Chapter Text
Telemachus was no fighter. The other boys were, and they never let him forget his shortcomings.
“Oh look, it’s the bleeding-heart kid!” One of them laughed.
“Cry over any dead animals lately, princess?” Another one sneered.
Telemachus narrowed his eyes at the other orphans. Were they harmless? Yes. Were they fucking annoying? Also, yes. He swallowed down his anger-tinged frustration.
“Fumble any missions lately Amphinomus?” He retorted, revelling in his small victory as the other youth sputters, his cheeks turning a muddy orange. The other boy’s elbow Amphinomus and snicker, their teasing successfully redirected to their new target. “I wonder,” he drawled, “what Antinous thought of your huge oversight. Did you really expect the target to be absent from their mansion the whole night?” He smiled slyly. “It looks like brawn isn’t everything in the crime world.”
As expected, Amphinomus is at a loss for words. The barracks were silent, as everyone was watching this duel of wits, with some craning their necks to witness from their bunkbeds. Amp curled his fists. Telemachus knew how to push the others’ buttons. Amp slowly smiled.
“I know what Antinous thinks about you. We all know what Antinous thinks about you.” He cocked his head, his smile growing bigger, his eyes purposely flicking to the black collar on Telemachus’ neck. The barracks were silent, everyone holding their breaths, their eyes flicking from opponent to opponent. Telemachus’ face grew hot, and it was his turn to be at a loss for words. Sensing his weakness, Amphinomus pushed on. “Cleaned any bedrooms lately?”
Telemachus snarled and leapt at the older youth. He easily sidestepped, bringing his elbow down on his back and sweeping his legs at the same time. Telemachus didn’t have time to protect his face before slamming face-first onto the polished floors. Laughter erupted everywhere. Warm liquid poured down his face as he lifted his face off the ground. He growled at his assailant, furiously blinking the blood out of his eyes.
The young man slowly crouched down, looking down at him. “It looks like strength and skill win again, weakling.” Telemachus lunged at him, only to paw at empty air, as Amp jumped back, barking with laughter. The rest of his lackeys spit vicious insults his way, targeting his manhood, his slender figure, and, of course, his lack of power.
Telemachus drew himself up to his full height, lifting his chin. Before he can stop it, his tongue lashed out “at least I wasn’t abandoned like you useless lot.” He didn’t even have time to regret his words, before Ctessipus struck his jaw so hard, he lifted off the ground. He didn’t have time to steady his feet, before another boy punched his back, sending him back towards Amp, who simply smiled before kneeing him in the stomach, hard. With the wind knocked out of him, all he could do was roll on the floor as he failed to draw air into his lungs.
The sleeping quarters quickly evacuated, the assassin trainees eager to leave the scene lest any of their superiors blamed them for the assault. Telemachus finally drew in a breath, hacking and coughing. Pain bloomed across his back and stomach, the dull pain of his body mixing with the sharp pain on his face. He stayed like that for a few minutes, holding his stomach and settling his breathing. Fuck. He thought. I hate Monday’s.
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Telemachus limped towards the showers. He could hear shouts and grunts from the courtyard as the trainees practiced their fighting drills. The boys were always extra aggressive on Monday’s, exerting their power over Tele before they were forced to complete their brutal training. At least Telemachus wasn’t subjected to the strict regime on account of his position as Antinous’ maid.
He twisted the shower handle as cold as it could go before jumping in. He stayed still as a statue under the ice water for as long as he could, before jumping out, the tips of his fingers numb. The cold helped take his mind off his (mild!) injuries. Mild because it wasn’t uncommon for the other trainees to return from missions with missing digits or deep scars, their eyes reflecting deeper wounds. In that sense, Telemachus was lucky. Maybe that was why he let himself be roughed up by the boys.
He slowly dressed, pulling his black t-shirt over his head, his hair dampening the collar. He shoved his combat pants and boots on before tying his shoulder length hair behind him. His reflection stared at him, deep bags under blue eyes, his black hair already beginning to curl from the moisture. He examined the gash on his forehead, hoping that Antinous wouldn’t notice it.
His hope was dashed when the first thing Antinous said to him was “what the fuck happened to your face?” Tele grit his teeth, once again warring with ratting out his comrades, or concocting a story.
“I slipped in the shower.” Actually, I was ganged up on.
Antinous seemed amused, not suspecting his story was a lie. Goddess help him the day Antinous figured out his precious word games. “Ever the clumsy rich brat,” the man murmured. He trained his eyes on the ground, nodding mutely.
“I have a new task for you today. It is a…little different than what I have been asking you so far.” His stomach knotted, but he kept his breathing even. “I want you to plan our next mark.”
Telemachus’ head whipped up, forgetting the protocol due to his astonishment. “What,” he asked, mouth dry. Antinous did not reprimand him for meeting his gaze. On the contrary, the crime lord studied Tele’s eyes, which felt far more invasive than the skirmish this morning.
“I know you are smart. Not just book smart, but people smart as well. This syndicate needs a new brain.” His mind was running a mile a minute, desperately trying to make sense of this new information.
“New brain?” He questioned. What happened to Eurymachus?
“Yes,” Antinous stated in a way that left no room for any further questions. Telemachus could only stare at his captor, aware his mouth was open, but unable to close it. Him? Planning which people to kill? The narrowing of Antinous’ eyes reminded Tele to cast his eyes downwards, his throat dry. A minute of tense silence passed between the two of them. No doubt Antinous was enjoying his squirming. “Look at me,” he commanded. Telemachus slowly raised his eyes. The man cocked his head, grinning at his obedience. “Is there a problem?”
Tele swallowed thickly. Problem? Yes, planning murder was a problem. “I—sir—I don’t…” The crime lord raised an eyebrow. Tele settled on what he did best: manipulation. “I have no experience Sir. I would surely be a hindrance and hurt this syndicate more than help.” He willed his voice to sound weak and pathetic. Antinous clicked his tongue.
“Nonsense. I have seen the way you interact with the other boys. I hear about your wiles and your wit. I know that you have inherited your father’s politician tricks.” Anger smoldered in his stomach, hot and deep, at the mention of his father. He tried not to, but his body stiffened, his teeth ground together, and his fists clenched. Antinous noticed. Of course he noticed. “And your mother’s brains.”
A growl escaped his throat, and he took a step towards Antinous before he even realized it. All too quick, a bolt of lightning surged through him, his body instantly dropping to the ground, his growl morphing into a pained cry. “Keep their names out of your filthy mouth,” he gritted out. This earned him another shock. He yelped. Antinous looked down at him, bored.
“Do you mean the coward Odysseus? Or do you mean your dead mother Penelope?”
“Fuck yoo—agghhh!”
Antinous, anticipating his response, held down the shock button for much longer, as he writhed in pain, a scream locked in his throat. When the electricity stopped—he had to double check that it was gone—he sucked in a breath, tears streaming down his face. That was the second time this morning that he fought for breath. He really did hate Monday’s.
The threat of another shock was successful in staying his tongue this time, his chest heaving. Antinous hummed in approval, walking over to his prone figure. His muscles were still twitching from the high voltage. Antinous must have fiddled with the intensity.
His captor crouched near him, a hand reaching out to pet his head. He flinched away from the hand, which stilled, the unspoken threat heavy in the air. Telemachus closed his eyes and willed his breathing to steady before, reluctantly, moving his head towards Antinous’s palms. His rough hand gripped his hair, the force of it undoing his ponytail, as his head was yanked up to meet the monster’s eyes. The corners of its wretched mouth twitched in excitement, his eyes filled with mirth and…something new.
“Answer the question, and don’t make me repeat myself.”
His mind was muddled from the shocks, his re-opened forehead wound, and the punishing grip in his hair. He tried to remember what the question was.
“No…Sir.” He gritted out, resisting the urge to call him something that would have made his mother upset, were she still alive.
“Good.” The monster’s claws released his hair, and Telemachus crashed to the ground, this time miraculously saving his face from the floor. He moved to get up, but a heavy boot pushed him back to the ground, grinding painfully into his shoulder blades. “Ah ah ah, not so fast.”
“What now,” he whined.
“I need your assurance that you will take this position and that you will plan our next moves as if your life depends on it.” The pressure increased as Anti crouched down, his breath hot on his neck. “Because it does.”
“I assure you sir,” venom sneaking back into his words, “that I will take this position as if my life depends on it.” As if he had a choice. The boot doesn’t move.
“Hmm. I don’t believe you.”
Telemachus stiffened, craning his neck to fix the man with a glare. The man’s eyes were glowing with that unfamiliar emotion, his mouth slightly parted.
“You see, I have been watching you over this past year, whispering to your comrades, turning your bullies against one another. Why do you think I collared you so quickly?”
No, he was lying. There was no way that Antinous, out of anyone, figured it out.
“I think,” his voice dropping into a husky murmur, “I need to find a different way to tame your spirit, young wolf.”