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ellana-ravenwood · 5 years ago

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An AU in which Bruce Wayne raises Damian since birth - Ficlets

I wrote a small post about this not long ago (click here to take a look at it), and it made me wanna write more about this alternate universe...So here we are. It’s not a very original AU, but eh, there’s a reason people wanna write about it because damn <3. This is more like, a collection of little scenes and moments than a real story, but ya know. I just wanted to expand. I hope you will like it :

PART 2

My master list : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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******

The Beginning.

Bruce was most certainly not ready to have a child.

He wasn’t even sure he ever wanted one, given the path he decided to follow.

But the decision was taken out of his hand the day Talia decided to do what she did.

Bruce was most certainly not ready to have a child.

But he would never leave a kid in the hands of the Al’Ghuls. The gods only knew what they would do to him. What they could turn him into !

What if the kid grew up, and came to Gotham to defy his father ? Would Bruce be ready to fight his own child ?

If he had to, he told himself.

And maybe that’s what would’ve happened if he never heard of it. If he never knew...

But he knew. He knew that what Talia mentioned to him once, she actually did.

And there was no way he would ever let that boy be raised by the Al’Ghuls, now that he knew he existed. Wether he was ready to have a child or not.

Never, never, armed with the knowledge she did go ahead and made that baby, would he not do anything. It wasn’t like him, to leave untied knots. Or to leave someone he knew was in need...

There was no way that boy would have a good childhood, with the Al Ghuls. Particularly with Ras’ around. Not that Bruce was sure the child could have a good life with him...But between the pest and cholera ?

It if was only Talia. If it was just her love. If she hadn’t told him why she wanted a child with him...Maybe he would’ve left the boy behind.

But his informant was adamant. The talks going on amongst the League were all the same.

Ras Al’Ghul’s heir was brought to this world only for one purpose.

And maybe what Talia felt for Bruce was genuine love. Maybe what he felt for her at the time was too. But she told him the real reason why she chose him, and why she wanted his child.

“He’ll be a new Alexander.”

She said...And although Bruce was most definitely not ready to have a kid, he would never let that happen. He would never let his own child grow up in such an environment.

Maybe if he never knew...Maybe if he never knew things would’ve been completely different. Maybe it’d avoid him a lot of trouble, too.

But he knew. And he wasn’t about to let that kid...His kid, suffer a childhood he knew was not going to be happy. After all, Talia told him what Ras used to force her to do when she was younger...

************

Sneaking into the Shadow League’s headquarter was ridiculously easy. Which made him suspicious. Maybe they were expecting him ?

Oh but they couldn’t...They couldn’t know he knew. They couldn’t know he left behind a friend, the only one he made in the league of assassin. A fellow apprentice. A friend who spied on the Al Ghuls unbeknownst to them (or he would be dead since a long time).

Bruce silently entered what he knew to be the baby’s room, and looked around. He was right, his informant was right. The crib was in the middle of the richly decorated room. Bruce, with light steps, walked towards it.

And...

It was like being faced with a portrait of himself at that age. Except the boy’s skin was darker, his eyes shaped more like almonds, and Bruce could guess that if he just opened said eyes...they would be olive green like his mother’s.

And he was right.

The soft rustling sound Bruce made as he bended over the crib to pick the little one up woke him. And he opened his eyes wide immediately.

He did not cry, instead, he looked up at this stranger that was picking him up with curiosity, and Bruce felt his heart...Do something.

He couldn’t quite describe it, the feeling. His heart skipped multiple beats, while going faster at the same time. And he wanted to smile.

It was an urge too hard to resist, something he couldn’t control while he learned to control his own emotions, and he smiled at the little one in his arms, taking a gloved fingers to his cheek to caress it lightly, as if it was natural.

The baby...he...he...

He smiled in return. A cute, unsure and untrained smile, as if it was his-

“That is his first smile.”

Talia. She was there, at the entrance of the room, casually walking in in as if nothing was happening.

“Hello, detective.”

She took Bruce by surprise, and he turned around quickly, taking a fighting stance while holding his son against his chest protectively. His hands naturally held him, one supporting his back, the other his head, even as his legs spread apart, ready to fight.

Bruce had fought only with lower body before. He trained to be able to do so. He knew he could have a chance against Talia. That he had no chance of taking her down, but could at least escape her. Fight if need be. But he’d rather avoid it...Not in front of their child.

Wasn’t Bruce here to take the boy away from violence and pain ? He couldn’t fight his own mother in front of him, even if of course, the baby would most likely not remember.

Maybe he was an unwanted child on Bruce’s end, and one Talia created only for a specific purpose...but he was still a child.

His child.

“I will not let you raise him, Talia. And if you want to stop me I will have to-”

“I don’t.”

There was something odd, in Talia’s eyes, that Bruce had a hard time to discern in the dark room, only lit by the moon.

Was it...Sadness ? Regrets, perhaps ?

“His name is Damian. From the Greek word Damianos, which means “to tame.” He is upposed to be the tamer of the World. At least, that’s what my father wants.”

“I won’t let you-”

“Redundant, detective. Even more so since I told you I will not stop you. I think the fact I let your little friend, the one who told you about Damian’s existence, live, should be proof enough. I let him go, if you’re wondering where he is. I told him to disappear, and if he’s smart enough, he will. I knew since the beginning, he was your friend. Even as he acted like he tried to kill you during your escape. I knew because I know you. I watched you close enough...”

There was a small silence, during which neither of them moved. Damian, still in his father’s arms, cooed happily as he was trying to grab at the Batman’s armor.

Finally, Bruce spoke :

“...Why ?”

Another silence. Talia did not look at Bruce, but at the tiny being slowly moving in his arms. After what seemed an eternity, punctuated by Damian’s little happy and unaware sounds, she said :

“Because I do not wish for him to become me. Or my father.”

“But, that is why you created him ?”

“That is why I-...When it happened, I imagined you would be around, detective.”

“You couldn’t seriously think I would stay after knowing what you and your father were up to ? You know me better than that, no ?”

“I do. I guess it was all wishful thinking.”

Another silence. Heavy.

“When you left I was angry. And lonely. So...I made him. Our plan was to raise him to become even better than us, and then send him to you. Because if he destroyed you, then he could destroy everything - bitter laugh - I say “our”, but I truly mean my father’s plan. Twisted and nonsensical, I see it now.”

Bruce felt uneasy, and nostalgic. The boy was getting used to being held by this odd man, and now was sucking at his foot thoughtfully (as thoughtfully as a 3 months old baby can).

“I did love you, Detective. And I would’ve gladly govern the world with you, and our son. But you leaving, you telling me all those things...It made me realize. I have never truly been loved before. This is why I was so angry when you left. No one, no one loved me before you. My father...I serve a purpose to him. When I was with you, I felt love, and loved. But before...Before I was just another instrument in my father’s grand schemes of things. Has he ever loved my mother ? He said he did. Maybe he did. But he did not keep her with him. And I became what I am today. Now, I am no fool, detective. I unfortunately know I cannot change. But Damian...Damian has a chance, with you.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say. His heart and throat felt tight, and his hold on the boy became stronger and surer.

“Please, let me say goodbye ?”

Of course, Bruce agreed.

He watched Talia slowly walking to him, and looking at the boy.

Her boy.

The boy she knew she had to let go, because she loved him enough to want him to not become her. Or his grandfather.

Talia never loved anyone before. Except for her “detective”, and for her son...

“One day, my heart. One day, I hope we can meet again. Goodbye, Damian.”

She told the little one, and the baby looked at her, smiling widely as he recognized the voice of his mother. She laid a kiss on his forehead, took a last glance at him, and left the room without turning back.

Bruce left the headquarter with his crying son in his arm, sure now, that if it had been that easy to get into it...it was because Talia herself, lowered the security.

************

Damian Wayne, son of Batman. Occupation : Baby.

Bruce was right. He was NOT ready to be a father. He never even held a baby, in his short twenty three years of life ! Why would he anyway ?!

Thanks god for a certain man called Alfred Pennyworth.

The butler, whom Bruce considered a second father know, slowly showed him the ropes and tricks to take care of a baby, trying to involve his young master in everything as much as he could because...What was the point in saving that little boy from a world of pain and violence, if it was to not take care of him ?

And so there were times Alfred told him to take care of things on his own. Which Bruce wasn’t sure he liked, so far...

But he was trying. He was really trying.

The arrival of Damian in his life put so many plans he had in shamble, but Bruce learned how to adapt fast.

Of course, the news of Bruce Wayne having a “secret son” spread like a wild fire all across Gotham. And he knew there was no hiding such a thing. What was the point of hiding the boy anyway, he couldn’t raise him and keep him shut in the Manor all his life !!

The public was quick to believe the story he told. Of course, no one had trouble to picture playboy Bruce Wayne who was known to sleep around, having a “secret” son. In fact, many talked about bets going all around the city as to when a scandal of the sort would happen.

Bruce had been back home for about a year, and in that short year, he made sure to assure his “Brucie Wayne” persona, that he knew would help him keep Batman a secret.

He most definitely did not expect Damian, but was quick to find a plan. His explanation about him satisfied everyone. A story about how Damian’s mother could not take care of him, and he wanted to take his responsibilities...

Which technically wasn’t a lie.

The story stayed at the front of every newspapers for a long time, and Bruce decided to play on it and, although he felt a little ashamed, use his son for a publicity stunt, and therefor have even more cover for his Batman activity.

He was often shown in public, with a baby carrier, or exiting an important meeting early to go see his boy. Which he did. And he couldn’t help but have a feeling that this little boy, his little boy...sort of saved him.

Bruce felt that without Damian, he would’ve jump heart and soul into this Batman thing. And he did, he promised his parents he would...So of course, he did. But there was always this little piece of reality holding him back.

His little boy cooing at him, and smiling at him, and laughing and having this second chance at life. Which gave him, too, a second chance at life.

Of course, Bruce could not forget the years of pain he dragged behind, the trauma of losing his parents. But he felt that Damian, and his presence so early on in his life ? Most definitely changed him.

For the better.

************

The first dirty diaper.

“Alfred ? ALFRED ? Alllllfreeeeeeeeeed ?!”

Bruce screamed, while running around the manor, panicked, holding baby Damian against him. The boy was giggling happily, liking how his father’s running steps made him rock as he held him against his chest, a terrible smell following them around…

Bruce took a break from work today, giving his favorite excuse : “He had to take care of his son.”, but of course, babies being babies...Bruce really thought his boy was focusing on the pictures he was showing him, certain his son was a genius, up until the odor coming from the kid’s diaper informed him that no; Damian was not focusing on the pictures his father was showing him.

When Bruce entered the kitchen, in which Alfred was preparing dinner, the foul smell told the butler instantly what the problem was. Turning around to face Bruce, he says, with his infamous English phlegm :

“I think it’s time for you to learn how to change a diaper, Master Bruce. I have done it for the first few weeks, because you had very few sleep, but you cannot escape this anymore. Come on, master Bruce, I will show you.”

Bruce’s face fell, and Alfred gave him a rather sneaky smile. Well. It really was time his master learned how to change a diaper. After all, Bruce did say he would take care of this child so he could have a good life...

************

The hair incident.

The first time Bruce tried to put clothes on his son all alone, without the help of Alfred, it ended in a disaster.

The fearless Batman was most definitely not prepared for how squirmy babies really are. He had been fighting for a good ten minutes with his son’s legs before he started to mutter :

“I’d rather be fighting every single goons in Gotham right now, ah Damian please just -Damian kicked one of his leg up while the other one went down- no wait -The boy did the same thing, but changing leg this time- just stay still a second -this time, he put both his legs up, trying to grab one of his foot to put it in his mouth - oh my god..”

As soon as he was able to slide one of the baby’s leg into his pants, and trying to put the other on...Damian would squirm his little legs around and undo everything. Cooing at his father continuously, as if talking to him. Taunting him that he was doing it wrong !

He decided to try another approach, and moved on the side of the kid, holding his legs down and bending above him to try to block the boy’s legs long enough, without hurting him, to...Oh, but he bended forward a little too much and...The kid got a hand on his hair.

Unhappy of the sudden restraint, Damian let a loud “HA !” out, but before starting to cry got distracted by his father’s head being close and...Right there, in reach. What were those funny wiggly thing on his head ?

“ALFREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The butler rushed in, afraid something bad happened to the baby...Only to find his young master Bruce, his body bend in an awkward position as he tried as gently as possible to untie his son’s hands from his hair...not succeeding very much.

After this, Bruce started to wear his hair shorter, and neatly brushed back, and left behind any stylish haircut he thought would be good for his public persona.

************

Damian Wayne, Son of Batman AND little brother to Robin. Occupation : Baby AND little brother.

Damian was home with Alfred, when Bruce first met Dick. (IMPORTANT AUTHOR’S NOTE : I took an age “canon” diverging from my personal preference so it would fit the story. I usually like the pre-crisis version the best, where Dick is 8 years old when Bruce takes him as his ward, because it calls back to Bruce’s own age when he lost his parents...But for the sake of this story, and to fit closer the “actual” ages of the boys even if it won’t be perfect (then again AU), I’ll go with post-crisis “official” age which is around 12 years old. Not 15 though, like in the New 52, that’s too old...anyway it seems like Rebirth went back to around 9/10 when Bruce takes him in but yeah, ya know...12, so it fits better. But my personal preference is little baby 8 years old Dick coming in. Haha thought it was worthy of mentioning, and also anticipating any age question :), more explanation about ages in my AN at the end of this fic).

It was about three months in since Bruce brought Damian back with him, it seemed like...A good idea ? To adopt a twelve years old child who just went through the same trauma he did, while being a 23 years old still struggling to know how to be a father.

But a twelve years old would be easier to handle than a baby, right ?

Wrong.

Dick had some hard days, at the beginning, in Wayne Manor. The media had put in his head that he was a publicity stunt, that Bruce didn’t really care, and he would suddenly lash out at times, the pain too grand.

Bruce understood more than anyone else.

He too, lashed out at Alfred a lot when he was younger. It is normal, when you’re so young and already felt so much pain...

Oddly enough, it’s Damian, that ended up calming Dick.

The baby, now about six months old, was starting to crawl all around, and took a grand interest in that newcomer.

Dick would try to isolate himself somewhere at times, playing his game boy in a corner of the main living room...Only for a little six months old to laboriously crawl to him and try to climb on him.

Thanks to Damian’s presence, Dick opened up surprisingly fast. Bruce suspected the boy’s personality was already quite cheery, but he also clearly had a little dark side to him...However, only because the media were spreading lies about Bruce. And his reasons to take the boy in.

As Dick saw how Bruce took care of his baby son, he slowly opened up and trusted that the man truly wanted to give him a home.

Of course, Bruce would never replace his parents...But he still could be his new dad. The two weren’t inclusive. Dick would never forget his beloved parents, but was lucky to still have people who loved him around.

And that baby ? He was clearly very much set on bonding with him anyway. Wherever Dick seemed to go, the little cooing noises Damian did and the sound of him crawling on the floor would follow.

And it warmed Dick’s heart. He’d let the baby fall asleep in his arms, or come and sit next to him, watching what he was doing with great curiosity.

Damian even took the bad habit of crying, just so that Dick would come and take care of him (he also did that to his father and Alfred, to be fair). And it worked every time. As soon as Damian would make a sound, Dick would be here.

The rare times Bruce scolded Dick for something bad he did, Damian would become mad and scream at his father. In fact, his very first words, right after his first birthday, was “no dada”, as he scolded his father for telling Dick he needed to focus more in school.

The little twelve months old would hug his older brother tight against his heart, and tell his father off.

“No dada no !”

Sometimes, it would make Bruce laugh. Sometimes, it would infuriate him...How dare, his authority, undermined by a one year old ! Then again, he never really minded. All he ever wanted, was for his sons to be happy.

And to be fair, ever since Dick truly decided to settle for this new life, he rarely made mistakes worthy of scolding. Dick was a really sweet boy. And Bruce didn’t believe in being angry at his children anyway, he understood very fast that this was doing the opposite of what he wished it’d do.

It didn’t take long enough to Bruce to realize that giving love to his children meant receiving it back. Being angry with them without explaining anything meant frustration on all side. So of course, he wouldn’t let them do bad things. But Bruce found that they’d actually rarely act out, when he was trying to be understanding and make them see what they did wrong...

Bonding with Damian, and becoming real brothers. Becoming very close, is what gave Dick a new hope. Of course, Bruce’s unconditional love and care did too, but the first thing that made him open up, the first thing that made him want to have a new family...It was this little baby, who decided himself that he was his big brother now.

************

The Solid Food incident.

Damian was starting to eat solid food.

Well. Solid food. More like mushed food, but still a step forward from the formula milk and baby bottle.

But right now, Damian was having a fit.

He absolutely refused to eat his mushed pees and chicken that Alfred made in the “baby cook”. And it was getting late. Bruce was about to leave for the Batcave, and it was getting close to Damian’s bed time.

But the boy wasn’t having it. Any of the techniques Bruce used failed, including the infamous “the airplane is coming”.

“I don’t think he likes it, B.”

Dick said, smiling a little too widely as he looked at Bruce struggling with his boy. Which gave a sudden idea to the man. His last idea, really.

What monkey sees, monkey does, right ?

“Look Damian, look here. Daddy loooooves the food, see.”

And he gulped down the spoon of mushed food. And oh god, it was probably the most disgusting thing Bruce ever ate in his life. What was this ? Why would anyone expect someone to eat this monstrosity ?! Was this really baby food ?

The face Bruce made didn’t fool Dick, nor did it Damian. The little toddler gave a look to his father that clearly meant, “see ?!”, and Dick bursted out laughing and almost choked on his own dinner.

That night, Bruce relented and just gave Damian his favorite food : apple sauce. As much as he wanted. Telling both his boys to “not tell Alfred about this”.

************

The day Superman changed his opinion on Batman... But he didn’t know it was Batman.

At the time, Clark still had a rather poor opinion of Bruce Wayne, whom he didn’t know yet was Batman.

And it was totally not because he shortly dated Lois Lane ! Nope, not at all ! He just couldn’t stand Bruce’s guts and smug face.

But he had to admit his actions were praiseworthy. In fact, today, he came from Metropolis to this godforsaken city that Gotham was, for an interview about a recent charity Bruce started. A charity that did some good all across the USA, and was worthy of reporting in the Daily Planet.

The journalist was ready to act fake and smile a lot, while really wanting to punch the billionaire in the face. He really didn't like how this Bruce Wayne acted always so sure of himself and...grr...If only he knew he was Superman ! He wouldn’t act the same, for sure.

So it’s with a huge surprise, that he came into the man’s office, and surprised him as he was playing with his young son.

Right there, on the floor, he saw THE Bruce Wayne, a grown ass man, acting absolutely silly to make his baby laugh.

The little boy was giggling loudly as his father was making funny faces at him, and Bruce wasn’t noticing the newcomers at all, as he kept going, too enthralled in the moment, too focused on playing with his boy. After all, he had a rather busy week and barely any time to spend quality time with his children, lately, so this was the perfect occasion for him...

If only he didn’t forget about Clark Kent’s interview.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Wayne, I thought you weren’t busy !”

Bruce jumps a little, out of surprise, and turns around, his face livid as he realizes what just happened. He stands up straight quickly, and turns toward Clark and his secretary.

But the little boy on the floor whines a little and make grabby hands at him, giving him the most adorable puppy eyes Clark ever saw. The man relent, and picks his son up, turning to Clark and the secretary again.

She is visibly very embarrassed, but “Mr. Wayne” just smiles charmingly at her (why was this guy so cool ?!) and says :

“No worries Charlotte. Mistakes happen. You can go back to your office. And apologies, Mr. Kent, I did not know you were already here. Clearly.”

In a few seconds, Bruce had turned around an embarrassing situation for him and was acting all smug and arrogant again. But this time, Clark felt that there were much more to Bruce Wayne that the public image he was showing.

Flashforward to a few years later, Clark finally discovers Batman is Bruce Wayne, and he is utterly SHOOK.

************

The Family Portrait debacle.

One day, about a year after bringing Damian back, Bruce decided to have a family portrait made. Of both his sons.

He bought very fancy and cute clothes for his boys, and tried as best as he could to make Dick and Damian presentable.

Dick’s hair were unruly and there was always a little cow lick that refused to go in rank with the other hair, but it was still fine.

Damian was really unhappy to have his first haircut ever, and it had been a nightmare to try and get him into his fancy clothes.

It wasn't helping, that Dick was clearly agreeing, and talking about how itchy the clothes were. But Bruce seemed excited about this, and so he did it.

But Damian ? Oh the little boy still didn’t understand this sort of things, and as everyone already could figure out, he seemed very independent and hated to do things he didn’t wanna do.

And so, even for the Batman himself, getting his one year old son to stay still for a family picture was no easy task. Dick almost dropped his little brother many times, and they decided to sit the boys on the floor instead of a high armchair like their original ideas.

Damian wouldn’t stop squirming, and the picture ended up being a rather hilarious image on which it was very obvious Dick was struggling to keep his brother in place, and Damian was half-crying half-mad.

Later in the day however, both in cute little pajamas, the two boys fell asleep together as Dick, as he took the habit of doing, read his little brother a bed time stories and fell asleep while doing so.

Those two pictures, the “ugly” yet very funny one, and the absolutely cutest one, have a prized place on the “Wayne family” picture wall.

************

The day Dick joined the Teen Titans.

Bruce encouraged him to do so, if he truly wanted to.

Dick was sixteen now, and Bruce could see he was looking for more meaning, for more than just being his shadow.

Bruce could see the boy he came to see as his own son, as much as he saw Damian as his, needed to find more sense to it all. Needed to help more than just Gotham and its people, at least for now.

Joining and creating his own team ? With friends that had similar backgrounds to him, that felt out of place too ? Figuring things out on his own for a while ? The Batman was convinced it could only do him good.

Now many would’ve called him a bad father for letting his 16 years old son go off on his own...But many did not understand what Dick went through. Bruce did. And it would be highly hypocritical to not let Dick go for a while, when Bruce himself left Gotham around the age of 17 to go travel the world ? To train, and find meaning in it all ?

Plus, who said he wouldn’t keep an eye on his boy ? As if he was gonna let his son completely on his own. Of course, Dick didn’t need to know Bruce was totally spying on him, but...Well, Bruce couldn’t completely let go.

So yes. Bruce was behind Dick as his teen of a son had a harsh decision to make. Because it wasn't just about finding himself...There was also Damian.

Could he leave his baby brother behind ? Would the little boy understand ?

Would Dick be strong enough to go away from his family, even if he knew he needed it and it wasn’t permanent ?

Bruce knew Dick needed to go. Needed time to find himself, understand who he truly was, and move on. But Bruce also knew that he was held back by the love he had for his brother, adopted father, and adopted grandfather...

He also knew that it became vital for his boy, as he saw him more and more get lost in thoughts. Just like it was vital for him, as a seventeen years old boy, to leave Gotham to train.

And so he sat with Dick, and talked about it, keeping Damian away for a little while so that cute little toddler wouldn’t change Dick’s decision.

They wrote a pros and cons list, and the pros outweighs the cons by a little. Bruce tells his son that he has to take care of himself first, especially in regards of his mental health...

It was just for a little while anyway, and he could come back if he felt too homesick, right ? The Wayne fortune came in handy, for that. There was also the possibility of video conferences.

And so Dick joined the Teen Titans, with a heavy heart, but knowing it was for the best at that time for him.

Damian seemed quite sad at first, since he was so used to have his brother around at all time ! But as every kid, he adapted rather fast and although he asked often about “Dick”, a video conference with him was enough, as the little boy knew his brother would never abandon him and surely come back.

(---> In many stories but not in all of them (canon man...What a mess), Dick and Bruce do not see eye to eye as to which methods they should use while out there in the street, Dick thinking Bruce is much too violent etc etc...It’s sort of unclear wether Dick left or Bruce “fired” him really, but they have a pretty bad fall out and Dick leaves, leaving a Bruce that finds himself in a very dark lonely place, up until Jason comes in his life...but in this version, raising a baby and finding the light earlier in his life, I think Bruce wouldn’t be as violent, and share Dick’s views as to how they should proceed as Batman and Robin. Of course, they still beat villains’ asses. That their schtick, HOWEVER, they don’t beat them near to death ? They incapacitate them in many ways. I think if Baby Damian had been in Bruce’s life since the beginning, his Batman would’ve been much different...I mean, it’s Dick’s departure that made him change his method slightly and be less violent ? That made him question himself and reconsider ? So if he already had a child in his life before that ? One that came from his union with a certain Talia Al’Ghul ? If the all point is to save him from violence and such ? Then I think Bruce’s Batman would be different...If any of this makes sense ? Just explaining this scene for those who know the comics and are like : “wtf Ella that’s not how it went ?!” haha, AU).

************

The boy who stole the Batmobile’s tyres.

Jason was barely even twelve, when Bruce brought him back with him to the bat cave. He was a frail and wary little boy, and Bruce could only imagine what he went through...

No one just dares to steal from the Batman’s himself without a reason. And in Jason’s case, that reason was clearly survival.

He had a few scratches on his face, and bruises on his arms. Bruce didn’t want to re-open whatever trauma he went through, or ask too many questions that would make the boy uncomfortable...So he simply offered help.

A warm meal, and a place to sleep for the night. Little did he know at the time, that the boy would stay much longer than the night...

And oddly enough, the boy instantly accepted. Because someone being nice to him while he caught him stealing from him must be nice right ? Also, he heard of the Batman. He knew the good he did.

And so it all started. A simple night and a warm meal turned into official adoption papers, and the rest is history...

************

The more the merrier.

Bruce wasn't sure how Damian would take the fact that Jason was staying for good. After all, he was so close from Dick...Was Jason going to be able to find his place in his new family ?

When Bruce introduced Jason officially to Damian, the boy didn’t really react, just thinking he wouldn’t say. They played together, but Bruce wasn’t sure it stuck in his little four years old that Jason was here to stay.

So he officially stated it. Jason was adopted now, for good and...his worst fear happened. Damian took a good look at Jay, up and down, then turned around and ran away.

The poor little boy (Jason) looked absolutely crushed. He really was excited to finally have a home, his time at the Manor was the best he ever had ! And he really liked little Damian, but if he didn’t like him in return and didn’t want him in the family ? It was painful.

But then a few minutes later Damian came back, holding his two favorite toys ever, and walked straight to Jason, in a determined way, gave him the toys and said :

“Fo’ you. Zayson.”

And Jason Todd, barely twelve years old, almost cried as this little boy who was facing him did that small act of kindness. Did something that no one ever really did for him before.

Jason Todd had a new bother. And so did Damian.

************

A new brother.

Damian and Jason bonded even further once the official adoption papers went through. This made Bruce realize how strong his little boy was because... Damian clearly missed having an older brother.

He wasn’t quite acting with Jason how he acted with Dick, however. With Dick, Damian would shadow him all around, and just sit in his lap, looking at what he did.

Sometimes Dick needed to be on his own, and Damian would just wait for him, not seeking him too much, understanding ? Dick and Damian had quite a lot of years of difference.

When Dick was 12, Damian was a baby.

Jason and Damian still had quite a bit of difference, but now, Damian was four. He could play, and talk, and invent new games.

That boy was very imaginative.

And Jason ? His dream had always been to have a little brother, so he played along with everything. Where Dick enjoyed being a mature older brother who would console Damian and be there when he needed...Jason was an active older brother, who loved to play and have fun.

His childhood was clearly stunted by drama that happened in his early life, and with Damian, it was like he could live some of the years he lost again.

Not that he was acting childish, oh no, on the contrary. But he would just play along, something that Dick rarely did. Dick had other game and interest, Jason was very happy to play pretend.

Dick was the comforting, reassuring older brother.

Jason was the fun one that you could always count on and that had the best game ideas.

Maybe the fact Jason and Damian were a little closer in age played for a lot ? Probably. Or maybe Jason, who always dreamt of a brother, would just do anything to be liked by Damian.

Not that he had to try hard. Damian adored both his older brothers equally. For different reasons. Yet the love was there all the same.

More often than not, Damian would escape his bed and room, to go sneak into Jason’s bed at night, and wait for his brother to come home from patrol.

Both Jason and Bruce let him, of course, it was very cute. And Jason felt oddly safe, there, with his little brother curled up beside him ?

It was like little Damian, his precious little brother, meant home.

Bruce did too, for sure. Jason never had a dad, and he was so happy to have one that was as cool as Bruce ! But his little brother represented something he never thought he could have.

In which world would Jason Todd, little orphan living in the streets, ever have such a great little brother ? Or a chance to have a family ?

************

The good years.

Dick would often come by, while still being with the Titans. It was his eighteen birthday soon, and he wanted to show everyone his new costume...After all, he couldn’t be Robin anymore !

Jason got along really well with his older brother, and found a place in this world he never thought he would.

Bruce...Well his children eased the pain in his heart. The pain his parents’ death left behind, and that he thought would never go away. Was it bad, that every year it hurt a little less ? But seeing his children grow...

Damian was almost six now, and growing into such an intelligent little boy. Bruce couldn’t even imagine, what he would’ve gone through, if he had stayed with the Al’Ghuls.

What kind of little six years old he would be, if it happened that way...

************

Where did Jason go ?

Yes. Jason and Damian were very close. Jason instantly discovered his big brother instincts, and Damian just liked being around him. Because Jay ? He was so funny ! And always willing to play with him !! Even if know he was a big person, fifteen years old, an old man !!

And so one morning, when Damian woke up and as usual, ran from his room to Jason’s to wake him up by jumping on him...The boy found an empty room, and a bed still made.

Did Jason not come home tonight ? Odd. The first thought that crossed Damian’s mind was to then go find his dad, who would surely know where Jason was !

“Daddy ! Daddy !!”

Bruce wasn’t in bed either, which was odd but also reassuring ? It meant they probably were both downstairs, having breakfast.

But when Damian went downstairs, going down the stairs as fast as his little legs could without falling, he only found Alfred, sitting behind the kitchen counter, holding his head in his hands.

“Fafred ?”

Damian asked. He never could quite pronounce “Alfred” properly, and everyone just went along with “Fafred”, and it stuck...It was cute.

The butler jumped up in surprise, and looked at the boy sadly. Why were his eyes wet ?

“You’re hurt Fafred ?”

Damian asked, clearly very concerned. Oh. Oh sweet little boy. Alfred wasn’t sure he could handle it. Not right now. He picked the little one up, and sat him in front of him, on the counter.

Five years old little Damian, almost six ! ; Put his palm on Alfred’s forehead, and said :

“You’re not hot Fafred, what is it ? Did you fall ? Where does it hurt ? Do you want a magic kiss ? Do you need the hospital ?”

It was adorable, how worried the little one was. It was also unbearable, in this instant. How was he supposed to...What was he supposed to...??

“No, Master Damian, I did not fell.”

“You okay ? What happened ?”

“Yes, I am okay.”

“You don’t look okay. What happened ?”

“Old people problems, you know.”

Alfred couldn’t. He couldn’t say anything.

Damian looked around, and realized the kitchen was empty. No cereal bowls out, nothing. Which was odd. If Bruce and Jason weren’t in their bed, then they should be down here having breakfast ! That’s how it always was !

“Fafred, where is daddy ?”

Please Master Damian, please do not ask him this question, do not...

“Where is Zayson ?”

************

WHERE DID JASON GO ??????

Damian didn’t understand where his big brother Jason went, and why his daddy was so sad all the time now. Of course, he was happy his big brother Dick came back and seem to want to stay for good, but him too, seemed sad whenever he looked at him.

Why ? Why was Dick always on the verge of crying when his eyes fell on his little brother ? Was it...because he reminded him of Jason’s absence ?

Damian didn’t understand why everyone was sad, but it was starting to make him very sad too. His little five years old self didn’t understand why was this happening ?

He wanted Jason.

Jason always knew for sure how to make him laugh.

But nobody would tell him where Jason went, and Damian had no idea where to look first !! Maybe in the garden ? No, he went there already, and he didn’t find Jason in their tree house. Neither did he find him at their secret spot, or near the sandbox. Jason would never go near the pond, he knew it was dangerous because he always told Damian not to go.

Maybe he was in school ? Very busy so he didn’t came back yet ? Oh that was an idea ! Damian suddenly felt excited. Yes. That’s it. Jason must be still at school ! And if Damian went to wait for him at the bus stop, then he would surely appear, right ?!

Enthusiastically, Damian ran at the front door. Everyone around was too out of it to even notice what he was doing. The boy put his shoes on (on the right feet this time), and went to take the chair in the corner of the corridor, dragging it as best he could to the front door so he could hop on it and turn the knob.

He finally managed it, got down from the chair and opened the door to find...A boy about to ring the doorbell ?

“Hi there ! I’m Tim ! Is your daddy around ?”

To be continued... ---> Part 2 :) clickclickclick

__________________________________________________

Here we go. This is part 1/2, I hope you liked it and will want more...Next part will contain more about what changed in Bruce compared to the canon timeline(s) like in more details (sorry I’m writing this very tired and slightly drunk) and more baby Damian, and the arrival, of course, of Tim, Cass, Steph, Duke etc etc...Everyone who has not appeared yet, basically :). I really hope you liked this haha, I’m so nervous...I didn’t talk about the actual BATMAN things yet because this all comes from the view of a kid who is still just 5 so far so ya know :) As usual, feedbacks and reblogs are always much appreciated!

AGES IN THIS TIMELINE (in case you are wondering) : We all know that ages in comics are a mess, especially when it comes to the Batfam. Most canon aging actually make little sense when you try to make up an ACTUAL timeline. So I guess we all have our own preferences and headcanons, which is fine again, given the state of “canon” hints and downright claims (which often contradicts each others btw). I mentioned during the story that I used a post-crisis canon for Dick that puts him around the age of 12 when he’s taken in by Bruce (but again, personal preference = 8). Which means he’s about 12 years older than Damian. He leaves for the Titans age 15/16. So it would make the age difference between him and Jay about 4 years (which is almost canon by a year less), Jay and Damian would then be 8 years apart (same, pretty close but not quite, by two years really :/ then again it depends the canon), Jay and Tim about 3 years apart (pretty much canon), so Damian and Tim about 5 years (again a little less than canon...but then you see what I mean when I say it makes little sense at times ? Hehe). Cass and Damian would be 4 years apart, Duke and Damian 2 years apart (Duke = older), Steph and Damian about 4/3 years like between Tim and Cass I guess, and well Babs is supposedly a little older than Dick so let’s say 13/14 years. Here. Hope that cleared up their age in this ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. No need to tell me what the canon age are are, we actually aren’t really sure because it changes CONSTANTLY (Damian seems to be the only one that grow up haha and only so he could join the TEEN Titans...But then he’s somehow thrown back in his age so he becomes much younger than aged 17 years old Jon ?! Really, canon age makes no sense and in the end don’t really exist hahahahahahahaha), every head canon is open :). Especially in an AU.

Also : Let’s give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s ! Thanks to @arianatheangelworld, for the many baby!Damian “imagine” asks you send that fueled my inspiration ! ^^.

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rivers-children · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 5

The two mollies walked in silence as the mountain grew closer, neither wanting to risk alerting another cat. The air was tense and filled with the biting cold wind coming from the other territory. Soon they came within view of the gathering place, the trees that circled it were already empty of leaves, only adding to the biting chill running through Speckledpaw. At least the sun was still up, even if it trailed through the trees, casting long, harsh shadows across them.

Finally, they had reached the official start of their shared border with Cloudclan, and they hurried into checking it, not willing to miss a single mouse-length of territory they could push. Thankfully they had yet to run into any fresh scent, and there wasn’t any obvious attempt to push into the neutral path. Everything was fine and checked up on, now they just had to get out of there. Especially as the sun was setting, the shadows getting longer and the air colder.

“Let’s go. We can still put plenty of space between ourselves and the border before long.” Palepelt stood, gesturing with her tail for them to start going. Speckledpaw nodded, standing up as well, looking towards her mentor before something caught her eye. The bush rustled for less than a second before someone lept out towards Palepelt, and only a second more before the apprentice hurled herself at the attacker, sending the both of them rolling past the white warrior, who was frozen in complete shock.

When they came to a stop, Speckledpaw was pinning the cat by the shoulders, hackles raised. Her paws sunk far into the tom’s dense grey fur, barely able to reach the actual skin. She could only catch a glimpse of his cold yellow eyes before he lashed at her, striking her eye hard, sending her flying back against the ground as he fled. There was a heavy ringing in her ears as she struggled to get back up. Her right eye was flooded with red, no matter how much she tried to wipe away the blood. With her left she could see Palepelt consider chasing the tom further, before turning back and rushing to her apprentice.

“Speckledpaw! Are you alright? We need to get back to camp, Now!” The grown molly nudged the apprentice to her paws, guiding her back to camp as fast as they could go. Speckledpaw kept her right eye closed, pain starting to seep in as her initial burst of adrenaline wore off. “Did… did you see who that was? Was that a Cloudclan cat? And… and they really were trying to attack us…” Her tail flicked rapidly as everything sunk in. She couldn’t tell if her mentor had responded, everything sounded hazy and she only then realized they had gotten back to camp.

The next thing she knew, she was being hurried towards the medicine den, by who she couldn’t tell who since they were on her right, and Leafpaw applying a cold poultice to her eye. She could vaguely hear Palepelt explaining what happened to her aunts, before settling down into the nest at Elderbark’s request. Thankfully she fell asleep easily, pain in her eye becoming nothing more than a dull throb now.

Speckledpaw slowly stirred, blinking open one eye as she looked around in the soft morning light filtering in. Everything was still a bit hazy, but she took the time to actually get a good look at the medicine den. It was bigger than she always saw, there was a section leading further back that she had never noticed. Was that where the medicine cats were supposed to sleep? Her question seemed to be answered almost immediately as Elderbark slowly made her way out, stretching before noticing Speckledpaw.

“Good, you’re up early. That means well.” The elderly cat padded over to check on the injury, humming quietly. “Heard you were fast on the draw last night. Looks like this’ll scar over, but it will certainly give you a tale to tell.” She changed out the webs for clean ones, applying a thinner layer. As the molly turned to toss out the grimy materials, Speckledpaw spoke up slightly.

“Will… Will I still be able to see out of it?” She sat up, trying to not make too much noise as her paws rustled the bedding. Everything was a little weird to try and orient herself, and she must have stumbled a bit, as Elderbark looked back at her with a look of concern she’d never seen directed at anyone but Briarpaw.

“Yes you’ll have full vision still, though you may end up with recurring headaches.” Elderbark lightly shook her head and went back to sorting herbs. “You’ll be fine to leave the den, but you should stay in camp for at least today to make sure everything is fine.” Speckledpaw nodded, standing uneasily at first, before heading towards the rest of camp. “Um, do you… want me to bring you anything to eat?” She looked back at the medicine cat, wanting to do something to show she appreciated what the older cat did, even if it wasn’t in words.

“... Just bring me something small. And tell that Blackfoot he needs to send out one last patrol for catmint. Hopefully this time it won’t be crushed by the time it gets here.” She grumbled a little, turning her head to hide a faint smile. Speckledpaw grinned, hurrying out as fast as she could. Blackfoot was usually taking a walk around the outside of camp during the morning, she’d tell him before grabbing a fish. Thankfully, most everyone else seemed to be asleep still, especially Riverback. Otherwise her aunt would never let her leave her sight again.

She had been so focused on watching the nursery that she almost walked squarely into the deputy. “Easy there! Wouldn’t want you to poke the other eye out.” His voice was soft, like he was also trying to avoid waking anyone. “You shouldn’t be headed out of camp right now anyways.” “No, no, Elderbark wanted me to tell you something. She uh…” Speckledpaw blinked for a moment trying to remember the exact wording. “She wanted you to send out one last patrol for catmint and also not crush it this time.” The yellow tom snorted slightly, shaking his head. “I’ll see what I can do, I’ll try not to send Cinderstream on it though.”

“Thank you Blackfoot! I gotta go grab her a fish now, I’ll see you later.” She spun around, quickly trotting towards the fresh kill pile, already eyeing the various fish to pick from. Nothing too fatty, and nothing too big, Elderbark asked for a small one. Oh, there was a fresh minnow on top of the pile! Perfect. Speckledpaw gently picked it up and started back, just as the camp started waking up as a whole.

Only half a moon later, Speckledpaw had completely healed, both from the eye injury and the headaches that accompanied it. Her aunts had practically smothered her to death with concern of course, but the problem stood. They had no clue who had attacked them yet, other than most likely a Cloudclan cat was the culprit. Sprucestar had upped the amount of cats minimum on border patrols, and had already talked to Bearstar to warn the other leader. But now was the quickly approaching gathering. There they would have to directly confront Cloudclan about this, and just hope to avoid war.

“I need to go! I’d be able to see if it was someone there!” Speckledpaw was currently trying to argue her case with Riverback, who was adamant the apprentice not go, in fear she’d get hurt again. “And even if they Did wanna fight us, they wouldn’t do it at a gathering, no one would start a fight with the Ancestors watching so closely!” She gently nuzzled her aunt, trying to comfort her. “Besides, you need to relax, Elderbark says the stress is gonna make you sick again.”

Riverback let out a low sigh, shifting slightly. “Alright alright I just… don’t want to see you hurt. Just keep yourself safe, ok?” She gave her niece a swift lick on the head before settling down. Snailpatch made his way into the den, carrying a large bird. “I can take over from here Speckledpaw. Dear, look what I brought! Redwind says Springpaw tracked this down all by himself!” The two warriors chattered excitedly between each other as Speckledpaw left.

“Are you sure you want to go? You were both attacked, how do you know it won’t happen again?” Redwind was fussing, not that he’d call it that, over Palepelt, as Coppereye shook her head. They had clearly just gotten back from hunting, the fresh-kill pile was a few birds larger than before. Springpaw and Rustpaw were a bit further away, talking as Springpaw looked proud of himself.

“Redwind, Redwind, I’ll be fine. You, however, should be more worried about keeping Springpaw occupied in camp tonight. I know he’s already said he’s ok with not going, but something tells me he’s going to get antsy without his nightly walk.” Palepelt nudged her fellow mentor, shaking her head. When she spotted her apprentice, she hurried over. “Speckledpaw, I take it Riverback is letting you go then?”

Speckledpaw nodded. “Yeah, I told her I’m the one who got the best look at the guy so I should be the one to go and identify him.” She shifted slightly, a pang of phantom pain hitting her. “And I do want to be the one to point him out.” Her tone grew determined as she thought of the cat that had attacked them. She wished she had been able to get just one swipe in on him.

“All cats old enough to catch their own prey gather below High Point!” Sprucestar’s voice rang out across camp as she looked over the clan. Her gaze was steely, and everyone hurried to the meeting. “As you all know, the first full moon of Leaf-Bare is here, and so the time of the gathering has come. I will not be bringing many cats due to the recent… incident.” Her voice dropped a little, her pelt bristling ever so slightly. “The cats coming with are Blackfoot, Hazeltail, Palepelt, and Speckledpaw. I ask everyone staying at camp stay in camp, and stay alert. Clan dismissed.” There was a small murmuring as she lept down.

The cats announced clustered over to the camp’s entrance, none of them saying a word. Hazeltail gave Speckledpaw a concerned look, looking as if she wanted to say something, but chose to look back at Sprucestar. “Is everyone ready to go? Be prepared for a possible fight with Cloudclan.” The group murmured in agreement, the five cats making their way out of camp. Not a word was spoken as they made their way to the gathering place, Palepelt resting her tail on Speckledpaw’s back quietly.

At any other time, Speckledpaw might have been more in awe of the blackened ground of the gathering place, radiating out from the large rock in the middle. Instead she was focused on the cats already there. As far as she could tell, they were all Pineclan, and none her attacker. Her ears perked as she spotted the large figure of Bearstar quickly approaching. “Sprucestar, it is good to see you well-'' She stopped, noticing the healing wound on Speckledpaw’s face. “What happened?”

“There was an attack. We are hoping to identify the attacker tonight. Hopefully Skystar will be cooperative, though why she broke the treaty is something else I want to know.” Sprucestar responded. “We should get ready though, they should arrive soon. Speckledpaw would you… be alright with sitting up close, so you can see the crowd better?” Her voice softened slightly.

“I’ll be fine auntie. Let’s just go, so they don’t think we know anything.” Speckledpaw started towards the stone, tail held high as she walked. She found a good spot, she could see almost the entire clearing while still being in clear sight of Sprucestar in case anything happened. As she settled down, she tried to hide the anxiety that was hitting her like a monster, not wanting anyone to worry.

The moon was almost at its peak when Cloudclan arrived, and for a second Speckledpaw grew worried. They all looked so similar, she had thought there would be more… differences. But as she looked closer, she realized none of them had the same distinct eyes as her attacker. All but… One. Panic filled her body as she realized her attacker was joining the other deputies just below the rock. Cloudclan’s deputy had been the one to attack them?

There was some confusion on Bearstar and Sprucestar’s faces as well as they were joined by a near perfectly white cat with eyes that sent shivers down Speckledpaw’s spine. Was that not Skystar?

“Cats of all clans, gather now!” The white tom’s voice was shrill and nasally, the apprentice already didn’t like him. “As I’m sure some of you have guessed, Skystar is no longer with Cloudclan. She and her deputy Clifftongue have been exiled.”

“Exiled? Why on eart-”

“Don’t interrupt me! They were exiled for being weak. I, Coldstar, and my deputy Striketalon have taken over to bring the clan back to its former glory. As such, any treaties made before my leadership no longer exist. We demand the both of you give us part of your territories to feed ourselves this Leaf-Bare, and maybe we’ll consider letting you stay.” Coldstar was cocky, looking at the other leaders with a smug smile. Sprucestar could only gape in astonishment, before Bearstar burst with fury.

“ARE YOU INSANE? GIVE YOU OUR TERRITORY AT THE BEGINNING OF LEAF-BARE? PINECLAN WILL DO NO SUCH THING! ESPECIALLY AT THE WHIMS OF AN USURPER WITH AN ATTITUDE!” Her voice roared across the clearing, claws digging into the rock. Sprucestar, finally processing the demand, nodded. “Neither will Marshclan. Especially after one of your cats attacked two of mine on our side of the border.”

Sprucestar glanced over at Speckledpaw, the apprentice quietly gesturing to Striketalon with a paw. The leader's eyes went wide with fury. “In fact, now that I look at your clan, the attacker sticks out like a sore thumb. What kind of leader has their deputy break the first law our ancestors put down?” She towered over the Cloudclan leader, who snarled.

“You have no proof that any of my clan did such a thing. And the law was put down by cowards who couldn’t see that we were in the right. We Deserve the extra territory!” He hissed. “And if you won’t willingly give it to us, then we’ll take it.”

“You want war Coldstar? You’ll get your war. This gathering is over!” Sprucestar called, tail lashing. The Cloudclan cats quickly retreated back to their territory, a few hissing as they passed. The air felt cold and stale, the fact of war seeping into the remaining cats pelts like ice. “Bearstar, I wish to extend our personal peace treaty. Marshclan offers its support wherever it can.” “And Pineclan does the same. I can only hope they’ll be cocky enough to try and fight us in the trees. But something tells me this war will only get worse.” The two leaders shared a concerned look at the sky, new storm clouds seeming to wrap themselves around the moon.

#warrior cat #warrior cats #book 1 #chapter 4 #long post

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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years ago

Photo

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Gina!

You have been accepted for the role of SEVERUS SNAPE with the faceclaim change of Aneurin Barnard! We really enjoyed Severus’ ambiguous motivations that might come back to bite him in the butt later on! Your personality section was on point and we’re looking forward to having the resent grump come back to the Order. We are so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Gina

AGE: 25

TIMEZONE: MST-Arizona

ACTIVITY LEVEL: First and foremost, I’m a promotions producer at a local news station, so I’m on call if breaking news happens. Thankfully, for my job, doesn’t happen too often. Also, my boss is currently on maternity leave, but will be back mid-March. In the meantime, I’ve been given a lot of extra tasks that sometimes make me work 60 hour weeks. Luckily, The Academy Awards was one of our biggest nights with deadlines, news, etc., so things have somewhat calmed down. Thank goodness! Weekends are usually when I’m on the most. I’ll try to get on during the week – especially on my early days. All that being said, I’ll definitely will be able to post at least once a week! As long as writing is still fun, and doesn’t feel like a chore, I’ll be on the dash frequently (and I’m very good about keeping admins informed if there’s ever going to be an issue with activity check)!

ANYTHING ELSE: trigger: non-con.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Severus Snape

AGE: 21

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis-Male, He/Him, Heterosexual.

BLOOD STATUS: Halfblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

ANY CHANGES: Request FC change: Aneurin Barnard. I can see Adam Driver work as well. Either way, I am comfortable - just happen to have more resources of Aneurin.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Generally, Severus is seen rather than heard.

The mind of Severus Snape is complex – to be sure. Filled with calculations, fragile threads of truths and lies he’s told and webbing them all together, and innovations for many different forms of magic. To keep all of these thoughts collected, Severus keeps a journal that he has heavily bound to keep secret. There, he states the deepest parts of his soul, creates new potions, spells, and whatever else he deems worthy. It is protected by a blood spell that only he knows the enchantment to. Like him, everything is kept very private and close to his chest.

While Severus has plenty of thoughts coursing through his brilliant mind, he does not initiate conversation. In fact, he says much more with his eyes. Even if they can be cold. However, this does not mean Severus will keep silent – nor is it out of shyness. When Snape graces others with his opinions or ideas, they should not be taken lightly. Every single word uttered has meaning.

Being around Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, he’s kept a keen eye – finding everyone’s tells and when it is best for him to speak his true sentiments. As well as this, if he feels provoked or given an opportunity to speak freely, he will not cower. Often, his retorts have a bite to them, thick with sarcasm or bitterness; or both.

Severus Snape is profound in potions – and dare we say even more skilled in the Dark Arts. Books were a comfort for him growing up, finding company with leather-bound pages and becoming well-versed in their contents. A strength he chooses not to boast about is his ability to create new spells, new magic, even. Most of these, however, were being saved to get a slight revenge over his old school enemies. And therein lies the rub. Snape’s insecurities are tightly bound to Hogwarts and being bullied – not to mention his inability to reveal his true feelings toward the one girl who showed him kindness all those years.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

A broken family. That was the home of Tobias Snape and Eileen Prince.

A Muggle father and a Pureblood mother. Such parents didn’t give Severus an opinion on blood purity – but rather if an individual could prove themselves. While his parents may have had married for love at some point, something shifted their feelings.

For Snape’s father, nothing seemed to please him. Except for, perhaps, a bottle of gin. This instilled a primal instinct for Severus to do better; be better. Strive for power.

As for Snape’s mother, she grew sickly and thin. Her grief taught him empathy. It also made him value any comfort; starving for any sort of love and affection. This was, most likely, the cause for Severus’ immediate interest in Lily Evans – and the roots of his near-obsession with her.

Both of his parents were unhappy, and let it affect both their home and their son. Living near-destitution, the Snape house was filled with hateful words, arguments, loud shattering of priceless heirlooms or objects, and other things that still haunt Severus to this day. When thinking back on his past, Severus prefers the memories of when they both neglected him altogether, rather than any other aspects of his upbringing.

OCCUPATION:

Potions Apprentice to Professor Slughorn.

Invaluable to the Dark Lord, the talents of Severus Snape brought him closer to his inner circle. For Voldemort, it also meant he could manipulate the young man’s talents to foil any plots that the Order may have against him. Knowing his passion for potions, Voldemort encouraged Snape to take on an apprenticeship with Professor Slughorn – while also peeking behind the curtain at Hogwarts and keeping an eye on the Headmaster.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

**I read the following note: “Severus will not be in the plotline until a player is accepted in his role. Him turning on the Death Eaters and coming to the Order as a spy will be considered a “roulette” plot drop whenever he becomes a taken character. Until that happens, players should write as though he is not yet in the Order.” AND he plot drops, *so I’m writing him as if he’s newly joined the Order at first as a DE spy, but now as a means to win Lily’s friendship back. 😊

Walking a thin line between hero and villain had never once crossed Severus’ mind. Yet, here he was. An Order member. At first, in a plot for the Dark Lord, carrying out the order to spy on the organization; find out how it could crumble. The young wizard had already grown steadily in their ranks, garnered enough trust, and was even listening to Voldemort’s other requests like his employment. All for the sake of war. It was a task daunting enough for anyone; however, Severus knew pretending to be an Order member would bring him closer to Lily. That, and potentially erase any suspicions Frank Longbottom might have if he thought he saw the Slytherin’s face during the arrest. At first, it was all an act.

Now, within the Order, Severus is a black sheep. Many of his childhood bullies are within their ranks, and many who distrust him. Although, with Severus’ lust for power, proving himself is nothing new to him. In fact, he thrives on it. No more fighting behind a mask…watching those he cares for nearly meet their end. An easy task to spy, being a great reader of both people and their minds. However, an overwhelmingly difficult task to want to continue fighting for something he didn’t believe in. Not that he believes in the Order either, but his lust for power has now been overcome with a desperate need to win an old friendship back. Perhaps to take Lily Evans far away from any wars as well, forgetting the two sides; no more choosing between what is right, and what is easy. Severus faces this new challenge, while fighting off those he once stood beside. For now, he’ll leave it to fate – if he’s able to win Lily’s friendship back. Maybe even try and win her heart as well.

SURVIVAL:

Severus Snape survives purely relying on his skills – and providing them to whichever side he feels is winning. It was part of the reason why he joined the Death Easters in the first place. Unfortunately for the Order, Snape believes the Dark Lord will win; that they will fall – and not rise from the ashes, as their namesake. A lust for power has blinded him most of all. But with it, he’s earned the trust of Voldemort, become invaluable. A faithful servant. Once the war s over, Severus believes he will be rewarded for his acts. At least, as long as he continues to do his bidding…

While with the Order, Severus has taken up housing in Hogwarts during the school year under his apprenticeship with Slughorn. During the summers, he’s found a small flat down near Hogsmeade to keep close enough. Beforehand, he often stayed with Lucius Malfoy in their incredibly large manor. It made it easy to stay near his comrades and to carry out any dark deeds.

Until there seems to be a clear winner, Severus will carry out his work as a spy. Even if it means slightly changing sides to do it as time goes on. The skills he carries with Occlumency are not to be trifled with. It seems he’s one of the few to have mastered such magic, making him the perfect soldier for espionage.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Severus’ relationship with Lily Evans was broken long ago. However, he will try and make peace with her, at the very least. If they rekindle their friendship, Severus would likely switch sides; happily die for her and prove himself. If it blossomed even more (something he fears even daydreaming about will jinx it), Severus would give up everything with the Dark Lord and his following. Everything with the Order. All to be with her – away from the rotting parts of the Wizarding World.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

Ships: Snape/Lily & Snape/Chemistry.

Anti-Ships: None

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Having gone through a very traumatic animalistic incident in his years at Hogwarts, Severus has a large bias against werewolves. The whole experience left a nasty memory for him, left in complete shock and disagreement with Dumbledore. And having Fenrir Greyback at the Dark Lord’s disposal certainly didn’t make matters any better.

There is one thing that will never chance for Severus Snape, and that is his hatred and bitterness towards certain Gryffindor boys he now has to work with in the Order. The thought alone makes his blood boil and skin crawl. Yet, he will do what he must for his cause…and maybe even throw in a snide remark or two every so often.

Muggleborns are something of a mystery to Snape now. When he first met Lily, he thought she was different from any other one – slumping the rest together with the likes of his father. Although seeing how fierce Dorcas has become – and so well integrated with the Wizarding World – Severus has gained a new understanding. Of course, he’s still untrusting, at first, and even a little cold; but, that doesn’t mean his mind cannot be changed.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

Jess and I were talking because I’ve been itching to write again. She linked me to the RP, and there was a spark to my muse once more! Had to apply because I love the Wizarding World and exploring it. This is an interesting take on the Marauders era, in that it’s concentrating on one organization and its inner workings. I’m excited to explore that!

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

There was a head cannon I had once read where Irma Prince is actually Severus’ mother in disguise. That might be something to play around with! Perhaps to prove his loyalties to the Dark Lord, he must eliminate his parents. Instead of this, Severus uses his connections to hide her as the librarian at Hogwarts and keep her safe.

ANYTHING ELSE? Super excited to be applying! 😊

#homenumaccepted #harry potter rpg #harry potter rp #marauder rp #Marauders RP

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jaelafish · 7 years ago

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The Apple Fell Far from the Tree

He couldn't help but be in a good mood, how could he not be? There was a skip to his step as he headed home, unable to contain his excitement. UA! He was going to UA! All that work, everything All Might and his mom had done to help him, he was finally going to pursue the one thing he wanted more than anything. It was like a dream, he was still having a hard time believing it. The whole situation was just so surreal, maybe he could use a good relaxing night at home-

"CONGRATULATIONS, IZUKU!" The boy nearly fell over as soon as he entered his home, the small apartment now crammed with several guests, a banner, a table full of goodies and various balloons. His mother was beaming at him, holding out a cake, but if anything he was more surprised by the visitors.

"Grandpa-?! Tomura?! Mister Kurogiri?!"

"Nice to see you again too," the pale young man grumbled, scratching at the side of his neck. "Geez, we show up and put up with all this for you and that's how you say hi?"

"Now Tomura, don't be rude," Kurogiri stated calmly, then addressed Izuku. "Your mother informed us you got into your first-choice of school, we came to congratulate you. I heard you worked very hard, well done."

"O- oh!" Deku bowed politely. "Thanks Mister Kurogiri! Mom- everyone!"

"Well whatever," Tomura shrugged. "You're here so let's do this whole party thing already."

Izuku nodded in response, smiling despite the slight loss of color in his face. Grandpa hadn't said anything yet, but he was quieter these days. It had to be hard to talk, after all, with that life-support system, it looked so uncomfortable. He just sat there at the table, silent.

"Uhm- thank you for coming," Izuku said, approaching the man. "I know it's hard for you to travel around a lot since the accident. I-…I'm glad you're here."

There was a moment of silence, just a moment, but it felt like all sound had muted, like existence itself had been put into a dull haze, dragging out the seconds-

"You did well," came the voice, distorted and muffled by the machinery. "You had a goal and you did what was necessary to reach it, that is the only way anyone accomplishes anything."

A scarred, wrinkled hand lifted, ruffling the boy's green hair.

"Only the strong and willful achieve, I respect that, well done."

Izuku felt a swell of joy at the praise, grandpa was never very liberal with compliments. It wasn't that he never gave them or that he was unaffectionate, no, it was just...well, he wasn't sure, but he was going to enjoy this moment for what it was.

“Thank you so much!”

The boy flung himself at the crippled man in a hug, sobbing in his usual over-the-top manner.

“Izuku! Careful! Don’t hurt him!” Inko cried, flailing her hands around in her panic.

“Now now, dear, it’s quite all right,” he chuckled. “He’s just excited.”

“But, Dad-“

“S- Sorry,” Izuku pulled back, wiping his eyes. “I just- um- sorry.”

“Nonsense, never apologize for doing what you must, now why don’t you go enjoy the cake your mother made?”

The boy beamed, turning his attention to the table and the other guests. Tomura was sitting at the table, scratching at his arm, his other hand tapping the tabletop; he had a lot of nervous twitches like that, he wasn’t very social much, either…but he had still come, right? He had to appreciate that he showed up despite his condition, it couldn’t be easy.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, Tomura,” Izuku chirped, pulling up a chair by him. “How’s your training going?”

“Same as usual,” he replied gruffly, glancing at him. “Nothing very…interesting, lately. Unlike you, apparently you have a quirk now?”

The boy tensed just a second, then haphazardly jumped into the lie he had told his mother.

“Y- Yeah! Apparently I’m just a late bloomer! I know it’s super unlikely but it’s not unheard of, heheh, I was really surprised too, it’s kinda surreal!”

“Right, well, anyway…nice to see you’re happy, I guess.”

Tomura had a lot of …’issues’, but he always tried to be nice to him; he was much nicer to him than anyone at school, anyway. He had known the young man for a few years now, after Grandpa had taken him in and made him his apprentice. Mister Kurogiri had come and gone with his grandfather’s visits for as long as he could remember, he was much better with people, but always very professional.

“I guess you can kick Bakugo’s ass now, hey?” Tomura’s face split into an eerie grin. “That piece of shit’s had it coming for a while now, you should tell me when you do it so I can watch.”

“Tomura…”

“Okay, okay, enough of that,” Inko tsked, lightly slapping the pale man’s arm, “Izuku! I know you’re on a diet and all but I got your favorite ice cream! Just consider it a cheat day, okay?”

It was always a bit tense with the rest of his family over, but they still made the effort to show up now and then, unlike some people- no, no he wasn’t going to think about that, he was just going to enjoy the party they had thrown for him.

Time flew by and Izuku found himself sleeping off a full stomach, curled up in his room. It had been a while since he had eaten anything sugary like that, it was kind of nice now and then. Well, except for the problems it caused his stomach. He slipped out to answer the call of nature, making his way to the bathroom. Tomura was snoring, sprawled on the sofa with the blanket thrown to the floor, but other than that it was pretty quiet. He tended to his business and was making his way back to his room when caught the hushed conversation.

“I told you I didn’t, Inko.”

“Dad, this is serious!” his mother’s voice hissed. “Did you give him one or not? Did he ask you? Did you tell him?”

“I didn’t give him one.” His grandfather reiterated. “I didn’t even speak to him about it, as you asked.”

“Then why does he have one now? Did he really just- it’s just so unlikely-“

“Inko, dear, even if I did give him one, what would you have me do now? Take it back?”

“I…” she sighed. “No, but I just-“

“I’ve respected your wishes to minimize my…influence in his life, have I not kept to it? Why would I suddenly go against that without consulting you? I made it very clear long ago that I would be willing to give him one, but you were adamant about keeping me ‘secret’ as possible.”

“It’s dangerous, Dad, I know it’s what he wants but you know better than I do how dangerous it is to be a hero. What if he- I mean- you won’t…will you?”

“We’ve been over this, if this is what he wants then there is no reason he shouldn’t pursue it, just as I pursue what I want, simply because I want it. If you worry about ‘conflict’ then don’t, I have my resources, he’ll be kept in the dark about me, just as he has been, just as you wanted.”

Izuku frowned, still and silent in the hall, listening to the exchange through his mother’s door. What were they talking about? Keeping him in the dark about what? His stomach twisted into a knot, a cold chill running up his spine. He didn’t like this, not at all, it was sketchy, it gave him a bad feeling- was this about his grandfather’s ‘work’? Tomura’s ‘work’? They never really talked to him about it, in fact, he didn’t know much about it at all- that couldn’t be good, could it? But-…no, no they were good people, they were his family, he had to be overthinking this.

“Dad…I-“

“You should go to bed, Inko, it’s late. I’m rather tired as well, we can discuss this more tomorrow if you wish, when Izuku is at school.”

He heard movement and quickly, but quietly, slipped back into his room, closing the door shut with as little noise as possible. What was all that about? Should he ask- no, it didn’t sound like they were going to just tell him about anything. He slipped into his bed, staring at the wall. Would All-Might have any advice about this? Maybe he should ask him next time….

#bnha #fanfiction #chapter one #villain family au #mha #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #deku #all might #all for one #dad might

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kafkasgods · 4 years ago

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adam hudson and the quest of athena

tw suicide, abuse, eye horror/injury, physical punishment, fire, death

[[SCENE ONE]]

Even when Adam trekked on at dawn, leaving Epinieos behind, he had no clue what was in store for him. Athena hadn’t felt inclined to tell him anything beyond the fact that she had something long term in mind for him and where to meet her for more information. It wasn’t hard to find her considering the forest beyond the borders didn’t have any other olive trees. When he found the tree, he approached, slowing his steps, waiting for the goddess to appear. Adam paused when she didn’t. There was a rustle behind him and he turned, hand on his cross, ready to pull out a sword.

A dark-haired guy around his age, maybe older, stepped from behind from branches he was swatting away. “Holy shit,” he muttered as he brushed the debris from his jacket. Apparently he was too caught up in himself to notice Adam, and when he did, his brows set downwards in confusion. “Hey, you fixed my car.”

Adam gave a slow nod. “Probably.” Trying to place the guy was a moot effort. “Are you here for something?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m going on the quest with you unless you’re here for no goddamn reason.” The guy was a bit on the rough side, but he was straightforward enough and Adam could work with that. “I’m Murphy Fiennes, son of Aphrodite. You?” The pomade in Murphy’s hair that held his well-done curls was enough to let Adam know that.

“Adam Hudson, son of Ares, legacy of Hephaestus. Nice to meet you.” Idly, Adam wondered why Murphy hadn’t been surprised to see him.

Before he could mull on the thought, Athena stood before him. The form she was in was different from the last one, but he knew it was her. The steely gray eyes were the same. “Adam. Murphy.” She addressed cooly. Adam’s back straightened at her attention, while Murphy raised a hand in greeting. [1:24 PM] “I appreciate you both being here and accepting my request of you despite the conflict of your own parentage. That in mind, what I ask has very much to do with the helm.”

If Adam were a dog, his ears would have been pricked forward at the words that had left her lips.

“Sides have been drawn, naturally, but the problem is that who is on my side isn’t as veracious as I hope.” The eyes she had on Adam somehow made him feel a weight compress against his chest. Was that just something she did innately? “I would like you both to attend to Hephaestus' Forge.” Finally, she turned her gaze from them and stared at the olives above. “I have reason to believe he might have stolen the helm to set me up.”

“Why would he do that?” Interrupting Athena, Murphy had every ounce of arrogance any good-looking person had and it was bothering Adam more than usual.

“My half-brother despises Ares more than he cares for me. But that is none of your concern. All I require of you two is to search his domain for the helm or see if he has anything to do with it.”

For the first time, Adam spoke. “You want me to spy on my grandfather?” Nothing about him said espionage. It felt traitorous.

Athena’s eyes dropped to him. “Who are you loyal to, Adam Hudson? If it is not to me, then why are you here?”

“I am,” Adam stressed. “I’m goin—”

“Then if you are, you would see that I do not ask stupid things for stupid reasons. You are not spying on Hephaestus, you are clearing his name. Just as you are trying to clear your father’s name. Isn’t that the reason you are really here?”

The force she spoke with was hard to argue or even defend himself against. Adam swallowed, choosing to remain unmoving. It was enough of an answer for her. [1:24 PM] “Good. Despite being a child of Ares, Hephaestus will take to you as you are his grandchild. And Murphy, your charmspeak has always been a certain weakness against him. If either of you are caught, you must not tell him of whom your quest had originated from. Neither of you, I imagine, are keen on the war escalating by your hand and that would no doubt happen if he discovers I sent you.”

“Got it.” Murphy saluted.

Adam didn’t hesitate this time. “I swear on the River Styx.”

For once, Athena seemed to be pleased with him and she wished him good luck before disappearing.

Setting off on their journey now, Murphy lightly elbowed Adam. “I can’t believe you had to one up me in front of Athena.”

“I can’t believe you interrupted her.”

Murphy grinned and took a larger stride than Adam, setting out to lead. “Well, anyways! Where even is Heph’s Forge?”

The answer amused Adam as the crestfallen look on Murphy was predictable. “Under a volcano.”

[[SCENE TWO]]

It took four days to get to the workshop, which was actually great time. A few monsters had come out of the woodwork for them, but between him and Murphy, they were holding their own well. It surprised Adam how quick he took to his chatty companion, but it was hard not to feel appreciative of someone sharing in the same life and death experience.

“I know we’ve talked about this before, but do you think it’s going to be terrible in our rooms? I feel like it’s going to be terrible.” Even as they squeezed through boulders and slipped through the crevice of the volcano, Murphy had to talk. “Honest to Gods, it’s going to be a slab of rock and lava covering the walls. I can’t sleep in the heat. I get so sweaty. Adam, Adam. I get sweaty.” [1:24 PM] “Pretty bold of you to assume he’s even gonna give us rooms.” That was a possibility, but Adam wasn’t going to let it happen anyways.

“What can I say—” A piece of the path broke off under Murphy’s foot, revealing the magma underneath and showing them how thin the layer they were walking on was. His voice shook, “I’m an optimist.”

From across the way, Adam heard a familiar voice. “Adam.”

Turning his carefully, Adam saw Hephaetus standing along another path, appearing smeared with grime and looking as if he was on his way from one project to another.

“Hi. Give me a sec.”

Having Hephaestus watching them made even Murphy scuttle forward with haste. Finally, they reached him and Adam took the lead in greeting them.

“Hi sir. I know this was unexpected and rude, but I was actually hoping that I could apprentice under you for some time. I just graduated college and I thought taking some time to learn from you was the right thing to do. I don’t plan on burdening you any more than that and if all you wanted to do was tell me to do things, I can do that too.” Adam was polite and straight to the point. He didn’t know his grandfather beyond some shared conversation in a Lowe’s warehouse, but Hephaestus had always appeared to appreciate that in him. Their talks, after all, had never broached beyond mechanics. [1:25 PM] Hephaestus was silent, lips pursed as he stared down at Adam. Then he jerked his chin towards Murphy. “And him?”

“I’m Murphy!”

“He’s a friend. He didn’t want me coming alone.” That sounded a little pathetic. “Things have been more dangerous recently.” That was a little better.

“I’d really love it if you could let us stay. Mostly me. I’m hoping for a sauna room.”

Hephaestus didn’t need to hear anything more from him. “Aphrodite’s kid. What a pair you two are,” he spoke under his breath. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say no, but he began walking and gave a quick gesture to follow.

“Why do you call him ‘sir’?” Murphy whispered as they trailed after the god. [1:25 PM] [[SCENE THREE]]

It was hard to say how long they’d been there. Time moved differently in the cave. Not for any special reason besides not having a sky overhead to regulate their body clocks. But things were good for the most part.

Hephaestus didn’t spend a lot of time with Adam in the beginning, but he seemed to have warmed up to him a little, lingering nearby whenever Adam struggled with his task. Even though Ares was the one who took on his adopted dad’s form, he couldn’t help but be reminded of him with Hephaestus. It’d been a long time since Adam really got to hang out with his dad—First, he had to go to Camp Halfblood, then he had to live in Epineios. That didn’t leave a lot of room besides long visits. So he missed this. He missed not having to be the one in control.

But that was just something he pretended in brief moments because Adam had other, bigger responsibilities. The workshop was huge and it almost felt like Adam would never finish looking. He was just glad Murphy was here to share half the work. They’d split up locations to go through and they’d convene at night in their shared room.

“I think the helm is here, Adam,” Murphy whispered in a low voice, across his own bed.

They hadn’t heard or found anything about the helm since they got there. This was a first and had Adam alert.

“What’d you mean?” Adam asked, already frowning, lowering the shirt he was folding. [1:25 PM] “I was in the boiler room and I overheard Alkon tell Eurymedon that Ares is going to get what’s coming to him. That Hephaestus is gonna make sure of it.”

That more than put Adam on edge. He hesitated, taking a moment to think of a plan on how to go forward.

“It’d be so dumb if he took it.” Murphy muttered. “You know? Like just ‘cause he has beef with Ares, is there really a point to starting a civil war and getting everyone involved?”

Adam stayed silent.

“I just think this whole war thing is stupid and there’s no reason Athena would do anything bad because she’s like, the brains, you know?”

Adam bit his cheek.

“Her whole thing is like fairness and justness. Dude—” Murphy hit Adam’s knee, making him look up. “I feel like I’ve been talking to a tree all this time. Why don’t you ever say what you think about anything?”

It seemed to come out of nowhere, but it was probably because Adam had been too lost in thought. He took in Murphy’s frustration and he could tell it’d been something that had been stewing. “You know, I don’t like to talk unnecessarily, Murphy.”

Murphy rolled his eyes and he was about to say something, but Adam continued to the other boy’s pleasure.

“The war is stupid. All war is. I want to find the helm and end it.”

“Oh yeah, if you find it, I bet your dad would make you immortal or something. You’d have to get rewarded for ending a fucking war.” Murphy sighed, dramatically. “I bet Athena would get us something nice when we get back. I heard some dude got a flamethrower once, but like, a crazy indestructible one or something.”

Adam finished folding the shirt and put it off to the side. They still had to think and plan something out, but they couldn’t do anything right now.

“I thought you wanted to meet your mom.”

The perpetual grin on Murphy’s face faded. There was a pause. “Well, what do you think the fucking flamethrower is for?” [1:25 PM] The question ended in a cackle that made Adam snort. Murphy’s opinion of Aphrodite had swayed every other day, but it wasn’t hard for Adam to tell where Murphy really stood about it. After all, a person wasn’t ambivalent about things for nothing.

“So what are you going to do with all that glory? Are you finally going to get a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Themfriend?” Murphy raised his index finger stopping Adam from speaking. His gaze was flat and unamused. “Or are you gonna get a cat? One you didn’t find off the street.”

“You know, you have a lot of perceptions of me. More than I’d like any person to have. I might get a cat, but I’d have to check in with Audrey. And even then, our stray might not care for a friend. Besides that, I don’t care about anything else. I’ll do what I have to do to end the war so we can all stop worrying about each other.”

Murphy gave Adam an uncertain look. “That always kind of confused me about you. I really thought Ares kids were supposed to thrive in conflict or something. You don’t seem like any Ares kids I know.”

Adam flexed his hand. “You might be getting it confused with just having the ability to manipulate rage. But yeah, I get that a lot.” Frankly, he was never sure how to feel about whether it was a good thing or a bad one. It always felt insulting either way. “I do,” Adam answered.

“Do what?”

“I do like conflict. I like...Not holding back. There’s a rush of adrenaline and freedom that’s hard to recreate. I like pushing things too far. I like hitting things until something bleeds. I want things to hurt. I have for a long time.”

There was a silence between them before Murphy spoke again. “You sound kind of like a psycho.” [1:25 PM] Adam gave Murphy a small smile. “Yeah, well, it runs in my blood in more ways than one. But that’s part of the reason I stop myself.”

Murphy tapped his fingers along his chin, feigning a caricature of a therapist. “Go on.”

It really was nice to have Murphy here with him in the trenches. The months would have been more bleak if he were alone. Murphy was his friend now. Maybe his closest one, even if he wasn’t Murphy’s.

Giving a small laugh, Adam stretched up, giving a slight reprieve from its tenseness. “I used to get the shit beaten out of me when I was a kid. Everyone in my family is trash.” Adam collapsed backwards on his bed, staring up at the dark slate ceiling. “I don’t want to be like that. I want to be better.”

Through his peripheral Adam could see Murphy staring at him. His next words made Adam choke back a laugh: “I wish you were gay.” He grinned. “Or you know, something close to it.”

“Who knows, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“What do you mean you haven’t thought about it? Everyone thinks about it. Well, not everyone, but you get what I’m saying.”

“I get it. I just know I’m not in that place yet.” The more specific answer was an amalgamation of reasons Adam just couldn’t sort and didn’t think it was important enough to try to.

Murphy nodded and turned over on his bed to face Adam. “I guess. Does that mean you haven’t kissed anyone?”

Adam raised a hand as he settled back into his bed, pulling the covers over himself. “We’re not that close, Murphy.”

“Oh, so you want to kiss me?”

“I’m not in your league.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Also I’m not gay.”

“Murphy, what?” [1:25 PM] “I have a girlfriend. I’m just a straight dude who likes to talk and occasionally assumes all my friends are in love with me. Clearly, Adam.” Murphy’s eyes were closed, relaxed, so he couldn’t see Adam squinting over in the dark. “Anyways I just like lying.”

Somehow they had circled back to the pointless jabber Murphy liked and Adam gave an amused breath of air as a reply before he turned over to face the wall.

“Maybe I’ve been lying to you the whole time. Maybe my name isn’t even my name. It’s probably Steve or something. Or Zack, like from Saved by the Bell—Did you hear about Screech?”

“Goodnight Steve.”

“Hey, actually. I think tomorrow while you’re with Hephaestus, I can try talking to the Kabeiroi Boys. They’re pretty good to charmspeak. I’ll let you know from there what I’ve got. You’re doing all the hard manual labor anyways.”

The gears in his head were turning, going over the idea. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Of course it does. Night Adam.”

“You’re a good partner.”

“I have a girlfriend.”

Adam laughed again into the dark before finally letting himself doze off. [1:26 PM] [[SCENE FOUR]]: MURPHY’S POV

It was easy to make up the lie to Adam the next day—that it’d only been a prank Hephaestus was planning on Ares, a false alarm. Of course, Murphy hadn’t actually found anything. It was just that Adam really didn’t share enough for him to figure the guy out.

The talk with Adam had given Murphy a little more perspective. It was enough to let him know that Adam was probably in the clear. There was still a niggling of doubt coming from the admission of hate he had fessed up to, but that’d been the only thing. Murphy was about 90% sure his companion didn’t have the helm and though Adam had thought they should clear Hephaestus now, Murphy insisted on staying a little longer to give time for Adam to convince him of the other ten.

Despite Adam’s impression, Murphy’s own quest was different from his. He’d known it from the start when Athena had come to him and told him how she suspected the son of Ares. She sent him with Adam on the chicanery of a quest to read into the real suspect. There weren’t supposed to be any hiccups to his quest unless Adam really did have the helm—He didn’t think Adam would get caught in the Dupe Quest.

Adam stumbled into the room Murphy was in, Hephaestus following behind, an imposing figure. Murphy remembered a miniscule warmth to them when he talked with Adam, but it was gone now. The gaze on his face was as hard and black as coal.

“What am I supposed to do with two liars? Arrogant demigods who’ve come into my home and rifle through my things? I should have known. You are your father—Despicable.”

Murphy turned to Adam, staring at him with wide eyes, trying to ask for an explanation. How’d he get caught? What had happened? The other boy just stared forward, jaw locked.

“Well?” Hephaestsus looked between them. “Did you find what you were looking for? What was it? Who sent you?” [1:26 PM] Adam wasn’t saying anything, so Murphy stepped up, raising his hands. “We weren’t doing anything. It’s just a misunder—”

“Shut up. Your pretty words don’t work on me, son of Aphrodite.” Murphy could see the god’s nose flaring as he glowered down at them. “Only one of you’s getting to go back as a warning, so who’s it going to be?”

“I’ll stay,” Adam spoke, volunteering himself.

Hephaestus’ eyes narrowed, thinly. “No one is staying.”

He and Adam shared a look. Murphy’s mind was racing, trying to find a way out of this. He was coming up short. Camp prepared him for monsters, not for Gods.

“Who sent you?” A fire combusted throughout his clenched fist, causing a more immediate panic.

The name slipped from Murphy’s mouth. “Ares. Ares sent us.”

He didn’t mean to damn Adam, but justification began pouring into his mind—Only one of them was getting out and it was better this way, wasn’t it? Adam was the one who got caught anyways? The quest Murphy was on was the real mission, Adam’s didn’t matter. There was still a small percent Adam was the helm thief. Wait, Adam was good with getting out of situations. He could figure this out for the both of them. It was fine, Murphy wasn’t damning him, he was buying Adam time.

“Your father?” Hephaestus uttered.

“He didn’t.” Murphy’s heart clenched. He wasn’t expecting Adam to tell the truth, he’d sworn on the Styx.

“So Murphy is lying?”

“I’m not! It was Ares. He sent us to find the helm here!” Murphy’s eyes were on the god, hoping to Aphrodite, begging that his charmspeak would work. “Who else would send us here?”

There. He could see Hephaestus believe him. The wrath was on Ares. And on Adam. He stared at Adam, pleading him to say something to get them out of this. But Adam didn’t say anything at all. [1:26 PM] Hephaestus grunted. “I want to hear you say it, Adam. Tell me it was Ares.”

“Adam, tell him. Say something!” Murphy hissed. Why wasn’t Adam saying anything?

“It wasn’t Ares.”

“Tell me or Murphy dies now.”

The silence was both longer and quicker than Murphy had ever felt. But the fire that engulfed him was the last thing he recalled.

[[SCENE FIVE]]: ADAM’S POV

“Was it worth it?” Hephaestus asked, voice harsh and sharp, as Adam stared at the pile of ash where Murphy had been standing.

Adam...His morals hadn’t allowed Ares to take the blame for it, but at the same time, he had a duty to his quest not to out Athena. Weighing even heavier was the potential of escalating the war. Of it being time to fight against his friends. And Adam...Didn’t want to set the keg. So he stayed silent and he let Hephaestus smote Murphy.

“Kill me too,” Adam’s voice cracked through his raw throat. “Kill me too,” he repeated with more certainty.

“No. That’s your punishment.” He jerked his chin towards Murphy’s spot. “You’ll carry that forever.”

“That’s not a punishment! That’s not a fair punishment!” Adam snapped, feeling all the heat rise to his face. “You’re supposed to take it out on me!” “Fair? An eye for an eye then.” There was no other warning before Hephaestus took Adam’s left eye. Adam held the place where his eye had been, cringing over it. “Since you want to keep your eye on me, I’ll keep it then.” He turned his back towards Adam as he made for the door. “Go. You’ve completed your quest.” [1:26 PM] [[SCENE SIX]]: ATHENA’S POV

Athena plucked a dark olive from the tree above. She turned it over in thought. It was much too ripe—Far overdue to be picked. She peered up once more to get a glimpse of the son of Ares’ back as he headed back into town.

The quests she had sent both boys on ended one of the few ways she imagined it would. The children of Ares and Aphrodite on her side had made her suspicious of them both, though the Ares one had more of the cleverness and unpredictability that made her paranoid of him most.

It had been fairly simple. She sent Adam under the impression her suspicion was on Hephaestus and she sent Murphy to assess Adam. It seemed Adam was about done with his quest, obviously finding nothing on Hephaestus. With their time almost over, Athena had Hephaestus informed about the spies in his midsts. The real test of loyalty lied there and Adam had passed with flying colors. She could trust him now. Trust was priceless in war and the cost of it had been a sacrifice that she could afford to make.

The son of Ares was a good ally to have. And he would even have her gifted eyepatch on him forever, allowing him the same sense of depth perception. He would be grateful to her always.

His back faded from view and Athena vanished, content with the turnout.

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dist-the-rose · 5 years ago

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Section 4: Division of Labour in Manufacture, and Division of Labour in Society We first considered the origin of Manufacture, then its simple elements, then the detail labourer and his implements, and finally, the totality of the mechanism. We shall now lightly touch upon the relation between the division of labour in manufacture, and the social division of labour, which forms the foundation of all production of commodities. If we keep labour alone in view, we may designate the separation of social production into its main divisions or genera – viz., agriculture, industries, &c., as division of labour in general, and the splitting up of these families into species and sub-species, as division of labour in particular, and the division of labour within the workshop as division of labour in singular or in detail.25 Division of labour in a society, and the corresponding tying down of individuals to a particular calling, develops itself, just as does the division of labour in manufacture, from opposite startingpoints. Within a family,26 and after further development within a tribe, there springs up naturally a division of labour, caused by differences of sex and age, a division that is consequently based on a purely physiological foundation, which division enlarges its materials by the expansion of the community, by the increase of population, and more especially, by the conflicts between different tribes, and the subjugation of one tribe by another. On the other hand, as I have before remarked, the exchange of products springs up at the points where different families, tribes, communities, come in contact; for, in the beginning of civilisation, it is not private individuals but families, tribes, &c., that meet on an independent footing. Different communities find different means of production, and different means of subsistence in their natural environment. Hence, their modes of production, and of living, and their products are different. It is this spontaneously developed difference which, when different communities come in contact, calls forth the mutual exchange of products, and the consequent gradual conversion of those products into commodities. Exchange does not create the differences between the spheres of production, but brings what are already different into relation, and thus converts them into more or less inter-dependent branches of the collective production of an enlarged society. In the latter case, the social division of labour arises from the exchange between spheres of production, that are originally distinct and independent of one another. In the former, where the physiological division of labour is the starting-point, the particular organs of a compact whole grow loose, and break off, principally owing to the exchange of commodities with foreign communities, and then isolate themselves so far, that the sole bond, still connecting the various kinds of work, is the exchange of the products as commodities. In the one case, it is the making dependent what was before independent; in the other case, the making independent what was before dependent. The foundation of every division of labour that is well developed, and brought about by the exchange of commodities, is the separation between town and country. 27 It may be said, that the whole economic history of society is summed up in the movement of this antithesis. We pass it over, however, for the present. Just as a certain number of simultaneously employed labourers are the material pre-requisites for division of labour in manufacture, so are the number and density of the population, which here correspond to the agglomeration in one workshop, a necessary condition for the division of labour in society.28 Nevertheless, this density is more or less relative. A relatively thinly populated country, with well-developed means of communication, has a denser population than a more 177 Chapter XIV numerously populated country, with badly-developed means of communication; and in this sense the Northern States of the American Union, for instance, are more thickly populated than India.29 Since the production and the circulation of commodities are the general pre-requisites of the capitalist mode of production, division of labour in manufacture demands, that division of labour in society at large should previously have attained a certain degree of development. Inversely, the former division reacts upon and develops and multiplies the latter. Simultaneously, with the differentiation of the instruments of labour, the industries that produce these instruments, become more and more differentiated.30 If the manufacturing system seize upon an industry, which, previously, was carried on in connexion with others, either as a chief or as a subordinate industry, and by one producer, these industries immediately separate their connexion, and become independent. If it seize upon a particular stage in the production of a commodity, the other stages of its production become converted into so many independent industries. It has already been stated, that where the finished article consists merely of a number of parts fitted together, the detail operations may re-establish themselves as genuine and separate handicrafts. In order to carry out more perfectly the division of labour in manufacture, a single branch of production is, according to the varieties of its raw material, or the various forms that one and the same raw material may assume, split up into numerous, and to some extent, entirely new manufactures. Accordingly, in France alone, in the first half of the 18th century, over 100 different kinds of silk stuffs were woven, and, in Avignon, it was law, that “every apprentice should devote himself to only one sort of fabrication, and should not learn the preparation of several kinds of stuff at once.” The territorial division of labour, which confines special branches of production to special districts of a country, acquires fresh stimulus from the manufacturing system, which exploits every special advantage.31 The Colonial system and the opening out of the markets of the world, both of which are included in the general conditions of existence of the manufacturing period, furnish rich material for developing the division of labour in society. It is not the place, here, to go on to show how division of labour seizes upon, not only the economic, but every other sphere of society, and everywhere lays the foundation of that all engrossing system of specialising and sorting men, that development in a man of one single faculty at the expense of all other faculties, which caused A. Ferguson, the master of Adam Smith, to exclaim: “We make a nation of Helots, and have no free citizens.”32 But, in spite of the numerous analogies and links connecting them, division of labour in the interior of a society, and that in the interior of a workshop, differ not only in degree, but also in kind. The analogy appears most indisputable where there is an invisible bond uniting the various branches of trade. For instance the cattle-breeder produces hides, the tanner makes the hides into leather, and the shoemaker, the leather into boots. Here the thing produced by each of them is but a step towards the final form, which is the product of all their labours combined. There are, besides, all the various industries that supply the cattle-breeder, the tanner, and the shoemaker with the means of production. Now it is quite possible to imagine, with Adam Smith, that the difference between the above social division of labour, and the division in manufacture, is merely subjective, exists merely for the observer, who, in a manufacture, can see with one glance, all the numerous operations being performed on one spot, while in the instance given above, the spreading out of the work over great areas, and the great number of people employed in each branch of labour, obscure the connexion.33 But what is it that forms the bond between the independent labours of the cattle-breeder, the tanner, and the shoemaker? It is the fact that their respective products are commodities. What, on the other hand, characterises division of labour in manufactures? The fact that the detail labourer produces no commodities. 34 It is only the common product of all the detail labourers that becomes a commodity. 35 Division of labour in society is brought about by the purchase and sale of the products of different branches of industry, while the connexion between the detail operations in a workshop, is due to the sale of the labour-power of several workmen to one capitalist, who applies it as combined labour-power. The division of 178 Chapter XIV labour in the workshop implies concentration of the means of production in the hands of one capitalist; the division of labour in society implies their dispersion among many independent producers of commodities. While within the workshop, the iron law of proportionality subjects definite numbers of workmen to definite functions, in the society outside the workshop, chance and caprice have full play in distributing the producers and their means of production among the various branches of industry. The different spheres of production, it is true, constantly tend to an equilibrium: for, on the one hand, while each producer of a commodity is bound to produce a usevalue, to satisfy a particular social want, and while the extent of these wants differs quantitatively, still there exists an inner relation which settles their proportions into a regular system, and that system one of spontaneous growth; and, on the other hand, the law of the value of commodities ultimately determines how much of its disposable working-time society can expend on each particular class of commodities. But this constant tendency to equilibrium, of the various spheres of production, is exercised, only in the shape of a reaction against the constant upsetting of this equilibrium. The a priori system on which the division of labour, within the workshop, is regularly carried out, becomes in the division of labour within the society, an a posteriori, nature-imposed necessity, controlling the lawless caprice of the producers, and perceptible in the barometrical fluctuations of the market-prices. Division of labour within the workshop implies the undisputed authority of the capitalist over men, that are but parts of a mechanism that belongs to him. The division of labour within the society brings into contact independent commodity-producers, who acknowledge no other authority but that of competition, of the coercion exerted by the pressure of their mutual interests; just as in the animal kingdom, the bellum omnium contra omnes [war of all against all – Hobbes] more or less preserves the conditions of existence of every species. The same bourgeois mind which praises division of labour in the workshop, life-long annexation of the labourer to a partial operation, and his complete subjection to capital, as being an organisation of labour that increases its productiveness that same bourgeois mind denounces with equal vigour every conscious attempt to socially control and regulate the process of production, as an inroad upon such sacred things as the rights of property, freedom and unrestricted play for the bent of the individual capitalist. It is very characteristic that the enthusiastic apologists of the factory system have nothing more damning to urge against a general organisation of the labour of society, than that it would turn all society into one immense factory. If, in a society with capitalist production, anarchy in the social division of labour and despotism in that of the workshop are mutual conditions the one of the other, we find, on the contrary, in those earlier forms of society in which the separation of trades has been spontaneously developed, then crystallised, and finally made permanent by law, on the one hand, a specimen of the organisation of the labour of society, in accordance with an approved and authoritative plan, and on the other, the entire exclusion of division of labour in the workshop, or at all events a mere dwarflike or sporadic and accidental development of the same.36 Those small and extremely ancient Indian communities, some of which have continued down to this day, are based on possession in common of the land, on the blending of agriculture and handicrafts, and on an unalterable division of labour, which serves, whenever a new community is started, as a plan and scheme ready cut and dried. Occupying areas of from 100 up to several thousand acres, each forms a compact whole producing all it requires. The chief part of the products is destined for direct use by the community itself, and does not take the form of a commodity. Hence, production here is independent of that division of labour brought about, in Indian society as a whole, by means of the exchange of commodities. It is the surplus alone that becomes a commodity, and a portion of even that, not until it has reached the hands of the State, into whose hands from time immemorial a certain quantity of these products has found its way in the shape of rent in kind. The constitution of these communities varies in different parts of India. In those of the simplest form, the land is tilled in common, and the produce divided among the 179 Chapter XIV members. At the same time, spinning and weaving are carried on in each family as subsidiary industries. Side by side with the masses thus occupied with one and the same work, we find the “chief inhabitant,” who is judge, police, and tax-gatherer in one; the book-keeper, who keeps the accounts of the tillage and registers everything relating thereto; another official, who prosecutes criminals, protects strangers travelling through and escorts them to the next village; the boundary man, who guards the boundaries against neighbouring communities; the water-overseer, who distributes the water from the common tanks for irrigation; the Brahmin, who conducts the religious services; the schoolmaster, who on the sand teaches the children reading and writing; the calendar-Brahmin, or astrologer, who makes known the lucky or unlucky days for seed-time and harvest, and for every other kind of agricultural work; a smith and a carpenter, who make and repair all the agricultural implements; the potter, who makes all the pottery of the village; the barber, the washerman, who washes clothes, the silversmith, here and there the poet, who in some communities replaces the silversmith, in others the schoolmaster. This dozen of individuals is maintained at the expense of the whole community. If the population increases, a new community is founded, on the pattern of the old one, on unoccupied land. The whole mechanism discloses a systematic division of labour; but a division like that in manufactures is impossible, since the smith and the carpenter, &c., find an unchanging market, and at the most there occur, according to the sizes of the villages, two or three of each, instead of one. 37 The law that regulates the division of labour in the community acts with the irresistible authority of a law of Nature, at the same time that each individual artificer, the smith, the carpenter, and so on, conducts in his workshop all the operations of his handicraft in the traditional way, but independently, and without recognising any authority over him. The simplicity of the organisation for production in these self-sufficing communities that constantly reproduce themselves in the same form, and when accidentally destroyed, spring up again on the spot and with the same name38 this simplicity supplies the key to the secret of the unchangeableness of Asiatic societies, an unchangeableness in such striking contrast with the constant dissolution and refounding of Asiatic States, and the never-ceasing changes of dynasty. The structure of the economic elements of society remains untouched by the storm-clouds of the political sky. The rules of the guilds, as I have said before, by limiting most strictly the number of apprentices and journeymen that a single master could employ, prevented him from becoming a capitalist. Moreover, he could not employ his journeymen in many other handicrafts than the one in which he was a master. The guilds zealously repelled every encroachment by the capital of merchants, the only form of free capital with which they came in contact. A merchant could buy every kind of commodity, but labour as a commodity he could not buy. He existed only on sufferance, as a dealer in the products of the handicrafts. If circumstances called for a further division of labour, the existing guilds split themselves up into varieties, or founded new guilds by the side of the old ones; all this, however, without concentrating various handicrafts in a single workshop. Hence, the guild organisation, however much it may have contributed by separating, isolating, and perfecting the handicrafts, to create the material conditions for the existence of manufacture, excluded division of labour in the workshop. On the whole, the labourer and his means of production remained closely united, like the snail with its shell, and thus there was wanting the principal basis of manufacture, the separation of the labourer from his means of production, and the conversion of these means into capital. While division of labour in society at large, whether such division be brought about or not by exchange of commodities, is common to economic formations of society the most diverse, division of labour in the workshop, as practised by manufacture, is a special creation of the capitalist mode of production alone.

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readbookywooks · 8 years ago

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As Esk tried to work out how to move the staff the ripples spread out in the magical ether, changing the Discworld in thousands of tiny ways. Most went entirely unnoticed. Perhaps a few grains of sand lay on their beaches in a slightly different position, or the occasional leaf hung on its tree in a marginally different way. But then the wavefront of probability struck the edge of Reality and rebounded like the slosh off the side of the pond which, meeting the laggard ripples coming the other way, caused small but important whirlpools in the very fabric of existence. You can have whirlpools in the fabric of existence, because it is a very strange fabric. Esk was completely ignorant of all this, of course, but was quite satisfied when the staff dropped out of thin air into her hand. It felt warm. She looked at it for some time. She felt that she ought to do something about it; it was too big, too distinctive, too inconvenient. It attracted attention. “If I'm taking you to Ankh-Morpork,” she said thoughtfully, “You've got to go in disguise.” A few late flickers of magic played around the staff, and then it went dark. Eventually Esk solved the immediate problem by finding a stall in the main Zemphis marketplace that sold broomsticks, buying the largest, carrying it back to her doorway, removing the handle and ramming the staff deep into the birch twigs. It didn't seem right to treat a noble object in this way, and she silently apologised to it. It made a difference, anyway. No one looked twice at a small girl carrying a broom. She bought a spice pasty to eat while exploring (the stallholder carelessly shortchanged her, and only realised later that he had inexplicably handed over two silver pieces; also, rats mysteriously got in and ate all his stock during the night, and his grandmother was struck by lightning). The town was smaller than Ohulan, and very different because it lay on the junction of three trade routes quite apart from the river itself. It was built around one enormous square which was a cross between a permanent exotic traffic jam and a tent village. Camels kicked mules, mules kicked horses, horses kicked camels and they all kicked humans; there was a riot of colours, a din of noise, a nasal orchestration of smells and the steady, heady sound of hundreds of people working hard at making money. One reason for the bustle was that over large parts of the continent other people preferred to make money without working at all, and since the Disc had yet to develop a music recording industry they were forced to fall back on older, more traditional forms of banditry. Strangely enough these often involved considerable effort. Rolling heavy rocks to the top of cliffs for a decent ambush, cutting down trees to block the road, and digging a pit lined with spikes while still keeping a wicked edge on a dagger probably involved a much greater expenditure of thought and muscle than more socially-acceptable professions but, nevertheless, there were still people misguided enough to endure all this, plus long nights in uncomfortable surroundings, merely to get their hands on perfectly ordinary large boxes of jewels. So a town like Zemphis was the place where caravans split, mingled and came together again, as dozens of merchants and travellers banded together for protection against the socially disadvantaged on the trails ahead. Esk, wandering unregarded amidst the bustle, learned all this by the simple method of finding someone who looked important and tugging on the hem of his coat. This particular man was counting bales of tobacco and would have succeeded but for the interruption. “What?” “I said, what happening here?” The man meant to say: “Push off and bother someone else.” He meant to give her a light cuff about the head. So he was astonished to find himself bending down and talking seriously to a small, grubby-faced child holding a large broomstick (which also, it seemed to him later, was in some indefinable way paying attention). He explained about the caravans. The child nodded. “People all get together to travel?” “Precisely.” “Where to?” “All sorts of places. Sto Lat, Pseudopolis . . . Ankh-Morpork, of course . . . .” “But the river goes there,” said Esk, reasonably. “Barges. The Zoons.” “Ah, yes,” said the merchant, “but they charge high prices and they can't carry everything and, anyway, no one trusts them much.” “But they're very honest!” “Huh, yes,” he said. “But you know what they say: never trust an honest man.” He smiled knowingly. “Who says that?” “They do. You know. People,” he said, a certain uneasiness entering his voice. “Oh,” said Esk. She thought about it. “They must be very silly,” she said primly. “Thank you, anyway.” He watched her wander off and got back to his counting. A moment later there was another tug at his coat. “Fiftysevenfiftysevenfiftysevenwell?” he said, trying not to lose his place. “Sorry to bother you again,” said Esk, “but those bale things ....” “What about them fiftysevenfiftysevenfiftyseven?” “Well, are they supposed to have little white worm things in them?” “Fiftysev - what?” The merchant lowered his slate and stared at Esk, “What little worms?” “Wriggly ones. White,” added Esk, helpfully. “All sort of burrowing about in the middle of the bales.” “You mean tobacco threadworm?” He looked wild-eyed at the stack of bales being unloaded by, now he came to think about it, a vendor with the nervous look of a midnight sprite who wants to get away before you find out what fairy gold turns into in the morning. “But he told me these had been well stored and - how do you know, anyway? ” The child had disappeared among the crowds. The merchant looked hard at the spot where she had been. He looked hard at the vendor, who was grinning nervously. He looked hard at the sky. Then took his sampling knife out of his pocket, stared at it for a moment, appeared to reach a decision, and sidled towards the nearest bale. Esk, meanwhile, had by random eavesdropping found the caravan being assembled for Ankh-Morpork. The trail boss was sitting at a table made up of a plank across two barrels. He was busy. He was talking to a wizard. Seasoned travellers know that a party setting out to cross possibly hostile country should have a fair number of swords in it but should definitely have a wizard in case there is any need for magic arts and, even if these do not become necessary, for lighting fires. A wizard of the third rank or above does not expect to pay for the privilege of joining the party. Rather, he expects to be paid. Delicate negotiations were even now coming to a conclusion. “Fair enough, Master Treatle, but what of the young man?” said the trail boss, one Adab Gander, an impressive figure in a trollhide jerkin, rakishly floppy hat and a leather kilt. “He's no wizard, I can see.” “He is in training,” said Treatle- a tall skinny wizard whose robes declared him to be a mage of the Ancient and Truly Original Brothers of the Silver Star, one of the eight orders of wizardry. “Then no wizard he,” said Gander. “I know the rules, and you're not a wizard unless you've got a staff. And he hasn't.” “Even now he travels to the Unseen University for that small detail,” said Treatle loftily. Wizards parted with money slightly less readily than tigers parted with their teeth. Gander looked at the lad in question. He had met a good many wizards in his time and considered himself a good judge and he had to admit that this boy looked like good wizard material. In other words, he was thin, gangling, pale from reading disturbing books in unhealthy rooms, and had watery eyes like two lightly-poached eggs. It crossed Gander's mind that one must speculate in order to accumulate. All he needs to get right to the top, he thought, is a bit of a handicap. Wizards are martyrs to things like asthma and flat feet, it somehow seems to give them their drive. “What's your name, lad?” he said, as kindly as possible. “Sssssssssssssss” said the boy. His Adam's apple bobbed like a captive balloon. He turned to his companion, full of mute appeal. “Simon,” said Trestle. “- imon,” agreed Simon, thankfully. “Can you cast fireballs or whirling spells, such as might be hurled against an enemy?” Simon looked sideways at Trestle. “Nnnnnnnnnn” he ventured. “My young friend follows higher magic than the mere hurling of sorceries,” said the wizard. “-o,” said Simon. Gander nodded. “Well,” he said, “maybe you will indeed be a wizard, lad. Maybe when you have your fine staff you'll consent to travel with me one time, yes? I will make an investment in you, yes?” “Just nod,” said Gander, who was not naturally a cruel man. Simon nodded gratefully. Treatle and Gander exchanged nods and then the wizard strode off, with his apprentice trailing behind under a weight of baggage. Gander looked down at the list in front of him and carefully crossed out “wizard”. A small shadow fell across the page. He glanced up and gave an involuntary start. “Well?” he said coldly. “I want to go to Ankh-Morpork,” said Esk, “please. I've got some money.” “Go home to your mother, child.” “No, really. I want to seek my fortune.” Gander sighed. “Why are you holding that broomstick?” he said. Esk looked at it as though she had never seen it before. “Everything's got to be somewhere,” she said. “Just go home, my girl,” said Gander. “I'm not taking any runaways to Ankh-Morpork. Strange things can happen to little girls in big cities.” Esk brightened. “What sort of strange things?” “Look, I said go home, right? Now!” He picked up his chalk and went on ticking off items on his slate, trying to ignore the steady gaze that seemed to be boring through the top of his head. “I can be helpful,” said Esk, quietly. Gander threw down the chalk and scratched his chin irritably. “How old are you?” he said. “Nine.” “Well, Miss nine-years-old, I've got two hundred animals and a hundred people that want to go to Ankh, and half of them hate the other half, and I've not got enough people who can fight, and they say the roads are pretty bad and the bandits are getting really cheeky up in the Paps and the trolls are demanding a bigger bridge toll this year and there's weevils in the supplies and I keep getting these headaches and where, in all this, do I need you?” “Oh,” said Esk. She looked around the crowded square. “Which one of these roads goes to Ankh, then?” “The one over there, with the gate.” “Thank you,” she said gravely. “Goodbye. I hope you don't have any more trouble and your head gets better.” “Right,” said Gander uncertainly. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he watched Esk walk away in the direction of the Ankh road. A long, winding road. A road haunted by thieves and gnolls. A road that wheezed through high mountain passes and crawled, panting, over deserts.

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