third time's the charm.

It’s a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. You realize what’s changed is you.

She’d hardly been worried about herself with the question–undoubtedly, the Pirates didn’t seem to mind that she gave alcohol to the Island’s younger residents. Trade was trade, money was money. No matter how she went about it, the pirates had few rules for Bambi, so long as she kept them happy–and she had every intention of doing so. But that was beside the point. 

She’s so sweet. Sometimes it weighs on Three, the knowledge that if (or rather when) the time comes, he will cast her aside without so much as a second thought. Bambi is a good person, she has done nothing to earn his vitriol, and still he will end up hurting her if it means getting what he wants. It’s a despicable way to be, he knows that too, but it’s too late for him to be anything else now.

Flicker almost (almost) jumped, hearing a voice from above that she had not clocked. Or, at least, she’d thought whatever was rustling branches was the wind, or a creature. Turning her large eyes upwards, she spotted them; a shape, hidden in a nearby tree. Probably a boy, judging by the voice. After several seconds of silences, she answers. “Now you have.” After a moment, she adds, “You got the lyrics wrong.”

At least the girl seems as startled by his presence as Three had been by hers, it makes him feel a bit better about making such a stupid mistake - one he won’t make again in a hurry. He peers down at his companion through the foliage, considering her, and finds her clear blue gaze unsettling. It feels like she sees right through him. 

He should have known far better than to think he could have pulled one over on Three. After all, who could know him better than his best friend? That was the purpose of them, right? The ones who knew you best. When the question is asked, his smile falters once more. For one, it doesn’t feel right lying to Three, especially when he knows the boy would never lie to him, and for another Curly knows that Three would be the last one to laugh at him, unless it was in good nature. So he hesitates for not those reasons, but one much more related to him: he’s embarrassed. “Are y’mad? ‘Course, ‘course I do,” he says, sending a playful hit against his arm. A beat, another, and he already feels guilty for not telling the full truth. He looks away, suddenly bashful, and mutters, “Ijustdunnohow’t,” 

“You never learnt?” It’s easy to forget that not everybody on the island has received as much of an education as him, but Three still feels stupid for letting something so easily exploited slip through his grasp - sure, many of the Lost Boys are complete idiots, and even though reading doesn’t exactly come up very often in their day-to-day, it’s plain to see how embarrassed Curly’s inability makes him. It’s a weakness.

He makes a face as Three berates his excitement, but listens anyway. Hero is surprisingly good company, but he could never surpass Three and he isn’t quite prepared to have him lose his visiting privileges. He waits patiently–as patient as Curly can be, which isn’t very much, as he was practically vibrating with excitement–but when Three pulls the book out of his ever-present coat, even he isn’t fast enough to stop his face from dropping. He loves stories as much as anyone else (if not much, much more) but…books? He can’t–but then, as if Three has read his mind, just like that he’s back to his initial joy. If they were to read it together, perhaps Curly could pretend well enough that he was making sense of the letters on the pages. Besides, if it’s Three’s favourite, then it must be something exceptional. 

Three doesn’t miss much these days, and that flicker of dismay, quick as it may have passed, does not go unnoticed. He tilts his head to one side, trying to work out if he’s made a mistake - his intuition isn’t usually wrong, but even he can’t always be right. Curly had always loved stories before (and Three remembers very well how he would pester Pan and Slightly and even Tiger Lily for all the ones they knew), but perhaps that, like so many other things, has changed? “Are you sure? You’re allowed to say so if you don’t want to read it, Curls. We’re mates, I won’t be offended.” It is his favourite though. He thinks of his mother’s high-pitched version of Charlie, and his dad struggling through Willy Wonka’s twisting dialogue in his thick Russian accent... it’ll be strange to read it with somebody else.

He nods, his mouth making an ‘oh’, as if he remembered what a car was (when, in actuality, he had little to no idea). He tried to imagine what it would be like if he were to do the same–to announce his presence before attacking someone–and it seems really…ineffective, to put it kindly. But then, what did he know?

Honestly, Curly is so easy to please, Three wonders why he ever thought he’d have any difficulty rejoining the Lost Boys’ ranks. With each kind word passed between them, all he can think is that he’s that much closer to getting what he wants. “Oi, sit still or else Hero’ll end up kicking me out for disturbing you,” Three chastises, but he smiles indulgently as he slips his hand inside the breast pocket of his enormous coat, producing a battered copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory which he presses into Curly’s hands. “S’one of my favourites. I thought maybe you’d want to read it with me or something?”

He has to think for a moment of a clever response, but he comes up short. “What’s a police siren?”

“They stick ‘em on the tops of cars to warn you the coppers are coming,” Three explains confidently, even though he’s not completely sure that’s right. Why would the police want you to know they were coming? Surely it’d just give criminals a chance to escape.

He waves away his hand half-heartedly, “Ha! My singin’s better than any of ya, I reckon I’d give a siren a run for her money,” he only winces slightly at the mention of Mer. 

“Yeah, a police siren maybe.”