Jack o' the Green (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jack_inthegreen) wrote2012-10-17 04:34 pm
jack_inthegreen) wrote2012-10-17 04:34 pm
Entry tags:
not-an-OOM: a meeting
Steve Rogers sits in the bar, his sketchbooks open on the table in front of him. One shows the drawing of Yggdrasil, the other shows the drawing he made during his nightmare. He rubs his chin, deep in thought, but no matter how much he ponders he can't figure out the connection between the blank-faced man and the myth.
The man-shaped tree called Jack--who, for the record, does not have a blank face but rather has a very animated and even handsome one--walks past, apple in hand, when he happens to glance down. "The world ash," he remarks, and Steve looks up.
"Sorry, what did you call it?"
"The world tree? It's ash. Protective, you see."
"Hm," says Steve, and then stands and holds out his hand. "Steve Rogers, 1944, Earth, currently in London. Can you sit for a little while? Talk to me?"
"Of course, Steve Rogers," says Jack and shakes his hand. He takes the nearest chair. "I'm called Jack Green." He makes an apple and offers it to Steve, who stares at it a moment before he cautiously takes it.
"Not an ordinary fella, I take it."
"Nope." Crunch into his own apple. "Tree god."
That causes Steve's eyebrows to crawl up his forehead. "Really. So is this guy--" He pushes the nightmare drawing to Jack. "Is he one of yours?"
Jack takes the sketchbook and studies the drawing, frowning. "You saw him?"
"After I drew this."
Jack traces the dark lines. "We've spoken. Well, not spoken, exactly. Communicated. He is not mine, but he is ... like me. Sort of. It's hard to explain."
"I think you need to explain anyway," says Steve and a muscle tenses in his jaw.
Jack smiles at him. "At ease, soldier." He points to himself. "I'm called the Green Man, god of trees and rain and new beginnings. I like apples and babies and making things grow.
"There were more like me once, long ago, when forests were deeper and denser, but most have faded away as the trees came down. Belief makes us strong, you see, and when the belief fades, it takes great strength of will to continue existing."
"And him?" Steve gestures to the drawing.
"I don't know, exactly. I think--I suspect--he is one of those old gods, left alone for so long that he's forgotten even who he is. If I could find even his name maybe I could do something, but as it is..."
"He's making people sick," Steve says. "He's making them scared--brave people, too. Not to mention the cold and the mist and the symbol he's leaving everywhere." He points to the Xed-out circles in his drawing.
"He's upsetting the trees," says Jack.
"How do you know that?"
Jack looks up. "They tell me, of course."
"Oh," says Steve and finally bites into his apple. "Of course."
Jack smiles and looks at the other drawing, the one of Yggdrasil. "Back in the day," he says, "ash trees were planted by springs to protect them. It was thought the ash kept the springs pure, and made sick children well."
"Ooshin," says Steve and Jack looks up again. Steve shrugs. "My Irish grandmother used to give me ash sap when I was a kid. It was supposed to make me healthy."
"So there's some ash in you," Jack says, and looks at the drawing again with an entirely new understanding. "Uinsinn," he adds softly. "That's the Gaelic word for the ash tree."
"I guess so," says Steve thoughtfully. "I had this image in my head so I drew it, but I didn't know why. I'm still not entirely sure what it means."
"I'm not entirely sure either." Jack gives Steve back his sketchbooks. "But we'll speak again when I am." He rises, tosses Steve another apple, and thinks, You are the uinsinn, Steve Rogers, as he continues on his way.
The man-shaped tree called Jack--who, for the record, does not have a blank face but rather has a very animated and even handsome one--walks past, apple in hand, when he happens to glance down. "The world ash," he remarks, and Steve looks up.
"Sorry, what did you call it?"
"The world tree? It's ash. Protective, you see."
"Hm," says Steve, and then stands and holds out his hand. "Steve Rogers, 1944, Earth, currently in London. Can you sit for a little while? Talk to me?"
"Of course, Steve Rogers," says Jack and shakes his hand. He takes the nearest chair. "I'm called Jack Green." He makes an apple and offers it to Steve, who stares at it a moment before he cautiously takes it.
"Not an ordinary fella, I take it."
"Nope." Crunch into his own apple. "Tree god."
That causes Steve's eyebrows to crawl up his forehead. "Really. So is this guy--" He pushes the nightmare drawing to Jack. "Is he one of yours?"
Jack takes the sketchbook and studies the drawing, frowning. "You saw him?"
"After I drew this."
Jack traces the dark lines. "We've spoken. Well, not spoken, exactly. Communicated. He is not mine, but he is ... like me. Sort of. It's hard to explain."
"I think you need to explain anyway," says Steve and a muscle tenses in his jaw.
Jack smiles at him. "At ease, soldier." He points to himself. "I'm called the Green Man, god of trees and rain and new beginnings. I like apples and babies and making things grow.
"There were more like me once, long ago, when forests were deeper and denser, but most have faded away as the trees came down. Belief makes us strong, you see, and when the belief fades, it takes great strength of will to continue existing."
"And him?" Steve gestures to the drawing.
"I don't know, exactly. I think--I suspect--he is one of those old gods, left alone for so long that he's forgotten even who he is. If I could find even his name maybe I could do something, but as it is..."
"He's making people sick," Steve says. "He's making them scared--brave people, too. Not to mention the cold and the mist and the symbol he's leaving everywhere." He points to the Xed-out circles in his drawing.
"He's upsetting the trees," says Jack.
"How do you know that?"
Jack looks up. "They tell me, of course."
"Oh," says Steve and finally bites into his apple. "Of course."
Jack smiles and looks at the other drawing, the one of Yggdrasil. "Back in the day," he says, "ash trees were planted by springs to protect them. It was thought the ash kept the springs pure, and made sick children well."
"Ooshin," says Steve and Jack looks up again. Steve shrugs. "My Irish grandmother used to give me ash sap when I was a kid. It was supposed to make me healthy."
"So there's some ash in you," Jack says, and looks at the drawing again with an entirely new understanding. "Uinsinn," he adds softly. "That's the Gaelic word for the ash tree."
"I guess so," says Steve thoughtfully. "I had this image in my head so I drew it, but I didn't know why. I'm still not entirely sure what it means."
"I'm not entirely sure either." Jack gives Steve back his sketchbooks. "But we'll speak again when I am." He rises, tosses Steve another apple, and thinks, You are the uinsinn, Steve Rogers, as he continues on his way.