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Rufio was pretty sure he heard the hidden message behind that, and an intense thrum of excitement rushed through him; he wasn't sure enough to push it, though.

"Oh yeah? You get a lot of scorn, do you?" Rufio laughs, almost finding it hard to believe. Obviously all the pirates are the enemy (apparently), but Charlie here is just so... pleasant. Not even Rufio can find it in himself to dislike him. And that's his thing, disliking people.

"So what makes it your fault?" He pauses after asking. Charlie's pretty clearly uncomfortable about that whole subject. After a moment, he shakes his head. "You know what? I gotta get back. You tell me later, yeah?" He brushes himself off like he's making to leave, but he looks up, waiting eagerly for the reply from Charlie.

"Next time we see each other," a devious smile crosses his face.

If Peter Pan was making it a point to recruit people like Rufio, Charlie may, possibly need to think about that... Offer again. He'd been ignoring it, pushing it to the corner of his mind, but well. He wouldn't say it out loud. The mere idea was, after all, incredibly foolish, but he'd like to see Rufio again. Outside of meetings of chance, of course. That offer might be the best way to do it.

But that was something to think about later, in a place where he'd have the space to think about it. Right now, Charlie knew most, if not all of his attention, was on Rufio. "Of course you can be mean," Charlie scoffed. "I mean, look at you!" Charlie had most certainly been doing that and he'd certainly done more of it than he had intended. "Some might say I deserve worse, Rufio the Lost Boy, but I'm glad you aren't one of them. It means I can sleep easy at night now without the scorn of a near-stranger haunting me."

The subject of Peter and pirates was an uncomfortable one and Charlie couldn't really hide that discomfort, though he tried to shrug it off with one shoulder. "I can't say he's right," Charlie started, "but I'm not saying he's wrong either. It is my fault, after all, so I'm possibly the worst person you could ask for an impartial opinion."

Charlie laughed then with the last question, the noise pure and honest. "I'm always up to no good, Rufio. I'm a pirate, after all. It's my job."

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In spite of everything, Rufio returned the smile, sharing just a brief flickering moment of connection. Not that the lost boy knew what that was; all he knew was that he'd met a stranger, a pirate no less, and that he felt good about it.

"Oh, I can be mean," he says, sounding almost proud of himself for the fact. He takes a few steps closer, eyeing Charlie curiously. "But you don't look like you deserve it. You seem alright, Charlie the Pirate," he tilts his head as he speaks the words. "But what do you think? Y'know, Peter reaaally hates those pirates. Is he right about that?"

"What were you doing out here anyway? Up to no good?"

How Charlie had made it this far on the island without a guard, without a sense of danger and when to stop, was a question for another day and nothing short of a miracle. That didn't mean he didn't know when other people had it. It was a sense Neverland demanded of her denizens and it was one Charlie had managed to survive without, but others, those closest to Peter... Well, Charlie knew how important it was to recognize a threat as a threat.

It wasn't something Charlie could do. He had failed before and some small part of his brain told him that perhaps he was failing now. Charlie ignored it, smiling back at the other, disregarding the smirk for what he knew, what he hoped was a genuine emotion below it. He was one of the crew. Charlie was also one of Peter's and that, before all else, read in his face as he spoke to Rufio.

He liked Rufio. Of course, he'd known the man for all of a few moments, especially when taken with the circumstances that had introduced them. Charlie felt, however, that Rufio was someone he could like. He was well-acquainted with rough personalities after all.

"You look like you could be mean," Charlie retorted. "Especially if you think someone deserves it. So you tell me, do I look like I deserve it?"

The smile that split his face at the thanks he received was bright, iridescent. "You're very welcome," he returned. "Though it wasn't much of anything. You needed help so I gave it. Nothing unusual about that, though perhaps you ought to avoid such circumstances in the future. I won't always be there to help you out of thickets!"

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☕  >:)

"Ugh, Bandit... don't even get me started." Rufio leans forwards. "He's just a thorn in my side, you know? Constantly starting trouble, never finishing it."

"One of these days, Peter's going to get sick of him. I'm hoping that he'll let me be the one to end him -- if you know what I mean," Rufio smirked, speaking oh so comfortably for such a heavy subject. "It'd be my honour, you know?"

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the darling girl did not like to be alone. she’d been raised in a nursery filled by her brothers’ presence and attended a boarding school that was always bustling with busy bodies. even in neverland, there was always some other boy or girl ( or folk of some sort ) hanging about. however, such company had quickly become suffocating. these new lost boys treated her no better than a stupid doll, too delicate and boring, who was unworthy of their play. they acted as if a single touch would cause her porcelain sheen to crack. carrion, too—whose fascinatingly morbid nature perfectly contrasted the role of ‘nanny’ to which she’d been cast—could always be spotted out the corner of wendy’s eye. the girl spent more of her time trying to outrun, out-hide, or out-wit the pestering smallfolk than anything else.

sat atop a sturdy branch, obscured by leafy greenness, her legs swung lazily through open air. she absently chewed on her thumbnail, eyes glued to the pages of a novel, frayed and crisped, propped within her other hand—one of the few she’d saved from tinker bell’s impromptu bonfire. ‘the wonderful wizard of oz’, a new favorite of hers.

it was only the sounds of grunting and huffing, crunching leaves, and heavy footsteps, that forced her attention from such hypnotizing pages. curiosity piqued, she slid from her seat of rough bark and onto the grassy floor. tip-toeing with careful caution, unsure of what awaited her in the woods, it was by luck that sky-blue eyes caught sight of a familiarly hulking, though not exactly friendly, silhouette. tip-toe, tip-toe.

pasting her body behind the rough tree from which he’d dropped, wendy waited until the boy’s back was turned before daring to peak around.     “ boo !“     the playful spook was followed by a soft string of giggles, watching him gleefully in hopes that her little trick had caused such a fearsome boy any hint of fright.

wendy leaned up against the tree, its wood scratching through the thin cotton of her blouse and chaffing at her skin. a thin smirk tickled at peach lips.     “could you?“     , she hummed, tone as daring as the look that sparkled in her eyes.     “ go on, then, give it your best go . . . but i won’t make the beating easy for you. you’ll have to catch me first, and i reckon i’m much faster. “

The silence put Rufio on-edge in a way he wasn't accustomed to. His heart beat wildly in his massive chest, and his eyes searched for the source of the noise — such a delicate little voice saying boo! shouldn't have bothered him at all, but he shouted, turning to catch Wendy in his sight. Rage filled him the second the panic fled, and he jumped at her, holding up a fist to strike — but then he never did. Just enough to see the small thing flinch.

"I wouldn't advise doing that again," he says heavily, trudging closer to her. "You may be under Peter's protection but I think he'd understand if I was provoked," he gets as close as he'll dare.

In spite of any of his big, scary words — Peter's wrath isn't quite something he's going to risk just yet. But Wendy is different than the other girls; he wouldn't have laid a finger on some of those, like Lucky, but there's something about Wendy that just creeps him out.

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Rufio stares at Sawyer in absolute disappointment. "Had to be you, huh?" He asks, voice filled with disdain.

"Can't you speak normally for once? Like, for once?" He steps a bit closer, eyeing Sawyer. "I don't even know what the fuck you're trying to ask me at this point."

Sawyer got him worked up. It was that peaceful, nonviolent air about him. The way Rufio just could not work out where to poke to rile him up, to change him into something violent and crude like himself. The closest he'd gotten was when he targeted Davie, but that was cheating, right? Like bringing up Wendy to Peter.

"I'm not overworking myself, anyway." He laughs a bit, filled to the brim with confidence. "Do I look overworked to you? I can take this, and much more."

More often than not Sawyer had found themself nestled deep within the thickets, cradled by vines and lulled by the caress of velvet leaves. As wary as they were of the whispers of the island they feared the violence that blanketed it, the Lost Boys were a powderkeg itching to explode and he would rather not strike that match.

Today they had been foraging- well, that was the excuse they had muttered before disappearing into the trees. And they had collected SOME herbs and what not so he supposed it wasn’t a lie. As the sun began to set low in the sky he wiped his hands on his pants, leaving dark streaks of dirt and headed back to the tree- slowly, looking for any excuse to prolong his excursion. Rufio would work.

“I suppose you could, but that would be a waste of energy, would it not? I’m not much of a challenge, you have made that clear before- many times before.” They stepped into the light, circling him- making a show of staking him out. It wasn’t exactly an attempt at provocation- Sawyer was much more comfortable with his ability to accost another- but rather a response in kind to Rufio’s odd aggressive mating dance. There was comfort in similarity. “You’re overworking yourself, mad one. The others fear the repercussions of admitting your mistakes, but I take no solace in watching someone so strong topple.” They stopped, letting the ground they had worn a circle into breathe “I loathe to ask but what have you done to rest your most overused muscle?” He tapped the side of his head, eyebrows furrowed as he wore a tight frown.

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Once he sees Lucky Fiona, his face splits into a smirk, and he slows down to watch her. He doesn't chase her immediately, instead just staring up at her, quite confident in the knowledge that this was a battle of attrition.

"Just as scared as ever, huh, Lucky?" He shouts up at her, watching as she clings to the branches. "Scared little cat stuck in a tree. You'll have to climb down eventually, you know," he says, folding his arms.

"You know, I didn't realise you'd survived. I wonder what Peter will say!"

Finally, some good news for Rufio: The grunt worked. She’s fucking scared.

He really didn’t have to go through the trouble, though. The sound of his voice alone would have stopped Fiona dead in her tracks. The threat he issued with it already had her cowering behind a tree. 

She's been out foraging with Tristan, having briefly split up, when she saw a muscular body climbing the tree. In her moonstruck reverie, especially dreamy while under the impression that she was about to see him up close with his shirt off, she was certain it was the pirates' strong, hearty, crafty carpenter, climbing up the tree for eggs and fruit. She's suddenly remembering that Rufio always was bigger than the other Lost Boys.

The last time Fiona was face to face with any of these boys, she was looking through tears and terror over her shoulder, while sprinting for her life. If she had to see another one again, she hoped it would at least be the sweet-temptered 𝓛ucy. Instead, her heart drops at the reverse-ambush from the ghastliest boy she’s ever known. 

Adrenaline pumping nearly as high as it had on the day of that fateful battle, the only idea in Fiona's head is to get as far away from the ruffian as possible. Afraid of running away only to crash into any other boys he may have come out with (or worse: risk finding herself cornered by the lagoon again), her best impulse is to climb up the tree she was taking cover behind, as fast as she could, praying to Macha, or God, or Peter, or whomever it was that called the shots this island that Rufio had tired himself out too much with his high-altitude pullups to catch up to her before she broke as many branches as she could on her way to the top.

She crosses her fingers in hopes that he's too heavy and ungentle to follow her up the frail tree. 

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☕

"You know what..." Rufio sighs, sitting down cross-legged. "I'm sick of Sawyer. You know what I mean, right?" He scoffs, looking away. "They're always in my business. With that weird smile. Acting like we're friends."

Rufio looks genuinely disturbed by this, his face scrunching up. "I mean, what's their angle? What do they have to gain?" Rufio thinks, his mind running. "Act scared, you fucking weirdo! When I'm all up in your face, shouting at you, and you just give me this weird look..."

After a moment of staring into the distance, like he's trying to imagine the look, he grunts. "So fucking weird. Keep them away from me."

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send me   ‘ ☕ ‘   and my muse will talk about someone they don’t like and why

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It's like this every time. Bandit might just be the worst; the one who gets him the most upset, anger boiling right through his blood. "The fuck did you just say?" He shoves at him, just a warning shove right now. Now's Bandit's chance to back off.

He never does.

"What? No witty remark? Nothing clever to say?" Rufio closes on Bandit, making himself look as big as possible.

A derisive snort escapes him. "Not even gonna waste my breath," he says. "Any wit would be lost on you." He gives the bigger boy a dismissive wave. Not even worth the effort.

His lips curl into a satisfied smile. It was all too easy; RUFIO was too easy. He was so predictable: push the same button every time and the same old prize pops out--that prize, of course, being the PERFECT opportunity to let off some steam.

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                   if you want to gєт συт αℓινє

                     run for your life

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starter; open where; the forest

Obviously, Rufio needs to keep himself sharp, ready. Running around with the boys is all well and good but he needs to do more, or else how is he ever going to expect to be in charge second in charge?

So whenever he can, he ducks away. A chance to do some hunting, of course; that's always a good way to get exercise and on Peter's good side. Some running, cardio is never a bad option. Hanging from a tree and pulling himself up.

He's not exactly ever been taught when to stop, where to work on himself. But this is something everyone knows, right? You exert yourself, you get stronger. And everyone is napping or playing, or mysteriously vanished in the case of Peter (he's never around lately), so he figured no one would question it if he ducked out. He does it all the time, after all.

But he can tell someone's around. He's not stupid. He doesn't run into wildlife; he's too loud, it scares them all away. So hearing something nearby, it has to be a someone. Rufio drops from the tree he's been hanging from to his feet, grunting dramtically — make them scared of him.

"Whoever that is, you'd better not have any ideas," he stretches, several joints cracking. "I could kick your ass in a second."

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Rufio had no such capacity to read people. The world was a fight for power, and Rufio was sick of losing. That meant having his guard up, being ready for anything.

Charlie elicited no reaction from him, Rufio held his smug little smirk and watched him think. He looked a lot like a lost boy. Rufio could just see it; this kid running around with Bandit, sneaking food to Lucy, giggling about nothing with Sawyer and Davie.

But his last few words got him -- it would be really mean. Rufio realised all at once that there was a charm to this kid. A life to his eyes, a sharpness under a softness under a sharpness.

Rufio lets go for a moment, and he laughs. "You're right, Charlie," he says, smiling -- of course, he can't just drop his hard exterior, can't just be nice to someone without having his back covered. "That would be mean. And do I look mean to you?" He holds out his arms, raising his eyebrows.

"Of course not. So I wouldn't do that to you." He pauses, considering his options again. Should he just... go? Or...

"Uh, hey, thanks, Charlie. That was nice of you."

The thing about Charlie's crew, his family, was that beneath all of them was something harsh and cold. You don't live on the sea, survive by her whims and ever-changing tides without taking some of her back with you on land. The ocean is a beautiful mistress. She is also the cruelest one possible. But that coldness was sandwiched between soft, kind things. If you dug from the surface, there'd be cruelty. If you dug past that, there's love.

Charlie had the sneaking suspicion the Lost Boy he'd just pulled from the woods had his internal composition as the opposite of the crew. Or, perhaps there wasn't a flip but rather an extra layer of harshness and bite to cover what Peter would no doubt pull from others like he was extracting teeth. Either way, Charlie took a half-step back in pure instinct as the other extracted himself from the grove. It was to give space. It was also to leave space between Charlie and someone he barely knew. One couldn't be too careful on the island.

"Of course I'm a pirate," he scoffed, arms folded across his chest as his eyes rolled heavenward. "I'm not tiny, nor in possession of a tail, and I'm certainly not part of..." He trailed off, teeth gnawing on his lower lip. He wasn't part of it anymore. In everything but his dreams, he was a pirate. Best to leave memories in the past where they belong.

"You could bring me to Pan," Charlie acknowledged with a sharp, downwards jerk of his chin, "but then Hook and Cecco and everyone else will come for me, and what would happen next would be your fault." He paused, letting what had clearly been a threat hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "Besides, it'd be really mean. I did just help you out, and you'd just want to hand me off to Pan?" Charlie shook his head. "That's rude."

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Rufio was about to get mad, so the apology went a decent way to cool him off. Until that little s m i r k — who did he think he was?

Rufio wanted to lash out, make a sharp movement and see the little prick flinch, but he was stuck and also kind of needed him to trust him right now. He works a bit at his end too, snapping at branches to the best of his ability.

When a path is finally cleared, he starts to squeeze his way out. "Are you a pirate, then?" He squints at him, looking at him closely, taking in every little feature.

"So tell me, Mr Pirate, why shouldn't I just take you back to Peter? He'd probably reaaaally like a chance to show his people what to do with pirates."

The right answer was obvious. This kid just saved him, and he knew it. Rufio just liked to make threats sometimes.

Charlie hadn't exactly expected a warm welcome. The once-over he received as part of this fairly tepid introduction wasn't much of a surprise either, and Charlie let both happen as they occurred. No use throwing a fit over something expected and reasonable. He wasn't Pan. He let the man ensure he wasn't about to, what? Whip out a cutlass and scream "avast"? Charlie never did that unless he was back at home.

"Hi," Charlie repeated, waggling his fingers in a little wave. "That's me," he confirmed again, "you got it. Congratulations." He ducked his head as what he had just said processed, hair falling in front of his eyes to obscure them. "Sorry, that was mean." Nodding and moving to start untangling the branches, Charlie took out a pocket knife to cut through the harder portions. "I won't ask," he promised, keeping his head low to his work, "but if you don't tell me," he added after a few moments with a smirk, looking over at Rufio from where he working to free his left wrist, "it'll be up to me to tell my crew what happened, and I don't know if you want to give me that much freedom."

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“ what did you want to tell me? ”  

Rufio grins, sitting back. "Oh, nothing big!" He has a nasty light in his eyes as he shuffles a bit closer, speaking in a hushed tone.

"Just a bit worried about Curly, you know? He seems a bit out of it lately, right?"

"I hope he's able to do all his jobs alright. Don't want someone like him dragging us down." He shrugs a bit. "Just, you know... if you ever need anyone to fill in some gaps, you know you can count on me, yeah?"

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𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

“ am i not good enough? ”  

“ you’ve been so quiet. what’s on your mind? ”  

“ why did you help me? ”  

“ who do you fight for? ”  

“ why do you hate me? ”  

“ have you come to laugh at me in my miserable state? ”  

“ you’re not dating anyone, are you? ”  

“ i’ve got your back, okay? ”  

“ where do you think you’re going? ”  

“ how long have i been asleep? ”  

“ are you going to kill me? ”  

“ why can’t i come with you? ”  

“ we all have secrets, don’t we? ”  

“ did you want to be alone? ”  

“ why should i trust you? ”  

“ wait. did you hear that? ”  

“ promise me? ”  

“ why are you talking like we’ll never see each other again? ”  

“ do you remember anything at all? ”  

“ what? no witty remark? nothing clever to say? ”  

“ you wanna know what your problem is? ”  

“ may i have this dance? ”  

“ can i ask… what happened? ”  

“ how many people have you killed? how many? ”  

“ do you ever hear yourself? ”  

“ would you run away with me? ”  

“ could you be happy here with me? ”  

“ you can’t or you won’t? ”  

“ you slept with them, didn’t you? ”  

“ well, how do i look? ”  

“ after all you’ve done how can i possibly trust you? ”  

“ why can’t you let me in? what are you so afraid of? ”  

“ what did they do to you? ”  

“ so why’s it so important anyway? ”  

“ where have you been? ”  

“ why are you looking at me like that? ”  

“ why did you come? ”  

“ what are you doing out here by yourself? ”  

“ is… that my shirt you’re wearing? ”  

“ you… don’t like me very much, do you? ”  

“ why does it always have to be a fight with you? ”

“ why can’t you look me in the eye? ”  

“ can you forgive me? ”  

“ what if i never see you again? ”  

“ you were going to leave without saying goodbye? ”  

“ how about a little midnight snack? ”  

“ are you… smelling me? ”  

“ how did you get this scar? ”  

“ what do you want in exchange for it? ”  

“ what did you want to tell me? ”  

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✧ i don't care which chara. just feature a shampoo bottle

choose your fighter:

or

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Well... that was a freebie. Rufio looks at the man -- first he asssumes it's going to be a lost boy, Nate or Lucy or Bones or someone... but this clearly isn't. He squints at him. He looks about the right age to be a lost boy -- is he a new arrival? Did Peter go out and get someone new without telling anyone? Well, whatever.

"Charlie?" He tilts his head. "Since when are you-- sure, fine. Yes, break me out of this," he resists the branches again. "I'm stuck." He pushes his way forward slightly. "And don't ask how I got into this position, it's none of your business." He glances up at Charlie again. He has a mischievous look about him, one which Rufio doesn't trust.

Charlie was developing a habit of being in places he was not supposed to be. How did that saying go... Something about accidents, coincidences, and patterns? It was quickly becoming a pattern. With the havoc that had destroyed the island and the fear that now hung in the air like the newest home-distilled alcohol, Charlie should have stayed at camp. It goes without saying that he did nothing of the sort.

The ocean was calming in its unpredictability, and Charlie loved it for that, but the forest had been home for many years and it was into the green that he fled now. The peace he'd been hoping for in his blind pursuit forward only existed for a moment before something that sounded like someone being murdered introduced itself to his ears.

"Fuck," he cursed, frozen for a moment before running towards the sound. People had run for him, Charlie didn't see why he couldn't return the favor. The branches tore at his face and clothing before relenting as he got closer to where he thought he'd heard it. The screaming had stopped which was not something Charlie would consider to be a good sign.

By the time he broke through to where the Lost Boy had made an intimate introduction to the branches, Charlie looked a mess. "Oh," he blurted out at the remarkable lack of viscera and dead bodies in the area. "Hi. I'm Charlie. You are... Remarkably alive for all the noise you were making. Can I help?"