Felix may have been born under lucky stars but the gods have never had to contend with James T. Kirk and his inexorable magnetic attraction to trouble. Over the years Felix has seen firsthand how Jim turned otherwise mundane outings into life and death struggles, often through no fault of his own. Simply existing seemed to summon potential misfortune. It matters little how much more careful the captain gets the longer Felix knows him. Or, in fact, how carefully Felix Caelus-Kirk covers his tracks.
Jim's not looking for Felix when he comes back into their assigned sleeping area in the Crossroads a little over an hour after he'd stumbled up to start working to distract from the ever sharper hunger biting into him. When Jim returned, his only thought was to the journal he'd forgotten to bring downstairs earlier. Seeing Felix--and more importantly Felix's satchel-- gone roots the captain on the spot. Even when he gets noticed by Isidor to clear snow or cast small spells his important things stay carefully stored away up here, warded from prying eyes or fingers along with Jim's own things. If all of it is missing and Felix with it...
Felix, who is a talented conjurer, and has a history with hiding his craft from everyone including him. Felix, who has remained suspiciously complaint free despite hard labor and reduced access to food. Jim can nearly see Stratos' exasperated twist to his mouth as realization drives a spike of frustration deep into his gut.
It's not Rielle that Jim thinks back to, not this time. Felix has recovered from that, learned his lesson from the fallout of that hellish chapter of both of their lives. But no amount of ceremony or change in names will stop the man from still being Felix Caelus, the man who set off all the fire systems in Jim's Iowa farmhouse because he refused to let Jim in on his schemes enough to even be warned what would happen if he tried to summon fire into that house. Somewhere out in this frozen hell, Felix is up to something. Once again he hasn't thought it pertinent enough to tell Jim Kirk about.
"Son of a bitch." You're not a mage, you wouldn't understand. The reminder sits in the back of the captain's mind. In its innocent intentions lingers a poison that seeps into Jim's thoughts as it has for over a year now. He's clenching his jaw while he pulls on his cold weather gear with hurried motions. Scowling at the world when he slips downstairs and outside with enough Purpose that no one thinks to question him.
Somewhere out here, Felix is up to something. Jim best get to looking. At least he has some small idea of what to look for. The seclusion and space the conjurer needs for his rituals.
no subject
Jim's not looking for Felix when he comes back into their assigned sleeping area in the Crossroads a little over an hour after he'd stumbled up to start working to distract from the ever sharper hunger biting into him. When Jim returned, his only thought was to the journal he'd forgotten to bring downstairs earlier. Seeing Felix--and more importantly Felix's satchel-- gone roots the captain on the spot. Even when he gets noticed by Isidor to clear snow or cast small spells his important things stay carefully stored away up here, warded from prying eyes or fingers along with Jim's own things. If all of it is missing and Felix with it...
Felix, who is a talented conjurer, and has a history with hiding his craft from everyone including him. Felix, who has remained suspiciously complaint free despite hard labor and reduced access to food. Jim can nearly see Stratos' exasperated twist to his mouth as realization drives a spike of frustration deep into his gut.
It's not Rielle that Jim thinks back to, not this time. Felix has recovered from that, learned his lesson from the fallout of that hellish chapter of both of their lives. But no amount of ceremony or change in names will stop the man from still being Felix Caelus, the man who set off all the fire systems in Jim's Iowa farmhouse because he refused to let Jim in on his schemes enough to even be warned what would happen if he tried to summon fire into that house. Somewhere out in this frozen hell, Felix is up to something. Once again he hasn't thought it pertinent enough to tell Jim Kirk about.
"Son of a bitch." You're not a mage, you wouldn't understand. The reminder sits in the back of the captain's mind. In its innocent intentions lingers a poison that seeps into Jim's thoughts as it has for over a year now. He's clenching his jaw while he pulls on his cold weather gear with hurried motions. Scowling at the world when he slips downstairs and outside with enough Purpose that no one thinks to question him.
Somewhere out here, Felix is up to something. Jim best get to looking. At least he has some small idea of what to look for. The seclusion and space the conjurer needs for his rituals.