Hawke/Rose, Dickens prompts, "Accidents will occur in the best regulated families."
Hiii Ammy. Here's the second chapter of my Distraction Fic, the disastrous (at least according to Alsatia!) introduction between Rose Trevelyan and Garrett Hawke. For @dadrunkwriting
This follows the first part which I did for DADWC a few weeks back.
Summary: Leandra Hawke and her old friend Alsatia Trevelyan introduce their incorrigible children at the Hawke Estate in the hopes that a favorable match can be made. Rose POV
Rating: Teen
WC: 1692
Pairing: Rose Trevelyan x Garrett Hawke
oOo
Alsatia’s near giddiness at the sight the Amell mansion’s grandeur chafes unbearably in Rose, who glowers lightly at it with the same remonstrance she always applies to these calculating matchmaking endeavors.
“It’s larger than I remember,” says the elder woman, raffish in her admiration of the excess.
The estate is impressive whether Rose wishes to admit it or not, a work of elegant symmetry in pale gray marble with large windows that gaze upon a courtyard dotted with trees. The entry is festooned in wreaths and garlands of laurel and bay leaves, no doubt the work of Leandra who Alsatia reports has quickly reabsorbed herself in the inane pursuits of most fine ladies.
They pull on their cloaks, the makings of a frigid downpour complicating the short walk between the carriage and the main entry. A stout worn-out looking redheaded man Rose assumes must be a dwarf opens the main entry and stands in wait, a pleasant expression enlivening the deep set lines of his face. Rose could count the number of dwarves she’s encountered on both her hands, the exposure to Thedas’ varied races and cultures she’s long craved and long been denied invigorating her.
“How do you do, my lady Trevelyan. Right this way,” says the man in an immediate breach of protocol that causes Alsatia to stiffen. Doormen should never speak of course. Rose pokes her mother in the back in the hopes of reminding her not to be ungracious with her facial expressions.
The dwarf follows them inside to a substantial vestibule where a fire roars and crackles in wait. A massive creature, so large and muscular it seems one could hardly call it a dog, lazes limp in the fire’s radiance, snoring soundly. A Mabari, Rose notes, delighted to see one in the flesh. Once again her mother is startled by the dwarf, who, in a horrifying turn, appears to be both the steward and the doorman. Rose can gather her mother’s thoughts which almost certainly grapple with the Hawkes’ apparent shortage of appropriate staff.
“Make yourselves comfortable while I fetch Mistress Leandra. My son will see to your luggage.”
Another dwarf enters and stares at Rose, his wide, ice blue eyes fixating upon her face with both awe and utter delight. Alsatia seethes quietly at the impertinence as he collects their luggage and shoulders a trunk easily, watching Rose the entire time.
When he leaves the room, Lady Trevelyan huffs to herself softly.
“No footmen?” she remarks on a hiss. Rose hates that her own suspicions were correct.
“Indeed. How could they possibly make do?” Rose replies, the edge of sarcasm so soft that her mother might not notice. They pace in restrained circles, taking in the cornices and marble tiles and the elegant staircase that bends around the back of the room. The place feels shockingly hollow, barely lived in in spite of the warmth of the fire. But then, they’d only just moved in that autumn after the younger Hawke’s infamous success on his Deep Roads treasure hunt.
As the introduction looms, Rose feels her insides twist and hum, an unruly sense of anticipation muscling its way out from underneath all the disinterest. She chalks it up to being eager to see what manner of man would fail to excite her interest this time, but truthfully the Amell heir has provoked an abiding curiosity that has persisted since she first heard of him. A truth she squashes down as she hears footsteps up above.
A man appears on the mezzanine then descends the steps two at a time, advancing toward them in easy swinging strides and stands over them both with a dashing yet remarkably goofy grin under a beguiling bright blue gaze.
“So which one of you is the woman I’m supposed to marry?”
Maker.
While her mother stands thunderstruck by the gall, Rose fumbles for words behind a savage blush. Nobody told her he’d so Maker damned… tall. She tries not to think about how the rumors had been true, that he’s devastatingly handsome in a sort of scruffy, roguish way. The finery of his apparel does very little to buff away those rough edges. His overgrown chestnut hair is tucked behind his ears and he hasn’t shaved in a few days at least.
Protocol dictates that they require an introduction, but he’s already barreled his way past that and stands waiting for one of them to speak.
“That would be me,” Rose manages. Alsatia fires a sharp look in her daughter’s direction.
“Alsatia!” A refined voice calls from the top of the stairs. “I see Garrett has preceded me.” She glides her way down with practiced elegance that the years spent scraping by in Ferelden could never take from her. If she’s embarrassed by her son’s presumption one could hardly tell.
“Garrett, may I present my dear friend Lady Alsatia Trevelyan and her daughter Lady Rose,” she says. Both women dip in tidy curtsies and he bows politely with an elegance that startles Rose.
“A pleasure,” he says. “Ostwick, eh? You must be utterly knackered.”
“Not at all, our carriage is quite comfortable,” says Alsatia, the kind of polite lie spilling from her lips with such ease. They’re both exhausted and Rose’s mind wanders after her trunk where a comfortable pair of breeches and a jacket she buried under her finery lies in wait.
“I’ve never been a fan of carriages, to be honest. Turns your arse into a funny wedge shape after a day of travel,” he rambles.
Rose nearly breaks composure, a laugh threatening to bust through her practiced demeanor, the truth of his admission reminding her of her own sore, misshapen rear.
“Can I offer you refreshment? Antivan port? Garrett has procured an apricot brandy from Rivain that is just divine,” says Leandra hurriedly, obviously covering for her son’s casual banter. Alsatia glances at Rose, still in their cloaks. “Or… perhaps you’d just like to wash up and change for dinner. Yes. I— should have remembered. Orana will show you to your chambers.”
Behind them the door flies open and a troupe of three saunters in with such casual force that it seems they must live here as well.
“Shit,” mutters Garrett, running his hand through his chestnut hair. Practically humming with interest, she watches his reaction carefully and then turns to ogle the intruders.
“Hawke— Oh. Company! Delightful.” A woman wearing a frock coat over a shockingly limited amount of clothing for the weather and a suffocating assortment of gold jewelry sweeps her eyes up and down the Trevelyans appraisingly. Rose crosses her arms and lifts her chin, steeling herself against the barrage of nosy looks even as she surveys the intruders with the same sharpened curiosity. By the furrow in his brow, Garrett looks ready to tell them off but someone speaks.
“Dougal is on his way here,” says an elf with a shock of carefully mismanaged white hair and a shockingly large sword strapped to his back.
“Dougal? Now? I thought the deal was settled,” says Garrett who then curses softly. Rose watches her mother tally the marks against him as they roll in.
“Not according to him. He says he wants a bigger cut,” says the half-dressed woman in gold.
“Well sod that,” answers Garrett. “He didn’t do a blazing thing to help the expedition.”
“Then we fight,” says the white haired elf again.
“I’m sure I can talk some sense into him,” says the younger Hawke, glancing back at his mother apologetically.
“Garrett,” Leandra scolds him sharply, her expression agonized as he spoils her carefully arranged fix up.
“He’s on his way here,” he says, leaning to kiss Leandra on the cheek and squeeze her arm with genuine affection. He casts Rose and Alsatia a helpless look, a devilishly handsome one, Rose thinks and makes his apologies. The man strides into the front vestibule with his strange group of friends where he begins divesting himself of his fine clothes without a scrap of shame. Rose’s face is claimed by a wave of heat that washes up into her cheeks as she glimpses his thickly muscled torso before it disappears under a tunic again.
“I’m— dreadfully sorry, perhaps you’d like to settle in right now,” Leandra says, glancing past the pair to see her son donning full plate while he discusses the details of this Dougal character with the others.
They’re swiftly ushered away from the sounds of chain mail and plate as Garrett Hawke dons his armor and makes ready to duke it out on the streets of Kirkwall. Rose feels her mother jerk her forward up the stairs each time she turns to peer at them once more.
The door to their guest wing closes behind them.
“Well. Perhaps it’s just an unlucky coincidence. Even the best regulated families have incidents. And they’re still working out the details. The staffing. The manners will come,” Alsatia rambles like she’s soothing herself.
“I was sure the man’s fortune would quiet all those other concerns of yours,” Rose jokes, laying her cloak over the back of a chair.
Rose flops down onto a chaise, poked again by her Maker-forsaken stay.
“What do you think that was all about?” asks Rose. “Dougal. The expedition.”
“Nothing decent,” her mother laments. “You saw those ruffians. But I suppose a wife could remake his ways.”
The daughter smirks doubtfully at her mother, who scoffs again momentarily before the corner of her mouth twitches in a reluctant admission of the ridiculousness of it.
“You’re right. This could be disastrous,” says Alsatia with a sigh.
Letting her head fall back against the chaise, Rose gazes absently at the ornamentation of the ceiling as she considers it. A thrill is busy consuming her insides. This is already so much more interesting than every other attempt to pawn her off. She smiles to herself softly and bites her lip.
“What are you simpering about?” snaps Alsatia.
“I was just thinking of how well he looked without a shirt.”
“Utterly indecent,” says Alsatia sternly, but her brow twitches ever so slightly. Perhaps the woman isn’t dead after all.
“Utterly and completely,” declares Rose.
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Raph Is A Great Strategist
Numerous times in the show Raph has shown to have a preference for straightforwardly punching his problems away rather than think up a more complex solution. Like how his immediate fix to getting Mayhem out of the mirror in Mystic Library was to punch everything in the bathroom but the mirror. However, when Raph understands the situation requires more in depth strategy, he’s shown to be an incredibly capable tactician.
(long post ahead!)
In nearly all the plot heavy episodes like Shadow of Evil, Many Unhappy Returns, and the season finales, Raph gets moments where he’s highlighted for his strategic thinking. In Insane in the Mama Train, he’s the one who figures out which eyeball-button goes to the front car with the dark armor, because “‘it was the only button [the Foot Clan] didn’t want me to press!’” [21:05]. He’s also the one who came up with the scheme to defeat all the (known) combatants in the train, with Leo specifically attributing Raph as the deviser during their mind meld [19:46]. In Many Unhappy Returns, after spending a single night waylaying the Shredder, Raph formulated a plan using all the tricks the team learned, seamlessly transitioning the mystic collar Leo acquired into it [19:53], to defeating the Shredder. Additionally, he’s repeatedly called for a retreat during fights, like in Shadow of Evil, Shreddy or Not (Finale pt 2), and the movie, when he can tactically recognize that a battle couldn’t be won. Each time, the show/movie implied that that was the right call, for the family to lose the fight but win the war.
And it’s not just that Raph is good at strategy when he’s pushed to be more serious; the show characterizes him as passionate about creating plans, he enjoys doing it. Literally in the first episode, Mystic Mayhem, after the turtles’ initial plan failed of getting Splinter out of the living room to touch his Do-Not-Touch Cabinet, Raph immediately started devising a new plan that involved “ten chickens [and] a gallon of rubber cement” [9:35]. It was convoluted, sure, and they didn’t end up using it, but it was inventive and the opposite of reluctant. This is also shown in Bug Busters, where Raph planned out dousing Mikey in honey to attract the oozequitoes [2:52]; Snow Day, with the idea to freeze Ghost Bear like in Jupiter Jim Pluto Vacation 4; and Raph’s Ride-Along (and also Bad Hair Day), where Mind Raph created multiple schemes to get the criminals arrested. The show wouldn’t have made Raph be so creative with his plans if they were trying to characterize him as someone who didn’t like strategizing.
So does why Raph do stupid shit sometimes where he doesn’t think things through at all? Well, even though Raph is good at strategy and enjoys doing it, it’s clear his immediate impulse is still “punch the problem in the face”. In fact, all the turtle boys contain the fascinating dichotomy of being incredibly smart in some areas, and the dumbest teenagers alive in others. Just look at Donnie. It’s also how Raph is a loving protective older brother, and the guy who shoved Leo into a wall so hard he disappeared in one frame for shits and giggles (The Mutant Menace x). None of this means that Raph is bad at strategy though.
tldr: Yeah, Raph has a lot of dumb and, frankly, insane moments in the show, but he’s still an incredible tactician who’s plans consistently saved his family and sometimes the world. He's a great strategist.
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hey, Leverage peeps, I've got a thought. I've seen a lot of posts and memes joking about Nate's inability to understand that his clients do not want money, they want revenge. I also find this funny. but I was thinking about it and I realized something: there's a personal reason behind it. there is a very, very good reason why Nate doesn't get that.
Nate's drive to lead Leverage, outside of the crew, originated from his son's death due to his insurance company's refusal to cover the bill for the required treatment. we all know this. if his company had paid for Sam's treatment, everything would've been fine.
…or, if Nate had been a little wealthier, had a little more change to spend… maybe he could've paid for it. maybe Blackpool never would've had a say in any of it. maybe Nate would've had everything under control from the start.
we've discussed at length in the fandom how money equals safety for some of the others in the crew (Parker and Hardison grew up with little to none and know its importance to survival, Eliot needs it to stay ahead of his old enemies, etc.), but I don't know that I've seen any discussion on how it's relevant to Nate. for him, however, money equals security in healthcare and in housing (he lost the house, remember?). Nate's older than the others. he remained in the same place for much longer, and he had a stable life for a while. the others haven't been in that position before. many of their clients, however, are at that place in life.
yes, for the others, money keeps them ahead of the game and it keeps them secure. but none of them ever lost a kid because they couldn't pay for healthcare. none of them risk losing the life of someone who is completely dependent on them when they don't have enough.
(Hardison, perhaps, has the closest understanding, considering he hacked a bank to pay for his Nana's healthcare. but he never lost her.)
Nate thinks ahead, you know? he has a long-term view of things. I imagine that for him, when clients refuse the money, they're not just refusing a month's worth of groceries, or a place to stay the night, or the ability to keep running. for him, they're refusing control over their hard-earned, stable, long-term living situation. they're refusing the potential to save a family member's life.
I dunno, guys. I think that's a pretty good reason to not understand why people don't want the money.
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