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03 October 2008 @ 06:36 pm
Kocoum X Wiggins Fanfic (NOT BY ME!!)  
Hey I remember reading this fic at fanfiction.net, and thought it was great! It's called "Close Yet Far" and was written by Evangeline Queen (Gwynne C.). Although Kocoum X Wiggins sounds pretty random, Evangeline manages to make it more plausible with her story direction. Also, her writing style is very lovely. I'm hoping that she update this story soon, 'cuz I'm lovin' it! You should read it!

Though before you read this, there are some things to keep in mind:

1) It seems to be an AU (alternate universe) since Jamestown has women settlers and that Kocoum is still alive at the same time.

2) Wiggins is not a servant, he is a skilled painter and lives in a shabby home alone, that means there's no Ratcliffe.

3) Wiggins' first name is Alexander.

4) Kocoum speaks French (it's definitely impossible to translate Powhatan language, so French must be used ;) )




The fanfiction can be found here: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4444005/1/Close_yet_far


...but I'll post the story here:



(Chapter 1)

The morning sun shone dimly through the forest. Trees of every kind grew densely throughout, providing shelter for the many woodland creatures who resided in the forest. Wind whispered through, ruffling the hair of the lone individual walked, slowly and silently. The lithe body slide smoothly over the fallen trees and brambles, making no more sound then the wind. The figure stopped, quietly setting what it had been carrying down. Sitting quietly, the man pulled out a pad of paper and a piece of charcoal and began to quietly draw the scene around him. Lush plants, the shining colors of the birds that flitted from tree to tree. To him, this was heaven.

This had become a ritual for the man, who goes by the name of Alexander Wiggins. An accomplished artist in England, Wiggins braved the voyage to the new world in search of new sights and things for him to attempt to capture in his drawings. Since the day the ship had landed, Alexander had been captivated by the forest and its beauty. Many of the settlers warned him not to venture in alone, for the Indian were not taking kindly to the intrusion on their home.

“Maybe it’s been the way we’ve approached them, with our guns and supposedly ‘superior’ manners.” Wiggins thought to himself as he drew, recalling the first time the warnings had been shouted at him as he left. He smiled sadly and shook his head, pushing the thoughts of the others from his head. “Like they’d care if the Indians got me.” He thought savagely, “They all think I’m weird and unfit for this life. Mind you, it would give them more reason to slaughter the people here.”

Sighing heavily, Wiggins set his pencil and pad down and leaned back against the log supporting him. He loved the feeling of the sun warming his face and closed his eyes against the glare. Relaxing completely, Wiggins allowed himself to be carried off into the land of dreams by the birds’ songs and nature’s sounds.

He was standing in a field. Grass came up to his knees, tickling the exposed skin with their almost finger-like touches as they swayed. Arms outstretched; face up in the sun, turning on the spot slowly, he laughed, the sound clear and carefree in this wonderful place. The turning slowed, and then stopped as he looked at his surroundings. Alone but for the trees and the sky, perfectly alone.

Turning once more, he now noticed that he wasn’t alone for there was a figure in the edges of the trees. He smiled at the figure, somehow knowing it was friend not foe. He couldn’t see the features of the figure, only knowing that the body was larger, more muscled then his own. Turning around, he stared at the opposite side of the field, away from the figure.

Suddenly a pair of strong arms was around his waist, a face pressed into the crook of his neck. But he felt no fear, only relishing in the warm of the body pressed into his back. He twined his fingers with the ones settled on his stomach, holding tightly. Lips brushed his neck softly, leaving butterfly kisses, moving down to his shoulder. He sighed contently, pressing back against the being, grinding his hips slowly.

Hips pressed back, rubbing sensually against his own as one hand sneaked lower, teasing the skin in its wake. Breath hitching as the large, warm hand teased him; he closed his eyes and leaned his head back onto the shoulder behind him. Inhaling the musky scent of his partner, he bit softly on the skin of the strong neck.

The hand teasing sped up as he grinded his hips faster…


Alexander woke abruptly, aware of how cold and utterly alone he was. Opening his eyes wider and taking in his surroundings, Alexander was no longer looking at a clear blue sky but one full of twinkling stars. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the images of his dream, preferring to concentrate on getting home. Sitting up slowly, wincing in pain as his spine straightened out, Wiggins stood up and groggily began to make his way back to his camp. He hadn’t intended to sleep that long and was fearful of all the things that go bump in the night that lived in the forest. It was much more dangerous in the forest at night then it was during the day and Wiggins wanted nothing more then to reach his warm, albeit empty, home as soon as he could.

Wiggins moved through the trees faster, slipping on unseen obstacles until he could make out the shining lights of the town. His pace slowed and his hands lower to his side to his bag. Only to grasp nothing more than air. Gasping, Alexander stopped and turned to face the forest. Should he go back and get his precious book? The foreboding look of the dark forest put him off and sighing dejectedly; he turned and continued to head to the town.

Kocoum watched as the red haired white man left, leaving his kit. The man was small, easy enough to defeat should he become a threat. Kocoum moved closer to the abandoned bag, tomahawk raised menacingly should something inside it decide to attack him. It was odd for the man to have left his bag, he always seemed so attached to it. For Kocoum had been watching the man since the first day he had entered the forest. Surprisingly, the man wanted nothing more then to sit, and create pictures with the magic black stick of his.

Kocoum bent down, peering at the pad and what he called “magic stick”. Tentative fingers picked up the stick of charcoal, crushing it gently in his large hands, Kocoum was surprised when it felt nothing more then the ash the elders used for war marking. Placing the tomahawk down next to him, he used both hand to pull the pad of paper toward him. Smoothing the pages between his hands, he was again surprised at the texture.

“Juste comme l’écorce d’arbre…” He muttered quietly to himself. Flipping the book open, Kocoum stared at the pages, entranced by the drawing there. He was amazed by the skill this man had. Picking up the bag after putting the book in it, Kocoum vowed to approach the man the next time he saw him. He must know more about these drawings…

Alexander groan, rolling over in his bed and promptly falling onto the floor. Disentangling himself from the blanket that seemed content to strangle him, Alex gazed blearily out of his open window. Patches of sun passed through the dense clouds that populated the sky, creating visible beams that shined into the small cottage. Getting up at the almost audible sound of his stomach growling, Wiggins walked into his shabby kitchen and went straight to the worn cupboards. Opening them slowly,

Alexander stared blankly at the completely empty shelves. Hurriedly closing the cupboard and then flinging the door back open, Wiggins half hope the shelves would have magically filled them selves with food. ‘I think the world hates me right now. First my notebook, now my food…’ sighing in defeat, Alexander retreated back into his bedroom to get dressed and grab his meager amount of money before heading to the market.

The market was already in full swing by the time Wiggins reach the beaten down path. Stalls full of assorted goods lined the well used path as people bustled to and fro, buying everything and anything from bread and fish to furniture and jewelry. Vendors and customers bellowed loudly at each other as they haggled, each trying to get the best deal out of one another and children ran underfoot as they played their little games.

Wiggins skirted around a particularly large set of women pouring over the jewelers table as he headed towards the bakers hut. The scent of fresh cooked bread wafted out and Wiggins felt his mouth watering at the sight of all the baked goods laid out. After buying a pastry and a few extra loafs of bread, Wiggins ambled down the path as he ate, purchasing the needed items and taking in all of the newer merchandise. He was just heading out when a voice called his name. Turning around, Alexander saw a thin man dressed in servants clothing rushing towards him.

“Mr. Wiggins! Mistress Aberton would like to see you.” The man wheezed after having caught up with Alexander. The man was obviously not used to running or more any sort of physical activity and was bent double in attempts to regain his breath. Alexander paled at the name the man said, dread settling itself comfortably in the pit of his stomach

Phyllis Aberton was one of the most frightening people in the settlement. Being bred in high class English society, Aberton saw herself above everyone who didn’t live like she did. She was an older woman who could stand to lose a few pounds but nobody dared tell her that for fear of their lives. Aberton was also an avid art collector, her collection containing some of the most sought after pieces known to man. And she had asked Wiggins to draw her something. Only problem…he didn’t have is notebook.

“Err…uhm...right.” Wiggins stuttered, quickly beginning to follow the man servant back to his mistress. The two men walked quickly, no words passing between them until they reached the carriage where Ms. Aberton sat.

“Wiggins!” she barked and Alexander jumped, “Have you finished my drawing yet?” Aberton stared at Wiggins in disgust. She may love art but Aberton absolutely detested the people who made it. No better then vermin in her eyes.

“N-not exactly…” Alexander replied quietly, looking down at his worn shoes.

“I’m getting impatient boy. I’m not a happy or nice person when I’m impatient. I want my art.” Aberton hissed. Alexander nodded mutely, too terrified of the over-bearing woman to respond verbally. With a scowl, Aberton waved a pudgy hand dismissively and Alexander was immediately ushered out of her presence.

Walking away, Wiggins hung is head in defeat. There was no way he was going to be able to re-create Phyllis’s drawing. He had spent hours on it, perfecting it to a tee. Unless… he found his notebook. It was for certain gone. For all he knew, his notebook could still be where he left it completely unharmed. Eyes sparkling with hope and a new bounce in his step, Wiggins headed in the direction of the forest, hell bent on finding his notebook.

Jogging lightly through the forest, Wiggins reached his usual drawing spot, pausing to draw breath. Looking to where he thought he had left his book, Alexander’s face fell as his blue eyes roamed the moss covered ground only to see nothing. Getting on his hands and knees, Alexander peered under the fallen log on which he usually sat, half hoping that his book was under it but to his dismay it was not. After a fruitless search, Alexander accepted defeat, dropping like a boneless sack onto the log with his head in his hands.

‘I’m doomed. Positively doomed. Aberton is going to kill me.’ Wiggins thought to himself. He knew there was no way he could finish a new drawing to make up for the one that he’d lost and if he didn’t have a drawing for Aberton….Wiggins shuddered at the thought of what she’d do to him.

A rustling of leave somewhere near his left brought Wiggins out of his wallowing in self pity, his head shooting up out of his hands. A gasp fell from his lips, his eyes widening as he scrambled backwards over the log before falling flat on his face. Alexander sat there, looking a lot like a fish out of water, as he quaked in fear.

Standing before him was one of the largest Indians Wiggins had ever seen. The man stood at least head and shoulders taller then Wiggins’ own lean body. The man was bare foot, his strong legs covered by a pair of animal skin pants. The broad expanse of bare chest looked like it was chiseled out of rock; each muscle defined clearly, was covered in dark swirling tribal tattoos of the man’s people. The tattoos ran along the tree like arms, to the large hands. One hand held a wicked looking tomahawk and the other, Wiggins realized with a start, his bag.

Kocoum looked at Wiggins with mild curiosity, finding the way the smaller man seemed to be frozen in fear somewhat comical due to the position. Stepping forward slowly, Kocoum loomed over Wiggins before the man came to his senses, frantically scrambling away from the Indian, but only far enough to be out of reach.

Alexander climbed to his feet, still trembling with fear but determined to find someway to get his bag back from the Indian. He knew the other man meant no harm, so far, because he hadn’t done anything remotely threatening. He just sort of…stood there, staring intently at Alexander.

“Erm…Hello?” Wiggins said. The man continued to stare at him.

“Oh, right. You probably can’t understand me because you don’t speak English so you’re probably hearing a whole bunch of syllables so me talking is pointless so I’ll just stop.” Wiggins said in a rush, all the while gesturing wildly with his hands.






(Chapter 2)


Kocoum looked at the red haired man in awe, his wild gesturing made Kocoum want to laugh out loud. Refraining, Kocoum thought about how to approach the smaller man without him bolting. It was saddening because all the Indian wanted to do was communicate with the man. But also made him swell with pride, knowing how easily he could strike fear into the others heart.

Watching the English man more closely, Kocoum saw how he was staring fearfully at the tomahawk held in firmly in his hand. Realizing this, Kocoum turned, walked back a few steps, and set the weapon on a rock. It was still in his reach should he need it but far enough that the other man knew that Kocoum meant no harm.

Alexander watched in amazement as the mountain of a man set his weapon down and turned back to him. ‘So he doesn’t want to hurt me.’ Wiggins thought to himself. Millions of thoughts were running through Alexander’s head but all thoughts left as the Indian neared again.

This time, Wiggins held his ground, refusing to listen to the little voice in his head telling him to run for his life.

Kocoum stopped a few feet from Wiggins, and stared yet again. Though the man still trembled, he had a determined look in his eyes and Kocoum was surprised. The other man looked up at him apprehensively. Tentatively, Wiggins stuck his hand out.

“My name is Alexander Wiggins.” He said, attempting to sound forceful but failing when his voice quivered and broke. Kocoum stared at the white hand in front of him, wondering what the strange man was doing. Alexander dropped his hand when the Indian only stared.

Pointing to himself, Wiggins repeated his name slowly. Then pointing at the larger man, he waited expectantly. Repeating the gesture a few times, Kocoum finally figured out that the man was asking his name.

“Kocoum.” The Brave said in a deep, sharp voice. Alexander smiled when he got the answering name. Now just to get his bag back.

“My bag, can I have it back?” Wiggins asked softly, gesturing to the sack that hung by Kocoum’s hip. The Indian Brave looked down to where the English man was pointing.

« Oui mais c’est quoi? Comment es-ce que les images sont la? » (Yes, but what is it? How are the images there?) Kocoum asked. Wiggins stared up at the man in confusion, not understanding a word he just said.

Kocoum saw the look of confusion on Wiggins’ face and realized the man couldn’t understand him either. Sighing, Kocoum slipped the strap of the bag off his shoulder. Alexander’s hands shot forward eagerly, but Kocoum pulled the bag sharply out of reach.

Disappointment flashed across Wiggins face when Kocoum pulled his bag away. Bringing the bag back in front of him, Kocoum pulled out Wiggins’ sketch pad, letting the rest of the bag fall to the ground. Wiggins flinched when he heard his supplies hitting the ground. Some would surely be broken. But Alexander’s attention was drawn back to the man holding his pad, as he pointed at his drawing of a bird sitting on the tree branch.

« C’est quoi? » (What is it?) Kocoum demanded, pointing to the drawing again. He just had to know how this small man had captured such beauty.

“My drawing?” Wiggins answered confused. What did this Indian want with his drawings? Surely he had no use for them.

“Draw…rings?” Kocoum repeated slowly, his English odd sounding with his heavy accent.

“Yes, drawings. I’m an artist.” Alexander answered the question in Kocoum’s voice. Clearly the man didn’t know what an artist was or what drawing was.

Reaching out tentatively, Alexander pulled his pad out of the Indians fingers. Reaching down, he pulled out a piece of charcoal and flipped to an empty page. Settling down on the log, pad on his lap, Wiggins looked at Kocoum intently.

Then his eyes darted back to the paper in front of him and his hand holding the charcoal began to move, creating lines and shapes on the white expanse. Kocoum stared fascinated as the other man worked, watching the paper with interest as the lines continued to form. Wiggins continued to draw, glancing back and forth between the notepad and Kocoum.

After a few minutes, Alexander sat up straight and looked up at Kocoum. Turning the note book towards the larger man, Kocoum gasped at what he saw. Staring back at him was an exact copy…of himself. Perfect to the last feature, Kocoum was amazed with what he saw. Reaching out, his fingers brushed his own face then the face staring back at him from the page. This had to be magic.

Wiggins watched in equal fascination as Kocoum looked at his drawing. Astonishment was clear as day on his face and Alexander couldn’t help but laugh softly. Kocoum looked up at the sound into Alexander’s smiling face and a smile of his own broke across his stern features.

“You can have it if you like.” Wiggins said. Turning the notebook back towards himself, Wiggins tore the page out of the book and held it out to Kocoum. The other man simply stared for a long moment before gingerly taking the paper in his own large hands. He held it like it was made of the most precious thing in the world.

Looking up at Wiggins again, Kocoum asked with his eyes if he could really keep it. A smile in return was all he needed to know that this beautiful creation was really his.

Wiggins looked down and gestured to his bag again, silently asking permission to take it. Kocoum nodded and watched as Alexander leaned down, replacing his pad in the bag and gathering it up, slinging it over his shoulder.

“I have to go home now.” Wiggins said, pointing through the trees towards the settlement. He began to retreat slowly, still unsure whether the Indian understood him. Kocoum simply watched as the red haired man retreated further into the woods, back toward his own home.

Kocoum looked down at the drawing he still held, a soft smile on his face. He liked “Alexander Wiggins”. Turning, Kocoum began his way back to his own tent, still thinking about the other man.

------>>>> To be continued???


Hehehehe Wiggins' dream in Chapter 1 pretty much implied that both him and the 'stranger' got naked in the fields. It can also be interpreted as soft sex LOL


 
 
 
kogeloog on October 4th, 2008 06:37 am (UTC)
It's a good writing style, but the story isn't really close to the movie. And Kocoum isn't sexy!
By the way, why does everyone think that Wiggins has red hair? It's really brown, it thought, or a little reddish.(it differs a few times in the movie, from brown, reddish and dark blonde)

Well, Alexander is a cool name, but I have to think of our crown prince XD
Emily Nguyenrt_emily_nguyen on October 4th, 2008 07:09 am (UTC)
Hahaha it's not meant to be close to the movie; it's an alternate universe ;D

Kocoum not sexy?!?! HE'S HOT!!! He has a better body than John Smith LOL!!

We should name our prince........John lol

kogeloog on October 4th, 2008 08:02 am (UTC)
Okey, he's muscled, that's right!

But seriousely, the crown prince of the Netherlands is named Willem Alexander!
http://www.geocities.com/marliesq/ned_maxima.htm He and his wife
cruxio_artistcruxio_artist on October 4th, 2008 04:55 pm (UTC)
I agree with Bulleteye. It is very well-written, but I've lost the Wiggins-y vibe here. Seems like a character who merely shares Wiggins' last name but is a different person altogether...she could just change the names and not claim it under the Pocahontas vein and it would be like a completely different and orgiginal story.