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

[oohforeshadowing]

Double shakes their hand firmly, nods, and then immediately makes their way to the most exclusive hotel in town.

Hyperion and Alexandria are many things but they've never felt unpredictable.

In the body of a human servant, they explain with embarrassment to the night manager that they need to speak with the Lady Alexandria on their master's behalf - yes, now, it's important business that cannot wait until morning. The manager hedges, but then they see the scars on their fellow human's arms and the exhaustion in their eyes and seem to be taken by some fellow feeling.

From the expansive lobby, they take an ascending room to the top floor, where the Royal Suite awaits. Fortunately, the human staff place limits on the amount of magic the building can realistically use, so they do some very prosaic things to the lock with some hairpins to gain entry.

[bleak_midwinter]

The suite is fantastical. Humans will be able to easily clean and fix most things inside, but all the embellishments are obviously Fae-made. The ceiling swirls with a starry night sky, the wallpaper moves in a gentle pastoral scene. The hot water in the bathroom is more than evident, but more than that everything is voice-activated and utterly convenient.

It's also big. The entire top floor is taken up by the suite, leaving plenty of room for the siblings to avoid one another as they wait. In one room of the suite, Alexandria is writing a furious speech; in another, Hyperion is composing a piece of music.

In yet another, Tommy is cuffed to a bed, in another world entirely. None of them has any idea someone just entered the suite.

[oohforeshadowing]

The gifts which serve Double here are far more physical than magical. Their silent, barefoot tread; an awareness of their surroundings which leads them to avoid crossing near any bright lights, for the suspicious shadows that will be cast when they do so. They can see Hyperion through a half-open door, playing a violin with slow, delicate strokes, but pay him little mind. Through another door, they can hear Alexandria muttering to herself over the scratch of a pen nib.

The next door opens, thank God, without recourse to force or hairpins or even a creak. Beyond it they see Tommy and feel grief and rage spasm in their chest, but they force it down and close the door behind them before moving closer.

"Thomas?" they whisper - their own voice, their own eyes in their borrowed face.

[bleak_midwinter]

He's unresponsive, his eyes closed but his brow furrowed. He's on his side, wrist to the bed, but somehow Double might get the impression that he doesn't need more tying down than this.

He's under a spell, visibly shimmering when they come close. They have him, somehow, though doing what isn't clear. Physically he looks slightly worse for the wear but not as harmed as they might have expected.

[oohforeshadowing]

Unfortunately, harmed can mean all sorts of wretched things, when dictated by a malicious Fae. 'Compulsion' is an umbrella term for any magic working that makes the victim believe something which isn't true. Most often it's simply used to guarantee obedience, but its uses are limited only to the user's skill and imagination. Perception of all kinds can be skewed. One's sense of time, sensation of pain, the people around them.

A waking nightmare.

They slide back into their true shape, and carefully draw the long dagger sheathed under their coat. A gleaming blade, a jewelled hilt. A beautiful thing, truly.

"Alexandria!"

Hyperion couldn't weave if his life depended on it, according to his uncle. This is the sister's work.

[bleak_midwinter]

The violin stops, the pen gets dropped. Alexandria pushes her chair back abruptly, shaken, and making her way out into the hall.

She doesn't need a weapon. She has magic.

[oohforeshadowing]

Double meets them both in the central space that serves as both reception room and junction for the rest of the suite. Their own armaments, the knife besides, are...lacking. There are certain powders which can disrupt spellweaving or throw its aim, but they're not reliable and generally the sort of trick you can only get away with once.

"Cousins," they say, mostly because they know it'll needle them while also reminding them both of them of their kinship bond. "You have my man chained to your bed. I trust this is an honest mistake?"

[bleak_midwinter]

"Shifter," says the sister, aware of the bond but not interested in being courteous whatsoever. She looks them up and down.

"There's nothing about you that would indicate he's your man. He was our uncle's, bound by blood. So now he's ours."

[oohforeshadowing]

"If that were true, Alexandria, you'd be well on your way to London by now. So I assume the bond thinks different."

Her face spasms in a way that tells them they've got the right of it. Hyperion, interestingly, looks aggrieved but not even remotely as angry as his sister.

"I'd ask what you want from me," they go on, "but I don't care. Your choices are these. Release him, retire to another room while we leave, and never trouble my household again. Or I'll kill you both."

[bleak_midwinter]

Her face contorts in an ugly grimace, the actual horror of what they're telling her hitting hard. Hyperion literally takes a step back in shock.

"You wouldn't. We are kin, much as it pains me to say so - and over a human?"

[oohforeshadowing]

They shrug. The way they're holding the dagger looks casual, thoughtless, but the high-polished metal constantly catches the light. Draws attention to itself.

"Over a human. Over the offence to my household. Over the grievous insult to my late father and his judgement, perhaps - take your pick. Nobody will ever know I was here, so I'll never have to explain myself."

[bleak_midwinter]

"Of course people will know," she snaps, and Hyperion nods.

"We've informed people that if we disappear or if harm comes to us, to know that it was your doing. You'll be isolated. Shunned."

"Over a human," Alexandria repeats, firmly, her eyes on that blade.

[oohforeshadowing]

Double actually laughs, sharp teeth flashing.

"Hyperion. Darling. You're both found dead in a hotel room and you've helpfully taken the trouble of telling everyone who to scapegoat? The weak, unmagical little shifter? Nobody will believe it. But let's say your beloved sister invited you to a hotel in a city where nobody knows you, to beseech you for a higher allowance - and when begging doesn't work, she threatens you. She lashes out. You defend yourself, of course, and...well."

They smile slowly.

"I know what story I would pass around the London clubs."

[bleak_midwinter]

They both, almost in tandem, clench their jaws and reel back.

"You think they'd believe you," Alexandria snarls, "a wicked shifter who manipulated High Fae into giving you his estate? We know you're capable of violence, we all know that. Don't think you're in with the London clubs. Not the way Fae are."

[oohforeshadowing]

"Well, they wouldn't hear it from me, would they?" Double chuckles. "They'd hear it from some casual acquaintance, who heard it from their second cousin, who overheard it from a maid, whose sister is married to the constable who first came across this sad, bloody scene."

They almost look baffled. Honestly, Alexandria, it's like you don't know how gossip works.

[bleak_midwinter]

She knows how gossip works, within her own scene. The idea that they'd use a human network to spread rumors is just so beyond them both that they hadn't considered it. It's a major failing within their culture, and they seem to realize it now.

They also both seem to realize that they're squabbling over how news of their deaths would be received, instead of actually trying to prevent that very occurrence. "Out of the way," Alexandria tells Hyperion, firmly. A knife can't harm them if it's dropped, after all, and she casts a charm that will make Double's hand feel like it's on fire. Logically, yes, they may know that it isn't, but the experience of pain is excruciatingly realistic.

[oohforeshadowing]

Their hand spasms, violently, but they force themself to clench their fist around the hilt instead of letting it go. Regardless, there's so much spirit gum sticking the damn thing to their palm that they don't really need to hold on.

"Don't bother trying to pull the knife," they say, breathless with pain but still smiling. "Magic doesn't work on cursesilver, you know that."

Hyperion's face goes grey. "Don't be ridiculous. There hasn't been an ounce of cursesilver-"

"Out of Fae hands since the incursion? Yes. I know. It's fascinating what Papa left in the attic."

[bleak_midwinter]

Alexandria can't respond. She's focused now, especially with this new knowledge of the weapon in their hand. She raises a hand and intensifies the pain, adding the feeling of their boots being as heavy as rocks, tethering them to the ground.

The real trick comes next, though she doesn't let on that she's doing two things at once apart from the sweat gently beading on her temple. Tommy comes out of the bedroom next to them, looking aghast, pained, and telling them: "Don't, please, stop, they'll never lift the curse - "

[oohforeshadowing]

Alexandria doesn't need to tell them anything. It's a sick joke, a grotesque act of puppetry. Thomas would die before telling them to surrender to Fae nobility.

But the way their face slackens a moment, the uncertainty and empathy, makes it hard to see they've seen through her.

"Alright! Gods, alright. Just let me-"

Their free hand darts from their pocket to their nose; they inhale deep from the powder tin hidden there, freeing themself from the compulsion for a few precious seconds. Time enough to dart across the room, behind Hyperion, and press the blade to his throat.

"I did not want to push the issue this way," they say icily, feeling the Fae's pulse pounding against the blade. "Yet here we are."

[bleak_midwinter]

It all goes in a quick flash. Double has used their arrogance against them, their idea that Fae magic is superior to just about anything. The illusion about Tommy and the burning in their hand disappear the moment they've flipped the script on them, not worth the energy.

Hyperion looks scared in a way his sister doesn't recognize. He's stock-still, his hands lightly raised, breath coming shallow.

"If I die you won't get what you want," he pleads with his sister. Apparently there's even less love lost between them than thought.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hyperion, I'm not going to let you die."

But she's not doing anything else either, frozen in indecision.

[oohforeshadowing]

"So," Double says. "Now we're in a more comfortable position, Let's negotiate. If you want money? I can do that. But I need you two to do something for me."

[bleak_midwinter]

"Let your man go?"

She plays another brief illusion of noise coming from his room, meaning to say done. He was only ever collateral, after all.

[oohforeshadowing]

Double chuckles genteelly, as if she's committed some embarrassing but minor faux pas.

"Ah. No. You're letting my man go in exchange for your lives. The money is for something else."

[bleak_midwinter]

In the other room, Tommy's mind is sent into a new spiral of nightmares, a whole lifetime unspooling in the next minutes. Alexandria knows she doesn't have long, and is feeling spiteful.

"Speak, cousin."

[oohforeshadowing]

"There's a Fae landholder named Demetrius Lachlan who is causing disruption on my lands and it's only a matter of time before someone dies," Double says. "I'm sure you have mutual friends, or you can find some other pretence to be introduced. Call him off."