Akira floated down the staircase of Ffrwd Dylluan slowly and very carefully, relying on his Theurgical-Kinesis to prevent him from bumping the plaster cast that protected his shattered hip. Damn Granite! One punch, that was all it took and it annoyed him even more that it had been a drunken accident that had occurred during a raucous karaoke session that got out of hand at the Endeavour pub rather than during a robbery or something equally heroic.
Akira’s genetic inheritance meant that, like all Metas, he healed faster than normal ‘vanilla’ humans, but something as badly shattered as his hip still took time to mend properly. The pain he was feeling had meant he had finally elected to take at least some of his prescribed meds, despite the fact that they interfered with his powers, leaving his TK control shakier than he would like.
He ignored the hall mirrors with their blood-red messages leaking out of the frames declaring resistance to the current status quo and was forced to speed up his flight as he entered the library before the door slammed shut with excessive violence and an angry buzz-like murmur behind him.
He had to admit that interspecies labour relations at Ffrwd Dylluan were at an all-time low.
He was aware that in his current medical condition he was a liability to the team and had, in a moment of rare clarity and humility, elected to excuse himself from the team’s adventures at present. At least until the cast was removed.
Damn Granite for shattering his hip and Damn Banshee who he was sure was responsible for telling the house Fae, and especially the sprites, about unions and the history of workers’ rights including the taking of industrial action such as go slows and picket lines…
He just wished he knew what the little alien ‘buggers’ (without their glamour and cloaks of invisibility they were very insect-like in their appearance) wanted… Money held no value for them and normally they enjoyed their work which wasn’t onerous especially when he was away. Given the sprites lacked any form of verbal communication that he could understand, he was forced to rely on the messages being relayed though the mirrors; though he refused to believe the scene in the mirror room showing that the Egyptians that had built the Sphynx had participated in strikes and protest marches. False representation and total fiction, or at least a serious reinterpretation of facts if ever he had seen.
Pictures and mirrors that had previously displayed scenes of dances and recent interactions now displayed angry scenes of industrial action through the ages. As a result he’d taken to avoiding the Mirror Room and gallery as much as possible.
The kitchen elves had elected to do a go slow and had stopped restocking the larder leaving Akira to have to make his own lunch; baked beans on pitta bread toast (all that was left in the larder) and no sign of a fresh vegetable to be found. Worse, the invisible creatures were apparently treating his presence in the kitchen as though he was scab labour, invisibly hissing and booing him as he worked!
In fairness, Akira hadn’t given much thought to his alien servants needs until now. Relations had got frosty almost overnight and was now at an all-time low. He just wished he could have the plaster cast removed so he could get around better.
He briefly considered leaving the mansion and heading back to the BASEment and the support and care of Jeeves but if he left now what might he come back to in the future? Would the house Fae elect to assume ownership of his family’s home, taking it into workers control? Could he risk leaving under current conditions?
He thought for a moment then hobbled over to the old fashioned dial phone and phoned the largest supermarket in the nearby town of Brichester and placed a grocery order. The delivery man would bring his order only as far as the derelict cottage on the edge of the estate – the property once occupied by Akira’s deceased parents. Like every other local for a dozen miles around the delivery man would not risk entering the grounds in case an animated rosebush entangled him or a raven decided to dive bomb him as he entered the gardens. There were so many stories and legends attached to the property that the only visitors who dared enter were the Balance and would-be assassins equipped with mystical charms to ward off bad (and mischievous) spirits and even then the house was liable to attack them.
He deliberately ordered a dozen jars of their best and most expensive honey hoping that they would act as an acceptable offering (or bribe) until such time as he could find some means of negotiating with the little sods as to what they wanted in return for a return to normal service.
Possibly the Medallion of the Modrossus might be persuaded to help bridge the communication divide but he would need a clearer head before he could try imploring the Trinity that was the Modrossus to aid him and the live-in librarian Tom Cyprus was no help either.
Meanwhile he headed to a nearby chaise longue and gingerly lowered himself down onto the upholstered cushions while picking up a book on mystical counter spells against the dark arts and began to read. The honey delivery wouldn’t be until the evening and he wanted to lie low until then to avoid any further issues.
Oh to be well and back in action, away from the turmoil of Ffrwd Dylluan once more…
—
Ffrwd Dylluan is the ancestral home of the Steadman family (Akira being the sole living descendant) and is located in the shadow of Mercy Hill in the Severn Valley near Brichester just across the border from Wales in the County of Mercia – full details can be found at https://uksuperhero.com/the-mansion-of-ffrwd-dylluan/
Superhero Adventures, UK Style 