the thing that I feel about duck newton is like, if I can put it in words, and know that I blame justin for this, for pulling fully-fledged kepler residents out of thin air but failing utterly to improvise so much as a fib,
duck newton can’t lie, bless him. doesn’t have a lying bone in his body, wears his heart on his sleeve. an honest, plain-spoken man. people love him for that.
people probably love him for a lot of things, I think.
duck newton lives in his apartment, quiet and alone. he builds model ships, tiny and detailed and exact and time-consuming. he talks to his cat like it’s a person, a cat he helped mrs pearson remove from the wheel well of her car, a tiny kitten that had crawled into the dark spaces looking for refuge. at first he had some undefined intention to take the cat to a shelter, but he had to buy food and a litter box and toys in the meantime anyway and by the time he could get away from work long enough to make the drive, well, the two of them had gotten used to each other, hadn’t they? and duck’s good at getting used to things.
duck newton can sit still for a long time. he can find a quiet seat in the woods somewhere, looking out across the mountains, and remain motionless until the wild things are no longer afraid of him. duck newton treads softly, knows trees and wildflowers and birdcalls by name. and he loves those woods with every bit of himself! found peace there for the first time in the tumultuous years of his youth, when all the pain and fear and enormity of being a teenager and seeing everything wrong with the world as you grew into it was compounded by the ghost who haunted him with the threat that all of it was his job to fix, to save. he ran away from that, into the trees, never left.
duck newton knows the names of the constellations, you know?
and if he sees you grocery shopping, duck newton’s gonna ask how you are, and knows that your son john just started college out of state, and hopes your mother’s doing well after her surgery. duck newton shows up with a housewarming gift when you move to Kepler, welcomes you to town, offers you help moving furniture or learning your way around. he cares, is the thing. he’ll listen to your life story. he’ll loan you some cash, give you a lift, show up when he knows help is needed, goes out for a drink with you afterwards. he’s a good friend.
and he’s quiet, yeah. good at spending time alone. doesn’t dream of more. a small man, you could call him, but a gentle man. not young anymore, and okay with aging without having to leave a mark on the world, content with small kindnesses and maintaining the wild places he loves. content with eating some real fuckin good soup. he devotes his life to stability, tranquility. and the sword that sits in his friend’s back room terrifies him more than he can even conceive of, scares him enough to be able to lie, for once in his life. for most of his life.
and it scares duck newton to have to take up a sword. and it makes duck newton angry to have to raise a sword against someone else, even a monster. how the fuck is he the one meant to fix this, when there are people like his sister, ready to travel halfway around the world to lend a hand, and he doesn’t even want to leave his town? people like aubrey, with fire at their fingertips? how the fuck is duck supposed to know that this monster is the enemy, when he can share kind words and understanding with Vincent and they sure as hell look the same to him? who is he to have these decisions put in his hands? who are they to ask this of him?
because duck newton is kind, and he is kind first. he starts with words, and he doesn’t lie, he speaks the honest truth, from the heart, which is that he has no wish to do harm. jokes with the woman who tried to shoot him, throws a gun rather than firing it, only turns to fight the monster unarmed when he sees someone else in its path. his first instinct is to preserve. duck newton is destined to fight, but he was never made for it. and it scares him to death to be anything more than quiet, to matter.
but no one else is doing it, and duck newton can’t leave this thing undone now. not when it’s needed. not duck newton, with his tired determination that no one will be hurt while he can stop it. and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and he freezes, and he trips up, but with all of his fear and his recalcitrance he’s still standing there, between others and harm’s way.
but that is what he’ll do, understand that. he’ll do what needs to be done, and you will not decide what that means for him. duck newton will not do harm if it isn’t necessary, will offer his hand to his enemy, will sit in a basement sewing up that enemy’s wounds and he doesn’t know what he’s doing but when does he ever know what he’s doing anyway? when in any of this has he known what he’s doing? he can only follow what he knows in his heart is right, only place himself between others and harm, only forgive those who have harmed him. and he will not kill for you, minerva, not for you and not for anyone, not in cold blood, not when there is another way, not for the whole goddamn world because a world that must be saved through blood and death is not a world duck newton will save, so shut the fuck up, minerva. if that’s destiny, destiny can go screw itself. you told him to save the world, he is saving it: he is saving this creature’s life. if he is going to be your chosen one then you will take him as he is and you will not seek to change him.
(there are three things all wise men fear – the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.)
