Whoops

[princesspuzzle]

"I'm going! Don't wait up for me!" Pin called as she walked to the Door. Wearing a long, flowing dress and a knit shawl, with an embroidered satchel ready to blend in, she looked remarkably classic to modern eyes. Her box self was staying around to finish work that she had started on with a new containment room for objects which needed to be locked away for the continued safety of everyone who lived in the Amassment facility.

 

Pin, though, was off to spend time in Italy. She had the idea to go on her own that day. She wanted to be alone in Florence, to see the city and her hometown. She had a door in mind and a plan of what she wanted to see. As she walked through the door, however, her thoughts were strongly on her inception, in the earlier years, and on the city as it once had been.

 

She immediately dropped out of thin air and into a soft patch of grass with a yelp and looked around her once she sat back up. Somehow, she'd been transported to the outskirts of a small, quaint town. She could see a chapel from where she was, and very few lights coming from it in the early evening. The hills and surrounding scenery were familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

 

Pin dusted herself off and righted her hair, smoothing it over as she stood and found a road nearby. It was unpaved and old, with wheel tracks that dug and packed into the soil. She decided it was better than trying to traverse through the tall grass and trees to get to the town, so she started on foot, squinting to figure out why that chapel's peak was familiar.

 

It wasn't long before Pin heard the creaking of wooden wheels and the sound of cloven hooves behind her, and the man driving the ox-pulled cart slowed once he got closer. He spoke, in Italian.

 

Old Italian. Her Italian. "What hardship befell you that you're walking so far away from town in nothing but your underthings?"

 

Without thinking, Pin stammered, "nothing! I... I just... got very lost. What year is it?" It twigged her that with the way he spoke, the clothes he was wearing, she wasn't when she came from. She must have looked scared, her large eyes gone even wider at the whole thing. The bearded man with his ox cart of bushels of grain and baskets of eggs wearing traditional clothes, and his language all made her confused, and admittedly a bit too shocked to be articulate or to watch her words.

 

The man was stymied by the question, or rather, why she asked. "It's the year of our Lord 1479."

 

Pin could barely believe it. She was created this year, in the early part of the year. She closed her hanging jaw and looked up at the man. "Is this Florence in Tuscany?"

 

"Yes. Is there someone you know here? Somewhere I can take you?"

 

She nodded, still in shock. "My father's home is near the workshop of Leonardo, erm. Il Florentine. Do you know it?"

 

"Of course, miss. Climb in, I'll bring you close. Mind the eggs."

 

Pin pulled her shawl tight around her, and the man helped her into the cart. They were on their way. Pin took the time to gather herself as best she could while she sat among the eggs and root vegetables. How had she gotten here from the Door? How could she get back? She didn't know, and soon, she found herself distracted by the surroundings of the town instead of trying to sort out the mystery of her arrival. The joyful tones of people speaking her language was like music, and the music she heard was like home.

 

Home... Home was...

 

The cart slowed to a stop. "This is as close as my cart can take you," said the man, who then gave directions to the workshop a few lanes over. She thanked him and gave him what she could offer - a pretty fountain pen that he could trade for just about anything - and she continued on foot.

 

She could already see the tiled roof of the workshop and that alone sent her trembling in anticipation and apprehension. She was so close to home. The closer she got, the more jittery she was. What if he wasn't there? He'd done a fair bit of traveling. What if it was empty? It was late enough that the apprentices had gone home.

 

She stood at the rickety wooden door, her hand on it, and she felt the stinging pinpricks of overwhelming emotion welling up in her eyes, and the heat of tears starting to obscure her vision. She felt like the heart that had manifested in her chest was about to burst out from her rib cage. She started to feel lightheaded and had to remember to take a breath. Or two. Or maybe a moment's worth of them to calm down.

 

Soon, she felt collected. She swallowed, knocked, and entered.

 

As she looked around, Pin was hit with familiar sights. There was a wide, long window on the roof, facing the south. There were benches and tables, half-finished clay sculptures that were likely prototypes for stone sculptures to be made soon. The floor was strewn with dust and chips of stone and quite a bit of other detritus that made the place untidy.

 

"Who is it out there?" Came a rough voice from the back of the shop, from the storeroom that was filled with wooden planks, pigments, large rolls of canvas, and piles of unused parchment. Or from the dissection room. "If that's you, Leopoldo, your bag is on the bench of your workspace."

 

A long lost, nearly forgotten voice that made Pin dizzy, her eyes starting to pool over with tears. She had to sit down before she collapsed, so she had a quick seat on the bench near the door and called out, her voice shaking as much as her hands were.

 

"Leonardo? I'm..." Her throat clenched and she squeaked, and her cheeks went rosy on her relatively swarthy skin.

 

Pin could hear him make a curious sound, and he walked out to see who it was, wiping his hands on a rag and depositing that rag on the back of a chair before looking up towards the door, his eyes landing on Pin. 

 

It was odd. There was a moment of stillness between them when they saw each other.

 

Pin felt a chill at the sight. Standing before her was the rough-hewn form of a man who had never been conventionally attractive, but was a face everyone beyond his life knew. The Vitruvian Man - while named after the architect - bore his likeness. His dark and loosely curly hair was lashed back from his face, and in the lantern light, the sharpness of his face was pronounced.

 

She barely could breathe. Her red eyes glistened like rubies, and there was recognition in his eyes own eyes upon seeing the carmine color.

 

"Principessa?" He whispered, astonished, immediately stepping closer to get a look at her, his eyebrows knitting and drawing down over scrutinizing eyes. "Can it be true?"

 

She felt a clench in her chest at hearing her name in that voice after hundreds of years. She nodded in quick little motions, tears running down her cheeks like waterfalls. "Yes, father. I'm here. I'm home. How did... How did you know?" 

 

"Any father knows his child. Come here!" He beckoned her closer, and as she stood, she felt like a newborn deer. Her knees were weak and rickety, and she nearly toppled, but instead pushed herself close to him, to wrap her arms around him, gripping his shirt like he might melt away as though they were in a dream.

 

"Why are you crying?" He asked after a moment of embracing her in his arms which were made strong after years of chipping away marble for sculpture work, stepping back to hold her by her upper arms, looking her over again.

 

"I cannot believe I get to see you, to hear you again, to show you how far I've come! Father, it's been hundreds of years for me!" She stepped back, rubbing her face dry with the back of her forearm. Then laughed dryly. "That's probably even more ludicrous sounding than me being here at all, isn't it?"

 

"Listen. You are a wooden construct that is presently sitting in the loft, Princess, that became sentient after a few words and a prayer in my heart. I doubt much of what you could say will be unbelievable to me. Hundreds of years? When... How did you get here and from what time?"

 

"2022. I live on a continent across the ocean. It is named after an explorer that never even set foot there, and was found by Norsemen a thousand years ago from your time. I... Don't quite have an answer to how I got here, though. Maybe the Door I use to go places felt like opening to the time I'd been thinking about as well as the where." She shrugged.

 

"Magic has a mind of its own," Leonardo said with a knowing - but not knowing honestly - nod. He was kidding, but he hit the nail on the head.

 

Leonardo had led the way into a quiet alcove of the workshop, with a stoked stove and a pot of mulled wine. He poured two cups for them and bid her sit down. She did, nodded her appreciation for his offering, and had a sip of the dry, spiced and hot wine. It tasted heavenly, richer than modern wine. It wasn't as sweet or as sharp, but it was warm going down her throat and left a pleasant taste in its wake. 

 

He was just as thrown into shock as she was. He found himself speechless, simply looking at her like he often did when he was proud of his art. Admiring. Delighted. Proud. He had made somebody remarkable and sweet looking, prettier than most, in the natural way someone common could be - not a faked beauty of aristocracy. 

 

She shook her head and scoffed as she turned away and bowed her head, demure in her motion. "What? It's not like you haven't seen a woman before."

 

"Not one I had a hand in making! Not walking and talking, at least. I never could have been a father by traditional means. I'm glad I had the chance to see myself become one at all." He used the same tone as her, then laughed. "Lord God above. Hundreds of years. Tell me about it. Tell me everything you have seen!"

 

Pin bowed her head. "Very little, to be honest. I'm just a puzzle box, father. I kept myself secret like you said I should. It was only this past year I made this body and had freedom. I've been very sheltered. But I have read a lot. Learned new languages. I've kept drawing and drafting. I learned to play instruments, and I'm learning to dance! But... I have only just begun to see the world. I've traveled everywhere you've been, but they were only short trips. Paris has gotten so big! Florence is ten times this size at least! Everything is lit up at night, so bright you can't even see the stars. and where I live, the sky spreads on forever and ever when I step outside and see the salt flats. It's a desert that is the dried-up bed of a prehistoric lake. My... friend. He lives in a place that reminds me of the hills here. His family raises horses and have for over a hundred years. Him and his father. That whole time." She leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. "They're vampires."

 

Leonardo listened, and let her go on. Occasionally, she needed a little nudge, so he asked about what interested him. The inventions, the music, the art. She explained the museums she'd been to, and gave only the briefest overview of mechanical things, taking a camera out of her satchel - it was only a disposable one, so she didn't feel too bad that she disassembled it for Leonardo to see its inner workings. She explained the process of photography and development, then had him swear not to use that knowledge for anything but chaos. He started writing things down, though, and she knew he would absolutely use that knowledge for chaos. 

 

She went on for hours, about the world and her friends; the way she loved them, but loved one in particular in the romantic sense - not the carnal sense, father, please, there were strangers for that. Leonardo laughed at her convictions that sex and love were two separate things entirely.

 

The night grew long, and eventually, Pin noticed that her father was becoming tired but no less alert, and she heaved a sigh. "You never could remember to sleep. Come on, father. Let's get you home."

 

He conceded the point and acquiesced, and she led him, arm in arm, to the little thatch-roofed home a little walk away. She remembered the way as easily as anything, and once there, she stoked the hearth fire back to life and got the place warm and cozy. He immediately tucked himself into bed, and she smiled over once she heard his heavy, restful breaths.

 

She also tucked herself away, into a curled-up form by the fire, using a length of untreated canvas as a blanket.

 

When she woke up, it was because Leonardo was putting food into a pan and swinging the plate into the fire. She blinked her eyes to get the sleep out of them and sat up slowly. "Oh. It wasn't a dream," she murmured to herself in English, then moved to her mother tongue. "Good morning father, all is well?"

 

It was, as the man was bustling around the little home with a spring in his step. Leonardo had apparently done more than bring home food for breakfast but bought her a dress at the market as well. It was set out on a bench, spread so she could see it. It was plain but pretty, in its warm earth tones and layers. Her smile widened and her eyes gleamed with renewed emotional delight. 

 

She had no modesty - especially knowing the artist's attention wouldn't be carnal for many reasons - so she shed the one she was wearing to put on the other, putting it on with care. She clicked her tongue at how its hem pooled the floor and her sleeves draped too far on her arms, so she went into her satchel to pull out lengths of ribbon. She had Leonardo help secure her sleeves up into puffs at her upper arms and then she asked if he had any thread and a needle, knowing he did. He went to fetch it, and she removed the skirt and had a seat by the fire to hem the skirt to her liking.

 

"I have a seamstress friend," she explained, looking up at him as he reached over to grab his portfolio, parchment, and charcoal. She knew what he was up to as soon as he started. "She designs fashions which are very, how the French say it, avant-garde. She's beautiful. Norwegian. Has quite an eye for feminine but fearsome."

 

Leonardo laughed, pointing his charcoal stick at her. "All things feminine are fearsome, and I will make sure you know it, Princess."

 

"You did. And I am. I am very, very strong, and don't take shit from anybody. I know women in this time and place are little more than property and indentured servants, but society has moved past that, and I make sure people remember it. Most everywhere, everyone is considered equal and love of any gender is considered good. The church has very little say in anything anymore."

 

Leonardo grinned, his strong features lighting up in the morning sun as it filtered in through a pair of small windows. "As it should be." He went back to work on his drawing and she returned to the thread and needle.

 

"I wish I could show you," Pin sighed wistfully as she carefully pulled the thread through the fabric. "Much has changed on a global scale, but individually, person to person? We're all very much the same. Humanity is how it is." She considered how to put what her friend said in an equally funny and wordplay way, it didn't take long to find a reasonable equivalent to "humans gonna hume."

 

She loved making Leonardo laugh. That one was a full-body laugh, shoulders, and stomach all playing into it. He was lively and put everything into everything he did. 

 

"Besides, father, isn't that what you wished for? Dreamed about? I dreamed about it. There are good and bad in the world, but at least nobody gets tried and burned at the stake for innovation and progress. Or hanged for sodomy. Or run out of town for spitting on the richest guy in the room."

 

All of these were things that hit close to home for Leonardo. He sighed in amusement. "Or being an upstart little brat of a magical box?"

 

She pointed the needle at him. "Exactly."

 

Leonardo nodded. "You said that you can dream. Even as her? In the form I made for you?"

 

Pin nodded. "Mm-hm. I dream every time I sleep. Vivid things. Bright and colorful. I remember phrases and visuals only a little when I wake up. I hear that's normal for people."

 

"Do you dream of here and now?"

 

"I dream of all my family. Of you, of the people who came after, those who knew I was more than an object, and those who didn't."

 

Once the hemming was done and the skirt was back on, Pin put her feet back into her sandals and put her hair back into a simple style that stayed out of her face, then put the kerchief he'd bought over that. Their food was eaten and they went back to the studio.

 

She helped around the place, sweeping up the clay and marble, running pigments to the painters, and checking up on her father, happy to help and blend in. Leonardo explained her away as one of his far-flung nieces and left it at that. One of the apprentices remarked on her eyes, and she told them her eyes were made of ruby in heaven by God and to mind his business.

 

Once all was done, and the young men were sent home, She settled down with Leonardo again, and told him more about what the world was like. She peeked over his shoulder as she walked over to pour them both some wine, and smiled. His drawing of her was rough and exquisite.

 

"Careful now, father, they may rumor you to be attracted to women if you draw women so sweetly." She kissed his cheek and handed him the cup.

 

"Is that what they'll say?" He mused, setting his art aside. "What else will they say?"

 

"That you're the greatest scientific mind of this era. The most beloved painter the world has ever known. They'll hang your paintings in the world's greatest museums, and marvel at your inventions for centuries to come. They'll write dissertations on whether one painting you do has eyebrows, or if she's smiling. They'll never know who she is. They'll call your self-portraits masterful. They'll find your anatomic figures more accurate than ones doctors draw in two centuries. They'll write about your rivalry with Michelangelo. Oh. He paints the gaudiest fresco in the world's most opulent chapel. Never could paint a breast correctly. Has he even ever met a woman?"

 

Leonardo shook his head in amusement, "Not likely. I doubt he has the stomach for it. Poor man. And what of my alchemy?"

 

"Not a word. They say you may have dabbled, but there's no proof." She smiled coyly and had a seat across from him at the table. "None that can be traced back to you, at least. I'm not kidding, father. They truly celebrate you. My pirate? The silly man is half in love with you. He wishes he had half the skill you do. But he's leaps and bounds better at magic. He's never made a living object, but that's only because he's never wanted to. But he's a silly old fool. I'm almost glad I can't bring you with me, I'd never peel you away from each other."

 

"That pretty, is he?" Leonardo said with a lopsided smirk.

 

"Prettier. Here," Pin said, pulling over the charcoal and a fresh piece of parchment. She started drawing Bill. "He's been my keeper for over two hundred years. He's only known I'm alive for one hundred, and only found out I'm your daughter forty years ago. He asked me to tell him everything about you. How you lived. How you worked. If you ever found love. He wished he could have met you. I drew you as you are today, roughly the same age as he was when he was turned. He hung on my every written word." She smiled faintly as she spoke of her pirate. "His husband much preferred less heady subjects. He was a man of action. Not book smart, but incredibly savvy and shrewd. I miss him."

 

"He died?"

 

"He was over a hundred years Bill's senior. He went mad and greeted the sun. We all miss him." She slid the finished sketch over and tilted her head. "Especially this man. I've never seen a stronger love."

 

"My Lord, he is beautiful. And he's how old?" 

 

"He isn't born until 1676. He's too young for you, father so's his sire and husband. But not terribly younger. He's probably going to be born in oh, about four decades." she joked and had another sip of wine.

 

Leonardo switched tracks. "Do you... Ever use another name?" He asked out of the blue. She looked up at Leonardo, then shook her head. "I'm still Princess. But... That's her name. We are two bodies and one soul and mind. I... Don't have a name of my own." She wrapped her hands around her cup. "It never felt right to name myself, and my friends are no help. Nothing sounds ri--"

 

"Gloria." Leonardo cut her off. "Your name is Gloria de Firenze. The moment I saw you sitting there, I knew you were my glory, my pride. The pride of this city."

 

That started a new pricking of tears in her eyes. "Oh father, that is the most beautiful name." She stood and flung her arms around him, and kissed his temple. "Thank you. I love it. And you. I'm so blessed."

 

"I'm more blessed," Leonardo said, then kissed her temple in turn. "My dear young lady." 

 

Two more days went by, and Leonardo purchased Gloria a lyre, so she could play for him and his apprentices, and for herself. He treated her to a stroll through the city, and she felt herself being enchanted by the city and the stars above them in the evening. There were musicians and performers in the square, artists who came up to Leonardo to ask his opinion, which he gave brusquely and mostly dismissively. The artists were good, sure, but not remarkable.

 

She didn't have money - well, no, she did, but it was all modern currency - but Leonardo had enough to spoil her, so he did. She asked for only a few things - a wheel of cheese and three small clay casks of wine. Not for her. For her friends. One bottle would go to her author, one for her thieves, one for Bill, and the cheese was going to be cut into sections and doled out as she saw fit.

 

Gloria knew she couldn't stay. She finally decided that it was time to go on the fifth day. She gathered up her gifts for her friends in a canvas knapsack, including a quickly written letter to Bill from her father and her lyre. "Don't seek out any vampires, father," she warned, knowing he most certainly would now that he knew them to be real. "And treat yourself with care. I will be with you," she said, nodding to her newly made self, "and I'll take care of you. Be well. Get sleep when you can. Don't spit on any of the Medicis! They pay you!"

 

She stuck a bit of the gummy substance from her satchel atop the door and opened it, peeking her head through to make sure the Amassment was on the other side, before walking through with a kiss blown to her father.

 

When she returned, no new memories but the ones she created were there. Except... She had spent longer with her musician. Odd. But not worth fretting over. Father had his reasons.

 

"I had the most magical time in Florence!" She announced, still wearing her plain Florentine garb. "Who wants the best-mulled wine and soft cheese? They're from old, old recipes. Oh my god, I've got a great story to tell you."