Tags: selkie AU, steampunk AU, enemies to lovers, slow burn
Summary: Scar receives a series of phone calls
Words: 3,958
previous chapter || next chapter
ao3 link || masterpost
Despite everything, Scar could admit when he was wrong.
He certainly didn’t like it. He supposed no one liked admitting that they were wrong, but for a businessman in his position, the idea of not being on top of everything was a dangerous one. There was more at stake than one man’s ego, after all.
He could recognize, however, that Grian had made a few valid points during their conversation. Namely, that Scar had no idea what he was doing. Which, technically, Scar was already aware of! He just didn’t realize it was going to be as big of a problem as it had become.
So Scar was faced with an arduous task. He had to figure out what on earth he had gotten himself into. And that, unfortunately, constituted research.
Scar ended up sequestered in his study, hastily cleared of servant-bot remnants and instead surrounded by as many mythology books that he could get his hands on in such a short notice. He was determined to fully understand this whole… selkie marriage thing.
If it had been just a matter of culture, Scar wouldn’t have been worried. Exchanging finery during weddings was common practice across cultures. It wouldn’t be that unusual for selkies to do the same.
No, what had Scar fretting was the implication of some kind of bond. Grian had said that he could feel Scar’s presence, that they were tied together in some deeper way. And that was uncomfortable to think about.
So Scar was determined to understand this magical bond. Maybe there was a way to bypass it, so Grian didn’t feel as… violated. Scar wasn’t a good man, but he wasn’t a monster, either – he didn’t want Grian to suffer unnecessarily.
Unfortunately for Scar, what he had read so far had not been as helpful as he hoped it would be. Instead of any nice, neat explanations about the powers and cultures of selkies, Scar had mostly found transcriptions of long ballads, written in some version of antiquated English that made his head spin to try and parse.
When Scar had told Grian that he wasn’t much of a reader, that wasn’t an exaggeration. He found it to be a uniquely herculean task – letters on the page seemed to shift strangely when he wasn’t looking, and he often found himself forgetting what he had read just a few passages before. Anything longer than a few sentences was exhausting to read. And that was when everything was spelled correctly. Trying to figure out what words like ‘bairn’ and ‘grumly’ meant just made everything extra difficult.
The actual stories didn’t make things easier, either. Most followed a similar plot – a selkie woman is caught by a wicked man who steals her skin and forces her to marry him. She spends her days longing for the sea, forced into a life of domestic imprisonment. When she does get her hands on the skin, she doesn’t hesitate to leave everything behind, even abandoning her children for the call of the waves.
And those were the nicer ones. Those that varied from the script were each more gruesome than the last. Stories of sailors lured to their death with siren songs, of people being hunted for the crime of loving a fae creature, even of innocent selkie children being harpooned by fearful fishermen. The kinds of stories that made Scar wish he had never opened up these wretched books.
Scar may not have learned much about the logistics of selkie marriage, but one thing was clear – it was always doomed to end in tragedy.
_-_🌙_-_
Scar was three pages into a 98-stanza ballad when the phone rang.
He nearly fell out of his office chair, having been leaning casually against the armrest in a vain attempt to get comfortable. The phone didn’t ring often – he had only recently installed the new technology, and only a select handful of people knew how to get ahold of his line.
He dog-eared his page for later, shutting the hefty tome with a solid thud . This was almost certainly a business call. Scar had to admit that he had not been paying very much attention to ConCorp affairs lately, what with this whole Grian situation. No doubt he was about to be subjected to a very unpleasant conversation about such and such paperwork that he had forgotten to sign off on. Void forbid it was anything about the war – he didn’t know if he could handle talking to frantic diplomats right now.
Heaving a dramatic sigh, he reached towards the receiver, picking up the phone with a soft click. “Scar here, what can I do for you?”
“Mr. Scar, my good pal! It’s Zedaph!”
Scar sat forward involuntarily. Zedaph was one of the head researchers for ConCorp’s biotechnology branch, and one of the smartest, if… strangest people Scar had ever met. Importantly, he was also the scientist Scar had assigned to Grian’s case.
“Zedaph! Well, isn’t it just a delight to hear your voice.”
Zedaph laughed, the sound crackling through the tinny speakers. “You’re as charming as ever. I just hope I can keep you in that good mood.”
Scar drummed his fingers against the desk, a nervous energy setting his limbs abuzz. “Calling with bad news?”
“Well, not bad news, exactly…” there was a sound of shuffling, as though Zedaph were arranging some papers. “I needed to talk to you about Project Bread Bowl.”
Scar blinked. “Project what?”
“The… y’know… the, um. The selkie thing.” As he spoke, Zedaph’s voice dropped to a whisper, as though he were afraid someone was about to walk into a phone conversation.
“Well, I figured that’s what you meant, but what did you just call it?”
Zedaph laughed. “Well, you didn’t give us a project name, so I came up with one myself!”
Scar groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “And why did you call it Project Bread Bowl, exactly…?”
“Well, when you sent over those papers for me to go over, I kept misreading the selkie’s name as ‘Grain’, which I thought was a peculiar name for a seal. But then it got me thinking – don’t seals look like loafs of bread? Little round ones, I mean? So then I was gonna call it ‘Project Bread Loaf’, but then I realized that ‘Project Bread Bowl’ rolled off the tongue much better! And if anyone ever discovers the name, they’d never guess what we were doing here!”
Scar made a mental note to never let Zedaph name anything ever again. “Okay, okay, never mind about the name. Give me your report on, um… Project Bread Bowl.”
“Right, yes, of course,” Zedaph said, sounding sheepish. “Well… me and the boys have been reading through those papers. Very interesting stuff, it has to be said. For example, most of his vitals read pretty standard, but he has unusually high concentrations of muscle myoglobin in his bloodstream. Good ol’ Doc ordered some testing on the net charge of the proteins, and it looks like they have a much stronger positive charge than, say, one of us piddly humans. That might explain his dive capacities, but honestly I’d need more samples of the myoglobin proteins to compare it to–”
“Zedaph, please.” Scar groaned. This on top of his reading-related headache might actually kill him.
Luckily, Zedaph seemed to understand what Scar was asking from him. “Right, right, sorry. Basically, his blood has this… special property that makes it so he can hold his breath for a long time. Like, a really long time. Doc did some stress testing to confirm it.”
Now that was a phrase Scar knew. “Stress testing? What did he do, exactly…?”
“Oh, it was real simple, actually!” Zedaph continued blithely, seemingly missing the troubled tone of Scar’s voice. “He just had to lock him in a water tank and see how long he could stay in there before passing out. Then do that ten or twenty more times, and bam! You got yourself some reliable results.”
Scar swallowed thickly. He could picture it far too well – Grian, connected to all manner of tubes and wires, thrashing weakly against the oppressive weight of water, desperate for a breath he knew wasn’t coming. The idea of facing that torture, day in and day out, must’ve been more than Grian could bear.
“What… what else? What else did he do to Grian?”
“Doc?” Zedaph asked. “Well, plenty of experiments, kinda hard to list them all… Mostly just testing the selkie’s capabilities, y’know? Strength, speed, pressure tolerance, nothing too crazy. Which, uh, actually brings me to why I called.”
Scar grimaced. Maybe it was for the best if he didn’t pry too hard. “Yes?”
“Like I said, there are some pretty interesting results, but we can’t really… confirm any of them, y’know? Since we don’t actually have access to the selkie.”
This is what Scar had been afraid of. “You need him, don’t you?”
“I mean, that was always the plan, right? You keep him at your house while we go through the notes and set up a containment area, and, well… we’ve done it! We should be all good on our end to receive him.”
Scar was silent, heart hammering in his chest. The way Zedaph said it, it sounded so simple. Just another cog in the ConCorp machine, turning to churn out the next greatest technology, the next devastating weapon. How in the nether had it gotten so complicated?
His gaze fell pensively, but before he could get too lost in thought, something caught his eye. The gold lettering on his book glittered in the low light – Songs of Solhav: Tales from the Far North.
Scar tapped his fingers against his armrest, an idea beginning to take shape.
“Scar?”
“Ah, sorry Zedaph.” Scar ran his finger over the old book appreciatively. “I was just lost in thought. The thing is, I can’t send him over right now. I’m conducting a bit of research of my own, see.”
“Oh!” Zedaph exclaimed, clearly shocked. “Well, that’s, um, great! What are you doing, exactly…?”
“Researching the history and culture of selkies.” Scar continued, feeling emboldened with each word. “I understand it’s not quite as fancy as your scientific such-and-such, but I think it’s valuable all the same, don’t you?”
“Of course, of course, though I have to say I’m a little surprised. Never took you for much of an anthropologist. Or pinnipologist, as it were.” Zedaph chuckled, clearly in on some kind of joke that Scar didn’t understand. “And you, um… need him to do this?”
“Of course!” Scar exclaimed. “I know it’s a bit of a deviation from what we discussed, but spontaneity is the beauty of discovery, right?”
“I… I guess it can be?” Zedaph offered. “But I have to say, Scar, Project Bread Bowl is kind of at a standstill without him.”
“Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.” Scar reassured, not missing the quiet ‘pretty?’ Zedaph mumbled. “I have another thing I need you to work on.”
“Oh?”
“I need you to write up reports on all the experiments Doc did on Grian. Readable reports, please. And once you’re done with that, I want a full agenda of every experiment that you’re planning on doing so I can sign off on them.”
“Oh…” Zedaph said, sounding significantly deflated. “Um… yep, can do, bossman. Do you need them by a certain time, or…?”
Scar waved his hand. “Just get ‘em to me, we’re not on a strict deadline here.”
“Yeah, I suppose not.”
“And one more thing, before you go?”
“Yes?”
Scar frowned, thinking of how to phrase this. “In Doc’s files… was there any mention of Grian talking?”
“Well, sure. Doc even did a couple of interviews with him.”
Scar exhaled. So Doc had known. “Right. Right, of course. Thank you for your report, Zedaph. Feel free to call again when you have updates.”
_-_🌙_-_
Scar had only gotten through another two pages when the phone rang again.
He cocked an eyebrow. Was Zedaph already calling back? Either Scar had forgotten to clarify something, or Zedaph had somehow made an earth-shattering discovery that he couldn’t wait to share.
Somewhat tentatively, Scar once more picked up the receiver. “Scar here, what can I do for you?”
“Hello, Scar.”
Scar froze, his blood turning cold in his veins. That was definitely not Zedaph’s voice. “Doc…?”
“How have you been doing?” Doc replied, tone pleasant as ever.
This was not good. Doc was definitely not one of the people Scar had entrusted his number to. He shouldn’t be able to call him like this; and yet, here they were.
He swallowed thickly. Freaking out now would only show weakness. “Well, I’ve been just amazin’, thank you.”
“Good, good.” Doc chuckled. “Sorry for calling you so suddenly.”
Was Doc trying to egg him into lashing out? Scar grimaced, determined to not give him an inch. “No, it’s no trouble at all! Though I am curious; to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Oh, nothing too special. I just wanted to check in, that’s all! See how life with Grian is treating you. I must say, I was surprised when you requested that my valet drop him off at your house.”
Scar smirked. Two could play at that game. “Oh, it’s going swimmingly! Y’know, that valet, Ren, is quite the character, isn’t he? I’ve never met a valet quite like him. And… didn’t he say you made those dogs for him? He must be somethin’ special.”
Doc was silent for a long moment. Scar wasn’t very familiar with chess, but he figured that this could be called ‘check’. If Doc wanted juicy details on Grian, he would have to give up some secrets of his own.
“Yes, he is an odd one, isn’t he?” Doc finally replied, an air of concession in his voice. No game, then. “But really, we should get back to the topic at hand. Tell me, how is your research going? Find my evidence convincing?”
Scar paused. Technically speaking, he had nothing to hide from Doc. They were still business partners, after all. Despite Scar’s misgivings, the prospect of being able to learn about magic still thrilled him enough that he wasn’t willing to give up on this project. He just might need a… parameter shift, as it were.
“I am learning a lot.” Scar admitted, running his thumb over the binding of his book. It was best to play defense for now. “The part about the… mini-goblins was very interesting.”
“Mini-goblins…? Oh, the myoglobin? Yes, I did find that a fascinating discovery. But Scar, surely your ambitions reach beyond one little protein?”
Scar bit his lip. “What did you have in mind?”
“I will admit, I haven’t really shared my goals with you, have I?” Doc chuckled again. “I do apologize for all the smoke and mirrors. But I have a feeling you love a good show just as much as I do.
“Like I’ve said, Scar, the main reason I reached out to you is because I lack an adequate facility to study Grian with. What that actually means is that as it stands, I can’t study the transformation itself without risking a security breach. If I wanted to just study myoglobin, I could capture a hundred seals and call it a day. No, I need to understand how he manages to change so radically, because if we understand that, the potential applications are endless. Medicine, war, exploration – anything you can dream of.”
“So you need to be able to give him the skin without worrying that he’ll get out with it?”
“Exactly.”
“And your current lab isn’t secure enough for that?”
Doc was silent for a moment. “I did give him the skin, just once. I needed to see the transformation for myself. I expected it to be grotesque, you know? All sinew and bones, snapping into place. But no. It was perfect. It’s like he… he stepped into himself. I don’t think I have the words to describe it. But I was so distracted with what I was watching that I didn’t realize what he was doing until it was almost too late.
“When he has the skin, he’s more. It doesn’t matter what form he’s in, he feels complete when he wears it. And believe me, that complete version of him is very, very dangerous. People got hurt trying to get the skin away from him. Very hurt. I don’t ever want that to happen again.”
Scar swallowed thickly. “I’m sure you don’t.”
Doc sighed, the sound crackling through the tinny speaker. “Sorry, sorry, not trying to be all dramatic. But you see why I was so eager to get you on board. I need your investment to make this whole thing work with minimum harm.”
The image of Grian trapped in a tank, unable to take his next breath, flashed unbidden into Scar’s mind. “That sounds reasonable. I just… I just need a little more time. To really sort out my… priorities.”
“Of course.” Doc replied, though Scar could hear a note of disappointment in his voice. “I did promise you all the time you needed. But when you’re thinking of those priorities, remember all the potential applications, hm? I was not joking when I said that science could be pushed forward eons by what we do here.”
With that, Scar heard a little click, and soon the sound of a droning buzz filled his ears.
He put down the receiver, the slight tremble in his hand making the phone hard to dock.
It was fine. It was! Everything was going to plan. Approximately. He was sure that once he got hold of his bearings, he could have a nice, reasonable conversation with Doc about exactly what kind of experiments and living situation Grian would be in.
Scar groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Things just kept getting more and more complicated. He didn’t think he could handle much more of it.
_-_🌙_-_
Scar had been distractedly re-reading the same line over and over when the phone rang for a third time.
He nearly threw the book in frustration. What on earth could it be now? Cub calling to tell him that ConCorp had gone bankrupt? Mumbo telling him that it had been some kind of malfunction and all the servant-bots were on their way to kill him? Solhav and Vindoux finally declaring peace? With how his day was going, he wouldn’t even be surprised.
Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and grabbed the phone before he could start second-guessing.
“Hello…?” He greeted tentatively.
“SCAR!” The voice on the other end shouted, loud enough that Scar had to physically pull the receiver away from his ear. “What in the nether is wrong with you?”
Scar felt a huge wave of relief wash over him. It was just his secretary! No doubt calling about some kind of appointment or charity gala plan or some other banal thing that Scar couldn’t wait to hear about. “Bdubs!” He replied jovially. “Oh, you have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice.”
“Well, that makes one of us!” Bdubs huffed. “You’re in deep water now, mister.”
Scar smiled, lazily twirling the phone cord around one of his fingers. “Oh? Do tell!”
“You wipe that smug smile off your face first!” Bdubs snapped, and Scar couldn’t help but chuckle. He really did know him well.
“Alright, alright, just tell me what I forgot about this time.”
“Oh, nothing much,” Bdubs said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just your freaking wedding!”
Scar froze, smile vanishing in an instant. “My wedding…?”
“Yeah, Scar, your wedding! Everyone’s been talking about it!”
Oh no. “Everyone? You didn’t just hear it from Mumbo…?”
“What? No, I haven’t talked to him in a while. Wait, are you saying that you told Mumbo and not me? Scar, I swear, if you invited him to your wedding but didn’t invite me, I’m seriously gonna–”
Scar pulled the receiver away from his ear, not in the mood to hear whatever graphic threats Bdubs was dishing out.
If word had spread all the way to his secretary, he was sure that his socialite circles were abuzz with rumors by now. How on earth had the news traveled so fast? Mumbo wasn’t much of a gossip as far as he knew, but maybe he had just told the exact right people…?
Oh. Oh, no. It had been the dinner, hadn’t it? Scar groaned, massaging his temple. Of course making a huge scene with a strange man in front of dozens of his peers wouldn’t go unnoticed. He wouldn’t be surprised if at this point the rumor was that he had kidnapped some poor waif off the streets and was now holding him as his hostage-husband.
Which, actually… wasn’t far from the truth. Dear void.
Scar brought the phone back up to his ear. “–and let me tell you another thing, Scar, when I get my hands on you–”
“Bdubs.” Scar said emphatically, stopping the rant in its tracks. “There wasn’t a wedding, okay? You didn’t miss anything.”
“So… you’re not married? That was just a rumor?”
Scar took a deep breath. This was a very risky move, but in his experience, it was always better to go through than back. “I… I am married. There just wasn’t a ceremony or anything. It was all very hush-hush. And if you’re still worried about it, Mumbo wasn’t there, and I didn’t even tell him. He found out by complete accident.”
Bdubs made some kind of bizarre, angry grunting noise. “But why? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s a… very long story. And I will tell you, okay? But I want to do it in person. With my, um, husband there.”
Bdubs was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, he was uncharacteristically subdued. “Scar… it’s not because he’s a man, right? Because I’m your friend, no matter what. And I don’t want you to feel like you’d have to keep that kinda stuff secret. Especially not from me, if you catch my drift.”
Scar’s face turned hot. He supposed he hadn’t actually discussed his dating life much with Bdubs, mostly because he… didn’t really have one, at the moment.
He wasn’t embarrassed about the assumption of his sexuality – he was interested in men, after all, even if had been a long time since he had actually dated one. It was more that somehow, he had never really considered that people would naturally assume his and Grian’s relationship was romantic. The idea of actually being together with Grian, rather than the forcible half-marriage they were stuck in now, had him feeling oddly flustered.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” Scar stumbled a little over his words. “I know we’re good friends. I wouldn’t assume you’d judge me for something silly.”
Bdubs huffed a little. “Well… good! Because that’d be stupid!”
Scar laughed a little. “Look, Bdubs, I’ll call you back, okay? I need to work some things out first, but I promise we’ll talk soon.”
“We had better,” Bdubs muttered, and with that, he hung up with a soft click.
Scar slumped in his chair, suddenly exhausted. Today had already been a typhoon of emotions, and it wasn’t even over. He definitely needed to try to talk to Grian again, which was easier said than done.
Scar hadn’t spoken to Grian since the dinner – he figured the least he could do was give Grian some space after that whole fiasco. The issue was, Grian had made it crystal clear that he had zero interest in working with Scar to find some kind of compromise.
Clearly, Scar needed to think of something good. Otherwise, they could both end up in deep water.
Tags: selkie AU, steampunk AU, enemies to lovers, slow burn
Summary: Grian and Scar have a night out
Words: 3,778
previous chapter || next chapter
ao3 link || masterpost
By the time that they arrived at the restaurant, the sun had set. The only source of light was the flickering glow of the streetlamps. Remnants of an afternoon rain glittered on the dark street, and water was pooling between the cracks in the brick.
Scar stepped out of the carriage, cautious as he tried to not get his shoes wet. Grian, on the other hand, splashed right through the puddles as he headed to the front door.
Even in the low light, Grian looked amazing. Scar wasn’t sure how he had been expecting Grian to dress, but he found himself floored. Grian was wearing one of Scar’s old suits, a dark maroon three-piece offset with a charcoal gray dress shirt. It was too big on him, and he had to roll both the sleeves and pant cuffs up. Usually, Scar found that style to be irritatingly casual, but on Grian it was strangely enchanting.
The bouncer clearly did not feel the same. As Grian approached, he was given a critical once-over, and Scar could see the turn of the bouncer’s lips as his eyes lingered on the now-damp cuffs of Grian’s pants.
“Excuse me, sir,” the bouncer said, holding up a gloved hand. “The Poppy House is reservation-only.”
“It’s alright!” Scar exclaimed, hurrying to stand next to Grian. “He’s with me.”
The bouncer’s eyes widened, but he maintained his composure. “Ah, I’m very sorry, Mr. Scar. I did not realize you would have company tonight.”
It wasn’t shocking that Scar forgot some of the finer details when he called – he had been a bit frazzled from needing to shoo an indignant Mumbo away and get prepared for a night out.
“Well, that’s quite alright.” Scar chuckled. “As long as you’ll still let us out of the cold?”
“Of course, sir.” The bouncer graciously opened the door, allowing the pair to step through.
The interior was somewhat small, having been converted from a speakeasy. Arches framed the low ceiling, the flickering of gas lanterns casting soft shadows across the polished wood floor. True to the restaurant’s name, the wallpaper depicted a stylized art deco design of poppies, running up the walls in neat, geometric lines.
The host, seeing Scar approach, plastered a large smile on her face. “Good evening, Mr. Scar. Your usual room has been prepared – would you and your guest care to follow me?”
“We’d be delighted!” Scar exclaimed, and she nodded enthusiastically in response.
They began to head through the restaurant, weaving past tightly-packed tables. It was busy, as always, and the hubbub of conversation resonated pleasantly throughout the restaurant. Scar could see some people look up as he passed, eyes alight with recognition. He would usually take the time to meet and greet, but Grian seemed determined, scarpering through the restaurant as though it were about to catch fire.
They eventually made it to the back, where the host pulled a heavy curtain away to reveal Scar’s private room. It was small, though large enough to hold a table that seated around eight. Instead of chairs, there was a half-moon booth with lush velvet cushions. They headed in, settling onto the plush seats. Scar ran his hand appreciatively against the fabric – if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was sitting in a hard wood chair.
Grian seemed to enjoy it too, leaning back with a sigh. He shrugged off the suit jacket, carelessly tossing it on the cushion beside him.
The host approached him, reaching out a gloved hand. “Would you like me to take your jacket, sir? We have a coat room–”
“Don’t touch me!” Grian shouted, an animalistic growl to his voice.
Scar could hear the conversation outside quiet for a moment, and he winced. Maybe going out for dinner hadn’t been such a good idea.
The host, for her part, seemed largely unfazed. She stepped back, clasping her hands together. “I’m very sorry for assuming, sir. Will you two be needing menus tonight?”
“Yes please,” Scar interjected quickly.
“Of course.” She produced the small stack of menus she had been holding in the crook of her arm. “Your server will be with you shortly.” She bowed her head slightly, dipping out past the velvet curtain.
Scar took the menus, though didn’t bother to flip through them. He knew what he liked.
“Do you need some help?” he offered, trying to keep his tone light.
Grian looked up. “Help?”
“With the menu.” When Grian didn’t react, Scar cleared his throat. “Y’know… reading it.”
Grian narrowed his eyes. “I can read ,” he snarled. Scar was just grateful he didn’t yell again.
Scar held up a plaintive hand. “I just wasn’t sure, that’s all! I didn’t even think you could talk until today.”
Grian scoffed, crossing his arms. “I can speak perfectly fine. I just didn’t have anything to say to you .”
Ouch. Scar could admit that stung a little. While it was true that he was basically holding Grian captive, he had really tried to be a considerate host.
Before Scar could think of a reply, their waiter ducked past the curtain, approaching their table. “Good evening, gentlemen.” He greeted. “How are we doing tonight?”
“Amazin’, thank you.” Scar hurried to respond. Grian just continued glaring at him.
“Very well. What can I get for you to drink?”
“My usual, please. Unless I’ve run you dry already?” Scar joked.
“No, not yet sir. And for yourself?” the waiter asked, turning to Grian.
Grian finally turned his attention away from Scar. “I… what?”
“What would you like to drink?” the waiter repeated patiently.
Grian, so prickly before, seemed to be at a loss for words.
“I can make some recommendations if you’d like.” The waiter offered. “We’ve recently acquired a wonderful 1838 Petite Sirah, very full-bodied, with notes of blackberry and–”
“Could you just get him a nice Cabernet?” Scar interrupted. “Maybe the 1852 Red Jewel?”
“Of course, sir.” The waiter nodded, ushering himself out of the room.
Scar expected Grian to look relieved, but he just seemed more irate than ever. “You didn’t even let him finish.”
“You seemed like you weren’t following.” Scar explained. “I’ve been coming here for a very long time, I know what’s good.”
It was a little more than that, actually. Scar had bought out the majority share for this restaurant several years ago, and had made it into a… pet project, of sorts. He had even gone so far as to memorize the entire wine menu, complete with pronunciation practice, for the express purpose of impressing his guests.
Grian scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “A real bastion of wisdom, hm? You knew that I couldn’t talk, you knew that I couldn’t read, and you even knew what kind of drink I wanted.”
This was not going well. In fact, Scar couldn’t remember the last time a meeting had gone this far south. It was honestly reminiscent of his pre-ConCorp days, back when every door seemed to slam in his face.
He breathed deeply, trying to center himself. If he could make it through years of struggle, he could make it through one lousy dinner.
Grian had taken his silence as an opportunity to begin reading through the menu, dark eyes flickering over the words.
Scar cleared his throat. “I am sorry about orderin’ for you. I promise I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Grian just made a humming noise in response, still engrossed in reading. Either that, or he was trying to ignore him.
“Why don’t we start again?” Scar offered. “I mean, really start again? I don’t think I’ve ever properly introduced myself. I’m Scar, and I’m pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand.
Grian looked up, but made no move to shake. “I know your name, Scar , and you know mine. In fact, don’t you know everything about me? I’m sure our mutual friend has told you all about the little games we used to play.” His tone was dark with unabashed malice, and Scar could see his fingertips turning white where he was gripping the menu.
Scar retracted his hand awkwardly. “Oh, I didn’t even bother going through all that stuff – I’m not much of a reader, see. Besides, I like to get to know people face-to-face! Really see what makes them tick. And I’m sure that you’ll be one of the most interesting people I’ve ever talked to.”
Grian smiled, but there was no joy in it. “I’m sure I am. I’m also sure that I’ll be one of the most interesting people you dissect, too.”
Scar was once again saved from having to respond by the return of their waiter, who was carrying a tray with bottles and glasses. He began to serve them, uncorking the bottles in a grandiose gesture and explaining the intricacy of the alcohol’s flavor profiles. Scar barely listened to him. Instead, he was watching the slight expressions on Grian’s face.
He had turned his eyes away from Scar once again, reading over the menu. While at first glance it seemed as though he had returned to his stony façade, Scar could see a slight tension in his jaw, a downturn of his lips that belied he was holding back a strong emotion.
For some reason, Scar was sure that he wasn’t angry. If he concentrated, he could almost… feel it. Feel a heavy weight of despair sitting low in his stomach.
The waiter finally finished his spiel, setting the bottles onto his tray with a light clink. “And are we ready to order?”
“I am,” Scar offered, then looked towards Grian. Predictably, he didn’t respond, though he did set down his menu. Scar took that as answer enough. “I’ll have my usual, thank you.” He was not feeling particularly adventurous tonight.
“Of course, sir.” The waiter replied. “And for you?”
Grian was quiet for a moment. “I’ll have the catch of the day, the blackened turbot filet.”
“An excellent choice, sir.” The waiter gathered their menus, nimbly tucking them under his arm. “Your food will be out shortly.”
The waiter exited, once again leaving the two alone. The gas chandelier above them flickered, casting a short shadow across Grian’s face. Time to try again, Scar supposed.
“I’ll be honest, Grian.” Scar sighed deeply, picking up his glass and swirling the contents. Despite his knowledge on the subject, he wasn’t actually much for wine. He preferred a nice Scotch, and with how this conversation was going, he was grateful to have something a little stronger. “You’ve put me in a very difficult position.”
Grian snorted. “Oh?”
“When I first made my agreement with Doc, I didn’t have all the details of your… situation.”
“You mean you didn’t think I was a person.”
“Yes.” Scar admitted. Grian’s eyes widened fractionally. “I didn’t. The way he talked about you, the things he proposed… I thought you were basically an animal.”
“I am an animal. Just like you are.”
“I’m being serious!” Scar hissed, frustration leaking into his voice. He nearly grimaced at the slip, but managed to hide his reaction behind a long sip of whiskey. Losing his cool wouldn’t help anything, but neither would showing weakness. “What I’m trying to say is that things have changed . I need to know how to go forward. And I wanted to talk to you about it, give you a say.”
“Why ask me, though? I’m your prisoner. You could do literally whatever you wanted with me and face no consequences.”
“I’m a businessman, not a monster.”
Grian laughed. “That isn’t the reassurance you think it is.”
“That’s fair. Still… I do genuinely want to talk to you, Grian. Ask you some things. I think it’ll help me gain perspective.”
Grian was silent for a moment, tracing the tip of his finger around his glass. It made a soft ringing noise, the ethereal sound reverberating through the small room. “Fine. Ask away.”
Scar breathed a sigh of relief, taking another sip before straightening up. “Well… I guess I should probably ask why you didn’t talk to me before today.”
Grian rolled his eyes. “I’ve already told you that. I didn’t have anything to say to you.”
“Not even telling me that you’re like a human?”
“I’m assuming that by ‘like a human’, you mean sentient.” Grian replied, emphasizing his point with air quotes. “And it’s because I thought you already knew and just didn’t care. You really are a fool, aren’t you? Entering into shady agreements you don’t know the details of, and when you get a chance to learn those details, you just don’t read them!”
Scar waved his hand dismissively. “Like I said, I like to learn about people the old-fashioned way! And now that I know you are sen… sen-tent, there’s nothing to stop us having a discussion.”
Grian scoffed. “You really are unbelievable.”
“Then what changed your mind? What made you start talking?”
“Nothing changed, at least in terms of my opinion of you. I started talking because I was talking to someone else, that’s all.”
“Mumbo?”
Grian’s scowl softened into what Scar could only describe as a smirk. “Yes, Mumbo.”
“Well… what made him different?”
Grian pondered the question for a moment. “I thought it would be funny.”
Funny? He thought it would be funny? Scar honestly felt a little floored. Grian had so far seemed like an incredibly defensive person, taking everything as an attack, not letting his guard down for a second. The idea of him doing something because he thought it would be funny was… enlightening, actually.
“Is that why you told him we were married? Because it would be funny?”
Grian’s smirk vanished, replaced with a look of uncertainty. “… What do you mean?”
“When you told Mumbo you were my husband, remember? Was that a joke you were playing?”
Grian blinked, looking shocked. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“It wasn’t a joke, Scar. We are married.”
Scar froze. His heart roared in his ears, hot blood pumping through his veins. “I… I beg your pardon?”
Grian exhaled softly. “You actually don’t know. Unbelievable. I thought that’s why you had me move into your house instead of some kind of lab. To be your… ‘husband’.”
The way he said ‘husband’ made Scar feel like he had been thinking of a different word. It took Scar a moment to comprehend what Grian was implying, but when it clicked, he felt his stomach roil in disgust. The idea of anyone thinking he was capable of – of that – made him actually feel sick.
Void, no wonder Grian had been avoiding him like the plague.
“I… I wouldn’t do that.” He said. His voice sounded weak, almost far away. “I would never do that to anyone.”
Grian shrugged. “Well, there’s no way for me to know that. The only thing I know about you is that you forced me into marriage with you. What was I supposed to think? You were my prince charming, saving me from the big, bad wolf?”
“I didn’t, though!” Scar exclaimed, feeling frantic. “How have I forced you into marriage? We’re literally not married! Unless you’ve been signing things behind my back, in which case you’re the one who forced me into a marriage!”
“My skin. You have my skin.” Grian said, voice once more beginning to curdle with vitriol. “And for as long as you have it, we are bound .”
“Your sealskin? So it’s like… it’s like a culture thing. We didn’t actually get legally married.”
“Are you not listening to me?” Grian snarled. “We are married, in a way that’s more real than whatever stupid officiation your government does. I can feel my bond to you. I can feel it when you touch my skin. No matter where you are, I can feel your presence. I literally can’t escape from you. Do you have any idea what that’s like? Being inexorably bound to a man who intends to use you for profit?”
“Grian, please calm down.” Scar attempted to placate, though his mind was spinning at what Grian was telling him. “I just didn’t know any of this. I didn’t mean – I don’t want to hurt you.”
“So what? You promise not to dissect me? You promise to only torture me every other week? Maybe now you understand why this whole conversation is pointless. As long as you have my skin, the only thing that you can do for me is set me free.”
Scar was at a loss for words. Grian seemed to have a unique ability to get under his skin, get him so turned around that he couldn’t even get his thoughts in order enough to speak.
Grian laughed, but there was no humor in it. It almost sounded like the beginning of a sob. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. We’re done here.”
He stood suddenly, causing the table to lurch forward. He grabbed his untouched glass of wine, and with a flick of his wrist, he splashed the contents across Scar’s face.
Scar gasped at the feeling of the chilled wine hitting his skin, then quickly regretted it; he spluttered as some of it got into his mouth, the bitter liquid causing him to nearly choke. Grasping for a napkin, he eventually gave up and coughed into the tablecloth, the white fabric splattered with dark red strings.
He exhaled shakily, wiping his brow where the wine threatened to drip into his eyes. That had – that had actually happened. Grian had actually just thrown wine into his face. Mortification began to creep up Scar’s throat.
By the time he had gotten his breathing under control and cleaned his face, Grian was long gone.
A few moments ticked by, the room feeling unbearably silent. He realized his hands were trembling a little from adrenaline. How had this gone so wrong? Scar stared down at his ruined clothes, the dark red liquid dyeing the cloth in large, dramatic splatters.
Grian was just so – so unreasonable! He had completely refused to have a civil conversation at every turn, throwing everything right back in Scar’s face. Even though Scar had made it clear he was willing to make concessions, Grian didn’t want to listen to any of it.
Anger began to bloom in Scar’s chest, the warmth of embarrassment turning hot with fury. Honestly, why was he even trying? Grian had been nothing but rude this entire time, despite Scar’s obvious and continued attempts at kindness. This whole debacle had been a terrible idea. Why had he ever thought that wining and dining a wild animal would work?
Scar stood, grabbing his cane from where it was propped against the booth. If tonight had been about assessing what to do next, he could count this as a spectacular failure on Grian’s part.
He had half a mind to send Grian back to Doc that night, but maybe Grian would change his tune if Scar gave him a piece of his mind.
He pushed past the curtain, weaving through the tables. He barely registered the wide eyes of the patrons following him, instead focused on the feeling pulling him towards Grian.
The host tried to say something as he passed, but he couldn’t even hear her through the pounding in his ears. He practically slammed the door open, stepping once more into the night.
It had started raining again, a gentle spring drizzle creating shards of brightness where the raindrops caught the light. Scar spotted Grian immediately. He was sat at the base of a streetlamp, hunched over into a tight ball. Scar’s fancy suit jacket lay carelessly across Grian’s back, the red fabric growing darker as the rain pattered onto the fabric.
Scar began to march over to him, mind racing with what he wanted to say. He really should’ve done this ages ago – he had graciously let Grian into his home, tolerated the destruction of property as though Grian were an ornery puppy, and even let the servant-bot thing slide, but no more! If Grian was a… sentient person, he could handle being dealt with like one.
He opened his mouth, prepared to let off a barrage of reprimands, but something made him pause. It was hard to see past the rain, but if he stopped, he could just make out –
Oh.
Grian’s shoulders were shaking. Scar could periodically hear choked gasps and sobs.
He was crying.
Scar had never pictured him crying. Never even considered that a possibility, but… he supposed he had never pictured him talking, laughing, reading, any of the things he so clearly could do.
As quickly as it came, his anger began to wash away, leaving nothing but an awful empty feeling behind. Of course he was crying. Who wouldn’t in his situation? If what he said was true, he was bound to the man who was keeping him prisoner.
With some difficulty, Scar managed to sit next to Grian, making sure to leave some distance between them. The ground was cold and wet under him, and he couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through his body.
Grian seemed to finally notice his presence, tightening the circle of his arms and turning his face away. He hiccupped softly, clearly trying to get his sobs under control.
Scar suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to touch him, reach out, hold his shoulder and reassure him. He held back – that would undoubtedly make the situation far worse.
Instead, Scar just sighed, tilting his head towards the sky. The gentle rain ran down his face, cutting tracks through the wine.
“For what it’s worth, I’m… I’m sorry.”
Grian didn’t respond. Scar didn’t blame him.
“Still achin’ for that blackened turbo, or…?”
That got a wet chuckle out of him, which made Scar’s lips quirk up into a smile. He pressed forward, emboldened. “You know, I have no idea what that is.”
“I can tell. It’s pronounced turbot. I have to say, though, I’m surprised – didn’t you say you’ve been coming here for a long time?”
“Hey, I can’t be held accountable for the catch of the day! Who knows what they’re fishing up these days.”
“You have a point.” Grian sniffled, finally sitting up and turning to face Scar. His eyes were red, but he had managed to pull his expression into something neutral. “With all the industrial waste dumped around the Cardiff docks, I’m sure there’s some new species lurking around.”
They fell into silence, some of the awful tension in Scar’s chest having loosened. He held out his hand, watching the rain slowly gather in his palm. “Do you want to go home?”
Grian let out a long, slow breath. “More than anything. But for tonight, I’ll settle for going back to your house.”
Tags: selkie AU, steampunk AU, enemies to lovers, slow burn
Summary: Mumbo must make a house call to Scar's home, and a surprising discovery is made.
Words: 3,535
previous chapter || next chapter
ao3 link || masterpost
Scar hadn’t felt this nervous in a long time.
Truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he was nervous. He had given impassioned speeches to massive crowds, proposed wild ideas to investors, and, once upon a time, had even gone on a date or two. Bringing soup to someone should be a breeze.
And yet, there he stood, awkwardly staring at the door to Grian’s bedroom.
It had only been a few hours since Grian had arrived, and Scar had been giving him some time to rest and recover. He hoped dearly that Doc’s theory about Grian’s illness was correct, because if it wasn’t, Scar hadn’t the faintest idea of how to go about treating a sick selkie.
Soup was always a safe bet, though.
Taking a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles against the door. “Grian? Are you doing alright in there?”
He hadn’t realized that there had been noise coming from the room until it suddenly stopped at the sound of his voice. He strained his ears for any hint of an answer, but nothing came – just a growing unease in his gut.
Was Grian doing alright? Scar had assumed that he had been in the same state that he last saw him in – fast asleep, curled up alongside Jellie. If he was thrashing around in bed, though, that could be bad. His fever could’ve worsened, he could be in pain – the possibilities seemed grim.
Scar wasn’t a perfect man by any means, but he was rather fond of animals, and he figured that’s what Grian was – a strange, mythical, human-looking animal. It’s why he took Grian into his house, and it’s why he was fretting now; he didn’t want Grian to suffer unnecessarily.
Plus, if Grian died in his care, Doc would be… less than pleased.
“I’m coming in!” He called, though his inflection sounded like it was a question.
Frowning, he pushed the door open. “Are you feeling – um.”
The room looked like a tornado had ripped through it. Clothes were scattered everywhere, the contents of the closet spilling out in an overwhelming wave of fabric. The bedsheets had been torn off, and the mattress was askew on its frame. Worst of all, the curtains had been yanked down, a mess of fabric and metal strewn about the floor.
And in the eye of the storm was Grian.
He was standing on the bed, partially obscured by the translucent red curtains that hung from the bedposts. Still, Scar could see that he had changed his clothes. Rather than the strange orange jumpsuit that he had arrived in, he was wearing a ratty old sweater that Scar had forgotten he owned. It was a soft red, worn thin from use and improper washing. That sent a pang through him – it must have been washed by him, back in his pre-ConCorp days.
His clothes, however, were the least notable thing about him.
This was not the same Grian that walked in earlier today. Gone was the hunched posture and feverish gait – he was standing tall, back rail-straight, head held defiantly aloft. He had clenched his jaw, and his eyes – void, his eyes. Dark and wild as a stormy sea.
His gaze was cutting a hole through the curtains, and it took all of Scar’s willpower not to step back. Clearly, Grian did not want Scar here.
And… oh void. His cane. Grian still had his cane. There was no way he knew what it actually was, but still! If a scuffle broke out and Grian tried to use it as a weapon…
He swallowed thickly. Right. He had let a wild animal into his home, and had been about to blithely offer him some soup.
Although… the longer that Scar looked, the more he noticed… inconsistencies. A little tremor in the hand – sweat beading at the brow.
Grian might’ve been well enough to stand unassisted, but that didn’t mean that he had completely recovered.
“I, uh, brought this for you.” Scar said, holding the bowl aloft. Steam rose invitingly from the surface of the broth, and Scar could swear that he saw Grian’s nostrils flare. “When you’re feelin’ under the weather, there’s nothing quite like homemade chicken noodle soup.”
Which was technically not a lie. Scar hadn’t made it himself of course – he wasn’t much of a chef. But his servant-bots had certainly made it in his home, so he figured that it still counted as ‘homemade’.
Grian didn’t respond at all to his words, just continuing that impassive stare.
“I can leave it here for you.” Scar offered, placing the bowl down on a dresser. “I’m not sure what your kind eats, but if you don’t like it, I’m sure we can figure something else out.”
With that, he began to back out of the room slowly – who knows how hungry Grian was, after all, and the last thing Scar wanted was to activate his predator instincts and inadvertently join the menu.
“Feel better soon!” He called out, shutting the door behind him.
As soon as it was closed, Scar let out a sigh of relief. His intuition must be sharper than he realized – that had been nerve-wracking, to say the least. No wonder he had gotten so nervous about checking in on Grian.
There was a sound behind him. Scar froze, straining his ears. What was Grian doing now?
It was hard to make out, but Scar could hear soft footsteps approaching the door. He took a step back. Grian probably wasn’t coming over to attack him, but it was hard to shake off that look Grian had been giving him.
Grian stopped just before the doorway. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence. Scar considered just booking it down the hallway, but he wasn’t exactly the fastest runner – it could just make things worse.
And then there was a quiet clink of metal on ceramic. All at once, the tension left Scar’s body, and he sagged in relief. Right. Soup.
After a moment, the clinks sped up, growing louder with enthusiasm. Scar perked up. He must like it – or at least be ravenously hungry. He should bring another bowl in a bit, just in case.
On second thought, actually… he should let a servant-bot do it. He might want to give Grian a wide berth for the time being.
_-_🌙_-_
As it turned out, Scar shouldn’t have worried so much about avoiding Grian, because Grian was definitely avoiding him.
After the first day, Scar didn’t see him much. Grian had apparently recovered quickly, since the next time that Scar peeked into his bedroom, he was gone. The only times that he caught sight of him was when he entered a room that Grian happened to be in. Grian usually fled as soon as he realized Scar was there, clearly uncomfortable with his presence. Scar wasn’t too worried about it. It was understandable that Grian was feeling a little skittish; he would get used to Scar eventually.
What he was worried about was the destruction. Every room that Grian entered, he tore apart; he knocked over furniture, emptied out cabinets, even dragged rugs around. Scar was just grateful that nothing particularly valuable had been broken yet, but he had started keeping his nicer things in the vault.
Oddly, once Grian had wrecked a room, he would leave it alone. Once Scar had gotten the servant-bots to tidy up his bedroom, it stayed neat. The same went with every subsequently destroyed room. It mystified him. If Grian was just lashing out or bored, wouldn’t he tear things apart at random?
His strange habits weren’t the only things that Scar was learning about Grian. For one, he clearly liked soft things. One sleepless night, he had stumbled across Grian curled up on the fur rug in one of the living rooms, fingers running across it self-soothingly. He put a few fur blankets in Grian’s room after that, and every time he peeked in Grian’s bedroom, he could see evidence of their use.
Grian liked Jellie a lot. Scar had seen him play with her more than once, usually running around the library with feather toys. He had even caught them napping together once, curled up on a plush sofa. Scar had let them be, and instructed his servant-bots to stay out of the library for a few hours.
That was another thing. Grian hated the servant-bots, to the point where he avoided them more fervently than he did Scar. He wasn’t sure what about them had Grian so on-edge, but clearly it wasn’t just disdain – it was fear.
Which was why Scar wasn’t too surprised when he found one ripped apart.
He had stumbled across it in his study, and immediately all intentions of getting some work done had flown out the window. The entire study was in disarray, but nothing compared to the twisted heap of scrap metal that was once a servant-bot.
He knew that they were just simple machines and he could have more built, but it still hurt to see one like this. There had been a lot of days where they were his only company, so Scar couldn’t help but think of them as a kind of friend.
Logically, he knew that it was probably beyond salvaging. But if he didn’t at least try, then he would feel like he had done wrong by it. Scar was many things, but disloyal was not one of them.
So, for the second time in as many days, a guest would be coming to his house.
_-_🌙_-_
Scar had never had an interaction with Mumbo where he didn’t seem at least a little anxious, but today, he was positively on the verge of a meltdown. Even as they walked, Scar could see Mumbo’s hands fidgeting with his toolbox, restlessly rubbing his thumb over the well-worn handle.
“I’m just not sure, Scar,” Mumbo continued, “I mean – without knowing what happened, I have no idea of the extent of the damage, or even how it broke. If it’s as bad as you made it sound, there could be a gigantic design flaw with all of them.”
“I don’t think it’s a design flaw,” Scar tried to reassure. “I think it was just a little accident, that’s all.”
“But that’s the thing!” Mumbo exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his free hand. “An accident at this scale shouldn’t be able to happen at all! Which means there could be something wrong with the hardware – or, gosh, maybe the programming. You even might be in danger if I don’t find the problem now. I could end up needing to decommission the lot.”
Oh no. No, no, no, that wouldn’t do at all. It would not be an exaggeration to say that Scar relied on the servant-bots for almost all facets of everyday life. “Let’s not be hasty. I’m positive there’s nothing wrong with your design. You just need to fix up this one little buddy, that’s all!”
“But how are you positive? Didn’t you say you don’t know what happened?”
Scar bit his lip. Mumbo wasn’t actually an employee of ConCorp, despite Scar’s best efforts, so explaining the whole Grian situation was a complete non-starter.
“I just have a feeling.” Scar said, and Mumbo groaned in response.
The two made it to Scar’s study, and Scar graciously opened the door for his guest. Mumbo entered, peering down at what used to be the servant-bot.
“Good grief man, isn’t there another light?” Mumbo complained, flicking Scar’s desk lamp on. The room remained largely dark.
“I like the low light! It’s moody.” Scar said, and Mumbo huffed a little.
“Well, it’s a good job I remembered my headlamp.” After rummaging around in his bag for a second, the strong headlamp turned on with a click, illuminating the servant-bot in stark detail.
“What on earth…?” Mumbo mumbled, staring at the destroyed robot.
“What? What is it?”
“This damage is… I’ve never seen anything like it.” Mumbo shook his head, causing the light to flicker. “See, look at this.”
Scar approached. Mumbo was pointing towards the outer casing of the servant-bot, which had a large hole ripped through the center of it.
“With a hole like this, the only kind of malfunction I’d expect is some kind of explosion,” Mumbo continued, “but there’s no scorch marks of any kind. Plus, the internal mechanics are damaged, but not burned out at all. They look like they were torn apart.”
“But is it fixable?”
Mumbo laughed incredulously. “Scar, aren’t you the slightest bit concerned about how this happened? I mean, the only possible thing that I think could’ve caused this is some kind of… industrial accident, but there’s nothing around that could’ve done this. Even being torn apart by the other servant-bots isn’t possible, they’re just not that strong.”
“I, I don’t know? It certainly looks like that, but I haven’t the faintest idea by what. It certainly wasn’t a person, the… tear doesn’t look like it was made by a tool at all. Honestly Scar, it looks like it was ripped apart by a wild animal, but even then – oh gosh!”
Mumbo’s head snapped up, momentarily disorienting Scar as the headlamp light flashed through the room. It took him a second to blink the stars from his eyes and look where Mumbo had directed his attention.
Standing in the doorway, illuminated starkly by the glowing headlamp, was Grian.
Scar’s heart lurched. He hadn’t considered what to do if Mumbo saw Grian – he had assumed that Grian would fervently avoid the two since he was usually so skittish. And yet, there he stood, staring directly at Mumbo.
His face was expressionless as ever, but his body language belied no fear; if anything, he was leaning towards the pair of them in what Scar could only assume was a show of animal curiosity.
“You scared the life out of me,” Mumbo exhaled shakily, placing his hand over his chest. “I honestly thought that you were some kind of – well, never mind all that.”
Scar’s mind was racing. How on earth was he going to explain this away? Grian really could not have picked a worse time to show up, either. Mumbo was still clearly on edge, imagination running wild with all the terrible things that could’ve happened to the servant-bot.
Mumbo began to stand, switching off his headlamp. Instantly, Grian’s form was enshrouded, leaving only soft highlights where Scar’s desk lamp reached.
“I don’t believe we’ve met…?” Mumbo said, reaching out his hand. “I’m Mumbo, I’m here to do some, err, work for Scar?”
Grian cocked his head, staring at the offered hand. Scar needed to intervene now .
“I’m his husband.”
Scar hadn’t said that.
His previously racing mind stilled, his desperate plans and excuses falling away. He hadn’t said that. Scar hadn’t said it, and Mumbo hadn’t said it, which meant–
Grian’s expression was hard to read in the dim light, but Scar could see the twist of his lips. A scowl? A smirk?
He reached his hand out, delicately placing it in Mumbo’s. They shook, but Mumbo seemed just as floored as Scar.
“Oh! Well, um, congratulations!” Mumbo stole a glance over to Scar, and Scar could only stare back. “I mean, unless you’ve been married for a long time? And just didn’t tell me?”
“No, not for a long time.” Grian replied. His voice was airy, lilting in a way that was almost entrancing. His voice. He could talk. He could talk, and he was talking to Mumbo, and oh void what was he saying? “Just about two weeks now.”
“Well, I hope I’m not interrupting your honeymoon. Oh, uh, also! I don’t think I actually caught your name?”
“It’s Grian.”
“Pleased to meet you, Grian. Do you, err, mind if I talk to your husband for just a moment…?”
Grian tilted his head. He was definitely smirking. “Be my guest.”
He made no move to leave, so Mumbo had to awkwardly shuffle closer to Scar.
“You’re married?” He whispered, though he wasn’t doing a very good job staying quiet. Scar had to imagine that Grian could still hear them. “And you didn’t even tell me?”
“I…” Scar trailed off. Grian was staring at him now, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “It’s – it’s complicated.”
“Jeez, man, I would hope so!” Mumbo hissed, and Scar finally tore his eyes away from Grian to look at his friend. His brow was furrowed, an upset twist to his mouth. Ah.
Finally shaking himself out of his stupor, Scar placed a hand on Mumbo’s arm. “Listen, Mumbo, there wasn’t a ceremony or anything – I promise I didn’t forget to invite you or something like that. But it’s a long story, and I’ll have to tell you later, okay?” As soon as there was a story. Scar would have to think of something really good to get out of whatever mess Grian had put him in. Grian, who could talk. Who could talk eloquently. Who could lie? And was seemingly doing it for fun?
Scar felt like the world was tilting.
Mumbo’s expression softened a little bit, and he nodded.
“Well, I’ll leave you boys to it, shall I?” Grian exclaimed, clapping his hands together. Mumbo started slightly at the noise.
Void, was he leaving? He – he couldn’t leave! Scar’s mouth went dry. He had about a thousand questions for Grian, and if he let him run off now, he didn’t think any of them would get answered.
“Ah, Grian, wait!” Scar called, but Grian was already pushing the study door open, clearly not interested in whatever Scar was about to say.
Scar threw an apologetic look to Mumbo. “I’ll be back? Just keep doing what you’re doing!”
Before Mumbo could actually respond, Scar left the room, walking as quickly as he could after Grian. Despite his short stature, Grian was fast. Scar lurched after him inelegantly, feeling bizarrely more desperate than the situation called for. He needed to catch up now.
“Hold up, wait for me!” Scar called after him. His mind was playing the study scene over and over, seemingly stuck in a loop of confusion.
Grian suddenly froze midstep, stumbling a little as he regained his balance.
Scar huffed as he managed to finally catch up, relief flooding his veins with a soothing wash of cold. Maybe Grian had wanted to talk to him after all, but needed some privacy. “Thank you for stopping, I need to ask – oh.”
At the end of the hallway was a servant-bot, whirring distantly as it vacuumed the rug. Grian’s shoulders had tensed up, clearly too on-edge to go any further.
Well, if it got him to stop, Scar couldn’t complain.
Grian finally turned to face him, lips turned in irritation. He didn’t say anything, just folded his arms.
Despite chasing him down for the express purpose of talking to him, Scar was honestly at a loss for words. He fiddled with the head of his cane.
“Yes?” Grian eventually prompted.
Right. Speaking. Out loud. Scar swallowed. “You… you can talk?”
Grian narrowed his eyes. “You thought I couldn’t?”
“Well, I…” How on earth was Scar going to explain that he thought that Grian was an animal?
Oh void. Grian was a person. A person who Scar was holding prisoner in his house. Scar’s head was spinning.
Grian scoffed. “Was that it? Can I go now?”
No, that was absolutely not it. Scar had a thousand questions, but trying to wrangle his mind into concentrating was proving too great a task.
He had to resist the urge to smack himself. C’mon, Scar, just ask something! Anything to get the words flowing again!
“Would you like to have dinner with me?”
Ah.
That was… not the question Scar had meant to ask. He didn’t know what he was going to ask, but that certainly wasn’t it.
Grian clearly hadn’t been expecting it either. His eyes widened in surprise, blinking almost comically in confusion. “Excuse me?”
Well, if this is where his stupid tongue had lead, he really had no choice but to follow. “Would you like to go out for dinner? Y’know, get out of this stuffy ol’ house for the night. There are a lot of great restaurants in this town.”
Grian just stared, dark eyes flickering over Scar’s face. He was silent for a long moment, seemingly contemplating Scar more than the offer itself.
Scar bit his lip. Even if he hadn’t really thought this through, it wasn’t a bad idea, per se. He clearly needed time to get his thoughts in order, and going out in public with Grian meant that Grian wouldn’t just… walk out of the conversation. Probably.
“Fine.” Grian eventually replied. “But hear this – I don’t know what trick you’re playing, but I’m not going to fall for it.”
With that, he brushed past Scar, walking the opposite way from where the servant-bot was still dutifully cleaning the rug.
Scar let out a slow breath, watching as Grian disappeared around a corner. He wished that he actually had some kind of trick. Maybe then he wouldn’t have this sinking feeling that he had never been more out of his depth.
Tags: selkie AU, steampunk AU, enemies to lovers, slow burn
Summary: Grian arrives at Scar's manor, alongside an unexpected visitor.
Words: 3,058
previous chapter
ao3 link || masterpost
Scar had no idea what he was doing.
This wasn’t a new phenomenon, per se, but it had been a while since Scar last felt this discombobulated. After all, once an empire grows big enough, it becomes largely self-regulating. He supposed he had grown too placid, and now that he was faced with a new conundrum, he was flailing.
The conundrum, of course, being Grian.
It had not taken him long to agree to Doc’s terms, and he was now technically in possession of a bonafide “anomaly”. A selkie. And he hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do with him.
Doc had sent him all of his research materials so far – heavy stacks of manila envelopes filled with test results that made his head spin to try and decipher. Those he had sent to his best people, but it would be a while yet until they managed to comb through the mad scientist’s readings.
What he had kept for himself was the skin.
It had been sent to him in a large, elaborately locked suitcase, requiring both a passcode and Scar’s handprint to open (again, how did Doc get his prints?).
Doc had warned him to only ever handle it in a safe location. He seemed to be under the impression that if Grian ever got his hands on the skin again, there was nothing and no one he wouldn’t tear through to return to the freedom of the ocean.
As for the skin itself? Scar didn’t know much about taxidermy, but he could tell that the sealskin was definitely… unusual. The first time he had touched it, he had immediately dropped it. He was pretty sure that treated animal skins weren’t supposed to be that warm. Like it was… alive. And when he had reached for it again, soft fur brushing against his fingers, he was suddenly reminded of when Jellie would lean into his touch.
He didn’t mess with it much after that.
By all accounts, that should’ve been it. He had sent the important stuff to his scientists and could kick back while they puzzled everything out. Go about business as usual. The problem was, well, Grian himself. Scar didn’t know what to do with him.
Well… that wasn’t quite true. He could’ve shipped both Grian and the skin off to one of his research labs. In fact, that certainly would’ve been the smart thing to do. They could’ve began testing right away, and Scar was sure that they could’ve figured out an adequate containment area.
And yet, Scar didn’t really want to do the smart thing. He knew, logically, that Grian wasn’t human. He was basically an animal in a person trench coat. Or… a person-shaped animal sometimes in a seal trench coat? It honestly hurt Scar’s head to think about it. The problem was, however Scar thought about him, Grian looked human. Very, very human.
It wasn’t as though Scar was naïve to the human cost of advancement. Most of ConCorp’s scientific breakthroughs had come at the behest of war. Keeping an animal in a cage was far from the worst thing Scar had allowed to happen.
And yet, when Scar thought about sending Grian off, well… He just couldn’t. Hypocritical as it was.
So. Scar’s solution? Grian, for the time being, could be his houseguest.
_-_🌙_-_
The day Grian was set to arrive, Scar found himself anxiously waiting on the doorstep of his manor. Unlike when he had first met Grian, the weather was perfect. The sun sparkled off the spray of his fountain, casting miniature rainbows into the air. A pleasant breeze rustled the leaves of his giant trees, their branches casting cool shadows across the stone brickwork of his front driveway.
One of the big problems with this plan, aside from all of the other problems, was that Scar could not remember the last time someone had stayed over at his house. He had his servant-bots of course, but they hardly counted. Beyond the occasional jingle, they weren’t much for conversation. Jellie was a delight, but even Scar could admit that their talks were mostly one-sided. So, Scar was a little stressed out about the idea of having a guest.
There was a familiar whirring sound, and Scar watched as the large coppery gates of his estate slowly slid open. After a moment, a carriage pulled into view, stopping in front of the fountain.
To Scar’s surprise, it was manned. A rather scruffy-looking valet sat in the driver’s seat, holding the reins of two robotic… dogs? Wolves? They were massive, bigger than most horses. Their ‘fur’ was made of thin, sharp-looking steel wires, and Scar could see the gleam of their metal teeth as they artificially panted.
The valet hopped out of his seat, opening the passenger door and presenting his hand. After a pause, Grian began to emerge.
Even from some distance, Scar could see that Grian looked terrible. He was very pale, and was clearly struggling to get out of the carriage. Even still, he was pointedly ignoring the offered assistance.
Scar began to approach, the anxiety butterflies in his stomach turning to a heavy ball of worry. Up close, Grian looked even worse. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair stuck to his forehead in unkempt clumps. Unlike last time, Grian was dressed in a strange orange jumpsuit rather than finery, and Scar could see damp patches where he had sweat through the thin material. He must be running an incredibly high fever.
The valet, noticing him approaching, bowed. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
“Lord?” Scar echoed, confused. “I mean, hello. Do you know if Grian – I mean, is he sick? Is he okay?”
The valet straightened, and Scar could see his worry-stricken face reflected in the lenses of his dark sunglasses. “Doc – err, my master thinks his illness was caused by being far from the skin. He should improve now that he’s here.”
“Right…” This valet certainly was strange, but at the present moment, Scar had bigger things to worry about. He turned back to Grian, holding out his hand. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”
Grian didn’t seem to acknowledge that he had spoken, instead pushing past the two and beginning to drag himself towards the entryway. Each step was clearly difficult for him, and despite the meticulously-maintained path presenting no obstacles, he was stumbling badly.
“Wait!” Scar called, hurrying to Grian’s side. “Do you want to use this?” He brandished his cane, holding it out to Grian.
Grian actually stopped, eyes flicking up to meet Scar’s. Despite his poor condition, his gaze was as entrancingly dark as Scar remembered.
“If you don’t want to touch anyone, you can use it to help you walk instead.” Scar explained. He noticed that his hand was trembling a little, which was strange.
Grian just kept staring at him, expression indecipherable. Scar got the impression that he wasn’t considering the cane so much as he was considering him.
After a painfully long pause, Grian reached out, grasping the coppery handle. Their fingers brushed for a moment before Grian pulled away.
Equipped with the mobility aid, he resumed his slow walk to the entryway, gait much steadier than before.
“Would you like a hand, my lord?” The valet asked from behind Scar, making him jump.
“Jeez, you scared me!” He huffed a little as the valet came into view. “But I think I’ll take you up on that.”
Scar almost certainly could have made it to the doors unaided, especially considering he was wearing his metal leg braces, but why risk it? Besides, this would give him an opportunity to do the ol’ walk-and-talk.
“So,” he began, taking the valet’s arm, “you must be Doc’s valet, right? What’s your name?”
“It’s Ren,” he answered jovially. They began to head to the front of the manor, keeping the pace slow as to not surpass Grian.
“Well Ren, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” Scar laughed. “So tell me, how was the ride over? Our mutual friend give you any trouble?”
“Oh, not really. Gotta say, he’s much more docile than usual when he’s sick like this.” Ren waved his hand dismissively, as though he hadn’t just said something very, very concerning.
“Yes, well, with dogs like those, I don’t think I’d be much trouble either.” Scar joked.
Ren’s expression lit up. “Do you like them? Doc made them custom for me. They’re not just for carriages either, they can do almost anything you please.”
“Well, you must be a very special valet to get a gift like that.”
Ren’s cheeks flushed a little, and he responded with a coughed “Indeed.” Ahead of them, Grian stopped at the entryway, blocked by the set of massive wood doors. Scar turned to his companion, patented Scar smile on his face.
“I can take it from here, Ren. You tell Doc I said hi, alright?”
Ren released his arm, once again bowing deeply. “Of course, my lord. I will send him your regards.” His cheeks were still slightly pink.
“Thank you,” Scar replied, before turning to the doors. “Manor, I’m home!”
With a low rumble, the doors swung open, revealing the grand hall beyond.
The room was massive, the ceiling easily spanning three stories of a regular building. The space was bathed in the golden glow of the sun, illuminated largely by natural light pouring in through large windows, the frames curving in a sweeping art nouveau style. The dark wood floors lead to twin spiral staircases, winding around the centerpiece of the room.
At the end of the foyer stood a giant tree made of twisting copper cables, thick branches reaching across the room. From the tree hung a long, thin glass rods which acted as a chandelier, catching the natural light and dispersing it even further through the room. At night, electric lights would activate, keeping the room well-lit in a perpetual daylight.
Scar glanced over to see Grian’s reaction. He couldn’t help it; Scar had designed the entire manor himself, and each tiny detail of the building was made to his exact specifications. He loved seeing people’s reactions to his work.
Grian was indeed looking around, silent as he appraised the room. Though his expression was as inscrutable as ever, he did seem to take his time looking through his surroundings, which Scar was going to count as a win.
As the door swung shut behind them, he heard a familiar jingle. One of his servant-bots rolled into view, its single wheel squeaking over the hardwood floor. Grian’s attention immediately snapped to it, eyes locked onto the display screen of the robot’s face. His shoulders were tense, as though he were preparing to pounce.
“Easy, easy,” Scar called, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible. “It’s alright, these little guys can’t hurt you.”
In response, the servant-bot jingled merrily, rolling in small circles. Grian tracked the movement with his gaze, seemingly unassured.
“What’s up, buddy?” Scar asked. The servant-bot stopped in front of him, and a panel slid open on its cylindrical chest. Scar clapped his hands together excitedly – inside was one of his backup canes, retracted to fit inside the small robot.
“Why thank you!” he exclaimed, taking the handle and unfolding the cane. The bot jingled once more before peeling off, heading off to its next task.
“Aren’t they just amazin’?” Scar asked, turning towards his companion. Grian was still staring at where the servant-bot had turned a corner. “A good friend of mine made them. They’re just sweet little fellas, couldn’t hurt a fly. It’s just not in their programmin’.”
Still clearly disgruntled, Grian just turned away. Scar coughed awkwardly.
“Anyway, uh… I had planned out this whole fancy house tour, but since you’re feeling under the weather, we can just go to your room right away.”
Scar began to head towards the back of the hall, and Grian dutifully followed after a moment. Their footsteps echoed loudly through the large room.
“This is where I host a lot of my events,” Scar finally said, finding the silence to be unbearable. “Private parties, galas, you name it. There’s actually going to be a charity masquerade about a month from now – all donations will go to protecting the environment. It should be a total blast.” He glanced over his shoulder. Grian just stared back, expressionless.
Scar wasn’t sure why he kept looking for a reaction – he knew that Grian couldn’t actually understand what he was saying, but walking him around in silence made him feel… well, like a bad host.
Scar continued past the stairs, walking straight to the base of the copper tree. “Manor, I’m goin’ up.”
With a low rumble, the thick copper cables began to untwist, creating gaps in the body of the tree. Light danced around their feet as the glass rods above them slowly spun, catching the rays of sun.
The gaps eventually grew wide enough that a small elevator was revealed inside, protected by bars much like a birdcage. Scar stepped through the gap onto the platform, and after a pause, Grian squeezed in as well.
It was definitely cramped. Scar had built this as his own personal elevator, so having someone else with him meant that Scar had to press himself against the bars in order to not be touching Grian. With a little bit of finagling, Scar managed to reach past his companion to push the lever up, and they began to ascend.
Scar had never been one to consider function over form, but this was a rare instance where he wished he had made the elevator more practical. The few moments they spent cramped together seemed agonizingly long.
Grian, for his part, seemed far more interested in examining the still-moving tree than worrying about his proximity to Scar. Scar had no such luck. Grian was just a hair’s breadth away, a fact that Scar couldn’t seem to dispel from his mind. Despite his expansive social network, he could admit that in his intimate personal life, he was a bit of a hermit, so being this close to someone else was a rare occasion indeed.
The elevator finally slowed to a stop, and Scar stumbled out, feeling very frazzled. Grian, on the other hand, seemed put-together as he exited.
Unusually put-together, in fact. Now that Scar looked, he could see that some of the color had returned to Grian’s cheeks, and he was relying far less on the cane for support. It appeared that Doc’s hypothesis about Grian’s health might be correct.
Scar straightened, trying to regain his composure. Honestly, when did something like a little elevator ride get him so flustered?
“When you’re feeling a bit better, you’ll be able to use the stairs to get up and down. The elevator only comes when I call it,” Scar explained, again to no response from Grian. “Now if you’ll follow me, I can take you to your room. I’m sure you’ll want to rest after your journey.”
They started off down the hall, Scar peppering their walk with tidbits of information about the building’s design. It wasn’t long before they reached the end of the hallway.
The door to Grian’s room was slightly open, which was odd, but Scar paid it no mind. “I had the servant-bots get this room ready for you, but if you need anything else, you can ask me! Or, well, I guess you don’t talk, so you could… draw a picture? Or maybe do an interpretive dance? We’ll figure it out.”
Scar pushed the door open. It was the largest guest bedroom in the manor, decorated with lush red carpet and dark wood furniture. Against the far wall lay a four-poster bed, heavy curtains pulled back to reveal perfectly-made sheets.
And lying on top of those sheets was a very familiar cat.
“Oh, Jellie!” Scar called, momentarily forgetting about the tour. “What are you doing up here, you silly goose?”
She predictably didn’t respond, small gray form rising and falling slowly with her breaths. Scar had to fight back the urge to start cooing incoherently – he couldn’t help it, he loved Jellie just as much as the first day he got her.
Scar felt something brush against his shoulder, and when he glanced over, he saw Grian pushing past him, making a beeline for the napping cat.
Scar was struck with a sudden terror, heart nearly stopping in his chest. Weren’t seals carnivorous? Did they eat cats? Jellie wasn’t a very big girl, and with her asleep, Scar wasn’t sure she’d have time to react before–
“Ah, Grian, wait, wait!” he called, unable to keep the panic out of his voice. “Jellie isn’t – she’s my–”
But it was too late. Grian was already kneeling at the foot of the bed, peering closely at Jellie. Grian’s lips parted, and Scar was convinced that he was baring his teeth, ready to bite down on Jellie’s sleeping form.
And then he realized that Grian was smiling.
It took a second for him to fully process that yes, that was a smile. Scar was stunned – he had never seen Grian emote, at all. At this point, he didn’t think that Grian could emote. But that was definitely a smile.
Awoken by the commotion, Jellie began to stir, legs stretching out ahead of her. Grian reached up, and after a moment’s pause, began to gingerly scratch the back of her neck.
Scar let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Suddenly light-headed, he made his way over to the bed, sitting next to his cat.
Jellie mrrped sleepily, but made no effort to move, clearly enjoying the attention she was getting. There was another noise as well, and it took Scar a second to even comprehend what it was.
Grian had laughed. It was quiet, but he had definitely laughed. It had been light and airy, more of a giggle than anything. Certainly not a noise that Scar had expected to come from him.
Suddenly exhausted from the roller-coaster of emotions, Scar’s shoulders slumped, but he was smiling too. If Jellie enjoyed Grian’s company, Scar shouldn’t have too much to worry about. She was an excellent judge of character, and if Jellie liked him, Scar was sure that he would as well. Maybe this houseguest thing wouldn’t be so hard after all.
Tags: selkie AU, steampunk AU, enemies to lovers, slow burn
Summary: Scar is a businessman, first and foremost. He's an expert in the games he has to play to maintain his power and wealth, and isn't afraid to use methods that most would abhor. However, things begin to change when he's approached with an unusual offer. He's gifted the skin of a selkie to study, opening an entire array of potential scientific advancements. It's the kind of opportunity any good businessman would dream of. There's just one problem - what to do with the captive selkie that comes with it?
Words: 3,065
next chapter
ao3 link || masterpost
The hardest thing about being a businessman was the loneliness. Rather – the hardest thing for Scar was the loneliness. Most of his associates seemed just fine. He had certainly heard enough about their families through many, many boring conversations. No, the issue of loneliness clearly had something to do with him.
The obvious solution was to settle down. Find a wife. There were plenty of people who pressured him to do so. The socialite circles he ran through whispered, his drinking buddies always joked about setting him up. Even Cub had once wryly commented that Scar wasn’t getting any younger.
The thing was, even if he did find someone he liked, he wasn’t sure that would solve the issue. It didn’t stem from lack of connection. He had plenty of people in his life – part of what had got him his empire was his ability to connect with someone, see what made them tick. No, he struggled with something… else. Something he couldn’t quite articulate.
When Scar looked in the mirror, his eyes met a stranger’s. He knew that he was Scar, of course. He just… wasn’t sure who exactly Scar was. All the different sides of him – his amicability, his silver tongue, his ruthlessness – they didn’t fit together quite right. He could see the cracks in the mirror even when there were none.
So that was the problem – an unspeakable question with an unknowable answer. But that was alright with Scar. Most things worked out for him eventually. He would just have to be patient.
_-🌙-_
The night that Scar first met his answer was a miserable one. The sky had been blotted out with heavy clouds, pregnant with their promise of a coming storm. The wind was already whipping through the tall buildings, strong enough to rattle the windows and cause debris to dance through the streets.
Scar sighed, shifting in his carriage seat. He hated weather like this. Wind always caused the sockets of the metal exoskeleton around his legs to sink, making it harder to move around. Also, he just didn’t like being cold.
He wouldn’t have agreed to come at all if this meeting weren’t so important.
The light from the gas streetlamps flickered across his hands as the carriage moved quickly through the empty streets. If Scar were being honest, he was actually somewhat nervous.
Doc had an… unusual reputation. Virtually unknown to the general public, he was a mogul in the manufacturing industry. He was constantly spearheading new technology, achieving feats previously thought to be impossible.
But there was another side to him. Scar had heard rumors about some of his “hobbies”. Mad experiments, world-destroying machines, tears in the fabric of the universe itself – anything dreamed of in science fiction, Doc had probably tried.
Normally this kind of person had “liability” written all over them, but when he had received a telegram from Doc calling him here, there was no way he could refuse. After all, if he had learned anything from having Cub as a partner, it helped to have a mad scientist on the payroll.
The carriage slowed to a stop. Scar peered out the window – it had taken him to what looked to be an abandoned apartment complex. It was only a few stories tall, with a crumbling brick façade. Most of the windows were boarded up, and those that weren’t looked dark and dusty.
Almost more concerning was the fact that he hadn’t seen a single pedestrian in the past ten minutes or so. If their meeting went very, very sideways, he wasn’t sure there would be anyone around to help.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” He asked his carriage. It jingled in response. He let out a dramatic sigh. Leave it to the hermit to pick a location like this, he supposed. “Alright carriage, open up.”
At his words, the door slid open, a small metal staircase unfurling to the street below. As soon as he stepped outside, the cold winds buffeted his form, cutting right through his silk suit. He grimaced – if he had known the meeting was going to be in a broken-down building, he would have worn something warmer.
As he approached the front doors, the carriage once again jingled as it peeled off to find somewhere safe to park. Scar almost wished he had asked it to stay, but he supposed if he was in a position where he needed to make a quick getaway, it was already too late.
Not that he would ever be caught unprepared. He gripped his cane a little bit tighter.
The doors before him were surprisingly solid considering the state of the building. Hesitating for just a moment, Scar steeled himself and rapped his knuckles against the dark wood.
He jumped at the sound of whirring metal, nearly stumbling backwards. Flicking his eyes around frantically for a sign of a trap, his gaze finally settled back on the door. A small panel had slid open, revealing what appeared to be a glass hand scanner. Ah. So this place wasn’t as abandoned as it looked.
Scar reached out, tentatively placing his palm against the cool glass. He had barely touched it when a low chime resounded, and the door swung open.
Scar resolved to think about how Doc had gotten his handprint later.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, the door shut behind him. Scar barely had a chance to contemplate how ominous that was before the room lit up in a blaze of electric glory.
He let out a low whistle, ambling into the room to get a better look at the architecture. It certainly was beautiful. The floor was made of deepslate, patterns etched into the stone at regular intervals. Chandeliers above him illuminated the room in a blue-tinted glow, casting dancing lights through the room. A soft cyan carpet cut through the center of the room, leading to the back wall, where a glass elevator sat with its doors open. An invitation to enter, he presumed.
Best of all, it was very warm. Scar was glad he went with the silk suit after all.
He entered the elevator, and after another low chime, it began to descend. Strangely, the elevator didn’t have any lights, so when it passed beyond the threshold of the floor, the tiny space was completely enshrouded with darkness.
Just as his eyes started to adjust, Scar was once again blinded, but this time with the sudden appearance of light. After blinking the stars out of his eyes, Scar let out a gasp. Beyond the doors, he could see something spectacular – a gigantic machine was laid out before him, the complexity of its design leaving him baffled as to what its purpose could possibly be. It had no casing, so Scar could see the byzantine twining of wires and cogs, gleaming sharply in the electric light.
If Cub was here, he might’ve been able to identify it, but Doc had asked for him specifically. All Scar could do was marvel.
After passing by it, the elevator seemed to speed up, descending further into the earth. Soon another floor passed, and another; as far as Scar could tell, each floor was like the first. Giant machines stored in underground warehouses, their purpose and design a mystery to Scar. If Doc wanted to show off, Scar supposed he had succeeded.
After a concerningly long period, the elevator finally began to slow once again, coming to a stop with the same low chime. The glass doors slid open, and after a pause, yet another set of doors opened as well, letting the same electric blue light spill into the hall. Scar took a deep breath, put on his best smile, and strode in.
The first thing he noticed was that there were two people in the room.
One he immediately recognized as Doc. He had never met the man before or even seen pictures, but he had heard enough – the cybernetic eye and arm glinting sharply in the low light was a dead giveaway. He was wearing a fine suit and lounging resplendently on a soft-looking couch, appraising Scar with a wide grin.
The other person? Scar wasn’t sure. He had figured Doc was more of a lone-wolf type of guy, so seeing someone else here was disconcerting. Scar supposed he could be a servant or assistant, but… he didn’t look like one.
He was perched awkwardly in a chair at the far end of the room, like he didn’t know how to sit. He was dressed in finery, dark blue suit tailored nicely to his form. And yet, Scar could see he had carelessly kicked off his dress shoes. His hair, too, was wild – so wild that it seemed someone had tried to slick it down but had been thwarted, leaving the dusty blond fringe to stick up in comical spikes.
Despite his disheveled appearance, what Scar found most entrancing was his gaze. Even from across the room, Scar could see how dark his eyes were. It was the kind of dark that pulled you in. The kind of dark that made you feel like you were drowning if you looked too long.
“Scar!” Doc called, snapping him out of his contemplation. “I’m glad you made it. Please, have a seat.”
Doc gestured grandly to a loveseat in front of him. The room was laid out in a lounge style, comfortable-looking chairs surrounding a low coffee table. An interesting choice.
Scar smiled, graciously settling into the offered seat. He kept a hand resting on his cane.
“Doc, I presume?”
“Of course!” He chuckled, mostly to himself. “I’m glad to have met you. But oh, before business – coffee, tea?”
“I think I’ll have to pass. Too much caffeine this late… I’ll be up for hours.”
Doc nodded serendipitously. He leaned over to pour himself a cup of coffee, not bothering to add any cream or sugar before taking a deep swig.
Scar cleared his throat. “Y’know Doc, if you had wanted to meet with me, I do have a secretary. I’m sure I could’ve made accommodations in my schedule for someone of your… reputation.”
“Ah, Scar, but I felt like our meeting was special!” Doc set down the cup, and Scar could see a glimmer of excitement in his face that hadn’t been there before. “You see, I’m not the only one with a reputation.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. If you don’t mind me getting right to it, I’d be happy to explain. See, ConCorp is very… ah, what’s the saying – has many pies?” Doc waved his hand dismissively. “It’s involved in many things. Lots of influence. Lots of money. And that is due in large part to Cub’s genius. But Scar… you’ve always been someone who can see the big picture. You’re willing to do what needs to be done. And I feel as though you, personally, are willing to invest in projects that most might see as too… strange.”
“Strange how?”
Doc’s smile grew even wider. “Tell me Scar, do you believe in fairy tales?”
The room was silent for a long moment. The figure in the back shifted, the slight rustle of fabric almost deafening.
Scar finally broke the quiet with a chuckle. “Fairy tales? Like… nursery rhymes? Did you find the goose that laid the golden egg?”
“Not quite.” Doc took a sip of his coffee, and Scar began to wonder if this whole thing was some kind of elaborate prank. “I have a vested interest in collecting… unusual things. Things that might change how we see the world. See reality.
“Conspiracy theories, legends, fairy tales – I’ve investigated a great deal of them. Most seem completely fake, and people have even tried to scam me before.” Doc flashed him a sharp grin. “Tried. But sometimes, these stories will have a grain of truth to them. And Scar, I have found things that you would not believe.”
Doc leaned forward, and Scar found himself mirroring the movement. “I’ve seen things that indicate the existence of other dimensions. Of creatures that were thought impossible, but have simply been lost to time. Or even creatures that are just… good at hiding.”
Scar sat back in his seat, eyes once again turning to the mysterious figure in the corner. His dark eyes glittered in the low light, and Scar was reminded of the night sky reflected on the ocean waves.
For the first time, Doc followed his gaze, turning to look back at the figure. “Very perceptive. Grian, would you like to introduce yourself?”
The figure – Grian – didn’t react at all. Doc seemed unfazed, just letting out a low chuckle.
“Grian is one of my… assets. Quite a valuable one, I might add. It’s not every day that I manage to find an anomaly alive.”
“Anomaly?” Scar parroted, unable to tear his eyes away from Grian. He wondered if he could understand them.
“It’s what I call anything that doesn’t fit our current understanding of the world. They’re quite varied in nature, you see. Most are just things – objects that defy physics, broken pieces of ancient contraptions. But sometimes I get a live one. And luckily for us, Grian is not only alive, he’s young and healthy. There’s a lot we could learn from him.”
At that, Scar finally looked away from Grian. The excited gleam in Doc’s eyes had turned to something almost mad. “We?”
“Yes, Scar, we. This is why I called you here. This is why I wanted you!” Doc gestured wildly, knocking over his cup of coffee. The dark liquid splattered across the glass table, some of it spilling onto the cyan carpet. Doc didn’t seem to notice. “I know this kind of thing is… unpleasant business. Live experiments are not, ah, popular. But I know that you are willing to do whatever it takes to turn a profit.
“I will not pretend that money is my main motive. But I truly believe that with your backing, Scar, we will be able to discover great things, things that are eons ahead of the competition.” Doc grinned. “Perhaps even things that you can use in that little war of yours. I’m sure both ‘clients’ would pay royally to get a piece of what we could create.”
Scar held up his hand, and Doc quieted. “That’s a lot of big promises,” he said coolly, “but you still haven’t even told me what you’ve found. Not really.”
Doc nodded almost absently, and Scar could tell his mind was still racing with possibilities. “I’ve found many things, Scar, and I will tell you about all of them in due time. But if you’re wondering about Grian…” he chuckled. “Scar, do you know what selkies are?”
Scar cocked his head. “Sockies?”
“No, no, sel-kies. They are…” he paused for a moment, considering. “They are shapeshifters, from the water. Seal folk, they are sometimes called.”
“Seals?” Scar asked, amused. “Aw, those little fluffy guys?” He glanced over at Grian, who met his stare unwaveringly. He didn’t seem very seal-like.
“Ah, yes, I suppose. Selkies can transform into seals by donning a sealskin, and transform back by taking it off. They have some sort of… innate connection to the skin. They can’t be too far from it for long, or it begins to get uncomfortable. I’m assuming that’s why Grian here is in such a disagreeable mood.”
Now that Doc had brought it up, Scar could see sweat beading at Grian’s forehead, and the cloth of the chair was pulled taut under his fingers. His expression, though, remained steely.
Doc steepled his fingers. “I’m hoping to find out what makes him tick, but I’m not sure I have the kind of… facility that I would need. Which is where you would come in.”
Scar exhaled slowly. “So, you want money.” Despite the strangeness of the proposition, this is where most of his business meetings led in the end.
“Well, yes.” Doc coughed awkwardly. “And believe me, I know how this must sound. So I wanted to give you something in return.”
“Oh?” Scar asked, curiosity piqued. “And what would that be?”
“Besides a split of whatever profits we make – and we can negotiate the exact percentages later, I am very open – I wanted you to have a… personal investment in this project. To let you know that I am serious, and that my evidence is legitimate.” Doc leaned in. “I want to give you Grian.”
“I want to give you my best asset. I know you usually want collateral with major deals like this, so I think it’s a perfect arrangement. You take Grian, you run whatever tests you want so that you see this project is real, and then we can begin construction on the facility. I would ask you to please keep him alive and as uninjured as you can – I am serious about him being my best asset, and I would hate to lose him before I got a chance to study him properly.”
Scar looked over at Grian. He didn’t seem frightened, though it was hard to read his unmoving expression. If Scar had to guess, he would’ve said Grian looked resigned, as though his life being bartered away was something he had already given in to.
He bit his lip. It was true that Scar was no stranger to live experiments. ConCorp had to work very hard to keep their live weapons testing under wraps so they wouldn’t come under public scrutiny. Hosting experiments on humans, however, was not something that Scar had considered before. Well… not seriously considered, anyway.
Although… if what Doc was saying was true, Grian wasn’t actually a human, was he? He was a creature, some kind of mystical being. This could truly be a once in a lifetime opportunity.
“I will wait as long as it takes, Scar.” Doc said slowly. “You can answer a day or a year from now. But I feel that you already know what you want. You just need to take that first step.”
Scar stared into Grian’s dark eyes. For once, he was barely even thinking about the money. He could be looking at a legitimately magical creature. His heart was thundering in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time.
In defiance of all logic and misgivings, Scar was pretty sure he knew his answer too.
romaincrisis
annaxmalina
origamiaround
baratheonpilled
titsay
blakekathryn
