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 Posted: Sat Apr 28, 2007 11:48 am
There was a boy.
A little boy drifting about the castle towers, familiar in a loathesome sort of way.
Hook was agitated. Just the sight of the child would have made his blood boil, had he any at the moment. For some reason he felt a rage summoned within him that even his obnoxious fae 'brother', Puck, had never yet managed to illicit.
Most infuriating of all, however, was that Captain James Matthew had absolutely no memory of why he hated the boy above the castle so relentlessly. His eventful life as an iron hook at the Magic Kingdom had already begun to shove the majorty of his past recollections out of his mind. Still, the hatred of a rival in a villian's mind could outlast even the reason that induced it.
It was a shame the reason had escaped James, for now he was at a loss as to why he felt he needed to be hostile toward the youth, having never even met him. Without a reason, the hatred would whittle away into nothing. Hook's subconcious didn't like the idea of forgetting hatred that was obviously not to be ignored.
In an awkward decision, James finally summoned the courage to go to the boy, floating atop the tower roofs. He thought that if perhaps he spoke with the child, his memory might return, or he might actually realize the reason for his dislike.
Could he be rude? Childish probably. I suppose he's the same as that long-eared twit...he seems to have pointed ears too, after all. Perhaps he's allergic to iron as well... Encouraged by these new thoughts, James floated higher and higher toward the roofs, unaware he was doing exactly what he had so envied his nemises before their journeys to the Magic Kingdom. He was flying.
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Posted: Sat Apr 28, 2007 12:25 pm
Peter whooped and laughed merrily as he swerved and soared between the towers and turrets. Occasionally he'd pause to slide down a steeply sloping roof, or practice a sumersault by vaulting off a balcony. He had only just arrived in this new world, but was enjoying himself immensely.
If the roofs are this much fun, I wonder what it's like inside! he thought gleefully, perching on a window sill, hoping to get a view of the interior. The glass was somewhat unclear, however, and there didn't appear to be a latch with which to open it.
Almost timidly, he swooped down to one of the smaller balconies and tried the door. Locked. No one answered after a few minutes of knocking either.
He shrugged. "Oh well. Guess I'll try later. They probably use the front door, anyway." The auburn-haired boy was just about to take off again when he turned and found himself face to face with a floating iron hook. "Whoa!" He peered at it curiously. It looked sharp, but not too hostile. "Where'd you come from?"
Something in th back of his mind caused Peter to connect the object with that of an old aquaintance of his, who owned one just like it in place of a right hand. "Hook?" he inquired, tilting his head with an uncertain half-smile. "That isn't you, is it? I was wondering where you'd gone. Neverland's getting boring without you around, y'know. Your men are terrible shots with a canon. Even worse than when you were helping, heh."
Part of him made Peter wonder if he dared to be so bold. In his current situation, Pan was at a disadantage, and surely the true pirate captain would not let such an insult go unpunished. Then again, the true pirate captain would have never made it up to the tower on his own without havng to use the stairs. The true Captain Hook carved up his victims first and asked questions later. Peter knew something was different.
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Posted: Sat Apr 28, 2007 2:19 pm
He knows my name, the arrogant brat, Hook thought, mentally grinding his teeth. It troubled him greatly his supposed enemy knew his name and yet he hadn't the slightest idea of the boy's. Something in the way the child moved and played and did his graceful stunts screamed of arrogance and pride. Then again, James had never been so modest himself. It was difficult to say if the cannon shot comment was meant as an insult or not.
A worthy rival, he thought. This boy clearly knows me, and yet addresses me with such...friendliness. I can see in his eyes he knows what I could do to him here and now, but he shows no fear, and continues to smile pleasantly...as if I were his closest friend... James pondered this for a bit, and an impossible idea crossed his mind. Had perhaps, one time long ago, their friendship been genuine?
Hatred still as strong and present as ever in his preception of the boy, Hook thrust aside the idea with disgust, an afterthought of self-anger quickly overtaking him for coming up with such a suggestion. But that imp shall not fool me! I'll play along with his silly game, then...the more he thinks I'm a friend, the better.
Noticing the locked wooden door that led to the balcony, Hook eagerly flew up to it and began his practiced cursive-carving, hoping the boy would have the attention span to read it. It was already becoming clear he grew easily bored and restless.
"Yes, boy, I am Hook. A hook, infact, in case you didn't know. But if you continue to call me 'hook', I will call you 'boy'. I have a name which is to be used, and it is thus:"
Taking a moment to glance at the boy, he was pleased to discover the child was reading the carefully crafted letters.
"James Matthew Hook. King Jas. by my comrades." He added the last part as a sort of test. James needed to find out what the boy's relation to him was. If he was, by some slim chance, James' friend, he would have no difficulty in addressing him in such a manner.
On the other hand, if he was, infact, the haughty, prideful, jeering brat Hook suspected him to be, he would most certainly refuse. ...Wouldn't he?
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