pistachio
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Token of Gratitude
Rating: G
Challenge: Pistachio #9: birth/birthday
Toppings/Extras: none
Wordcount: 837
Summary: Isaac Prowse discovers that it is his birthday.
Notes: I totally have a follow-up to this planned! Final pistachio prompt.
Isaac Prowse didn’t know why he’d been summoned to Ashdown’s office first thing in the morning. It made him a little nervous. Usually, Edward Ashdown had all manner of important things to be getting on with before breakfast; messages to send, news to catch up on about overnight shipments, and instructions to prepare for those that worked under him. That didn’t tend to include Prowse, though-he was the sort of man who worked nights.
Ashdown looked up from behind the desk and offered him a terse smile. That was so unusual in and of itself that Prowse wondered if he would be getting out of there alive.
“Happy birthday,” he said by way of greeting.
Prowse blinked.
“What?” he asked, and then changed it quickly to: “Uh, pardon?”
After eyeing him like he was a moron (something Prowse was well used to by now), the eighteen-year-old master of the house repeated with clear enunciations-
“Happy birthday.”
“How do you know it’s my birthday?” Prowse asked, astonished. Ashdown wrinkled his nose.
“The parish records state it.”
“I’m in parish records?”
There was a short pause while Ashdown contemplated him.
“Mr Prowse… have you taken a knock to the head recently?”
“I just…” Prowse shook his head. “I don’t… didn’t know when I was born.”
The pale boy tilted his head to one side and continued looking at him for a short while, before nodding slowly. Clearly, his opinion on the lower classes had just gone down. If that was even possible-Prowse wasn’t sure.
“Well. You were born on the twenty-fifth of May, 1609. Happy twenty-fifth birthday, Mr Prowse.”
“Twenty-five! Oh… I thought I was older…”
“You are twenty-five today. No more, no less.” Ashdown leaned back in his seat, steeping his fingers like the evil adult stuck in a gawky adolescent body that he was. His fingers were slender, unblemished and delicate-hard work was entirely an unfamiliar concept to them. Prowse glanced down at his own rope-worn hands and then put them behind his back. Ashdown lifted his chin. “What would you like?”
“What?” Shit! “Pardon?”
“What-would you-like?”
“A present, you mean?”
Ashdown sighed derisively, but Prowse could see that his cheeks were turning the dainty pink that they did when he was embarrassed. It didn’t happen often and Prowse felt strangely gleeful about it, even though he knew it was probably nasty of him. The boy glared at the desk for a moment and then looked back up at him.
“Well, I suppose I owe you something after being in my service for so long. And I missed your birthday last year. I presumed you would inform me.”
“Um…” Prowse furrowed his brow. “What would I like? What, you mean… anything?”
“Within reason, obviously,” Ashdown said. “I’m hardly going to build you a second Taj Mahal. But a small… token of gratitude isn’t out of order.”
Prowse tried to think of something, anything, but nothing came to him, and the longer the silence drew out the more stupid he felt. Was he really that sad an excuse of a human being now? All he did was work, and his work was either killing people for or protecting the pampered, primping little twit in front of him. Other than that, he didn’t do anything other than eat, practise and-very occasionally-sleep.
“I’m not sure,” he said eventually. “I don’t really need anything.”
Ashdown put a hand to his chin and genuinely seemed to be trying to think of an appropriate gift. Prowse wanted to shake him by the shoulders. What are you doing? he wanted to demand. I used to kick people like you to pieces in back alleys to steal your pocket-watch!
He preferred his master when he was a bastard because then he could hate him and know for absolute certain that all of the toffee-nosed fops he and Charlie used to smash around had deserved it.
Besides, wasn’t it improper for a gentleman to give gifts to someone who was, in basic terms, a servant?
“I’ll think about it,” Ashdown finally concluded. “Now, go and… do something.”
“Sir?”
“Good grief, I’m sure you’ll find something. There are preparations to be made for the landing of the Cadence, for a start. And that recently-captured pirate, Mr Gannum Shaw, is still in Newgate. You’ll have to transport him to a more private setting.” Ashdown’s hard, fiercely intelligent gaze met his. “Would you like me to continue?”
“No, sir,” Prowse said, backing towards the door. He bowed slightly and spun towards it.
Twenty-five…!
“You’re very welcome,” Ashdown said-he tried to sound as cold and detached as he always did, but it was clear from his voice that he was annoyed. Prowse tried not to smile.
“Thank you,” he replied before closing the door behind him.
He didn’t see what he had to thank Ashdown for, though. He probably won’t even get me a gift, he thought miserably. I should have asked for more knives.
But he already had so many knives…
Title: Token of Gratitude
Rating: G
Challenge: Pistachio #9: birth/birthday
Toppings/Extras: none
Wordcount: 837
Summary: Isaac Prowse discovers that it is his birthday.
Notes: I totally have a follow-up to this planned! Final pistachio prompt.
Isaac Prowse didn’t know why he’d been summoned to Ashdown’s office first thing in the morning. It made him a little nervous. Usually, Edward Ashdown had all manner of important things to be getting on with before breakfast; messages to send, news to catch up on about overnight shipments, and instructions to prepare for those that worked under him. That didn’t tend to include Prowse, though-he was the sort of man who worked nights.
Ashdown looked up from behind the desk and offered him a terse smile. That was so unusual in and of itself that Prowse wondered if he would be getting out of there alive.
“Happy birthday,” he said by way of greeting.
Prowse blinked.
“What?” he asked, and then changed it quickly to: “Uh, pardon?”
After eyeing him like he was a moron (something Prowse was well used to by now), the eighteen-year-old master of the house repeated with clear enunciations-
“Happy birthday.”
“How do you know it’s my birthday?” Prowse asked, astonished. Ashdown wrinkled his nose.
“The parish records state it.”
“I’m in parish records?”
There was a short pause while Ashdown contemplated him.
“Mr Prowse… have you taken a knock to the head recently?”
“I just…” Prowse shook his head. “I don’t… didn’t know when I was born.”
The pale boy tilted his head to one side and continued looking at him for a short while, before nodding slowly. Clearly, his opinion on the lower classes had just gone down. If that was even possible-Prowse wasn’t sure.
“Well. You were born on the twenty-fifth of May, 1609. Happy twenty-fifth birthday, Mr Prowse.”
“Twenty-five! Oh… I thought I was older…”
“You are twenty-five today. No more, no less.” Ashdown leaned back in his seat, steeping his fingers like the evil adult stuck in a gawky adolescent body that he was. His fingers were slender, unblemished and delicate-hard work was entirely an unfamiliar concept to them. Prowse glanced down at his own rope-worn hands and then put them behind his back. Ashdown lifted his chin. “What would you like?”
“What?” Shit! “Pardon?”
“What-would you-like?”
“A present, you mean?”
Ashdown sighed derisively, but Prowse could see that his cheeks were turning the dainty pink that they did when he was embarrassed. It didn’t happen often and Prowse felt strangely gleeful about it, even though he knew it was probably nasty of him. The boy glared at the desk for a moment and then looked back up at him.
“Well, I suppose I owe you something after being in my service for so long. And I missed your birthday last year. I presumed you would inform me.”
“Um…” Prowse furrowed his brow. “What would I like? What, you mean… anything?”
“Within reason, obviously,” Ashdown said. “I’m hardly going to build you a second Taj Mahal. But a small… token of gratitude isn’t out of order.”
Prowse tried to think of something, anything, but nothing came to him, and the longer the silence drew out the more stupid he felt. Was he really that sad an excuse of a human being now? All he did was work, and his work was either killing people for or protecting the pampered, primping little twit in front of him. Other than that, he didn’t do anything other than eat, practise and-very occasionally-sleep.
“I’m not sure,” he said eventually. “I don’t really need anything.”
Ashdown put a hand to his chin and genuinely seemed to be trying to think of an appropriate gift. Prowse wanted to shake him by the shoulders. What are you doing? he wanted to demand. I used to kick people like you to pieces in back alleys to steal your pocket-watch!
He preferred his master when he was a bastard because then he could hate him and know for absolute certain that all of the toffee-nosed fops he and Charlie used to smash around had deserved it.
Besides, wasn’t it improper for a gentleman to give gifts to someone who was, in basic terms, a servant?
“I’ll think about it,” Ashdown finally concluded. “Now, go and… do something.”
“Sir?”
“Good grief, I’m sure you’ll find something. There are preparations to be made for the landing of the Cadence, for a start. And that recently-captured pirate, Mr Gannum Shaw, is still in Newgate. You’ll have to transport him to a more private setting.” Ashdown’s hard, fiercely intelligent gaze met his. “Would you like me to continue?”
“No, sir,” Prowse said, backing towards the door. He bowed slightly and spun towards it.
Twenty-five…!
“You’re very welcome,” Ashdown said-he tried to sound as cold and detached as he always did, but it was clear from his voice that he was annoyed. Prowse tried not to smile.
“Thank you,” he replied before closing the door behind him.
He didn’t see what he had to thank Ashdown for, though. He probably won’t even get me a gift, he thought miserably. I should have asked for more knives.
But he already had so many knives…