Fic ± Five Things Best Forgotten
[ From a meme at mobypolishing: gogogidget asked for "Five things Glitch is better off forgetting." The following not-quite-drabbles were the result. ]
--
never live it down
"...so before you can solve for y you need to have x sorted out. You see?"
"Yes, it makes much more sense now. Thank you, Master Ambrose."
"You're quite welcome, Azkadellia. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No." Pause. "Well, maybe."
"...yes, princess?"
"Matser Ambrose...what was Lord Westgate doing under your desk?"
"Erm."
"And why was he in such a hurry to leave?"
Pause. "Well, princess, he had dropped...he was looking for--"
There was a crash out in the hall, followed by some frantic barking from Toto and DG's distinctive giggle. Any concerns over oddly-behaving couriters vanished from Azkadellia's mind as she left the office to see what her sister had done now.
(This incident, along with countless other minor embarrassments and humilations from Ambrose's early life, were lost in the headcasing. See? It wasn't all bad.)
--
not the greatest sacrifice
The Sorceress was not the first to twist Ambrose's inventions for ill; during the war he did plenty of that on his own. Improved weaponry, tiny mechanical saboteurs, holograms used to conceal death traps, a cyclone of fire...
Lonnot showed them images of the results, framing it all as agreat success and asking which new marvels would come along to finish the war. Ambrose's response was to flee the briefing room in order to be violently sick. Later, he begged the queen to never use such tactics again, and she ordered the general to destroy the weapons.
(Azkadellia had her own pictures from the battle and distributed them across the realm to show what the queen was doing to her own people. Central fell within an annual.)
--
three weeks post-headcasing
The wimpering attracted the less-than-charitable types first and earned him a kicking which did nothing to silence him. He managed to scuttle away when the little gang took to fighting amongst themselves, his right arm hanging useless due to a dislocated shoulder. Scared, starving, in terrible pain and compeltely lost, literally all he knew was that he had to keep moving, keep looking for something, for...that thing he needed.
Something had been taken but he (who was he) didn't know what. He knew everything would be better when he found it, he'd hang on to that hope and certainty to carry him on. Still, hope wouldn't put food in his belly, and certainty wasn't doing anything for his wounds.
When he collapsed and was finally quiet, it attracted the more charitable types. His shoulder was fixed, the infection which had set in around the zipper tended to, and he re-learned how to speak. For a time he was safe and warm and named Andrew, until one day the neighbors snitched to a longcoat patrol about the elderly couple who were sheltering a headcase.
--
denial
Some memories slipped through his mind's fingers no matter how hard he tried to grasp them, others got jumbled and superimposed on one another. A surprising number lingered, sleeping until such time as he needed them and they rose to the fore.
A very few he threw away, willed into oblivion until they were nothing more than white-hot shame and fury behind his heart and a conviction that that will never happen again.
--
ain't no convict
Glitch would forget finding the reflexes to dodge the blade and the strength to turn it, bone grinding and snapping under his hands and a scream in his ear that cut off suddenly. He'd also forget the number of times he apologized, crooning and pleading for forgiveness as he knelt beside the dying man. He wouldn't recall how long he cried, or that his bloody knuckles had come from worrying them with his teeth to try and be quiet because wimpering attracted uncharitable types. And if he remembered the strange respect he'd earned from the guards and inmates which had compelled them to let him go, he'd be repulsed by it.
Much, much later when he told the story to DG (they were comparing notes on run-ins with the law), all he remembered was that he'd been arrested for theft, there'd been some sort of fight, and somehow he'd won and been granted his freedom. He told the tale with a grin and a wink, unbothered by the lack of details.
--
never live it down
"...so before you can solve for y you need to have x sorted out. You see?"
"Yes, it makes much more sense now. Thank you, Master Ambrose."
"You're quite welcome, Azkadellia. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No." Pause. "Well, maybe."
"...yes, princess?"
"Matser Ambrose...what was Lord Westgate doing under your desk?"
"Erm."
"And why was he in such a hurry to leave?"
Pause. "Well, princess, he had dropped...he was looking for--"
There was a crash out in the hall, followed by some frantic barking from Toto and DG's distinctive giggle. Any concerns over oddly-behaving couriters vanished from Azkadellia's mind as she left the office to see what her sister had done now.
(This incident, along with countless other minor embarrassments and humilations from Ambrose's early life, were lost in the headcasing. See? It wasn't all bad.)
--
not the greatest sacrifice
The Sorceress was not the first to twist Ambrose's inventions for ill; during the war he did plenty of that on his own. Improved weaponry, tiny mechanical saboteurs, holograms used to conceal death traps, a cyclone of fire...
Lonnot showed them images of the results, framing it all as agreat success and asking which new marvels would come along to finish the war. Ambrose's response was to flee the briefing room in order to be violently sick. Later, he begged the queen to never use such tactics again, and she ordered the general to destroy the weapons.
(Azkadellia had her own pictures from the battle and distributed them across the realm to show what the queen was doing to her own people. Central fell within an annual.)
--
three weeks post-headcasing
The wimpering attracted the less-than-charitable types first and earned him a kicking which did nothing to silence him. He managed to scuttle away when the little gang took to fighting amongst themselves, his right arm hanging useless due to a dislocated shoulder. Scared, starving, in terrible pain and compeltely lost, literally all he knew was that he had to keep moving, keep looking for something, for...that thing he needed.
Something had been taken but he (who was he) didn't know what. He knew everything would be better when he found it, he'd hang on to that hope and certainty to carry him on. Still, hope wouldn't put food in his belly, and certainty wasn't doing anything for his wounds.
When he collapsed and was finally quiet, it attracted the more charitable types. His shoulder was fixed, the infection which had set in around the zipper tended to, and he re-learned how to speak. For a time he was safe and warm and named Andrew, until one day the neighbors snitched to a longcoat patrol about the elderly couple who were sheltering a headcase.
--
denial
Some memories slipped through his mind's fingers no matter how hard he tried to grasp them, others got jumbled and superimposed on one another. A surprising number lingered, sleeping until such time as he needed them and they rose to the fore.
A very few he threw away, willed into oblivion until they were nothing more than white-hot shame and fury behind his heart and a conviction that that will never happen again.
--
ain't no convict
Glitch would forget finding the reflexes to dodge the blade and the strength to turn it, bone grinding and snapping under his hands and a scream in his ear that cut off suddenly. He'd also forget the number of times he apologized, crooning and pleading for forgiveness as he knelt beside the dying man. He wouldn't recall how long he cried, or that his bloody knuckles had come from worrying them with his teeth to try and be quiet because wimpering attracted uncharitable types. And if he remembered the strange respect he'd earned from the guards and inmates which had compelled them to let him go, he'd be repulsed by it.
Much, much later when he told the story to DG (they were comparing notes on run-ins with the law), all he remembered was that he'd been arrested for theft, there'd been some sort of fight, and somehow he'd won and been granted his freedom. He told the tale with a grin and a wink, unbothered by the lack of details.