Double Trouble (
oohforeshadowing) wrote in
wondrousplace2023-03-22 07:25 pm
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olden times for Tommy
The great country pile isn't their speed, really.
Double had their lovely house in London, bought and paid for by their adoptive father - a High Fae of some high regard, who'd been fretting about their lands and accounts falling into strangers' hands when he passed on. It was a heartrending story, of course, and Double was...well, positively delighted to be anything the old man wanted them to be. For the right price.
Shapeshifters have long since had a bad reputation for sliding into the upper echelons this way. They hadn't been in penury to begin with, by any means, but 'lovely house in London' money and 'vast estates with mining wealth and hundreds of rate-paying tenants' money is not the same by some order of magnitude.
The old man died peacefully in his bed, well over a century old, and left the manor house and everything that went with it to their sole heir. Who is going to sell it all, eventually, but it feels tasteless not to even let their 'father's' body grow cold.
They move in after the last of their furniture has been transported, and lets the housekeeper give them the tour. They cut quite the figure: long blond hair pinned up in curls, a jacket and blouse tailored tightly to a corseted waist, the snug high-waisted breeches favoured by most males. Their tail is the most exposed part of them and the woman they're following keeps eyeing it like she's not sure if it's obscene or not.
"...show you the stables, your grace," she says, as she walks ahead to the outbuildings.
"Ah. I suppose we ought."
Double had their lovely house in London, bought and paid for by their adoptive father - a High Fae of some high regard, who'd been fretting about their lands and accounts falling into strangers' hands when he passed on. It was a heartrending story, of course, and Double was...well, positively delighted to be anything the old man wanted them to be. For the right price.
Shapeshifters have long since had a bad reputation for sliding into the upper echelons this way. They hadn't been in penury to begin with, by any means, but 'lovely house in London' money and 'vast estates with mining wealth and hundreds of rate-paying tenants' money is not the same by some order of magnitude.
The old man died peacefully in his bed, well over a century old, and left the manor house and everything that went with it to their sole heir. Who is going to sell it all, eventually, but it feels tasteless not to even let their 'father's' body grow cold.
They move in after the last of their furniture has been transported, and lets the housekeeper give them the tour. They cut quite the figure: long blond hair pinned up in curls, a jacket and blouse tailored tightly to a corseted waist, the snug high-waisted breeches favoured by most males. Their tail is the most exposed part of them and the woman they're following keeps eyeing it like she's not sure if it's obscene or not.
"...show you the stables, your grace," she says, as she walks ahead to the outbuildings.
"Ah. I suppose we ought."
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"That's the downside of being in the city. Everything's so close, you can do anything by coach."
He sounds obviously disapproving. What use is a place if you can't ride a horse?
"You ought to learn."
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"I accept your generous offer to educate me, Mr Shelby," they chirp, and move on before he can object. "What did Papa use this land for?"
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He'd assumed they would say this, though their enthusiasm is a little jarring. He doesn't protest.
"This part - hunting, mostly. Drive the animals through the woods and out here, you've got some good prey. The ground is rich, though. There may be coal to be found."
Coal. There's some use to it, but Tommy has heard of the machines being built that need it. Machines that don't rely on magic, machines that use human power. Materials they themselves can get.
It's a reason many of the supernatural-owned estates aren't being used for mining. Why allow humans to be more self-sufficient? The rewards would have to be quite substantial for them to accept that.
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"He told me he was having surveys done during his last visit," they murmur, meaning last both in the sense of 'most recent' and 'final'. "If he was keen on the idea, I don't see any reason not to continue the pursuit. Unless you think it would cause more problems than it might solve?" they venture.
Have an opinion on something that isn't horse-related, Shelby, they dare you.
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Well, fuck, they got him. He makes a face, happy they can't see him being caught out, but doesn't struggle this time.
"I think it could be very, very profitable, Your Grace. I'm just the stablemaster, but I know something is happening. But it's something human."
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"Mmm. You know we're not all magic users?" Double says. "Or rather, some of us are very niche. Shifters can't do anything beyond shifting. That's useful on occasion but it's not consistently helpful."
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"But do you get your hands dirty with human affairs? Most don't. It's human, so it's- lowly. Filthy. Unworthy."
He shakes his head.
"I don't get the sense from you, Your Grace, but you've surely heard this sentiment even more than I have."
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"Oh, certainly. I had acquaintances in London who couldn't believe I didn't join Papa out here the moment I had the opportunity," they sigh. Tommy will all but hear their eyes rolling.
Their voice changes abruptly - female, almost shrill:
"Humans are...fine, in moderation, but don't you think this city is a little too crowded with them?" Male, boorish: "If I was in your shoes, Double, you wouldn't have seen me for months. Thank the spirits that you're pretty because you're not very bright."
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He's never seen a shifter in action, and even hearing it now impresses him. He shivers, bending his head, letting the experience settle in.
"And here you are," he says after a moment, "in the countryside, riding sidesaddle behind one of those pesky humans."
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"Already enjoying myself a great deal more than I have in proper society for months," they agree. "And I wouldn't for a moment put it all down to sheer novelty."
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"No? What don't you enjoy about proper society, then?"
Better than asking what do you like here, since he can guess at that answer.
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Double hums thoughtfully.
"Have you ever seen a play, darling?"
Not at some city theatre, they very much doubt that, but - there are ways and means for even the poorest to catch a glimpse of the performing arts.
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He nods. "I have, a few times. Local shows, of course."
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"I love the theatre," they tell him, sounding positively dreamy about it. "I love watching an actor of tremendous talent treading the boards, inhabiting a role, making it their own. And to be entirely honest? Most of my peers in London spend their lives trying to play some role or other. Someone cleverer, more confident, more competent than themselves. Tragically, none of them are very good at it and it's grown exhausting to watch."
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He lets that sink in, impressed at their way with words. Looks like there's more to them than meets the eye.
"Are you good at it? Did you learn how to be?"
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Honestly, it's a pleasant surprise that he's even venturing to ask. They rest their head against his back and make a soft, thoughtful sound.
"I would suggest I've never really tried," they tell him. "Not from day to day, at least. But perhaps that means I've simply...disappeared into the role."
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"What's the role, then?"
Heir to a fortune? Rakish charmer, shamelessly flirting with everyone? He has some guesses, but that they may realize that it's a role endears them to him.
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"Oh, take your pick. Outrageous flirt, flagrant gossip, eligible bachelor - silly soft Londoner who can't so much as ride a horse? That would be a new one," they chuckle. "And you'll have some of your own, of course. You're playing the stoic domestic with me, but I'm sure you're a different person among friends."
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That makes him smile - the stoic domestic is a role he can live with. Keeps him out of sight and out of trouble.
"Who says I have friends at all, Your Grace?"
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"Oh, dear," they murmur. "Are you being so overworked you can't even venture out for a drink on occasion? You should have a few friends with fewer than four legs, I think."
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"I might share some of your community's ideas on humans," he says lightly - he doesn't, at all, but wouldn't that be a nice explanation for his behavior?
"In either case, if I'm the stoic domestic, what does it matter to you?"
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"It doesn't," they say, sounding almost baffled by the notion that it might. "I just find it...interesting, you know? If one has all these roles to play, to move between...who's to say which is real? Are any of them our true selves?"
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Ah - just suggesting things casually, then, as if the silly human doesn't know that it's good to have friends. He guides the horse sharply left, to take them to the real edge of the estate, separated from the next by distant hedges.
"I'm fairly sure I know who I am, within the roles I have. I can know who I am and still be something different to other people."
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Honestly, Tommy, they were just offering you extra time off.
"That's fortunate for you," they say, sounding a little distant for a moment. It passes. "You strike me as a man with very firm....convictions."
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"...I suppose I am. I've lived in the same place, done the same work, for over a decade. I've had time to stand still and consider. Nothing I would have done if I'd stayed in a city my whole life."
He thinks so, at least. Who knows what would have become of him.
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