Hunting for Codfish (Hunter)

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

Well this was great. Really, why hadn’t he thought about coming down here before now? It was…well, Matt hated to admit it, but Peter’d been right; it was fantastic. The Central Park reservoir at night—if said in just the write sort of tone, it sounded positively deadly. An adventure to rival all adventures, if he didn’t say so himself (and well, he did say so, quite vehemently, but really it was all Peter’s thinking from the get-go, so technically speaking he hadn’t done squat, depending on how one looked at it), even he didn’t have a thing about it planned. But that was what made them so fun, he supposed. The…what was the word? Spudtinooty.
Matt had snuck out of his dorm at around eleven thirty, just over two hours ago, and meandered his way to the park on foot, despite the almost angry sort of tugging at his ankles and the overly-annoyed voice of a ten year-old pounding its way through his brain like a freight train.

“Just fly, you blockhead!” was about all he’d been thinking (or, well, Peter’d been practically screaming) for the entire half hour it’d taken him to get to the park, but he hadn’t. Not once. Hadn’t even jumped. It was all because of some stupid promise he’d made to himself only after promising he wouldn’t forget it: never ever, under any circumstances whatsoever, evereverevereverEVER do what Peter told him to.

Which was exactly why he’d decided to come to Central Park in the first place when Peter’d popped up in his weird leaf outfit and said it’d be a great time. It all made perfect sense.

Currently, the two of them—Matt and his potentially-imaginary-but-either-way-just-plain-annoying-biscuit-of-a-so-called-friend-but-maybe-enemy, that was—were perched on the edge of the reservoir, in an area darker than the rest of their surroundings. “Better hunting ground,” was all Peter had said and Matt, being steadfast in his promises to himself, had merely nodded and relocated without questioning it.

It was just as Matt was beginning to think about exactly what he was doing here, sitting with his legs (pajama pants rolled up to the knees) kicking in the water (which was a lot colder than he’d expected), that they had a sighting. A man, it looked like, although all Matt could really make out was a shadow, anyway, standing a good few hundred yards off to his left. Instantly, Peter disappeared and a wicked, impish grin spread across Matt’s face. He moved quickly and quietly, legs swinging out of the water as he snaked slowly backwards, just enough to lie down flat on his stomach, hands cupped around his mouth.

“Ahoy, stranger!” his voice echoed out across the water, and Matt couldn’t help but feel overly smug at just how threatening and unlike himself he sounded. Oh, he was gonna scare this stupid old grown up for sure. It’d teach him to come messing around here.

[HUNTER KNOX]

Hunter leaned against a tree, overlooking the calm, glassy reservoir. He stood, smoking silently, just trying to gather his thoughts. He didn't want to be around Macy or Tempy right then. He just wanted to be alone for a bit to sort through everything that was going on. Sure, he probably ought to have been out somewhere in the city at the moment, selling some product, getting a bit of cash flowing in, but at the moment he just didn't feel like he could handle trying to make a sale. Hook was gone, probably trying to do his own soul-searching to figure out how to convince Hunter to let him run things for a while again.

Hunter didn't like the fact that he had such a major fight with Macy. He had only wanted to keep the two of them friends throughout all this, keep her separate from his life at work and his life with Tempy on her small little fishing boat, but it seemed that was impossible. It seemed that she couldn't handle being such a small part of his life. It was fucking infuriating, and he wouldn't take a word he had said back if he could. He couldn't believe that he had thought that it would be a good idea to try and hook up with a friend from high School again. He should have known. He should have known that the bitches from fucking Cape Cod were all rich snobs and no matter how close he was to Macy all those years ago, it clearly didn't matter. He was fucking crazy for thinking that it would have meant anything to her. To think that she would have understood what he did to make a living and the fact that he didn't want to have to do anything else.

He took a long drag on his cigarette, slowly blowing the smoke out into the open air. He was pathetic. He was a freaking confusing mess of a person. He was pretty sure that post people didn't have to deal with the problems of having a fictional character take over their minds. Most people didn't have to try and distinguish between which were their own memories and which belonged to some centuries old rapscallion. They didn't look out at a reservoir and remember the nostalgic moments they had spent with their dad out on the water, learning how to sail and how to fish and then catch themselves as they realized it had never actually happened to them. It had happened to the floating consciousness that had set up shop inside their heads.

Hunter felt utterly alone. It was a confusing feeling, considering the fact that every moment of every day of his life he had this entire other person living inside his brain with him. He could help but feel that he was separated from every other human being, though. It was like he was forced to be stuck with Hook for the rest of his life, and he didn't particularly care for that.

“Ahoy, stranger!” Hunter jumped up from his recumbent position. The layout of the reservoir made it so that the voice echoed out over the area, making it difficult to pinpoint the exact location of the voice. It seemed the Hook was still off somewhere inside his head, sulking. Hunter was on his own for this own, and he wasn't particularly happy about it.

He fumbled for the knife he kept in his pocket at all times. The fishing knife with the sharpened hook on the end intended for cutting fishing wire but actually worked wonders for slicing through skin.

"W-who's there? Come the fuck out and show yourself!" Hunter hated himself for fumbling over his words. He was fucking stupid. This goddamn punk was gonna think he was a big ole' pussy, and he would be right. Hunter would probably get his ass kicked if Hook didn't take the reigns.

notes;; Hunter is such a whiny bitch ><
outfit;;hurr

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

This was going to be great. More than great, it was going to be fantastically fantastic and funny and even though that was all the "f" words Matt could think of at the moment, he knew it would be much more than that. First, he'd scare him so bad he peed his pants, because everyone knew that was the scaredest anyone could possibly get. Then, he'd sneak up behind him and he'd--no. He wouldn't do that. Matt scowled slightly at the thought that had just popped into his head, cursing Peter for suggesting such a thing as tapping him on the back only to slit his throat. This was why he didn't like the messy-haired leaf-wearing turnip brain. Stupid ideas like that. Sooner or later, he was going to get them both killed, all because he wasn't satisfied enough with perfectly fun ideas like hunting for baby sharks or climbing trees or throwing water balloons at random strangers or just about every other thing Matt had ever thought to be enjoyable. It didn't help that he thought dying would be "an awfully big adventure," either.

And yet, Matt couldn't help but listen to him when he came up with ideas like this one. They were, for lack of a better word, brilliant. Unable to completely stifle the snort of laughter that escaped as Matt listened to his victim stutter, Matt clamped his hand over his mouth after only a tiny guffaw--still much quicker than usual.

He was silent for a moment. Better to watch strange Mister Smoking Intruder squirm. Matt had all the power here, and he intended to milk this moment for all it was worth. Oh, how Addie'd laugh when he told her all about it tomorrow! If she didn't yell at him for sneaking out late again....maybe it'd be better to keep it all a secret...he hated it when she yelled, after all.

"Watch your mouth, you landlubber!" perhaps not his best insult, but still, Matt was satisfied. He refused to be spoken to with such nasty words, anyhow. After a half second of silence, he continued, "Or I'll cut it out where you stand!"

There. That ought to scare him enough. Still, unable as ever to be satisfied with merely that, Matt yelled again, shifting to lie on his back as he did so, arms resting behind his head, voice deep and booming and far more threatening than his small, scrawny frame actually was. "Tell me first, stranger, who are you?"

[HUNTER KNOX]

Hunter felt more like a scared little high schooler than he had in years. It was now that he was painfully aware of the fact that for all of that terrifying stuff that he'd done, all the people he'd killed and all the threatening bravado he'd liked so much, none of it had actually been him. He'd just been along for the ride. Pathetically observing. The last few years had just been a spectator sport for him. Goddamnit, he hated Macy for dragging him back into actively participating. He had been totally fine with letting Hook take care of things for him. Now he was going to end up face down floating in the reservoir on some back page of the New York Times just because he had never actually learned how to take care of himself in a big city like this.

He had to admit, this voice seemed like it knew exactly what it was doing. Shit. Hunter had probably stumbled onto some homeless maniac's lair. Or like, a nother drug dealer's spot or something. He should have known better than to think this corner of the most densely inhabited city he'd ever visited would actually be a place where he could find solitude. He was really fucked now. This guy would for sure kill him and then, well, that would be that. The Captain would be able to float on into someone else's cranium, or at least that's what Hunter assumed, and he'd be just dead. No going on, no getting back together with Macy, or even making a better life for himself that didn't involve drugs. He would be over and done with. He felt like all the time he'd had left, all the time he was planning on using to do good in the world, it was all gone. All used up. He had never felt so old. Or so alone. So... Done for.

Something about this conversation felt weirdly familiar. Hunter didn't know what it was. He assumed it had something to do with Hook's past adventures or whatever. Regardless, it didn't seem to be enough to drag the crust old sea captain out of hiding in Hunter's brain. He was going to have to deal with it on his own.

"I'm.... Hunter. There, you wanna provide a name for yourself, or are we just going to play hide and go seek in the goddamn dark all night?" Hunter hated how he sounded so unsure of himself and so frightened. He wanted Hook back. He wanted the courage that came with it. His hand shaking more than a bit, Hunter wheeled around, waving the fishing knife around randomly.

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

Was he not a wonder? Oh, he was a wonder. Only two minutes had gone by, and already Matt was ninety percent sure the stranger he was tormenting had peed his pants. Or at least thought about it. He really was amazing. Now, if only there was someone he could turn and talk about his accomplishment with; Addie, for example. She was really great for bragging to. Not that it was really bragging. Matt always told the truth, the whole truth, and maybe a little more if that made the whole story sound better, but no one really noticed so that didn’t really matter anyway because Addie never cared and just laughed. He liked it when she laughed at him. Well, when she wasn’t mocking him—that, he hated. But she didn’t usually, because she knew he’d get mad. Really, he was just horribly funny almost all the time. It was a shame she wasn’t here to appreciate this particular dastardly deed.

“Hunter, you say? Well, that’s a mighty unfortunate name, m’boy,” Matt frowned slightly. Then, he got an idea. Matthew Peterson got a wonderful, horrible, glorious idea. A large, utterly impish grin spread wide over his face as he rolled onto his back, crawling quietly backwards until he was concealed even further by the reeds growing about the reservoir; he could no longer catch even the slightest glimpse of this “Hunter” fellow.

“Aye, we can play hide and seek, but you won’t know who you’re looking for. So, how about a guessing game? Go on, it’s your turn, you codfish!” he barked in an utterly Captain-like manner. Propped up on his elbows with his eyes closed, he grinned, practically trembling with anticipation.

[HUNTER KNOX]

Hunter was just about to run as fast as he could from the damned creepy place. He'd read somewhere when he was back in school that there was only an 11% chance that someone could hit a moving target with a bullet, and even then there was only a 5% chance it would be fatal. He tended to like those chances. He was sre that if he ran in a zigzag pattern then he'd be able to get far enough away so that he'd be able to simply duck into an alley or turn a dark corner and find his way back to the harbor and back to Tempy where he'd be safe.

His plans to run off like some kind of puppy dog that had been scared by a loud noise were put on hold when he felt a surge of strength and confidence and finally felt like he could take a step back from the rest of his actions and merely watch what happened. Oh yes, Hook had finally been brought back out to play. He didn't have to worry about dying anymore, or whether or not he would do the right thing, or how he would manage to actually take on another drug dealer or crazy homeless person or whatever. He would let the murderous pirate do all that for him. Hunter just had to sit back and watch as his body carried on as usual with the bloodthirsty literary character taking control.

Hunter looked with renewed patience and control about the dark reservoir. Sure, it was a bad area to be looking for adversaries, but he knew that it was just as bad for whoever was sitting there in the dark running this game. Unless he was playing against some kind of mermaid (utterly horrid vixens who never wanted to put out for a seaman. Clearly coldblooded, frankly) there were only so many places a person could be hiding. It would be simple to find them just so long as he could keep this bastard talking.

"A guessing game, eh?" Hunter called, his voice newly gruff. Much more serious and confident than that of the prepubescent boy who'd been running the show before. "Are you mineral? Vegetable? Animal?"

Hunter brandished the knife well, walking across the shoreline as he eyed the dark shadows. He just had to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. "Or are you perhaps a man?"

[MATTHEW PETERSON]

For a moment or so, Matt thought he'd scared him off. How boring that would have been. He would have been madder than a hatter then, and that was just about as mad as Matt could think anyone could possibly be; why, it'd have been a night wasted. Gone. Down the drain. Vanished. Poof. Into thin air. And then he would have been bored, which was obviously the worst thing a person could possibly be in the world, besides old. And maybe he would have grown old, if he'd been too bored to find something to do. Yes, that's exactly what would have happened. He'd have grown bored and then old, right then and there, if that stranger had gone chicken and run off with his tail between his legs. There was much more fun to be had here, both by Matt and Peter, before the night was through and he'd allow this unsuspecting victim to go free.

And they had to play fair. It was the only way to have proper fun.

Had the man's reply taken even a second longer, Matt was quite certain he would have burst. There was something familiar about the voice too, something that evidently made Peter itch and squirm inside him for before long they were fighting, in a manner of speaking, inside his head, both boys wanting a piece of the action and fun. Peter, however, won out, and Matt found himself sitting back to watch the younger boy do his work. Never mind that he knew the lines just as well.

"Aye, a guessing game,"[/color] Instantly, Matt's voice grew cockier. As if that were possible. His mimicry was impeccable, even better than Matt's had been with the perpetual youth's subconscious instruction.

"Are you mineral?"

"No,"[/color] Matt responded calmly to the first three questions asked, disbelieving that this man could be so stupid, whoever he was. Well, of course he knew. The words were ever so familiar. Still, he liked pretending neither knew of the other. It made things more risky, and risk was always fun.

"Or are you perhaps a man?"

At this fourth question, Matt snapped his eyes open and cried loudly, far louder than he had for the others, "NO!"[/color] and the echo of his voice--momentarily boyish once more--reverberated around the reservoir with such vehemence it was clear he'd taken more than personal offense to such a question. For a moment he almost sat bolt upright, keen to tell this foolish foe just who he was, and how very unlike a man that made him. But he didn't. Still lying low in the reeds, eyes shut one more, there was no way he'd find him, anyway. The old man was going to give up, Matt knew it.

[HUNTER KNOX]

Hook was back in action. He felt a surge of confidence and adrenaline. This was thrilling. This was exhilarating. He was closer than he'd ever been before to the modern day incarnate of that flying brat and his damned little pixie friend, he was sure of it. This was unlike anything else he'd ever done in his modern reawakening. It made him certain, CERTAIN, that tonight he would once and for all be able to stab that little twat and be done with it.

That was the only explanation for it. He'd done this once before. It hadn't worked out all according to plan back on that blasted island, back where that blasted crocodile could come after him at any moment and he'd have to give up the pursuit of the dreaded pan for a moment, but here there was no croc and no bumbling pirates and no pesky kids. It was just him and Pan. The soon to be dead Peter Pan, at last dead at the hands of the illustrious Captain James Hook. He couldn't resist this opportunity. At that point there was no thought of the stupid fight with Macy earlier that evening. All his thoughts, all his effort and concentration was on exactly how he would eviscerate that blasted little brat once he finally got his hands on him. It felt good to be able to use the plural version of 'hands.'

He had to admit, though, this was taking a bit longer to figure out where the blasted varmint was. He had assumed that his voice would be just enough to make the brat obvious to find, but the trickery of the whole situation was the fact that the walls of the reservoir seemed to make everything echo, throwing voices here and there and just making a problem of the whole damned thing. He had most certainly waited long enough for this damned murder thing. Now that it was so close he wanted it to happen IMMEDIATELY, by God! All that waiting around just left more and more time for the brat to suddenly get cold feet and scamper off. It wasn't something the cocky little bastard had been known for in his past life, but who knew what he was like now that they were in this modern city, in this modern world?

"Alright, alright, not a man then." Hook crooned, still walking along the edge of the reservoir and looking around, vainly trying to perceive something, ANYTHING in the dim light. "How about a boy then?" Hook needed the little fuck to just talk a bit more, just a LITTLE so that he could give himself away and Hook could sneak up and stab the shit where he stood.