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Clockwork Revolution


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Eeeeeeek, I can't believe I'm posting this.

Basically, I noticed this forum was seriously lacking in original fics set in a steampunk sort of world.

So, basically, I thought i'd give it a go by writing out this scenario I've had in my head for a while. It's my first ever sneezing fic so be gentle with me. *nervous whimper*

Description: 'Clockwork Revolution' is set in an alternate universe that's heavily influenced by the British Victorian era. Technology has advanced in a far different way to that of our world. The government of this particular country, known as the 'Magesterium' hold a highly totalitarian stance; freedom of speech, opposition and dissent are absolutely forbidden. The upper, richer classes of the society rule indefinately. This story features two members of a secret political resistance order known only as 'the Syndicate', who have been given a mission to infiltrate a high-profile party held at the mansion of a high ranking member of the government in order to find out vital information about the Magesterium's next move.

Disclaimer: Both Serevir and Kyranith are entirely my own characters, as is the universe in which this story is set. It contains unrequited love in the form of a guy loving another guy so if you're not into that i'd recommend not reading this. The sneezing in this fic is male, and is going to remain indefinately male.


'Clockwork Revolution'

Serevir’s green eyes cast their gaze across the cavernous dance hall of Lady Greyhaven’s mansion, his facial expression the very picture of apathy. He was absolutely, irrevocably and entirely bored. The frivolity of the upper classes seemed to him wholly ridiculous, only serving to add to the pit of festering hate that churned within him.

If I only had a gun he thought to himself, before smirking wolfishly. Wait, rephrase that. If only I could use the gun I do have without getting myself swiftly kicked from the Syndicate. Dear Gods, if I’d have known what sort of idiocy this mission would entail I might’ve asked the Commander for more than just access to his arsenal.

He scowled, resting his hand upon the handle of the finely crafted flintlock artfully concealed beneath the suit he’d been unwillingly forced into. He looked quite frankly ridiculous in such attire, his neglected, long auburn hair swept back from his hard, sharp features in an attempt to make him appear far more elegant than he actually was. Such attempt was for the most part entirely wasted. The thick, ugly scar that cut a terribly conspicuous path down the right side of his face was entirely inconcealable, and he’d outright refused to remove the silver spikes pierced through either side of his lower lip. To even look as though he were one of them was, in Serevir’s opinion, one of the most heinous dishonours anyone could had asked him to commit.

Serevir let his gaze settle upon a well-dressed, slim figure artfully stepping around the dancefloor with effortless grace. He gritted his teeth, watching as his associate strutted his way through this particular dance, radiating his usual youthful arrogance. Kyranith was everything Serevir was not- elegant, confident, handsome; the very picture of a fine gentleman. He seemed to blend in perfectly with his surroundings, looking every bit the part in his tailored suit, delicate, intricately crafted brass goggles perched neatly atop his head, keeping his spiked jet black hair in place.

They wouldn’t all be smiling at him if they knew those goggles had a function. And yet he insists on using them as some sort of bloody fashion accessory Serevir snorted derisively, continuing to watch from the secluded vantage point of the balcony overlooking the hall.

His associate, as of late, had become the bane of his life in more ways than he cared to admit. Yes, the man was nearly insufferable at times; cocky, flippant and somewhat volatile, yet something about the way Kyranith’s hands rested upon the sickeningly slender corset-bound waist of his dancing partner made Serevir shudder in repulsion. Absent-mindedly, he glanced down at himself, his own muscular form making his years of frontline military experience painfully obvious. Beneath the ill-fitting formal apparel lay years of scars gained by various means, the Syndicate’s insignia tattooed into the flesh over his heart. If one was to compare the two rebels to machinery, Serevir was one of the bulky, rusty contraptions of the earlier century and Kyranith was a smooth, refined device of the future.

Serevir smirked as he noticed the sleek device that was melded into the skin just beneath Kyranith’s eye twitch slightly. He’d been blessed with good enough eyesight to see the clockwork of the machine that formed a narrow strip across Kyranith’s cheekbone begin to jolt even from the distance at which he was sat. It only usually did that when his associate was losing control of it, and Serevir had a perfectly good idea of what was causing this particular lapse of composure. He watched as the other man politely excused himself, slipping out of the finely furnished hall’s ornate wooden doors into the dark grounds outside. Serevir stood, leaving the shelter of the secluded first floor balcony and descending the stairs in order to follow him. He found Kyranith leaning with his back to Serevir against one of the pillars that held the mansion’s decadent porch in place.

Serevir’s thin, pale lips parted with a roguish grin.

“This isn’t a social event you know, Duskblade. You’re supposed to be infiltrating, not enjoying yourself” the man’s voice was laced with a condescending edge, which was met with a slightly strangled sounding growl from Kyranith.

“I’m not enjoying my-..ah-..self, Serevir. If you’d care to- hih- ...listen to what I have to say, you’ll be intrigued to know that my dancing partner was in fact the daughter of one of the higher ranking Magisterium officials”. Kyranith’s voice was somewhat shaky, punctuated by hitching breaths.

“Did you manage to get any information?” Serevir arched a brow, trying his best to ignore the way in which that fact that his associate was so obviously struggling set his own heart racing.

“Actually, I-...” the dark haired man’s speech trailed off to give way to several frantic hitched breaths, and Serevir found himself internally cursing at not being able to catch a glimpse Kyranith’s face.

Hah-...ishew! Heh-issh! Ahhh... eshyew!”

Serevir bit down on his lower lip as he watched Kyranith’s svelte form convulse with each release, and groaned internally to himself: “Out of all the bloody members of the Syndicate, why in the seven Hells did it have to be him?”

“Gods fucking damnit” Kyranith cursed quietly to himself, wiping his perfectly straight nose on the back of his hand. He regained his composure and turned to face the taller man.

“As I was saying, it turns out that the Syndicate’s little stunt involving the General’s murder has sent the Magesterium into turmoil. No one trusts anyone else these days, which is exactly what we were aiming for. They’re in a weakened state and now we’re aware of such, we can act. Mission accomplished, I say” Kyranith grinned in his usual lopsided manner, seeming entirely confident although Serevir could see that the clockwork below his eye was still twitching sporadically.

“Oh, we’re far from finished here yet, Duskblade. Although I’d advise regaining control of your visual enhancement unit first. Wouldn’t want them knowing you can’t actually see out of those eyes of yours without it, would you?” He smirked knowingly as Kyranith glowered at him, amused at how easy it was to wind him up. Kyranith opened his mouth to retort with some sparklingly witty comment but was distracted by another hitching breath, trying to fight against the building itch in his sinuses. His head tilted back slightly, his eyes fluttering shut. Serevir could not force himself to look away, the usual blank mask of apathy that concealed his emotions momentarily slipping.

“Hih-...Ah...Eh-shh! Ha-eshoo! Ha-eshew! Eh-shew!” Kyranith sneezed uncontrollably into the back of his pale hand. Serevir darted his eyes away as the other man looked up at him, sniffling.

“The bitch was wearing perfume. You’re lucky I managed to get this far without losing it”.

Serevir simply grunted vaguely in response, attempting to entirely disregard the twitching sensation in his lower regions while internally berating himself for his sheer lack of self control.

Finally, he spoke, growling out his words from between clenched teeth.

“Well, you’re not quite far enough yet. If we can find out what we need within the next few hours, hopefully the Commander will give me a payrise.”

After this, Serevir thought, I sure as Hell deserve one.


Possibly to be continued. Constructive criticism/thoughts are always welcome in comments! Hope you enjoyed. ^^

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Intriguing world, cool characters. I'd read more! (How interesting for an android to be allergic to perfume.)

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How interesting for an android to be allergic to perfume.

He's not an android, just a mechanically enhanced human. Maybe my writing didn't quite get that across effectively, but there's always part two for me to explore Kyranith's mechanical enhancements a little more ^^

Thanks for reading!

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Really enjoyable original Fic, I particularly like all the little details about the characters and the world that make it "breathe". I'd definitely read more.

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This is so intriguing!! I can't wait to see more, the theme of this story and the setting of their world, it's all very interesting, I love it!! <3333 Awesome job :D

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Very interesting concept, I especially love the descriptions of Kyranith and his 'enhancements'. Looking forward to more Steampunk awesomeness!

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Very nice! The setting and the whole situation are very interesting, and you just might have me falling in love with the characters should you continue~

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