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Entry tags:
fic: Bird By Bird
Title: Bird by Bird
Day/Theme: 4 . 17. Their bird wings severed like trophies
Series: Neverwhere
Character/Pairing: Old Baily, OCs
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 929
Author's note: part of the Good Enough ficverse/series.
There was rain on the air. He could smell it through the scent of coal tar, the smog and the lingering evidence that the Sewer Folk had visited last Market day. His birds were being as belligerent as always. Old Baily started on an anecdote he'd heard which had quite the good ending, though it took a while to get there but they kept interrupting him with their bellyaching.
"Oh yeah? You can't have heard that one before! I just heard it myself last market day!"
A few indignant caws said that something to the effect of his memory being as reliable as muddy sink hole.
"Oh? Well maybe then you'd like to be in the stew pot! How do you like that one, eh?"
He threw a few curses there way, until a few of them (rather rudely, he might add) decided to inform him of a customer's arrival. The boy was wearing a sweater too big for em so that it left a large hint of collarbones showing. He was sucking on a bit of rock candy.
"Oh, a customer. Welcome, welcome to Ol' Baily's. We've got birds and information galore! Now whatcha be wantin'?"
"My master desires information of a delicate sort," the boy said.
"Well, you can just sit right down here. How about some blackbird stew?"
The boy sniffed indignantly. "I haven't the time. You see....There's a man who my master feels the need to repay. You probably know of him...The Marquis de Carabas is what he usually goes by."
He reached out his hand and the sweater pulled back just enough for Old Baily to catch sight of a coat of arms branded into the skin. Oh, this wasn't good. This wasn't good at all... Old Baily fought for his composure. Sure, the Marquis and he had never been friendly – even more than that, Old Baily had always had a fear of what he just might be asked, but hearing that the man was marked made him feel downright sad for em.
Staying with the birds, he heard things. The Marquis had been known to double cross more than a few people, and not all of them were going senile like The Earl. Of course, Old Baily had been telling him for as long as he knew him that all this dirty dealin' was going to come back and bite him in the arse one day, but did he listen? Never. The git just would smirk in his own enigmatic way and continue on, like he had nine lives or something.
Old Baily laughed, a bit too loud, in order to cover the moment of silence. "I don't think anyone knows about the Marquis, least of all Old Baily here. You might as well try and make a ladder to the moon at that rate."
The boy drew closer. "But that's your job, isn't it? To find information. I assure you, the pay is well worth it..."
Old Baily swallowed. "That's a nice offer, but I never did look into the Marquis much. I rather like living."
"Oh? Then perhaps your continued existence is the trade you'd prefer? My master can be very merciful when it strikes his mood. He'd even be willing to spare a no-good peasant who dared to I should warn you, however, that my master abhors liars..."
Oh, this wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. He recognized that crest, and that master of his could bring down a whole lot of trouble heaped on him. And if he betrayed the Marquis, he knew damn well that he'd get his payback. Really, neither was a man to be trifled with.
He wetted his lips, but no sound came out. He was sweating up a storm, he was.
"Perhaps you'll remember more later on? If you need to find me, look behind the old Bluebell sign."
With that the boy was gone, and Old Baily was left with nothing but his troubles and the cawing of those noisome crows. Really, he should up and cook every last one of them.
Oh, this wasn't good news. Not at all. How did he ever get himself twisted up in these sorts of things?
*
Darren came before him. He bowed and then when the expression did not change, he knelt. Only when he felt a hand on his head, did he dare to look up. His master wore finer clothes than the rest of the rabble in London Below. A well-made jacket, with some lace at the cuffs, and even with a working pocket watch at his vest. He moved his gaze up slowly to find his master's green eyes fixed on him in faint amusement.
"Milord, I have done as you asked. The old birdsman proved little help, but it seems he soon might reconsider."
"And what of the girl, the lady Door?"
"She is proving very elusive. I have heard that she is on a quest to find her sister who she believes might have survived the massacre."
"A shame, to have survivors when it was such a convenient turn of events in the first place. It couldn't have gone better had I orchestrated it myself." He sighed and took another sip of tea.
"I hope to hear of better news next, Darren. Though you have always pleased me in the past, I grow tired of failures very easy. Do you understand?"
Darren bowed his head to hide his shame.
"Yes, milord...."
"Good. You are dismissed."
Day/Theme: 4 . 17. Their bird wings severed like trophies
Series: Neverwhere
Character/Pairing: Old Baily, OCs
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 929
Author's note: part of the Good Enough ficverse/series.
There was rain on the air. He could smell it through the scent of coal tar, the smog and the lingering evidence that the Sewer Folk had visited last Market day. His birds were being as belligerent as always. Old Baily started on an anecdote he'd heard which had quite the good ending, though it took a while to get there but they kept interrupting him with their bellyaching.
"Oh yeah? You can't have heard that one before! I just heard it myself last market day!"
A few indignant caws said that something to the effect of his memory being as reliable as muddy sink hole.
"Oh? Well maybe then you'd like to be in the stew pot! How do you like that one, eh?"
He threw a few curses there way, until a few of them (rather rudely, he might add) decided to inform him of a customer's arrival. The boy was wearing a sweater too big for em so that it left a large hint of collarbones showing. He was sucking on a bit of rock candy.
"Oh, a customer. Welcome, welcome to Ol' Baily's. We've got birds and information galore! Now whatcha be wantin'?"
"My master desires information of a delicate sort," the boy said.
"Well, you can just sit right down here. How about some blackbird stew?"
The boy sniffed indignantly. "I haven't the time. You see....There's a man who my master feels the need to repay. You probably know of him...The Marquis de Carabas is what he usually goes by."
He reached out his hand and the sweater pulled back just enough for Old Baily to catch sight of a coat of arms branded into the skin. Oh, this wasn't good. This wasn't good at all... Old Baily fought for his composure. Sure, the Marquis and he had never been friendly – even more than that, Old Baily had always had a fear of what he just might be asked, but hearing that the man was marked made him feel downright sad for em.
Staying with the birds, he heard things. The Marquis had been known to double cross more than a few people, and not all of them were going senile like The Earl. Of course, Old Baily had been telling him for as long as he knew him that all this dirty dealin' was going to come back and bite him in the arse one day, but did he listen? Never. The git just would smirk in his own enigmatic way and continue on, like he had nine lives or something.
Old Baily laughed, a bit too loud, in order to cover the moment of silence. "I don't think anyone knows about the Marquis, least of all Old Baily here. You might as well try and make a ladder to the moon at that rate."
The boy drew closer. "But that's your job, isn't it? To find information. I assure you, the pay is well worth it..."
Old Baily swallowed. "That's a nice offer, but I never did look into the Marquis much. I rather like living."
"Oh? Then perhaps your continued existence is the trade you'd prefer? My master can be very merciful when it strikes his mood. He'd even be willing to spare a no-good peasant who dared to I should warn you, however, that my master abhors liars..."
Oh, this wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. He recognized that crest, and that master of his could bring down a whole lot of trouble heaped on him. And if he betrayed the Marquis, he knew damn well that he'd get his payback. Really, neither was a man to be trifled with.
He wetted his lips, but no sound came out. He was sweating up a storm, he was.
"Perhaps you'll remember more later on? If you need to find me, look behind the old Bluebell sign."
With that the boy was gone, and Old Baily was left with nothing but his troubles and the cawing of those noisome crows. Really, he should up and cook every last one of them.
Oh, this wasn't good news. Not at all. How did he ever get himself twisted up in these sorts of things?
*
Darren came before him. He bowed and then when the expression did not change, he knelt. Only when he felt a hand on his head, did he dare to look up. His master wore finer clothes than the rest of the rabble in London Below. A well-made jacket, with some lace at the cuffs, and even with a working pocket watch at his vest. He moved his gaze up slowly to find his master's green eyes fixed on him in faint amusement.
"Milord, I have done as you asked. The old birdsman proved little help, but it seems he soon might reconsider."
"And what of the girl, the lady Door?"
"She is proving very elusive. I have heard that she is on a quest to find her sister who she believes might have survived the massacre."
"A shame, to have survivors when it was such a convenient turn of events in the first place. It couldn't have gone better had I orchestrated it myself." He sighed and took another sip of tea.
"I hope to hear of better news next, Darren. Though you have always pleased me in the past, I grow tired of failures very easy. Do you understand?"
Darren bowed his head to hide his shame.
"Yes, milord...."
"Good. You are dismissed."