olden times for Tommy

[oohforeshadowing]

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."

Comments

[bleak_midwinter]

Tommy, on the other hand, had no idea such a thing even existed. He stiffens up immediately when the box starts moving, and though he doesn't quite reach out for them he's clearly not in his element.

"Is it - taking us up to the room? Fucking hell."

[oohforeshadowing]

If their host is at all surprised by Tommy's language, he has the sense not to show it.

"Our ascending rooms allow us to offer the finest views and quietest spaces to our most distinguished guests, without expecting them to climb so many stairs," he says instead. "It's proven quite a boon."

They're on the fifth floor, it turns out, in a suite offering them a view across a pleasant green surrounding the cathedral. The porter deposits their modest luggage, graciously accepts a few coins from Double and then disappears back out into the hall.

It's a beautiful space. A low couch and armchair around a fireplace, a desk for writing, a small dining table - a door to one side, leading into the bedroom. Double gratefully collapses onto the couch, stretching their legs and tail.

"A few minutes not to be moving," they pronounce. "Our appointment with the coachmaker isn't for a short while."

[bleak_midwinter]

He bites down on the curse after the first one, even coloring a little- way to let your nature show, Shelby. He keeps his hands off the bags, at least aware of that part of the etiquette, and only relaxes when they're left alone.

"Your father never liked to magically amend the house too much. Apologies for the, ah."

They know. Behaving like a pleb.

[oohforeshadowing]

"No apology necessary, darling."

Their tail snakes out to loop around his wrist, tugging him a little closer.

"Besides, human technology will catch up soon enough, no doubt."

They privately think the Fae and other magic users have collectively shot themselves in the foot by not sharing their magic more widely. Doing so could have kept the humans complacent, and reluctant to innovate. Instead, they've long since kept most of their talents to themselves.

[bleak_midwinter]

He lets himself be tugged, standing next to them, close enough to run his hand through their hair.

"I hope you don't mind if I say I hope so."

[oohforeshadowing]

They purr at the touch, more cat than chameleon, and tilt their head into it.

"I don't. I'm rather looking forward to the Fae and their ilk having a little more meaningful competition."

[bleak_midwinter]

"There are tonnes of pamphlets around these days, if you know where to look. People calling for a new kind of society. One where Fae don't hold all the power, where humans get a fighting chance to compete."

Although this human, right now, is just stroking their hair some more.

"What do you think of that?"

[oohforeshadowing]

Their eyes have fallen closed under Tommy's petting, but they open again now, at a lazy half-mast.

"I think that I'd like to know how literally we're talking about a fighting chance."

Competition is fine. Civil war is...tricky.

[bleak_midwinter]

He smiles down at them and strokes their hair away from their forehead.

"Not quite so literally, Your Grace. But a shot at equality won't be accepted so easily, will it? They'd fight us for it. Those of us working on this."

[oohforeshadowing]

Their eyes open fully, now, gaze meeting his.

"Yes, darling. They will."

The Fae and their ilk can't simply pack up and return to the Old Realms, even if they wanted to. Humans are generally given to believe that the supernatural caste are colonisers, that a few centuries ago they spilled out of their own thriving plane to capture new land, new resources, and to take advantage of these lesser beings. The truth is....less palatable.

A smile plays at the corner of their mouth.

"Is this your way of telling me that I have rebellion formenting in my own stables?"

[bleak_midwinter]

"Maybe you should put me back in my place," he says lightly. It's indulging a fantasy, but one that he feels safe to reveal to them now thar they've shown which side they're on. Maybe not explicitly human, but they're definitely not all for the Fae either.

"See about crushing that rebellion under your boot."

[oohforeshadowing]

"Oh, really."

They set their soles back down on the floorboards, rising smoothly to their feet, and lightly grip Tommy's chin between finger and thumb.

"You know what other Fae magic this hotel benefits from? Perfect soundproofing."

[bleak_midwinter]

He looks at them, meeting their eyes head-on, not smiling now - even though he feels a thrill at how quickly they're reacting in just the way he'd envisioned.

"I don't think you'd have minded if the other guests heard, would you? Let them know what's what?"

[oohforeshadowing]

"Not at all, darling," they purr. "....Although I would have minded being banned from this hotel, it's the nicest in town."

[bleak_midwinter]

"Well, then it's a good thing neither of us has to hold back, isn't it?"

He reaches down to lightly caress their tail.

[oohforeshadowing]

They make a low, animal sound in the back of their throat, very much approving of the touch.

"Let's head out before I force us to miss our appointment, darling."

[bleak_midwinter]

He smiles again, squeezes their tail - then goes to pick his coat back up, and holds theirs out for them to shrug into.

"I know the way there. It's a very short walk."

[oohforeshadowing]

"Wonderful."

And just as well, because a light, bitter rain has started to fall by the time they leave. The coachmaker is an amiable man - his features make Double suspect demi-Fae - who clearly knows a lucrative commission when he sees one. He shows them design diagrams, colour illustrations of the carriages he's completed, and shows them one rather beautiful coach that's been recently completed and is awaiting collection by its buyer.

"What do you think?" Double asks Tommy, apparently to the light bewilderment of the coachmaker, who hasn't quite dared ask who exactly Thomas is to them.

[bleak_midwinter]

"I think I know good work when I see it," he says, hands in his pockets as he looks at the coach. "If I could find a fault I'd tell you, but I don't. We need a coach and a modern model of the buggy we came here on," he informs them. "The color scheme is your own business, of course, but I think your father's colors would go beautifully with this dark wood."

He addresses Trouble, so he at least looks like he's deferring to them, but he knows they'd walk out of here if Tommy said the quality was bad. It's nice to be taken seriously.

[oohforeshadowing]

They would. And Tommy's endorsement is encouraging.

"I'll have a copy of the Duchy's seal sent to you," they tell the coachmaker. "The buggy, I'll leave in your hands, but I liked the second drawing you showed me, for the carriage."

A relatively simple exterior, but more luxurious inside.

"How soon can you have initial designs and colours ready to show me?"

The coachmaker is quick to reassure them that they can work quickly for such a commission, and if they return the following month there'll have everything necessary before building work can begin. Trouble signs a contract promising a generous deposit so work can begin, and before long they're heading back out into a thankfully drier street.

[bleak_midwinter]

"Nice to see a real craftsman at work," Tommy muses. "I can do repairs and some basics, but this is practically an art."

He helps them sidestep a big puddle, then a huge pile of horseshit, before adding: "And thank you for taking me along."

And listening to him. Things may have been alright with their father, but he never really listened.

[oohforeshadowing]

"Thank you for your counsel," they demur. "I'm not going to pretend to knowledge I don't have, in these areas. Now. Do you happen of a good tack merchant based here? There are some things I need."

Odd for them to be shopping for equestrian gear when they can't even ride.

[bleak_midwinter]

"I - yes, of course?"

Of course. He turns on his heel and takes them West instead of North, heading down a few streets to his preferred spot for really good gear. He's only been once or twice, and never for his own gear, which he just gets from the village merchant.

"It's pricey, but it was your father's preferred spot, as well as that of many of the jockeys in the area. What do you need, exactly?"

[oohforeshadowing]

"Mm. A hobble or two, a crop. Some harnessing, perhaps."

The picture of innocence.

[bleak_midwinter]

He opens his mouth, closes it, then clears his throat. The only shame is that they'll have to wait until they've bought it to try them out. He's no innocent waif, but this kind of opportunity doesn't come along often.

"You're going to be learning how to ride, Your Grace? It'll serve you well in the country."