Work Text:
“Take position behind the western front. There’s a demolished fort there, you should be able to use it to set up an ambush. I’ll be sending someone to meet you there.”
The orders were simple enough. Norton figured he could get this victory done on his own; but with the insistence of Eli, he was left little choice but to agree. He hadn’t let him astray yet, and while he didn’t want to fully rely on someone who could stab him in the back at any time, Eli was the only tactican they had after Luca’s early retirement.
As mud-covered boots hurried through the underbrush, the bricks of the fortress came into view. Despite the cold rainfall around him, beams of sunlight were just starting to rise over the horizon. Eli mentioned before he left that his ‘help’ would arrive shortly after him, and to wait for him to arrive before taking any further action. The blindfolded man oft made little sense to him, but he seemed so sure this would work… Norton would almost feel bad for doubting him.
Adjusting the strap keeping his sword at his hip, Norton slid into a small alcove in the wall. He didn’t know how long he’d have to wait, but it was nice to get at least a little shelter from the rain. He only hoped it would serve to further his camouflage; a thick fog would be perfect right about now; for his own and his partner’s sakes.
Heaving a sigh and contemplating reaching for the pipe in his bag, Norton stopped as lightning strikes in the sky. It wasn’t the flash of pure power from the gods that caused him to pause, however; it was the hint of metal in the darkest corner of the fort reflecting it.
A smirk crawled it’s way onto the Trickster’s scarred features. Eli knew him too well.
Stepping out from the alcove to approach the well-hidden chest, Norton reached for his lockpicking kit. This wasn’t his first dance, not by far; he reckoned then he’d have this baby open before his mysterious partner even saw a single brick. He crouched carefully in front of it, first taking a second to search for any traps. None, as far as he could tell. That just made this all the more easy.
The lock was among one of the more simple he’d cracked; probably the cheapest one money could buy. It was old, to boot. He doubted he even needed his proper tools; a fine twig could get this thing open. His hands practically move on their own; making a rusted padlock look like child’s play. It fell to the wet earth with a dull plunk .
Letting out a dry chuckle as he pushed the lid open, waving off the dust that’s kicked up by the movement, Norton craned his neck to peer into the chest….
When the stench of putrid, rotten fruit hit him like a chariot. Oh, he was going to strangle that blindfolded moron.
Two discolored, spiky fruit sat in a puddle of... Something at the bottom of his oh-so-prized treasure. Norton could only describe the smell as akin to a rotting body; hardly appetizing. On top of that, the only thing worth any money here was the padlock he’d just broken; he doubted the chest itself would even sell with that mess rotting inside of it. The smell itself was making his stomach churn. He couldn’t stop himself from falling onto his back in a sorry attempt to keep his breakfast where it belonged.
“Golly, that smells downright awful.” A chipper voice chimed in. A person was standing over Norton. Shit .
Jumping to his feet as quickly as the mud would allow him; Norton spun to face his presumed opponent, drawing his sword in one swift movement. He’d be damned if one of Pierson’s thugs got the jump on him; he’d act faster than most of them could think! His sword was at his foe’s throat before he could even make out their features.
Another crash of lightning, and he found himself confused.
Standing before him, head tilted to the side and wide-eye’d, was a young gentleman; garbed in swaths of bright fabric. A chiffon scarf hangs loosely off of both his elbows; decorated in more bells and tassels then Norton could count. It was a miracle he hadn’t heard the man coming from a mile away.
Blonde hair curled in any direction it desired; not unlike his own, accompanied by the most brilliant blue and gold eyes he’d ever seen. Freckles were scattered across his face, almost like stars in the night sky. Carried in both hands were small balls of various colors; each glistening with a shimmer to make them all the more attention-grabbing. It wasn’t hard to notice the small burns and scars that littered his hands, either.
“... You... aren't one of Peirson’s?” He asked, hesitantly. He doubted they had enough intelligence to lie; anyone who followed that freak lacked much in any sign of brain function.
“No. I take it you’re Norton, then?” The stranger replied with a smile. “Eli said you’d be jumpy!”
“--?! He, said that…?” Norton wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not; Eli was right, but did he have to tell people about it ? It was a little embarrassing… After a moment, Norton sighed. Whatever, it wasn’t important.
“... Glad to be working with you.” He said tiredly; sheathing his sword back at his hip, the magnetic force applied to the hilt and the scabbard doing most of the work. “What’s your name? Eli didn’t grace me with that information.”
“Mm, figures! My name is Mike. Mike Morton .” He replied. Something about the name sounded right in Norton’s ears, causing him a touch of annoyance. N ot now, Norton. Ignore your thing for blondes, right now.
“Norton Campbell.” He replies, looking away as soon as he sees the smaller man smile; something in his eyes making Norton’s breath catch. He had to be doing it on purpose, the little bastard. Him being Subedar’s height wasn’t helping. Hell, he was sure that was the reason this guy was making him feel a similar brand of irritation.
“Pleasure to meet ya!” Morton replies, not dropping his chipper behavior for even a second. How annoying, Norton thought to himself. Not charming at all, definitely. He sighed, putting his left hand on his hip.
“Likewise. How much did he tell you, exactly? Do you know the plan, at least?”
“We’re serving as a distraction ambush, right? Hold them here long enough for the rest to surround the fort! That’s what he told me!”
… Huh. He had more info that Norton did. This was the first he was hearing about the ‘distraction’ part of the deal. Thanks, Eli. He’d have to scold him about that, later. He was too cute to be fully mad at, luckily for him.
“... I, guess so.” He replied. Mike tilted his head in response, the most adorably confused expression in his face. Norton made himself look away, clearing his throat accordingly. Dull fingernails idly scratched a nonexistent itch at the side of his face; more an embarrassed reflex than anything substantial.
Mike hummed, clearly curious about Norton and his behavior. He didn’t seem like the type to ignore a nervous impulse so easily; something Norton dreaded already. He’d have to work with this for Gods know how long. He could already call it, this guy was gonna have him ‘completely figured out’ by the time they were done here.
“... The storm’s gonna be over, soon.” Norton said, hoping to derail the dancer from whatever train of thought he was so enamored with. “We should get ready. Peirson’s expected to be here by sunrise.”
“Got it! What’s the plan?”
Motioning for the smaller man to follow, Norton stepped out from the alcove and made his way to a worn staircase. With surprising silence, the dancer followed; the lightness of his steps deafened by the settling storm. It was like a cat; stepping over only the quietest parts of the ground as it stalked it’s prey; eyes locked on target without an ounce of distraction.
It uneased him, yet intrigued him at the same time. Just what was this Mike Morton made from?
“We’ll start by setting up the trap; shouldn’t take longer than a couple of minutes. Really stick them where it hurts.” He said, turning his attention to the rotting stairs. “Then we can call in the others to round them up.”
“What sorta trap are we talking, here? Oh! Oh! Are we gonna dump hot tar and feathers on them?” Mike chirped in excitement.
“What-?”
“--That’s a no, then.” Now he sounded disappointed? Norton was confused, but not for long; considering a blonde head of curls bounced back up moments later. “What about a LITERAL bear trap? We set up a bear trap and when they close it we drop an actual bear on them!”
Gods, he wanted to do that. He wanted to do that SO. BAD. “Where would we get the bear…?”
Mike deflates again. Norton decides not to press the issue.
“... A-Anyway, the trap is simple; as soon as they walk in, we break this old pallet of logs.” He motions to the one in mention; barely holding its aforementioned cargo in place. “Once this breaks, the logs tumble into the center of the fort. We arrest any survivors.”
“Nifty. Did Eli brief you on this?” The Dancer asked, leaning over the edge of the fort wall.
“Nope. Figured it out just now.”
“And you’re sure it’ll work?”
He hadn’t a slightest idea. “For the most part.”
The look Mike gave him told Norton all he needed to know; the blonde didn’t believe him for a second. He watched as Norton rested a hand on his hip, raising a brow in dissatisfaction. Mike then smirked, standing upright and approaching Norton slowly; only stopping when he was inches away, sky-tinted eyes locked with coal-stained.
“Well. In the event it fails, I’ve got a bit of a backup plan.” Morton says after a moment, making an effort to lean just a touch closer. Not that the Trickster was complaining.
“Pray tell what that entails?” Campbell asked, softly.
“Well, if I did, that would ruin the surprise!”
Norton couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. A lot of nerve, this Mike Morton. The dancer laughed, spinning to return to gazing into the fort’s courtyard, as if painting the scene set to play out before them in his head.
Turning his attention to the parting clouds and slowly sun, Norton knew all they had left to do was wait. Pulling a pocket watch out from his breast pocket to check the time, he smiled when the numbers clearly read 5:15. Perfect; even with a small delay, they were right on time.
“... How long have you known Eli?” He asked, crouching at the other side of their oversized weapon.
“Me? Oh, not long. ‘Bout a week now.” The brightly-dressed man replied, resting on one knee. “Real delight. Bit weird, though.”
“Heh. You’re telling me. Never seen him without that blindfold.”
Mike hummed in response, looking towards Norton curiously. “What about you, then? We all have a story, based on what he told me.”
He was REALLY going to strangle that blindfolded moron, now.
“... A couple of months. He’s pretty reliable.” He still remembered the gentle tone of Eli’s voice as he pulled him from the mine’s wreckage; tried to reassure him he was going to be fine. In retrospect, he supposed he was right. “Not the type to let someone suffer, iffin he can avoid it.”
He found himself looking back towards the dancer; to his scarred hands. Dark eyes traced over the burns and cuts gently; pondering their origin and age. Some looked relatively fresh; others, he wasn’t sure. He found himself wondering what hellscape Eli had dragged the smaller man out of.
“Heh. A right pain the ass, I’d bet.”
“You have no idea. He does it with people AND animals. The barracks are a disaster.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Morton grins to him, causing a flicker in the former miner’s chest. It wasn’t exactly a feeling he was unfamiliar with, mind you; he’d had a small handful of crushes and partners in the past. This would blow over shortly enough. It was the guy’s job to be pretty, after all...
… Although, Norton couldn’t help but notice the silence settling around them.
The storm had passed.
“... We’re runnin’ low on time. Get in position. You’ll know when they show up.”
“Yessir!”
Without the rain to deafen their movements, they both moved at a slower pace; stepping around loose stones as opposed to over them to avoid making any noise. Mike even held the bells dangling from his clothes in his hands, dampening their ever-so-charming ring. Norton cursed to himself for paying enough attention to notice.
As they settled on opposite ends of the fortress walls, Norton turned his attention to the sounds of the forest waking up around them. Bird song fills the air; echoed alongside the final remnants of the rain; the gentle trickle of draining water melding with the patter of wayward droplets. It sounded like a standard forested morning. If he didn’t know they were here, he’d be none the wiser
Perfect.
He turns his attention back to his impromptu comrade; tossing a small red ball into the air; catching it again with ease. A black one sat inches from his hand. Norton raised a brow; what on earth could those be for?
“‘Bout time we got here, lousy fuckin’ map.”
… Well, he was about to find out, he guessed. Both of them ducked; as close to the stone as possible. Holding his breath, Norton watched as several men walked through the northern entrance; right below them. Peirson was at the lead. The rouge glanced up at Mike with a smirk; pleased to see him returning it. He tried to ignore the flutter in his chest when the dancer winked.
“... H-Hey, boss… Where’s the cargo? I don’t see any… Smells like something died in here…”
“... Start diggin’ for it, now.”
Making eye contact with his companion again, he nodded. The Trickster pulled his bow off his back; the magnets clicking but not loudly enough to alert the idiots below them. Lightless brown eyes settled on the rusted metal clasps keeping the wooden logs in place; too old to even reflect light back into his eyes. Perfect.
Two arrows left his quiver effortlessly; notched in the bow at the same time. The string creaks as it’s pulled taut; rocks under him tumbling as he adjusts his footing. That was much harder to hide.
“-! Oi, there’s someone here!”
Shit.
Turning his bow to face the group below them, Norton watched them draw their swords. One moved forward; eyes set on the staircase leading right to him. The Trickster dug his feet into the ground under him; determined to hold his ground. He’d waste an arrow if he needed to, it didn’t matter how expensive these arrows were to produce--
“Look out below~!” Rang Mike’s ever-so-chipper voice, ripping through the tension like dragon’s claws. A small bang echoed between the fortress walls, followed by a loud pop, as that black ball he’d been holding earlier bounced off the wall, exploding on impact. A flurry of confetti and mud splattered across the stairs, twinkling in the light shining streaks of blue, pink and purple across the stone.
Pierson’s lackey cursed loudly as he stepped in it, his foot sinking into the mud and sticking. No matter how hard he pulled, he couldn’t get free. Another turned towards Mike, shouting something about an ambush. The men scramble, fumbling to draw their weapons. Eli’s trick had worked; not one of them had anticipated a fight.
“Fuck this! Just retreat!”
“Aw, leaving the party already?” Mike taunted just as fast. “Please, stick around! I
insist
!”
Two more small explosions muffled the responding shouts, followed by the roar of a fire. Flames burst from the northern exit, catching and burning the red fabric-casing they’d been trapped inside. To the south, crystals of ice crawl along the wet floors and walls. Some veins crawled up the aged straps that Norton had intended to break.
“Back in the way we came, watch your step!”
“Campbell!”
It clicked.
That blonde was a genius.
His bow still drawn, he turned the arrows back to their original target; the tension finally being released to propel the magnetic arrows forward. As soon as they were in range of the metal clasps, they accelerated once more; landing right onto their target to sever the bindings… Right as the poor bastards below had turned and run towards the exit the logs sat over.
The sound of tumbling wood and the screams of traitors melded beautifully, it almost made Norton sad when they were silenced. Almost.
“Fuck--!” The bastard in change yelled, turning on his heel to bolt towards the other exit. It was burning still, but he didn’t seem to care. Norton cursed under his breath. The bastard had gotten a head start, he had to act quick. He slung his bow over his shoulder, drawing his sword and rushing down the decaying stairs--
And cursing to himself as his foot sunk into the mud that just moments before had trapped one of their assailants. He tried to tug himself free, with little success. Unfortunately for him, his target noticed.
“H… hah! Serves your lot right!”
He laughed, pointing at Norton as he ran out the gate; the fire finally subsiding enough for him to slip through.
“Fuck-! Get back here!” The Trickster yelled after him, once again trying in vain to free his leg. He cursed, looking down at the mud. It was starting to dissolve, but not quickly enough for his liking.
It was only then he noticed the shadow cast over him in the morning sun.
Turning to look, his eyes straining to focus on the Dancer’s reagle silhouette, Norton could swear he felt time sit still. As the gentle song of his tambourine rang out through the morning, it’s star shaped frame fitting perfectly in the performer’s hand, he could swear that Mike had turned the world into his own stage; and Norton was the only one in attendance.
The sun served as the world’s most elegant spotlight, filling Norton with the kind of warmth he had craved when trapped in the dark.
He couldn’t mess this up if he ever dreamed of seeing it again.
“Go, hurry-!” Mike said, and Norton could practically hear the grin on his face. Without a second thought, the Trickster broke into a sprint; pulling his foot free from it’s dirty confinement, skidding to a stop in front of the northern gate. His sword clattered to the ground as Norton retrieved his bow from his shoulder, along with another custom-built arrow.
The metal clasps keeping Pierson’s shin guards on was the clearest target he’d ever seen. He drew his bow with ease, not thinking beyond instinct as he fired it’s ammunition with practiced precision. The bastard’s scream echoed through the forest; prompting a nearby flock of birds to startle.
“... Got him.” He said simply, heaving a sigh as the adrenaline rush began to wear thin. “... I owe you one, I doubt we would have caught him without that--”
“YOU DID IT!” Mike cheered, practically tackling Norton into a hug. The prospector cursed as he barely managed to catch him.
“Don’t do that, idiot! I coulda killed you!”
“Oh, you worry too much! I woulda been fine! Besides, how else am I supposed to congratulate ya~?”
“... You’re insane.”
MIKE and NORTON’s supports have gone up to rank C!
