Synchronous
By Shahrezad1
Summary: "A robotic courier whirred past her with note in hand, his metallic top hat unaffected by the growing breeze, even as beggar children tried to pawn off cheap fob watches in the street. Neither noticed her passing, and Violet paid them no attention either. Instead she mentally checked her equipment."
The seventh in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. =^__^= Which has, you know, ended…but I still wanna finish this. ^^;
Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself. No infringement is intended, this is created for sheer fun.
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Chapter 7: Science and Steam
"The term denotes works set in an era or world where steam power is still widely used—usually the 19th century, and often Victorian eraEngland—but with prominent elements of either science fiction or fantasy, such as fictional technological inventions like those found in the works of H. G. Wells and Jules Verne, or real technological developments like the computer occurring at an earlier date. Other examples of steampunk contain alternate history-style presentations of "the path not taken"…" –Wikipedia, Steampunk
The lab smelled like brimstone. It was the first impression that came to the young woman as the first came upon the seemingly innocuous warehouse, its outside plating dented as were all the other buildings in the district. Still, despite its innocent appearance a sense of anxiety pervaded the area.
Pedestrians, both rich and poor, avoided looking at the noisome edifice. And she'd seen those closed up in passing carriages literally pull the blind upon its image. Even the moonlight didn't dare glimmer upon the building, an almost-permanent cloud overshadowing its form. It was enough to make her think twice on her task, despite invisibility and the protective shield she had placed as a thin blanket upon her skin. Meanwhile, the warm wrap she'd put on over her blouse and corset could do nothing to battle the shivers running up and down her skin.
Still Violet Victoria Eleanor Parr strode onward, the clack of stilettoed heels muffled only through the effort of extreme self-control. Her hand clutched the edges of her draped shawl, other one wishing for a weapon of some sort to clutch as she drew closer and closer to the looming warehouse.
A robotic courier whirred past her with note in hand, his metallic top hat unaffected by the growing breeze, even as beggar children tried to pawn off cheap fob watches in the street. Neither noticed her passing, except perhaps to shiver a tad in the latter case, and Violet paid them no attention either. Instead she mentally checked her equipment, including the lock pick she'd borrowed off her younger brother and the goggles she would require should the room be filled with steam. Her own timepiece, an antique her mother had managed to smuggle past the overseer's eye, was unfortunately shut off to avoid detection. Otherwise she would have checked for her time allowance.
He works until midnight, then sleeps until six. At which point his shop opens, dealing out horseshoes and mechanical gears with the equanimity of a common businessman. Then as the sun begins to set he'll shut down again, workshop clicking and whirring with mechanical mysteries before the process started anew.
Her best bet for timing was to catch him just as he nodded off to sleep; a hope that involved plenty of watching and waiting.
Slipping past the overcrowded--too crowded for her comfort--streets and into the alleyway, Vi worked her way through a steam vent and upward into unknown territory. Thankfully, the pipe wasn't in use and as she nimbly scrambled up the copper tube the powered girl thanked the Lord that in this, her first step, she wasn't about to die in the least. If he had been running an exhaust vacuum she would have perished on the spot from coal fumes, at the very least, not to mention the heat. Other than the door she'd spotted at the front there was no entrance, not even in the form of a skylight upon the building's roof, so it had been her first and only choice.
Which meant anticipation on his part when it came to any form of intrusion. But still, the girl-child was prepared. A shield deflected the heat wave which abruptly rode through the passage and her current invisibility dealt with curious robotic eyes. Bending backwards in an almost inhuman feat she grasped a thin blade out from underneath a slat in her high-heeled boots, just above the pointed stem itself. This was used to pry open the crusted latch that locked the metallic grating which separated her from her quarry.
And then she was in, navy-blue eyes wide and unseen but seeing as she spied out the area, and the man from which it had all originated.
The warehouse was a complete edifice, ceiling rising higher and higher above her form the longer she looked. The building itself existed like a mammoth creature, its innards hanging from pullies and ropes like a tangled jungle of wire and flesh. Balconies and moveable terraces had been put into place around the room in a chaotic ballet of attendants, circling around some sort of hulking figure. Like the creationary babe in the lab's proverbial womb. But Violet's eyes seemed to not want to see what he was making, its presence lurking sinisterly at the edge of her vision until there was nowhere left to look but straight on. Straight into the maw of evil's darkest pits, its monstrous presence dominating her view.
And it truly was a monster. A steam-driven Frankenstein, clawed feet sprouting from an armor-plated, orb-like exterior and running to the rhythm of coal's destruction.
Sneaking through the grit and dust of the laboratory, Violet continued her now-frantic search. Her skirt, complete with ridiculous bustle she'd been unable to get rid of, tangled not once but twice as the girl crawled through the metallic undergrowth. All for a view of the man.
Some said he was tall, almost as tall as her father. Others that he was sneering and arrogant, a rebel with an unrighteous cause. His intelligence was legendary, as was his villainy, and all she had managed to unearth from her Papa, Robert Parr, was an expression of his furious anger, raging like the bellows they were forced to create. But she didn't care about that now; all she wanted was to find the Scientist, never mind the descriptive factors.
Where was the creator? Where was he?
"Well, what do we have here?"
Ah, blast.
This thought and more shot like quicksilver through the ingénue's thoughts as she suddenly found herself caught in a beam of…something. It was blue and tasted metallic in her mouth, like being caught in a lightning bolt that froze and burned at the same time. Amassed together, it led back to a device held by her target. And for the first time she was given a full view of him, rumors tucked aside.
But from the vision alone Violet Parr found herself astonished.
He was tall, yes, but stocky as a millworker, with unfashionably red, spiky hair. It had been much longer at one time, she could tell, but was now-singed with burn-marks and shorn shorter by steam and explosions. A pair of thick goggles magnified the size of his eyes, creating a kind of mask running from eyebrow to cheekbones but not completely hiding a selection of childish freckles, and what could have once-upon-a-time been a pristine blue striped button-up shirt, matching cravat long-gone, was tucked into an also-damaged leather vest. Complete with a pocket from which his watch chain peeked out of.
His loose slacks were encased in tighter leggings at the calf, as were his shirt sleeves, in order to keep them safe from catching in the fire. And gloves covered every other inch of pale skin left to be touched by the sun, with exception of his soot-covered face itself.
Altogether the Man, as she had come to think of him, had become a man. He was as real and as normal as any boy her age, and the dirt and grime he had accumulated was similar to her beau Anthony's appearance on any given day. He was, simply, not the threat she had thought of.
And he was currently gaping, slack-jawed, as much at her as she was at him.
"A broad? Well, that's rich," the inventor chuckled lightly to himself, propping one hand piratically on his hip, "what's a chit like you doing in my workshop at this time of night?"
Still she didn't miss the assessing and objectively admiring glance he shot in her general direction. Which somehow made the situation worse, causing her to speak without thinking. To act without plan and without thought.
"I'm not just a woman!" she shouted indignantly. And it didn't enter her mind until the words were out that this probably wasn't the best first impression she could have made. Not if she wanted to make an impact on the Scientist.
"A spy or a distraction then, I'm guessing."
"I'm not a spy, either!" she chose to ignore the second alternative, and the consequential blush which formed. He smirked like a schoolboy at her reaction, but remained undistracted from his mode of thought, one hand perched on his hip while the other remained holding the device.
"How do I know that?" Blunt, honest, and only vaguely curious, the Inventor spoke. He sounded like one accustomed to invasions and interruptions, especially by enemies, and with sudden recollection she remembered that her target's history of destruction, and thereby execution. Which meant that, in essence, he was either giving her chance to defend herself…or was playing with her. She hoped to high heavens it was the former, "Here I am, focused on my own machine-minded business, when I suddenly feel a breeze brushing against the back of my neck. And along comes you, a buzz of energy in a frilly skirt tripping your way through my conductors. Which were costly to acquire, I'll have you know."
She thought quickly.
"If I was a spy I would have taken what I wanted by now and would've been gone before you noted a change. If I was a distraction someone else would have tried to attack by now. And if I was a hired gun…you would be dead," then, as a grumbled afterthought, "and I wouldn't be stuck in these skirts."
The inventor gaped again at her words, but this time his thoughts somehow ended up in barking laugh. Then, eventually, he nodded in assent, "you've got a point, Darlin','" And the change came swifter than she could watch it. His pose relaxed, left arm dropping from its perch to rest on his belt loop, stance switching from on guard to a leg-cocked unposed state. The laser rifle remained on her, however, keeping her unmoving.
"So…if you're not exactly a spy, a distraction, or an assassin…that still doesn't explain what you're doing in my lab at a quarter past one, Sweetheart. We've figured out what you aren't, now it's high time you explained what you are…other than a highly effective conversationalist."
And there was the clincher. At this point the brilliant Scientist could either destroy her, release her, or make her his servant. The middle option was the least likely, but regardless the end result all depended on this one response. Emotionally preparing what to say, Violet took a large breath…then immediately expelled it as she realized he was watching her bodice expand, despite the modesty of her clothing.
And regardless of her invisibility. Curiosity tucked that observation away while irritation made a comeback, causing her to speak harshly, thoughtlessly, and it was with this lack of control that caused her to bark out, "Technomage. Superconductor, First Class."
The smug, self-satisfied look and the shaking finger let her know immediately that those were the wrong words to say.
Double blast.
"Okay, Sweetheart, let's take a walk over to the cage while I figure out what to do with--."
"Wait!" think fast, Violet Victoria Eleanor Parr, think very fast, her mind demanded immediately, "you don't understand--I've come to you for your help! I wish to be your assistant, and in turn to perhaps help the resistance."
His sudden lack of emotion showed that he was tired of playing their little game, and consequently tired of her, period, "the last 'assistant' I had not only betrayed me, but blew up my lab. So I think not."
"I can be of use to you!"
"How?! As eyecandy? Or perhaps you can aid me by eating my food and carefully sabotaging my work. Sorry, darlin', I don't need another skirt getting in my way."
"I know the secrets of the Technomages! And I can give you an unlimited power supply, beyond steam or coal," and there stood her worth, freezing him like stinging dry ice in the act of turning away. Cast in profile, his eyebrows jumped slightly as though asking himself whether the claim had any validity or was just an act of desperation. Truly it was a bit of both, but there was enough to her words that he eventually sighed and came back to face her unseen figure.
"Really? And what would that be, exactly?"
The dark-haired ingénue grimly smiled, "do you really think I'm going to reveal my secrets while frozen up to my neck?"
He growled, "you'll lose your neck soon enough if you don't talk."
Oy vey. She shot him an irritated look, suddenly not impressed with his immaturity. It was like dealing with Dashiel when he was in one of his childish moods, "then answer me this, how do you think the Superconductors subdue crime? It certainly isn't with laser rifles or gears. So what do Superconductors have that makes them so special? And if I am one, and have that special ability, then what's to say I can't create a new type of energy?"
He wasn't impressed, "all right, that's it. Into the cage you go."
"I'm not a liar! The Fuehrer's magician is using all those with ability for ill! The government pretends that the Technomages are a governing police force, aimed at keeping the peace--."
"Or docility," he muttered, examining the oil staining his gloves lacklusterly. But his ears were perked and the inventor was clearly listening.
"--but they themselves are enslaved by the Magician's demands! And not only that, he is forcing us to take in the innocent and righteous--anyone who speaks out against him or the Fuehrer. He believes I can only make shields, but he doesn't know my other abilities or the practical application of--."
The hand not bearing the weapon was held up to stop her. And with his eyes magnified threefold within the goggle's circular perimeter, she realized just how striking they were. They were a brilliant, youthful blue the color of newly dyed fabric and polished turquoise. It caught her unawares, breath stuttering for a moment until she reminded herself of just what he was capable of.
Not noticing her distraction, he queried, "wait. W-who did you just say?"
The Wizard. Fury rolled into her being like a thunderstorm. Filled with anger, she spat out her response like it was bile, "the Wizard. The Fuehrer is just a puppet. His master is known only as--."
"X," he met her gaze again, this time neutrally. Then shut off the rifle without looking at it.
She had to fumble to catch herself as the forces of gravity once again pulled towards the Earth's center, but despite an effort at refinement she tumbled ungracefully to the ground. Unmoved, the inventor motioned over his shoulder for her to follow. The goggles were removed to perch upon his wide forehead, so that the only evidence of their transportation existed in the light circles round his eyes, a contrast against the soot. And within that dusty outline the entirety of surprisingly boyish features appeared, protected as they had been from the grit of billowing smoke.
"Alright, you're hired. Follow me…what did you say your name was?"
"I didn't," was her abrupt answer, but she continued anyway, if not truthfully. He couldn't know who she was otherwise she'd end up being executed on the spot, "Lavender. I'm called Lavender."
The redhead grunted and motioned off to a sectioned-off area, sweeping aside the curtain to show a copper cast bathtub, steam rising above as it rested behind an oriental silk screen.
"Alright, 'Lavender.' Get cleaned up--you're tracking dust. Then change into something…useful. We've got work to do, and you've got to prove to me that you know your stuff, or I'm tossing you out on your derriere. Got it?"
"Yes Sir," she mumbled dutifully, heart sinking.
She was safe. For now. But it sure felt as though she was out of the driver's seat and into the steam engine.
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Bartholomew Ricardo Pine sighed in frustration as the girl passed him by, her hair almost brushing his chin if not for his abrupt jerk away. In the act she left behind the wafting scent of some sort of flower, stronger than Lavender and mixed with a curious perfume of paraffin oil and singed leather. Which reminded him, the name Lavender didn't strike correctly. The roll of vowels wasn't quite a lie, but it wasn't wholly a truth, and 'Buddy' found himself wondering if she knew what game she was playing at. Especially to lie dead in the face to a man who destroyed Technos for a living.
But apparently she knew enough, or she wouldn't have come to him. Knew about it the same way she'd known of his hatred for X. Or maybe that had been a stroke of luck--the maiden hadn't seemed to notice the reaction of pure, unadulterated rage he'd felt at the name, her own thoughts and hurt wrapped up in the wrongs X had committed on her person--whatever those were.
Either way, it ended up with him acquiring a new pest. Another mouth to feed as he made horse shoes and axles as a cover for his grander experiments and plots, the funds he'd garnered already stretched thin as they were. Optimistically, 'Buddy' knew she was thin beneath all the trappings women piled on. So she wouldn't take much fuel to keep her going, but that couldn't account for the chaos she was likely to create. Buddy anticipated at least one disaster, at the very least, brought about by the lovely 'Lady Lavender.'
He grimaced dramatically, running a rough gloved hand through singed strands of hair. Parts were stuck to his face by sweat from the band round his forehead, while others had knotted into dirty spikes that he would have to tame later.
He couldn't call her 'Lavender,' that much was certain. It was as wrong as someone trying to call him by his given name, or something else as pathetic. So ignoring the splashes of the girl--a child, really--making a mess of his carefully prepared bathwater, Buddy decided on a nickname. To irk her if nothing else.
"You done yet, Vin?"
Silence greeted his words, but how was he to know it was because of its similarity to the truth? Crossing one leg over the other, Buddy leaned against the closest stand and quietly groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. A headache was building, coming like a storm as the mathematics of the situation broadsided his mind.
This would probably set him back two, maybe three weeks. And while he definitely had the advantage with his finalized Zero Point Force, refined as it was, it still ran on steam. When the fuel was all burned up the weapon was ineffective, and that wasn't even touching on the subject of energy inefficiency regarding his most recent 'project.' It was a brilliant idea, and with it perhaps he would have the added advantage he'd been seeking. But even it, too, resulted in a juxtaposition of design flaws and half-baked schemes.
But if what she said was true…maybe there was another way.
"Alright, done," twitching the sheet anxiously aside, the girl ran her hands nervously down the vest he'd had set aside for himself. And as she did so he found himself stilling. The corset that had previously acted as armor between them had apparently also constricted her form, which was now free for movement. The blouse was the same, only rolled up to the elbows, while she'd thankfully lost the bustle and endless layers of petticoats. Unfortunately, while she still wore an overskirt she'd somehow taken up a pair of his slacks which, even belted-down, ballooned mid-calf.
Revealing stocking-covered ankles, which tapering into delicately pointed feet. She'd lost the shoes somewhere, and he didn't know if it was a good change or a bad. Especially as he continued to stare, cheeks flushing red, his throat closing with difficulty as he stared at the slender pair.
This would be harder than he had thought.
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AN:
This is kind of a flipside on what happens in Icarus. Only, you know, with everything Steampunk and stuff. –coughs- It was a request from two of my guy friends, ChaosModifier and KapitanLefty, who also managed to get me to draw several Steampunk Synlet pics as well.
Not sure if this is a good thing. But man, Syndrome looks good in goggles! =D
Working on my final project right now; I've got one week left. Didn't have to do any of the tests for Astronomy, 'cause of my good grades. I still have a few weeks left of retail work till we hit Christmas. (YAY! Almost done!) And my roomie, Bluecastle, gave me part of my Christmas present early: tickets to the opening night of The Princess and the Frog, which was delightful.
I am a VERY happy camper right now. =D