This is an ongoing Tír na Cali/Leverage fanfiction crossover.
Fade in from commercial to find Lord Lorcan the center of attention from the whole room. “I think I have a plan,” he begins. “You see, while the royals of Tír na Cali are as much prisoners in our country as our slaves our on our estates – some might say more so…”
Sophia, Duchess Charlotte Prentiss, is making her goodbyes while her entourage loads the car. “It was so nice of you to let me stay here, Lorcan, and so good to see you again.”
“Lovely to see you as well, Charlotte. You should visit more often, I do so enjoy your company.” He has to stand on his toes to kiss her cheeks, but he does so with no apparent discomfort or embarrassment. “You’re like a breath of fresh air here, and I do get tired of the stagnant ocean breeze.”
Charlotte’s laugh carries, the same way Lorcan’s voice and hers do – by design, without sounding as if they are doing so on purpose. Lorcan is smooth; he could be a grifter himself.
“Oh, Lorcan, you’re so funny. You really should visit me sometime.”
“Oh, I’ll try, but you know how my mother and my grandmum are. They don’t like to let me out of their sight for long.”
“You could tell them I’ll take good care of you, dear.”
“I’m sure they’d believe you, too. Oh,” He makes a moue, “where has my brain gone? I almost forgot my parting gift for you.”
Flash back to Lorcan, who is flipping through images on Lady Anastasia’s laptop – redheaded girl after redheaded girl. “The thing about Californian royalty – well, it’s two things. One. We all look the same. It’s not just dear Ana here and her sisters. We all look the same.”
“Your royals wear collars?” Parker leans forward to study an image – a mug shot, really, a girl in her late teens wearing a steel collar. Her hair is pulled back, and her face is nearly Ana’s.
“Two,” Lorcan answers, without appearing to notice the question, “we tend to fuck our slaves.”
He pretends not to notice the look that Hardison and Parker shoot Eliot.
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