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myurbandreamanother tin man drabble! *sighs* because i need to get this one out before i finish the one from wyatt's pov. (i can't for the life of me remember the queen's name, so for now it's gonna be 'Lavender'.)
fic:
Ambrose has a perfect memory. Even as a child, perfect. Not just photographic, he remembers more than just whatever he read. Images, scents, flavors, sensations, time of day, conversations. Perfectly. He never had to try in school, no matter how many levels he was rushed through. He only needed time enough to do something once, to read through the textbooks in just a few days, and then no amount of testing could throw him off. It wasn't until he was six years and five months old that his parents realized exactly how good his memory was, and started testing him. He was one level ahead at the end of that year; two ahead of that by the next; and then the year after the teachers refused to put him ahead more than a few more levels, because most of the students there were old enough to be his parents, if barely. Also, they kind of got annoyed when he caught them making a mistake during lectures, because he could recite back the entirety of both lectures word-for-word in order to ask them which was correct.
He liked science, because he actually had to work at it. Analysis could only go as fast as his mind could come up with theories, and the time it took to test them. As Ambrose got older, his natural exuberance, his innate cheerfulness and love of life and the world, was tempered by his impatience and frustration with those around him. His parents loved him, yes, but there was no understanding him. Eventually he learned to keep himself calm and patient and unemotional at all times, to ensure that he wouldn't express that impatience. At ten he was reading whatever journals on leading science he could get his hands on, buying the ones he could afford and sneaking out of the library and the castle labs the ones that he couldn't. At twelve he was getting in scraps with other kids in the neighborhood; they thought he was a freak, but he knew he was a freak, and anyway he could usually find the pocket money that fell out of their pockets during the scuffle and use it to buy parts.
So Ambrose grew up, and was pulled at the tender age of fourteen to the Royal Science Academy. And two weeks after he arrived, he overheard a conversation between a young woman in the library and a much older man- a conversation that went something along the lines of 'if we don't figure this out, your mother is going to die', only it spanned ten and a half minutes. Curiosity was another of his natural traits, one that hadn't yet and never would be tempered, and he ended up investigating the complicated chemical that the man had attempted to explain to the lavender-eyed girl. It was a good challenge, since the man hadn't been specific in his explanation- by this time Ambrose had accepted that most people didn't have minds like his, and recognized when someone older than him just wasn't as smart. Eventually he figured it out. Then he found the girl, and told her. Then he was asked to recount the conversation which he had overheard, which he did.
And somehow, three years later, Ambrose was the Heir Apparent's Chief Advisor and Mentor.
Lavender was nice and funny, and didn't mind at all when he corrected her or knew something she didn't. She was perfectly willing to let him tinker in his room, where he'd set up a lab (more a collection of junk and parts with his accumulated homemade tools), and sit and chat with him all day. She got excited when he was excited, and when she didn't understand something she asked about it. He was rather upset when a black-clad stranger tried to stab her, and used every dirty street-fighting trick he had ever picked up to fight the other off. He got a knife in the gut for his trouble, but by then the palace guards had heard Lavender yelling and throwing statuary and they quickly took the assassin away.
After that, Ambrose took self-defense lessons in the armory every middle-day. Those were pretty easy, too; he'd always had good rhythm.
>>>>>
yep, that's pretty much all i wanted to say. okay!
fic:
Ambrose has a perfect memory. Even as a child, perfect. Not just photographic, he remembers more than just whatever he read. Images, scents, flavors, sensations, time of day, conversations. Perfectly. He never had to try in school, no matter how many levels he was rushed through. He only needed time enough to do something once, to read through the textbooks in just a few days, and then no amount of testing could throw him off. It wasn't until he was six years and five months old that his parents realized exactly how good his memory was, and started testing him. He was one level ahead at the end of that year; two ahead of that by the next; and then the year after the teachers refused to put him ahead more than a few more levels, because most of the students there were old enough to be his parents, if barely. Also, they kind of got annoyed when he caught them making a mistake during lectures, because he could recite back the entirety of both lectures word-for-word in order to ask them which was correct.
He liked science, because he actually had to work at it. Analysis could only go as fast as his mind could come up with theories, and the time it took to test them. As Ambrose got older, his natural exuberance, his innate cheerfulness and love of life and the world, was tempered by his impatience and frustration with those around him. His parents loved him, yes, but there was no understanding him. Eventually he learned to keep himself calm and patient and unemotional at all times, to ensure that he wouldn't express that impatience. At ten he was reading whatever journals on leading science he could get his hands on, buying the ones he could afford and sneaking out of the library and the castle labs the ones that he couldn't. At twelve he was getting in scraps with other kids in the neighborhood; they thought he was a freak, but he knew he was a freak, and anyway he could usually find the pocket money that fell out of their pockets during the scuffle and use it to buy parts.
So Ambrose grew up, and was pulled at the tender age of fourteen to the Royal Science Academy. And two weeks after he arrived, he overheard a conversation between a young woman in the library and a much older man- a conversation that went something along the lines of 'if we don't figure this out, your mother is going to die', only it spanned ten and a half minutes. Curiosity was another of his natural traits, one that hadn't yet and never would be tempered, and he ended up investigating the complicated chemical that the man had attempted to explain to the lavender-eyed girl. It was a good challenge, since the man hadn't been specific in his explanation- by this time Ambrose had accepted that most people didn't have minds like his, and recognized when someone older than him just wasn't as smart. Eventually he figured it out. Then he found the girl, and told her. Then he was asked to recount the conversation which he had overheard, which he did.
And somehow, three years later, Ambrose was the Heir Apparent's Chief Advisor and Mentor.
Lavender was nice and funny, and didn't mind at all when he corrected her or knew something she didn't. She was perfectly willing to let him tinker in his room, where he'd set up a lab (more a collection of junk and parts with his accumulated homemade tools), and sit and chat with him all day. She got excited when he was excited, and when she didn't understand something she asked about it. He was rather upset when a black-clad stranger tried to stab her, and used every dirty street-fighting trick he had ever picked up to fight the other off. He got a knife in the gut for his trouble, but by then the palace guards had heard Lavender yelling and throwing statuary and they quickly took the assassin away.
After that, Ambrose took self-defense lessons in the armory every middle-day. Those were pretty easy, too; he'd always had good rhythm.
>>>>>
yep, that's pretty much all i wanted to say. okay!
