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BBB ;; Void & Null [Prologue]
Masterpost
(coverart by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
asmallbluedot, full size and the other four pieces can be found HERE)
[PROLOGUE]
“Why are we wearing our thinky face this morning?”
Spencer was on his knees on the marble floor of Baronet Beckett’s foyer, staring unblinkingly at the horizon. That morning had been the first where Spencer had missed the sunrise; he sort of regretted not seeing the sky with its warm colors instead of the flat blue. There were no clouds; it had only rained once since Spencer had arrived. The weather had this way of never matching Spencer’s emotions, and it was nerve-grating.
He turned his head, pressing his cheek to the smooth surface of the windowpane to look up at Brendon. Spencer shrugged and tried to dig up a smile for him.
“I didn’t realize I was.” Spencer really hadn’t. He’d been very focused on not thinking about anything.
Brendon shifted on his feet, did this little hop he always did when he was trying to restrain himself. “Want some company?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Before the words were even out of his mouth, Brendon was on the floor beside him. Spencer tried and failed not to wince at the way Brendon threw himself around without any regard for how he might injure himself. It was nice, though, that Brendon didn’t worry about that anymore, that he didn’t have to be so careful not to hurt himself if he didn’t want to be sold.
Brendon wedged himself up close, claiming Spencer’s space as his own. Spencer didn’t mind sharing his windowsill, never minded sharing with Brendon. He turned to look at nothing again, not even jumping when Brendon rested one arm on the window and reached for Spencer’s hand with the other.
They sat as quietly as Brendon could manage while the rest of the estate woke up around them. Brendon squeezed Spencer’s fingers when the voices from the kitchen finally reached them. He rested his head on Spencer’s shoulder and sighed, this soft puff of air that said a lot more than words ever could.
“Bren?” Spencer waited for Brendon to hum at him before continuing. “You like it here, right? Even if we’re the only...”
“Slaves?” Brendon whispered the word as softly as he could. “They’re good here. They never yell, or not at me, anyway. And Bill came to get you just because I asked.”
The way he pressed closer, curled a little more into Spencer’s side, meant he’d done more than ask. Spencer wanted to beg Brendon to tell him about that night, about whatever Brendon had done after he’d seen Spencer locked in the too-small cage with the same traveling sales house where Tom had bought Brendon. In the past three weeks, Spencer had learned really quickly that Brendon had deemed the topic not up for discussion.
Spencer pulled his hand away but wrapped his arm around Brendon’s shoulders quickly. “They... seem okay. But I don’t...”
“It’s almost like being at Saporta’s again,” Brendon whispered. He hid his face against Spencer’s neck. “Except.”
“Except for Ryan and Jon, yeah.” Spencer pressed a soft kiss to Brendon’s hair when Brendon shuddered, just a little. If they hadn’t been touching all along one side, Spencer probably would have missed it; Brendon was ridiculously good at hiding things.
“Tom’s still looking. He writes to me a lot, tells me about all the feelers he and Sean are putting out at every port Empires docks at.” He dragged the words out until the apology sounded less sad than it should have.
Spencer hugged him again and started to say something. He wanted to be comforting like Jon or stoic like Ryan, but it had been over half a year since Spencer had last seen them in the back of a buyer’s carriage. Their faces had almost faded completely from memory at this point - during waking hours, at least.
There were footsteps, closer than the others that had been stomping around on the stairs or down the hall all morning. Spencer started to tense, arm locking tighter around Brendon until Brendon quietly squeaked. How stupid was Spencer these days? Letting himself get so wrapped up in his own worries that he left his back - and more importantly, Brendon’s - unprotected. He had to stop forgetting every fucking thing he’d learned.
The shoes stopped clicking against the floor, and a low, deep voice called out to them. “Bill’s looking for you.”
A tiny wave of relief washed over Spencer. He felt his entire body start to loosen because it was only Bob. He was as much of a stranger as the others, but he was a former slave, freed like the apparent majority of Beckett’s staff. Plus, this was the same guy who let Brendon crawl all over him when storms hit, the thunder loud enough to shake the windows and lightning striking so brightly the world momentarily flashed. Bob took care of Brendon when Spencer wasn’t there and that meant something.
“Which one?” Brendon asked, already struggling away and to his feet.
“Both?” Bob shrugged. “I think he has a present for Spencer.”
Spencer fell against the wall; the stupid shoes Pete had made for him were too slippery for the floors someone always kept waxed. He definitely had not startled at the implication that an owner wanted to give him something. Brendon grabbed his arm to help him to his feet and Spencer had to force himself not to shrug his hands away.
“Why?” He knew he sounded suspicious but he didn’t care.
Bob stared at him. “I don’t know. He’s in the office. Ask him yourself.” He turned to lead them toward the back of the house.
Beckett’s office was the last room in the wing. According to Ray, it was because the room overlooked the stables and Bill liked watching the horses. Butcher swore it was because Beckett liked mocking Siska and Frank when they were trying to train the aforementioned horses. It didn’t make a difference to Spencer, either way.
The redwood door was open and Bob ushered them in before pulling it shut behind them. Spencer tried not to look like he was cataloguing his surroundings, but it was habit. He hadn’t been invited into the office before and he wanted to know where everything was, just in case. It was always best to be proactive and on your toes until you figured out new owners; at least, that was Spencer’s theory.
Travis was standing beside the window, looking bored and unimposing in a way someone roughly eight feet tall never should. Beckett was sitting behind his desk, feet kicked up on the edge and wrinkling the pages of what Spencer thought were budget ledgers.
“You wanted to see us?” Brendon asked when Spencer stood there like an idiot without saying anything.
“Mostly Spencer Smith, here, but this is for you, too,” Beckett grinned. He wasn’t scary, not in the classic sense. Beckett had wavy hair and bright smiles, wide gestures and an open expression. Spencer didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. “So, you’ve been around the estate, right? Brendon showed you everything?”
Spencer nodded.
Beckett sighed. He swung his feet down and leaned his forearms on the desk. “So you’ve seen the fieldhouses?” This time, he didn’t pause for a reaction, apparently too excited. “They’re sort of falling apart. Frank, Gerard, and Mikey took over the one that needed the least work, and Bob and Ray fixed the other one. But we have two more. The one out by the back pasture doesn’t have much of a roof anymore, but Bob swears the one by the front lane isn’t too bad.”
Brendon was tugging on Spencer’s hand, smiling all over the place like the fucking sunshine, like he knew exactly where this was going. Spencer was sick of being the slowest horse in the stable. He nodded, and tried to keep his eyes wide and interested instead of squinted and annoyed.
Beckett laughed. “I’m saying it’s yours. If you want it, Smith, it’s yours.”
“Um... I don’t...” Spencer glanced at Brendon then settled on Travis. Travis, like Ray, didn’t mind cluing him in when Beckett got too wrapped up in his schemes and surprises.
“You’re going to have to put the work in or talk someone into helping,” Travis explained. “We probably have everything you need to fix it left over from the stable repair or the other houses. If you need anything else, just let us know and we’ll get it.”
Gripping the back of the winged chair in front of Beckett’s desk, Spencer cleared his throat. “You’re giving me a house?”
“It’s just a fieldhouse,” Beckett actually... apologized? “Four rooms. Two bedrooms, sitting room, and a serviceable washroom. You can turn it down if you want. Or you guys can talk about it...”
“We’ll,” Spencer started, turning to look at Brendon.
“We’ll take it,” Brendon finished for him. “Thanks, Bill!”
“Don’t worry about it.” Beckett waved a hand. “Go on. Go check out your new property.”
Spencer nodded and wasn’t stupid enough to wait around for the offer to be rescinded. He followed Brendon, clutching at the back of his green and yellow striped shirt. What the actual fuck? Beckett had just given them a house? No one gave slaves things, partially because it didn’t matter. Slaves weren’t allowed to have possessions.
Except Beckett had already paid for Spencer to have a whole wardrobe outfitted for him and he never demanded a cut of the fees Brendon charged for teaching music to a few of the more wealthy girls of the community.
Sighing as Brendon pulled him out into the sunshine, Spencer resigned himself to never actually understanding a damn thing that happened around here.
Part One
(coverart by
asmallbluedot, full size and the other four pieces can be found HERE)“Why are we wearing our thinky face this morning?”
Spencer was on his knees on the marble floor of Baronet Beckett’s foyer, staring unblinkingly at the horizon. That morning had been the first where Spencer had missed the sunrise; he sort of regretted not seeing the sky with its warm colors instead of the flat blue. There were no clouds; it had only rained once since Spencer had arrived. The weather had this way of never matching Spencer’s emotions, and it was nerve-grating.
He turned his head, pressing his cheek to the smooth surface of the windowpane to look up at Brendon. Spencer shrugged and tried to dig up a smile for him.
“I didn’t realize I was.” Spencer really hadn’t. He’d been very focused on not thinking about anything.
Brendon shifted on his feet, did this little hop he always did when he was trying to restrain himself. “Want some company?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Before the words were even out of his mouth, Brendon was on the floor beside him. Spencer tried and failed not to wince at the way Brendon threw himself around without any regard for how he might injure himself. It was nice, though, that Brendon didn’t worry about that anymore, that he didn’t have to be so careful not to hurt himself if he didn’t want to be sold.
Brendon wedged himself up close, claiming Spencer’s space as his own. Spencer didn’t mind sharing his windowsill, never minded sharing with Brendon. He turned to look at nothing again, not even jumping when Brendon rested one arm on the window and reached for Spencer’s hand with the other.
They sat as quietly as Brendon could manage while the rest of the estate woke up around them. Brendon squeezed Spencer’s fingers when the voices from the kitchen finally reached them. He rested his head on Spencer’s shoulder and sighed, this soft puff of air that said a lot more than words ever could.
“Bren?” Spencer waited for Brendon to hum at him before continuing. “You like it here, right? Even if we’re the only...”
“Slaves?” Brendon whispered the word as softly as he could. “They’re good here. They never yell, or not at me, anyway. And Bill came to get you just because I asked.”
The way he pressed closer, curled a little more into Spencer’s side, meant he’d done more than ask. Spencer wanted to beg Brendon to tell him about that night, about whatever Brendon had done after he’d seen Spencer locked in the too-small cage with the same traveling sales house where Tom had bought Brendon. In the past three weeks, Spencer had learned really quickly that Brendon had deemed the topic not up for discussion.
Spencer pulled his hand away but wrapped his arm around Brendon’s shoulders quickly. “They... seem okay. But I don’t...”
“It’s almost like being at Saporta’s again,” Brendon whispered. He hid his face against Spencer’s neck. “Except.”
“Except for Ryan and Jon, yeah.” Spencer pressed a soft kiss to Brendon’s hair when Brendon shuddered, just a little. If they hadn’t been touching all along one side, Spencer probably would have missed it; Brendon was ridiculously good at hiding things.
“Tom’s still looking. He writes to me a lot, tells me about all the feelers he and Sean are putting out at every port Empires docks at.” He dragged the words out until the apology sounded less sad than it should have.
Spencer hugged him again and started to say something. He wanted to be comforting like Jon or stoic like Ryan, but it had been over half a year since Spencer had last seen them in the back of a buyer’s carriage. Their faces had almost faded completely from memory at this point - during waking hours, at least.
There were footsteps, closer than the others that had been stomping around on the stairs or down the hall all morning. Spencer started to tense, arm locking tighter around Brendon until Brendon quietly squeaked. How stupid was Spencer these days? Letting himself get so wrapped up in his own worries that he left his back - and more importantly, Brendon’s - unprotected. He had to stop forgetting every fucking thing he’d learned.
The shoes stopped clicking against the floor, and a low, deep voice called out to them. “Bill’s looking for you.”
A tiny wave of relief washed over Spencer. He felt his entire body start to loosen because it was only Bob. He was as much of a stranger as the others, but he was a former slave, freed like the apparent majority of Beckett’s staff. Plus, this was the same guy who let Brendon crawl all over him when storms hit, the thunder loud enough to shake the windows and lightning striking so brightly the world momentarily flashed. Bob took care of Brendon when Spencer wasn’t there and that meant something.
“Which one?” Brendon asked, already struggling away and to his feet.
“Both?” Bob shrugged. “I think he has a present for Spencer.”
Spencer fell against the wall; the stupid shoes Pete had made for him were too slippery for the floors someone always kept waxed. He definitely had not startled at the implication that an owner wanted to give him something. Brendon grabbed his arm to help him to his feet and Spencer had to force himself not to shrug his hands away.
“Why?” He knew he sounded suspicious but he didn’t care.
Bob stared at him. “I don’t know. He’s in the office. Ask him yourself.” He turned to lead them toward the back of the house.
Beckett’s office was the last room in the wing. According to Ray, it was because the room overlooked the stables and Bill liked watching the horses. Butcher swore it was because Beckett liked mocking Siska and Frank when they were trying to train the aforementioned horses. It didn’t make a difference to Spencer, either way.
The redwood door was open and Bob ushered them in before pulling it shut behind them. Spencer tried not to look like he was cataloguing his surroundings, but it was habit. He hadn’t been invited into the office before and he wanted to know where everything was, just in case. It was always best to be proactive and on your toes until you figured out new owners; at least, that was Spencer’s theory.
Travis was standing beside the window, looking bored and unimposing in a way someone roughly eight feet tall never should. Beckett was sitting behind his desk, feet kicked up on the edge and wrinkling the pages of what Spencer thought were budget ledgers.
“You wanted to see us?” Brendon asked when Spencer stood there like an idiot without saying anything.
“Mostly Spencer Smith, here, but this is for you, too,” Beckett grinned. He wasn’t scary, not in the classic sense. Beckett had wavy hair and bright smiles, wide gestures and an open expression. Spencer didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. “So, you’ve been around the estate, right? Brendon showed you everything?”
Spencer nodded.
Beckett sighed. He swung his feet down and leaned his forearms on the desk. “So you’ve seen the fieldhouses?” This time, he didn’t pause for a reaction, apparently too excited. “They’re sort of falling apart. Frank, Gerard, and Mikey took over the one that needed the least work, and Bob and Ray fixed the other one. But we have two more. The one out by the back pasture doesn’t have much of a roof anymore, but Bob swears the one by the front lane isn’t too bad.”
Brendon was tugging on Spencer’s hand, smiling all over the place like the fucking sunshine, like he knew exactly where this was going. Spencer was sick of being the slowest horse in the stable. He nodded, and tried to keep his eyes wide and interested instead of squinted and annoyed.
Beckett laughed. “I’m saying it’s yours. If you want it, Smith, it’s yours.”
“Um... I don’t...” Spencer glanced at Brendon then settled on Travis. Travis, like Ray, didn’t mind cluing him in when Beckett got too wrapped up in his schemes and surprises.
“You’re going to have to put the work in or talk someone into helping,” Travis explained. “We probably have everything you need to fix it left over from the stable repair or the other houses. If you need anything else, just let us know and we’ll get it.”
Gripping the back of the winged chair in front of Beckett’s desk, Spencer cleared his throat. “You’re giving me a house?”
“It’s just a fieldhouse,” Beckett actually... apologized? “Four rooms. Two bedrooms, sitting room, and a serviceable washroom. You can turn it down if you want. Or you guys can talk about it...”
“We’ll,” Spencer started, turning to look at Brendon.
“We’ll take it,” Brendon finished for him. “Thanks, Bill!”
“Don’t worry about it.” Beckett waved a hand. “Go on. Go check out your new property.”
Spencer nodded and wasn’t stupid enough to wait around for the offer to be rescinded. He followed Brendon, clutching at the back of his green and yellow striped shirt. What the actual fuck? Beckett had just given them a house? No one gave slaves things, partially because it didn’t matter. Slaves weren’t allowed to have possessions.
Except Beckett had already paid for Spencer to have a whole wardrobe outfitted for him and he never demanded a cut of the fees Brendon charged for teaching music to a few of the more wealthy girls of the community.
Sighing as Brendon pulled him out into the sunshine, Spencer resigned himself to never actually understanding a damn thing that happened around here.
Part One