I do not own Tarzan or The Legend of Tarzan in any way!
AN: I'm pretty sure people are getting pretty pissed off by now at the fact that I haven't been updating a few of my stories lately. But there's nothing I can do! No one is giving me any ideas on what I should do for my Pandora Hearts fic, and I need ideas for that! As for two other stories of mine, I am rewriting them, so yeah.
John Butler and his wife, Alice made their way to the trading post they'd been hearing about from the animals' chatter.
John Butler had dull brown hair peppered with white and grey that was pulled back into a low-ponytail as the base of his neck, secured with a small piece of string. Despite his aging hair, his face and physique seemed as young and fit as a man in his late twenties. He had lightly tanned skin from working frequently in the sun, a mustache staring from the side-burns at the sides of his face the same colour as his hair, and deep-chocolate eyes.
He wore no shirt, though a thick sling made of rough animal hide was slung over his right shoulder to the left side of his waist. He wore a pair of pants that were ripped and torn in several places with a belt around his waist. A knife and gun holster hung off of the belt. He wore no shoes either. A small gold band glimmered on his right ring finger.
T A R Z A N
Alice Butler had curly reddish-brown hair held back in a messy bun with small streaks of grey running through it. She had lightly tanned skin and turquoise-hued eyes. She, too, like her husband looked just as young as he did.
She wore a knee-length dress, whose skirt looked as though it had been ripped in reach its present length along with its sleeves that had been ripped to just a little below her shoulders. She wore shoes, whose heels had been ripped clean off along with a belt around her waist with a knife in its holster. Two small rings shone brightly in the sun from her right hand.
'I can't believe that it's been twenty-five years,' the man thought to himself, glancing at his wife out of the corner of his eye. 'Twenty-five years since the last time we saw our little William.'
Alice saw her husband in deep thought and knew exactly what he was thinking about. She stifled a sigh as they finally came to the trading post.
The area looked well, built and there was indeed a small port for ships or boats. And right there off to the side of the front of the port, stood a semi-large hut with the sign stating Dumont's Trading Post.
The couple stood looking at what had been the first sign of human civilization, for them, in twenty-five years.
John cleared his throat. "Well, shall we?" he held the door open for his wife, who gave him a small smile at the gesture.
"Hello?" Alice called, when she saw no one at the counter. "Is anyone here?"
"Oui!" a French-accented voice shouted back. "I will be wiz you in a moment!"
As they waited, John looked around at what the hut had to offer. He saw tea, clothes, weapons, and other contraptions he and his wife hadn't seen in a very long time. 'Just how much has changed?' The man thought as he went around observing things in the shop, leaving his wife to stand at the counter.
"I'm very sorry to 'ave kept you waiting," the voice from before apologized.
Alice turned to the counter and saw a proud-looking man standing at the previously empty counter.
The man had pale skin, black hair slicked back neatly with a small matching mustache, and light-brown eyes. His height was close to that of John's, but his physique seemed a bit weaker.
He wore a pair of dark-tan dress pants with a dark-brown belt around his waist, a white dress-shirt whose sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows and the first two buttons left open, a red buttoned vest, and a pair of dark-brown dress shoes. A small wristwatch adorned his left wrist.
"I am Renard Dumont," the man introduced, "owner and establisher of zis trading post. Now zen, 'ow may I 'elp you?"
"My name is Alice Butler," Alice introduced herself, "and this is my husband, John." Alice placed a hand on her husband's arm, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Ah yes," John coughed, "So sorry old chap. Name's John Butler, as my wonderful wife has already said."
Of all the things that they expected Monsieur Dumont to do, gasping at the sight of John and leaping back in surprise, crashing into a shelf, was not one of them.
'Just what iz going on 'ere?' Renard thought as he took in the other man's features. ''e looks almost like Tarzan! And zat woman, she bears some resemblance as well!'
"Are you alright, my good man?" John asked concernedly, wondering if the man was really all right if he was crashing into shelves.
"Ah yes," the black-haired man stated, breaking out of his thoughts, "I'm so sorry about zat, but, while I know zat zis may be a personal question, but: Are ze both of you related in any way to Tarzan?"
"Tar-what?" Alice asked, confused.
"Tarzan," Renard repeated, "I don't mean to be rude, but your husband bears a great resemblance to him and he also has traces of you in him as well."
"Tarzan," John tested the name out, "that's an uncommon name you'd hear. Who is he?"
'Zey don't know 'im,' Monsieur Dumont thought in surprise before answering the couple. "Tarzan is what many know 'im as ze protector of ze jungle. What I know are things I 'ave found out or things I 'ave been hearing from those 'o come through 'ere. Tarzan was said to 'ave been found as a baby by a gorilla, 'o took 'im in as 'er own. 'e grew up learning to be an ape. I don't know anyzing more zan ze fact zat he 'elps zose in need. After all, 'e is the leader of ze gorillas."
"Is this…person" Alice asked cautiously, fearing for the man's mental state of health, "truly real?" The very idea of a person being raised by animals seemed almost preposterous. Yes, living with and by animals wasn't uncommon, but a baby being raised by a troop of GORILLAS? That was the most insane thing she's ever heard!
"Oh I assure you Madame," Renard said seriously, "Tarzan iz very real. If you wish for proof, why don't you go and find 'im?"
"And just how do you propose we do that?" John asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but failing miserably to do so.
"Go zat way until you see a large tree-house," Monsieur Dumont said, walking out of the shop and pointing in a direction, "zere you will find 'im and his family."
"Tree-house?" Alice whispered, inaudible to anyone about her husband.
"Thank you, sir," John stated, "I believe we will be on our way. Come along, dear." He put an arm around his wife's shoulders and guided her out of the shop and steered her in the direction the French-man had pointed out.
"Oh John," Alice said almost hopefully, "Do you think…?"
"I don't want to get our hopes up, Alice," the dull-brown haired man sighed, "but I hope to God that he did."
And so both husband and wife went in search of the Man of the Apes.