Work Text:
It had been nine weeks since ‘Captain’ Harriet Alice Hook had broken Anthony’s nose after he had said something that, in hindsight, the thirteen year old knew was particularly stupid even for him.
NIne weeks.
And, according to Marya Rasputin—The Queen’s Fury’s self-appointed medic—, it took only about six weeks or less for a broken nose to heal with or without medical treatment depending on how severe the fracture was. And that any bruising around his nose or eyes should have gone away in two to three weeks. But it had been NINE and the knuckle shaped bruising on his nose hadn’t gone away and neither had the bruising on Harriet’s knuckles.
And, despite what many people liked to believe, Anthony wasn’t stupid—no matter how many stupid things he might have said in the past.
He knew that the ‘bruise’ on his nose was too red to be just a bruise.
He just didn’t want to admit it.
Because if he did, then he’d have to admit what it really was and destroy any and all credibility he had as a pirate (it was a pure miracle Harriet hadn’t kicked him out for disrespecting her) and as both the noble Lord Tremaine and an isle kid. Something he absolutely refused to do.
Because if he did do that, his grandmother would be disappointed and then the rest of the adults would get mad at her for being disappointed, and it’d cause a fight so loud that everyone on the isle would know that Anthony had a soul mark. Then he’d be seen as weak and everyone younger than him in the family would be seen as free game to mess with.
Something that couldn’t happen.
Anthony groaned, placing his head in his hands after giving up on trying to wipe the mark off in the hopes that it had simply been hair dye that had somehow gotten on his nose. “Oh, putain, quel gâchis.”
Only to jump when someone banged on the door.
“Anthony, will you hurry up! There are other people in the house who need the bathroom!”
“Je m'en fous ! Je l'utilise pour une raison, alors fais chier, Dorothy!” Anthony snapped, more than a little tired and freaked out.
“You can do your hair in your own room!”
“Oh shut up and go away!”
“Fine, Lord Tremaine,“ The brunette said mockingly. “But I’m telling your mom and mine that you swore at me!”
And with that, Dorothy walked away—causing Anthony to snap out of his wallowing and scramble for the door in all of his thirteen year old glory. His soul mark problem temporarily forgotten.
“No wait! Dorothy, wait!”