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helen

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If it doubt, he draws. It's always been the way. He first learned as a Midshipman, hanging around the covert, drawing his fllows first and then, when he got up the nerve, the dragons themselves. He must have been a sight, growing out of his coats every third day, sitting huddled into corners with a sketchpad balanced across his skinny knees. He's got passing talent as an artist (even if nobody can read the labels but him). He wishes he had his own folio, the sketches of Temeraire and Iskierka, Emily Roland and the odd one of William Laurence in a moment of relaxation.

But new pages will do, he supposes. In a pinch.

It's more awkward with only one hand, but he manages to get the pad wedged in his lap, solid enough that the lines don't wobble. He's sitting in the shade, watching Toothless bask in the sun. He'll talk to Hiccup and make notes later but, for now, he draws.

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"Newcastle, by birth," he says, his accent slipping thicker, for a moment. "But I've spent most of my time of late in Scotland and the Americas and China. Gibraltar some, too. Most lately in Brazil."

He grins.

"We move, in the service of the crown."

"That we do. London, originally for me, and I've been living in Canada for the last little while. It tends to mute things down a bit. My own daughter never even had a proper English accent."

Helen smiled a bit. "So what did you do in service of King and country?"

He realises that, somewhere in the conversation, he's been impossibly rude - he's neglected to even give her his name.

"Captain John Granby, Dr. Zimmerman. Of his Majesty's Air Corps. With Iskierka."

He stops short of saluting - Aviators haven't ever been really good at the letter of the law.

"How splendid, the idea of an Air Corps with dragons," Helen said, grinning at him. "We aren't nearly so enlightened in my version of England. I really wish we were. There are many beautiful and majestic creatures that need to hide in order to keep themselves safe. I've found humanity tends to eliminate what it simply doesn't understand."

"Maybe it's because dragons can be quite vocal about putting their own cases?" he asks, setting his notebook aside. "Temeraire has been making noises about rights for years."

"Is that another dragon, then?"

It was all so fascinating, hearing about a new place and a new culture, one which apparently integrated at least one species of Abnormal into the mainstream.

"Temeraire? He is. Captained by William Laurence. I was his First-Lieutenant before Iskierka hatched. I'd have happily stayed there my whole career."

He leans back a little, getting comfortable. "He's a Celestial. From China."

"Oh, you'll have to tell me what that means. Is he red, then? I would assume a dragon from China would be red in color," Helen said, trying not to look like an enamored schoolgirl hanging on Granby's every word.

"We don't have such terminology where I'm from. Not as it pertains to dragons."

"Celestial is his breed," says Granby, happy to talk about this for hours. "In the same way that Iskierka is Kasilik. He's black with blue markings along the wing. She's red with green spots, like a leopard and purple along her belly. She steams, through her spines. He does not."

"How extraordinary. How many other sorts are there, then? Just these two or are there more?"

Helen couldn't help but settle down next to him, eager to hear more about these dragons and this version of her homeland that he hailed from. It was like a child with a new toy, in a way, and Helen was intrigued.

"Around sixty that I can think of the name of?" he says, wishing that he had his sketchpad with pictures of Maximus and Lily and the others. "But between the Americas and the Africas, we really don't know how many."

"I shall have to trouble you to list them out, when you've settled," Helen said, smiling gently. "Speaking of, is there anything you need? I'm a doctor and a surgeon in addition to a dragon vet, I'd be happy to get you anything you need. Or explain anything - I sit on the Island Council."

"I could write you a list; if you could read my handwriting that is." He thinks, for a moment. "I was told to get my arm rebandaged regularly. If you wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all," Helen said gently. "How long has it been since the amputation, so I have a better idea of what I'm looking at?"

She knew this had all the potential to be a sensitive subject and, as such, tried to tread lightly.

"A pair of weeks," he says, touching the bandages again. "Maybe a little more. And I was suffering with the arm for months before that."

"Injury, infection or simply a combination of both?" Helen asked, frowning a bit as she tried to work it all out, what they could do, how they could help him learn how to work around it. All doctor and no play, it seemed.

"Both," he says, leaning back in his sheet and watching her; it's not painful to talk about this. He's not addled by it. It's just a fact of something that happened. "Dislocated by a loose canon at sea, unseen to for too long and the poison rose to levels that threatened to overwhelm."

"Tough bit of luck, that. I can likely keep an eye on it for you, though, and if you've any trouble, come find me? I'd be happy to help. I've assisted with such things many times."

Helen bit her lip slightly; this was always an awkward question. "What year was it? Where you're from?"

"We had a lot to think about," he says, with a roll of his shoulders in an easy sort of shrug.

"Year of our lord 1811," he says. "From Brazil."

"You're older than I am," Helen said, pleased by that. It was so few and far between before coming to the island and each time it happened, now, she couldn't help but be a little excited.

"I was born in 1850. In London, actually, though my accent has faded just slightly. I'd been living in Canada for some time before coming to the island."

"I was born in 1780 in Newcastle," he says, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But I did most of my growing in Loch Lagan, on and off dragons. Spent time on Gibraltar, too. Made my Spanish passable."

"Passable Spanish is always a welcome gift," Helen said, laughing. "I speak...more languages than I can really count at the moment but I've been alive for a very long time. It's the year 2012 on the island but when I first came here, I arrived from 2008. I was well over a hundred."

"Temeraire puts us all to shame," he says. "He picks a new language up as soon as think about it."

He pauses, working it out; mathematics was never his strong suit. "So I am two hundred and thirty one years old?"

He blinks.

"I am ageing rather well, I think." He gives her a crooked smile.

"Oh, incredibly well. Very well preserved," Helen said, laughing. "You're putting me to shame, that's for certain. It's nice, though, to have someone who remembers the old ways and how life used to be. I'm very pleased."

The crooked smile blossoms into a broad grin and he pushes unruly hair back from his forehead..

"Everything's so different," he says. "I don't know how I'm ever to get up to speed."

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notsocommon - 2012-05-06 23:17 (UTC) - Expand

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