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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"Well, I shall be selfishly rather pleased to have been a standout in that respect," they tell him, and bend down to press a kiss between his shoulderblades. "Can you stay like this a little while to let it take?"
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"Yes. As long as you stay and entertain me."
That little kiss spreads warmth throughout his body.
"Would you tell me where you grew up?"
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They are not only prepared to do this, but also to feed him a piece of chocolate.
"When I was young? Italy. Sicily, the little island in the sea? A beautiful place. Much warmer than here. Lemon trees and olive groves, and ancient cities."
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He takes it, happy to lie there and be pampered for just a moment.
"It sounds like a dream. Why did you leave it?"
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They smile faintly.
"Business. What else? My parents had, ah, concerns in London which needed their closer attention, or they believed they did. We moved when I was - perhaps twelve years old? That was when I first met the Duke."
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"I realize now I don't know how old you are?"
He reaches a hand out for another sweet.
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They give him a delicate little biscuit, sparkling with crystallised sugar.
"I turned twenty-five not long before moving here. And yourself? I struggle to guess."
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"Well, all humans look alike." He takes a biscuit and happily pops it into his mouth.
"Thirty-two, I think. Around there."
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They hum thoughtfully - then give him a teasing little pinch on the ear.
"You do not at all look alike. I'm just used to spending time around Fae, and you simply cannot tell."
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He chuckles and closes his eyes.
"How did you come to meet them, then? The Fae, your father, society."
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"Well, my parents had had links to London society for their whole lives. They'd moved away to Sicily for a while, then returned to the same circles they'd always moved in. Not just Fae, but fauns, goblins, elves - they were on good terms with the Thames naiads, as memory serves. I was introduced to Papa shortly after we moved back to England."
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"What was it like for you, to come from the olive groves and move right into the city?"
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"It was..."
They pause, and chuckle.
"It's worth knowing that you wouldn't have recognised me, as a child. I was...quiet, withdrawn, studious. The quiet rolling hills and ancient ruins suited me very well. And at first the city was...absolutely overwhelming. Nothing but noise and dirt and so many people. A diversity of humans and Realmsfolk like I'd never seen."
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"It sounds overwhelming. Cities can be so grating to the senses of a child used to nature. Was there anything you liked?"
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"At first? I liked the museums. The libraries." They nibble a piece of chocolate. "Then my mother took me to the theatre for the first time, and it was as if the world had opened. The music, the costumes, the emotion. It was glorious. I couldn't get enough."
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He smiles at them, happy to stay where he is while they talk, even if the salve has mostly done its work by now.
"Did you ever act yourself?"
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"A couple of times. Without my parents' knowledge, you understand, and not in my own skin."
This is a peculiarity of their castes. Realmsfolk may sometimes write plays or score operas, and they'll certainly own theatres, but most wouldn't be seen dead on stage. It's seen as being somehow beneath them. Conversely, some of the wealthiest humans have acquired their riches through the performing arts.
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"Indeed? What did you play in?"
The performing arts are far from his own interests, at least in performing them himself. He likes a good play as much as the next man, of course, but he'd never even try to act or make music.
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"Romeo and Juliet, as Mercutio - and Voltaire's Mahomet, as Palmira. I was drawn to tragedies, though I couldn't tell you why."
They stroke their fingertips through his hair, down to the nape of his neck.
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"Tragedies have all the best emotions. High and low, in extremes - that's what makes them so compelling."
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"I think you're right, darling. They were a test of my skills in a way I doubt I could have encountered in anything more lighthearted."
Not that they'd set themself an easy task to begin with. A shifter, playing a human, playing a dramatic role.
"I'd have kept it up if not for my parents' passing. I had their affairs to look after, and it became rather more difficult to disappear on a whim."
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"Is that when the Duke adopted you? As a charge, before adulthood?"
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"I had just turned eighteen," they recall. "He was already a godfather, of a sort, but with my parents gone he became a mentor to me. There was much I didn't know about dealing with the family investments and other such enterprises."
They exhale a soft laugh.
"I seemed to have tricked him into thinking I was responsible enough to be made his heir, and so it went."
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"Did you really? Trick him? Or was it just - you were there, at a moment when he needed an heir?"
Not that he cares either way, but he's curious.
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"...I may have nodded and smiled and bitten my tongue a few times rather than start an argument, when I could see it would lose me a fortune to be disagreeable," they admit. "But I'd still say it was more the latter than the former."
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