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As long as she could remember, Ivory always loved forests.
One of her first memories, long before she knew her own name, was of her standing in a clearing at night. Somebody held her by the hand and in a hushed voice, they pointed out the different birds by their songs, each strange and beautiful. She couldn’t quite recall their face or who they were, but she did remember that feeling: of a world beyond, of a kindness within the woods that far exceeded her child mind.
There was something to them. Some called it a vibe, others genius loci , but to her, the name wasn’t all that important. What mattered was just how alive everything felt. How the grass rustled under her feet, how the trees swayed gently in the wind, how the animals would simply regard her as yet another stray, wandered too far off from home. She could go here whenever she was feeling like the world just weighed too heavy on her chest. Or when she needed to talk to the wind, with nobody around to hear. Or just to rest, when she had a few minutes of spare time during lunchbreak, which was the case right now.
She was lost here. She was hidden here.
She was alone here.
And so, when she sat leaning against a pine tree in her favorite clearing a few hundred yards north of Whitepine, she was quite surprised to hear the sound of footsteps. They were light and fairly quiet, though distinctly human. Deer don’t walk like that. Deer are scared of each cracked stick, each slight noise. Pigs don’t either. They’re arrogant, strutting through the woods without a care in the world. These were the steps of somebody sure of themself, but unassuming withal. The steps of someone in no hurry.
She thought of hiding, but it was too late for that. A figure emerged from the bushes onto the clearing. They stared at each other for a few confused seconds, like two badgers surprised to find the other in its burrow.
“Ivory?” he asked, squinting against the sun. She took a moment too long to respond, as always.
“Oh - Hello, Mr. Pierce. I didn’t expect… to see you here,” she blurted out. He gave her the faintest hint of a smile, seeming almost caught off guard by her. That was probably the first time she saw him like that.
“Frankly, I didn’t either,” ClownPierce said, walking a few steps closer. She tried to get up to greet him properly, but he stopped her with just a small gesture.
“No need to be so formal. We are on break, after all.” She sat back down, baffled. He looked away, scanning the trees surrounding them. He then turned to her again with a completely stonefaced expression.
“Well, I initially came here for a smoke, perhaps a moment of peace and quiet. But seeing as you beat me to the chase… Seems like we will be forced to duel over this delightful piece of land. The last man or woman standing gets to stay, of course.”
“Oh! I am so sorry sir, I haven’t brought my pistol. But if you want me to, I can simply concede and take my leave,” she answered, fully serious in her delivery. He looked her up and down briefly. His face didn’t change a bit, but she spotted a small flicker in his eyes. A bit like… amusement? Had she said something wrong again? Did he think she was making fun of him?
“Ah, that is a shame indeed. Regardless, I believe there is no need for you to leave, since you were here first, clearly. Prior in tempore, potior in iure." She didn't quite catch that last part, but she got the gist.
“So, may I stay?” Ivory asked, still hesitant. Mr. Pierce never struck her as a cruel man, he was far from that. But she still didn’t feel quite sure around him. There was an air of authority to him, granted partly by his position as her boss, sure, but mostly stemming from his own person. The way he walked with his arms behind his back, how he carried himself with a certain poise that made you want to straighten out your back, how he always said exactly what he meant to, while also retaining perfect decorum. His overall mien of a courteous and determined general, commanding his soldiers on the battlefield that was Whitepine.
“Funny you should say that. I was just about to ask you the very same thing.” It took her some time to process what he had just said. Then, flustered, she replied:
“Of - of course you can, sir! I wouldn’t dare to… uh. I, uh - “
“That is very kind of you, Ivory. Do you mind if I smoke here?”
“Not at all, sir.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack and a rusty, scratched-up lighter. Clicking it a few times, he lit himself a cigarette, and soon, the heady smell of tobacco filled the clearing. He took a few measured puffs and Ivory noticed for the first time what he was wearing.
Unlike his butler outfit, he was dressed in a casual looking vest with some surprisingly loose corduroy trousers. His usually properly tied-up hair was now loose, the black strands reaching all the way down to his shoulders. He caught her staring and raised his eyebrows, to which she blushed, looking to the ground.
After a beat of silence, he spoke:
“It is a beautiful day, don’t you think?” It really was. Birds sang as if they never would again, the air trembled with heat and the trees whispered wordlessly above.
“Yes, sir.”
“May I ask you a question, Ivory?”
“You… already have, sir.” He laughed. Genuinely, warmly.
“That is quite correct. Alright then, I shall ask another. Do you come here often?”
“I don’t know, sir. Is ‘once per day’ often?”
“Is that an honest question, or a rhetorical one?”
“The former, sir.” He didn't seem annoyed or even confused yet, which she found rather strange. Most of the time, people wouldn’t last long conversing with her. They’d ask a few questions, she’d answer them as best as she could, and then they’d get awkward and leave. Mr. Pierce didn’t look awkward at all, though.
“I see. Well, it could be considered as such, if that is our definiens of the word ‘often’. I assume you spend your lunch breaks here?”
“Yes, sir.” He had the patience of a saint.
“Very well. Nature is a much healthier way to unwind than, let us say, smoking.” She tilted her head slightly to the side.
“But Mr. Pierce, you are smoking.” He chuckled.
“That I am. Ironic, is it not?”
“Was that an honest question, or a rhetorical one?” she asked. He turned to look at her, in his eyes that same sort of flicker from before.
“You are very sharp, Ivory. Do you know that?”
“I never really thought of myself like that.”
“Perhaps you should start,” he finished, facing away from her again. There was quiet, though it felt much lighter this time. It didn’t beg to be lifted. Only the forest filled in the spaces. They were lost. They were hidden. They were alone.
Soon, or maybe a few minutes later, ClownPierce checked his pocketwatch.
“Hm. Well, it seems like our precious break is over at last. I’d recommend you get ready. I have it on good authority that Sir Zombie is having a special guest over for dinner.” Ivoy nodded and got up, dusting herself off from the dirt. She looked at him, seeing whether or not he intended on following her. He simply smiled:
“I still need to settle some things. I shall see you in ten minutes.” As she started to walk off, he called out:
“Ivory?” She stopped in her tracks, her shoulders suddenly tense.
“Yes, sir?”
“You make a good companion for conversation. It has been my pleasure.” She stared at him for a while in dumbfounded disbelief. He finally waved her off:
“Well then, there’s work still to be done. You can’t just stand there all day.”
“Oh, of course sir. Thank you, sir.” Then she left.
—
Pierce continued peering after her long after she finally disappeared. Then, he put out his cigarette on the bark of a tree, leaving a round, burnt mark behind it. He breathed in, taking in the sight and smell and sound of the woods for one last time, before heading back to the chaos of Whitepine.
As long as he could remember, he always loved forests. Much more preferred them to the commotion and daily bustle of cities. There was something pure here. Logical. Not rational, but perfectly arranged nevertheless. Each animal, each tree and plant knew its part by heart, by DNA, and they all played it well. He found great beauty in the natural order of things, along with a comforting sort of satisfaction.
An interesting young woman. Truly, very interesting.
She really was nice to talk to. That was the first truth he had told anyone in the last many weeks. In this godforsaken mansion of humdrum smiles, empty courtesies and arrogant snobs, her honesty and straightforwardness felt like a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, something almost like regret lingered at the edge of his conscious mind.
He didn’t feel sorry, of course. The plan was already in motion. Such frivolities as personal sympathies weren’t sufficient of a reason to halt it now. There are greater things at play here in which the kind, strange, innocent Ivory had roles yet to be filled. There was no time for regret of any kind.
ClownPierce put his hands in his pockets and whistled an old tune he had heard once back in the army, as he made his way back. He had plenty of time. And it was a beautiful day outside, after all.