Years passed, and Dr. Fell had steadily gained momentum. He attended local conferences, lurking in the shadows to wait and learn and take notes. He funded most of his work by selling the bodies from his freshly inherited graveyard, and before long no one remembered the funny little inventor that used to have lived there. Just business as usual.
Frederik served his purpose, but he was definitely an unrefined model. After some upgrades and presentation to the proper Patchwork appraisers, the orders came flooding in. He no longer needed to just sell the parts, Enthusiasts paid dearly for his unique designs. Keeping a Fell minion became chic, to be served by an art piece, but purists out-cried that nothing beat a pure old-fashioned proper Igor.
Over time, the “Fad” began to wane. He still had plenty of business with “Upgrades”, and maintenance, but he wanted to create. Flesh was just a medium for the art, and he was stuck, once again.
Proper Igors had one thing going for them: practicality. So what did the market ask for? Traditionally, they were hand-me-downs with about as much personality as a damp sponge, and the IQ of a bar of soap. You'd upgrade them and fix them up and send them along, or sew two together again if there was a particularly tricky experiment gone awry.
They were the handy wipes of the Patchwork world, really... but a new Igor was rare. The Parts Emporium supplied many used and recycled Igors, but never new ones. It was a bit like adopting a dog, he supposed, let someone else go through the training and “breaking in” and keep yourself from getting too attached. Frederik was useful in that dim sort of way he had, but he wasn't truly built for certain things, and was far too valuable to be considered expendable...
But Vincent was a man who if he did anything, he would do it right. He would do it properly.
Personalization was the key. Customization. He sighed, glancing out the window. Hopefully this new creation would have a better sense of taste in Parts than Frederik. The reptilian-headed creature couldn't tell the difference between a man and woman's dismembered arm, for Fear's sake.
Nothing more to it. The demon let his feathers envelope him protectively as he lifted his gas mask from where it hung. It was time to gather supplies. Hopefully this would be the last time he needed to go out and do this himself.
* * * * * * * *
The parts were picked carefully, laying out ready for the finishing touches of assembly. Vincent had thought long and hard what he was looking for in this minion, and catered appropriately. One should start simple, the beginning a hull as the Patchworked Brain healed and re-situated and relearned.
The brain. That was the important part. He had located several that would do the deed whole and as is- traditionally, that's how it went. Find a brain, and trust the jolt of electricity and Fear to clean the slate, so to speak. But customization was the key here. Carefully, he made the incisions to the stock on-hand. Standard Igor Fair for the most part, but it needed something more, something special to make sure it could do what Needed to be Done. Something special. That bit of spice to make things interesting. To see what would happen. A key to the experiment.
The vulture stepped among his increasingly growing collection of Choice Parts, but paused at a particular, now dusty and almost forgotten jar.
For a moment, his expression softened, a bit pained. Perhaps... he had been a bit hasty. It was a good brain, all-in-all, and it was only then it hit him that he really hadn't needed to kill him.
Old habits, he supposed. He sighed, turning the jar in his clawed hands thoughtfully. What was done was done. There was no undoing it. Almost immediately, he realized what he was thinking, squelching that moment of sentimentality and attachment to cross back to his bench, irreverently tossing the brain onto the table. Just a piece. Thomas would have appreciated the gesture, he was sure.
He cut, he stitched, he swapped and experimented and stitched again. The little, malformed body was strapped to the table. Lightening crackled overhead. The pumpkin was in place.
Lightening crackled overhead, and he signaled Frederik to pull the switch. In a burst of light, electricity and Fear, his metaphorical son lived.
* * * * * * * *
“Numele meu este Christof.”
“Very good. Now again, in common tongue.” Vincent paced around the table expectantly as the little, hunched figure thought carefully.
“N.... name Christof?” Mismatched eyes turned up to their master hopefully.
“Again, properly.”
The Patchwork swallowed, mind racing over the lessons that had been hammered into his head over the past few days of his life. “My... name is Christof?”
“It is not a question, but very good.”
All things considered, he was a fast learner. This was good. Fell considered it confirmation that his decision on stock to use had been founded well and sensibly.
“Maestre, de ce trebuie să existe atât de multe cuvinte pentru aceleaşi lucruri?”
Fell sighed, confirmation slighted. “In common tongue, Christof.” He rose a hand to stop him from repeating the question, “We may speak one set of words here, but elsewhere people use different sets. Most understand Common tongue, ergo you must too. Now. I am sending you on an errand-”
The little hunchback's eyes lit up, “Out, Master? Of castle? I ready?”
“Watch your wording. 'I am ready,' and we shall see, shall we?” He pulled a list from his pocket, offering it out to those little mis-matched hands that took it reverently.
Christof frowned down at the mysterious symbols covering the page. He had mastered the local language in just a few days, and was making progress speaking Common, but they had not yet touched upon written language just yet.
“If you can bring me back the things on this list, we will begin your alphabet.” Vincent gave the little Igor-in-training a soft smile, offering out a coat for him.
Eagerly, Christof slipped it on, hopping down from his chair at the table, “I will do proud, Master!”
Vincent refrained from correcting his grammar, stepping aside to let the boy hurry towards the door back into the laboratory. “Should I send Frederik with you?”
The hunchback gave a squeak, shaking his head frantically, “Nu, nu, Will be good, Maestre!” He pleaded, peeking out of the doorway to make sure the scary minion was busy elsewhere.
“If you are not back in three hours, I will send him to find you.”
That warning seemed to be enough to terrify the young creation, stitched face paling, “Will be good, Master! Will be fast!” That said, he started to run to the stairway.
“Christof?” The demon held up the forgotten satchel, “You will need this.”
Face now red, he hurried back to grab it with both hands and a polite bow. “Yes, Master. Will be back with all of the things!”
* * * * * * * *
The world outside of the castle was large and terrifying and bright- compared to the gloom of the laboratory that he had known his entire waking life, even the dim afternoon Halloween sun felt scorching. Christof padded hesitantly down the winding path through the graveyard. He knew generally where he was supposed to go, he had learned exciting words like “Hardware” and “Apothecary” before when his Master had sent Frederik. He knew they were in town, and that in order to get to Town, he needed to follow the Road. His little legs were slow, though, and everything was so.... exciting! He skipped amongst the headstones, pretending to hide from invisible foes only to valiantly escape. A stick was picked up halfway across the vast property towards the gate, and he popped behind a decorative statue to hide just in time for the odd, rumbling contraption to blast past.
This was the road, and that big thing with the creatures attached must have been a carriage. He couldn't quite remember the Common words for them, but he was certain he remembered those flash cards.
He set forth, stick in hand, and empty leather satchel banging against his ankles. He hadn't learned much about Music yet, but he liked it when Master whistled to teach him the general concept. He tried to do it himself, but the results were an unsatisfactory series of sputters and hisses. An aimless, repetitive hum worked just as well.
“What are you doing outside the factory?” The sudden voice made the little hunchback stop, glancing around frantically. It's owner, apparently, was in the tree he had just crossed under, on account of her dropping from the branches and bounced up to him curiously. She didn't look much bigger than him, alright a bit taller, but everyone was taller.... but her eyes looked much older. “Did you escape? I've never seen such a little Igor!”
Common tongue... and so fast he could barely keep up.
“N-name... C-christof.... IS! Is Christof.” He blurted out elegantly.
She smirked, cocking her head to one side, “I thought you were all called Igor. Hence why you're called-”
“Master Says...” He paused while he tried to translate, his expression contorting anxiously, “Person table is... um. Forget. But Master said thing um... important. Name.”
“Sunteţi de gând să faci rău, Igor,” the girl giggled, flashing sharp teeth, “Bunicul îmi permite să se joace cu Igor lui uneori. Sunt bune pentru preluare. Poate te iau?” She plucked the stick from his hands, as though ready to toss it for a good game of Fetch.
Christof's face flushed, brows furrowing as he tried to get it back, “Eu nu sunt prost! Esti prost de gândire Eu sunt prost! I need practice my words!”
That made the little Vampiress blink, her pigtails bobbing. Eyes narrowing as she suddenly circled him appraisingly. “How old are you, Igor?”
“Will be week tomorrow!” he replied proudly. “Start alphabets. Er...” He sank a bit, digging into his coat pocket for the list before offering it out to her, “Can you words?”
“Hmmm...” A week? A week? The little girl was about sixty, as far as she could tell, although by her breed of vampire's standards, she was about six. Did Igors age like dogs, then? But her Grandad's Igor was ancient … “So you have a Master already? That's a shame. I thought you'd be a perfect Igor for me.” He'd be a lot more fun to play with than that rusty, rotten bag of stitches at home.
Christof thought it through quickly, “Can... Igor for two hours. Need to be home in um...” He glanced at the watch in his satchel he had no idea how to read, “Soon! Or trouble. Igor for you and you words and help find the things?”
The vampire ghoul looked dramatically thoughtful, “ I suppose.... but for sommin' as serious as ah.... reading.... 'Ill need more Igoring than that. We'll discuss later,” Beaming, she suddenly grabbed his stitched hand to drag him away from the road, beyond the tree to a driveway up ahead, “We can get one of Grandfather's servants to drive us, then, so we'll have more time to play!”
“Ulp!” was all he managed, but it certainly seemed better than walking. And he would complete the task and make a friend! Master would be pleased.
* * * * * * * *
Her name turned out to be Lotte, and she had a cat and a dog and a fish but no Igors of her own, and her favorite color was red and countless other useless facts she would not shut up about, despite Christof's agape amazement at riding in the carriage.
“So fast! Faster than walk!” He gasped, face pressed up against the window.
“Of course, stupid. That's the whole point! Now pay attention, I'm not done!”
He sat back again, watching her politely as she carried on, but his mouth was still twisted in an excited grin.
The servant, a bored and tired looking zombie ended up doing the actual reading and directing, and it turned out only one stop was needed and for only a couple things. He waited outside to let the children have their little adventure.
“I've never been in an apothemacary shop before. It smalls bad.”
“Smell good. Like home,” Christof squinted at the list before politely clearing his throat to get the hair old monster behind the counter's attention. “Um! Hello! Need things for Master!” The Igor announced, pushing the list over.
“What have we here?” The old man peered over his spectacles at the two little figures, then to the note in his hands. “This is Dr. Fell's writing. No Frederik today?” He seemed relived as he stepped back, arms unfolding from his vest to juggle note, spectacles, the sliding ladder, a cleaning cloth, and still help pull his old bones up to the appropriate shelf.
“Nope! Sent me, I bring back all the things and then learn alphabets.”
“He's my Igor,” Lotte announced, tossing a slender arm over his hunched back, and Christof flushed. “At least for two hours! So we must be quick!”
“I see, I see,” The old man chuckled, making his way back with a few bottles that tinkled between his many shaking hands. “Alright then, little Mistress, for your Igor I have two bottles of embalming fluid, Three bottles of disinfectant, all of the herbs on the list, and one Bloodberry lollypop and one lemon.” he smiled further, offering the candies out to each of them as the other many hands carefully packed the rest away in bags to protect the glassware. “I'll put it on Master Fell's account,” He whispered conspiratorially to the little Igor who was baffled on what to do with the yellow ball on a stick he had been handed.
“You eat it, son, it's a candy.”
“Oh!” and he promptly shoved it in his mouth.
Lotte giggled fitfully, snatching it out again. “You unwrap it first, dummy!” She did it for him, popping it back into his mouth again to beam at the reaction.
Christof stared wide-eyed as he tried to make sense of the situation, whether he was enjoying it or not. “Funkoo!” he managed around the lollypop, carefully sliding the paper bags into his satchel.
“Alright, c'mon! Thanks, Mr.!”
They decided to ride back to Lotte's since she lived close to Christof's Master's property, so they could “Get down to business” without too much worry. Her Grandfather's castle was much bigger than Fell's but they didn't waste too much time indoors, except to receive a sun hat at another servant's admonishment, and she stuck her tongue out at it as they trotted their way to the garden.
“It should be around here somewhere- you know how to dig, right?”
“Of course know Dig!” Christof huffed, a bit insulted. “Learn two days ago.” On a flash card. And he had seen Frederik do it. It couldn't be that hard. He glanced around at the high topiaries in awe. His Master didn't have any gardens like this... only the vegetables and pumpkin patch for experimenting.
"Good," She hauled a small garden shovel from a heap of tools the servants had stashed, offering it out to him."Here's the plan. We go through the maze, and at just the right spot, you dig a big hole. Then we fill it with skitters and cloudipedes and things so when my horrible cousin Eddie comes, looking for a place to smooch that stupid ghoulfriend of his, I'll shove him in!" She grinned evily, and couldn't contain her high, little but still maniacal laugh.
"Er, ok." He managed.
“I know just the spot! This way!”
The dim afternoon pressed on, holes were dug, fights and giggles were had, and they had managed to collect exactly thirteen creepy crawlies before the watch in Christof's nearly forgotten satchel began to chime.
“Must go!” he dropped the snake, face paling.
“Awwww, but we're not done!”
“M-m-master will be cross. Must go.” He patted himself off, but he was absolutely filthy.
“Can you come back tomorrow?” She pouted.
Satchel hefted onto his shoulder, he pursed his lips. “Will... will try! Owe you more Igoring.”
Lotte beamed at him, “Good! If you do not, your Mistress will be cross!” And he couldn't help but smile back before turning to wander from the maze and hurry home.
* * * * * * * *
“Master! Master! I have returned! Master?”
“Christof!”
The hunchback stopped in his tracks at the sudden, horrified shout as he had been running down the hall to the laboratory.
“I brought-”
“You are disgusting! Off with those boots! Not HERE you daft boy! FREDERIK!” Vincent's already pale face had gone even whiter at the sight of those muddy tracks.
Christof paled himself, clutching the satchel to his chest, “I-I sorry, Master, just wanted- Eep!”
Frederik appeared behind him, snarling softly as he waited for the next command.
“Leave the satchel here, but go make sure the boy is clean before coming down here again! Is that understood?”
“Yes, Master,” Christof squeaked as he was lead upstairs again and out back to the hose. Ultimately, he thought as the icy water washed the dirt and left over cloudipedes from his person, today had been the best yet.
* * * * * * * *
The next day, he found himself scrambling for excuses to go out again. He sat through his reading lesson impatiently, eyes often drifting to the window. “Master? May I practice outside?” He was already getting better with his common wording. Hopefully the doctor would reward him.
Vincent regarded him over his reading glasses, casually removing them before scooping up a cop of Grim Anatomy, “It is rather nice out. Off with you, then, but I expect that whole book to be read by sundown.”
Christof grimaced at it's thick, daunting amount of pages.
“You will like it. It has pictures.”
“Y-yes, Master,” He sighed, sliding the heavy thing off of the table with both hands. Once he had wobbled out of eye-sight, he quickly ran. He could read and play with his friend, right? Of course.
He hobbled his way quietly but quickly down the pathway, through the graveyard, stopping only occasionally to see if he was being followed.
“I've been waiting all afternoon for you! Where have you been? It's rude to keep your Mistress waiting!” Lotte was hanging by her knees from the tree, and at the sight of him, she gracefully dropped back to the ground.
“Had lessons,” He panted, looking miserable as he practically tossed the book into the grass, “Must read whole book.”
She snorted, scooping it up to give it a perusal, “What's an Igor gotta' read for? Bah, we'll get to it later, c'mon. I've got a job for you!”
“What about the Skitter Pit?”
“No no no, that was so yesterday. Today you must build a palace for your Mistress!”
Christof frowned, face paling, “A...?”
“Don't worry, I got most of the stuff ready! Here!” She immediately began to load his arms up with wooden planks she had mysteriously procured, “I'll climb up and you pass 'em to me and climb up too!”
“Climb?” He watched as she expertly scaled the branches.
“What, don't tell me you can't do that!” She gave an exasperated sigh, “How can we build it if you can't get up here?”
The afternoon pressed on, filled with climbing lessons, hammering lessons, and building instructions until, eventually, they had a good sturdy platform. Hey hunted the property for more supplies, locating some good make-shift walls, and by the time the sun was starting to set, Lotte's eyes lit up with excitement from their newly crafted hiding spot.
“We should get some candles! We could have a sleep over!”
“Book!” Christof finally remembered with a groan, “Never read book!”
“We could read it here tonight!”
“Would have to ask Master,” He muttered, anxiety and uncertainty in his voice.
“No harm in that! I'll come too! I've been wantin' to ask him sommin' anyway.”
“I... I dunno, Master is...” He couldn't think of the right word to use, but if he had known more people for comparison, he would have settled for 'odd.'
“I'm sure he'll love me. I'm a very likable person, you know.” She batted her eyes at him pleadingly.
Swallowing, Christof nodded, gathering his things in the waning light.
* * * * * * * *
"I've never been on this property before. Grandad says to keep away,” Lotte curiously watched the headstones and crypts as they passed, but Christof continued forth in silence.
The castle loomed into sight, and his feet eventually slowed, “This... this bad idea. Should just go home...”
“How is it a bad idea? You might be an Igor, but you're also a kid, and this is what kids do. Don't be a pansy!”
“But Master-”
“Nuts to your Master,” she giggled, suddenly springing forward to run towards the door before he could protest further.
With a yelp, he bolted after her, frantically trying to grab her arm, but she was already pushing the door open and hurrying inside.
There was a flash of movement beyond the entrance as he stumbled across the front steps, “Master! Master I'm-”
Frederick hissed, eyes glowing in the dim candlelight inside, and Lotte squeaked, his monstrous hand clamped around her throat. His stitches keeping his muzzle clamped shut strained against his urge to snap and bite.
“N-n-no, Frederick! Not trespasser! Friend! Friend, stop!” Christof pleaded, trying feebly to pull on the arm entrapping her, and while the patchwork creature did not immediately snap her neck, he did straightened, ignoring the annoying little hunchback hanging from his elbow as he turned to bring her to Master.
Dr. Fell was, of course, downstairs in the laboratory, and at the sound of voices, he glanced up from his work.
“Master! Master, Miss Lotte-”
“What have you brought me, boys? Ah,” He set down his tools, although something metallic glinted under his feathery robe, “A wonderful find, Christof! A very good job.”
“M-master?”
Lotte's eyes were wide with terror as he approached, a critical look on his face.
“Vampires are exceptionally difficult to catch, but their Parts are most valuable. You have done well, Christof.”
“Master, I-”
“Parts,” Vincent explained as though they had moved into a fresh lesson, and Frederik tossed the little hunchback aside, placing the squirming, screaming girl onto the strapped lab table, “Are the most important, foundational thing. You already show good taste.” He smiled proudly, and in a burr of movement the girl's screaming was cut short by a quick chop of a cleaver. “Young parts, especially. Her fear hasn't fully realized itself yet, it's just... ah... stem cells of fear, as some would call it. The flesh can be retrained.”
Christof could only gape in horror as the lesson continued, each part explained, each use of a bone, of a hand, of a fang cited.
“Wonderful, wonderful. Did you read the book yet?”
* * * * * * * *
There was cleanup to be done, and his Master was patient to explain the preservative process, training the shocked little Igor the proper way to store his finds.
“We are all just Parts that make up a whole, Christof. It is Parts that are the foundation of everything. Remember that.”
Christof was quiet the rest of the evening, all through dinner and into the night, not saying a word as he mechanically moved through his chores. He sat in his cot in the storage room of the laboratory and read his book as best he could.
His mind was racing.
Lotte was dead. She was Spare Parts. Master had been pleased, hadn't hesitated, had even rewarded him with a blood pudding dessert.
Lotte was gone.
He stared at the light streaming in from the bright moon, putting the book down. As though drawn by an invisible force, the little hunchback drifted from his room, creeping silently through the laboratory to the back door and out into the night.
Before he was even aware he had gone anywhere, he found himself at the tree... the special tree, staring up at Mistress' Palace. Quietly, he scaled the make-shift ladder she had eventually consented for him to build after his feeble attempts at climbing, and once up, he curled up in the middle of the floor, staring at the curtain that made up one of the walls, unsure of what to think.
Master knew best.
Master's word was law.
Regardless of his lessons spinning through his head like a comforting mantra, the hunchback soon dissolved into shaking tears.
He would have to tell her grandfather. He needed to know- he'd be worried...
His feet felt like lead as he made his way down the road and up the drive, numb and surreal. He knocked.
“Lotte, you are late! Your organ teacher has already left and-” the old vampire that answered the door looked ancient, white hair done up carefully and almost the same color as his white face, supporting himself by a cane. He did not see his grandaughter, though, and as he scowled through his spectacles, the vision of a miserable little Igor in a night shirt came into focus. “Oh! You are her friend, yes? She spoke at length about you yesternight.”
“M-m-master Lotte's Grandfather, s-sir...” Christof's voice just managed to escape his throat as the tears welled up once again. “S-s-something awful happened...”
As he explained, the old vampire's expression shifted from kind and gentle to harrowed.
“And- and- and all my fault! Warned her! Worried! But did not listen and Master did not listen and I didn't mean for but Parts and-” He babbled, hunch shuddering as emotion took him again.
The vampire slid a long, slender hand around his uneven little shoulders, expression carefully bottled rage. “It was not your fault, boy,” That said, he immediately motioned for his servant to bring his cloak, “I will... have words with your Master,” His voice was a dangerous hiss.
In theory, Christof was going to go in first this time, but in his terror, he could do nothing but hide behind the elderly vampire's legs, letting him lead the way.
“Doctor Fell!” The vampire's voice was soft and breathy, but the edge of rage made it resonate down the entrance as though it had been bellowed.
Two pinpricks of glowing eyes appeared in the gloom, growing larger as they approached.
“I have come for my grandaughter!” He snarled, but Christof tensed behind him.
It was, of course, Frederik who met them, a muffled snarl in his throat as he regarded the intruder and diminutive hunchback huddled behind him.
“Go fetch your Master,” He snarled back, “I am content to wait.”
Christof's breathing quickened, rocking gently with every second that passed before the demon drifted down the hall from his chambers, wrapped in a black dressing gown and a weary expression.
The discussion was a short one, a long series of threats and outrages and demands from the Vampire, followed by a quick retort from the demon that involved a wooden steak and an exasperated sigh. The grandfather snarled, knocking the steak to the side, “Do not change the subject on me, young Demon, if you think I am so frail...” Teeth sharpening, cloak fluttering out into leathery wings, “You are wrong!”
The moment he lunged, Dr. Fell dodged back, dressing gown overcome by black shadowy feathers. Bat and Bird suddenly erupted down the hall in a fit of shrieks and wings and sharp teeth and sharper talons, Christof stumbling to press himself in a doorway or get caught in the fray. In his whole week-or-so of existence, he had never seen his Master's true form, eyes locked on those feathers steadily becoming more stained with blood- some his own, but mostly... not. After what felt like an eternity of struggling, the two suddenly became a tangle of talons taring through thin bat skin, their screams echoing down the hall as the wing was ripped clear from it's hairy monstrous form, another talon piercing the heart and the two plummeted down from the high ceiling.
The old man's body slumped to the ground, headless and slowly dissolving into ash and bones. There was no point in harvesting- it was a pity someone so old wasn't so powerful, and he was left a bit disappointed. Vincent's weary eyes fell on the trembling, terrified boy as he softly landed, a look of disappointment spreading over his now human again pale features. He was limping as he approached the little hunchback, favoring his one side.
“Why would you do that, Christof? I know we have much to learn... but betraying your Master is intolerable.”
“You... You killed Lotte! You kill both!” Christof managed, wild-eyed s he backed away.
“There's no room for such trivial sentimentality in our work, boy.” His eyes narrowed, considering something.
“Miss Lotte only nice to me! Took her away! Made her Parts!”
“I told you, we are all just Parts, Christof. I had hoped you would understand this quicker.” He sighed, turning to head down into the laboratory.
“Parts in graves! Not in nice ghouls who play games!”
“Ghouls,” Vincent grimaced, “You speak common for three days and already you've picked up slang.”
“Fix them, Master! Fix them, put them right!”
“He was old, my Igor, his time was soon anyway. Old, and wrong to challenge me.” Christof had followed him, good good. “There is a lesson to be learned here.” Approaching his bench, he picked up an empty jar. “Do you promise to be a good boy? Not speak out against your Master like a good Igor?” He turned to face the boy, who's eyes locked on the jar in confusion. “And I will never take back the life I have so graciously granted you. Is that a deal?”
His Master's words made Christof's face pale, eyes immediately dropping to his feet, “I... I live to serve you, Master. Always Master knows best... but-”
“No buts. You will serve me whole heartedly and I will not hear another word. Is that clear?” He held out his hand and Christof stared, mind still reeling.
Gingerly, he lifted his own hand.
Master knew best.
You must do as Master commands.
He gave him life.
He could take it away.
He gave him a home.
He shook his hand.
“And not one more word of protest,” Dr. Fell sighed remorsefully. What must be done was done. When their hands parted, the little Igor gave a wail, wobbling back as he covered his mouth with his hands.
He wanted to shriek, “Why Master!' but he couldn't.
His tongue lay in the demon's palm, casually placing it into the jar before setting it on the bench to pick up his needle and thread. Christof's terrified gaze rolled to Frederik and his own stitched muzzle, backing up frantically to bump into a stand of tools.
“I will not have a minion be a liability, my boy. This is for your own good.”
* * * * * * * *
Life took up a manageable rhythm after that. Lessons uninterrupted by relentless questions, chores attended to quietly and obediently. Ultimately, Vincent felt he had made the right decision.
What Christof thought of it, he kept to himself. Master knew best, and who was he to argue? There was no arguing, not anymore. He cleaned, he dug, he fetched, he avoided Frederik. He had gotten used to not eating nor drinking after a while- being undead had its advantages, really. And if Frederik could handle the constant state of frustration, so could he, he felt.
Several weeks had gone by, the hunchback keeping to himself as he tended to business. He was putting his Master's laundry away when something caught his attention on a shelf in his dim closet. He had never seen anything like it before. He had seen frogs before, had been requested to dissect them as practice and had had a lot of fun pulling off their legs, but when he tugged on the leg of this frog, a screw-driver popped out. Brows raised curiously, he eagerly pocketed this new toy, finishing up his chores so he could go investigate it further.
It wasn't until the demon had stepped into his own room to prepare for a posh gathering of Mad Scientists that he noticed it missing.
“Christof?” He called, casually working on his tie as he padded down into the laboratory to find the boy.
At the sound of the voice, the hunchback frantically began stuffing his new found toy away under his cot, scrambling to his feet to bow as his Master swept in.
“I believe you have something of mine,” His harsh expression softened at the sight of the boy's trembling, stitched mouth. He had been rather hard on the boy lately... He shouldn't blame him for being curious. But he shouldn't steal from his Master, that was for sure. “Show it to me, Christof?” He tried to make his voice more gentle.
Reluctantly, Christof shifted from foot to foot before digging the device out from under his pillow. He had liked the little frog. It was fun to play with, both tinkering and just... being a kid playing pretend with a new action figure. Alas, though, he was not a normal kid. He was an Igor. He braced himself for the onslaught to come... but it didn't.
Vincent's eyes were calculating as he took the two in, mind drifting far away to long ago. To people who were now dead. He moved to the bins of tools, riffling through until he located what e was looking for. “I will trade you for it, how is that?”
Christof glanced up, brows raised. Not... not in trouble? No punishment? Unless he hadn't understood, which was also likely...
The demon held out a pocket knife with a bone handle, smiling softly. “A proper tool, not that clumsy silly thing. But you must promise to keep it in good repair.”
The hunchback's eyes glistened at the sight of the lovely little knife. It certainly felt better than what he had been expecting. He nodded, offering the frog up eagerly, and was even given a pat on the head as the tools were exchanged, immediately pulling out the corkscrew, the nail file, and the toothpick in it excitedly. It wasn't shaped like a fun little animal, but this was a REAL tool. And Master was happy with him, he wasn't bad, he wasn't, he was only curious and kind, forgiving Master had rewarded him for his honesty. He gave the Demon a sudden hug around the knees before hurrying to sit on his bed and play with his new toy- HIS new toy, not something he had stolen, eagerly.
Vincent turned the frog over in his palm, carefully sliding the tools back into the legs as he turned to leave the Igor be.
A piece of Thomas would always be alive... but the frog was too important to just let the boy play with it. He would need a better spot to keep it, but hopefully their exchange would be enough to slate his curiosity about the thing.
Time would tell how this would all play out. And they had all the time in the world.
