contradictions

youhearstatic:

(This minific would chronologically fit right at the beginning of TAZ:B episode 3.)

Riding back to Phandalin with Taako, Magnus, and Merle, Barry is struck again with increasingly contradictory feelings. He’s felt this before, of course. Sometimes statements come out of his mouth and he’s completely taken aback as if someone else has taken charge of his words. Like the way he knows nothing feels better on a hot day than a swim in a cold lake even though he’s spent his life avoiding the water and unable to swim. Or like earlier, his statement to Magnus about his work as a bodyguard. It felt true but his experiences just didn’t back it up. 

He considers it carefully, trying to break the situation into pieces he can study objectively. This job with with the Rockseekers, for example. He’d bluffed his way into it for reasons he didn’t understand. But despite his scientific training it just kept coming back to the fact that he trusted his gut that it was the right move. 

Even now – with a collection of broken ribs screaming at him with each bump and jostle of the wagon – he still believes it had been the right choice. When the gerblins had overwhelmed them the thing that felt most wrong wasn’t the combat but that he’d felt strangely unarmed despite the heavy mace he’d held. And aside from those imprecise data points of feelings and instinct, his body had reacted like one experienced in combat. His muscles had instinctively dropped into a fighting stance and he believed his heart rate hadn’t spiked the way you’d expect for someone with his bookish background. Every physical reaction he could think of backed up the belief that he had somehow survived many, many battles. 

The wagon hits another pothole and Barry clutches his side with a grunt of pain. Okay, maybe some physical evidence existed to disprove the idea of his combat proficiency. After all, the gerblins had nearly killed him. If these three hadn’t come along he had to assume he would be dead right now, moldering in a cave.

Taako, Magnus, and Merle had even rescued his box of belongings, though they’d certainly grumbled about the chore. Barry had insisted though he couldn’t have explained why. Taako had cast levitate on it and Magnus had simply maneuvered it back through the tunnels and out of the cave. 

When they’d made it back to the cart Barry had checked it quickly. There was armor, clothing, and a few letters. None of the papers seemed to make any sense. One – which held only two words – had added yet another item to his list of contradictory data. Something about the rather innocuous note made him feel both like curling into a ball and crying but also like screaming and tearing apart the very universe to find…something. Equally as strange as his reaction was the fact that the paper seemed to shimmer with some magic he couldn’t quite understand. It was as if this folded and refolded sheet of vellum was a… As if it was a … Every time he tried to finish that sentence the only word that presented itself was “copy.” But why would someone use magic to reproduce something so inconsequential? It made no sense. None of this made any fucking sense. But also? When he searched his feelings, his instincts, his gut? It felt right, it felt true, it felt unquestionable.

Then there was that fucking coin buried in the pocket of his jeans. Barry has been trusting it with his life but he also kind of hates it. It doesn’t look particularly special. Its a bit larger than most coins and the markings make his thoughts swim when he tries to discern them but it’s just a coin. Attempts to spend the coin never go well, though. Maybe that’s why the gerblins had overlooked it. Maybe it’s cursed. Maybe he is cursed. 

The newest addition to his list of contradictions is how, despite the fact that he barely knows these three travelers, despite his extensive list of injuries, despite everything telling him he should be in misery; Barry feels … almost happy. Something about riding with these guys just feels right. Barry’s life has been one of science and study and reason. This new reliance on gut instincts and feelings should worry him, he supposes. But his companions seem just as home with him as he does with them. 

Barry pulls his thoughts out of the confused spirals they’d been spinning and turns to the almost heartrendingly beautiful elf beside him.

“Yes,” Taako tells him before Barry can find the words he wants. “I’m that Taako, Taako from TV.”

A surprised laugh escapes from Barry followed instantly by a pained wince as something in his battered chest protests the reaction. “I guess I have been thinking you seemed really familiar.”

“Well, I’ll hit you up with a signed 5"x7” when we get to town, big guy" Taako tells him. “Merle’s asleep with the bags back there,” Taako says with a gesture to the supply area of the wagon behind them where the dwarf’s snores can be heard. “He sleeps au naturel and if you don’t mind that’s a sight I don’t need a refresher for.”

Barry laughs gently, mindful of his aching chest. He’d gotten his own unfortunate eyeful when Merle was settling in. It’s why he’s sitting up front on the bench between Taako and Magnus instead of trying to rest himself. 

They ride without speaking for several minutes, listening to the creaking wagon, the unrushed hoofbeats of the horses, and their jangling tack. Magnus shifts his hold on the reins and looks over at them. “Huh,” the fighter says. “I think it’s my birthday today, boys.”

“First drink’s on me when we hit town, then,” Barry offers. He is silent for a few seconds while he does his own quick math. “Mine was last month,” he adds. He casts his memory back and comes up blank. “But for the life of me I couldn’t tell you what I did that day.”

Magnus studies him for a moment before he turns back to the horses. “Maybe just a cider when we hit town, buddy. Sounds like your old dome could use a break from the hard stuff if you know what I mean.”

Magnus’s suggestion is a theory Barry himself has considered before but it doesn’t feel quite right. Could that be alcoholic denial though? He doesn’t feel anything more than a minor craving and even that feels centered more on the camaraderie of the bar than the taste or effect of alcohol. But it’s no less probable than his other theories: he’s losing his mind, he’s cursed by a demon coin, or that he’s no more than a figment of an inconsistent imagination. 

Barry shrugs the thoughts away and turns to Taako again. “What about you, Taako? When’s your birthday?”

Taako doesn’t turn towards him, just squints into the distance as if the sun bothers him even though the wide, floppy brim of his hat has thrown a shadow over most of his face.

“I don’t remember,” Taako says quietly. His voice is strained in a way that makes Barry want to hug him, though Barry keeps that instinct thoroughly in check. 

Taako straightens himself, sitting taller on the bench as he smiles at the empty road ahead of them. When the elf speaks again his voice is brittle-bright though his tense shoulders belay the faked indifference. 

“Who cares about a stupid birthday, though, am I right?” Taako says. “I celebrate weekly with a little thing I like to call ’Taako Tuesday.’”