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eyes-onthehorizon · 6 months ago

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The Old Guard Provide... Leverage

It's the 1800s, and Martha recently left the employ of Sir Archibald Graham for reasons she can't discuss. The Old Guard help her get revenge and closure with a healthy dose of found family on the side. A reworking of February is a Month Like Any Other because it desperately needed editing. An Old GuardxLeverage mashup. Rape is implied and the circumstances around it are discussed in detail; the violence itself is only alluded to.

chapter one (ao3)

chapter two

chapter three

Four

We get to know Tig a little better, Nicky devises a plan, and Andy and Martha set off to Scotland.

defective [dɪfektɪv]

Word forms: adjective

If something is defective, there is something wrong with it and it does not work properly.

(“Y’know Tig, there’s just summat wrong wiv ya.”

“That’s not true! You can’t say that!”

“Oh yeah? Says who?”)

Andromache was quickly approaching the point of disliking all people, her younger brothers included. The two of them had been at it for hours, and the banging had reached an unbearable volume.

After another minute of mentally disembowelling them, she hauled herself out of bed and stalked through to the main room.

“If you two don’t cut that out right this very fucking instant I swear to every God I’ve ever known I will pluck your bastard eyeballs out with a shitting cleaver-ended spoon and THEN—”

She stopped dead in her tracks as she caught sight of their guest.

As a rule, Andy tried not to swear in front of children. She achieved this mostly by avoiding them. Unless they were in danger. The mop of red hair toothily grinning at her from atop the mantelpiece was not in danger, but was very much enjoying Andy’s little hangover-fueled tirade. Andy decided she didn’t care. Thoroughly distracted, she missed the amused look that passed between her unnecessarily loud brothers.

“Good evening, Lady A. I got you some lemon-honey tea which is what Bean always has after he’s been out on the lash – I mean, silence is better but these two,” she cocked her head towards Yusuf and Nico, “Got it into their heads that if I’m gonna sleep here then I should have a bed. I told them that really wasn’t necessary, Bean’s got more than enough floorspace to put up the whole of Cheapside should he want to, he’s always off acquiring and gathering spaces, y’know? Anyways Mr Kayson says that if I’m gonna fall asleep here anyways then I should have a bed and I said I don’t need his charity but then he offered me a job, see, so then I guess I should probably be here given I don’t always wake up in the same place when I’m with Bean’s lot and that’s very unreliable for a shop girl, innit? I know lemon-honey is more for sore throat, really you’d want mint or chamomile for the head but that was all I could find. Is that okay?”

The girl paused expectantly. The silence rang in Andy’s ears a little, but at least the hammer and saw were finally resting.

Andy, taken aback and more than a little annoyed at Yusuf’s shit-stirring grin, simply thanked her for the tea.

Tig was small for her age and faster than any child had the right to be. She’d deftly pocketed quite a bit of the coinage they all carried, and savoured the adult’s reactions when she handed it back to them. Mr Kayson had put her to work watching the shop floor and had promised her reading lessons along with her wages.

“I can read just fine,” she’d protested at his first offer, until he handed her an enormous ledger and began talking her through the stock maintenance. He’d rifled through the information and Tig could feel her brain developing holes instead of thoughts. She’d been so disgusted with herself that she’d found her way into the attic, hanging upside down in the rafters until Mr Guvnor had come to join her.

Tig was used to people finding her strange. She didn’t mind too often but being left to your own devices all the time was boring. It wasn’t her fault she could climb and pick and run better than most boys, but the faster she got, the less they liked her. It didn’t matter if she toned it down or shared her loot, they never actually wanted to be friends. It’d taken Bean explaining that she wasn’t likeable for her to understand – there was nothing she could do. It wasn’t her fault; she was just made broken. Like a train line with a faulty track.

Adults, though, they were something else. They never said what they meant, calling her “sweet” or “poor thing” but never actually helping. They never actually talked to her unless she was in trouble, or they wanted something. Even then, they usually talked to Bean or Mac. She’d just nod in the corner.

Mr Kayson was… nice was not the right word. Maybe kind would be better, but who would be kind to an urchin? A thieving urchin, one who had been trespassing for months. And then he’d offered her a job and built her a bed. Not normal behaviour at all, but Tig wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Yet.

Mr Guvnor was more straightforward, she’d thought, except he also turned out different. He was quiet, like she tried to be, and watchful, which she admired. He was also strange like her, which she figured out only when he was hanging upside down beside her.

“What are you doing?” Tig demanded, sounding an awful lot like those stuffy nannies she heard from the stories. “You can’t do that!”

“Come, sole, if you can then so can I, hmm?” He didn’t even look at her. They stayed there for a while, he enjoying her company, she working out how exactly she was going to get down.

“The plan has four phases,” Nico announced over dinner. “Sorella, you will go first and set the scene. I will go after, offering my business services to the estate. Tesoro, you’ll need to coordinate with Bas from here. I have the rest of the strategy, but I need to speak with Miss Jones first.”

“Who’s Miss Jones?” yawned Tig, mopping up the last of her gravy.

“Someone we’re helping.”

Children really shouldn’t look adorable when they’re suspicious, Andy decided.

“Like you’re helping me?” She directed the question at Yusuf, her tone accusatory.

Yusuf sighed, propping his face up with his palm. “Sagir, You are helping me. You are running the shop. I pay you for your work. I don’t see what this has to—”

“And building me a bed from scratch?”

“I like building things.” Yusuf shrugged good-naturedly.

“And the free reading lessons? What about them?”

“Ahh,” he wagged his finger knowingly, “Those are not free.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he crossed his arms and leaned contentedly back in his chair. Well. She’d find out the debt she owed him, and make damn sure she repaid it. At least he wasn’t perfect like she’d feared.

Tig wasn’t disappointed. Not at all.

Phase One was simple enough.

Andy would pose as a Botreaux sister, visiting the Scottish countryside in search of a Northern property and on behalf of the Emporium.

“Patronising a shop in London is exactly the quirky, eccentric, ill-advised thing someone with too much money would do,” Yusuf had argued as they’d put together her story. “It fits perfectly.”

Andy thought it was ridiculous, but she could see his point. Some had spent more on less.

The Botreaux sisters were reclusive even amongst the upper set. While such social reluctance typically bred mystery, they had somehow achieved the impossible: invisibility. At least, until their remaining male relative passed without an heir and the barony fell into abeyance, at which point their story had travelled throughout the country quicker than anyone expected.

None of the sisters had come forward in some time, and no one even knew how many still lived, which suited their job down to the ground.

Bas and Yusuf spent the next month creating a viable replica of Giotto’s bell tower sketch for Florence Cathedral. It auctioned for a very healthy sum, and within the blink of an eye, Andy was kitted out with the fancies and fineries befitting a newly wealthy woman.

It was a cold winter’s morning when Andromeda Botreaux, enigmatic beauty, began her first foray into society. They’d interviewed for and hired a real footman and coachman, but had struggled for a lady’s maid. It wasn’t until Martha had offered to go herself that everything fell into place. All being well, they’d send for Nico within a day, but the journey time meant they’d be stuck outside Aberdeen for at least three more before he arrived.

Andy had packed a spare set of knives for the journey. She flicked open the leather roll, intent on inspecting the condition of each. Martha flinched at the sight of them, recoiling into the corner of the carriage.

“Breathe,” Andy murmured.

The carriage jostled, the movement pulling a shriek from her.

“Martha. I am not going to hurt you. This,” Andy gestured towards the knife, “Is for you. Just in case.” She leaned forward, ever so slowly, tracking the younger woman’s breathing; taking her hand, she could feel her pulse racing. Andy fought the impulse to press a kiss to her wrist. It had been second nature with her—void. Instead, Andy opened Martha’s palm, met her eyes, and pressed the handle of the dagger into her hand.

“Do you know how to use this?”

Martha hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

“Show me.”

Martha’s knifework was sloppy, but they had three days to work on that. In the meantime, they discussed the least treacherous part of their lives: the future. Martha had big plans for a girl from Cheapside; she was planning to create fashionable waterproofs, scarves in particular. She’d even scouted out the factories she was going to buy from.

“I’m dead handy with a needle,” she said warmly. “Mam said I could make magic from scraps.” Andy did not miss the moment of grief that passed over her face, freshly worn out like an ancestor’s favourite blanket. “But my father couldn’t put food on the table by himself, so I got to work like everyone else. And I was proud of it.”

The silence was full of things unsaid.

“But this shop is going to be your way forward?” Andy prompted. No need to ruminate on the past, on what was lost. That way lies madness, Bas had said in a moment of hashish-inspired clarity. Better to look forward. Forward, forward. The only direction she knew anymore.

Besides, there wasn’t nearly enough whiskey in this carriage to begin to numb the pain.

Martha was looking at her expectantly, so she must have missed whatever was said. Andy rubbed a hand over her face. “Once more, please?”

#writeblr #ao3 #fic #the old guard #leverage #the old guard provide... leverage #may writing challenge #this one was a long one #they won't all be this length #but it's nice to know i can do it #really it's three chapters condensed into one but i think keeping them together is better

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