Dinner with a Werewolf

[IamLEAM1983]

A good night.

Normally, that would have been a fairly simple thing to ensure. He'd always been a fan of warm milk before bed - bless the family estate's housekeeper, really - and he liked to keep his room as chilly as possible. Far be it from him to prevent the youngsters from having access to electric heating as October neared to a close, but he didn't like how uniform the resulting heat felt. So, one hour before bed, he'd slip into his non-heated bedroom and tidy up the fireplace. He laid his bed open for the fire's warmth to permeate and then went about the rest of his end-day routine. One good pipe in the Huntsman's Room and a few book pages, maybe a bit of mood-appropriate bow-stroking with bits of an adagio or just whatever his mind could come up with; and then he returned to his room. He did so by candlelight, his long bed shirt slipped under a longer, thicker cousin to his smoking jacket - the Hall's darkness being more inviting than moody, more comforting than atmospheric. His smartphone had always been off for hours at this point, and he'd never really understood the social media junkies like Aidan or the selkies, who sometimes spent chunks of the occasional overnight shift surgically grafted to their tiny screens. Why bother checking for news on the hour when you could just wait for the morning paper? That allowed him to steer clear of excessive stimuli well before bed, and to drift away in a means he suspected most people were starting to ignore. Sleeping nine full hours probably seemed like a sort of dark sorcery to these people.

That would have been the norm, like Hauser coming in looking like Death on two legs, almost welcoming his first in-office coffee cup like some sort of nepenthe, or the kids bringing their ironic mugs to work. Aidan's mug was graded in various segments, from "Shh" to "You may now address me", and he typically progressed from a monosyllabic footsoldier to a chipper researcher, and then to a dehydrated young fool who still went back for a second cup.

All Archie knew was that Honoré de Balzac had powered through some of his novels on dozens of coffee cups per day - and the poor man had died of heart disease. Naturally.

The night before his first date in decades, however? He went through most of his routine without having the presence of mind to leave it all behind. His violin session felt dismal, the glass of milk was tasteless, and there was no languid sluggishness to envelop him in-between toasty bed sheets and a plumped-out comforter. He usually clocked out and then woke up at dawn, his phantom palate and tongue made mushy by a night's worth of acceptable full-bore snoring. Instead he twisted and turned, his night cap flapping every which way for about an hour. Around 11:30 - an ungodly late hour by his standards - he realized he couldn't sleep.

He tried repeating his routine. Warm milk, part deux. The Violin Strikes Back. Atlas Shrugged, because nothing spelled sheer, soporific boredom to him like Ayn Rand's tale of Objectivism. A man chooses to fall asleep, a slave paces about the Huntsman's Room looking like an increasingly worried Ebenezer Scrooge.

Maybe he just hadn't moved enough the day before... Trying to add some exertion to the mix, he raced back upstairs and traded his night-time attire for what passed for casual wear for him. Pale dress pants, a short jacket, a turn-of-the-last-century tie and a straw boater's hat. Grabbing his sleeker and switch-like outdoorsman's cane, he set out for a late-night stroll that turned into a fast, almost militaristic march, that turned into a desperate sprint. If Tiredness could have been personified, he chased it like Wile E. Coyote usually chased the Road Runner.

Five circuits later, he was back inside. The ghost of his human body kept showering him in borderline-erotic flashes of his warm bed and fluffy pillows, he could feel bags forming under his eyes even if his mechanical body couldn't render them - but he just couldn't sleep. Work, then. Maybe he'd skipped something during the day and his worker's ethos was nagging at him for it. Another quick change for more office-worthy clothes and he'd be on the proverbial saddle.

On the saddle, yes, and hopefully on the way to the Land of Nod by at least 2 AM.

* * *

Bucky's routine typically involved sleeping in. No matter if he went to bed early, he always slept in to some degree. There was always a period that started around 7 AM, a span of time that involved him waking up, reading a few pages and dozing off again. He'd wake up, read some more and slip away again, feeling only energized and ready to take the day on around 10 in the morning.

This time, the kitaiteki woke up around 6:45, roused out of his slumber by the kind of pinging and rattling mechanical snores he hadn't heard since World War One. The Hall was quiet around this time of day, the corridors allowing for plenty of reverberation. He followed them to the library, only to find himself faced with a mess of disturbed books and tiny espresso cups, along with the rather ungentlemanly sight of Archie having slung his feet onto the table. His gibus lay where it had fallen to the ground after leaving his head, while the Clank's neck was uncomfortably craned backwards. The team's early sleeper and early riser had apparently tried to pull an all-nighter of some kind, to rather disastrous results...

Shaking his head and sighing, Shamus bent down and tried to place a few books back in their proper place, all the while giving the loudly snoring spy the occasional wry look. He concentrated the tiny cups on one corner of the central reading table and then, hands tied behind his back, headed for one of the windows, whistling one of his usual Bluegrass favorites all the while. Bucky gave himself a long moment to take in the tranquil beauty of Archie's English gardens and then, as abruptly as he could, whirled around and lifted his arms upwards.

"ABANDON SHIP!" he roared, which immediately translated into Holden snorting himself awake and weakly crying something about battle stations before losing his precarious balance and falling to the ground. Bucky's resulting laughter was bold and honest, while Archie was still swimming in the murky waters between confused half-awareness and his suddenly bruised ego.

"I - er - ahem. I must have dozed off, Shamus. A momentary aberration of some kind, I'm sure.
- Yeah, sure," laughed the samurai, "you've been out of sorts since that date phone call with Crystal, last night!
- Oh my," he breathed, "our date! Am I late, Shamus?!
- It ain't even seven in the mornin', chief. If you're late, Lowell's got some unforgiving expectations about punctuality!
- But I - I really must do-"

Bucky helped his friend to his feet. "What you gotta do, Arch, is get to bed. Set an alarm for three o'clock or something and get yourself sorted out for her, alright? I'll cover for ya today.
- But the Masterson supply chain case-
- It'll go on without ya. Besides, we ain't ready to start investigatin' that yet. Kulich is still pulling data and we're still waitin' on Gammell's results for those parts we sent him. Today's a slow day, Arch. Lotsa Web browsin' for the kids, fun and games in the library - maybe we'll get lucky and get somethin' about someone's dog's ghost needin' to be coralled in. We ain't even scheduled a full complement for today."

Archie seemed confused. "Are you sure?
- Am I sure?! Listen, buddy, this head's put together its fair share of files, by now! Of course I'm sure! Now march, soldier, and stuff that face in those pillows!
- Let me just take a few of these cups back to the kitchens-"

Bucky placed one of his bulky arms in front of Holden. "Nuh-uh - You. Bed. Now. Gubbin's gonna look at this mess and go Woo, something for me to do! anyway.
- But I've used the Dewey system, none of this is alphabetized! I-"

Bucky placed his fists on his hips and looked down on the spy like a disapproving parent. "Don't make me carry ya upstairs, Holden...
- You wouldn't dare," replied Archie, all the while pridefully putting some order back into his clothes.

* * *

From outside, the almost anvil-worthy sound of hardened steel meeting against magically reinforced copper plating ringed out, making a few birds take off in sudden alarm. Back inside, Archie was snoring again, this time with a disturbed mustache and faint scratch marks on the right cheekbone. Bucky slung his friend over one of his shoulders like a sack of potatoes and clambered upstairs. What started as a careless and vaguely annoyed toss against the mattress ended with a burst of sudden care, Bucky pulling Archie's shoes off and slipping his feet under the covers. He checked to see if that sudden concussion had properly transitioned into a bit of forced rest and then went through Archie's bedroom routine, starting the fireplace and putting that lovelorn fool's night-time clothes in evidence.

He'd wake said fool back up around the end of the work shift, anyway.

* * *

Five-thirty rang, Bucky knocked on Archie's door and received mutterings in response. Feeling sluggish but somewhat rested, Holden got up for the second time and wound up his main spring with some appreciation of how out-of-synch night owls could feel. His eyes felt like shrivelled-up prunes and the thought of coffee was divine - so that was why Aidan's mug had these sections on it! - but he had pressing matters to attend to.

First came the small trek from the house to the observatory's bathhouse - or what mechanics would have settled with calling a Clank shop. Hot oil washed away lasting embers of sleepiness and fine granules of sawdust reinvigorated him. Once he was dry, he felt a bit more like his usual self, rediscovering the usually thoughtless and tranquil process of getting dressed. Owing that his bags didn't show and his eyes couldn't be bloodshot even if he tried, he didn't look half-bad in the mirror - even if he did know he felt like a truck had driven over him. One of the small saving graces of being an automaton.

Tiredness hadn't so much been beaten back as it had been silenced, and that weird state of functional exhaustion had silenced his mind. Getting Daisy out of the garage and slipping his goggles on felt like routine stuff, as it should - but he knew the last few hours' overall absurdity would always be around in the back of his mind, at least until he'd fall back asleep. Until then, thinking about it was akin to playing with fire; tired and slightly irrational laughter quietly buzzing in his chest.

So he didn't think about it. He didn't think about the date. All he had to do was pick Crystal up.

Such a long and hard road for something so simple... He felt like asking Bucky to punch him again, and to punch him whenever he'd develop worry-wart symptoms again.

Soon enough, he was standing in front of the Deputy Chief's door and had just rang the doorbell a few minutes ahead of time, looking like the picture of fresh and focused Victorian engineering - even if he actually felt like asking Lowell to lend him her couch for a few minutes. No - make that a few hours...

[TennyoCeres84]

Archie did not have to wait long. The front door opened, and Crystal stepped out. Judging by her attire, it seemed this outing was more than just a meeting to discuss matters.

The werewolf stood before him, her long, dark hair swaying gently in the autumn night breeze. A dark purple cocktail dress adorned her body, the pencil skirt ending a few inches above her knees. Scandalized or not, her shins and knees were plainly noticeable. A long-sleeve, black lace shrug covered her arms and shoulders. Black, low-heeled boots encased her feet.

"Good evening, Archie. You look quite dapper," she said, offering him a warm smile. Her makeup tastefully accentuated her bi-colored eyes, without it looking garish due to her mild crow's feet.

[IamLEAM1983]

Oh, please, a part of the Clank thought, I look far better than I feel.

What actually came out was "You're too kind, Crystal. You look marvelous, if I may say so."

Kicking his gibbering and scandalized internal voices down - he could see her knees! Dear Lord in Heaven, exposed knees! - he briefly removed his top hat and looked slightly past Lowell and into her residence. "I trust you've warned your daughter beforehand? I wouldn't wish to keep you away from any personal obligations you may have."

He smiled a bit. "In normal circumstances, the chaperone is not younger than the lady involved by such wide a margin. If you'll forgive me this one, small indiscretion..."

The automaton pushed on his cane and went on the tip of his toes for an instant. "Andrea, dear?! I promise I'll return your mother to you safe and sound! If not, well - she also happens to be a police constable!"

He didn't really know if that had been a lame joke or something that was somewhat endearing, but he couldn't hold back somewhat nervous chuckles.

[TennyoCeres84]

Crystal scoffed and smiled, knowing the clank wouldn't receive a reply. "Andrea's not home. She knows I'm going out with you, but she went to catch a movie with her girlfriend," she stated with a pat on his back. "Though, the thought's appreciated. Let's get going, hm?" she suggested, walking off her porch and toward Daisy.

[IamLEAM1983]

Obviously, modern social dynamics were still somewhat fresh to him. His curiosity got the better of him and pushed past his better judgment. Still, as he spoke, he took Crystal's arm as if they were saddled for a moderate walk. They weren't, of course, but centuries-old reflexes were what they were.

"Girlfriend?" he repeated, one eyebrow lightly squeaking as it was raised. He knew enough not to be scandalized by this, at the very least, but he was still curious.

[TennyoCeres84]

"Yes, her girlfriend. Andrea's in a romantic relationship with a young woman named Colette," Crystal responded, not minding the linking of arms. "They met in a class and have been dating for about a year now."

[IamLEAM1983]

"I see," he soberly noted, as he opened the front passenger door for her. "I would love to say I've been given ample chances to grow familiar with this concept, but this would be dishonest of me. At the very least, I came to be aware that women sometimes developed relationships between one another which the average Anglican priest would have balked at. Iffie - Iphigenia - briefly developed an interest in an illustrated edition of the Thousand and One Nights that had somewhat sulfurous undertones. Before she met me, she and a friend of hers experimented on these illustrations."

He took his seat and started the mechanical engine. "Suffice it to say, my initial exposure to this spoiled a good cup of tea. Rest assured, I've made progress in this regard - bless the Hippie movement's survival in the Transgenics Wars. This Summer of Love concept really sounded like something Byron and Wilde would both have found smashing."

[TennyoCeres84]

Crystal nodded and seated herself in the passenger's seat, buckling her seat belt. "It's a good thing it did survive. It was basically the birth of the Sexual Revolution. It had its share of growing pains, but I believe it was worth it. If a society ignores and suppresses sexuality, it'll eventually boil over. Too much frustration, in my opinion," she stated with a laugh.

"Americans still bear a love-hate relationship with sex and non-traditional relationships, but progress has been made. Rhode Island passed the right for same-sex couples to marry back in 2013. It's also now the law in England, Scotland, and Wales," she explained.

[IamLEAM1983]

"So I've seen; I still find myself in the process of appraising all that has transpired."

He lightly shook his head, Daisy keeping a fairly low noise threshold despite its absence of a standard cockpit. The goggles were more leftovers from the car's more armored days than anything associated with potential dust and fumes, but he'd always felt as if they had been made to go together.

"I still wonder, however," he thought aloud, "what the world would have been like, had no one survived the Karthians' crash into the plains of the Caucasus. The technology that gave birth to me was gaining traction and seemed poised to dominate all of Western industry, with the hidden potential of electricity being more of a charlatan's fever dream than anything concrete. Analog computation ran the world, and a few Automatons such as myself briefly stood on the cutting edge.

All it took for this to vanish was one crumbling aristocracy, a power-mad warlock and a hopeful heiress, one slightly overwhelmed polar bear... and a tiny vial of glass."

Archie then seemed to remember something. "Oh - I also inadvertently inspired one particularly nationalistic Serbian youth named Gavrilo, who assumed it would be a swell idea if he had himself an Archduke for dessert, after his sandwich in a Sarajevo café... Try and prevent an alien hegemony in a time that would have left most of us Terrans helpless, and you stoke embers of revolution that had been stirring somewhere since the birth of the Ottoman Empire. Or was it the Mongol Empire? Mayhap - if the Mongols had retained Russia, nothing in the Anastasius Romanov saga would have transpired. Or - should I look for causes with the bloody Vikings? After all, they did found the Kingdom of Rus, didn't they?"

The Clank gave Crystal a querying look behind his goggles. "Is it any easier, being a police officer? Unless, that is, you actually are wondering if your individual actions do not happen to fit into something greater than yourself, and do so to the point of anxiety. Kill the right Abomination at the right moment and maybe save a life in the least likely of ways, eh?"

He winked at her. "Superstition. Part and parcel of dipping your hands into the cookie jars of the powerful."

[TennyoCeres84]

Crystal casually shrugged. "Perhaps there's something bigger to life's little details, maybe there's not..." she stated. "I've perhaps given it a bit of thought, but never that deeply. My father was an officer, and I followed in his footsteps. 'Protect and serve' is what I do. There really isn't any greater meaning than that."