Homemaking
Unbeta'd. Written at midnight. Completely original. Read at own risk, especially since I plan to clean this up and then take it down.
When Sheridan had looked for her first place, her goals had been for it to be cheap, relatively clean, and close to the university. She had gotten clean and cheap, with a nice landlord. The area was pretty nice, despite being a bit of a hike from the nearest subway station, and her part-time job coupled with the meager allowance her cousin sent her covered the rent and the fare. Food, Sheridan decided, was something that she could get creative about.
This is the part where the nice landlord comes in. He had a job as well as a building, working in the restaurant on the bottom floor. Well, owning the restaurant on the bottom floor. And also cooking in it, because he was a fantastic chef as well as being a bit of a control freak. But the first time Sheridan looked longingly at the boxes of leftovers he brought up for his own dinner, he got concerned about her welfare.
Sheridan didn't mind that he sometimes called her a poor, skinny magician girl. It meant that she always got at least one meal a day. She doubted that it had been healthy, but it was enough to go on.
Besides, after two decades of considering banquets a normal part of weekly life, it was refreshing to actually cherish the things she ate.
--
When Sheridan looked for her second place, she had a bit of an image in mind. An apartment. A double bed but only one bedroom. A living room, perhaps with windows. A working bathroom. She had a job lined up so she figured she could go for a fixer upper.
She certainly got a fixer upper, as well as the job. It just so happened that the job was full-time, meaning full-time. Sheridan's power was useful in the extreme for chasing down and catching even the most dangerous of magical criminals. Being able to change at will to a nigh-invulernable steel duplicate of herself proved very useful when fighting people that can throw fire, create explosions, and drown people at will. As a result, she was paid as little as possible.
And then she answered a page in the middle of the night, telling her to report to the office immediately. And on that day, she met Lindburgh and his team and told them everything she knew about chasing people through, around, over, and under her city.
Lindburgh had asked, "Have you ever considered detective work?"
She had replied, "Yes. But I can't pay for college again and I didn't consider it the first time around."
Lindburgh had grinned. "Well, we'll see how you do with us on this run." (He called assignments runs. Even when it was something like a security detail or a political mission.) "After, well, who knows? Well, I might know. And Daniel might know. But you don't. So you had better impress me."
Sheridan didn't get it for a moment, looking from Daniel (their telepath) back to Lindburgh. "Or what?"
"Or I will refuse to hire you and you will be working this same boring, frustrating, unsatisfying beat for the rest of your life."
Sheridan must have looked offended because he amended, "Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. Not for the rest of your life, probably, just until you realize you hate this job and move on to something different. But I can guarantee that whatever job you find will not be nearly as cool as the one I might offer you after this is over."
Daniel laughed. "Stop scaring her, Lind. We all know you like her, and hell if she isn't going to be useful, even if she isn't as clever as I know she is."
And that had been that.
--
Her third home had a very simple expectation: Be better than her second.
It was, because her first paycheck actually had a few zeros on the end and she had been assured that there was more where that came from. It was still an apartment, because Sheridan still couldn't wrap her head around the idea that she had enough money to afford a house, but it had a bedroom and a living room and a kitchen, instead of the bedroom+kitching room that her last places had been. The bathroom had hot water at all times. The laundry machine downstairs didn't run on quarters. After she finished moving in, she packed the semi-walk-in closet with silk shirts and jeans and lay on the very, very comfortable king-sized bed for about thirty minutes.
In truth, she had been a little bit dazed. It felt more like homecoming than she liked to admit.
In defiance, she refused to hire a housekeeper with the excess money and mopped her own damn kitchen before she cooked her own dinner. Well, she took her own dinner out of the box and put it into the oven.
Two years later she hired a housekeeper, realizing that she spent almost half her time away from it and that she spent the rest of it dusting. She wasn't in training anymore, and people were starting to know her name in certain circles.
A year after that, the housekeeper has murdered and a shapeshifter took his place. And then the shapeshifter tried to kill her and nearly succeeded, except that Sheridan had been in the game of magical criminals long enough to look out for eye color.
"His name was Michael," Sheridan shouted as she pinned him down. No steely other-form for this. This was personal and Sheridan intended to make sure it stuck. "His name was Michael and he had a wife, you bastard! They were trying for kids! How dare you end that, so you could get closer to me!"
Lindburgh said nothing about the extremely roughed-up criminal that he picked up a few hours later, only glanced at her knuckles. (They were untorn.)
"Watch out," he said quietly. "You never know who your enemy is."
"Was that some sort of oblique message, warning me that I might become my own enemy?" Sheridan asked.
Lindburgh chuckled. "Well, yes. Don't make torturing the people paid to kill people a habit, Sherry. You know how I hate shooting messengers."
--
The fourth home was ten years later. She had a very long list of specifics for it, unlike the last places.
One, it had to have as many guest rooms as possible. Lindburgh was dead and she was in charge, jumping right over Daniel, Savannah, and Collins for the position. Wounded members of her team would stay at her place. People that needed to be watched would stay at her place. Work in general would stay at her place, and she would stay with her work.
Two, it had to have land surrounding it. Preferably land that could house a whole lot of plants. She managed to offend her parents by saving the life of one of her cousins, so they made her a gift of their gardener. Sheridan had grown up with him. He was an ageless figure without a name and had been enslaved to her family almost fifty years ago. He saved Sheridan's life when she was fifteen. He was an earth elemental and she owed him.
Three, it had to be nice.
Four, it had to be within ten minutes of downtown Trenton.
Five, it had to have at least three bathrooms, not counting the master bathroom.
And after that the list descended into minutiae like wards and seals and a service staff of as few people as possible. Savannah would do the seals, helped by Collins and Sheridan. The service staff would be hand-picked.
It was wonderful. Four bedrooms plus the master. Hardwood floors, a light color theme, a staircase. (Savannah had been very thrilled about the staircase and was quite happy to spend twenty minutes just trying to get her slinky to go all the way down.) Sheridan didn't actually sleep in the master bedroom, but it was nice to know that she had a very nice one. She also had a garage that could hold two cars.
For the next house, she decided, I'm going to need some sort of actual office area, not just a dining room table covered in paper all the time. Although that is working out better than I thought...
When Sheridan had looked for her first place, her goals had been for it to be cheap, relatively clean, and close to the university. She had gotten clean and cheap, with a nice landlord. The area was pretty nice, despite being a bit of a hike from the nearest subway station, and her part-time job coupled with the meager allowance her cousin sent her covered the rent and the fare. Food, Sheridan decided, was something that she could get creative about.
This is the part where the nice landlord comes in. He had a job as well as a building, working in the restaurant on the bottom floor. Well, owning the restaurant on the bottom floor. And also cooking in it, because he was a fantastic chef as well as being a bit of a control freak. But the first time Sheridan looked longingly at the boxes of leftovers he brought up for his own dinner, he got concerned about her welfare.
Sheridan didn't mind that he sometimes called her a poor, skinny magician girl. It meant that she always got at least one meal a day. She doubted that it had been healthy, but it was enough to go on.
Besides, after two decades of considering banquets a normal part of weekly life, it was refreshing to actually cherish the things she ate.
--
When Sheridan looked for her second place, she had a bit of an image in mind. An apartment. A double bed but only one bedroom. A living room, perhaps with windows. A working bathroom. She had a job lined up so she figured she could go for a fixer upper.
She certainly got a fixer upper, as well as the job. It just so happened that the job was full-time, meaning full-time. Sheridan's power was useful in the extreme for chasing down and catching even the most dangerous of magical criminals. Being able to change at will to a nigh-invulernable steel duplicate of herself proved very useful when fighting people that can throw fire, create explosions, and drown people at will. As a result, she was paid as little as possible.
And then she answered a page in the middle of the night, telling her to report to the office immediately. And on that day, she met Lindburgh and his team and told them everything she knew about chasing people through, around, over, and under her city.
Lindburgh had asked, "Have you ever considered detective work?"
She had replied, "Yes. But I can't pay for college again and I didn't consider it the first time around."
Lindburgh had grinned. "Well, we'll see how you do with us on this run." (He called assignments runs. Even when it was something like a security detail or a political mission.) "After, well, who knows? Well, I might know. And Daniel might know. But you don't. So you had better impress me."
Sheridan didn't get it for a moment, looking from Daniel (their telepath) back to Lindburgh. "Or what?"
"Or I will refuse to hire you and you will be working this same boring, frustrating, unsatisfying beat for the rest of your life."
Sheridan must have looked offended because he amended, "Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. Not for the rest of your life, probably, just until you realize you hate this job and move on to something different. But I can guarantee that whatever job you find will not be nearly as cool as the one I might offer you after this is over."
Daniel laughed. "Stop scaring her, Lind. We all know you like her, and hell if she isn't going to be useful, even if she isn't as clever as I know she is."
And that had been that.
--
Her third home had a very simple expectation: Be better than her second.
It was, because her first paycheck actually had a few zeros on the end and she had been assured that there was more where that came from. It was still an apartment, because Sheridan still couldn't wrap her head around the idea that she had enough money to afford a house, but it had a bedroom and a living room and a kitchen, instead of the bedroom+kitching room that her last places had been. The bathroom had hot water at all times. The laundry machine downstairs didn't run on quarters. After she finished moving in, she packed the semi-walk-in closet with silk shirts and jeans and lay on the very, very comfortable king-sized bed for about thirty minutes.
In truth, she had been a little bit dazed. It felt more like homecoming than she liked to admit.
In defiance, she refused to hire a housekeeper with the excess money and mopped her own damn kitchen before she cooked her own dinner. Well, she took her own dinner out of the box and put it into the oven.
Two years later she hired a housekeeper, realizing that she spent almost half her time away from it and that she spent the rest of it dusting. She wasn't in training anymore, and people were starting to know her name in certain circles.
A year after that, the housekeeper has murdered and a shapeshifter took his place. And then the shapeshifter tried to kill her and nearly succeeded, except that Sheridan had been in the game of magical criminals long enough to look out for eye color.
"His name was Michael," Sheridan shouted as she pinned him down. No steely other-form for this. This was personal and Sheridan intended to make sure it stuck. "His name was Michael and he had a wife, you bastard! They were trying for kids! How dare you end that, so you could get closer to me!"
Lindburgh said nothing about the extremely roughed-up criminal that he picked up a few hours later, only glanced at her knuckles. (They were untorn.)
"Watch out," he said quietly. "You never know who your enemy is."
"Was that some sort of oblique message, warning me that I might become my own enemy?" Sheridan asked.
Lindburgh chuckled. "Well, yes. Don't make torturing the people paid to kill people a habit, Sherry. You know how I hate shooting messengers."
--
The fourth home was ten years later. She had a very long list of specifics for it, unlike the last places.
One, it had to have as many guest rooms as possible. Lindburgh was dead and she was in charge, jumping right over Daniel, Savannah, and Collins for the position. Wounded members of her team would stay at her place. People that needed to be watched would stay at her place. Work in general would stay at her place, and she would stay with her work.
Two, it had to have land surrounding it. Preferably land that could house a whole lot of plants. She managed to offend her parents by saving the life of one of her cousins, so they made her a gift of their gardener. Sheridan had grown up with him. He was an ageless figure without a name and had been enslaved to her family almost fifty years ago. He saved Sheridan's life when she was fifteen. He was an earth elemental and she owed him.
Three, it had to be nice.
Four, it had to be within ten minutes of downtown Trenton.
Five, it had to have at least three bathrooms, not counting the master bathroom.
And after that the list descended into minutiae like wards and seals and a service staff of as few people as possible. Savannah would do the seals, helped by Collins and Sheridan. The service staff would be hand-picked.
It was wonderful. Four bedrooms plus the master. Hardwood floors, a light color theme, a staircase. (Savannah had been very thrilled about the staircase and was quite happy to spend twenty minutes just trying to get her slinky to go all the way down.) Sheridan didn't actually sleep in the master bedroom, but it was nice to know that she had a very nice one. She also had a garage that could hold two cars.
For the next house, she decided, I'm going to need some sort of actual office area, not just a dining room table covered in paper all the time. Although that is working out better than I thought...