind it.
The door opened slowly, another gush of wind tickling the pale furs on her back. Jim peered around her to watch a man in his early thirties enter the room, his Barn owl daemon staring directly at him from her perch on his shoulder, her pale face glowing like snow in the light.
He was in his early thirties, Jim figured. The man's strawberry blonde hair was kept short, and his glasses were atop the bridge of his nose without any crookedness to them at all. Jim figured he was a little taller than his mother, so around five foot eleven inches, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to see all just like his daemon's as she continued to stare at him with her black, beady eyes.
It was unsettling to receive so much attention from another person's daemon since it had never happened to him before, and as the man stared down at him as well he squirmed and tried to hide his nakedness from behind Kertoja.
"Sir-"
"You will speak only when I tell you to." The man interjected coldly, cutting Jim's question short. Kertoja narrowed her dark eyes at the man and somehow was able to refrain from indulging herself in the overwhelming urge to growl. Jim tilted his head at the sound of his voice-it wasn't British-it was something else. New Denmark, maybe?
Oddly, the man's daemon stayed behind the door on a wooden perch as the man shut it behind him and walked a couple of paces closer, "Do you understand? Say either 'Yes' or 'No'."
"Yes." Jim answered, swallowing a huge lump in his throat that often came before the tears did. 'Why is he keeping his daemon outside?' he thought as Kertoja shifted into a Red panda and hid behind Jim's backside, uncomfortable with the small amount of distance between her and the man. She thought of the owl daemon perched outside, and the door between them, and wondered how they were able to stand not seeing each other.
"Good boy." The man smiled down at him, and although he was afraid of the man, Jim could not help but like his smile. It was soft, and kind, almost, except when Jim looked up into his eyes they still held that same steely, calculated look that he had walked in with and he dared not look away. His eyes were so very blue, like the ocean his Mama had taken him to go see a couple of months back, and he stared into them until he couldn't stare anymore and had to blink.
"Good boy," the man repeated. He kneeled down in front of him and stretched forth his hand towards Jim before placing it on his head. He held back a chuckle as he felt the boy flinch beneath his palm and began to run his fingers through Jim's dark hair in soothing, languid motions.
Jim wanted to ask what he was doing, what he wanted, why his daemon was waiting outside, could he go home, could he please have some clothes? He didn't say a word, though, and kept his mouth firmly shut as the man's fingers continued to scrape lightly against his scalp.
He closed his eyes and felt Kertoja stiffen behind him as the man's other hand brushed gently against his cheek and lightly trail down his neck and shoulder and his arm. It felt nice and kind, Jim noticed, not mean and hurtful like when the other kids would fight with him at school. It reminded him of seeing his Mama and Papa together, the two of them holding one another and whispering.
"You're a good boy, aren't you?" The man murmured. Jim wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer that, so he kept silent. The man continued, tilting Jim's chin up with his free hand "Would you like some clothes?"
Jim opened his eyes and stared up at him, "Y-yes please."
The man grinned, and Jim thought he liked his grin too. "Alright, but you can only get one article of clothing for now. Think carefully. Now, what would you like?"
Jim thought long and hard, "Could I get a footed onesie?"
The man raised an eyebrow, "Ah, you're a smart one, aren't' you?" he chuckled as he got up, "Alright then. I will get you an onesie."
"Thank you." Jim whispered, scared to know if he had just spoken out of terms or not. The man seemed to sense it, because he then turned around to look him in the eyes.
"You are permitted to verbally thank me, and answer questions when I tell you to. Stay there and I will go and retrieve what you asked for." He explained.
Jim nodded, his arms wrapped back around his chest as he sat on the cold floor. The man smirked after shutting the door behind him once more and calling his daemon to his shoulder.
"I understand that it went well." His daemon said.
He grinned, "Of course it did. His daemon is rather suspicious of me, but the boy likes me already. Phase One was a success like I said it would be, and if he continues to exhibit good behavior, Phase Two shouldn't be too difficult."
"Gaining his trust by providing the basic essentials." The owl said knowingly, "simple, but effective."
"I've often been told that simplicity is a virtue." The man mused.
"It's a shame we have no real use for that." She replied.
"Simplicity?" The man asked, turning his head just a bit to her side as he opened another door.
"No," she scoffed softly, "virtue."
Jim waited for what seemed like an hour, but it was only thirty minutes (he had counted along with Kertoja's help). During that time he had walked around the expanse of the room, taking note of the twin sized bed and small open bathroom equipped with a bath, toilet and sink the farthest corner of the room. When the door opened again, relief flooded through him, warm and promising as the man walked back into the room with the onesie in question, his daemon still at the door.
"I brought you the clothes," the man said as he lifted up the red onesie for Jim to see, "just like you had asked."
"Thank you!" Jim got up off the floor and rushed over to him, his arm stretched out to take it, but the man only raised it higher.
Now hold on," the man tsked, "since I got this for you, you now owe me."
Jim tilted his head in confusion as he looked up into those blue eyes, "I owe you?"
"Yes. You owe me." The man explained, "When someone does something nice for you, you are automatically required to do something nice for them back. That's how it works."
Jim thought for a moment, "Okay." He said slowly, tucking away the life lesson into the recesses of his young mind, "I owe you. What do I need to do to settle the score?"
The man watched Kertoja slither away from him a little in the shape of a Boomslang and smiled at her weariness. "I want you to let me dress you." he said, his eyes flickering back to Jim's, "That's all I want."
Jim couldn't believe his luck. If that was all, then he'd gladly allow it. "M'kay." He said, uncrossing his arms from his chest to stand still in front of the man. The man smiled again, the same nice smile as before, and this time Jim thought his eyes were somewhat softer too.
"Hold out your arms." The strawberry blonde commanded, and Jim quickly did as he was told. The man took his time, unfolding the clothes in slow, deliberate movements and held it out in front of him. He then unzipped it and ordered Jim to turn around, to which the boy obeyed.
Jim could feel the man's warm hands gently take each leg in turn and slip them into the designated sleeves and then slide up his sides until they reached his arms. It made him feel funny in his chest, like there was a flock of butterflies in his chest, all fluttering and beating against his sternum as if they were trying to break free, but were stuck.
"Good boy, Jim," the man said encouragingly as he held still and allowed the man to manipulate his hands into the onesie sleeves. It was the first time he had addressed him by his first name, Jim realized, and yet he didn't even know his name.
"What is your name?" Jim asked, tilting his head back towards the man's chest to look up at him. Those warm hands slid up his arms and settled on his bare shoulders, where they flitted and brushed against his skin as softly as a gentle breeze. It was a tad bit uncomfortable, Jim realized, but he didn't think it would be wise to move away, so he tried his best to ignore the weird feeling the man's touch brought him.
The man's grip tightened just a tad around his shoulders-a warning for talking out of turn-he could throttle him if he so pleased, but since he was feeling rather generous at the moment, he decided to answer and not reprimand him this one time.
"You may call me 'Mr. Mancala'." The man grinned down at him. It wouldn't be until a couple of years later that Jim would even realize that was simply the name of a Niger game and not his real name. Until then, however, Jim just swished the name around in his mouth like it was mouth wash and swallowed it down.
"Thank you Mr. Mancala."
"You're welcome. Now turn around."
Jim turned around and watched as Mr. Mancala's big hands reached down and brushed against his stomach as he reached for the zipper and slid it all the way up until it stopped just below Jim's clavicles.
"How does that feel?" Mr. Mancala asked, his hands warm and heavy on his shoulders. Jim pawed at his onesie and nodded,
"Feels warm. Ta, Mr. Mancala." He replied quietly, feeling suddenly shy. Mr. Mancala scoffed softly at the child before stretching out his hand out to ruffle the young boy's short dark hair. In a couple of months, Jim would need a haircut, the man mused as he raked his nails softly against Jim's scalp, pleased as the boy leaned toward his touch. The boy's daemon-now a Samoyed puppy- scampered towards her human but still kept her distance. He figured it was a step up from a serpent.
"Kertoja"-(Narrator) [Finnish]