Disclaimer: I own nothing except plot and the Lords Fonteroy, though that be a dubious admission.
Author's Note: Yes, it really is happening, the maker of dastardly plots has returned. I knew this day was coming since about five minutes after I finished 'A Dastardly Plot'. Fellow's almost as bad as Gulch for coming to life in my brain and handing out story ideas, but he shall keep it down. I command it with glariness. I wonder if he'll listen?
Author's Note 2: Somewhat important – I used DG in this story to address a certain pet peeve of mine in the fanfic. I want to assure everyone that I mean no offense. I do not mean to bash anyone's preferences, I am only stating mine. Firmly. Sorry, it's my sense of justice in the world.
...
Lord Fonteroy was only afraid of one thing in life. This is not to say that he is a brave man, it was just that he was too stupid in general to understand that life is generally filled with consequences, some of them fatal. It was, in part, his father's fault. The elder Lord Fonteroy liked to think himself the epitome of nobility and had therefore raised his son accordingly, or rather, his various tutors, nannies and governesses had. The younger Lord Fonteroy had grown up believing that as long as you followed the tenets of nobility and the laws of social norms the world existed to grant your every whim and provide for every comfort. It was a tribute to his various caretakers that he'd made out of childhood with any morals at all and it was no wonder that his learning anything required an act of the deities. Or a very pissed off Tin Man.
Wyatt Cain had been less than amused when, after hours of dealing with some of the worst drunks it'd had ever been his misfortune to meet, he discovered that Lord Fonteroy and his cronies had gotten the crown princess so drunk that she thought walking the ridgepole of a second story roof was an excellent idea for a drinking game. That she had almost fell off said roof had only exacerbated his rage. When he had discovered that the entire night had been the result of a dastardly plot to ensnare Princess DG in matrimony, and thereby acquire the future title of Consort, the Tin Man had been beyond livid. Fonteroy and his cronies had been made example of, visibly so. No one, after all, could miss the ring of tin suits in the middle of Finaqua Palace's front lawn. Then he had walked in on a meeting of the House of Lords, interrupting the Queen even, and laid down the law quite decisively regarding plots and Princess DG. Namely, there weren't to be any.
Given that Cain had been in a towering rage at the time, not to mention deadly serious considering the subject matter, the nobles had believed him implicitly. There were even unconfirmed reports that Lord Fonteroy Senior had wet himself when confronted with the Tin Man's glare. Apparently Cain had stared down all of the hundred and fifty-seven lords present in turn, even throwing a slightly more respectful glare at the Consort himself. Unsurprisingly, there had been a sudden and complete stop in all plots concerning the crown princess, and even some that didn't.
That is not to say the plotting wouldn't resume eventually. This was evidenced by Lord Fonteroy the elder's insistence that the younger lord accompany those of the royal court that were following Princess DG on her trip to oversee the reclamation of the Northern Island. Young Lord Fonteroy had been less than enthused by the idea. Not only was he less than anxious to cross the Tin Man again, but he almost threw a fit when he learned that Royal Advisor Ambrose aka Glitch aka He-Who-Repeats-Himself-Interminably was coming, too.
If being forced, through virtue of the tin suits' properties, to endured a two week long hangover under sunny conditions hadn't been bad enough, having Sir Words-Without-End repeating the same lecture – quite loudly - almost the entire time (Cain had supplied the zipperhead with a cot and had meals delivered) had been agony. Not only had the sermon been long, it had been educational, and now the much abused lord had it memorized. Sometimes it got stuck in his head. If his old tutors could have just known that their former charge now actually knew the chemical structure of ethanol and the physiological reasons for its effects on the body they would have wept for joy. To add insult to injury, Fonteroy couldn't even look at alcohol anymore without feeling distinctly nauseous. It had all but killed his social life.
Clearly the Tin Man was just too uptight. It was a shame really, seeing as the man had so many admirable qualities. As Lord Fonteroy understood it – his memories were a bit vague on the matter – the Tin Man had actually gone out on the roof after the princess. Having inspected said roof while sober, the young lord had to admit the feat required a level of bravery that most the cowardly of lions would cross a pit full of lava to obtain. If only Cain would just loosen up a little...what the man needed, he decided suddenly, was to get laid.
Mentally reviewing the strange expression for a moment, Fonteroy decided it meant what he thought it did and proceeded on with further thought. As he recalled from the very many tales told of the Heroes of the Eclipse, the Tin Man had been trapped in a tin suit for some very long time. From personal experience, the young lord knew the suits were extremely cramped and rather lonely (even if you did have someone talking nonstop outside), it was no wonder the man was so angry all the time. Someone really ought to give the poor fellow an opportunity to get some stress relief.
Problem was, Lord Fonteroy thought, considering the matter further, was the Tin Man spent all his time hovering around the princess. In fact, from what little Fonteroy had ever bothered to notice, Cain hardly paid much attention to anyone else, unless deciding whether he might have to shoot them. How was the man supposed to have any fun if he wouldn't leave the princess' side?
Huh, the princess, a thought turned over lazily, the princess was a girl. In fact, if he could remember the basics of his dastardly plot correctly, it had involved getting the princess into bed. Well then, if he could contemplate bedding the princess there was no reason the Tin Man couldn't. Really it was kind of surprising he hadn't already, the girl was right there. Then again, he pursued, so were a lot of other people. In truth there was a positive plethora of people about, perhaps there merely hadn't been opportunity? Someone really ought to provide one. Hmmm.
"Really I saw it," Lord Fonteroy was telling the Tin Man and the princess a few hours later.
"Are you sure?" Cain asked sceptically. The only thing he'd trust the lordly idiot for was directions to the bar.
"Yes," Fonteroy insisted, "it was horrible, all furry and creepy with those nasty leather wings."
DG thought the whole thing sounded fishy. Not that she actually thought the young lord was plotting anything, she just thought he might have been seeing things. What, after all, could he have to gain from saying there was a mobat in the cellar? It was utterly ridiculous. On the other hand, no one actually knew what happened to the mobats after the witch's defeat. There had been reports of sightings. It might be reasonable to suppose one had found its way here, given Azkadellia had once unleashed a swarm of them at her in the hall just above. They might be like the dog belonging to old John White which had been seen roaming the countryside after its master's death as if searching for its owner. Perhaps, just perhaps, if one was here it came looking for the sorceress.
"Where did you say it was again?" the Tin Man asked.
"In there," Lord Fonteroy replied, pointing into the recesses of a dark, dingy old cellar.
DG and Cain surveyed the black hole with misgivings, neither of them wanted to go inside.
"What was that?" shrieked Fonteroy, suddenly clutching the Tin Man's arm. Though he'd like to claim otherwise, the young lord wasn't acting. He'd spent so long trying to convince the two sceptics that there was a mobat in the cellar that by this time he half believed it himself. When he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye he was ready to swear it was a mobat.
Cain cleared his throat pointedly and glared down at the young lord. His arm was instantly released.
"Well," said the Tin Man taking a deep breath and displaying the courage Fonteroy envied, "I guess I'd better check it out." And drawing his gun he stepped into the darkness.
DG and Fonteroy hovered anxiously by the door, waiting. It took a moment but Lord Fonteroy did eventually remember he was in the midst of a plot.
"Wha...!" DG cried in surprise when two hands suddenly sent her sprawling into the cellar. Then the door slammed and a great deal of scraping was to be heard.
Lord Fonteroy, masterful planner that he was, knew that Cain could probably get through the door. That's why he was shoving a great big oak cabinet in front of it. Sadly, for all his planning genius, Fonteroy had, as it has been said, never been one to think of consequences. He had, of course, heard all the stories of the quest for the emerald, it just never occurred to him to think through the repercussions of, say, ones having been imprisoned in a marble sarcophagus for a few hours with no hope of rescue. And since the tin suit had not bothered him, besides the prolonged hangover, he hadn't the slightest inkling of the fact that he'd just locked two extremely claustrophobic people in a small, dark room.
DG started hyperventilating almost immediately. Since she'd landed near the door of the narrow, low ceilinged room and Cain was standing right behind her frozen in surprise, there was no direction to reach in which she didn't encounter some obstacle. She was mentally taken back to a very, very scary place and was winding up for some impressive freaking out. Going crazy was to follow.
The Tin Man, on the other hand, was fairing a bit better. His tin prison had been defined by two things: it had been very constricting and had never really gotten dark – there had always been sunlight or moonlight, not to mention the video of the worst day of his life, to shed at least some light. The fact that he had some space to move and couldn't see a thing differentiated circumstances enough that he could keep his head somewhat. Just enough, in fact, to hear the sounds of DG's distress. Once he had, as far as his claustrophobia was concerned, it wouldn't have mattered if the walls were collapsing, he had more important things to worry about.
"DG, calm down, DG," he said soothingly, wrapping his arms around her, "Breathe, Kid, just breathe. Slowly now, come on, you can do it."
It took him a little while to get her breathing regular, by which point they were sitting on the floor, the Tin Man practically engulfing the princess in his embrace.
On DG's side of things, while Cain's calm tone was helping, it was his physical presence that was providing the most comfort. Her prison had been characterized by cold, unyielding marble, things Cain was anything but. In fact, DG was beginning to think she might be willing to change her opinion of small, dark enclosures.
Roughly half an hour later she was not feeling so sanguine about the matter, fortunately Glitch was in the middle of overhearing Lord Fonteroy explain his dastardly clever plan to one of his cronies. As Glitch was having one of his more glitch-filled days, his mind turned 'convinced there was a mobat in the cellar and locked them in' into 'a convicted mobat locked them in the cellar'. Glitch went into Battle Mode.
A short time later the heavy oak cabinet was reduced to so much kindling. The part of Glitch's brain that was still Ambrose and understood the cost and value of things informed Glitch that Ambrose was going to kill him as soon as he could figure out how without committing suicide. Glitch ignored himself and hastened to open the door. He was promptly trampled by Cain and DG in their haste to get the hell out of the cellar.
"Mobats, mobats!" Glitch cried in alarm, "Do I know you?" Shaking his head, he glanced over to where Cain and DG had stopped in the spacious room, gasping for breath. "Cain? DG?"
"I'm. Going. To. Kill. Him," the Tin Man ground out ominously.
"Get in line," DG gasped back.
"Oh come on!" interjected the ignorant dead man, "You were in there for over forty-five minutes, don't tell me you never got anywhere!" Lord Fonteroy surveyed their clothes in dismay. While slightly rumpled, they showed no signs of having been ripped off in a passion nor hastily re-donned. "What are you gay?!"
Cain literally growled, his face flushing red with anger. He had no idea what was going on but he was beginning to get the picture.
"If I'd have known that I would have locked you up with that one," the foolish lord continued to dig his own grave.
Glitch began making frantic negation gestures.
"I still can...hurk."
He was cut off abruptly as the Tin Man left hand closed around his throat. Whatever Cain's next plan of action was, however, it was averted when DG suddenly entered the fray.
"Cain is not gay!" she shrieked, "I won't allow it! In the name of female solidarity I am putting my foot down. You guys can have anyone else. You can have Glitch..."
The headcase started up the frantic negation gestures once more.
"...you can have Zero, you can have Tutor for all I care, but Cain is ours! And that's final!"
There was a moment of shocked silence. Cain's flush of rage had turned to one of acute embarrassment. Glitch and Ambrose were debating internally whether they'd been putting off the wrong signals. Lord Fonteroy was considering adding another person to the short list of things he was afraid off. DG was still fuming over the inferred injustice to womankind; they had to get some of the good men, dammit.
Naturally it was Lord Fonteroy who broke the silence. "All that and you couldn't even..."
Cain's right fist shut him up before he could sign his own death warrant.
The young lord woke some time later with a pounding headache and a strong sense of déjà-vu. Seemed rather dark in here and was someone building something nearby? It was also kind of stuffy in...here. Oh. Crap.
"I was trying to help you!" Fonteroy bellowed, trying to be heard over the hammering.
The Tin Man paused in the act of nailing the cellar door shut. "Don't," he replied, then started driving another nail into the wood.
Well, thought the lord, at least there isn't...
"Hey Cain," came the dreaded voice, "What are you doing? Hey, there's a sign! Here lies the Lord of Idiots. Do Not Open. Anyone caught trying to release the moron will be shot on sight. Perpetuators of crimes against womankind will have their brains removed and squished forthwith. Well that's not very nice. Hey Cain, what are you doing?"
From within the dark prison came a muffled scream.
