part two hundred and twenty one

[exomeme]

   

chiyu chiyu

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Re: team lay, 839 w, steampunk, taohunchen

[(Anonymous)]

collapse

Re: team lay, 839 w, steampunk, taohunchen

[(Anonymous)]

TICK-tock TICK-tock TICK--

The clock echoed in the empty shell of a room, reverberating through the cracks in the wooden floor and enveloping the young man who stood in the center, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders just a tad too tense for his posture to be at ease. He was a tall man, one who would easily stand out in a crowd, his black hair tied back severely from a face lined with worry and habituated to anger, a hint of youth still visible through the dirt, weariness, and blood that caked his skin. Even now, his brows were drawn in furrows, lips pressed in a thin line as he regarded the wall in front of him.

The wall was decorated with clocks. Some ten or twelve clocks covered the rough stone wall, their inner workings exposed for all to see, gears with interlocking teeth in burnished brass. They were silent and still, some telling the wrong time, while some were stripped of their hands and told no time at all.

“Pretty, aren’t they?”

The young man remained where he stood, eyes fixed on the wall as a door opened behind him and a boy walked in, coming to stand just behind his shoulder.

“I made ‘em,” the boy said, nodding towards the clocks. “I thought they looked kind of nice like that, so I just…left it.”

The man grunted a brief sound of acknowledgement. He unclasped his fingers, hands hanging stiffly at his side. This was a man who was nervous, and a man who did not know how to show it, for he was not often nervous. Not, at least, nervous in such a way as he was nervous now. It showed.

“He’ll be alright.” The boy clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, the young man tensing at the touch, the lines in his face growing deeper. If the boy noticed, he didn’t react, only giving the young man’s shoulder another tight squeeze before letting go.

“He’ll be alright,” he repeated, sticking his hands in his pockets.

The young man’s mouth parted, before it shut again. His tongue flickered out, dampening his lips. “Will he?” he said. He mirrored the boys actions, sliding his hands slowly into the pockets of his vest, his chin tilting upwards nearly imperceptibly as his eyes traced a path to the uppermost clock.

The boy hesitated for a moment before he nodded firmly. “Of course!” he said. “Don’t you trust us?”

“I–” the man’s frown deepened, his shoulders shrugging forward as he nodded. “I…” he repeated, before the frown slipped away and his eyes shut briefly, entire body sagging as if some steel rod had been removed.

“It’s okay,” the boy said, clasping the young man on the shoulder again. The two of them stood there, regarding the wall of clocks, an uneven pair of silhouettes as the taller of the two seemed to struggle for words, shaking his head.

“No,” he said. “I’m sorry. And…I thank you. For…helping us. Regardless of what the outcome is.”

The boy chuckled, turning around. The young man turned to follow. “His life won’t be in danger,” the boy said softly, one hand on the doorframe. His hands were rough and covered with grease, fingers digging into the weathered wood. A scream echoed up through the floor, and the boy’s fingers clenched tighter against the frame.

“I’d…like to see him,” the young man said. His expression was carefully neutral, carefully void of all expression. It was that very lack of expression that betrayed him.

“It’s not pretty,” the boy said, his back still facing the man. “I don’t think you should.”

“Please.”

His word was punctuated with another muffled scream, and he watched as the boy tensed again, bowing his head. “Please,” he said again, eyes boring into the boy’s back. “Perhaps I could help.”

A bark of laughter came from the boy, and when he turned back, hands in his pockets again, a tight smile was on his face. “If you insist,” he said. “Come with me.”

The boy led the young man through the house, the sound of their boots echoing dully against the wooden floor. He pushed open a door that appeared to lead to a closet, before opening another door in the back. “Watch the stairs,” he said.

Down a steep set of stairs, they emerged into a dark cavern of a room. The boy flipped a switch, and the room was bathed in an orange glow, a tube of light running along the wall, about half a body’s length above workbenches. “My place,” the boy said, leading him briskly through the workshop to the door on the other side. He paused, before knocking.

“Dad? Can we come in?”

“We?”

The boy paused, turning to glance at the young man with an unreadable expression before he answered. “Yeah, we.”

A pause, before there was a gruff, “go on,” and the boy opened the door.

The man sucked in a breath of air before he could stop himself.

Re: team lay, 839 w, steampunk, taohunchen

[(Anonymous)]

this sounds interesting and i love steampunk but i gotta be honest from this drabble alone i don't understand much of what's going on here are you gonna continue it?