#also this is my ashes of memory 2 drop artwork now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ablogcalledrevenge · 4 years

Photo

Do Androids Enjoy Paris? (An Ash x Reader Insert Fic, Rated T)

It’s decades later when you find him. He’s in surprisingly good shape for being almost 50 years old. When you run a diagnostics check on him days later, you’re almost touched to see how well he was taken care of. Yearly upgrades and tune-ups, expanded memory chip, barely any wear or tear on the joints or internal wiring. He could be a museum piece, he was so well kept. And now he was yours.

So what does one do when they’re suddenly gifted with an android copy of an unknown dead man?

Take him to see the world.

When you bought the house from Kate’s mom, you didn’t really understand what the Ash Clause referred to. According to the contract, you just had to maintain the Ash model for the length of ownership. When you asked your friend what Ash was, she chuckled and shook her head.

“Oh wow, I haven’t thought about him in years. He’s like this weird robot my grandma had. I think I saw him once. He was kind of like a memory bank, I think he would do some cleaning.” She said and you shrugged. You could take care of a sentient vacuum.

But when you finally get to the little house, you don’t see any robot. You find a vacuum, covered in dust, but very little else. It isn’t until your third night that you meet Ash.

You’re in bed, trying to fall asleep. You’re not used to the countryside and you had been staring at your phone right before trying to sleep, which you know is bad. You’re in that hazy almost dreaming phase when you hear a thud from above. You freeze in your bed, suddenly terrified that a monster is going to come crashing through the roof and eat you.

Instead, you hear the sound of a chair being pushed across the floor above you. There’s nothing above you but the roof, you’re on the second floor. The house is just two floors and an attic. Your stomach drops and you let out a shaky breath. There’s someone in the attic.

Grabbing your phone and a frying pan from the kitchen, you carefully pull down the steps to the attic. All the noise stops and you preemptively dial 999 in case there’s a murderer up there and you need to call the police. Your finger hovers over the button as light floods down over you.

The attic is small but decorated with furniture. There’s a plush rug under your toes and a nice coffee table with soft squishy looking chairs around it. There’s a computer plugged in and a rack of clothes. Does someone live up here? Did Kate forget to tell you about a renter?

You hear a throat clear and you whirl around, holding your frying pan out like a weapon. The person you see isn’t scary, he isn’t holding a gun or anything, but you still scream in surprise.

“No please, don’t scream. I’m not dangerous I promise!” He assures you, stepping forward as you leap back. You fall into one of the armchairs and it knocks the breath out of you.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m Ash. Didn’t Kate or Indira tell you about me? I know you bought the house.” He says, kneeling in front of you to perhaps seem less threatening. It worked a little and you slowly felt your heart return to a normal rhythm.

“They just told me I had to maintain an Ash model. I was expecting a cleaning robot, not a person!” You shoot back, once you find your voice. You haven’t lowered your frying pan. At that, Ash ducks his head bashfully. He doesn’t flush or turn red though, like a person would. He also hasn’t blinked since you noticed him.

“That’s me. I’m the Ash model. I’m an android technically though. This is where I stay.” He says with a note of resigned acceptance, sweeping his arm out over his humble abode.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Why are you up here? Why do I have to take care of you? You look kind of familiar, have we met before?” You ask, ignoring his identity for a moment, as he sits down on the couch across from you. Despite it being 2 in the morning, he dressed like he’s going to work. He’s wearing dark slacks with a blue button down shirt; he’s even got shoes on!

“It’s a bit of a long story.” Ash says and he explains it all to you. As the time passes, you listen as Ash reveals family secret after family secret. You find yourself staring at the pulled skin of Ash’s knuckles or the way the light shines across his multi-shaded hair. He’s a feat of engineering, that was for sure. Androids weren’t super rare in society, though they were uncommon. Androids took the place of people when it involved inhospitable environments or testing reactions to new drugs. Androids couldn’t feel pain but they could mimic the human body’s reaction. They were essential in the field of science and medicine. Which made it all the stranger that Kate’s grandma just had one.

It’s a sad story to be sure. Losing a loved one is never easy and grief can make people do crazy things. Now you know why Ash’s face looks vaguely familiar to you. You’ve seen his face in an old wedding photo of Kate’s grandparents. But then the passage of time actually sinks in. Kate, like you, is in her late 20s. Martha was her grandma! Ash has been up here for decades, sitting alone and getting sent to a facility once a year for upgrades. Martha’s been dead for 5 years now and the house has been empty. Kate mentioned that she hadn’t seen Ash since she was a little kid.

“So you’ve just been alone for all this time? Hasn’t anyone visited you?” You ask, incredulously. Mrs. Portman was his daughter! Well, sort of, not really.

“Yes. Indira comes to visit sometimes, usually when I have to get upgraded. We talk and she has tea and it’s very nice. But other than that, no. She stopped seeing me on weekends when she left for school. I assumed she was busy living her own life. After that Martha stopped coming up as well. I think it bothered her that she was aging and I wasn’t. I never minded though, I don’t care about that sort of thing. Do you want tea?” The change of subject does little to distract you. All you can think of is the clause in your lease contract.

“You realize that I own the house now, I bought it from Mrs. Portman. You were part of the contract I signed. I’m supposed to take care of you. I own you. Doesn’t that bother you? You’re being passed down like a family heirloom!” You point out, shaking your head as Ash offers you tea. You don’t think he can drink it and it seems rude to use up his supply.

“Why should it? Martha wanted to take care of me. I have a nice life up here. I have the internet and I get to see people sometimes. There’s not much I need.” He says simply and your heart breaks for him.

“But Martha’s dead! She’s dead and you’re still here! Don’t you see how cruel that is? She’s allowed to die and be at peace and, depending on your belief system, finally be with her Ash. But instead of shutting you down, she’s kept you running. There’s no reason. It’s not like Mrs. Portman has really interacted with you in years. So why are you still running? Don’t you deserve some peace?”

Ash pauses and looks at you. It’s strange, but he seems almost sad. AI technology has come a long way, but his ability to mimic sadness is honestly amazing.

“Martha’s dead?” His voice sounds hollow and you get up and join him on the couch.

“Yes, she died five years ago. You weren’t told?” You reach over and grab his hand. It’s cool to the touch but very soft. It feels like skin, though you know it’s synthetic. He feels human.

“No, I wasn’t told. I always assumed that when she died, I’d either go live with Indira or I’d be shut down. I didn’t think she’d keep me running with no purpose.” He sighs and his chest doesn’t move.

“Maybe she couldn’t bear the thought of you dying. Maybe she thought Indira would want you in her life. I don’t know. But what I do know is that we’re here and we’re together now. I signed that contract and I’m going to take care of you. But you get to decide what that means. If you want to stay up here and be left alone, I can do that. But if you want to be shut down, I understand and I can do that too.” You promise and he looks at you. His eyes are beautiful and wet, hazy blue and light green mixed together and piercing into your soul. You’re in awe of how his eyes bore into you.

“I don’t know what I want. I’ve been up here so long. I was only made for a few things. I don’t have wants or needs besides basic maintenance.” He says shakily.

“Well, now’s the time to figure it out.” You whisper in the quiet of the attic. The smile he gives you is blinding in it’s sincerity and joy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You go to Paris first, walking along the Seine in the summer. You show Ash all the artwork he’s only ever seen through a screen, watch him embrace the human condition as he marvels at a Monet and shakes his head at a Picasso. He doesn’t tan like you do but after giving a little boy back his ball by the Carrousel du Louvre, he has a riot of freckles across his shoulders that match the toddler’s.

He does that a lot; change his appearance as he meets people. He has a mole on his clavicle that disappears occasionally. He can’t seem to decide if he wants it or not. You don’t care either way, you tell him he’s beautiful at least once an hour. He responds back in kind and while someone else would take that as a lie; he’s an android so what could he know about human beauty, you beam at the words. You figure he’s probably objective so the small words are taken as the compliment they’re intended to be.

The only weird parts are when you need to eat and sleep. It’s strange at first to go to a cafe and eat in front of him. He always tastes things but he never swallows, politely spitting it out in his napkin. He doesn’t have taste buds, he can’t enjoy the bouquet of flavors you bring to his lips every breakfast, lunch, or dinner; but despite that he always asks to try. You can see how desperately he wants to be human so you humor him and let him try your crepes.

He doesn’t sleep, though he will lay down in bed with you. He makes no sounds and only mimics breathing to keep you from feeling uncomfortable. Eventually you ask him to stop. You’ve always hated noise when you’re trying to sleep and it’s nice to be held by something that doesn’t snore in your ear or drool on you.

“I can if you want me to.” Ash teases one morning and you throw a pillow at him. His laugh sounds like triumph.

You’re walking along the Pont des Arts, Notre Dame in the distance and vanilla ice cream in your hand. The stroll is leisurely and even, Ash swinging your hands as you tread across the wooden boards. You’re going to Italy next and then maybe Spain. He’s decided he wants to see the world and you’re only too happy to show him.

He stops and rests his arm on the railing, the wind ruffling his hair back. You lay your head on his shoulder which is warm through his linen shirt.

“Would you want to have sex?” He asks suddenly and you almost drop your ice cream in the river. You pull back to look at him, your face pink.

“I just know that when couples travel together they usually have sex. I can have sex, I have the equipment for it. I’ve done it before.” He says and his tone is so casual and even. In perhaps an ironic twist, you’re the one who feels like they’re short circuiting. You eat some ice cream while you try to come up with an answer.

“Ash, I think you’re so handsome and I love the time we spend together. I enjoy sleeping next to you in bed and holding your hand. But sex isn’t the same as that. Kissing isn’t the same as that. I would love to kiss you and have sex and make this relationship more physical but I want that for the right reasons. I want to have sex with you because you want to, not because you think we should. Not because studies show couples have sex on holiday or because you did it before.” You counter, squeezing his hands.

“It’s hard for me to want things. I don’t think the way you do.” He reminds you. You give him a soft smile and step back to throw away your ice cream. Your hand is cold against his cheek but he doesn’t react. Not the way a human would.

“I know Ash and that’s okay. I don’t mind if our relationship never turns physical, if it doesn’t look like other relationships. I enjoy spending time with you and I care about you. It’s okay to not want something.” You assure him but instead of looking relieved, he looks angry.

“But I should! I want to want things the way you do, the way normal people do! I watch everyone go through life, experiencing the world and they feel things. I don’t feel things and it’s not fair!” He yells. People walking by look at you but you don’t pay them any attention.

“But you do feel things, I know you do. You don’t like the BeeGees. You prefer wearing blue over any other color. When we went to the museum, you said you liked Monet over Manet. Those are opinions, those are feelings. Sure, they might not work the same way mine do, but human beings are all so different. We all see the world in different ways and I’m sure there’s someone out there who thinks the way you do. You may not be able to eat the food you try, but you still want to try it. That’s feelings.” You say before leaning forward and kissing him softly.

His lips are soft and dry and if you close your eyes, which you do, it’s like kissing a real person. You pull back and notice his eyes are closed as well. Your heart thumps against your ribcage.

“I don’t need to kiss or have sex to function properly. But that was nice. It was soft and it made you happy. Seeing you happy makes me happy. I know that sex is something couples do to show their affection and I want to do that for you. I want to make you happy in that way. I want to kiss you and have sex and be like a normal couple.” He says definitely, pulling you into a hug. He’s very good at hugs but you make a mental note to have him look up asexuality when this is done. It’s not a perfect comparison but it might help him feel better.

“Okay Ash, when we get back to the hotel, we’ll have sex. But until then, let’s just explore. Want to see Notre Dame today?” You agree, your hand sliding down his forearm to mesh between his fingers. This time he leans down and kisses you. It’s still a little stiff but you’ll teach him. He wants to learn. Pulling away, continue your walk down the bridge and onto the street.

“Yes, I would like that.” He smiles, and you fall in love.

Tagging @babbushka because she asked so nicely lol.

#be right back #do androids enjoy paris #black mirror #self insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfiction #ash starmer #ash starmer x reader #ash x reader #this is just a weird oneshot that wouldn't leave me alone #i just think the idea of ash staying in that attic is so sad #he deserves to see the world #domhnall gleeson #black mirror fanfiction #not beta'd #this is obscure and i dont think anyone will read it #but i wanted to put it out #my writing

53 notes · View notes

mylatinlinernote · 6 years

Text

Unwanted Honours: Severus as Godfather. Part 4 with epilogues

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

-In that hellish year that followed after Albus’ death, Delphini was a surprising bright spot for Severus.

-Visiting Delphini offered the rare opportunity to, albeit briefly, relax. He would attribute it to being a kind of respite from the seething hate directed at him each day by colleagues he had once thought were friends. Which was partly true.

-Severus would never admit the thrill he felt when Delphini smiled at him, gurgled at him, curl into his arms. It made him ponder his childhood and whether his own father or godfather ever felt this way and what happened that twisted the hearts of his parents so that they could never utter a kind word to him or each other. As the tiniest of fingers grasped onto the folds of his cloak he did his best to banish the past and hold the child a little closer.

-Never in his life did he think he’d covet something of Bellatrix’s.

-Despite these small moments of warmth, he couldn’t ignore the cold fear for what lay ahead for this child regardless of which side won. Maybe he too would end up in Azakaban for 13 years with outlandish dreams of godfather/goddaughter adventures only to have a brief but neutered freedom before being bested by a curtain.

- It was enough to almost make him lose his conviction in Dumbledore’s plan. Almost.

-According to Narcissa, neither Bellatrix nor Voldemort spent much, if any time with the child. Nor was Narcissa or the other Malfoy’s allowed anywhere near the nursery which was located in their own house. Care was left to the house elves and Severus may likely be the only human face or voice the infant would see for days or even weeks.

-Severus knew what an unloved, unadored child could turn into, be treated by others but as the month of May drew closer and all signs pointed to Potter making his way closer and closer to the castle, Severus knew he had to consider the likelihood of his own end.

-His plans, up to this point, always included retrieving Delphini from Malfoy manor and fleeing Britain, maybe even the continent entirely. He could try to live without magic again, but he wouldn’t dare deprive Delphini of her gifts the way he own father had tried.

-Severus was loathed to admit that although Delphini was overlooked by her own father, she would certainly be protected by whichever followers remain. Potter survived thus far despite an inauspicious start with muggles in a closet under the stairs. Delphini would surely fair better as Riddle saw to it that no muggle relations remained living who would deny the child her birthright.

-As he laid dying in the shrieking shack, he fought desperately to hold back the ferocious flow of memories that were escaping from every orifice as he wanted to die with something to hold onto for comfort. While his memories of Lily ebbed away to nothingness, his thoughts of Delphini remained clear and loud and in his final panicked moments, he wanted Potter to know that she existed and that she needed protection. However, the world went to black once he had asked Potter to look at him.

Epilogue (Cursed Child – the AU where Harry died)

-Upon hearing the news of Severus receiving the Dementor’s kiss, the Augury flew into an inconsolable fury for days. She refused to believe that her beloved Godfather would betray her and conspire with two of the most wanted fugitives in the wizarding world.

-By the time she came to her senses, the Augury had killed Umbridge, Malfoy, and 20 other witches and wizards in a very bloody and public purge.

Epilogue (Cursed Child – the main plot)

-Severus this, Severus that; whomever this Severus was, he was all Lestrange could talk about.

-Delphini surveyed the dark, yet busy pub he had apparated them too. A recent escapee from Azakaban, her companion appeared at the Rowle’s cottage one day with promises of revealing her true lineage and helping her reach her true potential, if she were to hide him and procure a month’s supply of Polyjuice potion.

-Delphini had met her end of the bargain but was wondering whether she was being made a fool of as the man continued to drink using the galleons she had stolen from her foster mother.

-She made a motion to leave when Lestrange grabbed her arm and forced her back into the booth they were sitting in. The establishment they were in was the sort where rough treatment of women was not a concern of the patrons.

-He fumbled through a pocket in his robes and pulled out an old photo, jabbing his finger violently in the tiny faces as if they had personally insulted him.

“Tha’s yer mother, my late wife Bellatrix. The dark lord’s most faithful servant. Tha’s the Dark Lord, Voldemort. He’s your father. The greatest wizard to ever exist and that…” driving his nail into the nose of the photographed man “… is the mudblood-loving, half-blood scum traitor who helped kill them.”

-Delphini had a fleeting feeling of disappointment. She had thought that maybe her parents were the woman with the white blond hair (who’s features she closely resembled) and the tall man with the hooked nose (who was actually holding a baby) instead of the haughty, disinterested, yet wild-looking brunette and the nose-less man who was more snake than human. Her disappointment turned to pride as Lestrange of the powerful magic her parents were capable of.

-“o’ course…” he belched “ I’ll give ol’ Snape credit, he was a damn better occlumens than the dark lord was a legimens. Don’t know how he got away with it for so long but the dark lord must’a caught him out in the end”. Delphini looked up from the picture, where the man with the hooked nose could be seen readjusting the swaddling blankets. “Nasty snake bite to the neck they say. Bled out before the venom could get him. Easy way out for a traitor like him but it’s not for me to disparage the Lord’s methods”.

-Delphini nodded slowly as her eyes returned to the photograph; The man with the hooked nose looked around him and appeared to give Delphini a small, but pained smile. A flash bulb memory of a soft darkness, a low voice, and the smell of sandalwood and juniper hit Delphini’s mind.

-“May I keep this?” She asked.

Epilogue (a happy-ish, AU ending)

-The sounds of footprints were fading away as Severus’ vision returned, grey and blurry. He tried to yell, to move but could only shift his arms slightly as the felt like they weighed tons. He contemplated to just submit to his fate and die but his final thoughts of Delphini replayed in his mind’s eye with vivid technicolour. If he could get the bezoar out of his pocket, then he might be able to regain some motion and impede the effects of the venom on his body’s healing.

- He was found by Aberforth, who had spied Voldemort and Severus apparating into the shack. Aberforth was a most reluctant nursemaid and left Severus to his own devices for most of his recovery. Aberforth also had a cruel sense of humour, placing Severus inside the same room he spied on nearly two decades earlier.

- After months of hiding in the Hog’s Head, Severus had long overstayed his welcome. While the colour returned to his vision, he needed glasses to deal with the blurriness. Significant nerve damage meant he walked with a limp and his left arm was barely functional.

-However, Aberforth was dropping clear hints that he wanted Severus to move out as he was a non-paying customer and there was profits to be made, what with the influx of tradeswizards coming in to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade as well as the tourists who came to gawk at the tragedy.

-Severus had been presumed dead, burnt to ashes in the blaze that took out the shrieking shack. He still had his wand but didn’t want to arouse suspicion. He took the long way to Malfoy Manor, a combination of hitchhiking and using the funds Aberforth gave the former potions master to motivate him to vacate the village.

- He watched the Manor from afar for two days. The place was crawling with what little aurors were left. He was about to reveal himself to Narcissa when Dawlish had come by the relieve himself in the bushes during a perimeter check. Before being oblivated, Dawlish revealed that there was no infant present in the mansion despite evidence that the nursery had been recently used.

- At a loss, Severus eventually returned to Cokeworth a place so insignificant that despite its most infamous inhabitant, it was too much of a muggle dung heap for anyone to investigate. When he was able to get his hands on a copy of the Daily Prophet or the Quibbler, he gradually worked through the names of potential families whom may have given shelter to Delphini.

-it was almost a year after the battle of Hogwarts when he found her in the home of the Rowle’s. Severus wagered that if he took her, the Rowle’s wouldn’t do much about it for even if they did report the child was missing, a simple spell would reveal her true parentage and bring further dishonour to them.

-Delphini was older, toddling about, but had the appearance of a child who was not cared for. Severus did not think she would remember him but was none the less surprised when he was able to scoop her up from the garden without a sound of protest.

-He was Severus Snape: Most loyal deatheater, killer of Dumbledore, the most hated headmaster, and now kidnapper.

-Staying in England wasn’t an option nor was resuming his identity as Severus Snape.

-First, there was a couple of months in Morocco working for a wizarding cartel that trafficked forged artworks. Severus, or Hesperus as he was known, garnered a lot of sympathy as a recent widower while Delphini, now Daphne, was the delight of the workshop. Their time was cut short when a raid funded by Gringott’s meant a very close call by Bill Weasley.

-There was a year spent in the abandoned summer apartments of Igor Karkaroff in Bavaria. Dephini was a clever child having not only learned how to read but also to levitate her books. Severus made potions for the black market and made a comfortable profit from it. That is until village gossip got to him that the local wizarding government was cooperating with the Ministry of Magic as part of a clean sweep of Voldemort supporters on the continent.

-There were pockets of time spent in Italy, and parts of Asia. Each move occuring after Severus thinks he spies Potter, Longbottom, or Weasley lurking about. It takes literally bumping into Longbottom before Severus decided that it was finally time to try to make their way to America. They ended up in Salem but lived more amongst the muggles than amidst the magical community.

- He raised Delphini well. Despite the instability of her early childhood, Delphini had grown up into a lovely and confident young woman, albeit one who wielded considerable capabilities with the dark arts and could pass for the fourth Black sister.

-Severus knew what would happen if her thirst for forbidden knowledge was stifled too harshly or quenched by forces eager to destroy the world. He provided structure, safety, and expertise as well as boundaries and a gentle nudging away from texts and spells that were not appropriate for witches who weren’t of age.

- He had always spoken evenly of Delphini’s origins; who her real parents were and why he did what he did. He showed her a photograph from one of the gatherings, pointing out bellatrix, Voldemort, well as Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco.

-It was during one of these talks that Severus discovered that Delphini was a natural occlumens. Delphini’s face was also unreadable.

- Delphini, as Daphne, attended the Salem Institute as a private student. She became validictorian, on the honour society, and won awards across several fields of magic in America and abroad. She truly loved her Godfather but she had more questions about her parents than he was willing to answer. Despite his strong misgivings, Severus conceded to Delphini going abroad - Lucius and Narcissa had died prematurely and Draco, from all reports, had matured considerably.

-At the same time, across the ocean, Rodolphus Lestrange escaped Azkaban. He discovered the decades long betrayal of the Rowe’s and massacred the remaining members for losing Delphini so carelessly. As he walked amongst the carnage, he spied a section of the Daily Prophet with a sizable photo of Daphne and first place trophy from the International Potions Competition.

#snape #severussnape #severus snape #delphini riddle #harry potter

7 notes · View notes

delightfully-difficult-pirate · 7 years

Text

Assassin’s Creed: Misthaven (7/18)

Summary: For hundreds of years, the Brotherhood of Assassins and the Templar Order have waged war. For Princess Emma of Misthaven, that war has become personal. After a mission gone wrong, the Templar Grandmaster, placed a curse on Emma’s son that is slowly killing him. Emma will stop at nothing to save Henry, even if it means going rogue from the Brotherhood and consorting with pirates.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Sex, Adult Language.

AN: A special thank you to @preciouscucumber for being an ever patient and diligent beta. To @cocohook38 and @utopiozphere for the awesome artwork they have created. And to @icecubelotr44 for her encouragement every step of the way.

AO3

Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Art for Chapter 7 by @cocohook38

Killian, Swan, and his crew arrived in Camelot in the late afternoon and immediately Killian set about arranging lodging. He settled on The Frog and Frigate, and though the inn had definitely seen better days, it had enough room to house the seventeen of them without draining Swan’s purse. That same night, Killian set out to find a contact he hoped would be able to provide him with the information Swan would need for her mission.

Killian wasn’t in contact with many people from his days in the Templar Order, since many would be obligated to kill him on sight. However, there was one man he had made an effort to keep track of: William Scarlet, the self-proclaimed Knave of Hearts.

Will had run with Robin’s gang of Merry Men once upon a time, though he had never been an official member of the Order. He’d only become an associate after his lady love, Anastasia, had run off and married the Order’s second-in-command, Lord Ferdinand Stanford, who was also known as the Red King. Even so, Killian had worked with him on a few missions and had developed a fondness for the lout.

Years later, when Killian had set his sights on killing Lord Stanford, he’d gone to Will for assistance. The Knave had been more than willing to help. With the Red King dead, Will had had another chance to woo back Anastasia. The last Killian had heard the two of them were living quite happily in Camelot.

Scarlett was not a hard man to find. After asking a couple of questions, and passing over a few pieces of silver, Killian learned that Will could usually be found at a tavern called The White Rabbit.

“Got something to sell?” The barkeep asked when Killian inquired after Scarlett at The White Rabbit.

“I might,” Killian replied, tucking his hand and hook into his belt.

“Have a pint. Scarlett will be around in a bit,” he was informed.

Killian rolled his eyes, but bought a pint of beer and took a seat at an empty table. The beer was hoppy and not at all to Killian’s taste. The tavern, however, was just the type of place Killian frequented. It was full of disreputable men and woman and as he waited, Killian watched as numerous illicit deals were struck.

“So, Leonard tells me you might… By the gods, Jones! Is that you?” Scarlett exclaimed as he took a seat across from Killian. Killian could only laugh at the dumbfounded expression on Will’s face.

“Most people call me by my more colorful moniker now,” Killian held up his hook.

Will’s eyes glanced at the shining metal implement that had replaced his missing hand, but he quickly returned to staring open mouthed at Killian.

“You haven’t aged a day,” the shocked thief finally whispered.

Ahhh.

“Technically I’ve aged a few years since the last time I saw you,” Killian corrected him.

“Aged a few years…Jones, it’s been thirteen!”

Killian shrugged. “I spent about a decade in a realm called Neverland, where physical aging is frozen.”

Will frowned. “Isn’t that where your brother died?”

“One and the same,” Killian confirmed.

“What the devil drove you back to there?” Will looked at Killian expectantly, obviously expecting an exciting story.

Not in the mood to revisit one of the darkest times in his life, Killian gave Will a simplified version of his motivations. “I went to Neverland to retrieve Dreamshade, which has the ability to kill even the most powerful sorcerer.”

However, Will’s next statement told him that the thief was well aware of Killian’s turbulent past. “You wanted it so you can kill Robert Gold.”

The name of Milah’s murderer sent white-hot rage coursing through Killian. For a moment, he was back on The Jolly Roger, watching helplessly as Robert Gold plunged his hand into Milah’s chest and removed her heart. He’d crushed it with a squeeze of his fist and dropped the ashes in front of where Killian had been tied to the mast, slowly bleeding out from the loss of his hand.

Killian chugged the remainder of his beer, desperately trying to push back the painful memories

“Is that what has brought you to Camelot?”

“Sadly not. I’m here on business and was hoping you could help get the lay of the land.”

Will raised his tankard in a mock salute. “What do you need to know?”

---

Though she wasn’t keen to announce her presence in Camelot to the Brotherhood, Emma needed to know whether or not word of new status of traitor had managed to travel this far south. The local base in Camelot was operated by her old friend August. She was rather confident that even if he was aware of her treachery, he wouldn’t immediately alert the Brotherhood before at least hearing her out. He adored Henry.

August had gone to Camelot a few years ago to help establish an Assassin presence in the country. Though the mission had been marginally successful, the Brotherhood had established a local base of operations in the capital city to cement their small foothold. August had been placed in charge of the base in reward for his efforts and he now helped coordinate all Assassin activity in the region. He did so out of his teashop, Geppetto’s Tisanes, and that would need to be Emma’s first stop if she wished to make contact with him.

So, the morning after arriving in Camelot, Emma ventured into the city with only a vague memory of where August had opened his shop. Thankfully, people were eager to give her directions; the teashop was well known to the locals for having quality tea and tisane blends at fair prices. Emma was sure that the Brotherhood’s connections with trading companies played a role in that.

To Emma’s surprise and pleasure, Geppetto’s Tisanes not only sold teas and tisanes, but also served them. Patrons occupied all of the dozen tables that lined the shop’s walls. Men and woman from all social rankings, she noticed, taking in one man’s silk doublet and another’s rough canvas trousers.

Emma approached the counter and waited until the shop’s lone attendant, a young man, was able to attend her.

“Afternoon Ma’am. What can I get you today?” he asked as he wiped a stray tealeaf off the counter with a towel.

“I’m here to see Mr. Pinocchio,” she told him.

“And who may I say is calling?” The attendant asked, his eyes assessing her.

“Swan.”

He raised a brow. “Just Swan?”

“Yes. Just Swan,” she replied curtly.

The attendant nodded and headed through a door that Emma assumed led to the back of the shop. She studied the selection of teas behind the counter and contemplated purchasing some of the chamomile tisane.

When the attendant returned, he lifted a portion of the counter and indicated she should cross through the gap it left. Steeling herself for whatever happened next, she followed him through the same door he had left through earlier. She was right that it led to the back of the shop. She couldn’t see the walls for all the crates that were piled high along them.

August was sat at a table in the center of the room, placing tealeaves on one side of a set of bronze scales. It had been a few years since she’d seen her friend. There were a few more strands of grey in his brown hair and in his beard, which was longer than she had ever seen it.

“Swan, to what do I owe the pleasure?” August asked as he stood, coming around the table to offer her his hand. She caught a quick glimpse of his hidden blades before she took his hand and shook it, feeling odd. The August she knew would always wrap her in a hug whether she wanted one or not.

Did he know she was a traitor? That she had killed one of their brethren?

“Business, as I’m sure you can guess,” she told him, her voice as casual as she could make it.

August nodded, and then looked at the attendant who was still loitering behind Emma. “That will be all, Becket,” he ordered. Emma couldn’t help but notice the disappointed look on the young man’s face as he returned to the front of the shop.

“Follow me,” August whispered, pulling on her hand. He head led her around a pile of crates and down a very thin gap between them and the wall. It ended when it reached the corner of the room and Emma watched as August crouched and unlocked a trap door set into the floor. Though she was still a bit worried, Emma followed August through the trap door. Once he had lit a few lamps, she saw that she was in a subterranean room lined with all manners of weapons and gear any Assassin would could possibly need when on a mission.

“Emma, it is so good to see you,” August said as he wrapped her in the hug she had been missing earlier.

“It’s good to see you too,” Emma said, relaxing into his embrace.

After Emma had turned down his proposal of marriage when she had discovered she was with child, things had been difficult for the two of them. August had been bitter at her refusal and nothing Emma could do could sooth his injured pride. It had taken a few years, but eventually the two of them had returned to being friends despite that part of their history.

“I didn’t receive any notice that you were coming to Camelot,” August said, his brows furrowing.

“I’m afraid I’m not exactly here on official business,” Emma began. She was unsure of how to proceed with her explanation. August was one of her closest friends, but he was also a profoundly loyal Assassin. Even if he wasn’t aware that she was now a traitor, could she trust him to help, or at least not interfere, with her mission?

“There is a rumor that Robert Gold is here in Camelot,” she said, going with the same story she told Nemo.

Her friend frowned. “Are you sure? I haven’t heard anything like that; I would have sent word if I had.”

Emma shrugged. “I can’t be sure, not until I search.”

“Everything I have here is at your disposal,” August said as he got up and began searching through a desk drawer. He pulled out a copper disk about the size of Emma’s palm and handed it to her. “This will lead you to the safe houses we have set up in the city, should you need one.”

“Thank you, August,” she said, meaning it.

---

Emma returned to The Frog and Frigate after her visit with August armed with a detailed map of the city and updated knowledge of the local politics.

Rumpelstiltskin had arrived in Camelot three years ago, just months after young King Arthur the seventh had ascended to the throne. He had ingratiated himself quickly with the untried and nervous King, goading him into renewing his families quest to return the Holy Grail to Camelot. When the old King’s advisors had disagreed with the notion that some magical cup would solve all of Camelot’s problems, they had been booted removed from their positions. Rumpelstiltskin then became the King’s most trusted, and sole, confidant.

Understandably, angered a number of aristocrats and for the past two years, there had been a bit of a rift between the King and his court. Only recently had it begun to heal, with the King agreeing to marry Lady Gwendolyn, the daughter of Camelot’s formerly most powerful Count. Rumpelstiltskin was an outspoken critic of the marriage. Officially, he didn’t believe the woman suitable in temperament to be Queen, but everyone knew it was because he feared losing his influence over the King.

Emma was holed up in the inn’s private dining room contemplating whether or not she could risk speaking with the disgruntled members of the court in hopes of finding an ally when Hook found her.

“Swan! Care for a spot of lunch?” he asked, poking his head into the room.

At the thought of food, Emma’s stomach answered for her. Hook laughed and returned a few minutes later with two plates of food, one in his hand and the other balanced on the flat of his hook. Emma pushed her map out of the way to make room. Lunch was roast potatoes and a cut of meat Emma couldn’t immediately identify.

“Have you had any luck in finding the acquaintance you mentioned yesterday?” Emma asked, around a mouthful of well-seasoned potatoes.

“I did, in fact. Scarlet’s always been good at keeping his ear to the ground and I’m sure he’ll be helpful when we need information.” Killian poked at the meat with his hook as he talked and Emma was glad she wasn’t the only one who was a little suspicious of it.

“How did your visit with the local Assassin Leader go?” Killian asked, giving her a smug look.

Emma wasn’t surprised that Hook had known where she had gone even though she hadn’t told him of her destination.

“It could have gone worse. Word of my betrayal hasn’t managed to travel this far south,” she replied as she took a cautious bite of the meat. It tasted like goat, but she wasn’t entirely sure.

“I made sure not to tell Scarlet too much about what we had planned. Even so, he did let me know that five nights from now, the royal family is hosting a ball to celebrate the King’s recent engagement. It may be the perfect opportunity for us to abduct this Rumpelstiltskin.”

Emma stared at Hook, trying to comprehend his logic behind his plan. “A ball… You’re suggesting we infiltrate the royal castle of Camelot and abduct the court sorcerer while they are hosting a ball?”

“Come now, Swan. History tells me this is a tried and true Assassin tradition. Didn’t Ezio Auditore once assassinate a prince at his own banquet?” Hook countered.

Emma blinked. “He was protecting the Prince, actually.” she answered, amazed that Hook knew such an obscure piece of Assassin history.

He waved his hook dismissively. “Regardless, at a soiree of this size, the guards will be tired, over worked, and likely a bit drunk. It’ll be the perfect time to go unnoticed.”

Slouching in her chair, Emma rubbed her forehead, frowning. However much she disliked the proposed plan, she had to admit that Hook’s reasoning wasn’t far off the mark. With so many people attending a royal function, there would be plenty of unknown faces to blend in with if needed.

“I can only see this plan working if Rumpelstiltskin isn’t attending the ball itself. We can’t kidnap him from a room full of people,” she said, beginning to consider the plan against her better judgment.

Hook grinned, excited, and Emma’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll talk to Will again and see what he can tell me about the sorcerer’s habits. Providing, of course, you don’t mind giving him an idea of who you are after.”

Emma thought about that as she finished her lunch. She wasn’t thrilled about the idea of revealing so much about her plan to another person. As friendly as she had become with the men of Hook’s crew, only the Captain and Starkey knew the target of her mission.

“Do you trust this Will Scarlet?” She finally asked.

Hook took his time to think about her question before answering. “It’s been over a decade since I’ve worked with the man, but he’s never been the type to sell out another for his own benefit. The only way he would betray us would be if Anastasia is in danger.”

Emma had to grudgingly admire Hook’s honesty, but she wasn’t ready to let down that wall yet. “Why don’t you take me to meet Scarlet and I’ll judge for myself whether he is trustworthy.”

---

Killian was initially hesitant to take Swan to The White Rabbit. Even though he knew that Swan was more than capable of taking care of herself, he felt the need to protect her from any situation where she might need to do so.

So during the walk to the tavern, Killian found himself walking closer to Swan than was strictly necessary, under the guise of telling her about his history with Will Scarlet. She asked a lot of pointed questions, probing his memories of the thief.

When they reached The White Rabbit, Killian casually rested his hand on the small of Swan’s back as he guided her towards the bar. She gave him a questioning look, but didn’t object.

“Will you tell Scarlet that Jones is here to see him?” Killian asked Leonard, the same barkeep from the night before.

“Got something to sell this time?” the man asked, glaring.

“No. But he should be expecting me.” Killian had had Logan deliver a message to Scarlet earlier in the day that he would be stopping by.

Leonard grunted. “Scarlet’s busy. Have a pint while you wait.”

Killian noticed Swan rolling her eyes at Leopold’s recalcitrance as he purchased two pints of beer. He was happy to see that they appeared to have run out of the hoppy beer from the night before and had switched to an ale.

He and Swan took a seat at a table near the back of the tavern. Since they both wanted to keep their backs to the wall, he and Swan both ended up on the same side of the table. Together, they sipped their ale and watched the taverns other patrons. Well, Swan was studying their surroundings, but Killian found himself watching his companion instead.

“Has your friend become a fence?” Swan asked, her eyes glancing around the room. He figured she was cataloguing all of the available exits.

“I suppose,” he answered. It fit. Scarlet had always had a good eye for valuables.

Killian was almost finished with the halfway decent ale when Scarlet dropped into the seat across from Swan and himself. Scarlet gave Swan a quick once over before he grinned at Killian.

“Jones, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“Scarlet, this is Swan. It is her business that has brought me to Camelot. Swan, William Scarlet.” Killian introduced them and watched as the two of them sized the other up as they shook hands.

From the way she was frowning, Swan was clearly unimpressed with Scarlet. Killian couldn’t blame her; Scarlet had always had an aura of a man who couldn’t be fully trusted. His smile, unless it was for Anastasia, was always a little sly, his hands too quick.

Regardless, Swan forged ahead. “I need to know about the court sorcerer, Rumpelstiltskin.”

Scarlet clucked his tongue. “He’s a mystery, that one. Showed up out of the blue a few years back and weaseled his way into Arthur’s good graces. Word is he practices dark magic.”

Swan frowned, evidently unhappy to be receiving information she had heard before.

Scarlet continued, “Came to see me, last year, asking about some dagger. Gives me the creeps, that one.” Scarlet gave a visible shiver to emphasize his point. “Is he who you’re after?”

“In a way,” Swan said tersely.

Scarlet shrugged his shoulders. “Well the Kingdom won’t be sad to see him gone. What kind of information do you need?”

“I need to know his habits. Does he keep to himself? Spend most of his time in Merlin’s Tower? Go anywhere in the city on a regular basis?” Emma demanded.

Taking a sip of his pint, Hook watched as Scarlet leaned back in his chair, obviously deep in thought.

“Rumor has it he spends most of his time in the Tower,” Scarlet said eventually, with some reluctance. “Only really appears when the King requests his presence for meetings or royal functions. Even then, he leaves as early as protocol allows. Rarely comes into town.”

Killian grinned. If Rumpelstiltskin normally left royal functions early, he would likely be alone in his tower the night of the royal ball.

“Any chance you have a map of the castle?” Killian found himself asking, excited that his plan may have true merit.

Scarlet rolled his eyes at him before he replied, “Might.”

“It would be quite helpful if we could borrow it,” Swan said as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

Scarlet looked unconvinced about lending out such a valuable bit of information. Or at least he was until Killian fished into his pocket and laid a couple of silver coins on the table. Scarlet quickly scooped them up.

“It’s at home. I’ll bring it by your inn in the morning.”

---

Emma was pleased to find that Scarlet was good on his word and did, in fact, show up the next day at The Frog and Frigate just as she was finishing her breakfast. Map acquired, she and Hook commandeered the same private dining room she had used yesterday to pore over it.

The map was remarkably detailed. It not only included the locations of main rooms and halls, but smaller ones such as closets and lavatories. There were even notations about the usual routes guards took in different parts of the castle when on patrols. She had no doubt that Camelot’s King had lost some precious items to the intrepid William Scarlet.

“If this is accurate, there is a small gate on the south side of the castle that leads to the gardens. It looks like there is a service road that cuts through the forest that leads up to it. We could enter the grounds there and as so long as we avoid the kitchens, we should be able to make our way towards the Tower without being noticed,” Emma muttered, mostly to herself.

“Yes, we could do that, or…” the sound of a chair scrapping against stone caused Emma to raise her head. Hook made his way over to where she sat and held out his hand in invitation. Confused, Emma none the less placed her hand in his and allowed herself to drawn towards him.

“Or, we could attend the celebrations as invited guests, have ourselves a jolly good time, and then wander off.” Hook’s left arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her close, and he began to lead her in the first few steps of a waltz. “The guards won’t outright challenge a couple of lost guests, or those seeking somewhere private for some.... personal delights.” Hook had brought his lips close to her neck as he’d spoken, practically breathing the last words in her ear.

Emma shivered. “We’re planning to abduct one of the most powerful sorcerers in the realms and all you can think about is personal delights?”

“I am a man of many talents, Swan,” Hook whispered.

Emma allowed herself to enjoy the feel of Hook’s arms around her for a moment longer than she should have before pulling away. He let her go without a fuss.

“First things first. We have plans to make. Pleasure will have to wait for later.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Emma figured she was in for some witty and flirtatious comeback from Hook. Instead, he simply smiled and bowed. “I look forward to it,” before joining her in once more studying Scarlet’s map.

“We can make out way to Merlin’s tower through the gardens,” Hook added, tracing the route he was describing with a finger. “Once we have the sorcerer, we can go out through the gate you mentioned. Starkey can meet us with a carriage or cart.”

Together, they managed to come up with the beginnings of a plan that seemed like it would actually succeeded. However, there were a few factors that needed to be sorted before they could fully commit to arranging the finer details.

One, they would need invitation to attend the royal ball.

Two, a well maintained but unremarkable carriage would be needed to transport them to the castle and again away once they had Rumpelstiltskin in custody. It would also need to be sturdy enough to make the overland trip back to Hedge’s Run and The Jolly Roger. Hook had deemed it too dangerous to involve any of the local barge captains and risk the journey by boat.

And, most importantly, three, Emma would need to determine how she could hide any necessary weapons and gear she would need within whatever frippery was in fashion this season for Camelot’s ruling class.

The invitation, of course, would be the hardest to obtain. When asked whether or not he though Scarlet would be able to procure one, Hook shook his head.

“I’m sure he can get us a carriage no one will miss and some respectable clothes, but I doubt he is that well connected. We will need a legitimate invitation. A stolen one would only get us arrest.”

Disappointing as his assessment was, Emma agreed.

Sadly, that would leave them with only one other option: The Brotherhood.

---

Around midday, Emma set out once again toward Geppetto’s Tisanes. August, she hoped, would have the contacts to procure an invitation and not ask too many questions about why.

The teashop was busy when she arrived, with both August and Becket alternating between being behind the counter selling tea and serving those customers drinking at the tables. Emma managed to secure a table of her own when a couple of elderly gentlemen left and settled in to wait.

After a few minutes, August brought her a pot with tea a deep red in color and a single cup and saucer. No sugar, no cream. He knew she wouldn’t use either.

The tea was her favorite, called Yunnan Black, and it came from Mulan’s home empire in the east. It was rich and malty, with a note of sweetness at the end.

It reminded her of home, of long days learning the intricate art of diplomacy from her mother and even longer nights mastering the Assassin’s deadly arts. Mulan had first introduced her to the tea when the two of them had been Initiates together, trying to memorize the many ways to kill with a single stroke of a blade.

Allowing herself to enjoy the memories, time passed, and eventually the shop’s business slowed enough to August to join her at her table. He brought with him his own pot of tea, a pungent smelling brew that made her wrinkle her nose.

“It is a pleasure to see you again so soon, Emma,” her friend said with a smile as he sat across from her.

“Likewise. However, I’m afraid I am here to talk more business,” Emma replied, glancing around to assess the safety of speaking in the shop. It was mostly empty, with Becket behind the counter and a few patrons lingering at a table on the far side of the room.

August gathered their pots of tea and cups onto a tray and transported them into the back of the shop, jerking his head to indicate she should follow.

“This should be fine,” Emma said. Trying to make August navigate the steep ladder down to the secure room below while balancing pots of hot tea seemed dicey.

August nodded and together they cleared a spot on his worktable.

“I need an invitation to the royal ball being held in a few days,” Emma said frankly.

August barely reacted to her blunt request. The only sign of his surprise was barely visible tightening of his lips. He, like Emma, had been well-taught not to show shock even at the most outrageous of statements.

“Emma, why?” he asked calmly.

Emma sipped her tea, fortifying herself. “Robert Gold enjoys the finer things in life and isn’t likely hiding among the common folk of Camelot. If I am to find him, he’ll be among the elite of the kingdom.”

August studied her for a few moments. Every Assassin was trained to spot a lie, but they were also schooled in how to tell one without giving any of the telltale signs.

“I have a few contacts who may be able to get one. I’ll see what I can do,” he said at last, sighing heavily. “Just promise me you don’t do anything rash, if you do find him. I can’t help you if you create a diplomatic incident. Not without the Brotherhood’s say-so.”

“I promise,” Emma said. The lie tasted like ash in her mouth.

Chapter 8

A/N: Trying something new by putting the art in the story, please let me know if you like it!

#CSBB #CSBB 2017 #CS FF #CS AU #Captain Swan #Assassin's Creed: Misthaven #My writing #AC:M

29 notes · View notes

lightshadowverisimilitude · 7 years

Text

Ashes 1/2

This is my fairytale retelling (Cinderella), requested by @bromocresol0green, who is doing some artwork for it.

I really appreciate all the fairytale suggestions,and I think I’m going to do a few of them. I think Rumpelstiltskin might be on the agenda. ;)

This first part is about 7,000 words, so watch for the cut.

Tony was only six when his mother died. He wished it was one of those memories that he couldn’t forget – the color of the sky, where he was when Jarvis came to find him, what he had for breakfast that morning, or what game he was playing at the time. He didn’t remember any of those things, didn’t even remember the last thing he’d said to her or she to him. All he knew was that she’d left the house in the morning and then never came back. He couldn’t remember her dying, but he remembered what her death did to the house. Everything seemed to grow duller, smaller, and quieter. Dad started drinking (more) and Jarvis hugged him (more), and somehow the sun kept rising and the flowers kept blooming (even her favorites).

He was sixteen and sitting on the floor in the workshop, surrounded by the bits and pieces of a dozen different projects the day Jarvis left in the morning and never came back. The sky was the color of robin’s eggs behind the big-leafed tree outside his window, and he’d eaten nothing for breakfast at all. It was Obie who dropped all his bulk in the chair beside Tony’s desk and said, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, kiddo…

Dad had been away on business for a month already and wasn’t due back for another month.

Just you and me now, son, Obie said.

~*~

The tower at the north-eastern corner of the manor house was freezing in the winter, but it caught the wind during the hot summer months and stayed pleasantly cool. Cooler, at least, than the rest of the house, though the nights dropped back into the territory of frigid. The sun always hit his window before anywhere else in the house, so Tony was awake as soon as it got light out. He wasn’t naturally a morning person, but he also couldn’t sleep in anything less than total darkness, and Obie had taken his curtains away a long time ago.

Best to be up and at’em! He’d said, tearing the heavy tapestries down and tossing them over the railing. Stunned, Tony had just watched as the bundles of fabric had dropped through the open stairwell and landed out the floor five stories below with an echoing fwam!

It had been a shock at the time, but maybe it shouldn’t have been. Tony had been moved into the tower (for more privacy) when he was seventeen, less than a year after Jarvis died. He’d been happy enough about the move at first – privacy, and two floors of space to take up with his projects. Two weeks later, Obie had moved Darren Cross and Tiberius Stone into the rooms that used to belong to Tony and Jarvis.

“It’s just easier,” Obie had explained, clapping his big hand on Tony’s shoulder and giving him a little shake, “With all the work they do for your father’s company, I need them close. Now that I’m here looking out for you,” he’d put in.

Tony hadn’t minded at first – he stayed in his tower except for mandatory tutoring lessons in the mornings and afternoons, and they did their work in the office with Obie. It was three months before his tutors had stopped coming around (and Tony had barely noticed, really he didn’t need their help with anything. The only reason they’d been hired in the first place was because it was expected for a wealthy man’s son to be educated). Two months later, Obie dismissed the clean staff, and Tony had ended up taking over the general maintenance of the house (“Your father’s business isn’t doing so well. Someone has to take up the slack. You understand, don’t you?”)

Two years after Jarvis died, Tony’s second floor of curiosities and projects mostly just gathered dust. The sun hit him in the face in the mornings, he stumbled downstairs to help Cook make breakfast and get everything into the dining room, and then went out to feed the chickens, pigs, and horses. He helped Darren and Tiberius get dressed for the day, and did laundry, and swept the porches, and dusted. He washed floors, and beat the carpets, and spent whatever free time he had in between weeding his mother’s garden.

Through all the chores and the mending and the labor, Tony stared up at his tower, where a million and one fantastic things called out for him and went neglected.

“Someday,” he’d say late at night, poking his head up through the trapdoor and gazing tiredly up at the dust cloth covered forms. “The business will pick up, and I’ll have more time for you.”

~*~

Tony woke when the sky was still steel gray. The sun wouldn’t be up for at least another hour, and he’d only just gotten to bed sometime around midnight, but he wasn’t going to get back to sleep. He yawned and stretched until his back popped, and then swung his feet out of the bed and into his slippers. The left slipper had worn through at the bottom and there was a thin spot the size of a five gold piece right over the heel, but he kept forgetting to mend it. He pulled a woolen sweater over his pajamas, automatically running his hands down the sides. Jarvis had knitted it for him just before he’d died, and it had stretched enough over the years that it still fit.

“Get up, lazy bolts,” Tony said, nudging his toe against the Dum-E’s curled form. He leaned down to feed a handful of coal into the artifice’s burner, and then screwed off the water cap, popped a funnel in the opening, and carefully poured a bucket of water into the tank.

Dum-E rattled as he warmed up, his joints squeaking as he stretched his armature. Obie would probably murder him if he ever caught Tony smuggling the bits of coal up, but Dum-E didn’t need much. He was a very efficient creation, the first artifice that Tony had gotten to work independently of commands.

In his corner, Dum-E whined for oil. Tony checked the cabinet for the bottle and gave it a shake. It rattled softly. He sighed. “This is the last of it, buddy. I’ll try to get you some more later.”

Dum-E stretched his arm out and did his best to stay still while Tony drizzled the last of the oil into his joints. His wheels squeaked when he rolled out of the corner, but he moved well enough. It was the base of his arm that was the bigger concern – Tony winced when the artifice stretched up to take the broom off the hook and the joint briefly stuck. He put the oil can upside down over a dented tin cup, hoping that he would get a little more out of it before he had to go downstairs.

Dum-E didn’t complain about the stuck joint, and started swishing the broom around the room. He may have been an energy efficient creature, but he was not a very effective maid. Tony perched on the edge of the desk and watched in amusement as Dum-E trundled back and forth over the cramped space, the twigs of the broom just barely brushing over the planks, and mostly just hitting everything except the floor.

The sky over the mountains was starting to turn gold, and it would hit his tower window in less than twenty minutes. He left Dum-E to his swishing, slid into his chair, and picked up his screwdriver. A palm-sized artifice sat under a cloth, belly-up. He’d rescued a handful of useable gears out of the clock Darren had thrown against the wall the day before, and one of them should be just small enough to get his little artifice moving.

Dum-E stopped his interpretive cleaning long enough to meep derisively when the artifice’s legs started moving. Tony closed her tank and gently set her on her feet. She looked like an oversized ladybug, steam drifting up from the two ports on her back, her entire body rumbling with the force of the water boiling under her shell. Dum-E waved the broom at her, and then huffed out a puff of steam and rolled away when she didn’t respond.

“You’re beautiful,” Tony told her, but she just started turning circles on the desk, showing no signs of understanding.

The sun crept through the window and fell across his new artifices’ patchwork body, highlighting all the mismatched parts. She continued her mindless circle on the desk, and would probably keep at it until she ran out of steam. Tony sighed and picked her up. Her legs kept churning, and Tony realized that the first two were twisted a little – which explained the constant circles. He set the artifice bug inside a box where she could safely make circles all day, and then moved the box under the desk.

“Friday,” he said, watching her trod along in her circle. “I’ll call you Friday.”

Predictably, she didn’t respond. Just as predictably, Dum-E hooted at him in obvious disapproval.

~*~

The irony of it was that if Obie would just give him time to work on his experiments, they could be running the house practically hands-free. With better materials, and better tools, and more time, Tony could build an army of artifices to clean the house, a whole system of moving parts to help Cook in the kitchen, a machine that could wash dishes for him, even artifice waiters to serve meals and set the table. They could have doors that answered themselves and could identify guests by name to whatever room was needed.

Instead, Tony was on his hands and knees scrubbing the entryway floor with a rag and bucket of gray water getting grayer by the minute while Darren and Tiberius argued in the office. He kept his eyes pointed at the floor, but his head was up in his tower with Friday, hammering out how to fix her front legs and designing the magic that would give her life. Maybe a voice. He’d been working on voices for a long time, but the best he’d been able to manage so far was Dum-E’s beeps and chirps.

It was difficult to give life to smaller, more complex artifices. Making them move was one thing – child’s play, any watchmaker could do it. Giving life was the work of an artificer, and Tony was the best. Could be the best, if he could just get off the damn floor.

A pair of boots passed into his line of sight and stopped in front of him. Tony sucked in a deep breath and sat back on his heels to look up. Darren stood above him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at Tony with one eyebrow hiked.

“Are you going to get that, Mr. Stark?” he asked. His lips pulled into the same nasty smile that he always wore when he said Mr. Stark. Tiberius called him the same thing, as if it meant anything, when it meant exactly the opposite.

Tony just stared at him, confused, until a loud series of knocks came from door behind him. He looked over his shoulder, not sure how many times he’d missed the knocking while he’d been thinking about how to make a door that answered itself.

Darren smirked and walked off, trailing mud across the wet floor. Tony threw the rag back into the bucket with a suppressed snarl and pushed himself up to his feet. He found a page at the door dressed in the sharply tailored red and gold jacket of the palace, his riding boots speckled with mud. He held his cap under one arm, an artifice gun at one hip and a sword at the other with the golden winged helmet pendant on his chest that identified him as a palace servant. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen.

“Good day,” he greeted stiffly, casting a glance over Tony’s soaked knees and patched tunic. “I have a dispatch from the palace for the master of the house.”

Tony had given up insisting that he was the master of the house while his father was gone on business. He just opened the door wider and held out a hand. “He’s away on business. I’ll take it to his business partner.”

The page gave him another hard look. “This is a royal dispatch,” he repeated pointedly.

“And I will give it right to Mr. Stane,” Tony said in the same slow cadence. “Look, just give me the letter and I’ll get you a sandwich and some beer, alright? You can sit in the kitchen until he’s read it, and take back his reply.”

The Stark estate was only an hour’s ride from the palace, but judging by the amount of dust on his jacket and face, he’d probably been delivering dispatches all day. He looked back at his horse, a lovely white gelding with mud up to his knees, and his head hanging down in obvious fatigue. The page finally nodded and reached into his satchel to pull out a heavy golden envelope with the royal seal pressed into the flap in deep blue wax.

“Fancy,” Tony observed, drying his hands off on the hem of his tunic and reaching for it. The page visibly winced, but let it go. Tony rolled his eyes. He led the page over the still-wet floor, tracking even more mud across it, and into the kitchen. Cook stood at the massive center island, up to his elbows in flour, working a lump of dough across the surface.

“Sit here,” Tony said, yanking a chair out from the prep table. It was covered in vegetables and herbs waiting to be chopped. “I’ll make you some food when I get back.”

Cook cast a glance over the page, turned his watery blue eyes up to Tony, and then grunted. Cook didn’t talk – the thick rope of scars that looped around his throat and disappeared under his jacket had turned his voice into nothing but a gravelly whisper. Tony had never even been able to get a name out of him, and Howard – unsurprisingly – didn’t remember it. He’d shown up after Jarvis’ death and had run the kitchen ever since.

Tony found Obie sitting behind Howard’s giant oak desk. The room used to be split between his mother’s couches and embroidery, and Howard’s books and drafting table. When Darren and Tiberius had moved in, Obie had shoved the couches into the solar and replaced them with two smaller desks. Everything that had been Maria Stark’s had been thrown out or sold. Tony had only managed to save what he could hide under his vest.

“Tony, m’boy!”

Tony jerked. He’d been staring at the faded carpet under Tiberius’ desk where his mother’s couch used to sit under the window. He tore his eyes away from the carpet and crossed the room to slide the dispatch onto the desk. Obie looked up from his ledger, and up to Tony, and then down to the dispatch.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear, kiddo. You feeling okay?” he asked as he snagged the dispatch and leaned back in his chair. He turned it over, examining the seal.

“Fine,” Tony muttered, but Obie didn’t acknowledge that he’d spoken, and didn’t look away from the dispatch. Tony should have opened it – technically he was the master of the house, he had more right to read his father’s mail than Obie did, but he’d learned from that mistake.

Obie slid a letter opener behind the seal and pried it open, tearing the golden paper in the process. He unfolded the delicate paper inside and read over it. The paper was so fine that Tony could see the lettering through it. He could probably read it if Obie would hold it up to the sunlight.

“Interesting,” Obie said, tapping his chin with two fingers. “The king is holding a three-day festival to celebrate Prince Thor’s successful campaign in the west.” He looked up, seemed startled to realize that he was talking to Tony rather than Tiberius and straightened up in his chair. He gave Tony a patronizing smile. “It should be fun! Two days of sports and events, three evenings of dancing and entertainment.”

“Can I go?” Tony blurted out. He winced. He hadn’t gone along to a ball or gala in several years.

Obie leaned back in his chair once more, tapping the back of one hand with the invitation. “I don’t know, son,” he said finally. “I’m not sure that we can afford to send you to such a big event just for fun.” He shook his head sadly, and pushed himself out of the chair. Tony already wished he hadn’t spoken and was ready to just turn and leave, but Obie reached out and grabbed his shoulder. He squeezed a little too tightly and held Tony out at arm’s length.

“Tiberius and Darren and I will have to put up the expense to go to this thing,” he said, keeping his voice low and sympathetic. “I would rather not, you understand? If it were my choice, I would stay here and outfit you in the finest suits so you could go have fun with your friends. It’s not really my choice though, you understand? I have to keep your father’s business going while he’s gone.”

Tony gritted his teeth and forced out a smile. “I understand,” he said.

“It’s just that this will be a good opportunity to make contacts for your dad’s business,” Obie continued.

“I understand,” Tony repeated, trying to move away.

Obie shook him hard enough to make his head hurt. He stepped back, back Obie moved with him. “Now listen,” he said, dragging Tony in for something that had the same basic shape of a hug, but felt more like being caught in a vice, “You’ve been good and you work hard. You deserve to go. If you can get the carriage mended by the end of the week, maybe it will save us enough gold to get you a suit for one of the balls. How does that sound?”

Tony tried not to feel grateful or excited, but he was both. “I’ll get it fixed,” he said. Last week, just getting to work on the carriage would have been exciting enough, but getting to leave the manor, even for a night? He couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks, Obie.”

“No thanks are necessary, son. Just get the carriage fit for a visit to the palace. Oh, and this thing is next week – make sure you get Tiberius and Darren’s armor polished and mended, and clean the guns, and the sports gear.”

“No problem,” Tony said. It was a tall enough order just to get the beaten-down carriage presentable, mending the mess that those two idiots had made of their armor and getting the ceremonial pistols in working order would be close to impossible. He took a deep breath. “I’ll get it done.”

“Of course you will,” Obie said. He patted Tony on the back hard enough to make him stumble, but Tony turned the momentum in a jog and ran out of the office.

~*~

Tony rolled onto his stomach and wiggled out from underneath the carriage. It was creeping toward midnight, his fingers were stiff with the cold, and he was covered from nose to knees in oil, but at least the moon was nearly full. Tony sat back on his knees and looked up at the carriage. It wasn’t his best work, but he was pressed for time and resources. It wouldn’t hold up long-term, but it would at least get them to and from the palace for a few nights.

Scrubbing a hand down his thigh to wipe away the worst of the oil, Tony climbed to his feet. He patted the door fondly – two more days to polish and repaint the carriage and it would pass muster, and just barely on time. A yawn boiled out of his chest that cracked his jaw wide and gave him a head rush. He leaned against the carriage and waited for the dizziness to pass, and then bent over to pack up the tools. He cast a quick glance around the yard – he didn’t expect anyone else to be up, but it would be just his luck that Tiberius would be having trouble sleeping and decide a brisk midnight walk was just the thing. Assured that he was alone, he swaddled an almost-empty bottle of oil in a bundle of dirty rags and tucked them into the crook of his arm.

The kitchen was still warm from the evening meal. As much as Tony wanted to get to bed, the draw of the banked fire was too much to resist. He nudged the tool box under the bench by the door, and set the bundle of rags carefully on top, feeling through the fabric to make sure the can stayed upright. He pumped up a bucket of water and dumped it into the cauldron to warm while he dug the dish soap and the pumice stone out from the cabinet. As long as Cook didn’t catch him, he could scrub off the worst of the oil in the warm kitchen rather than shivering in the yard. The running water system, and probably hadn’t been updated since it was originally installed in his great-great grandfather’s day. He could have updated it to provide hot water on command, but as long as the boilers in the bathrooms continued to work, Obie didn’t see a need for the changes.

Hands stinging from the pumice and skin pebbled with cold, Tony hurried through the main hall. He could have gotten into the tower from the back storeroom, but it would have been icy cold, and the stairs that far down were rickety. He preferred to go through the second floor passage behind the Coronation Tapestry when he had a choice.

“Did you hear the brat thinks he’s going with us to the festival games?”

Tony froze on the second floor landing. He had his armful of oily rags held against his chest and he was still shivering from his quick scrub in the washing bucket. The sooner he made it upstairs, the sooner he could get into clean clothing and under his blankets the better, but Darren’s annoying bray of a laugh drew him away from the gaudy tapestry of King Borr’s coronation and down the hall to library.

“Don’t worry,” Darren said as Tony drew up to the door. It was cracked open to spill a thin beam of warm yellow light over the faded carpet. “Did Stane tell you about the list of chores he gave him? He’ll never finish everything on time, and even if he did, what the hell does he think he’s going to wear?”

The pair broke into another round of laughter. Tony clenched his teeth – he could hear ice rattling around in glasses and smell his dad’s pipe tobacco. The assholes were sitting in his dad’s library, drinking his dad’s scotch, smoking his dad’s tobacco and laughing over Tony’s clothing? He straightened up sharply to pound on the door, but stopped at the last inch before hitting the heavy oak.

He knew from experience that he couldn’t take them both in a fair fight, and they would have the advantage. If they got into a fight, Obie would restrict him from going to the festival for sure. He’d probably also add it to the list of things to tell Howard when he got back so the old man would have something else to rave about when he got drunk. The best way to shove Darren and Tiberius’ noses in it would be to end up sitting across from them in that damn carriage.

Teeth clenched together so hard that his jaw started to ache, Tony backed away from the door as their conversation turned to making bets on which of them could get Lady Sif into bed. Tony hadn’t seen Sif for almost three years, but the last time someone tried encourage her into bed, she’d sent him running from the palace without his pants and half the court laughing after him. Tony would like to see one of them try.

I hope she castrates you, he thought as he pulled the tapestry back and eased the door to the tower open. It swung soundlessly on its hinges, letting a gust of freezing air into the hall before he made it to the stairs. Silence fell in the hall behind him, but Tony quickly pushed the door closed behind him and rushed up the stairs.

“Got your oil, buddy,” Tony called into the cold bedroom.

Dum-E beeped guiltily and straightened up from where he’d been crouched in the corner. Tony eased around the bed and peered over the artifice’s bulk to see Friday trapped under a scrap of wood set in the fireplace, surrounded by the contents of Tony’s waste paper basket and a dozen broken matches.

Tony blinked. “What do you two think you’re doing?” He set the rags down on the desk and crossed his arms over his chest, looking over the mess.

Dum-E made a vaguely accusatory sound and rolled back from the fireplace. Still trapped under the wood scraps, Friday meeped angrily back at him. Dum-E puffed steam out at her and decidedly turned away. He nudged at the nest of rags and whined piteously.

“You two were trying to start a fire,” Tony realized. “So the room would be warm for me?”

Friday squeaked excitedly, but Dum-E just made a rolling noise and shoved at the rags again. Tony shook his head, unable to help a laugh. He stepped over Dum-E and lifted up the broken plank Friday was trapped under. She picked her way out of the fireplace, tracking soot behind her, her tank rattling out a trickle of steam.

Tony held a hand out for her to climb into while Dum-E made an indignant noise behind him.

“I didn’t forget about you,” Tony promised. He set Friday down on the desk and unswaddled the can of oil. “Let me get the base of your arm, and then I’ll refill Friday’s tank and give you a good cleaning, okay?”

Dum-E graciously gave Tony permission to carry out his plan, stretching his arm out and holding still for the oil. Blowing into his hands to warm up his fingers, Tony carefully drizzled oil into the major joint, waiting for Dum-E to work it around before adding a little more. Friday was just as eager and far less patient for her water, and ended up spattering him with droplets of boiling water in the process. He stifled a hiss of pain, replaced her cap, and gave her a little nudge to get her moving again.

The room was frigid and the wind was making a racket against the windows, but he’d managed to stop up most of the cracks over the winter and it would warm up as soon as he got the fire going. Dum-E stretched his arm up to lean over Tony’s shoulder while he got the fire started. Tony dropped to his stool and watched as the flames flickered over the remains of a broken crate he’d scavenged from the last delivery. As soon as the weight was off his feet, they started to throb. His knees and back quickly joined in. He just wanted to go to bed, but he’d promised Dum-E, so he shoved himself back to his feet and dug a clean rag out of the bin.

“Come here,” he said, sitting on the bed and patting the space between his legs. Dum-E pushed in between Tony’s feet and set his arm gently against Tony’s shoulder. Tony was so tired that he didn’t even notice when Dum-E lifted his arm away until Friday dropped on the bed beside him. She crouched down next to him, blowing steam up toward his face. It smelled like iron, but it was warm. He shivered in response, and leaned closer to her.

“This festival is going to be fun,” Tony said to the room at large. “Who knows what I’m going to wear, but maybe it would be better to go dressed as a servant. Who needs dancing anyway – and then I can go through the booths and maybe pick up some of the components I need. I’m still convinced I can get you a voice, you know.”

Friday chirped, but Dum-E just made an indignant noise.

“I know you can talk just fine without one,” Tony assured him, working the cloth down into a crevice between Dum-E’s wheel and body where dust tended to accumulate and turn into mud. “But it would be nice to hear a friendly voice sometimes.”

Dum-E’s only response was a low whistle. Tony wasn’t done with the cleaning, but the artifice rolled carefully away, nudged Tony’s shoulder with the claw at the end of his arm, and backed into his corner.

Tony watched him settle in, and then eased Friday into her box. “Night,” he said softly, with only beeps to answer him.

~*~

The morning of the opening ceremony of the festivities, Tony packed Tiberius and Darren’s sports gear into a case and added it to the pile of luggage in the entryway. Tiberius was in a snit over his boots – which had too low of a heel for current fashion, and Darren had dumped his suitcase out on the stairs four times to complain about what Tony had or hadn’t packed.

Tony was one more syllable away from punching Darren in the face, but kept his mouth firmly closed. He didn’t want to give Obie even the implication of an excuse to leave him behind, and it was obvious that the two older men were trying to goad him.

He packed up the dueling pistols and then hurried everything out to the carriage before one of them could find something else to complain about. They weren’t even staying overnight at the palace, though the sheer amount of luggage suggested a week long holiday. As soon as everything was strapped down, he hurried back up to the tower.

Jarvis had been much taller than Tony, broader in the shoulder and narrower at the hips, but Tony been working to alter one of his suits in whatever scraps of time he could get. He still had a lot to do before the suit would be wearable, and it would never be fashionable, but he’d outgrown the last suit that had been made specifically for him years before. Some extra fabric scavenged from the lining of one of his mother’s gowns, and some trim he’d taken off of one of Darren’s suits when altering it, and it would just about pass for something new. The new fashion was to wear decorative armor plates over formal wear, but Tony would never be able to manage that. If he was lucky, he would just pass as a servant and be ignored. He wasn’t interested in the ball anyway, he just wanted to visit the artificer stalls, and he didn’t need a fancy suit of armor to do that.

“Tony!” Obie howled up the tower as soon as Tony had sat down with the needle again.

Tony sighed, cast a glance over the mountain of work he still needed to do, and considered just ignoring him.

“TONY!” Obie shouted again, voice rising dangerously.

Abandoning the puddle of fabric, Tony hurried to the door and called over the rail, “Coming!” In an undertone, he added, “Not like I have absolutely anything else to do.” He ran the fabric through his fingers and let out another frustrated sigh. “Guess you’ll just have to wait.”

~*~

It was past noon, Tony’s suit was still in pieces, and Tiberius and Darren were getting dressed. They would be leaving in less than an hour, and Tony wouldn’t be going with them. He sat slowly on the bottom stair and put his head between his hands. He’d barely left the house in years, and there would be vendors at the festival with tools and materials and artifices that he wouldn’t be able to see anywhere else.

He took in a slow breath and let it out. It was fine. This was only the first day of the festival. There were still two more. It wouldn’t be so bad – he would have the house to himself, a rare luxury, and Obie might even be too rushed to give him a list of chores before he left. He could spend the night finishing his suit, and be ready the next night. He nodded to himself and straightened up.

Before he could stand up, Obie rounded the corner, saw him, and changed directions. Tony suppressed a cringe and tried to get out of reach, but Obie put one big foot up on the stair next to him and leaned down to grab his shoulder. The weight of his hand forced Tony back to the stair.

“Why aren’t you getting dressed, kiddo?”

Tony bit the inside of his cheek to stop the sharp reply that tried to break his teeth on the way out. He swallowed it down and grit out, “I don’t have anything to wear.”

Obie’s hand tightened on Tony’s shoulder. “Oh, damn, son. In all the hustle I forgot to have the tailor come by.” He snapped his fingers in sudden thought, the sound as loud as cracking wood a few painful inches from Tony’s ear. “I bet I’ll see him tonight at the ball. Why don’t I talk to him and have him send one of his assistants around tomorrow to take some measurements. I’m sure he can alter something for you.”

“Sure,” Tony said tightly. His face flushed with heat and he had to breathe through his nose to keep from shouting that he was doing his own alterations – it wouldn’t do him any good, and he was still hoping to go the next day.

“Chin up, kiddo,” Obie said, patting him hard on the shoulder and then ruffling his hair. “You’re not going to miss anything on the first night.”

Obie straightened up and reached over to fix his cufflinks. He was wearing a lightweight collared shirt that buttoned in the back and a loose jacket to allow for an armored chest plate to be buckled underneath. On Obie’s big frame, the armor plate would look ridiculous, but a lot of court fashions were. Tony let the idea of Obie clanking around a room full of fat, clanking nobles cheer him up and rushed up to the tower before Tiberius and Darren emerged from their rooms in their own ridiculous suits.

“Guess it’s just you and me tonight,” Tony called when he was still on the stairs. He stopped when he heard a series of excited chirps and trills, peering suspiciously up the last few steps to the bedroom. A loud crash heralded the box of spare parts falling off his desk. Tony winced, and crept up the last few steps, peering over the landing in expectation of Dum-E tangled in the bedding again.

He blinked. “What is this?”

Struggling out from under a bundle of fabric, Friday uttered a huffy beep at him. Tony rushed into the room and helped to free her from what turned out to be the remains of a silver scarf that Tony vaguely remembered Obie wearing to a gala the year before. Tony set her down on the bed and stared at the old armor rack. Dum-E plucked at the suit, steam whispering around him.

It was horrible. Between the two of them, they had managed to cobble together a chest plate from the box of spare parts, the pieces crudely joined together with leather straps over the suit that Tony hadn’t quite finished over the day. The lace trim on the cuffs had been glued on, and none of the buttons matched, but it had a crude sort of charm that the rich eccentrics at the ball might just go for.

He covered the circular piece in the center of the chest. It was his power source – eventually, someday, if he could just get it to work. His chest felt tight and he couldn’t seem to stop blinking. He looked at the two artifices, both of them shivering half in excitement and half with the steam in their tanks. “You two did this for me?”

Dum-E whistled and Friday added in several excited beeps. When he just stood there staring at the suit, Dum-E gave him a hard shove to get him going. Tony heard the faint echoes of movement downstairs and hurried to strip out of his dirty tunic while fumbling with the straps on the chest piece. The noise downstairs was getting louder, and Tony hurried into the suit pants, hopping around on one foot to get the waistband over his hips. Nothing fit quite right, and he didn’t have time to put his shoes on. He ended up carrying his shoes with the chest piece draped loosely over his shoulders. Dum-E and Friday hooted at him encouragingly while he clattered down the stairs.

“Wait!” he called from the top of the entryway stairs. Darren was just out the door with the Obie and Tiberius following on his heels. “Wait,” Tony repeated. He was out breath from the run in the heavy armor plating. “I’m coming.”

“I see you found a… suit, Mr. Stark,” Tiberius said, giving him a slow once-over.

“It’s very fashion-forward,” Tony said with as much amusement as confidence, “I think the young crowd is really going to respond to it.” The look on their faces was enough to make up for the cumbersome weight of the chest piece.

“Ah, Tony,” Obie said. His eyes were sharp where they took in the details of Tony’s suit. “I’m not sure that there’s room in the carriage with all the armor we’re taking along.”

Tony frowned. “That carriage could fit six with luggage.”

“Oh, you mean that old piece of crap that your mother bought?” Darren asked with a snort of laughter. “We had to move the luggage over to a rental after that old junker broke down the second we tried to start it.”

“I fixed that carriage myself,” Tony protested, starting down the stairs. He’d started it in the morning to make sure there were no lingering issues.

Tiberius rolled his eyes. “That explains,” he said under his breath.

“I’m sure it was just fine this morning,” Obie said, but the smile on his face was just as smug and oily as the other’s. “But the fact is that we had to call a rental, and it just is not going to fit all of us.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Darren suggested.

“We’ll see,” Obie agreed, “Though with the money we had to spend on the rental…” He clomped up the steps and reached for the straps at the shoulder of Tony’s chest piece. He examined it close up, tugging the straps into place and unsettling two other plates in the process. He smiled the same oily smile, expression turning amused and pitying.

Obie tipped his head and fingered the gray sash that was functioning as Tony’s belt. “This looks familiar.”

Tony glanced down – it was a strip from Obie’s old scarf cut away from the stain that had prompted him to throw it out. Always quick to smell blood in the water, Tiberius slid up the stairs behind Obie. He reached over the bigger man’s shoulder and snagged a button on Tony’s jacket. He pulled it up to peer at it closely.

“Aren’t you a little magpie?” he asked, yanking hard on the button. It snapped off, clattering musically down the stairs and rolling to stop on the floor.

Tony didn’t need any kind of magic to see what was coming next. Obie backed away and Darren jogged up the steps to join Tiberius circling around him. They reached out periodically to snag bits and pieces that Dum-E and Friday had pulled out of Tony’s scavenge bins. Tony shoved Darren away when he tried to grab the reactor out of Tony’s chest piece, and Darren responded by shoving him back. Unbalanced and heavy with the armor plates, Tony stumbled and tripped on the stairs going up. He fell in a loud clatter of precariously attached pieces falling away.

Always quick to anger, Darren cocked a fist back, but Obie snagged him by the elbow.

“No need for violence,” Obie said calmly. He looked down at Tony with an expression of profound disapproval. “We’ll talk about your habit of taking things that don’t belong to you later.”

“Yes,” Tony snarled before he could stop himself. “Let’s talk about taking things that don’t belong to you.”

Obie arched one eyebrow at him. “I expected better out of you, Tony,” he said sadly. “Come along – we don’t want to be late to the festivities.”

Darren yanked hard on his suit jacket and smoothed his hands over his head as if he had any hair to brush back. Tiberius just gave Tony a superior smirk and they both followed Obie down the stairs and out the door. Tony heard the popcrack! Of a badly tuned steam engine pulling out of the courtyard and then silence.

His breath came in heavy pants and he was only faintly aware of the heat in his wrist where he’d landed badly on the stairs. With a loud shout, he pulled on the straps holding the chest piece on and struggled out of the mess of iron and mismatched pieces, leaving them on the stairs in a heap. Obie had left the door open and the cold air filled the hall. Tony would have just left it open to blow in leaves and dirt all night, but he would be the one cleaning them up the next day.

He ran through the door instead and slammed it hard behind him. The carriage he’d worked so hard on sat in the courtyard, one tire slashed open, and a messy jumble of tubes hanging down from the bottom. He kicked the slashed wheel once, and then again. A spark of pain shot up his leg and he jumped away from the carriage, holding onto his injured foot, and ended up tripping over a loose stone. He landed on his ass in a puddle left over the morning rain and just sat in it.

#ladyshadowdrake writes #cinderella AU #3/52 #52 for 52 #wip #stony #howard stark's outstanding parenting #obadiah stane

94 notes · View notes