A/N: A new idea is bubbling in my head. I'll have to clean up some older stories before it, but if I don't let this one out for a walk, it'll cause an aneurysm :)
A/N#2: Steampunk Hobbit AU anybody? :)
The King of Steam and The Ginger Lightning
The soiree in the Elliot Thrandon's mansion had just reached its opulent bloom point, when John Thorington, Esq., the owner of the Durinson & Co. Steamship Company Ltd., entered the dining hall in his customary black jacket, blue and silver floral tapestry and silk lapelled vest visible in the bright light of the gas lamps hanging under the ceiling. His masculine jaw set stubbornly, he proceeded to the table with drinks, followed by his infamous driver and bodyguard Graham Dwalinson, whose luscious sideburns and tattooed bald head were a well-known picture in the darkest corners of the city. It wasn't considered good manners to bring your help to a fancy evening such as this one, but it was established that Thorington didn't go anywhere without his lieutenant.
They were exchanging quiet whispers, when Thorington noticed a small redhead by the wall. And although she'd exchanged her previous outfit, leather trousers, white shirt and a black corset with thigh holsters and a utility belt, to an elegant white dress, he recognized her at once. A fashionable white top hat with albino peacock feathers and a pearl and opal pin, was sitting askew on her coiffured ginger curls. He touched Dwalinson's sleeve and pointed at the back door with his eyes. While his bodyguard moved to ensure she'd fail to escape through it if the circumstance arose, Thorington quickly walked up to her and tightly clasped his hand around her upper arm. She didn't jerk though and threw him a calm look from under her lashes.
"Mister Thorington, I presume," the pikey accent from before was gone, her voice melodic and confident, and she gracefully took a sip from the champagne flute she had in her left hand. "Pleasure to see you. And the second time in one day! If I didn't know better, I'd say you are following me." He snarled.
"Since you seem to know my name, it would be polite to give me yours." She smiled, her rouged mouth looked even wider, the upper lip curved, and he noticed the freckles peppering her turn-up nose. "And I would also like to know how you got here. Are you after Thrandon now after rummaging through my possessions?" She tilted her head and gave him a studying look.
"I do not remember rummaging through your possessions, Mister Thorington. I found the chest in the beach sand, and although they say you own the waters of this world, whatever is buried in no man's land… Well, as they say, finders, keepers."
"The key belongs to my family," he hissed through gritted teeth.
"It doesn't anymore. And you are hurting my arm, do not make a scene."
"Give it to me," he tightened his grip. He would despise hurting a woman, but something about her just made him livid.
"Miss Leary, how nice of you to join us," Thrandon's mesmerizing voice jerked them both out of a death stare contest they were engaged into. The tall blonde host of the party approached them, his habitual long brocade coat dragging behind him on the polished floor. "John, my friend, you have met Miss Leary as I can see. Such an honour to have the famous Ginger Lightning at my modest gathering!"
Thorington's head jerked, and he gaped at the small woman. He released her arm in shock. She stretched her hand with a fashionable clockwork cuff, and Thrandon had to bend almost in two to kiss her knuckles.
"Mister Thrandon, it's a pleasure to be here." She suddenly emitted a delicate chuckle. "It's not every day that I find myself in the company of two kings. The King of Timber and the King of Steam," she pronounced in a sing-song voice, and Thrandon smiled with his usual snake-like smirk.
"You are the royalty in here, my darling. After all, if not for your associates, none of us would have his empire. We are nothing without your lightning globes." She smiled benevolently and nodded.
The waltz started at the background, and Thrandon stretched his hand to her. "May I have the honour?" She accepted, and Thorington watched them walk to the dancefloor.
Dwalinson silently approached his master. "Is it the bird? Looks like'er, though clad like a lady this time." Thorington didn't answer, his cold blue eyes following the fluid movements of the redhead. She threw her head back, laughing at something Thrandon intimately whispered into her ear, her neck long and elegant, and the King of Steam ground his teeth. "What's she doin' with the pale judy?"
"Just like us, she'd need Thrandon's support if she decides to go for Erebor."
"How's she goin' do it? She only has the key, we have the map. And besides, she's just a lass."
"She isn't." Thorington quietly swore under his breath. "She is not just a thief either, as we thought." Dwalinson threw her an appraising look.
"Have to say she looks all jemmy, like a proper lady. Not like that twig of a lass we saw before. In these dresses they at least have the degs and nancy. Is it all cotton innit, though?" Dwalinson gave the nearest standing woman a suspicious look.
"I'm hardly interested in the content of her dress," Thorington sneered, "Except her corset pocket where she no doubt keeps the key. She is the Ginger Lightning, Dwalinson, the union leader of the Sky Bolts Catchers."
"What?" Dwalinsons jaw slacked. "That daffy twist?"
"That exact gril. And I think it's time to cut in." Thorington decisively headed towards the couple twirling on the dancefloor. Dwalinson grumbled under his breath.
"Aye, 'ere he goes. He'll shake a flannin with the Zappers too, is all. As if we haven't enough aggro with the Wood Tallywags." Dwalinson quickly downed another drink and sighed. The evening was picking up speed.