#i also want book armand's hair maybe a little more red? and also i need his blush brighter

[inkalope]

My manufacturer sent me pics of the first samples of tvc book Armand and IWTV amc Armand plushies! (Keep in mind this isn’t their final design just first sample so they will look different later on). Have to modify both of them a fair amount but here’s the start!!! 

[suzenka]

New Year Celebration

Hello there Team :) I have another little story for you. From the Westworld!AU. Yeah, I know you probably don’t like this one, but it’s already written... so why couldn’t I share it with you? And as always sorry for all the mistakes and plot holes. And please tell me, if you like it. Or if you don’t like it. Simply what do you think about it? Fun fact, this was supposed to be published for the new year..... That was two months ago. Sorry. Enjoy :)

- Turn him on -

Treville opened his eyes like many times before, as he remembered after a while of confusion. Richelieu explained this to him few times. His, Treville's, memories of things that happened in here, Richelieu's office, are in something like a book. A special book. And the book must be read before he can remember everything in it. And this action takes some time.

It is a simple explanation for a soldier like Treville. Or for a machine he is.

No. Richelieu doesn't want me to think like that.

Richelieu wakes him up nearly every night. Treville asked him to do it. He wanted to spend time in this strange new world. He wanted to spend time with Richelieu. Not the one from Paris. That's another Richelieu, a machine just like Treville. Treville wanted to spend time with a God, who created him. His memory, his personality, and, as Richelieu once said, his eyes as blue as ocean.

Most of the time Richelieu had some important things to do. He let Treville wander around his office, sometimes he got him a paper and pencils and let him draw.

Treville noticed how happy Richelieu was when he was drawing things. Richelieu sometimes even sat next to him and helped him with problems, told him what to draw next or what he shouldn't do.

It's same this time. Richelieu's sitting behind his desk and working. There's corner with couch and table. And there's also a huge sketchbook and pencils.

But this time, the whole place feels weird. Maybe lonely. Or something like this, Treville can't describe it.

„You usually get up quickly and start drawing,“ Armand speaks up and turns his head to Treville. „Is something wrong?“

„I don't know,“ Treville muses and walks to the corner where he has everything he needs. Including clothes. Armand smiles a little bit and starts to write something again.

„If you need anything, just ask. But you know this,“ he murmurs and looks for something on his phone. Music starts playing after a while and Treville raises his head.

This is not normal.

„You don't usually listen to music,“ he says and dresses up.

„No, but tonight is different. It's New Year tonight. Everybody's celebrating and there will be a firework at midnight. Even though this office is far away from the place my fellow workers have their party, I know I will be able to hear it. And it's distracting. That's why the music,“ Richelieu explains and smiles.

Treville shakes his head in understanding and takes the sketchbook and a pencil and starts to draw. They are both silent, even though Treville would like to talk with Richelieu. But he never wanted to distract a mastermind from its work.

Another song starts to play.

„I don't know these songs,“ Treville murmurs as he draws some animal. „Who sings that?“

Armand raises his head and watches Treville for a while.

He doesn't know? Of course. He cannot know.

„A band called Queen. This one is Under Pressure. And a singer called David Bowie sings this one with them. I actually like songs from Queen.“

„You are under pressure,“ Treville jokes and starts to draw again.

„Maybe, but I am used to it. Things need to be done and I am the one, who's doing them. I know why I am doing them and what will it bring,“ Armand explains and has a bittersweet smile for Treville. „Sometimes it's hard.“

And sometimes it's lonely.

„I would tell you not to do it, but that's not you,“ Treville says and has a look for Richelieu, who shakes his head in agreement.

Another song starts to play. Treville hears explosions in the distance, but he doesn't mind. It's probably the firework, Richelieu talked about. He pays attention more to the song and his drawing. He moves his feet to the rhythm.

„I want to break free,“ Armand says after watching the android for some time.

„Why don't you then go to the party?“ Treville asks not paying attention.

„Oh... no,“ Armand chuckles a little bit. „That's the name of the song.“

„Why do you listen to songs like this?“ Treville inquiries. „With names like this.“

„I just like them,“ Armand shrugs and stops to think about it.

Why couldn't I go to the party? I am invited, there's no problem. Maybe just the thing that I don't like places with lots of people. Or I have nothing to do there.

„Why aren't you in the party?“ Treville asks again.

„I would be lonely there. They are all much younger than me and they want to have fun. Their type of fun. Mine is different. That's it. And I like being here with you. In silence, just working, doing things. It's relaxing. To be with someone who admires me, not because of the creation of androids, but because of me.“

„I do admire you. And I like our sessions but....“

Armand raises his head and watches Treville carefully.

„Yes?“

„Can I see the firework?“ Treville asks.

I really want to see it. But I want you to see it too. I want you to be with people like you.

„Well..... if you want to. I can take you there, but it's not anything amazing. Just a bunch of people laughing, talking and drinking alcohol.“

Treville stands up and walks towards Richelieu and his desk. When he reaches it, he sits on the edge of the desk.

„Please. I want to see your world.“

This is true.

„Nothing amazing..“

„You come from there. It must be a great place when there are people who can create other people..“

„Seriously Jean?“ Armand raises a brown. „Have you heard about sex.“

„Yes,“ Treville stops. „But......I mean.... like create them from something not living..…..... like a Golem.“

How can you know about this?

„I am not sure, how do you know this legend,“ Armand frowns and looks at Treville. „But if you really want to see my world.“

And all that fuss and misery. Idiots calling themselves geniuses.

„Yes.“

„But I am warning you. You'll be disappointed.“

„Well. If I'll be... you can always remove my memories. You do that, I know,“ Treville smiles a little bit.

~~~

The firework is great. And if it's true, that this one isn't the main one, then I want to stay and watch it all until the end.

They stand together on a something looking like a bridge over the bar and tables filled with people. They are alone and Treville knows Richelieu likes it. It wasn't really a problem to get there. Nor being together even though it looked like a lot of people actually knew Treville.

„You're one of the old ones. First ones. There's not a lot of them in The Paris. That's why they remember you,“ Richelieu explains him.

And because they probably want to get rid of you.

„But then they know I am a machine. Won't you have any problems?“ Treville asks after thinking for a while.

„No, not really. At first, I created this place. Second, nearly every third person here is an android. No one cares, believe me,“ Richelieu says and leans on the railing.

„Your world is wonderful,“ Treville lets out and Richelieu has a teasing look for him.

„Please stop that. I know it's something new for you, but this world is none of what you say. It doesn't deserve to be called like this.“

„You hate your world?“

„No,“ Richelieu says. „...... Just sometimes I feel like your world is much better place.“

„Why?“

Because you are there.

„Because there's a lot of things wrong in my world..... and you don't have Toby. Beware,“ he says as he straightens up and watches a young lady approaching them. Treville turns his head to see a curly red-haired girl, with at least ten glasses of champagne in her hands, smiling at them.

„Boss!“ she lets out as soon as she can over scream the rumour and loud music.

„Toby,“ Richelieu smiles a bit. „Why do you have that huge amount of champagne?“

„To drink it, of course,“ she laughs. „And also because some weird person just started to pick up all the glasses and I wanted everybody to have at least one glass. Here, take.“

Richelieu takes one of the glasses and then another one and handles it to Treville.

„Wasn't that person you?“

„Maybe. Hi Treville. Or what's your name,“ she smiles at the host. Treville tries to smile too but fails horribly. He's a bit surprised by her.

„Treville.“

„So, 'ya found a time to get here, boss? That's a good thing. You should talk more to 'em. Even though they are boring,“ she says and drinks one of the glasses.

„We cannot say that about you, Toby. Also, don't you have some friends waiting for you to bring them champagne?“ Richelieu asks.

„Surely yeah, but I wanted to say „Happy New Year“ to 'ya,“ she smiles and looks at Treville. „I should probably go. He doesn't like me,“ she points on Richelieu.

When you are ruining the moment.

„That's not true. You are just more extravagant than I am able to stand for a long period of time,“ Richelieu says and smiles too. „But I still like you.“

„More them 'em,“ she points down on the crowd full of architects and technicians.

„Sometimes yes. Now get out.“

„But..“

Richelieu stares at her with something really dangerous in his eyes.

Or was that just my feeling?

„It was nice to meet you, Toby,“ Treville lets out and looks at the young lady.

„Same on here. Well, I have to go. Boss doesn't like me. Also whatever you're doing to him or with him, continue with it. He's in much better mood since he started that experiment with learning,“ she hisses loudly to Treville while covering her mouth with a hand full of glasses.

„You know I've heard that,“ Richelieu points out.

And that I don't like you for saying that aloud.

„Time to run,“ she says and disappears. Treville tries to find her for a while. Then he turns to Richelieu.

„She's weird, don't mind that,“ the Cardinal smiles and takes a sip from the glass.

„If you don't like her, why she's still working in here?“ he asks.

„Truth to be said, nobody knows..... Hush... The firework,“ Richelieu says and points on the dark night sky. For a while, it's a terrible silence and then there's a huge explosion and the sky is lightened up by many colours.

Treville watches it silently and somewhere between explosions he takes Armand's hand and holds it.

„I like it. Thank you for taking me here,“ he lets out as soon as firework ends and looks at Armand.

It's beautiful Armand.

„You wanted to see it.“

„But still, thank you,“ he smiles and holds Armand's hand firmly. Then he leans to Armand and kisses him. When they stop Treville stares into Armand's eyes.

„Do you know there are a lot of people?“ Richelieu says and catches Treville's other hand.

„I don't think they mind. From what I saw and what I remember, they care more about themselves than you. Besides you've heard Toby. They are happy I am doing something to you.“

I don't care at all Armand. Don't be afraid or anything.

„Maybe we should stop with it then. Or they will stop obeying me,“ Armand jokes and kisses Treville again.

„But you don't want to stop this, do you?“

Please, say don't.

„No. I don't.“

~~~

The music is playing again when Treville undresses and prepares for the return to The Paris. He doesn't really like it. The fact he has to go and the melody of the song.

„Is everything fine?“ Armand asks when Treville's finally lying on the metal desk.

„Yes. Thank you for tonight. I liked it very much,“ he answers and stares at Armand.

Also, I am a bit cold like this, I think you should know.

„I did too,“ Armand smiles and kisses Treville on the forehead. He's going through Treville's hair with his hand looking for a panel for switching Treville off.

„Will there be more nights like this one?“

„Surely yes,“ Armand smiles and finally finds the panel.

You know that. And you're still asking.

„What's the name of this song....“ Treville lets out as he's turned off.

„Show must go on. And I know what would you like to say. That it is a good song for this moment.“ He slowly opens Treville's head and takes off the chip with Treville's memory. Then he turns him on again to control he's alright.

„Where am I?“ asks Treville. „Are we at war?“

„Why do you think?“ Armand says not really paying attention to it and inspects the data.

„I thought I have heard an explosion.“

„Probably just a lost memory.“

- Turn him off -

Hey :D You survived. Congratulation. And again, sorry for all the mistakes. And let me know if there’s something I should change.

[becumsh]

“allies”, richelieu&milady, modern au

I live for their relationship because richelieu adopting milady is my fave concept in any modern au, i want 193958201 fics about them. also i wrote it at like 5.30am so it’s probably meh.

Her bed creaks.

It doesn’t really bother her – she’s used to sleeping in much rougher conditions, honestly, but the sound is so crisp in the night silence, uninterrupted by anyone’s breathing or snoring, that it disconcerts her.

It’s not that she’s too hot or too cold, or that the bedsheets don’t smell of being boiled within the inch of their life, or that she can’t find a comfortable position and keeps turning. She doesn’t care that the mattress is too sturdy and flat with no dips to accommodate the curves of human body.

She just can’t sleep. The bed creaks and the sound makes her skin crawl. It’s not because it’s the first night here and it’s strange and unfamiliar. It’s not.

Finally, Milady gives up and swings her legs from the bed. The parquet is warm under her feet but she slides her feet in the slippers anyway, just in case.

The cold tiles under the soles of her feet, cracked and chipped, the dirt getting stuck between her toes.

She tip toed to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of cold milk. She was told that she’s allowed to do so if she wants.

On her way back, Milady noticed a line of yellow light coming from behind the door. When she left, the neon blue digits of the stove clock informed her that it’s well past three a.m.

‘May be the cats are afraid of the dark,’ she thinks. ‘Or he forgot to switch the lamp off.’

She leaves and doesn’t hear the rustle of papers, a mug being lifted and drunk from.

Three days later she needs to pee, and again, the light is pouring from the room that’s next to the kitchen.

‘Definitely the cats,’ Milady decides and returns to the room she is allowed to call her own.

Before she goes back to sleep, she checks the contents of a small suitcase under her bed. Clothes, two books she stole from the orphanage library and three chocolate bars nicked from the pantry. There are also two stale biscuits wrapped in a toilet paper and hidden in the pocket of her dress but it’s an emergency stash for the time when she’ll be really desperate because they taste of card box when they are fresh and Milady doesn’t dare to think about how they taste now.

Two weeks in, and Milady sleeps much better.

“Anne, be more civil to your roommates. It’s your fault that you are getting picked at; I’m sure that if you’ll try to be nicer they’ll stop.”

“Your parents abandoned because you are horrible. My mummy will find me and you will rot here until they kick you out, you monster.”

It’s four in the morning. The bedsheets smell faintly of lavender and detergent. Also, when her feet touch the floor, it’s warm and feels wooden and also there’s cat hair. There are no cats in the orphanage. She’s exactly one hundred and forty five miles away from the orphanage, she checked.

At quarter past five, Milady finishes gulping cold water from the tap in the kitchen.

Four twenty five and she comes to conclusion that she won’t be able to sleep any time soon.

Milady pads into the study. She is allowed to take a book if she wants to. She was warned that the majority of them are boring. She thinks that while she’s at it, she might as well turn the lamp off.

She walks in and slightly jumps at the sight.

“Bad dream?” he turns and raises his thick eyebrows.

He introduced himself as Armand Richelieu. He said that he’s her new father. She replied that she never had one.

“No.” Milady replies.

“Right.” Richelieu blinks a few times. “Um. Are you hungry? Or do you want another blanket?”

“May I take a book?” she asks as civilly as she can.

Richelieu shrugs and points at the shelves. Milady comes closer and picks the slimmest and the one that looks the least boring.

Her new parent watches her carefully, a pile of papers lying forgotten in front of him.

“You can stay here, if you want,” he suddenly offers.

Milady feels her skin prickling, her palms sweaty, breath ragged. May be the offer isn’t so sudden.

“Okay,” she agrees and sits on the sofa.

Five pages in and the book proves to be as boring as the rest of its peers on the shelf.

“Are you always here every night?” she asks.

Richelieu hums.

“Don’t you work during the day?”

He’s up before her every morning, already cooking hot breakfast when she brushes her teeth. Occasionally, there are some burnt or undercooked bits. But the food is better than in orphanage’s canteen and she’s not picky anyway. He drinks his coffee black and sickly sweet judging by the amount of sugar he loads in the mug.

Richelieu quietly chuckles.

“I do. It’s just people whom I work with do nothing so I have to do their job.”

Milady quirks the corner of her mouth at that.

“Do you sleep?”

“Of course. Adults don’t need as much sleep as children do.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Richelieu replies. “It’s twenty to five.”

The silence in the study is softer than in her room. Gentler.

Richelieu rubs his eyes and lets out a long breath.

It’s a very big apartment and there are far more rooms than one man needs.

“Why?” Milady asks out of curiosity. “Could’ve gotten a cat if you were lonely. Getting a child is a bit extreme.”

“I have three,” Richelieu points out. “Besides, I’m a politician. Looks good in the media.”

“There were dozens of other children. They are nicer. More suitable for your purposes.”

Cherubic and angelic, ready to rip your throat out if they see that some parents look at you longer than a split of a second.

Be nice, or they will send you back. You monster, he will kick you out as soon as he finds out who you really are. Miss, she kicked me. Miss, I swear, I never touched her plate.

“Why don’t we have a cup of tea,” tired voice rips her away from the memory lane. “And then we’ll go to sleep.”

Milady reluctantly follows him into the kitchen. Richelieu stops in his tracks.

“You don’t have to drink from the tap,” he finally says. “There’s decanter with filtered water on the table.”

She shrugs and climbs on the seat at the far corner. He starts the kettle and rummages in the pantry. He offers her a chocolate bar. She takes it.

The tea tastes faintly floral and lemony. Richelieu brings her a hoodie because apparently she’s got goose bumps as her pyjamas don’t have sleeves. He himself sports a very old and very ugly fleece that in the dim and distant past used to be of some monochromatic colour. Milady doesn’t comment on it.

“So, want to talk about the dream?” he offers.

Milady clenches her jaw. “I didn’t have a dream.” She discreetly slips the Twix in the pocket of her hoodie.

“Okay.” Richelieu takes a sip from his mug.

“There are nicer children.” Milady repeats.

“Ready to murder you if a future parent even speaks a word to you, yeah,” he snorts.

“Who said I’m not?”

Richelieu laughs at that.

“I mean, you can always ask for a replacement. They are ready to call you ‘Daddy’ and everything the first time they meet you.” Milady persists. She tries not to grip the chocolate in her pocket so it doesn’t melt. She needs to put it in her suitcase later on.

“You don’t like it here?” He asks, furrowing his brows.

“It’s okay,” she clenches her fists. He will kick you out as soon as he finds out what a nasty bitch you are. Language! Miss, she started it first.

She is no victim. She starts it first. She kicks and bites and replies with snide remarks. They leave her alone, and for the time being it’s all fine until it all starts all over again.

“You are not going to go back, you know.” She flinches. The Twix wrap crunches. Richelieu pretends he doesn’t notice. “The paperwork is too tedious to begin with.”

“I’m not nice.” Milady finally says. The skin of Richelieu’s hands looks bleak in the early morning light.

“Neither am I.” He states. “So I don’t think that anything what personnel told me can faze me.”

He knows, Milady realises with a cold dread. Problematic child, the Headmaster sighed. As if she’s the only one. This one has anger management issues. She’s just not good at hiding it.

“Why me?” she asks, clenching sticky palms nervously. “Why not another cat?”

Richelieu rubs his forehead and looks like he has no idea.

“Cats don’t talk.” He offers. When she sceptically raises her eyebrows, he relents. “I saw you being cornered by one of those nicer children when the staff wasn’t looking. And I thought, ‘she’s a fighter. I could use her help.’”

“Hm.” His eyes are huge, red-rimmed and half-hidden under papery eyelids. They are grey, not like the floor tiles in the orphanage, some unfamiliar hue. He didn’t tell her the whole truth but for now it’s enough.

If he’s heard everything about her, maybe he doesn’t really care.

“You want an ally,” she says.

“Well, when you put it this way it sounds slightly wrong, but if it makes you comfortable, so be it.”

“I don’t care,” Milady shrugs.

His hand hovers as if he wants to touch her but retreats in a flash, so quickly, that Milady just probably dreamt it all. She doesn’t need comfort anyway. She never clung to staff at the orphanage because it’s pathetic. It’s not that they liked her at any rate, they always avoid her. No one likes problematic children. Problematic children don’t like them in return, so it seems fair.

“I won’t call you ‘Dad’ or whatever.” She warns him. She’s heard that it’s anticipated.

“Don’t expect you to.” He takes her mug and when Milady volunteers to wash their cups, he just waves his hand dismissively.

“Like, ever,” she elaborates. It’s not just because it’s only been a little over two weeks. Parent means care and love. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to trust him so much to accept him. Doesn’t seem like he’s planning to give her that anyway.

“’Richelieu’ works just fine,” he smiles thinly.

“So you don’t get upset, or angry, or anything over it.” She adds hastily as she stands up from her seat.

“Promise, I won’t get upset, or angry, or anything over it.” Richelieu vows. “Just… Settle here. Make yourself comfortable. Unpack your suitcase. You are here for a while.”

Richelieu tries to look reassuring. He asks her to trust him in that.

This, Milady decides, she can give. Allies should trust each other to some extent.

“Um,” Milady falters, hovering at the door. “Richelieu?”

He looks up, question in his eyes.

“Good morning,” she lamely offers.

He chuckles and wishes her to sleep well.

In her room, Milady opens her suitcase and carefully puts the Twix bar. After a moment of hesitation, she pulls out a crumpled wad wrapped in a toilet paper and throws it in the bin.

It’s almost six.

When she falls asleep at ten past, just on the edge of consciousness, she hears a sound of steps in the corridor, water running.

When she wakes up seven hours later, there’s oatmeal in the pot ready to be warmed up in the microwave, an apple and a post-it note.

When she’s read it three times over, she folds it carefully and hides it in-between the pages of one of her books.

She puts the book on her bedside table and starts to unpack the rest of her things.