Good morning! Or afternoon. Or evening. Or whatever form of light you have at this time of reading!
This is my first fanfiction on this account! As you may guess from reading, this Homestuck fic takes place in the past; to be more specific, the Renaissance! It started initially as a role-play between me and Jo (better known on FF as CrowsGurl), but somewhere along the way I got the idea of making it into a fully-fledged fic.
If you take the time to read this note, I'd just like to say that I'd really like some reviews, good or bad. I don't usually write fanfiction and would like your opinion of my writing!
Disclaimer: Andrew Hussie owns Homestuck, and I do not. However, this AU is equally attributed to convivialGrimace and CrowsGurl.
In an unnamed alley, a street urchin peeked his head out from around the corner, careful to not attract attention.
The cool, new brick walls were a stark contrast to the broken, irritatingly hot cobblestone pavement for this urchin. A determined, hungry look took over his face as he watched the bustling streets of this town (he didn't remember the name of it even though he'd been there two or three days; it's not like he cared what it was). Squinting, covered eyes scanned the prospects, glaring at their selection with disappointment.
The privacy of the alley gave him plenty of secrecy to go about his task, without a single lord or dame passing by even thinking to glance in the poor street boy's direction. It was all that he needed for the moment, which was good, because it was all that he'd get.
See, he didn't particularly want to be scoping out a target, but there was nothing else that he could do. He barely remembered the last time he had a decent meal, or for that matter, any meal at all. He'd have to steal some change to keep himself alive.
(It's stupid to have to live like this, he decided. It wasn't beneath him, but it was just this horrible injustice life dealt him that now he'd have to put up with. Great. More shit to deal with, that the world was piling onto his apparently inviting but undeserving plate. As if it weren't filled with idiotic hoofbeast crap already!)
Once again, he peered around the wall, forcing himself to sneak a glance at the sea of possible victims. His clawed hands impatiently drummed against the sturdy white bricks.
This urchin was looking for someone oblivious in a victim, someone dumb enough to not notice his presence until he'd already taken the loot. They couldn't be poor, though. That was asinine and pointless, to go around robbing poor people. Even a petty thief knew that. When they could, they went for the rich and stupid.
That shouldn't be too hard to find in this place.
It wasn't, the urchin soon found. He felt his lips twitch in a mixture of a snarl and a smirk at his small success, but he quickly drew his mouth into a line on impulse. Whatever. All he had to do was move in closer to the new mark.
He pulled down his hood, and taking a step outside of his temporary hiding place, darted into the alley. He couldn't afford to be seen. He was a drifter, and for all that, a troll.
Trolls were illegal.
The way law was enforced here, illegal meant death.
Without concern for any leering hoodlums or hunted criminals, the jingling of coins rang throughout the streets.
A goofy-looking human boy pulled out his small, velvet pouch. The way that baker was looking at him, he really needed to hurry up with his due payment.
The cost of his bread was only three shillings.
Thin fingers rifled through the fabric purse to find the little silver pieces promised. They wiggled through hidden pockets and strings and knots, poking and prodding for any little unridged metal disks they could find, sniffing out any spare coins that'd gotten lost amid the sea of coins that weren't shillings. Still, it looked like they weren't showing up any time soon.
The boy didn't give up hope, furiously nitpicking coins to the best of his ability. Damn it, he was going to get this creep off his back and he was going to do it right here, right now, he was not going to go back home and be fussed at by his waitstaff for not being able to do something as simple as picking up bread! He didn't have as many staff members as he used to, he knew this very well, and until he could get more he was just going to have to man up and do this himself.
You can do this, dummy, the kid thought as he squinted at his pocket change. Just find the coins.
A few minutes passed by, and it was obvious that the dummy could not actually find the coins.
"Augh! Are you kidding me, wallet?" the boy groaned.
This time, he gave up on paying like a normal person; he just dumped the entire contents of the tiny pouch onto the vendor's stand. From there, he hurriedly sifted through the entire mess. He was starting to feel really nervous and so his hands shook a little, but this hindered his coin-picking abilities only marginally.
(How the hell did wallet-toting neighbors deal with their pouches? Wallets were confusing enough already, but it seemed the boy's wallet was even more confusing than other peoples' wallets.)
The boy paused to mop some sweat off his brow before sifting some more.
"Sorry," he sheepishly apologized, turning his head to the baker. Clearly, the vendor was not at all impressed with the kid's foolish and time-consuming display. The vendor really needed to get off his back.
The more important problem was the troll tailing him. Said troll quickly darted closer to the busy streets and stood behind the safety of the wall, daring to hazard another glance at the man with the target painted on his back.
Oh. Not a man, then.
The kid he'd chosen was easy to spot with his blue garb (this guy was clearly asking for a bit of pocket change to be taken off his hands, with the lavish dyes used on his clothes telling the entire story) and general goofiness (which was visible even from an alley). Just the way he clumsily spilled the contents of his wallet showed it. Soon the glint of bronze, silver, and what might have been gold moolah filled the urchin's visi-
Whoa.
Just look at all that money, laid out so carelessly for all to see. All of it was his for the taking, calling out the urchin's name. How many shillings was that in there, now? He'd probably be able to eat actual meals for weeks using those coins. And maybe buy a new cloak, too. He could probably even get out of town on transport, if nobody would recognize him. He'd be a rich man, money in his pockets, bed rented and awaiting him, if he could just claim what was rightfully his.
The thief took this as a dare.
Licking his lips in anticipation, he stuck his head out completely and skirted around to the other edge of his wall's corner, now in slight danger of being seen. The risk factor was starting to build.
His eyes focused; his shoulders hunched; his hands tensed, poised for nabbing. This hoodlum really needed those little coins.
At the moment, it seemed the human needed those little coins more. That baker was almost boring holes into the boy with the power of his unkind glare. Said boy bit his lip, showing his overbite, though due to the stress his lip was on the verge of bleeding.
Well, it seemed there were no shillings in that inconvenient wallet of his. And it was his responsibility to bring bread home to his (admittedly substantially reduced) staff. He'd just have to give that vendor the next best thing. A half-crown ought to do.
His eyes quickly scanned his selection of coins before he anxiously grasped a large silver coin. Avoiding the undoubtedly-there evil eye (oh geez, why hadn't he worn his lucky bracelet that day?) emanating from the vendor, he thrust the small metal object into the man's waiting hand as quickly as he could. The baker's calloused hands tightened around the money. Shortly, the man brought it to his mouth and bit on it to check if it was indeed genuine.
"Uh, that's a real half-crown, you don't need to check!" the boy said to the man, forcing himself to look at the merchant who was actually starting to get really unnerving.
The merchant growled and turned his glare to the boy's face, biting on the coin and exposing his multitude of shiny silver fillings (which were completely unbefitting for a mere baker). Said boy gulped; this had to be some kind of threat.
Why was he even buying from him? He took off his glasses for a split second and wiped them against his clothes anxiously, taking the baker out of his line of sight. The baker did not take the boy out of his sight, however; he watched as if the awkward fifteen-year-old would do a ladscamper at any moment. Which was more than a little plausible.
This kid really did not want to spend any more time at this market stall.
The troll was still watching from a distance.
He wrinkled his nose in disdain.
Taking in every movement of the somewhat-gangly human, he noticed that the boy was derpier than he initially thought. Other thieves would snatch him right up; he was an easy, if not perfect target.
The troll also noticed there were no guards to catch him.
Yes, he decided. This would be quick, easy, and he wouldn't leave a single trace of himself to the derpy kid. That is, when he figured out how he would go about mugging him right off the streets. Even this simple heist required some thinking through.
He straightened up, sniffing at the air a bit: a horrible nervous tick he couldn't help but give into when he was going to do something risky. No guards and no intelligence were nice enough, but plenty of witnesses made this somewhat inconvenient. The one that worried him the most was the watchful merchant patrolling the stand; he seemed to be keeping his eyes glued to the boy in blue and watching for suspicious characters at the same time (though that might have been due to his lazy eye).
No, that wouldn't work in any fathomable way with the vendor there. He'd get noticed by him - whether that was an okay thing or not, the troll could not say - and regardless of his character or possible gang affiliations, getting mixed up with that guy probably wasn't some shit that ought to go down.
But, now, see, if the rich prick could just get out of the merchant's range of vision, then he'd be able to nab the coin purse and abscond undetected, before any authorities could come by and nab him like they had done so many times before.
The passers-by didn't matter. They never noticed much of anything anyhow. All the urchin'd have to do is melt in and out of the crowd and snatch it where nobody'd notice.
It would be so easy, thought the troll as he continued to examine his target.
The boy had felt a surge of relief when the freaky vendor grunted with approval. Now the kid could safely sprint away.
He scooped up all of his coins and threw them into his pouch, closing it and stashing it into his jacket pocket before anyone could take it. Then, he snatched up his mafia-made bread and dashed away, just to get away from that man whose gaze he could still feel burning into him.
All that he had to do was get home safely and he wouldn't have to deal with unnerving vendors and confusing wallets and creeps. At least, ones he didn't know.
He dashed down the cobblestones, head held high and arms kept close to his body (just the way Dad taught him to protect against pickpockets), ready to turn up on his noble doorstep and chow down on bread that was probably filled with some sort of smuggled goods, alongside an innocent plateful of soup.
Delicious!
Only...
The kid was so busy thinking of coming home to lovely, warm broth that he didn't notice his thoughts were slightly flawed in their basis. He was assuming that he was heading home.
The thinning of the populace walking the streets didn't alert him at all.
The urchin didn't particularly care where the stupid human went, but now he was forced to chase after him if he wanted to eat this week. A scowl made its way onto his face.
Damn it. He was heading into the wrong place, into his kind's epicenter, he just knew that little twerp would get snatched up by others there if he wasn't fast enough. That meant he'd have to actually run as well as take shortcuts, and that wasn't anything he wanted to do any time soon.
Of course, the kid was running as motherfucking fast as he could. It would just be a walk in the park for someone who deserved it if he weren't.
Relying on three days' gathered knowledge of the backroads, the troll dashed into the labyrinth of streets once more, trying to get ahead of the human. He could see glimpses of the blue boy whenever they both passed by an alley at the same time, kicking up dirt with every silenced footstep. Slowly but surely, he crept closer and closer, preparing to pounce.
The human boy was unaware of this.
Actually, he wasn't aware of much except for the fact that what he was walking on felt more and more like dirt under his feet rather than cobblestone.
The coins jingling in his pocket were quickly silenced by his palm.
Something wasn't right.
Taking a second to look down, he noticed that it was indeed dirt, and that the ground was significantly more unclean (oh god, did they dispose of…waste right on the streets?). Looking up once more, he found that the buildings were old and worn, and most of all, the silence. He hadn't heard so much as a peep this entire time. This was not his neighborhood in Prospit.
He suspected he wasn't even in Prospit.
His running slowed while he examined his surroundings more thoroughly. He soon realized he had no idea where he was going, and no idea where he came from (why did he have to take those twisty paths into not-Prospit?), and no idea where he was.
The street signs were conveniently absent. All the buildings seemed to be empty, not that they looked particularly inviting with their unweathered coats of thick, glossy black paint. Things...possibly people, seemed to be scurrying about in the shadows, in the manner of untamed rats, the odor of filth clinging to their skin like an uninhibited parasite.
And if that wasn't scary enough, it felt someone, one of those people, was watching him.
The troll didn't give a single fuck about what drama the human was going through. This was all the better: if any authorities came by, he wouldn't be able to run off and tattle to them about how his precious, precious change was taken from him by a dirty bandit.
At this rate, though, he wouldn't even need to, because his hand was holding the money he was planning on taking! As if by doing that, he would deter the urchin. He'd be mugged anyways. It was stupid and everything about him was stupid.
He still had to fight to not let a growl escape from his lips.
That kid had nothing going for him, he reminded himself. Nothing. His claws were blunt and his skin was weak and his eyes were useless and he was useless. The thief despised humans, he couldn't tolerate how weak they were and how they put on artificial exoskeletons to deal with their evolutionary inferiority, how they lied so freely, like it was second nature, how they were at the top of the social echeladder and all of them had no qualms with stomping trolls into the dust.
And he couldn't stand this one in particular. Useless. Weak. Even for a human.
This whole ordeal would be futile on his end. It would be over in a second, even if all the urchin did was accidentally jab him too hard while he was doing him the favor of cleaning out his pockets.
Not that the human knew; he was too busy worming his way around like a brainless slug. He turned a corner, and another, but he didn't recognize any places or shops. In fact, he was probably worming deeper and deeper into Nightmare City. He still felt eyes glued on him like stains that his servants weren't able to wash out.
His feet leaving tracks in the soft pathways, the boy continued sprinting aimlessly. Everything was covered in shadow, now. Tall, glossy buildings and thorny trees blocked out most of the light. The ground was slightly wet with unevaporated rains, and the resulting dew stuck to the boy's fine leather boots like book-binding glue.
The boy sighed. Despite a furtive searching for any sign of intelligent life, it appeared he would not get out of this place.
He would be lost forever in the labyrinthine streets, all hopes of seeing cobblestone and pretty dresses dashed to the wind. Eyes could see no exits; only a hazy number of alleys with seemingly no end. Pessimism was creeping up on the impressionable child, and to get away from it he ran faster, desperate to live to see the sun another day.
But then he ran into the wall.
The sharp impact with the black bricks knocked the last bit of his head out of the clouds. In a fleeting second, he slumped to the ground, whipping his hand away from his wallet impulsively.
The bread, once held in the crook of the boy's elbow, went flying into the darkness.
He put his sleeve to his head, but it came back wet and shiny.
The boy's optimism and bravado knew its limits. Instead of getting back up, he hung down his throbbing head, wincing at the pain it gave him.
Annoyance at the kid's stupidity dissipated, the troll had to stifle a mocking laugh at the guy's session. Was he really so weak that after a little bump on the head, he gave up? Like he'd said, dumb. Pathetic. Futile.
Still, the pouch of money was lying dangerously exposed to public view now...
He moved towards the victim, soundlessly and stealthily. Only a few feet away from his prize, he began to crouch lower in hopes of not arousing suspicion. He dropped down to all fours without hesitation and started shuffling closer and closer.
The boy whimpered in response, but wasn't looking his way. The troll felt an uncomfortable churning in his stomach at the sound.
Don't stop now, you're so close, it's your chance, asshole, go get yourself that five-course meal like you've always wanted...
Despite his gastrointestinal system's inconvenient mutiny, the thief's hand slowly reached out towards the money.
It was just a snatch away, another few steps and he'd be eating full meals and buying a new robe and renting a safe bed to sleep in and privacy and shelter from the blistering sun. Another few steps and he'd be safe. He'd be alive.
It'd be the most rewarding one yet.
He wouldn't even have to make it personal, wouldn't even be able to remember his face or his glasses or the way he was slumped over on the ground. That stupid human kid was rich enough to live without a couple of shillings that were easily replaced, the money was right there in front of someone who really needed it, they were both otherwise alone, who really gave a shit?
Yet…
The urchin's rebellious subconscious would not stand for it.
It forced him to hesitate and take in the human's expression. As he turned his face towards the boy, the vagrant felt his sense of confidence die a little. The expression on the derp's face had lost that idiotic bubbliness from first sighting. His head was bleeding bright red blood, sickening bright red blood, and it was dripping down his face while he lay there like a discarded marionette.
There was only one word for it: pitiful.
No, what was he thinking? Stupid, stupid, stupid weak disgusting human trash! Stupid humans and their stupid everything! He was not going to treat this one all "nice" and "pleasant" just because he had a stupid troll pity-inducing face!
Well, only in the way he always does. He was going to be the merciful fuck that he is and just take the stupid coins without killing him, because he is just such an agreeable guy. He was going to treat this inferior swatch of grease with what could almost be considered respect. This fucker would have to live life feeling downright grateful, that his temporary god hadn't forsaken him and decided to take up his own little toll fee instead, as a sort of "trolls are way fucking better than humans" tax, a reverse of the ones humans tried to impose on trolls before they gave up and started committing genocide, except this wasn't like that at all because this blue piece of shit's god was actually sparing him the disgraceful act of being attacked with his belly up.
Still, the urchin's subconscious stabbed him in the grey matter with regret. He may be a blueblood, but his blood is red. Like yours, idiot. You're not about to stoop to anyone else's level, and not all humans are like the ones you try to rob.
The urchin stared at the blue boy, who was bleeding from the forehead. His blood was getting into his hair and crusting up.
Do you remember some of the good ones?
For an second there, he was swayed. The sentiment had gotten to him, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to be the most merciful god that ever lived.
The troll considered some other options. He could demand pay to help him out of the Veil (after all, this wasn't the place for the likes of rich idiots, and the troll's guilt would be appeased). Or maybe he could find some other rich target, one who deserved to get mugged more than this guy did, and leave him to fend for himself. He'd live without food for a few more days, it'd be fine, he'd be taking blood money if he was going to go through with it and that's worth not eating.
However, when it occurred to him just what he was thinking, he snapped out of it. No, it fucking wasn't worth not eating. Five-course meal, you fruity rumpus asshole. Don't pass that up.
The troll swallowed his minor shame before it could build back up in him. Blood money or not, he needed it. He needed it more than any human did.
He snatched the purse.
The rich idiot had heard just a bit of shuffling. When it did nothing, he'd soon realized this was what was watching him.
Then he'd realized he should be very, very afraid of it.
He did not move, partly out of fright, partly because it hurt to move at that moment. So, instead, he had watched, darting his pupils about as if it did anything for his vision. The presence seemed to be in one of the shadows, so he cast his fearful gaze on it.
Nobody there moved; it was just standing there, waiting for something.
Then a claw had crossed his vision. Some wind from the motion kissed the boy's face. The tell-tale jingling of coins echoed through the alley.
His wallet was gone.
By now, he could not tell if the owner of that claw was still there, the umbras cloaking all forms and the silence drowning all sounds.
Welcome to the Veil, the blue boy thought to himself ruefully.
There was little to no chance that he'd survive now, he knew that very well.
But soon, something amazing happened. An unprecedented optimism burrowed its way into his brain and convinced him that he could just get away, money or no money, if he did something. Soon, the boy found himself rationalizing it, since the sun's glow still streaked down the skies through the thorny trees, and while he could still see his shadow on the ground, he could see into the distance.
He could still make it home. There was time, right?
So the kid did something. Or, at least, tried to. He attempted to stand up, or least of all, sit up, but his sore legs only screamed at him as he kneeled his way to progress. It left him buckling to the ground once more, luck insistently proclaiming "nope" to such a course of action.
And just like that, his optimism left him in the dust and made way for some very unwelcome realism. However, fate was not without its own response.
A distant half-mile away, a guard had begun patrolling duties. This guard's shift was taken very seriously. He was determined to keep delinquents and felons out of his city, and so here he was, at the hiding place of them all.
Of course, the timing was slightly poor for catching vandals (very few were around this particular portion of the Veil at this particular time), but his idea was in mind and feverishly imbedded itself into his thoughts. Seven years of duty had made him a hardened albeit loyal man with strong morals, one who would sooner die than ignore his responsibilities to the innocent, even if the responsibilities were few and far between.
He pondered a line of thought very similar to this as he thundered down the streets, closer and closer in time towards meeting two lost boys.
"Help!" came a strangled cry from the kid. He was on the verge of losing all energy he had; his last burst of power was wasted on what was undoubtedly a futile shot.
Nobody came when he called.
In all honesty, he had half-expected it, and was even starting to accept it. Maybe he wasn't really mad at the thief, more at himself and the creepy vendor for making it happen, because it was his fault for getting spooked like that. It was just some suspicious bread! It's not like it drained his wallet. Hell, he'd live without any of his pocket change if he ever got out and back to his house. Oh, his staff, what would they think?
The kid shook his head in disappointment at himself. This was not a way for their boss to act, or even a way for an earl to act. He was supposed to be learning advanced arithmetic at home, not sitting in an alley feeling sorry for himself.
The guard was acting entirely appropriately, however. His ears had perked up as he detected a weak yell off in the distance. Initially, he would not have went after it, but seeing as there was a lack of criminals in his particular location and hence nothing to do, his brain accepted it as an excuse.
The heavy clomps of the man's thick, strong boots suddenly shifted direction to a more focused pattern in the direction of the call, leaving large footprints beside a boy's smaller ones.
At the sound of the plea, the troll flinched back, surprised. That was a mere blink compared to his thorough shock at hearing a third party's footsteps in response! He couldn't even believe his ears, superior to a human's as they were, until the portly figure of a guard came barreling around a turn.
He meant to run and save himself, he really did, but somehow his subconscious appeared to be playing sick and twisted pranks on him. Whether the cause of his second hesitation was surprise, the near-week's worth of sleepless nights, the countless instances of missed meals, or outright fear of what would happen, he could not say, but what he did know was that the human would not survive a beating from a guard.
True, the urchin wouldn't, either, and it wasn't like he was supposed to have much sympathy for humans anyway, but he didn't take that into account. Whatever that guard was doing, it wouldn't be good for the blue idiot, and so he felt compelled to stay.
Goddamn douchebag thinkpan, now he was going to be culled because of that stupid reason which he couldn't place and didn't entirely agree with.
Said blue idiot was afraid, too. Five minutes had went by, and now he heard a thundering series of footsteps in his direction; ones that did not belong to idle passersby!
This didn't sit well with him; he had been trying to avoid criminals, and now he was practically calling every other criminal out there to try and mug him again! And maybe, if he was lucky, it was a guard that would rough him up instead. This was probably a violent, moral-less part of the city, so who knew what would happen? He could die!
"Ah! Don't help, actually! In fact, I don't need help! Don't come any closer or I'll...I'll stab you! With a knife! I have a really big knife and I will stab you with it!"
Now the boy whimpered a little bit at his impeding fate, cementing the validity of his threat. Now, why couldn't he just leave well enough alone like a sensible person? He was obviously not capable of fending off a criminal or a guard!
Not that he needed to; the guard was thundering down the streets now, because that was definitely a whimper coming from the same voice. It was his solemn duty as a guard to do what was right, and what was right was apparently saving the poor girl from her malefactor.
It had to be a girl's voice. In his heart, he knew it to be true. She was the damsel in distress; he, the hardboiled, platonic hero.
The villain in this tale had just stalked back a step, sensing the guard nearing. In his crowded and thought-cluttered head, swear words rang throughout every single crevice there, drowning out all outside noise, replacing it with a guilt that he hadn't known was there in the first place. He gulped in fright, but he couldn't move.
Why couldn't he just fucking leave and spare himself while he could? That goddamn stupid worthless human was going to be the death of him!
The apparently deadly human let out a very manly whimper right then and there.
A menacingly burly guard had stepped into his view. The enforcer carefully scanned the shadows and walls, his beady eyes darting back and forth to examine the surroundings. The only sound in the alley came from the guard's footsteps, for even the kid was holding his breath in fright.
Suddenly, the guard straightened at the sight of slight movement in one cluster of shadows. His head jerked towards it as his large, meaty hand lunged for the cowering vagrant hidden within, without so much as a glance towards the victim.
The victim shuddered, thinking of what could have been, but quickly turned his gaze towards the guard.
The guard quickly felt a worn hood underneath his fingertips, and in doing so, grabbed for it before it could flee. A rough pull brought up a small figure a few feet up higher. Dangling and flailing was expected; this person was clearly not choosing to do otherwise. The real shock to the two humans, however, was the snarled response from the newly found intruder.
"Holy bulgesuckin'-!"