//help i got my best friend to read inkheart and we watched the movie together last night. i had forgotten that it’s not actually mentioned that dustfinger has a family until he actually goes and sees roxane in inkspell (and even then it’s pretty vague for a while), which is crazy. my friend and i were having so much fun picking apart all the horrible inaccuracies and poor choices made for the movie so when it mentioned dustfinger’s family and roxane in particular, my poor friend was irate that they would give dustfinger a family for no apparent reason. she was particularly puzzled that they would pick the name “roxane” since it doesn’t seem to match the vibe of all the other inkworld names that she knows about. i had to sit there stoic acting like “oh yeah so weird they gave him a family what a horrible choice dang filmmakers departing so drastically from the book” and all the while i just know she’s got a big storm coming in books 2 and 3. i’m so sorry my friend…
“But for a moment the joy of his homecoming wilted in Dustfinger’s heart like one of the flowers at his feet, and the morning light that had welcomed home only a moment ago seemed wan and lifeless. The other world had cheated him again: yes, it had let him go after all those years, but it had kept the only beings to whom he had given his heart there…”
“She had thought hard about what book to take. Going without one would have seemed to her like setting off naked, but it mustn’t be a heavy book, so it had to be a paperback.”
Steven shifted awkwardly in his seat, suddenly wishing that he had decided to stand instead. Maybe then he could have moved away from the suddenly annoyed man beside him. Not that he could have moved far, considering how full the bus was, but at least he wouldn’t be stuck right beside him.
He couldn’t hear the muttered insult over the bus’s engine, but he had been on the receiving end of enough disapproving looks to read the man’s dislike for him. It seemed a bit unfair, in his opinion. He had been trying to make light of an awkward situation, keep the man from being too embarrassed. Instead, he got this.
“Not a lot of room, mate, but I’ll stay on my seat and you stay on yours.” He said, with as much diplomacy as a socially awkward person such as himself could muster. “And for the record, it’s not that I enjoyed having you sleep on my shoulder or anything, I just understand being that tired. I’ve fallen asleep on a few people myself, over the years. A bit embarrassing, yeah, but nothing to get defensive about…”
Steven couldn’t help his surprised expression when he turned his head to look at the other man. It was his unfortunately consistant experience that when he started talking, people either tuned him out or asked him to stop talking. Kids at the museum were the exception, but Donna usually shut that right down.
It was probably a low bar to set, but it was nice to have someone want to interact with him, even if it was just introductions.
“Oh, uh, Steven,” he introduced him, “Steven Grant. Nice to meet you.” He started to hold out his hand, then retracted it when he remembered the man had asked him not to touch him.
“What’s your name?” He asked, just as much out of politeness as actual interest. He didn’t want to keep thinking of the man as “the other man”, after all. That would be both rude and inconvenient.
When Steven quickly retracted his hand, Dustfinger pulled just a little bit further into himself. He’d either forgotten his demand not to be touched or was so unused to it being respected that he didn’t make any connection with present circumstances. All he saw was a new acquaintance who decided he’d rather not shake his hand upon closer inspection.
Dustfinger’s fists buried themselves deeper in his armpits, arms pulled tight across his chest as if that would protect him from unpleasant social interaction.
“Dustfinger.”
He was still curious, and a bit too invested in the conversation to entirely close off. That didn’t mean he was going to make himself easy to talk to.
Marc hated to kill. Every instance where he had killed someone was stuck in his brain like a tumor, unable to be removed and unwilling to go away on their own. Even when he knew his victims were absolute scum of the earth who deserved to die, he couldn’t shake his loathing for taking another life.
But sometimes, circumstances overrode his conscience. Seeing someone he cared about in danger was one of those circumstances.
Marc wasn’t sure when he started to think of Dustfinger as anything more than “guy who knows about Steven”, but he knew he couldn’t stand by and allow him to get killed.
He didn’t even bother to put on the Suit, instead stealing a knife from one combatant and using it with lethal efficiancy. By the end, he was the only one left alive, and his clothes were drenched in blood. He tossed the knife onto the corpse of the man he stole it from.
Dustfinger had not really chosen a good hiding spot, and the poor guy looked torn up by thorns, but at least he didn’t look seriously injured. Marc was glad for that, at least.
“You okay?” He asked, wiping his hand on his pants before offering it to Dustfinger to help him out of the rose bushes. “What happened?”
Dustfinger accepted the hand up tentatively, glance darting across the bloodstains on Marc’s clothes and skin. His grip was strong, not shaky like Dustfinger’s. Killing was something he knew how to do.
It shouldn’t have come as so much of a surprise. He’d seen and heard of plenty of scrapes that Marc had gotten himself into and out of. He just hadn’t wanted to think about just how good he was at it.
“I’m–okay.”
Once on his feet, he patted himself down, reassuring himself that he’d only been frightened, not harmed beyond a few bruises and scratches.
“I don’t know; they just came out of nowhere and started–”
Dustfinger bit his tongue, ashamed to admit that he’d allowed the other guys to get a couple of punches in without much resistance at all and that he’d run in terror at nothing more than a switchblade and a set of brass knuckles.
His gaze lit unintentionally on the bodies: both dressed in black. The truth was, Dustfinger knew exactly where they’d come from. It was far more terrifying than a mugging gone wrong. These men had been bent on killing him, which meant Capricorn wanted him dead.
