AN: GASP! Fanfiction on my page that isn't Toad-related? Say it ain't so. Not only that, it's from a movie that...I didn't even really like. But this has been kicking around on my harddrive for over a year now and I decided, what the heck, might as well upload it now. Maybe actually having it up will make me write more of it. At any rate, there is far too little Bosie-fic (or indeed, any flavor of fandom) out there.
For those who need a refresher, Bosie was the albino bad guy in Cold Mountain(the movie). In the book, he doesn't even have the distinction of being albino...or anything but young, really. I liked reading about how they fleshed him out for the movie, and thought he could do with a little more fleshing out.
So yes, there is a girl in the story. But really, this fic is just an excuse for me to get around and play with a character who's too creepy-cool to not have a backstory.
Comments are love. Apologies for any anachronistic liberties taken. History is not my strong point, though I did my best to look things up and make sure they weren't glaringly off. I couldn't find Bosie's first name (or his last, if Bosie's his first), so I'm going with Charlie, just because that's the name of the actor who portrayed him. If anyone knows the real name (if there is one), I'd like to know and amend the story accordingly.
He knew everyone in Cold Mountain, knew them in the casual way that you learned what to expect from the faces you saw every Sunday gathered in the square or at church. So to say that he met her the day they killed the dog would have been wrong. What it was, really, was the day that he became aware of her, more or less, as someone other than another townswomen, until then set apart from the other girls only by the fact that when she glared at him, it was without disgust, and because once or twice, when they were much younger, he recalled having made her laugh.
No one laughed much now, two years into the war, but they glared a lot more, cold and fearful. There had been laughter at the beginning, laughter and cheers and a parade even, for the town heroes who, by right of youth and fitness, won the prize of going off to fight for their way of life. Less cheers for those who remained behind, with the dubious honor of guarding the womenfolk and children. It hadn't been what he had chosen. But it gave him an excuse to shoot things and ride tall, and so it would do.
It was early fall, and he and a few others of the Home Guard were waiting for Teague outside of the store, when they heard the shouting. There was a wild dog running drunkenly through the main street, chasing after a small child, wet foam frothing from its red mouth. Bosie had his pistol half drawn when something shiny flew through the air and hit the cur with a resounding thunk. The dog stumbled a few steps, the fell heavily, twitching. A thick-handled knife stuck out from the back of its neck. No one approached it.
"Well, somebody shoot it and make sure it's dead." Her brash, practical voice cut through the silence. Bosie shrugged and, almost lazily, shot the dog in the head. It gave one final spasm, then lay still.
"Nice shot," she said sarcastically as she strode up to the creature and yanked the knife from it's neck. Curious, Bosie followed her, motioning to the others of the guard to see to getting the dog out of the street and buried far away. He saw her make a searching motion with one hand, then grab the hem of her skirt to wipe the blood from her knife, and handed her his already-blood-stained handkerchief. She took it with a look of surprise.
"Thanks," she muttered, wiping the blade briskly and putting it back in it's small sheath. "Thanks," she said again as she handed him the handkerchief. He only grinned.
Teague had finished checking the post and was directing the men in clearing the dog out and looking for any more infected animals. Bosie mounted his horse and followed, but not before making it a point to catch her eye and give her a smirk. She smirked back. That was a first, he thought.
Mabel Shrike. It had taken him almost a minute of running down a list to remember her name. Shrike. Mother was dead, or else he'd never seen her. Her father had been just young enough to still go off to war. She had a brother, too, a young boy that, now that he thought about it, he'd seen clinging to her skirts often enough. And he was fairly certain that she was the girl he had made laugh once, doing cartwheels and flips outside of church one Sunday morning, but that had been so many years ago it was difficult to tell.
He didn't constantly think on her after the incident, nor did he lie awake at night wondering if she thought of him, like in the books he had read. The only real difference was that he found himself noticing when she was around, instead of adding her face to the rest of the nameless sea that filled the town. He thought he caught her looking at him a few times, when most people avoided doing so. Once he had seen her brother, waiting for her outside of the store, and wordlessly produced a silver coin, which he passed from one hand to the other, making it vanish and reappear from unlikely places like his stirrup, or the ear of his horse. The boy had watched, enthralled, until his sister came out. Mabel had followed his gaze to Bosie, given Bosie a cool nod, then led her brother off, deliberately putting herself between the boy and the albino. Bosie clenched his fist, though his smirk never wavered, and resolved to stop noticing her altogether.
Which did not explain why he found himself outside of church one Sunday morning, leaning against the side of the building, sucking on a grass straw while the congregation inside raised their voices in praise of God, who must favor the South over the North (though Bosie had never seen much evidence), and waiting. The townsfolk filed out after the service, chattering pleasantly among themselves. A few noticed him and sniffed, or looked away quickly. He leered at them, unconcerned. Then she walked out, leading her brother by the hand.
"Mornin', Miss Mabel," he drawled, touching the brim of his hat. She started, caught herself, and smiled.
"Good morning, Mister Bosie." She shooed her brother off toward the square, where other boys were already playing, then turned back to Bosie. "We missed you in church this morning." He snickered and looked away, grinning.
"Naw, not hardly. Church don't miss me. Don't welcome me much, either."
"Now that's nonsense--everyone's welcome in church."
"In that case, I just don't much care for it." He eyed her from under the brim of his hat, trying to make her uncomfortable. She raised an eyebrow.
"Well, ain't that a shame for your immortal soul."
"It was damned long afore I was born," he said pleasantly. If she understood his meaning, she gave no sign.
"Well, that's just too bad, I suppose," she replied. As she walked off, she called over her shoulder, "We could certainly use another tenor."
Bosie blinked and sucked musingly on his grass straw as he watched her collect her little brother. He was fairly certain he'd just been insulted.
"By order of Zebulon Vance, Governor of this great state of North Carolina: any soldier turned deserter is guilty of treason and shall be hunted down like a dog. Any man takes in a deserter is likewise guilty of treason." Bosie read the proclamation to the gathered townsfolk with relish, savoring the idea of finally seeing some action, even if it was only hunting down deserters. It was like divine justice, really. In the back of his mind, he half-hoped that his brother Milton might take it into his fool head to desert.
The people around him started muttering quietly to themselves, too frightened to loudly voice their discontent at the situation. Next to him, Teague elaborated on exactly what was meant by Governor Vance's orders. Bosie leaned against a railing, arms crossed and smirking, eyeing everyone in the crowd individually, a silent threat. He had learned, over the past three years just where the townsfolk's fear of the over-bearing Teague stopped, and where their fear of his quiet, smirking, pale-as-death watchdog began.
As the subdued crowds began to disperse, Bosie made his way to where his horse was tethered. He was tightening the saddle girth when he heard a voice behind him.
"You seem awful pleased by all this." He turned to see Mabel standing at his elbow, looking disapproving.
"Am," he said simply, doing something useless with the straps to give himself more time to stand and talk.
"Why? D'ya think they'll thank you for killin' what kin manage to come home to them. We've all got husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers out there. D'ya think any one of us cares how they get home, so long as they come home safe?"
"That sounds an awful lot like treason talk." He turned around completely and looked her full in the eye, an eyebrow cocked. She didn't break from his gaze, but instead leaned forward so that only a foot of space separated them.
"What if it is? Why should our men go and die for some rich man's slave? The boys that do come home at the end of this mess'll be few enough without your lot killin' 'em too." He only grinned, an expression better suited to a skull, and swung himself up into the saddle. "Would you really kill men that come so far just to get home?" she demanded.
"Sure would," he said cheerfully. "And what's more..." He leaned down as far as he could, so their noses were almost touching, and whispered, "I'd enjoy it."
This time she did step back. For a long moment they just looked at each other, angry brown eyes searching calm blue ones. Then she spoke.
"There's somethin' wrong with you, Charlie Bosie." Her voice was little more than a trembling whisper. "Somethin' wrong on the inside. Like that dog. Sick." She whirled around and hurried off. Bosie stared after her for a moment, then kicked his mare into a run and followed after the rest of the Guard.
After that, he had made it a point to mention to Teague that the little Shrike farm, so far up in the mountain, might be a stopping-ground for some of the rumored deserters. Teague was nearly as anxious as Bosie to see some action in this great war, but insisted on doing a full investigation of the farm before taking any action. They were in charge, it was true, but it wouldn't do to be seen razing the place to the ground unless they actually had deserters to show for it. There would be plenty more coming, if reports from the front had any truth to them.
Winter was setting on when they rode to the farm. The first snows hadn't fallen yet, but harvest was mostly finished. There had been a town harvest festival not two weeks past, that the Home Guard had stood watch over. "Lurking" some of the townsfolk had said, and maybe in Bosie's case, they were right. Unlike Teague, who was still trying to make time with the pretty, if useless, Ada Munroe, or the rest of the boys, Bosie had just leaned against a hay bale and watched the festivities without taking part in them. He never did. In fact, the only movement he had made was in taking a glass of cider from the table where Mabel and Mrs. Swanger were setting them. Mrs. Swanger had glanced quickly in his direction and remembered another full pitcher on the other side of the room. Mabel, however, had just watched him, the way one watches an unknown animal. He'd given her a grin that soured when she turned away, and gone to an empty corner to nurse his cup of cider, glaring at the rest of the townspeople. And at her.
She glared at him now, as the Home Guard began spreading out through her farm, even though it was Teague who was explaining to her why they had come and what they planned on doing. He smirked back, doing his best to make it clear exactly who was responsible for bringing the guard.
"There's no'n here but me an' Jacob," she said, shoving her brother behind her defensively. "But, o'course, yer welcome t'look all y'want. I'll even show y'all around, if that's what y'want." Bosie frowned; he'd expected her to put up more of a fight. Teague caught his eye and nodded in her direction. Bosie took his meaning and hopped down from the horse.
"Y'darn right we'll look if we want," said Teague. "Don't you be fergettin' who holds sway in these parts."
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir." Closer now, Bosie could see she was trembling slightly, and her hand was clenched.
"Th'rest o'the boys'll look on their own, but I reckon you'd better show me around, just so's we don't miss nothin," he drawled. Mabel stiffened, then nodded and walked off, holding her brother close in front of her.
"Ah told y'all, ain't no one here," she said to him when they'd walked further away. She was leading him to the chicken coops first.
"Don't know why you have to come 'round here lookin' for trouble."
"How old's your brother?" Bosie asked suddenly, as if he had heard nothing. Mabel looked stricken.
"He's ten," she croaked, her voice breaking. Bosie glanced down at the wide-eyed child and snickered.
"Boy's eleven if he's a day. Maybe even twelve." Mabel trembled and held him closer to her, shaking her head, more in a plea than in denial. Bosie laughed again. "Don't you worry none. Army doesn't start askin' for 'em 'til they're at least thirteen or fourteen, an' even then it's not likely."
"Good," Mabel whispered fiercely. She handed Jacob a basket. "Why don't you collect the eggs while we're here, Jacob, hun. Just because some bullies come 'round doesn't mean chores stand still." The boy nodded and set to work.
"'Good?' Where's your sense of pride, woman? Y'should be glad ta see your brother go off an' fight for his country."
"Can't eat pride," she said shortly, grabbing a pail and starting toward the cowshed. "Pride don't keep you warm at night."
"An' yer brother does? I shoulda figured." Mabel's face turned almost as pale as his, and her body shook with fury. There was a lingering pause in which Bosie half-wondered if she would try to strike him. She let out a shaking breath.
"Well, I guess you'd know all about things like that, Mr. Bosie," she spat, then whirled around. He caught her wrist and spun her to face him.
"Wouldn't you like to know," he murmured, pulling her closer and twisting her arm at a cruel angle. He put his other hand behind her back. "What's say I show you some of th' things I know all about right here. No one would bother us." She struggled, cursing, and he laughed quietly and fingered a strand of her hair. "I could, y'know, if I wanted to."
"And if Ah wanted to," she snarled through grit teeth, "Ah could make a woman outta you." Bosie glanced down to see her free hand holding the same knife she had killed the dog with over a certain area that was dear to him. He snickered and grinned lopsidedly up at her, then pushed her away lightly.
"So now you want to neuter your rabid dog?" His voice was light; in fact, he found the whole situation rather funny. "Spit on the outcast son of Cain in your own way?"
"Ah told yah, Charlie Bosie, what's wrong with you--it ain't nothin' on the outside. Got nothin' t'do with yer birth and everything to do with some sickness that's eatin' away at yer own heart." He snickered again, wiping the trickle of blood that had started from his nose, enjoying this play immensely. "Get yer bullies off my property. They've done had plenty of time t'search for what ain't here in the first place." She held the knife ready at her side. He smiled and bowed elegantly, then strode back to where Teague waited and mounted his horse in one fluid, graceful motion.
"Ain't nothin' here, sir. We'd best go an' check the Swanger's farm--his boys deserted nigh three months ago. They've had plenty of time t'get back t'their pa."