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amazingflyingdick · 5 years ago

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WHO: Dick @amazingflyingdick, Jason @thatsjasonfkntodd & Tim @redrobin-timdrake, mentions of Slade @terminator-deathstroke WHERE: The batcave WHEN: May 15th, 2020 WHAT: Tim and Jason uncover Dick’s past with Deathstroke.

Tim: Tim didn't pay Jason much mind as he scrolled through Dick’s file. It all looked pretty standard. It wasn't like Dick kept secrets from Tim, really. He didn't know about Jason so much, but he knew what he and Dick were like.

At least, he thought he did. But when he reached that line of code Tim blinked. "Uh. This can't... mean what I think it means." If it did, then he supposed he could see why Dick was preoccupied with Deathstroke. Jason: "What do you think it means?" Jason definitely wasn't inept, but he wasn't so sure that he was seeing whatever Tim was seeing, judging by that reaction. It looked like nonsense to him, but he was willing to venture a guess that that was the incorrect assumption. Bruce was too anal retentive to put something meaningless in there, or not to know if there was some kind of error. Tim: "Hold on one sec," he said as he pulled up the source box. "Bruce has a highly sophisticated cipher that he uses in some of his files. In the less encrypted ones, which I cracked a while ago, a lot of it just looked like gibberish. I sat there scratching my head for ages trying to figure it out." He began typing the key into the source box, fingers flying across the keys. "When you enter the key, it all becomes plain." He paused for a moment, fingers hovering over the 'enter' key. Should he expose Dick like this? Well... it was too late now. And there was a part of him that was desperately curious as to why Dick had never said anything to him.

Entering the key, he sat back from the screen as the code changed to display: Confirmed physical relationship with Slade Wilson, codename Deathstroke, circa December, 2010 to November 12th, 2011.

"Confirmed..." Tim furrowed his brow before entering a few more things and nodding. "Yes. There's a link here. He hid it." Biting his lip, he glanced to Jason. "Should I... I guess I should open it, right?" They had come this far. But it felt like an invasion almost. Did he care? He was sickly curious, but what would Jason say? Jason: Jason read the line of text twice, looked at Tim, looked back to the screen. There was a stretch of silence from him as he heard Tim ask about the link. He didn't reply to it right away, but eventually he did fling his hand in the general direction of the computer to say, "What the fuck is this? Click it." If Tim hesitated, he was going to do it for him, because no way in hell was he just going to walk away like he hadn't just read that with his own two eyes. Tim: Tim swallowed before biting his inner cheek. Pulling up the photos, he took in a clear image of Nightwing sitting on a roof with Deathstroke standing behind him, hand in his hair. “What the hell?” He swallowed. “This was in Blüdhaven,” Tim said, clicking forward to Nightwing looking up at Deathstroke. “Taken by Black Widow...” Raising a brow, he looked at Jason. “Why would Black Widow be taking pictures of Dick and Deathstroke? These have to be staged.” He clicked over again and paused. “Bruce took this one.” And it was definitely not staged. “The date is Dick’s birthday.”

A clear image of the two men in suits, Dick’s arms wrapped around Slade’s neck as they... kissed. “Is it bad that I... kinda wanna throw up?” Deathstroke? Why Deathstroke? Glancing at the year, Tim’s mouth fell open and he pushed to his feet. “This was when I was Robin! I used to visit him. 2010-2011, I spent so much time with the Titans then.” Jason: The dates were significant to Jason in the sort of way that he had no memory of them. Not in the “forgotten” kind of way, but just that most of it had been in that period of time where he was no longer in the ground but not exactly a complete person yet, either. He’d been half alive and Dick was off fucking Deathstroke? Notorious assassin and all around bastard, Deathstroke?

“Obviously you weren’t paying much attention.” He couldn’t immediately place why it was anger that he felt, rather than just disgust, but it was. “Call him.” Dick: There was the familiar sound of someone entering the Batcave from above, followed by Dick's ringtone, and he was fishing his phone out of his pocket when he came into view. He laughed when he saw Tim's name on the screen and glanced at him. "Perfect timing, I guess. What are you two working on?"

Leaning against the edge of the desk, his brow furrowed as he studied the image on the screen. People kissing? Okay. "Who a -" The question died in his throat. His hand against the desk clenched and all the color slowly drained from his face as he realized what he was looking at. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at Tim and then at Jason. "Where did these come from?" Tim: "Why don't you tell us?" Tim asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Is this why you wanted me to 'look into Deathstroke', Dick? Because that's pretty messed up." He shook his head, looking at Jason. He did anger better. Was he angry? Or wasn't he? Was Tim being a jerk? Well... he was mad anyway. Jason: “What does it matter where they came from?” Although he had no intention of leaving out that information for long. “You get to ask zero questions right now. What the hell is this?” He gestured toward the screen again, his movements sharp, and got up to move until he was standing right beside Dick. “Except for the most hypocritical shit I’ve ever seen, I mean.” Dick: Dick was still in shock. He knew when and where that picture was taken even though it was years ago. Seeing it here, in Bruce's files, when he didn't even know it existed left him cold. This was his file. He recognized it. There was no footnote. Did that mean Bruce took this picture?

He was silent as Tim spoke, but the tightness in his jaw and the rigidity in his body signaled his slow, rising anger. Jason's accusation made him jerk back, as if he'd been burned, and he snatched a paperweight from the desk. Without warning he hurled it at the center of the screen. The image shattered into a complex spiderweb and most of it went black.

Dick turned to Jason, pointing at the broken computer as he moved right up in his face. "Fuck you, Jason. You don't know anything." Tim: Tim literally flinched when Dick lifted the paperweight. "Dick no!" he tried as the smashed the screen. "Are you serious?!" He cried. As he swore, his eyes widened, darting to Jason and standing stricken. How were they going to explain the broken computer to Bruce or Babs? Babs was going to kill him. Jason: The busted screen was the least of his worries, and it didn’t erase anything besides. Everything Dick was running from was still going to be waiting for him, even if they weren’t standing there looking at it.

When Dick got close to him, Jason felt a shot of heat run up the back of his neck. He’d take that challenge. He took advantage of the lack of space and grabbed the front of Dick’s shirt in one fist. “I know a few things. Two really important ones. You were fucking somebody who kills for a dime and crawling back up on your pedestal when you were done. How’s the view from way up there, Dickie?” Dick: Even though Dick could hear Tim yelling, he could barely make sense of the words. His ears were ringing and he still wanted to hit something. He wanted to hit Jason, but as soon as he felt the impulse he shoved back against him. "Get off of me."

He laughed, but the sound was forced. "So that's how you want to frame it, huh? You have no idea what it was like back then. So weave whatever narrative you want. I'm tired of trying to be something I'm not. I'll gladly take hypocrite." Tim: As he watched Jason grab Dick and then the resulting shove, he darted forward to put his body right between Jason and Dick's. "That's enough. We're not getting into a fist fight in the Batcave." One hand rested on each brother's chest, keeping them apart.

Looking over at Dick with a sharp gaze. "What the fuck is going on, Dick?" He could tell it was important, because of Dick's immediate reaction. He had needed a moment to process what was going on, but now he had. He could tell that this wasn't just embarrassment. This was something else. "Explain." Jason: “Yeah, I was busy being dead and then wishing I’d stayed that way. Super sorry I didn’t have time to get the details on your love life with Deathstroke, bro. I get to write my own narrative because you,” he raised his finger at him again, “never said shit about any of it. You don’t get to be pissed at us.”

There was a moment where he genuinely considered just shoving Tim out of the way. He certainly didn’t give a damn that they were in the Batcave. What better place for it, really? It was Bruce’s files that broke the news anyway. He only chose not to because he still wanted an answer. Dick: Tim's palm on his chest was the only thing that kept him from shoving Jason back again. Dick's fists were clenched, but he was shaking hard underneath Tim's hand. Maybe they did only want an explanation, but that wasn't what he was hearing. It was all accusations and anger.

"You're right, you were dead. You died months before any of that ever happened. You think you died in a black hole, Jason? It just didn't affect anyone else? I'm not playing your I suffered the most because I actually died and then came back and went through hell game. Why should I tell you anything? You don't care to know anything about my life or about me. You never have. Just because you get the chance to call me out for shit that I..." He suddenly found it hard to continue, so he switched focus. "I don't know what I expected. The benefit of the doubt, maybe. From Tim, at least."

He turned and went back over to the computer. By the time he got there he was starting to feel overwhelmed by what this all meant - not only for him, but for Bruce and the rest of the family. He rested an elbow on the desk and leaned his forehead against his hand, his jaw tight. Tim: Tim swallowed, looking at Jason as Dick walked away, watching him sink into the chair. What was going on? He swallowed before giving a breath. He wasn't going to be able to be outward in his emotions. It was better he didn't. So he schooled himself. If they wanted any information, they were going to have to let up. It was clear that Dick was freaking out, and maybe they should ask.

When he was calm, Tim moved over to the chair, resting a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Dick... what's going on? Can you just... explain it?" Jason: He could have continued yelling, and that was both his first instinct and what he wanted to do, but he wasn’t going to give Dick the satisfaction of feeling right about fucking anything. So he didn’t. He bit it back, quite literally, and chewed at the inside of his cheek.

Let Tim be empathetic if he wanted to be. Let him worry. Jason wasn’t going to. He didn’t make a move toward either of them again, and instead stood apart with his jaw set. Dick: Dick lowered his hand when Tim touched his shoulder, exhaling softly. He could explain it even though he didn't want to. They deserved to know something that had the potential of affecting them directly. "I made a mistake, Timmy," he said quietly. "A big mistake. You remember what I told you recently? About how Bruce and I were estranged for a year? I barely ever saw him. I was angry with him, that he didn't..." He stopped, his gaze shifting to Jason briefly. "It made me... confused about what I believed in. What I should believe in."

Bringing up Slade was the difficult part. A long silence passed before he continued. "I know it's hard to believe now, but there was good in Slade. He helped the Titans and things were changing, I thought. Bruce's black and white thinking didn't make sense to me anymore. Nothing he said made sense. I was convinced he was wrong about everything, and... it got out of hand." Tim: "So what? You just... it was an accident?" How could it have lasted for a whole year, then? He shook his head before pulling back. "That doesn't make any sense, Dick. And Deathstroke is more than just 'out of hand'." How could he have let this happen? Deathstroke was a really bad guy. Murder for money. No remorse. And it wasn't like Jason. Jason killed but only really bad men. Deathstroke killed whomever got him paid the most.

Looking over at Jason, he blew out a breath. "Dick moved to Bludhaven before you came back. I remember because Slade Wilson used to help the Titans train. I remember meeting him." Jason: For once, he continued to keep the roll of thoughts in his head trapped there, rather than speaking all of them. If he had it all wrong, Dick did, too. What was he going to do, though? Assuage his anger and say that he had cared, had wanted to know. It wasn’t as though Bruce and Dick hadn’t been good enough for him. He hadn’t been good enough for them. Hearing it that twisted was a joke.

“Yep. Put that together,” he said flatly. Dick had been in Bludhaven by the time Jason made it back to Gotham. He’d done his research, connected the dots. “There’s dates in that file. Over a year. That’s not out of hand, that’s a relationship.” He was still angry, desperately angry, but his tone was ice cold. Dick: "No, it wasn't an accident. It was a mistake, that whole year. I made a mistake when I believed Slade could change. I made a mistake in trusting him. I made mistakes over and over and over again. I just didn't know they were mistakes at the time. I believed in him. Almost like..." He stopped, deciding against making that comparison.

It was harder to justify the part about Deathstroke. "I know, Tim. I know. But he had his moral codes, he just..." It wasn't like Jason's. Dick knew that. He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. "A relationship, fine. It was still a mistake to have it. I was still stupid to want it. I was naive to believe in it. What else am I supposed to say? I was wrong about everything." Tim: "Almost like what?" Tim asked. He wasn't about to let that lie. Dick had been about to say something, and he wanted to understand. He needed Dick to be open. No sensoring.

This was all too much. Tanya had been weird enough. At least she was repentant. He didn't think Slade Wilson had ever once felt bad about a contract. "What good did you see in him? I knew you let him train the Titans, but I always thought it was more of like a needs must, enemies closer situation." Jason: “Are your mistakes the reason you’ve got us chasing him all around the fucking city?” Dick had said it was because Slade would be there to kill someone, and while that had made perfect sense at the time, now he was hard pressed to believe there was a single simple layer to it. Jason knew as well as anyone that you didn’t hand someone a year of your life and then actually walk away entirely. That wasn’t how it worked. Some piece stayed, even if it was tiny, and if that wasn’t true then Dick wouldn’t have had such a meltdown over being confronted with it.

“Say the rest of it. All of it. You think nobody wants to know you, Goldie, but here we are asking.” Maybe he wasn’t reigning it in as much as he’d thought. Dick: Dick just shook his head at Tim's question. It wouldn't sound right if he said it. As desperately as he wanted to be open with his family, it was because he wanted acceptance. But this entire conversation only highlighted all the reasons why he shied away from it. The only reason he kept going was because they asked for answers and he was doing his best to provide them. "He helped people when he didn't have to, when there was nothing in it for him. He didn't take all contracts. I knew he wasn't evil."

Jason's question made him grit his teeth. "No. And I didn't ask you to chase him, Jason. I asked you to let me know if you heard anything. I told everyone to say away from him. I just didn't think you'd be too dumb to do it."

The nickname made him jump to his feet. "You know what? I'm sick of hearing that. You force this image on me and you put me on a pedestal because you need me to validate your complex. And Bruce, Bruce puts me on there and pretends all that -" He gestured to the computers. "Doesn't even exist. You know he never even talked to me about that? Ten goddamn years and I had no idea he even knew. It's more important to him to hide the truth than it is admit that I'm not who he wants me to be." Tim: He nodded. Dick had been young. Tim remembered when he had been young. Tim, of course, had been young too. He remembered that Dick had believed harder. It disappointed him that Dick didn't go back to the train of thought he cut off, but he could tell that this was hard. Tim just really wished he understood why.

He winced as Dick talked about the expectations on his shoulders. And about Bruce. Bruce did this to all of them. They all had the desire to please him. Dick had to be perfect, Tim had to prove he was worthy of following Dick and Jason. Jason tried to run from his desire to please Bruce, but none of them could really escape it. "Dick... it's okay. Really. We're your brothers. We're just trying to figure out what's happening?"

He swallowed, trying to think. "He's not here in Star City for you, is he? Are you afraid that's it?" Jason: “I put you up there? You think I wanted to spend all that time trying to get to you to satisfy my complex that I didn’t have yet? I wanted a fucking father, I wanted to give Bruce what he wanted, and all he wanted was you.” And Dick had been too busy not wanting a real part in any of it anymore to give a damn about what that had looked like on the other side.

It was almost a shame Dick had already shattered the screen, because it would’ve been a perfect moment to do it himself. Instead, he swiped a hand over his mouth and just shook his head. “Maybe I don’t know anything, but neither do you. And Bruce knows all of it and doesn’t care.” Dick: Dick sighed, but shook his head. "He isn't here for me, Tim. It was ten years ago. It has nothing to do with me." He still wasn't sure why, unfortunately.

Everything Jason said eliminated his anger instantly. Dick stared at him, shocked and devastated to hear aloud some of the things he always feared were true, but never knew how to ask. There were things he wanted to tell Jason about his death, but he wasn't willing to turn it back around to be about himself, not after hearing that. Instead he said nothing.

"I want to know," he finally said quietly. Tim: That was good, at least. Because Deathstroke was... strong. He had beaten Bruce. He was smart, too. Maybe smarter than Tim. Dick would be compromised if Slade came for him. Because he was clearly compromised just talking about it. This was something that Tim didn't know. He didn't understand but he wanted to, as he wanted to understand and know all things so he could process them. This was true for Dick and Jason both.

"We can know," Tim said. "But I told you once that we can't lie to each other. Remember that, Dick?" He blew out a breath and looked between his brothers. His family. "Fighting about our greater issues isn't going to do anything. Jason is right that Bruce does know. I'm sure he does care, but even if he doesn't, he knows a hell of a lot more than we do. Even if we read all the files. It's just words on paper."

Pushing a hand through his hair, he sighed. "You know that we should work together. No secrets." The reason he had come back to the fold after Bruce had returned to the cowl, even when he had kept Damian on, was because he knew that the family fought better together. Even with their pain and their trauma. Because all of those things fit together like a puzzle piece. The three of them, especially, made a balance that was unstoppable. The head, the heart, and the fist. "When we hide from each other, things like this happen."

His eyes turned to Jason and then to Dick. "I know I don't have the same issues with Bruce that you guys do, but our relationship isn't perfect either. The three of us are always going to understand each other better than anyone else. No one else in the world has quite had what we did. Not even Dem--" He paused, stopping himself. "Damian."

He was trying to be the voice of reason here. Dick's conviction about the strength of their bond, the knowledge that they were a better weapon joined as one than separate to keep Jason, and his own gratification that there was some insight to be gained here.

"Dick... I think you should start from the beginning of all... this. And you can't leave anything out. If you want us to know, we have to know. I said to you before that sometimes I have trouble being open. I learned it from Bruce. But we--the three of us--have to have each other's backs and interests. We can't do that if we're at each other's throats." He hoped that sounded fair. "We can't do that if we don't know everything." Without knowledge, they could miss important connections and patterns, misconstrue things. End up with pain like Jason and Dick were expressing. Tim needed to channel them. This was an opportunity. And Tim very much wanted to understand. Jason: Jason had said more than he’d really intended to already, even in the context of pointing out even a fraction of what Dick didn’t know, and if he could have pulled the words back into his mouth he would have done that. He couldn’t, so he let Tim rattle off his speech about brotherhood instead and let the moment die. If Dick was fine being labeled a hypocrite, then he was fine going along with the idea that he coveted whatever complex he supposedly had.

He put a little distance between himself and the two of them until he had his back against the wall and his arms folded. “All ears,” was the only comment he offered up. He’d said plenty. More than plenty. Dick: Dick was still looking at Jason, frowning, but he didn't interrupt what Tim was saying. It made sense and he was proud of him for taking on the role he usually fell into. "I know. You're right." It never should have been a secret. At some point he should have told Bruce, at least, even though he knew now that Bruce had been aware of what was happening the entire time.

It occurred to him that Bruce must have found out before his birthday if he'd been able to get the photo. Suddenly all the tension from that time made a lot more sense.

After a long pause, he slowly took a seat at the computer chair. Running a hand through his hair, he winced when Tim stressed that he start from the beginning and not leave anything out. It was the last thing he wanted to do, even if he understood why Tim would want to make sure every detail was covered and nothing important slipped by him. "Um... okay.” It surprised him that Jason was still there, but he was grateful despite how he didn't want either of his brothers to hear this. He still needed them there.

But he struggled to start. He wondered how clinical and brief he could make it without Tim forcing him to backtrack and elaborate.

“So…” His throat already felt dry. He kept his gaze down and spoke in a quiet, matter-of-fact way, and continued to tell himself that he owed Tim and Jason this information after keeping it to himself for so long. “Deathstroke was in Bludhaven. I tried to stop him from a hit, but I got there too late and she was already dead. I was mad, so I went to his safehouse. And I was even angrier than usual because… by then, I had seen how he was capable of doing good things. He asked me to train Rose because he wanted her to grow up with morals. I saw him lose his son, his wife, and we’d worked together. I cared. And I didn't understand why he would choose Deathstroke and abandon the good things he had in his life. So, I went there to yell at him, or lecture him, I don’t know.” He laughed softly. “I was an idiot. Just showed up in the middle of his kitchen with some morality lesson.” It was funny in retrospect, sort of. It was a miracle Dick was still alive. “We argued. I wasn’t getting anywhere. At some point he wanted me to give him another reason to change. I don’t know why I said it, but… I cared. So I asked that he do it for me. He agreed, and that’s how it started. Okay?” He was fine giving details about the conversation, but he wasn’t about to explain what happened after they stopped talking. Tim: As Jason closed off, Tim bit down a sigh. He could have some time with Jason later. He thought that Jason needed it and perhaps he should have tried to have some time with him earlier. He had known, of course, that Jason felt displaced, and Tim did understand the feeling of trying to be good enough. It wasn't quite like Jason's, and he wouldn't claim that it would be. Regardless, he didn't want Jason leaving this heated and then deciding to just fall off the planet. He was finally here with them.

But this was about Dick right now. Dick and Deathstroke. Thankfully, as Dick started talking, Tim listened and the other seemed willing to tell them what had actually happened. This all sounded wild. Hard to believe. It wasn't really that Tim thought Dick was lying, so much that he didn't think it was possible for Deathstroke to agree to any level of change. What was Dick to him that he had agreed to that? It must be some kind of game that Slade was playing, or some manipulation he had concocted for Dick to believe because he was naive enough at eighteen that it had just was bound to happen. Already, Tim's mind was work. Did Dick know why he did it? What had Deathstroke really wanted?

He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest in almost a mirror of Jason, though that was unintentional. He just needed to think. "How did it go from a conversation to a relationship?" He asked. "Was he just... lying? Or did he actually change?" Tim hated that he didn't remember the details, but he hadn't really thought to focus on Deathstroke at the time. He had just believed Dick when he said that the threat he posed was more or less neutralized thanks to the alliance he had with the Titans.

Jason: Jason had never looked into Deathstroke's entire record closely enough to know if there was really a period where he'd stopped taking contracts. It seemed difficult to believe that the guy would just drop off the entire map for a year with the reputation he had, and had worked up for essentially as long as either Jason or Dick had been alive. If he'd actually put that aside for an entire year, even if he went right back to it after the date in the file, he was going to be genuinely shocked.

"What'd you get out of that whole thing? Just the gratification of thinking somebody turned it around for you?" If he wanted to take that as a hateful question, Jason didn't really care, though he hadn't entirely meant it that way. It would't have exactly come as a shock to learn that Dick god off to the idea that he could fundamentally change someone, though. Dick: "Yeah, Tim. He was lying," Dick said simply, his tone direct and oddly emotionless. "But he seemed to change. He didn't take many jobs. He spent most of his time helping the Titans. It was different." He was about to continue, but stopped at Jason's question. At this point his rage had already been snuffed out and the question stung, but he tried not to let it show. "No," he replied quietly, but another silence stretched on before he continued, with effort. "He knew me, and he never asked me to be anything more than what I was. I didn't have to be perfect or put up an act. I could just... I don't know. Exist."

He realized he'd never explained how it went to a relationship, but he didn't know how to. "A lot of things led to it, Tim. I don't know how it happened. It was too gradual. It wasn't ever... officially anything." There was one big incident that he was inclined to skip over, but he remembered what Tim said and he knew he couldn't leave it out. "At one point I found out Joker was in Bludhaven. Happy's, remember that place? The casino? I made a plan to go after him. By myself. I didn't want to involve the Titans." Or Bruce. "I thought I was prepared, but Joker pretty much handed my ass to me. I wouldn't have made it out if Slade didn't show up." Tim: Tim swallowed, glancing to Jason. If Slade had made Dick feel secure, he was sure that had meant something to him, but... of course Deathstroke had lied. He was a liar. A murderer. He wondered what his angle was. All Tim remembered was that suddenly he had left the Titans, Rose tried to kill Dick, and then there was the whole thing with the fake Titans. He didn't know that much, but he knew he enough.

His breath caught, though, when Dick said he went after the Joker. He had said that in front of Jason? Like Dick had thought the Joker would just go down after he had murdered their brother without a thought? And what was Deathstroke doing there anyway? He didn't want to say anything out loud, but why would Deathstroke have dated Dick, allied with the Titans, and saved Dick from the Joker? There was a part of him who wondered if he hadn't collaborated with the Joker to gain Dick's trust. Dick wasn't an idiot, and Slade probably knew that. Still, he kept his mouth shut about that. "You went after the Joker alone? After... what happened to Jason?" Jason: Whether he believed that answer completely or not, he wasn’t incapable of seeing what the appeal of it was. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the relief that came with being someone who didn’t have the same expectations of you that everyone else did, even if he’d been at least partially incapable of figuring out the first time around that he had that with Roy. He didn’t really want to compare the two, similarities or not. Dick had still expected a change out of Slade in the same breath that he said Deathstroke just let him ‘exist.’ He wasn’t fully willing to withdraw his hypocrite accusation yet.

His concern over Deathstroke wavered at mention of Joker, though. Unwilling to listen to another implication that he was making the conversation about himself, he settled for letting his nostrils flare rather than immediately speak. There was a long delay before he finally did. “Was he keeping tabs on you or was that just a coincidence that he could swoop in and save you?” Dick: Dick was a little surprised by Tim's reaction, but he looked at him for a moment before shaking his head. "I went up against the Joker plenty of times before then on my own, Tim. Plenty of times after, too." He wasn't going to bring up one particular time and he hoped Tim wouldn't either. This wasn't the time for it, especially because there was a lot more he needed to talk about with Jason after he answered everything they wanted to know.

"It wasn't a coincidence. I told him what I was doing." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dick realized how it sounded. "I never even..." He had to stop again. It was too much to go back and analyze it, look at it in a different light, and make new revelations that he was't prepared to handle. "Joker was expecting me. You're thinking Slade tipped him off, right? That he set it up." How did he never even consider that? "You're probably not wrong. I never... even suspected it. Not until right now. The thought was never in my head." Tim: Tim swallowed. It wasn't that he hadn't known that, but the times that Dick had squared up with the Joker had always been dangerous. He would worry about Dick regardless. But Jason had been freshly dead then. And he knew about Dick's bullet wound. Dick had told him about it not too long ago. So the times he had gone after the Joker before that had been dangerous too. Just because he did do it didn't mean he should. But they shouldn't dwell on what they should and shouldn't do. They had all done things they shouldn't have. "You're right," he acceded. "I'm sorry. Go on."

Dick was quick to catch on to what Tim and Jason were both thinking and Tim pressed his lips together. He didn't want to say that to Dick because... it was clear that Slade had made him believe something. It was clear to Tim that talking about this hurt Dick, but... it wasn't unlikely that Slade had had something to do with it. "Bruce once said that Deathstroke plays games. His manipulation is in his files. And you remember how he was with Terra before everything got better and he allied with the Titans." He had made a team member turn again the Titans. Dick and the team had apparently forgiven him--even Gar--but it was a prime example that it wasn't unheard of that Slade might have been in league with the Joker or might have at least told him.

He sighed before running a hand over his face. "What does all this mean now, Dick?" He asked. "How should we deal with him? Because I'm not letting you deal with this by yourself." Jason: What had Dick really thought? That Deathstroke was going to turn hero for good? Most people were incapable of turning over a new leaf that thoroughly, and more than that...not many wanted to. Jason didn’t exactly have the same gooey moral center than Dick and Tim did, but despite how vehemently they often got opposed he did at least have moral guidelines. But Deathstroke? Not even Dick could just manifest something that wasn’t there. “If he’ll throw in with somebody like Black Mask, there’s nothing stopping him from doing it with Joker, too.” He’d accused Dick of being naive with Tanya, and he’d been right, but this was even worse.

“What do you think you’re going to do, Tim? Nicely ask him to fuck off? I used bullets and the only way I got him down was because he was poisoned.” Apparently. That had been the claim he’d made at the docks, anyway. Dick: "I know. I wasn't really listening to Bruce anymore, Tim." The only reason Dick went to Gotham was to see Tim, check in, and he rarely even saw Bruce. They avoided each other for an entire year. He knew now that Bruce had been right, but he couldn't silence the nagging doubt completely and he was frustrated, tired. At some point he knew he would have to accept what everyone was showing to him and not be so naive. "He was convincing. Even now, I..." He quickly stopped and shook his head.

This is where he knew the conversation was headed. Dick winced and held up a hand. "No. It was ten years ago. Nine. Whatever. It was a long time ago. We need to find out who he's here for. That's still the plan. But if it comes down to a confrontation, then he's mine. I know how he fights. I know him better than both of you, and I deserve to be the one to take him down." Tim: "Even now what?" he asked. He was certainly aware that there was something else to this. Dick wouldn't still be so weird about it if there wasn't. He had a thousand questions he wasn't asking just yet because they weren't relevant even if they would burn through his brain if he didn't eventually ask. But that one he wouldn't let lie. Even now what.

"I'm not actually an idiot, Jason, much as you like to say 'I thought you were the smart one'. There are ways to deal with a guy you can't beat with a gun." Deathstroke was all about his bottom dollar. Tim could drain him dry without leaving the batcave if he wanted to. "Plus the three of us are stronger than just you, me, or Dick." If they wanted to take down Deathstroke, he could put his research to use, Dick's understanding of his emotions or at least an intimate understanding of the way his manipulation worked, and Jason could beat the hell out of him. He was confident they could do it and Bruce wouldn't need to be involved at all.

Tim set his jaw. "That's a bad idea. He knows how you think, Dick. And he helped train you some when you were with the Titans. He probably knows how you fight, too. We can help with this." Jason: “So you can go alone and get your ass kicked? Or killed? Unless you’re banking on the idea that he wouldn’t do that.” Which was even more stupid than practically anything else he’d heard. “If you know him, he knows you. Probably better.”

He lifted one hand in an impatient gesture. “I’m sick of going back and forth about this. If you want Deathstroke out of here, we can’t exactly do that without getting him. If he’s got a contract in the city, he can’t complete it if we get his ass out of here before. Lure him out and we’ll deal with it.” Dick: Dick shook his head and made a gesture to indicate it didn't matter. It didn't, really. The confusion he still carried over the events of so many years ago made no difference. It didn't help to talk about it.

What he didn't want to consider was how well Slade knew him, even though it was true. He couldn't deny it. "I'm not the exact same as I was when I was eighteen, Jason." The years made him a better fighter. Even though he wouldn't bring it up, fighting against Jason had played a big role in that. He had also beaten Bruce. His skill and ability wasn't at question, but he was legitimately unsure if he would be able to go through with it. He wanted to think he could.

"Lure him out? How?" Dick frowned, looking between Jason and Tim. "I don't want him dead."

Tim: Tim was definitely cornering Dick after this. He kept pushing things off and Tim didn't like it. He wasn't having it, but now wasn't the time to call Dick out. He had things he wanted to know but he could wait.

"Well... there a number of ways that you could do it. But... have you considered just flipping the switch? He made you believe he cared for you..." He didn't like suggesting it and he didn't know if Dick would go for it, but it would be one way to make Slade lower his guard. If he already thought Dick was manipulable, then it would be a good way to go about it. Dick had used his charms before but never quite like this. Jason: "What, you think Deathstroke hasn't paid attention in those ten years? Come on, man. Don't be stupid. He didn't forget you exist." Especially because they'd all crossed paths with him at least once since then, including Bruce.

He couldn't keep himself from rolling his eyes. "You don't have to prostitute him. Christ. I'll set up a fake job and make sure he knows the buyer is out for Deathstroke. Surprise, you're the buyer." Dick: Dick shook his head immediately. "No, I'm not doing that." The thought of manipulating Slade in that way made his stomach turn and he recognized the feeling: guilt. Setting up a trap didn't feel any better, but he knew it could be the only way to prevent Slade from killing someone. That was why he was here. There was no other reason that made sense.

After a long, long pause, he sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and rubbing his head. The thought of pitting his brothers against Deathstroke and the very real possibility of them getting seriously injured gnawed at him. It made him feel sick. "No killing. No lethal force. We just get him down and bring him in." He never seemed to wind up in prison, but at least he'd be in jail while awaiting trial. That bought them a lot of time. Tim: "I wasn't saying prostitute him--which is a valid life choice by the way, Jason. Get woke." It was a bad joke, but the entire room was incredibly tense. He blew out a breath before sighing. "It would have worked, though."

He paused at Jason's suggestion. It was... actually a good one. Not that he thought that Jason wasn't smart. He just... wouldn't have thought of it that fast. But he supposed the Dark Web was more his world. "We're actually doing this?" Tim did have the money, if they needed it to be legit. But... jeez. "Should we... I'm guessing we shouldn't tell Bruce?" Jason: Jason just stared hard at Tim, but since he wasn’t close enough to him to respond the way he wanted, he elected to not acknowledge it any further. Asking Dick to manipulate Slade because they’d been involved was actually worse, as far as he was concerned, but since his idea was markedly better he was just going to pretend like Tim’s hadn’t existed at all.

“We do it or risk Deathstroke completing whatever contract he took to get here and then bailing.” Besides, when was the last time Jason had a real challenge? Even if Dick was insisting on no lethal force, taking Deathstroke down in any sense was going to take some planning. “Fuck that. He gave up his right to be involved ten years ago.” Dick: Dick shook his head slightly, but he didn't say anything. If Slade truly had lied to him all those years ago, then he wouldn't even have any incentive to meet up with him for a reason like that. Not unless he thought he could use it to his advantage.

"It can't happen," he said quietly. If Slade did follow through with the contract and someone died because he dragged his feet, he wouldn't be able to live with it. "And we're not telling Bruce. He knows Sl - Deathstroke's here. He obviously knew everything and never said a word." Leaning back in the chair, his gaze caught the second screen that had the words from the file instead of the pictures. "He wrote it down. Like it's kryptonite or something."

Annoyed, he ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. "If we do this, if we plan it all out, then I'm going in alone. He'll use both of you against me. Like you said, he... knows me. If I hesitate, it risks your lives. I won't do that." Tim: Tim scoffed. “No. Sorry, but that’s not going to work. I’m not letting you and Jason is good at this stuff. He actually runs in this world. You’re not going alone.” Tim would literally create an annotated file, with footnotes, as to why it was a dumb idea for Dick to go alone. So help him, he would. And they ought to expect that of him.

He looked over to Jason. “Back me up here, Jay.”

Jason: “Yeah, not happening. If you were going alone you would’ve already done it.” He hadn’t. He’d been chasing ghosts. Now that he and Tim were involved, there was no way in hell he was going to set the whole thing up and then twiddle his thumbs while Dick did whatever he thought he was going to do. Fight him? Or try to reason with and persuade him again? Not even Dick could be that naive.

He uncrossed his arms and stood up straight. “We’re helping. You can have the first word and the last one if you want it. I don’t care.” Dick: This was exactly how he knew they would respond. It made it even more difficult to explain why he didn't trust himself to carry this through without putting one (or both) of them in danger. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head slightly. "Jason." His voice was strained and almost pleading. He breathed in to continue, explain, but he knew there was nothing he could say that would alter the plans set in place - and if he disagreed entirely, there was no doubt someone would die as a result of his hesitation. Tim: Tim reached out, putting his hand on Dick's shoulder, tipping his head back to look him dead in the eye. "Not this time, Dick. If we work together, no one's going to get hurt." He shook his head, looking at Jason. The expression was set, firm. This was something they could do together. They didn't need Bruce. They could get Deathstroke.

Jason: “That’s it then. Get me a timeline. I’ll figure out details for the job.” It had to be believable. It wasn’t like Slade was an idiot; he’d be able to sniff out something obviously fake. Tim could take it from there. “Unless anybody else has some feelings to share, I’m done here.” And even if they did, he’d had his fill of them for the day.

Dick: Dick knew things didn't always work out that way, but he didn't argue with Tim. He wanted to believe that it would all go to plan. If this were anyone else, he would, but the situation was too unique - and too raw, even after a decade. He seemed about to say something, but then he just nodded instead, not looking up from the desk. Tim: Tim nodded, pulling away from Dick completely to look at Jason. “I can help you put out the pings. And any kind of financial justifications... I can be that guy if you need?” He could create an encrypted account so it wasn’t traced back to him and allocate his trust. He blew out a breath. “We don’t tell Bruce and... we handle this quietly. Deathstroke won’t hurt anyone.” Least of all Dick.

Jason: “Sure, Timmy. Later.” For the time being, he was done. He needed time to process that didn’t take place near either one of them, and he had nothing else to say that was going to get anywhere. He glanced briefly to the two of them before making his exit. He was stuck in the manor for the time being, but he could go claim a different part of it.

#c: discord #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #slade wilson

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 7 years ago

Text

Sherlock (BBC) Commission for @missfurr

Pairing: Moriarty x OC (Belladonna Grimsbane); specific headcanon

Title: In The Garden of Aphrodite

Her pleasant smile never wavered for even an instant, delicate, deliberate mannerisms giving absolutely nothing away to her guest. Indeed despite the bizarre expressions and somewhat antisocial tendencies he had displayed throughout the impromptu afternoon tea meeting, she had remained the pinnacle of grace and poise.

A hostess must never disgrace her guests, unless of course, they perform an act so vile as to be removed from pleasant company. Or so her mother had stated, many years ago. It was quite the motto to live by when hosting dinner parties and the like for those of higher society… and sometimes those of the lower tiers too.

She blinked slowly, her mouth moving of its own accord, perhaps discussing some carefully-concealed scandal of high society that seemed pertinent to her guest’s inquiries. Despite her abundant hospitality, he seemed rather bored, detached and bordering on belligerent throughout the whole affair; as if he would much rather she have met him at the door with the answer he sought provided instantaneously, and then silenced herself so he might be on his way.

Her guest fidgeted with his coat, as if it were uncomfortable or her household unseasonably warm; though from the expert cut of the clothing, and the cool chill of winter outside, neither assumption could be true. Continuing to speak, she offered a tray of small sandwiches, pastries and assorted biscuits for his perusal; all carefully selected to pair well with his tea. Absently, he took a cucumber sandwich and nibbled on it without any real enthusiasm; perhaps simply to have a counterpoint to the well-sweetened beverage.

The other gentleman had excused himself to the bathroom several minutes previously, leaving them alone; a false pretense, of course… but it was no matter. She didn’t mind if he rifled through all her many drawers and possessions, whatever it was that he did manage to discover would be ultimately… inconsequential. Besides, if at least one of the servants didn’t have a covert eye on the funny little man right this instant, she might have to fire a few for negligence...

“I see that I am boring you,” she pauses her ceaselessly positive patter, and tilts her head, widening her eyes in just the right way to appear hurt by this. She flutters her eyelashes, as if forestalling tears, and feels a cruel thrill of delight when the man before her shifts uncomfortably. Expression pained, slightly unsure and uncomfortable as to how to react to a woman he had clearly offended.

“No, I-...” Mr Holmes visibly grasps for the right words, tone suddenly awkward. Intriguingly, in direct counterpoint to how authoritative he had been earlier when discussing the investigation he was pursuing; how monotonous and somewhat condescending he had been, as if she could not even fathom the depths of his words. Without his little doctor friend here to guide the conversation away from potential social faux pas, he was at a loss for how to react.

She had never been inclined to his type, the boring self-worshipping gadabouts, the ones who were always first to look down upon others without a second thought. Whose words were weighted to drag others down, while placing themselves on a pedestal in their stead; and always, well self-assured that it was their right to do so for one reason or other.

With trademark charm, Belladonna Grimsbane, heiress to the vast fortunes and companies afforded to her by birth, simply smiled. It was perfectly warm and inviting, yet hollow; well-honed from years of being a media darling, the talk of the upper crust of society. Something to put him at ease, to soothe over the momentary disruption with practised ease; after all, even one such as she hardly thought it fair to overexert a gentleman in his twilight.

He relaxes, shoulders losing their awkward tension for but a moment, before a shattering crash is heard through the floor above; and he reflexively jerks his head back to stare upward. She can see how his lips part to call for the other, as he rises instinctively, knuckles white in what must be fear, or perhaps merely concern?

Delicious. It was the only way to describe the sudden look of fear that flashed across his pale, arrogant features, as his knees trembled. The weight of his body suddenly insurmountably cumbersome without warning, forcing him to collapse backwards upon the lounge in wide-eyed shock. Mouth opening and closing like a fish trapped on dry land under the relentless sun, words failing as his throat seemed to close off all air and every almost breath became a gargantuan effort for his weakening body.

Had she deigned to touch him, for certain his skin would have felt as a brand warmed in flames; as the agony coursed through his veins, sending muscles into uncontrollable spasms, and the knowledge of what must have occurred to his clever little mind. His eyes, wide and somewhat fearful fell upon her own and narrowed; the accusation clear within their depths.

Belladonna smiled sweetly, genuinely now, and swirled her teaspoon through her cup in a mesmerisingly deliberate manner. When at last she tapped it against the side and allowed their eyes to meet once more, she could see he had finally understood.

“Why yes, Sherlock… perhaps you shouldn’t have asked for an extra spoonful of honey.” Belladonna said, and sipped her tea as the light in his eyes began to fade. Only ringing her small handheld bell for the servants to remove the now-departed detective, when the body finally stopped twitching.

She took a small pastry off the table, and sank back into her chair with a satisfied air as the blank-faced servants scurried in to attend. Indeed, it had been job well done.

He would be pleased.

~)0(~

Somehow the satisfaction seemed to linger less and less as the days wore on.

Before, Belladonna had at least felt a sense of justice, of righting grievous wrongs when she had taken extreme methodologies into her own hands to remove undesirables from society. Predators who preyed on the weak had no place in her world, be it in her public life, or… the infinitely less so.

Robin Hood was a tale her mother had read her often, as a child; always seeking to impart the inherent truth of the tale to Belladonna. That the rich accumulate wealth for themselves selfishly, and there must always be someone standing in their way to assure that those below them are not wronged, trampled or destroyed in the pursuit of further wealth. It had been taken so deeply to her heart that it could be said that the story was almost the basis of Belladonna’s personality; taking heart at the ideology of someone doing bad, dark, terrible, wicked, malicious, nigh-unspeakable things in the pure, unselfish pursuit of justice.

Of the many things she inherited from her mother, the most notable were her money, power, intellect, wit and austere beauty. Hair as dark as a raven’s wing, and soul to match.

Still, when one is raised by a criminal mastermind such as Belladonna’s mother had been, one cannot help but to develop a somewhat skewed moral compass. That is to say, that her ideologies over what was good, and what considered bad, seemed muddled and intermingled.

Kindness was taking from the greedy and providing the needy. Hunting down the predators, as it were, and removing them from the societal foodchain; cleaning the criminal gene pool one toxic element at a time. It all seemed such a noble ideology, at least to her mind.

When Belladonna’s mother had passed suddenly years prior, to a major cardiac arrest, it had left her both alone, and in the societal spotlight. The Grimsbane family had been well-established in London for generations, patroning even the original construction in some districts; when they spoke, everyone from politician to street urchin listened. Few of her predecessors and ancestors openly flaunted their wealth, except in grand shows of charity; for some it was a genuine pleasure to assist their city, their people… and for others, merely the continuation of a well-crafted deception.

For they may rule the city above with flawless faces and unimpeachable generosity, media darlings all; but beneath the glitz and glamour, in the shadows, their reach extended even still. The current Matriarch, or Patriarch of the family tended to hold the greatest sway over the underworld, through hidden corporations and well-placed people of specific skills all poised to respond to any command received.

Belladonna’s mother had reigned supreme amongst the underworld for decades, expanding their holdings and exerting her influence with a greater force than any previous Grimsbane could ever have dreamed. Schemes elaborate, ruthless, well-crafted and conniving; every criminal undertaking was so intricately plotted it would take the overworked police force an eternity to unravel. Much less, link back to her.

Likewise, when her mother had passed, Belladonna inherited the Grimsbane mantel and so too the wealth, power, influence and responsibility that came with it. It had been a shock, in some ways; certainly she had done things of the more illegal nature in the past, and dealt with people who were insistent on bringing harm to others with various direct and indirect methods. But this… this was different.

No longer had she the freedom to skirt danger again and again, simply for the youthful thrill of outsmarting the police by hiding on the roof above as they found the victim; no, now lives, corporations, the city itself and all the citizens relied on her to keep them safe. Or at least, that was how Belladonna saw it.

To begin her daunting task, she had first set about ordering her home to be as solid as a fortress. Naturally the servants were from uncounted generations of highly-specific, tight-lipped families who enjoyed the wealth and protection that employment by the Grimsbanes brought; sometimes a new maid or handyman baulked at the dismembering of their first body, but it was eventually routine for them.

Then, she settled about reaffirming her base of power amongst the shadowy figures who lurked just beneath the skin of everyday life in London, and indeed, across the country. Belladonna swiftly learned to see the whole web as nothing more than an elaborate game of chess, a few false moves would mean the loss of a few pawns… but ultimately, their positions meant that the more important pieces remained safe.

Manipulating other infamous figureheads within the dark recesses of London was not as hard as one would first assume… several even sought her out to begin with, thinking her utterly unlike her mother and merely a spoiled girlchild who needed their ‘guidance’. How she had loved proving them wrong….

And yet, it was comforting to know that her public face, the facade of wholesomeness and innocence was utterly believable to such a degree that even people who should know better were lured in by it. Of course, no one could accuse media-darling philanthropist Belladonna Grimsbane of being the head of an underworld syndicate, anymore than the people of Gotham would believe playboy Bruce Wayne was The Batman.

Besides, when the underworld criminals came grovelling at her door… the name dropping from their lips amongst streams of praise and pleas was not Belladonna, but Honey. Her reputation was a tightly-kept secret, and many failed to understand the implications of the pseudonym… until it was too late.

People had long come to Belladonna, or her mother, from the highly influential to the scullery maid, all to beg for aid. Sometimes it was merely a financial fix, gifting a small raise or the like to tide them over in hard times; but occasionally she would have to send one of her ‘business associates’ to speak to a ruthless landlord about raising rent to obscene levels. Though more often than not, it was people seeking justice, aid, protection; the people who captured her heart by presenting her with an opportunity to exert the calling she had dedicated her life to. They spoke of people who had done cruel, horrific, unforgivable things to them, to those they loved, to entire families… and begged for Honey, for Belladonna, to save them.

Then she truly had her time to shine.

Gilded and regal, the invitation she sent to their doors.

Bright and welcoming, the smile she would greet them at the door with.

Gracious and poised, the manner in which she would serve them biscuits or small delicacies.

Polite and genuine, the way she would inquire as to whether they would enjoy a spoon of honey to sweeten their tea.

Casual and Detached, the expression she wore as the poison would begin to spread through their frail human bodies with an unstoppable destructive force, tearing the life from them in the most agonisingly untraceable way.

She was loved.

She was feared.

She feared and loved nothing.

The world would bow down to kiss her tailor-made heels should she merely imply that was her newest wish or whim.

And then… he came.

~)0(~

Belladonna selected targets based on request, more often than not dispatching some highly-trained assassin or other to take care of whomsoever was causing the most trouble. Even high-ranking crime bosses rarely ranked the effort it took to invite them over for tea these days, it was much more efficient to send another in her stead; though that seemed quite boring.

Still, there were a few who seemed to catch the eye; the ones causing the most chaos, harming the innocents, or injuring those under her command for the sheer thrill of it. Those, she dealt with personally…

So, when it came to Belladonna’s attention that some so-called criminal-mastermind calling himself ‘Moriarty’ was terrorising her city,to the extent of even strapping a bomb to a little old blind lady just for the sake of some selfish game of cat and mouse… she knew he needed to come to afternoon tea. And so, she began to plot.

Moriarty did not come solely for a gilded envelope as many others would, no, he needed to be enticed to visit with her. Belladonna spent many a night thinking of how to lure him to her parlour, and eventually conceived of the idea to leave a rather convolutedly coded message in several areas of the city. All wherein Moriarty had committed various acts of cruelty or chaos, and was certain to notice; as, like many murderers and sadists, he was reported to enjoy returning to the scene of the crime to reminisce.

“Mistress Belladonna, an envelope has arrived for you.” stated Vernon, her well-dressed and rather droll butler. He held it carefully within gloved hands, and she saw that it appeared to have been quite distressed by its long journey; crumpled, torn and slightly soiled on some sides. “It has been scanned and tested for any form of trap or substance, ma’am, and it simply seems to be a letter. My apologies for its appearance, based on intel provided by the courier it has been moved rather haphazardly across London to reach you.”

Belladonna laughed, gesturing to take the letter. “Of course it was, he does seem to be a cautious one, doesn’t he?” It almost fell open, the letter sliding free of its filthy confinement as if in relief. Her eyes danced over the elaborate, and somewhat flowery essay of a response within. “Hmmm, it seems he is more than delighted to receive my invitation… Vernon, be a darling and have the kitchen staff make ready a full spread for this afternoon, it seems we are to have company.”

~)0(~

She could not help but be a little taken with him, despite the purpose for which she had called him here. Moriarty practically waltzed into the mansion as if he owned the building and everything within it; politely ordering servants to take his things, and allowing his charm to persuade them into complying.

Belladonna was not exactly an imposing figure, she was of average height and build at best, but she was quite striking in appearance and she knew how best to accentuate it so as to create a lasting impression. There was a small flare of annoyance in her abdomen when she first saw his gaze glance over her well put together ensemble, and move right on to some of them more tastefully lavish decor instead. Ever the gracious hostess, she simply waited with a smile frozen upon her angelic features until her guest deigned to bring his wandering attention back to her countenance.

With an almost overly-dramatic flair, he stepped forwards to take her hand and bestow a kiss. “Madam Belladonna, it is an honour to be in your presence and your home… many thanks for giving me this opportunity to gaze upon such beauty.” he fawned, and it caught her somewhat off-guard. His tone sounded genuine, and yet he had utterly dismissed her existence before.

Before she could puzzle it out with her normally swift intellect, he was rattling off some additional flattery that seemed to feel less forced than the last. Belladonna tried to tell herself it was meaningless patter, the kind she had heard a million times before from admirers and people begging for mercy. Yet… somehow it seemed the words slipped under her guard, leaving her feeling slightly flustered and off-kilter.

Normally she was the one who charmed, not the other way around… things were slightly off-script before she’d even had a chance to welcome her guest. Belladonna’s mind was flaring a warning to be careful, this man was as slippery as his tongue and twice as dangerous…

“Thank you so much for attending my invitation to tea, Mr Moriarty. If you would kindly follow me into the lounge, I believe the servants have set out a spread that you will find most agreeable.” Belladonna says, gesturing him to follow her past the stairs, down the hall and into the well-furnished lounge and relaxation room. As promised, the table was utterly bedecked in finger foods of all kinds and formations, from the obscenely decadent cupcakes through to delectable looking sandwiches and mini quiches.

It seems the kitchen staff deserved a raise…

One of the serving staff, a young maid by the name of Molly, strode in rather stiffly, as if deathly afraid of the tray she carried. She was new, and Belladonna made a show of telling the young woman that it was alright, and if the tray fell… why then, they had dozens more cups and saucers in the pantry. In the periphery of her vision, she saw Moriarty noticing the unusual activity, but visibly relaxing somewhat as the chatter between the two women stole the tension from the air.

Excellent, his fears appeared allayed by her theatrics. Molly placed the tray deftly, waited a moment and bowed upon dismissal.

“Ah, new servants are always an interesting experience…” she stated casually to Moriarty. “Sometimes they just don’t seem to grasp the concept that working for the obscenely wealthy means that a shattered plate or twenty can be easily replaced, and no one will be punished for it. Well, I won’t, because I like to see the good in people. How about you, Mr Moriarty? Do you have servants or are you more inclined to do things yourself?”

He had a mouthful of a mini-quiche at the time, and had to swallow almost too-quickly before responding. “Oh no I-...,” he paused to cough, and clear his throat as the pastry tried to fight against the natural downward egress of his oesophagus. “Ahem, excuse me… as I was saying, I rather prefer to do things my way. Servants would only find me frustrating, and far too eccentric to deal with, no matter how many zeroes I’d put on their paycheck…”

Acting as the concerned hostess, Belladonna immediately moved forwards toward the tray placed close at hand atop the table. “Oh dear, I fear the mini-quiche was a tad too dry for an unlubricated throat… please, have a sip of tea to wash it down!” she fusses, pouring the steaming liquid into a dainty cup at hand, and then holding up the lid of an additional jar. “...Honey, Mr Moriarty?”

“No, I… don’t think I will. You are already sweet enough company without going overboard…” he replies, carefully accepting the teacup and saucer with the ease of one who has been schooled on the etiquette rigorously. His eyes pierce into hers over the rim as he drinks. “Something tells me that a spoonful of honey might have been the death of me… or so I’ve heard.” he adds, teasingly.

She of course happened to have a knife strapped to her thigh under her attire, and yet, the thought to use it does not cross her mind at all. Clearly, he knew who she was… a Grimsbane was always known above and below board. However, to have realised she was also Honey, infamous criminal element executioner and protector of the people? It hadn’t yet happened before, she was, that is to say, quite in shock.

He smirked, eyes twinkling. “I am thinking, my dear honeypot, that perhaps instead of playing this game of pleasantries… we should speak plainly. Of what we can each offer one another, as criminal masterminds at opposite ends of the spectrum I’m certain we could come up with something quite… sensational!”

Moriarty’s eyes lit up, a passionate fire behind them that seemed to captivate Belladonna. His cup touched the tabletop with a loud clink that almost shattered the moment, but he was already moving, whirling about the table to kneel on one knee by her chair, holding Belladonna’s hand. “Can you even begin to fathom how we two, a ravishing intellectual queen like yourself, and I could do to this town?”

His fervour was a little alarming, almost no one ever spoke to her like this, she was often fawned over or begged for mercy but not… this. Belladonna’s eyes were wide in surprise, heart beating a little faster, but she did not pull back her hand as he continued.

“That is to say, my beautiful assassin, my poisoned jewel in the crown… with our combined efforts we can easily take all of London, no, the country by storm! Imagine being able to remove those heartless bastards who prey on the weak with just a word, whether they were next door or a continent over? Could you comprehend the justice you could rain down upon the sick, the perverted, the cruel and sadistic with our unified might?” he cajoled, painting in her mind’s eye a world where no villain, no criminal was ever out of reach of her smiting hands. It was as if he could read her mind, know her dreams and wishes.

She startles to reality again to find her hand firmly entwined with his, as he continues to talk. Belladonna wonders at how she hadn’t noticed in the least, but… for some strange reason, the idea of breaking this physical connection made her chest feel tight. Perhaps because he was so emphatic? Or… no, maybe it was simply that she rarely allowed touch? Or… well, she didn’t know.

But it felt… good, she supposed. His enigmatic tone and grand ideas seemed to seep into the core of her being and lift Belladonna up, raising her aloft and making the criminal mastermind quite dizzy. Giddy, almost. It was wonderful, and she would love that future but…

“But you have killed innocents.” she said, and the elated mood of the room seemed to snap as if a scythe had been swung through it. Her eyes fixated on his, grip crushing his own somewhat. “Your silly games have hurt so many people who didn’t deserve to die…”

He seemed to struggle with that concept for a moment before finally stating, “Yes, I have, haven’t I? Excuses will not undo what I’ve done, dear Belladonna, but… the puzzles I made, the games I was playing, they’re ended for good. Hah, literally! I no longer design deathtraps and devices to use against the common folk, the people who have done nothing but be born into an average life… it is those who lurk in the shadows, the people like me… or like I was, those corrupted officials in power that we must take down!”

Truly he was a torrent of words, like a fountain, like a waterfall. She was struggling not to drown as he twisted one way then another with his grandiose turns of phrase and the speeches that promised many things. Moriarty spoke… and for once, the woman who normally gave orders and brooked no argument, listened.

When it ended, he merely kissed the stunned Belladonna upon her hand and strode out, thanking her concisely for such a hospitable tea service… and stating he would come again. Confused servants stared in his wake, predominantly wondering as to why they were not ferrying his corpse to the basement… and Belladonna?

Belladonna was gathering her scattered wits and emotions, trying to fathom what this could mean for either of them. And yet, a smile graced her lips as she whispered, “He said he would come again…”

...and he did.

~)0(~

The whispers in her ears always took on his voice, guiding gently and carefully with flowery words and conviction. Moriarty was her biggest supporter, her critic, her rival and… her lover.

Or at least, she hoped one day he would be; for he only seemed to say the right things to cajole her into action on something he wished to occur. Still, perhaps he was not as affectionate as she… Belladonna had not been in love before and could not be certain of what was normal or not.

She poured the tea, wielded the knife, gave the orders to remove people he brought to her attention. Each time gaining a modicum of adulation and attention from the man she adored, whom she felt most kindred to… and so, she started to lose herself. Normally, Belladonna would at least task one underling or another to do a cursory review of circumstances prior to enacting Justice upon someone. But the way Moriarty detailed their many affronts to her… it just seemed so natural to trust that his word was genuine, that he felt the anger that surged through her own body when injustice was done.

And so it was, for months, years even. Sometimes Belladonna found herself wondering if perhaps she was not as in control of herself as she believed… but then he would be there, saying just the right thing and bringing her extravagant things to show his devotion, and nothing would matter more than pleasing him.

It was in the autumn one year when Moriarty’s honeyed words whispered urgently into her ear that there was someone out there creating hoax mysteries far greater than even he had in his heyday. A man, no, a monster whose little antics were endangering the lives of even the most innocent of them all, children, just to sate his lust for fame and fortune. He corrupted all the good men and women who revolved around him, especially a certain ex-military doctor; who had been pressed into murder, to protect this underhanded creature’s miserable life.

Irrational hatred sprang forth from the very mention of his name, as Moriarty hissed it in her ear with loathing drenching the tone. Belladonna did not even hesitate for a moment; rapidly creating, signing and sending an invitation to afternoon tea…

...to one Mr Sherlock Holmes & Doctor John Watson.

~)0(~

Sweeping in as enigmatically as always, Moriarty arrived in the doorway to the lounge as the servants were carrying away uneaten fare from the afternoon tea. He seemed surprised, and raised an eyebrow.

“Did we have a guest, my dear Belladonna?” he smiled, sweeping around to take her hand and press a kiss to it. Such a thing appeared to be his main manner of expressing affection, even if it seemed a little strange that he repeat the action whenever they met. Still, it did make Belladona’s heart flutter…

Today, she took his hands in hers, and smiled brightly as she rose to look him in the eyes. “Come, I have a gift for you, my clever little heart-thief…” Belladonna said, guiding him from the room and up the spiraling staircase near the entrance. He seemed mildly perplexed, but agreeable to traversing along behind; his clear display of trust filled her chest with a giddy delight.

Past one guest room, another, past the bathroom… and there, an open door to a decoy master bedroom. She could barely contain her glee as she led Moriarty, her Moriarty inside to display the latest enactment of justice.

His gasp was like a child beholding a much-desired toy for the first time, and she felt him squeeze her hand tightly as he beheld them. Neatly arranged on the bedcovers, awaiting nighttime disposal, the silent forms of their greatest adversaries…

There were tears in his eyes as he spun to her to face him, and a smile wide across his features. Moriarty was as delighted as she that the world was now safe from these abominable men.

“You did it…” he breathed, hands cupping her face gently, as if she were too precious for this world.

“No, we did it.” Belladonna answered back, beaming and overflowing with pride at having pleased him so utterly. Her heart nearly stops when he finally whispers, ‘God I love you…’ and closes the gap between them to kiss her more passionately than anyone ever has.

This is what love feels like, she realises in that moment.

If only she knew his eyes were not on her, but focused on the blank-eyed corpses behind, elated at his victory over Sherlock Holmes once and for all.

_________

The End

#sherlock #missfurr #fic commission #moriarty #oc #$2AU

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jamiehueblog · 5 years ago

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7 things you need to know if you’re renovating your bathroom

Preparing to launch a new remodeling project for the bathroom? This is your first time going through a redesign of your home? It's a fun chapter in your life and one that's the best way to approach it. To help you understand the perfect balance between your imaginative customization needs and practical design ideas that will help you bind the entire bathroom together, we have compiled our favorite tips and tricks.

All of us want a bathroom that represents our personal style and can provide the comfort we need at the same time. Apart from that, however, it is also important that it has the correct fixtures and facilities that can also provide function and value. Fortunately, you can have it all by careful preparation, selecting the right contractors, and choosing the right design. Here are some of the best tips that could turn your dream of bathroom remodeling into reality.

1. “Draft” your bathroom

You can first speak with someone who will be using the space before you even contact a remodeling company for your bathroom remodel. Try to have a conversation about the fixtures and finishes you are going to use and how much of a budget you're prepared to payout. It's important to have a little extra while you prepare for your budget because you never know if there will be any unforeseen issues that will raise the cost later on.

Some additional budget-planning tips are here:

Set aside at least 20% of your budget just to cover the unforeseen expenditures and surprise expenses you are likely to face during your remodeling project.

Work with your family to set the correct cap for your budget and strictly preserve those limits.

As you step forward with the project, this preparation will be very beneficial and go a long way towards keeping with your bathroom renovation plan. You have to realize that the process could take about 30-90 days once you start with the renovation. Try to avoid the idea of changing your plans, no matter how long it would take until financial restrictions or issues arise.

By delaying vendors, buying new products, and moving your end date further and further out, changing your plans will produce more secret expenses.

If you have a tough time drawing up a plan for your bathroom, talk to a remodeling contractor and ask for their advice. A specialist may also have a vision for your theme, and manage the scheduling for both installers and suppliers.

2. Bathroom floor plans

For those who are not conscious, it is highly recommended to keep the plumbing fixtures of the new bath similar to the current plumbing of the bathroom if you really want to save a decent amount of money on restoration and demolition.

However, if the remodeler finds obsolete cabling or plumbing, there is a huge chance that this specialist will recommend that you gut out the old pipes and wires, which, in addition to changing the positions, would facilitate the installation of the new ones.

If your budget is small and you need to maintain the same footprint. Don't worry, with the use of some tricks explicitly made for that reason, you can still give the impression that the room is a little bigger. Pedestal sinks, for example, are better known for making space look more spacious, so transparent glass shower doors are more desirable than tub shower curtains, as this will block the light and make it seem more enclosed. Also, as an alternative to a small medicine cabinet mirror, you may also suggest using a large mirror. Doing anything like this might double the space around your area of vanity visually.

3. Led lighting design

While an elegant faucet finish would certainly make a bathroom look elegant, once you consider installing ample and luxurious bathroom lighting, you'll never make a bad choice. Well-designed vanity lighting is likewise capable of removing the shadows on faces.

A combination of LED recessed lights with wall sconces next to or over the mirror is also a smart idea since you can still mount and use dimmer switches if it is too bright.

Ambient and overhead

Overhead lighting is very necessary for bathrooms. As for ambient choices, the use of sunken track lighting, frosted glass fixtures, or even rice paper can always be considered. Similarly, perimeter lighting is also able to create both soft, ambient glow and usable illumination. Often, it is highly recommended to start using pendant lighting. Something like this makes it possible to disperse light in a direction that gives the illusion of a lovely centerpiece ceiling.

4. Poet Interiors

Have you observed that certain glass panels really do not go all the way to the top of the ceiling of the bathroom? There is a reason for that since a lot of experts agree that it allows more air circulation inside the bathroom to hold frameless glass installations from floor to ceiling.

For good ventilation in your bathroom, there are some rules that must be observed. It's not just a code, it's safer for your wellbeing, too. Stuff like aerosol sprays would be left without adequate ventilation to stagnate the air. That would make it more and more difficult to use the bathroom over time. The renovation of most bathrooms involves some form of ventilation, either through a centralized system or through window installation. Shower doors, panels, and screens must leave sufficient ventilation space. The steam that builds up and permeates the air during a hot shower to the point where it becomes hard to breathe. You need somewhere for the steam to escape during a shower, and ventilation helps to circulate fresh air into the room. Besides, during an emergency, there should still be enough space for clearance. Custom shower systems provide you with the option to have a glass transom that can be tilted open to release steam and other contaminants into the air in certain instances. Adding a fan to the bathroom increases the airflow capabilities of your bathroom. Based on the size requirements of your bathroom, if you already have a fan built, you may want to add a second one.

5. Enlarge the Space

If your bathroom is on the smaller side, then you have to unleash your imagination to build the space to make it look bigger. Try to use all the space in your bathroom as much as possible. If your goal is to open the room, glass doors for tubs and showers are fine, and the pedestal sinks are ideal because, compared to cabinets, they take less space. For those who need storage, but do not have much room to work with, all cabinets and tower cabinets above the toilets as well as towel racks are fine.

6. Pick Timeless, But Strong Flooring

Bay Vista

A survey by Consumer Reports found that 80% of homeowners prefer durable flooring for bathrooms over trendy flooring for bathrooms. Not that there aren't many choices that are both robust and trendy, but people just want to go for the safest choice when it comes to brass tacks.

Certainly, porcelain, ceramic, and stone tiles look exquisite and appealing to the eyes, and they are also water-resistant options that make them the ideal bathroom flooring tiles.

Nothing is better than baseboard tiles with respect to longevity, and these tiles are often known for adding an elegant finishing touch.

Tiles for the bathroom are not meant to be fragile. When you walk around your bathroom floors every day, several times a day, you need floors that are beautiful but can also take a beating. Don't compromise your design for anything that doesn't look fine, but because you like the way it looks in your new bathroom, you also shouldn't choose bad stuff.

You don't have to come up with a balance between feature and shape, luckily. Many of the above-mentioned options are both stylish and sturdy enough to be well-suited for bathroom use. Plus, several vinyl manufacturers produce specialized materials that are designed to withstand exposure to moisture and foot traffic.

7. Design In Mind For the Future

In order to ensure that the value of your property increases over time, it is vital for those who are thinking of putting their home up for sale five years from now, to consider renovating your home for that purpose. On the other hand, it's really important to make sure that the design of your bathroom is something you would really enjoy and suit your style and desires if you're planning to live in your home for a couple of years.

The best balance of comfort, luxury, style, value, and durability needs to be found. This is no easy feat, but you can start putting the pieces together with the aid of a trustworthy contractor with some much remodeling advice to explore what designs and renovating structures can make you and your family happy.

When it comes to the daunting decision-making process for your bathroom remodeling project, you are never alone. To get you started with the fundamentals, you can use free online tools such as our Remodeling 101: A Free Homeowner's Guide. Your bathroom remodel project's brainstorming and the planning process can be enjoyable, but it's difficult to find out what materials and appliances are right for you when you go alone.

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so-about-that-dragon · 8 years ago

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Chapter 2

By the time they reached the base of the mountain, hangovers were beginning to set in and at least three people had been rescued from falling off their horses. Grey was bored out of his skull, Lokai had moved on to a new book, and Devero had attempted two “detours” just to see if Grey and Skye were paying attention. Setting up camp was a welcome change of pace, even if only because they got to once again watch Skye try to get the nobles to be semi-reasonable human beings and not spoiled children.

It wasn’t working.

This time, Devero conceded to eating what the servants prepared, if only because he would not have been able to keep Grey and Lokai from the sweetened meats they were making anyway. Grey could not resist commenting on the food’s inferiority to what Skye could prepare, which drew a tiny smile from the older man.

“So ready for this day to be over,” Lokai muttered around a mouthful of roast pig.

Skye gave a hum of agreement. It was absolutely extraordinary to see him so close to losing his composure when Skye regularly took every ridiculous, stupid thing Grey and Lokai had done in the last six years completely in stride. There was something almost refreshing about seeing behaving like a human for once.

On the other hand, none of them particularly liked to see Skye upset. This, among other things, led to Grey deciding to turn in relatively early. The sooner they all got to sleep, the sooner they could leave in the morning. More than a few people called after the prince, trying to get him to come back and join them or implying that he was ruining everyone else’s fun. This ended rather quickly with a growl from Devero, who then proceeded to herd Skye and Lokai to bed, too.

Grey lay awake for quite a while, though. Normally when they camped, they all shared a tent. It was safer and easier that way, but such a thing would be considered highly unusual and just a little inappropriate in court. There was something indecent about someone as powerful as the king, or his son, being seen while in such a vulnerable state by anyone, even his retainers, and Grey hated it. He had grown up on this pedestal, been raised to a near godlike status among his people before he’d been old enough to understand what that meant, and it was why he’d become friends with Lokai so easily. Lokai had been the first person to see him as just another kid, not the crown prince, not a charge to be protected, not a burden, but a person, a friend.

Skye had once proposed the theory that the royal family was treated this way, not just as a form of intimidation, but also isolation. A child raised to be seen as untouchable and unattainable would learn to rely on no one and to trust no one. It made them harder to betray, harder to kill. It also, Skye had suggested, made arranged marriages easier. Royal children would be more than willing to marry each other if they had been raised above and away anyone else who might get their attention.

Given how badly his father had reacted to Grey’s growing friendship with Lokai and with his retainers, Grey was beginning to suspect that to be true. ~*~*~*~

Waking up at dawn, whether he wanted to or not, was a default state Grey had developed after finding out that those who did not wake up at dawn tended to get cold water thrown on them by Devero. Even knowing there was no chance Devero would do such a thing where there was risk of members of the court seeing, Grey woke up at dawn anyway. He got dressed, shuffled out of his tent, and found Skye already awake and preparing breakfast over a fire that he had clearly conjured himself while Devero sat near him, one hand holding a book he had apparently taken from Lokai’s pilfered library while the other held a plate for Skye to put cooked sausages on.

Grey took in the scene a bit of confusion. While Skye being a mage was hardly a secret, it was rare for him to use his abilities in the open. Nobles were funny about magic. “What’s the occasion?” Grey asked. He tried to snatch one of the sausages Skye had already finished cooking over the fire, only to have his hand swatted away. Grey stuck his tongue out at him.

“Put that away or I’ll stab it with something hot,” Skye scolded.

“How’d you know he was sticking his tongue out at you?” Lokai asked as he approached with a little extra fire wood.

“Because he’s Grey,” Skye replied evenly, “and because being blind does not mean I do not know every annoying quirk and bad habit my prince has developed in the seventeen years I’ve been babysitting him.” Grey gave a long, sleepy yawn. “Speaking of bad habits, go get dressed. It’s unbecoming for the crown prince to be shuffling around camp half naked.”

Lokai made a whining noise, “Aww, but I’m enjoying the view.” Grey was too accustomed to his friend’s playful flirting to take it seriously, but Skye shot Lokai a look that made him squeak and hide behind Devero. The large warrior continued to ignore them, but set his plate down and handed a small frying pan and a satchel of eggs to Skye without having to be asked. Rolling his eyes, Grey went back to the tent to get dressed before some poor, unfortunate noblewoman got a case of the vapors because the prince was wandering around camp shirtless.

Outside, he heard Devero say, “He doesn’t even blush when you do that anymore, ‘Kai. You need to try a little harder.” Something that sounded suspiciously like Skye smacking him in the back of the head and laughter from Lokai followed. Another squeak from Lokai told him that Skye had taken a swing at him, too, but Lokai had managed to avoid it.

Grey chuckled. There couldn’t be many people awake if Skye and Devero were being this playful, but Grey understood Skye’s concern. His father would have thrown a fit if he had caught Grey walking around half clothed like some soldier. It would cause a scandal in the court, too, and Grey was getting very tired of the already myriad rumors flying around the city about him and his non-existent love life.

Once dressed, Grey found himself put to work helping to pack the tent and dividing up the supplies they were actually taking with them from the bags and bags full of nonsense that had been forced upon them. Sleepy nobles had begun emerging from their tents by the time Grey got to sit down and eat around a fire that had conveniently taken on a much more normal color.

“How are they going to get back to the castle without Skye to babysit them?” Lokai asked, watching the servants helping to pack up tents, “I’m pretty sure you’re the only reason nobody died on the way here.” Skye made a small noise in the back of his throat that might have been amusement. “Not that I’m saying you should go with them. We all know we’d be dead in under ten minutes without you.”

Devero, still intent on his book, grunted in agreement. Grey watched them and ate in silence, content to just be with his companions for a little while. His armor was already starting to feel uncomfortable, but he contented himself with the knowledge that it would only be for an hour or two more.

Grey caught Skye’s back stiffening just a little out of the corner of his eye and, a moment later, spotted Duke Wessam approaching them. “Your majesty,” he said, bowing low to Grey. He inclined his head politely to Devero, who politely ignored his existence, and barely spared a glance at Skye. Like most of the nobles, he ignored Lokai completely. Grey did not fail to notice the way Devero’s eyes narrowed behind his book at the blatant show of disrespect.

“Duke Wessam,” Grey replied, “Can I help you with something?”

The duke gave him a gracious smile, “I was just thinking, your majesty, that you don’t seem to be planning to take any servants with you,” he paused, “well, other than your, erm, friend.” Lokai was too familiar with this treatment to care, but Devero’s free hand tightened into a fist and Skye had reached over to place a hand on Devero’s arm.

“I see,” Grey said, giving the duke a thoughtful look, “while it’s quite gracious of you to offer yourself up as a servant, Duke Wessam, I doubt you have the physical fortitude for such a job. Might I suggest you keep to your current job of lording yourself over your own servants instead?”

Duke Wessam spluttered indignantly and, behind him, Devero caught Grey’s eye over the top of his book and gave a small, approving nod. Skye, on the other hand, was resolutely pretending not to have heard any of this. Oh, he was going to catch hell for his later. Might as well make it worth it, then.

“And, while you’re at it,” Grey said, voice going cold, “if I ever catch you not showing the due respect to my Sword or one of my chosen warriors again, I will see to it that you actually do get to experience life as a servant. Do I make myself clear, Duke Wessam?”

“Your majesty, I-”

Grey glared in what he hopped was an adequate facsimile of his father’s chilling stare, “Do I make myself clear?”

Duke Wessam bowed low again, “Y-yes, you majesty.”

“You are dismissed,” Grey said. Duke Wessam immediately rushed away from their circle.

Skye rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Greywalker…”

“He insulted you and Lokai.”

“I don’t care, Greywalker. You still-”

“Acted in a way completely unbecoming of the crown prince,” Grey finished, rolling his eyes, “I know, I know.”

Devero muttered, “I could have hit him instead, if you’d have preferred that.”

“Hush, you.”

Devero grinned, “Yes dear.”

The corner of Skye’s mouth twitched. Satisfied in his successful deflection of whatever lecture Grey had been about to get, Devero descended back into the depths of his book. Lokai had watched this entire exchange in absolute silence, which was strange in and of itself. He usually went out of his way to annoy Duke Wessam. Once Skye had gone back to eating, Lokai leaned closer to Grey and whispered, “You didn’t need to that for us, you know.”

“Yes I did. Duke Wessam wanted Skye released from his duties as my Sword after he went blind. He argued with my father for weeks about you becoming one of my warriors. I’m sick of it.” He gave Lokai a hard look, “You don’t put up with anyone insulting me. I’d be nothing without you three, but I have to sit here and let everyone insult you and Skye day in and day out because the crown is supposed to be above such petty things as their loved ones being insulted.”

Grey caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked up, Skye was talking quietly with Devero about their plans for reaching the dragon’s keep. Neither of them seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to Grey or Lokai.

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