The last scene from Dunce perspective. I hope you guys like it. Its disgustingly sappy.
He had been on edge ever since he woke up.
Peonie had done what she could to calm his nerves, but it was no use.
Not like he could really tell her what was bothering him.
The memories came back. In disturbing pieces. It was hard to distinguish between fever dreams and reality.
He heard himself giving orders, sweat dripping down his back, a man to his right screaming and something ripped him apart.
At least that was what it had felt like at the time.
It had dropped on his back sizzle through his vest, reaching the skin on his back with ease.
Setting him ablaze in seconds.
He had screamed, and someone had dragged him and there had been cold cold water, but it kept scorching.
Blistering.
The surroundings had flashed around him, like the sudden brightness of lightning in a nightly thunderstorm.
The face of his father, screaming at him.
No, no that must have been later. It really had been dark.
He had shouted as well.
His back roaring with pain.
And his father had taken the candleholder, send the burning candle flying. The first hit had been to his stomach.
He had doubled over, and his father hat lashed at his back. Kept striking, even when he fell.
Booted him while he tried to crouch away.
He remembered the carpet patterns. Intricate works of red and blue.
A final kick to his temple ended it.
"Its with turnips.", said Peonie next to him.
"Nice.", answered Dunce and took another spoon full.
"You really don't need to worry.", she said, and he nodded.
He would be out of her hair as fast as he could.
"I´ll pay everything back."
"No need.", said Peonie.
"What?"
"Gala already did."
Dunce squinted bewildered:" He did?"
"Sure. Coal, Money, food. He showed up at least once a day.", Peonie smiled an intriguing smile:" Good friend you have there."
"I have.", he shoved some more turnip soup in his mouth to avoid the need for a longer answer.
He chewed for a bit and Peonie kept busy with some craft work, that looked peculiar like a muzzle, but was big enough to be used as a hat.
"How is the back doing?", she asked casually.
He nodded furiously to show how well everything was. Swallowing he added:" What did you do with it?"
"I did nothing. Henry did. He said it´s some kind of burn. But not from fire."
"Makes sense."
There was a pause.
"How did you get it?"
"Helped unload a ship, something dripped down my back. Don't know what."
Peonie waited a little and finally said:" I get it, you don't want to tell. But you can´t blame me for being curious. After all, Gala is not the amiable guy, but very much the bark, bite and swallow kind of."
Dunce said nothing.
It always made something in him sharp and angry to hear someone talk about Gala that way.
Even worse when they started with the animal analogies.
Gala didn't seem to mind. Laughed about the ´beasts´ and ´monsters´, but Dunce couldn't.
"How do you know him?", he asked.
"One day he brought back one of the elephants. No really. He found her in the park. She liked to take herself for a walk at night, and she often wandered off. They must have waited to kill her, ivory, you know? When Gala brought her back, he had a bullet in the shoulder and his head cracked open."
"That's where the scars are from?"
"Afraid so.", Peonie twisted a little at the muzzle:" You should have seen him. He held her at her ear. Like a naughty school child. Came slandering in here like it was his Sunday afternoon stroll. Asked: ´That your elephant? ´ like we had lost an umbrella."
"What happened to the elephant?"
"Through the winter she is at a farm in Yorkshire. They work lumber."
Dunce smiled at the picture of Gala go walkies with an elephant.
Another image of Gala replaced the happy one.
Gala screamed in this one, screamed in Dunce face.
For him to wake up. To open that damn eyes.
Dunce had tried. He really had.
Still couldn't understand why he had been laying in the fog.
Had heard Gala growl and roar. Someone had screamed, even louder than Gala had and without words. There were noises. Wet, disgusting noises and he knew Gala must have done something because he came to pick him up and he had blood on him.
Dunce had tried to ask but Gala had snarled:" Not mine." And Dunce had been too tired and too dizzy to ask.
"You just stay.", Gala had said it over and over while he ran with Dunce. Like it really meant something. Like it had been important.
"Hey?", Peonies voice brought him back:" You ok?"
"Yes.", said Dunce and pretended his gut hadn´t been filled with live snakes.
"What ever mess you are in, we´ll find a way out.", said Peonie and laid a hand on his arm.
Dunce had tried a nod, but had been interrupted by the door of the wagon swinging open.
He watched his giant storming through the frame and the snakes immediately stopped slithering.
All the racing thoughts stopped, the what-ifs banished by this oaf.
Gala looked wild, his shoulders hunched, his head drawn between them, ready to run through the door should it not open.
Dunce had seen him like that before and it had never been a good sign. But he was here and that made it hard to care about anything else.
"Peewee.", slipped out before Dunce could really think, the old nickname so light on his tongue.
Gala seemed to grow a couple of inches and his face broke out in a grin.
Dunce was irrationally proud of the fact that he could put that there.
He watched his giant stumble through the costumes and the glitter, slightly cursing, and couldn't stop himself from laughing.
He pulled his legs up to make room ignoring the strain it put on his back.
Gala let himself sink on the bed and asked:" How are you?"
Dunce ribs throbbed fiercely, his back stung and strained, he was bruised all over and the bowl of turnip soup was nearly to heavy to lift, but this idiot had come back, so he said:" What do you think? You sold me to the circus!"
That drew a laugh from Peonie.
He kept his eyes on his giant. Watched him deflate to his feet.
Gala looked tired. No, he looked downright destroyed. The stubble on his head was too long and he kept fidgeting with it.
He only ever let it grow if live was to chaotic to shave it. It made Dunce hearth clench, thinking what Gala might have done this last week.
"You look like you mucked out the central guard stables.", Dunce said instead.
"Least I don't smell like it.", growled Gala.
Dunce reached for him and to his surprise Gala leaned forward to let him scratch the stubble. Gala wasn't much for touching. Always trying to keep a distance. Normally Dunce couldn't blame him. Not with what bits and pieces he learned about him.
But he needed something more than this carefully controlled picture before him. Suddenly he needed to see these eyes. Desperately needed to know what was going on in that scarred and scratched head. Dunce fidgeted with the glasses, he couldn't move them, Gala was to far away and the glasses sat to snug.
"I can´t see you."
Immediately Gala took the glasses off, shoved them on his head.
His eyes seemed to hurt, the way he squinted them, perhaps his head hurt, thought Dunce. The so differently coloured irises scurried around the room wearily, like he waited for the next hit.
Dunce knew the feeling too well but he hated seeing it on Gala. This world should hold nothing that made his giant feel small.
"There he is."
That didn't stop the fanatic darting, so Dunce said:" You smell like a week-old harbour water."
This made Gala finally focus on him:" You are one to talk."
A sudden racket made Dunce jump. Instinctively one of Galas bucket sized hands came to lay on his leg.
Someone screamed for Berny.
Peonie stormed out of the wagon.
Dunce stared after her while Gala rubbed his leg through the blankets.
"Who is Berny?"
"The lion.", said Gala and Dunce was happy he at least tried to wind him up. It felt more normal than this strangle serious man next to him.
So, he answered:" Of course."
But Gala got up, closed the door and even locked it.
He took a look through the little window before he made his way back to the bed.
"Wait a real lion?"
"Yes, a real lion.", said Gala with the patience he seemed to reserve for Dunce.
"Wont he … like eat anyone?"
"Berny can´t see well. He only gets lost, a lot", Gala let himself sink back on the blankets, his back against the wooden wall.
Dunce wanted to point out that a lion would be perfectly capable to smell what ever he wanted to snack, but Gala turned his face in his direction and it was so weary that it made Dunce stop in his tracks.
He found Galas gaze and held it.
Galas eyes bored in him, like he tried to etch him in his memory. It unnerved Dunce.
He was pretty sure Gala would bolt if he openly asked about the last time he had seen him, so he started at the least risky part of the story, hoping to inch closer:" Weren´t you sacked?"
"Do I look like it?" asked his giant back.
He didn't elaborate, simply kept looking at Dunce and suddenly Dunce understood.
Gala hadn't known if he would talk to him again. Like a punch to the gut he felt all the air leave his lungs, quickly covering up the gasp with a yawn.
He remembered slinging his arms around Gala, remembered the peace that came with it. He wondered if he could get Gala to stay with him, only for a while.
At least he could make him sleep a little.
Dunce knew that the last man who needed saving was Gala.
His giant had a marvellous knack for self-preservation but he seemed to be able to handle things that made Dunce nervous.
He scanned whatever he was able to see of his giant, and sure enough:
"What happened to your hand?"
Gala didn't even shrug just said:" Hit a wall."
It sparked something red hot in his chest that Gala still wouldn't tell him these things.
"Don't tell me then.", he snapped.
Gala smiled and Dunce insides turned to mush. Great. So much for being angry with this idiot.
Dunce pushed his luck and said:" You look tired."
That earned him a shrug.
Gala looked ready to keel over.
Dunce made the decision for him.
"Well, I'm tired." He held his breath and for a moment Gala looked hurt:" And I´m cold, come here you furnace."
That seemed to surprise his giant.
But docile like a draught horse he shimmied out of his coat and boots, carefully slipping under the covers.
He brought cold air with him, but Dunce immediately latched onto him.
Wrapped himself in his giant.
This was another heat than the scorching of the fever. This was home.
Funny. How the most familiar things could be found in the strangest places
Dunce felt Gala cautiously lay a hand on his hip and pressed his face into the wall of human before him.
Gala didn't skid so Dunce took it as an invite.
"You came back."
It slipped out before Dunce could stop it, and he felt Gala freeze. With bated breath he waited hoping he didn't step over this line, didn't make Gala get up and put this strange coat on. Didn't make him harrumph and say he would be back tomorrow. Or sometime.
He tried to steel himself for the inevitable.
But bit by bit Gala relaxed again, until he finally grumbled:" Sure."
Dunce couldn't help himself but to squeeze even closer, he tried to blame the fever still nestling in his bones. And if his arm came around Galas waist, so what? It was a small bed.
He tried to stay awake, tried to cherish this, but his treacherous body, lulled by the warmth and the safety failed him.
He could have sworn he felt Gala cradle his head shortly before he slipped away.