The Bread Thief | Percabeth | Victorian Era AU

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖜𝖔: 𝓗𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊 𝖂𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖊

"Annabeth!" Frederick calls. He just got home from his work.

Annabeth sighs and ignores him, returning her gaze to Far From the Madding Crowd, a book she swiped a few weeks back when she was in town.

"Annabeth!" he calls again.

Annabeth sighs and places her face in her book. "My goodness, I am going to murder that bastard with his own sword," she muttered foully under her breath.

"Annabeth! Child, get down here!" he yells again, irritation creeping into his voice.

She scoffs and closes her book and walks down the old stairs, picking up the skirt of her way-too poofy dress towards her father, who is calling her name. "What do you want?" she demands, wanting to go back to the book that awaited her in her room.

Frederick's eyes darken. "You will not speak to me that way," he warns. "Luke may tolerate it, but I will not."

Annabeth stifles her sigh and grinds her teeth. Men could speak their mind and would be rewarded for it. Women spoke their mind and they got punished. "Yes sir," she says. "I am so sorry for my actions." Sarcasm creeps into her voice but she keeps it enough at bay that her father doesn't pick up on it.

"Good," Frederick says. "I would hate to have to revoke your town privilege."

Annabeth holds her tongue and speaks out a respectful response. "I also would hate that. If it weren't for my town privileges I would not be nearly as perspicacious as I am if I were not allowed to go to town." She takes a deep breath, changing her mind about the definition of what's respectful. "But also if I did not go to town you would not be abreast to what the people think of you and the Magistrates because I am your ears and town gossip is way more important to you than I am."

Frederick crosses his arms and glares at Annabeth. "You are my daughter--"

"Exactly!" Annabeth interrupts. "Daughter. Not property," she spits. "I know every other girl my age is okay with not having a mind and being a mindless slave, but I'm not. I am a person. And I will not take your bull Durham as long as I'm alive."

"Watch your language! You have no right to speak!" her father yells. "You must learn some manners if you are to wed Mr Castellan's son."

Annabeth scoffs. "You actually think I want to marry him? I don't," she snaps. "But at least he lets me think. He understands I will not be a hedge whore that he can just stick his whore-pipe in! Get that through your pigeon liver head because I can think for myself and I am not going to go around pretending to be some mindless wapping tool," she scolds.

Frederick turns red and his face sets to stone as he grabs Annabeth's wrist, dragging her up the stairs. He tosses her into her room as is if she was a bad piece of meat he was going to give to his dogs. "You will stay there until you learn some manners. If you don't, I might just forget about my oath to not lay a hand on you."

"You can't break an oath, even if it's to a girl," Annabeth spits. "If you do, I will see to it that you are hung."

He returns her words by slamming the giant oak door shut and locking it into place, leaving Annabeth in the dim room.

She walks over to her bed and pulls her long, rectangular leather box out from under it. Inside the box lay a long, silver sword. When she was six, she met Thalia. Thalia's father made swords. One night, Annabeth snuck out of her room and was wandering around town. Thalia took her home and Thalia's father gave her a sword. He said that if she was going to be wandering around town by herself, she needed something to defend herself.

She takes the sword from the box and pries part off part of her window and crawls out of it before slipping the sword back under her bed where it stays hidden from the eyes of her father and Luke.

She wanders down into the bustling town where the minstrels and merchants sell their goods and put on their shows.

"Beth!" Thalia runs up to Annabeth. "It's been too long!"

Annabeth's face breaks into a grin. "Thals!" She looks her up and down at her lavender dress that was required for the females at the gentleman's club in town. "Still working, I see?"

Thalia rolls her eyes. "It makes good money."

"Your father doesn't know you do that, does he?" Annabeth asks.

"Oh goodness no," Thalia said. "He does not approve of toffers. I would never be allowed out of the house again."

Annabeth is about to respond but looks past her friend at one of the merchant stands. Percy is wandering about and swipes a piece of bread and tries to dart away, but the man caught his arm.

"I know this is your second offence, boy," the plump man spits. "Don't think that just because you are working for the Chase family means that you can get away with stealing from me."

Percy apologises and disappears into the shadows of the stands and roads of the darkening town.

"Hey..." Thalia observes. "Isn't that the houseboy your father got when he stole bread?"

Annabeth nods slowly. "Yeah, it definitely is," she says. "I've never seen him around here before."

Thalia looks over at Annabeth. "In your defence, you haven't been about as much you used to. You are always under the eye of the Magistrates." She pauses. "Speaking of which, how are you here?"

"My father has no knowledge that I'm out, he thinks I'm locked in my room," she replies smoothly, trying to find Percy's silhouette in the dark.

"Speak your mind again?" Thalia asks knowingly.

Annabeth sighs. "All too much," she says. "One day I'll be able to do what I want and I'll be able to freely wear pants instead of these awful dresses." She floofs the front of her black skirt to punctuate her statements. "All I want in life is to have my thighs not touching all the time. Pants are such a luxury."

"Maybe one day you're dad will give in," Thalia suggests.

Annabeth and Thalia share a look. "Most likely not," Annabeth says. "I'll be a fugitive before that happens."

"What would your crime be?"

Annabeth laughs. "Honestly? Most likely killing a gentleman for treating me wrongly."