Chapter Text
And so it begins.
-=+=-
It was a good job, being a guardsman. All of the other men thought so, and so did Marcel. Sure, it wasn’t the most exciting role to play in Mechanicsburg. They didn’t have the excitement minions got in the labs, and they very rarely rode out with the Heterodyne and the Jägers for death and glory. But the life of a guardsman in Mechanicsburg was a steady and important one.
Grandfather Cornel said that it was the grand purpose of the people, to support the Heterodyne in all things; to catch him when he explodes and to help raise him up for vengeance. When the city had attackers (the poor fools), the guardsmen were there as the first line of defense. They were also the first reason to make them wish it were all a bad dream. When things were calmer, though there was never a calm day in Mechanicsburg, the guardsmen kept it (somewhat) calm and took the fun times as they happened. And for the last hour, today’s entertainment was trembling up the path to the main gate of the city.
“Vot’s your bet, Simon?” Marcel asked his partner as they watched the sad little man approach on the mule, “He here for de tribute, de beggin’, or de snoopin’?”
When outsiders bothered to come to Mechanicsburg without an army, there were as many reasons they gave as stars in the sky. They would all swear up and down that they were here for a guild meeting, or to report their spy findings, or whatever their masters filled their heads with. The main things that the excuses all flayed and boiled down to were giving tribute to the house of Heterodyne, trying to beg for mercy, or trying to infiltrate the city for whatever reason or another. During the off-shifts, guardsmen chatted amongst themselves about the favorite excuses they’ve heard. During the on-shift, they bet about which excuse the visitor would give while they still thought themselves clever.
“Can’t be tribute, dere’s no saddlebags on de mule. De vun mule wit de vun fool ridin’ on it.” Simon took a moment to scratch at his beard, thinking. “Five marks on ‘im beggin’,” he says.
“I’ll put five on 'im tryin' to snoop. Looks like an old shaft hand his master dressed op.” Marcel adjusted the trilobite at his throat. Another thing old Cornel said before he left to swear the Jägertroth, always represent the Heterodynes well. They get…creative, whenever they feel the minion doesn’t respect the master.
The man finally managed to approach the dread gate of Mechanicsburg. Mechanisburgers took great pride in the gates of their city, and thought that they espoused the spirit of the place very well. The main gate made a great show of what an outsider could expect to see within the city. The trilobite, representing the glory and power of House Heterodyne; the symbols of death, which is the hopeful end of all would-be intruders; and the glories and masterworks of SCIENCE!!!
“HOY DOWN THERE!” Marcel shouted at the bald, and somewhat corpulent, representative of some no-doubt petty and unimportant Spark. “VOT BUSINESS DO HYU HEF HERE, TO TROUBLE DE CITY OF MECHANICSBURG?!” Marcel grinned and began counting down to when the man would break. Would it be screams? Sobs? Some other display? He couldn’t wait to find out.
The man kept a mask of fear about him for a heartbeat before schooling his face into a more serious expression. (Darn, his next shout, then.) The walking barrel of a man called up to them a moment later, “I am here on behalf of the Miner Lords Hoxxes of Castle Deeprock to bring formal complaint to the dread house of Heterodyne regarding their raid a fortnight ago!” It seemed more in favor of Marcel’s bet so far, but it’s always good to be certain about these things before the money changes hands. Also because it’s better to tell the whole story about how the fool ends up in the Heterodyne’s hands.
“OHO?! DEED DE JÄGERMONSTERS STEAL YOUR MASTER’S SVEETROLL?! KNOCK OVER HIS FAVORITE CLENK?! STOMP ON HIS LATEST PROJECT?!” The man remained fairly stable in the face of the taunting. Perhaps the miner had a steel rod up his spine, Marcel thought, but he would break soon. And it would be beautiful when it happened.
The porky man took a moment to inhale before shouting up again, “No, good sir! The Miner Lords Hoxxes are here to complain about its quality! You barely did anything, and they were rather looking forward to the real fight!” Silence ruled the air for a moment. “They were left waiting for hours as the doors stayed upright and whole! They are disappointed and wish to arrange a second one!” A second silence rang out, during which the man adopted a thinking expression that swiftly changed to terror, adding, “At the Heterodyne’s earliest convenience, naturally!”
For a third time, a silence descended, heavy and uncomfortable.
“...VOT.” Marcel succinctly put.
-=+=-
I would like to thank some friends for their efforts in forcing my nose to grindstone. My friend Halfwit, who has no archive account. My friend The_Youth_Jester, who has acted as a semi-beta reader for this. And my friend GrandPuppyAlpaca, who acted as a beta for this chapter. I honestly could not have done this without your pestering, and know that I can and will do the same for your creative works if necessary.