Jack's eyes darted back and forth between the guardians missing Pitch's mild amusement behind him. His staff lifted in front of him ready to strike. His eyes shifted from The Tooth Fariy to Santa rapidly. Both were renowned swordsmen in the spirit world with centuries of fighting under their belts as well as personal armies. Jack had a stick, snowflakes, and the snark of a teenager. The odds were not in his favor if he had to fight. At least Sandy wouldn't fight him. He probably would try to stop a fight. Good old Sandy. He wondered if his grandfather would be mad if he made a blizzard in Santoff Claussen? His thoughts were interrupted as he heard North's supposedly signature roar of laughter.
"Jack Frost," he said with jolly, lifting his arms in a grand gesture. Jack's eyes darted to Sandy in confusion. A large meaty hand grasped his shoulder. Jack's legs almost buckled by the sheer size of the man. Seasonal were never as big as North. Even if they were tall they were all rather thin. And the other spirits were either too proud to associate with a lowly winter seasonal or were rather small spirits themselves. Recollecting his thoughts Jack looked up into baby blue eyes.
"Ve vere vondering vhen you vould arrive," he said happily. He sent a glare to Pitch, still aware he was there. Jack stepped away from Father Christmas toward Pitch. North looked confused seeing the child like spirit shy away from him.
"Arrive?" he asked, his voice somewhat hollow. Pitch put his hand on Jack's shoulder, keeping him grounded. Too many spirits would "arrive" in Pitch's lair to allow that word to have any positive connotation.
"What do you want with Frost?" Pitch questioned. Jack nearly snorted hearing Pitch use Frost. Negotiations that were likely never to happen were coming into play.
"Iz no business of yourz," North stated being a mountain of a man. Gold light shimmered behind him. A picture of a moon, a jewel, a horse, a snowflake and then a book appeared. Jack recognized the moon as the man in the moon, the horse was Pitch referring to either his years as a general or his nightmares that pranced, yes pranced, around the lair, and he was the snowflake. His head whipped around when he heard Pitch groan.
"Manny is putting his influence where it shouldn't be," he explained to Jack.
"These little creatures are idiotic."
"Aye mate. Easy 'nuff ta grab. Jus' gotta make sure none go off ta warn North. Ya got the Yetis?"
"Yes. Pity they're so defiant. They would be good soldiers. Perhaps they'll rebuild our conquest," a smooth voice commented.
"Not on your nelly. I'll be rebuilden me own areas. Them yetis aren't touchen me plants," an accented voice hissed. The other body nodded, not really caring. Blurred memories were ebbing their way to the surface. Green past and blue present conflicting to create a new future.
"You best be headin back to New York. Is' the only way the plan's gonna work."
"I know Aster. I know my part."
Fury grabbed his throbbing head. Pain was blossoming throughout his brain with speeds he couldn't imagine. Flashes of blue and white appeared in his mind. Laughter ringing in his ears. Phil's laugh, his own seldom heard laugh, and a laugh as timeless as life itself. His fingers cold and almost numb.
"Do you want to build a snowman?"
Fury's eye opened, his hands dropped to his side. He began walking, setting a brisk pace to his personal room aboard the Helicarrier. He stepped into his room and began ripping through his drawers.
His eye landed on a small jar of sand. He lifted the container gingerly, slowly unscrewing the lid. A soft golden glow he hadn't seen in years came from the silky material. He held one hand out in front of himself over a small bowl. He began to slowly pour the sand over his fingers. Sand landed in the bowl as it overflowed. His eye widened as some of the sand turned into a small, lanky teenager. He flew around Fury a few times with an impish grin.
He ignored the joy building in his chest. He was real. All of it was real. He sighed knowing that he should tell the World Council. But tell them what? Holiday mascots were real? No. Then they would replace him. That would be terrible right now. He closed his eye trying to recall what Jack had said. Wars were not spirits business... Unless it effected their work.
When it effected their work they would fight. Mainly ones who stood for something specific like Lady Luck. Granted you couldn't really effect her... but the thought was still there. And nature were supposedly extremely territorial. Just about any part of nature that got hurt involved some spirit. And each nature spirit dealt with a season. Seasons could be summoned in season. It was summer. Not possible to summon him. And even if he wanted to summon summer, he couldn't remember his name.
Leprechauns? No. No time to get to Ireland, drink fifteen beers and find a rainbow.
Groundhog? What the hell did he know about groundhogs?
Nature spirits? Took too many years of soul searching or a helpful season.
He sighed, lowering his head to his chest. A leather rubbed his neck uncomfortably. He pulled the leather off his neck, along with the bag it held. Inside a treasure and perhaps his only hope for last minute recruits. His last baby tooth.
Ain't I a stinker? Please review. Action next chapter for all you readers. Pray it doesn't suck. Battle scenes are not my forte.
