'I'm old. The fire dims. I'm just not as greedy as I used to be.' - zek
'My mind's made up. I've already chosen my successor. A leader whose vision, imagination, and avarice will oversee Ferengi ventures in the Gamma Quadrant.' - zek
'The new Grand Nagus. Quark!' - zek
s t a r t r e k d e e p s p a c e n i n e created by rick berman, michael piller [the nagus, s1ep11]
A detail that seems curious to me is the fact that Nomura is the only changeling that we have seen whose eyes are different from the other changelings.
Actually... None of the changeling characters we see in troll form have the exact same eyes!
Krax for example has basically normal golden troll eyes, this might be because when made into a changeling Gunmar might have wanted changelings that more closely resembled full trolls, so he'd make a better spy. (Which he did... Till Claire and Blinky blew him up).
Strickler and NotEnrique have the most similar eyes, with a few little differences. Strickler's eyes are able to glow, and NotEnrique's haven't ever shown this ability. His eyes are also more orange than Strickler's yellow/gold and have a noticeable black slit within the red pupil. Strickler's are solid red, (I know in Battle of the two bridges they appear to also have those black slits, but I think that's a animation error, there's quite a few minor inconsistencies with Strickler's model honestly through the series).
Then there's this guy from Wizards. He has slit eyes, but the pupils are wholly black and his sclera are a pale, washed out yellow.
Nomura's eyes are green, but sometimes Strickler's look green too! And changelings have a variety of eye colours. They glow the same as Strickler's, the only difference is the pupils are longer and not as 'sharp' as say Strickler's or NotEnrique's.
Anyway, that went long, sorry if I rambled a bit. It's just I find the differences in Changelings really interesting. Like also how while Strickler and Nomura have five fingers, NotEnrique, Krax and the Wizard's changeling have four. We also see some trolls in Trollmarket with five fingers, so I'm assuming they either have changeling blood or ARE changelings. And the finger difference is a matter of when the changeling was 'created'.
My first fan animation!
“This is me” from “The Greatest Showman” too well suited changeling. Unfortunately, my strength has a limit. Of course it's not perfect, but it exists!
A Valentines to my Terpsichore readers! A ch13 Sneak Peek of that one 1920′s speakeasy scene I was goofing about a while back.
Initially I wanted to try and have another spicy Avium and Apium chapter out for the 14th buuuuut that didn’t happen lol and I’m very excited to have reached past a section I was having a mild block on!
So why not share! No? (I have no more self control dknlksnfg)
A soft reminder that this fic is rated Mature
It isn’t lovey-dovey or anything, but it does hint at a few future plot-points that will be discussed more in ACT II (Especially regarding Nomura, and the shenanigans that unfold in the 20′s)
Enjoy! （´・｀ ）♡
//
The tawny haired reedy fellow barked an order, some last ditch effort, and a gent in overalls started to fumble towards the bar. He slid away from Enoch’s grasp like a tiny vespa cutting in front of a double decker bus, and nearly tackled Stricklander - but instead slipped on a few peanut shells and landed face first into Krax’s fist.
“Pity.” went Stricklander, finishing his drink, “I’ll have another Leon, I fear this is going to be a rather long night.”
Another member of the tawny haired fellow’s group started to come Stricklander’s way.
“I must say I’m disappointed.” said Stricklander, voice ringing a bit louder despite the obstruction of the pipe, “Coming into my establishment, with a promise made to follow certain house rules. I keep this place open for all, and this is my repayment?” he said, more for the humans in earshot.
Stricklander then sidestepped raised his arms and pushed the charging goon into the bar counter. A great racket and breaking of glass followed.
Johnson inched further away head sinking into his collar like a turtle into his shell, and Leon tutted at the mess.
Stricklander stepped forward with ease, picked up the goon by his hair, and feeling the eyes of the speakeasy on him he said, “This is a sacred place built on secrets and promises.”
The goon groaned, spitting through his teeth while trying desperately to get his bearings straight.
“Consecrated ground. Sanctified by the very spirits you drink.” Stricklander then reached for his glass of whiskey, paused, and reached for a gin bottle instead - smashing it over goon’s head.
The goon whimpered. Leon hissed even more, thinking of the clean-up he’d have to do later.
“And when those promises start to break,” continued Stricklander grabbing the goon’s bloody head, “what then?” Despite the calm of Stricklander’s voice, fury gripped him as he bashed the goon’s head against the bar counter again, and again.
“What?”
Bash
“Then??”
Bash
-BANG-
All was silent.
Stricklander’s ears were ringing. He let go of the goon, barely watching as he crumpled to the floor fractured skull and all.
The gun was still smoking as Stricklander dragged his eyes to and from the gun and the hole in the wall.
Stricklander frowned. With a disappointed drawl he pointed to the hole with his pipe, “You missed, mate.”
The tawny headed leader’s chest was heaving.
“Am I to believe you’re the mastermind behind this tomfoolery?” asked Stricklander.
The tawny headed leader licked his lips and said, “I am.”
“Do names come with that honor?”
“It’s Jackson. Jack Mumford.”
And Stricklander’s smile stretched with a growing frost, “How do you do Jack Mumford. You have my attention,” he then gestured to the fellow patrons and changelings, “an audience, if you will.”
Mumford eyed Strickler’s coneys specifically, counting how many of his own men were either incapacitated or held. Licking his lips Mumford resembled a fox slowly realizing the chicken coop he was in wasn’t a chicken coop at all, but rather a den of wolves and lions.
“Well..” braved Mumford, “We’re- we’re here for your product.”
“The bar counter too much of a walk for you?” asked Stricklander dryly.
“We’re taking it.”
“Oh!” said Stricklander, shocked as drywall. “So it was the commerce factor that went over your head.”
“O-oh, Oh we know about commerce alright.” finger wagged Mumford, with a quick glance around to remind himself who was in arm’s reach of him. “We got your trade routes figured, and figured good. A-a-and unless you cooperate, we’re going to take em’, get the authorities-” Mumford paused and eyed some of the police that were in the speakeasy, and corrected himself with, “the right authorities, and once they’re notified we’re going to sell the product back with the cops none the wiser.”
A few changelings in the background shared looks, specifically how easily Mumford just explained his whole plan. Some wondered if this blatant display was hidden genius, or foolishness. Leon on the other hand, already started to clean up.
“Well” said Stricklander who held an impressed look a farmer would have with a plucked gourd they were about to carve, “aren’t you a regular Jonathan Wilde. Now is it possible you had your eye on any of my shipments today? Specifically the eastbound product that is technically about to head northwest via a transfer that had a specific amount of delays?”
“Well…um..”
“If so, you’ll be disappointed to know we managed to deal with those delays, which I can now confirm were caused by you and the rest of your,” Stricklander paused, not so much to search for the right word, but relish in the delay, “friends…no?”
Mumford gulped.
It was an affirmative answer as any to Stricklander, swishing his pipe like a cat’s tail before a pounce “I advise you to take a careful eye over the obituary column when you can, Mr Jack Mumford.”
Mumford’s eyes widened, his chest heaving as quickly as a trapped mouse. Again he gazed around to see how well encircled he was. It became clear to Mumford he wasn’t going to leave The House of Tutors without Stricklander’s permission.
“What you did today Mr. Jack Mumford was, well, not well advised to put it mildly, imbecilic to put it bluntly. You should probably think thrice the next time you want to enter an establishment of mine. You have and will face repercussions. It’ll be a hard lesson for you I’m sure.” nodded Stricklander, sympathetic as stone, “But most of life’s lessons are.”
Mumford stared. No one made a move forward towards him of any kind.
As if reading his thoughts Stricklander idly snapped his fingers, and the changelings holding onto Mumford’s men were released to stagger and or fall to the ground.
Mumford then gulped. “I..I can go? Me and my men?”
“Yes. Of course you may. But you will be followed.” Stricklander explained sensibly, then smiled as if the smile were an afterthought.
Stricklander then flung the knife at a table, which landed with a satisfying THWACK quickly followed by a shocked high pitched “Eep!”
Where did the knife come from? No one ever really knew with Stricklander - but he always had one somewhere, just when he needed it.
Stricklander pointed at the owner of the shocked mousey sound with a restrained snarl, “And you, little madam.” He was speaking to Nomura, who sunk back into her skin after the electricity of the shock faded. “My office. Now.” he said with a generic thumbing behind him for good measure.
With nearly the entire speakeasy watching her, Nomura rolled her eyes with all the petulance of youth. Frustrated she had been caught sneaking back in despite having done so in the chaos of the previous brawl.
It was then that Mumford had the misfortunate idea to try and use Nomura as a hostage.
Mumford sidestepped, pulled the knife from the table with one hand, and used the other hand to twist Nomura’s arm behind her back.
The speakeasy held their breath.
Stricklander blinked, seemingly unimpressed and uncaring of Nomura’s fate.
A gaze Nomura herself believed as she leaned her neck away from the knife’s edge. A gaze that wouldn’t have fooled Otto if he were there.
“You really are thick.” said Stricklander.
“You ain’t gonna follow me, and if you do - she’ll get it.”
Nomura searched Stricklander’s eyes for any sign he’d intervene, but only a lack of concern was her response.
“Go on then. Get on with it.” sniffed Stricklander, eyeing his pipe casually before looking back at Mumford, and then Nomura specifically, “If you can manage, it’ll be quite the surprise for everyone. Hm?”
Nomura’s expression changed from frown to realization. This, before the changelings in the House of Tutors, was a chance to test her metal.
What Mumford believed as a dainty misfortunate flapper with an affinity towards warm purple colors, Stricklander saw something entirely else. After all this wasn’t the 1800s anymore.
Mumford furrowed his brows in disbelief, “What kind of cold hearted sonofabitch-?!?!”
Mumford was interrupted by a sharp heeled dig into his foot that made him yowl like a coyote, a backwards headbutt that nearly broke his nose, and although the knife nearly scratched Nomura it fell out of Mumford’s hands and was caught by Nomura just as swiftly. Ending her capture with a smooth release of her restrained arm, and allowing it to rotate behind the distracted and pained Mumford to grasp the back of his tawny hair and shove his head into the table, pinning him with a force so strong Mumford never would have guessed Nomura had.
With her nostrils flared and her adrenaline spiking Nomura twirled the knife in her fingers, and was about to dig the blade into the back of Mumford’s neck, but stopped as Stricklander cleared his throat and said, “Miss Nomura?”
At the last second the knife redirected and landed by Mumford’s face and dug into the table, slicing his ear and cheek in the process.
Stricklander gave a patronizing clap, “Mark me as surprised. Aren’t you surprised Mr. Jack Mumford?”
Mumford whined.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” said Stricklander before ordering, “Empty his pockets.”
Nomura’s frown deepened, and did as she was told.
From his pockets she rested on the table Mumford’s two scraps of leather of a wallet, and an old pocket watch that had a bit of fuzz and hair caught in it.
As Stricklander approached the table, leaning forward to poke at Mumford’s things.
From Mumford’s wallet he took two dollars cash from the three dollars Mumford had to his name. “As payment for the broken glass.” Stricklander explained in a sensible tone that made Mumford sick.
Mumford struggled under Nomura’s remarkably strong hold. “You’re a rotten piece of work, you know that?”
“A fair assessment.” said Stricklander as he idly fiddled with the pocket watch.
The pocket watch clicked open, and from inside, like confetti, sprang a lock of dark curly hair in velvet string, and a picture of a young lady.
The lady was posed exquisitely. Deep lipstick, large glasses, a headband perhaps in silver, dangling earrings, and although her dress exposed her shoulders her décolleté was covered in low hanging necklaces that had the length to wrap around her neck three times. Her hand delicately posed on her palm.
Mumford winced as Nomura leaned forward to get a better look at the picture. If Mumford wasn’t too worried about his life, and the life of his love, he would have heard Nomura catch her breath.
Her young heart fluttered with a feeling of awe, admiration, and…something else, Nomura couldn’t pin the word for it…but it was a something she had been feeling in secret from the order. A secret shared between herself, and the Trollhunter’s son.
Whoever this young lady was Nomura wouldn’t mind trying out kissing with her. She equally wondered where she could get such lipstick.
And while the fair Nomura saw hearts and stars, Stricklander didn’t share the same reaction. Sure this young lady was pretty, but his cold gaze saw only tactics and unforeseen benefits.
“Does your sweetheart know where you are, sir?” asked Stricklander.
“N-Nancy? She ain’t got nothin to do with this! Nothin to do with this no how!”
Stricklander considered his words, nodding, as if appreciating poetry.
“Well…” he said with a well practiced smile as cold as a mirror’s surface, “I suggest you get back to your dear Nancy then. Hold her tight on this dark night. For if you continue on the course you are on now, well…” Stricklander took the time to savor re-igniting his pope, “It will be a very dark and cold night indeed. For you,” he waved off the flame of the ignited match, “and Nancy.”
Mumford struggled under Nomura’s hold, then finally relented. Making but a partial peace with his loss of face.
If he must swallow a dose of embarrassment to walk out alive, so be it. For his crew, for Nancy, he humbly lowered his head.
“Good.” chirped Stricklander. He pulled on his pipe with ease before exhaling a smokey, “Now off with yeh.”
Mumford and his friends scrambled out of the establishment in a hurry. Quickened feet, followed by swears echoed up the stairs. A few stumbles were also heard, especially by the ones carrying their friend with the fractured skull.
Stricklander’s eyes calmly followed them out, never leaving them as he leaned and whispered at Johnson, “Have them followed. And see what you can find out about Mumford and this, Nancy.”
Johnson nodded, and gestured to Leon to pass his bartending duties to the human employee and follow Johnson.
When Johnson and Leon left, the speakeasy’s ambiance felt as though the tension was easing. Conversation and drinking slowly returning with the sounds of clinking glass and pouring liquor.
Nomura looked around herself, no longer the subject of attention, and started to believe perhaps in all the confusion Stricklander might have forgotten whatever stern word he had planned for Nomura.
She started to side-step to the corners of the speakeasy, tip-toeing to a dark part of the speakeasy, when Stricklander snapped his finger at her sharply, and just as sharply thumbed at his office.
Anger and disappointment prominent on his features. There was no getting out of trouble today, not even after her display of strength with Mumford.
Nomura deflated her chest, and dejectedly walked towards Stricklander’s office already feeling her ears hurt with the talking to she was about to be given.
This was Stricklander to Krax. As warm as steel and twice as sharp.
And now…well…Krax wasn’t so sure…
“NOW THE DREADNOUGHT’S A-HOWLIN’ DOWN THE WILD IRISH SEA~ HER PASSENGERS MERRY~ WITH HEARTS FULL OF GLEE~”
Strickler’s incessant singing cut through Krax’s memory like a spike in a railway. He had reached the threshold to Strickler’s containment with a grumble and a small slosh of his water bucket.
