tacticiandrafts

[tacticiandrafts]

THE CRUCIFIXION ; Nikolai Gogol, Fyodor Dostoevsky x fem!Reader

Part three / 4.7k words (Part one | Part two)

P.S. ! I rewrote this probably five times. It's not perfection, but Fyodor is here >:) also posted on ao3!

cw: religious themes

You started to gain a better picture of Nikolai now that his “favor” had been asked of you and his visits came purely for the sake of entertainment. 

In the weeks following your second meeting, Nikolai continued popping his head through the window without any warning. He seemed to take pleasure in the way both you and Dr. Yosano jolted at the sight of him: when you finally started getting used to it, he began appearing at odd hours and even crawling through the window to tap your shoulder while you were looking away. He’d never done this in the presence of a customer, but you didn’t like the thought of him impeding business, so you asked him to be more discreet. Unfortunately, you quickly learned that making requests of Nikolai often brought about new problems. He liked to take your words very literally, but only when it tickled him to do so. You assumed he simply found your reactions funny, because his behavior increased twofold when you began scrunching your brows and speaking slowly in front of him, obviously trying to circumvent his ability to find loopholes. (He’d find them anyway, so you gave that up.)

You tried figuring out his routine. Sometimes you showed up at the bookstore he ran his scams out of on your way from picking up suppressants. Each time, the old owner began acting like he was seeing you for the first time, and for that matter like he’d never even heard of Nikolai. He only seemed to remember to keep up the act sometimes, though, which you were willing to bet made the joke even funnier for the lunatic in question. Other times, you’d stop by his favorite restaurant (run by who you now knew were the Akutagawa siblings) in your free time. Your success rate in finding him was so low that you started to think he must be playing a one-sided game of tag with you. In this way, he didn’t even need to be present to mess with you. 

When the two of you did meet, he usually treated you to a drink or a meal, spending half the time freakishly watching you eat and the other half cackling about his acts of terrorism upon the city. His latest story involved stalking a man engaged in an affair. He gave him a reading that suggested his wife had found him out and was planning to kill him. His detailed account of the man’s tearful, snot-ridden apology at the woman’s feet drew laughter from deep in your belly.

Other times, he’d hang out at the apothecary and vanish the moment the bell on the door rang. Dr. Yosano would scoff, now begrudgingly used to him, and say something teasing. “You know, I wouldn’t have expected that to be your type.”

You’d shrug in response. “Life is strange that way.” You were puzzled by it, too.

Now, the air was growing heavy with moisture, and the sun, eclipsed by long sheets of grey clouds, was high in the sky later each day. Business was slow, soon to give way to the early fall rush, and you were getting more and more days off.

You figured it was time to honor your promise to Nikolai.

As you wandered up the street past the port, your fingers wandered over the strip of cloth he’d slipped into your pocket at some point during one of his visits. Worn from days of anxious fidgeting in your pockets, it contained directions to a location about an hour’s worth of walking northeast of the apothecary.   

It was unseasonably chilly. The wind picked up from behind and you wrapped your shawl a bit tighter around your shoulders. You sighed out a curse as droplets of cold rain plopped onto your scalp. Even worse, Nikolai’s directions were doing you no favors. They were incredibly detailed but left out any mention of your destination. He’d led you straight past the port and to an (admittedly beautiful) alcove hidden beneath a bridge. He instructed you to enjoy the view for a moment, then turn all the way back to the port and continue on. 

At the end of his convoluted message, you finally stopped before a modest building with a dull copper patina roof. As you entered, you sighed in relief. It was just a teahouse, and a small, charming one at that.

You now stood in the doorway, squinting. There was no one inside.

“Is it comfortable for you, standing there?”

Or, so you thought. A man sat in the corner, nearly obscured behind a packed bookcase. You flinched, the bell rattling on the door behind you as you got a better look at him.

His features were dark, the bridge of his nose long and regal. It cast a harsh shadow across his skin, delicate and devoid of color. His robes brought a similar contrast, long and white like the tail of a living specter. He spoke while taking his time looking up from the book lying beneath his slender hands, his dark eyes narrow and disinterested. He looked over you and focused back on the book like you were a mere flash of sunlight in his periphery.

“Ah, hello. I’m Nikolai’s friend, um…”

“A friend of Gogol’s? I’m afraid I don’t recall.” You found it hard to believe anyone could speak with Nikolai without hanging onto his every word. As you surveyed his face, you wondered if he had fallen asleep mid-conversation. That scammer seemed to make a habit of hanging around sickly-looking people. Did he prey especially on the vulnerable? You’d have to give him a scolding later.

“Yes, from the apothecary…?” 

He only hummed, giving no indication of recognition. He turned his gaze down to the book in front of him, lifted his cup of tea, and took a small sip. You shifted nervously by the door. He waved an arm, gesturing to the seat across from him. You hurried to join him, but as you sat, he stood and left the room. 

You looked around, feeling helpless. The place was sparsely decorated, but it was packed with meticulously organized stacks of books, fluffy white furs, and glittering wax candles. Though a bit utilitarian, there was something undeniably cozy about it, like it had beckoned you here particularly on this gloomy day.

The man returned a moment later with another cup of tea, setting it in front of you. You nodded in thanks, taking a closer look at him as he situated himself across from you. His hair was strikingly black, like the midnight silks of the Fitzgerald Circus falling over his nose and swaying beneath his chin. You found him difficult to look away from, a ghostly black hole serving you hot, fragrant tea with perfect politeness.

“How are you finding the capital, Miss Chekhov?” The casual mention of your family name caught you like a rabbit snare. Instantly, the notion of his vulnerability disappeared from your mind. You remembered something crucial: Nikolai, the slippery enigma, bowed to this person, not the other way around. 

You smiled back at him, squeezing your fingers together. He had clearly hoped to catch you off guard. The best strategy, as always, would be to stay calm. “I see your memory has resurfaced, after all. I’ve found it busy. Hard to keep up with. But still kind, in its own way.”

He tilted his head. His eyes were clearer now, glowing like deep purple gems in their sockets. His tone softened, amused. “How optimistic. I hear that this city is full of rats waiting to take advantage, particularly in the lower market.”

That damn Nikolai. You never thought him to have such a big mouth.

“Yes, well, I’m sure you can understand why I’ve stayed.” You crossed your arms.

He mirrored the gesture. “Of course. You feel the need to rein in a rather inconvenient ability.”

“Inconvenient is one way to put it. But it’s my choice. I don’t have any need for it.” You bit back, tired of being prodded.

“Forgive me. This is simply what I’ve heard from our mutual friend.” He took another sip of tea, sighing contentedly and allowing the room to fall into silence for a few moments. The candle on the table between you drew your gaze. The warmth soothed you as you stared, uncrossing your arms. He continued. “The truth is, I am quite thrilled to meet you. I want to know more about you.”

You flushed, touching at the ends of your hair self-consciously. “It’s alright. Ask away, then.”

“You are working as an apothecary’s assistant, yes?”

“I am. It’s a wonderful place for me.”

“And yet, I get the feeling that you are still burdened.”

“We all come from somewhere. Does anyone walk the earth unfettered?”

“Certainly not. But as it happens, Miss, I would like to offer you the closest thing.”

You swallowed, feeling led by the neck like a helpless puppy. Once again, you were at a disadvantage. And yet, you were desperate to hear more. “Is that why Nikolai sent me here? First, though, I need you to tell me something. Just who are you to make that claim?”

“Ah, pardon my rudeness. My name is Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I am just a humble tea-maker. But some, like Gogol, know me as an ally of Ouchi Fukuchi.”

The weight of such a famous name had you stiffening in surprise once again. Fukuchi was the leader of the rebellion sweeping across the far provinces. His influence had yet to reach the capital, and most blanched at the mere thought of discussing him, afraid for their words to be misinterpreted as dissent. Rumors of his campaign were whispered in dark corners, embellished like legends from the distant past. Fyodor was an exceedingly bold man. You were feeling more intrigued by the minute. “What could a tea-maker want from the rebellion? Or me, for that matter?”

“I’m sure you understand better than most what the people of Athlyne stand to lose as the Count grows more powerful.”

“Of course I understand. That doesn’t mean I should have a say in what happens to thousands of people.”

“I don’t see why not. Someone will always decide on the people’s behalf. Who better than the exploited oracle?”

 “It’s not that simple. I’ve moved on.”

 His eyes narrowed at this. “Suffering can’t be forgotten. Sinners can’t renounce their deeds. As one heals, forgives, and forgets, hundreds more enter the cycle. Cleansing the world of the roots of sin is the one true solution.”

“What a harsh outlook. Please answer the question you dodged. Why is a humble tea-maker speaking so righteously?”

 “More than a tea-maker, I am Fukuchi’s proxy.”  

 You scoffed, disbelieving. “Proxy? What is that supposed to mean?”

 “Why, to be a proxy is to act on another’s behalf.” You couldn’t tell if he was being condescending or genuinely explaining. Exasperated, you returned the smile that hadn’t left his face.

“Yes. So, you mean to tell me that you’re following orders directly from Ouchi Fukuchi himself? Not to be rude, but that’s quite hard to believe.”

 “I take no offense,” he assured kindly, with no explanation.

“And what is your purpose in telling me something so important?”

He leaned in a bit closer, his elegant features flicking in the candlelight. His voice quieted in its sincerity. “I want your trust, Miss. To put it simply, I ask for your power to help me carry out his will.”

You held your breath, meeting his volume change. “And, that is?”

 “To punish this city’s ultimate sinner.”

You stared at him, waiting for a laugh or a Nikolai-esque ‘Ha! Look at your face– did you fall for it?’ that never came. You finally leveled him with a disbelieving scoff. “You want to punish Count Bram?” You knew the shop was empty, and yet you struggled not to choke on the words coming out of your mouth. You swallowed thickly, glancing behind you. He leaned back in his chair with a chuckle, the picture of patience.

 You were starting to understand why someone like Nikolai would ever approach you. The gravity of this situation, who you had gotten yourself involved with, was starting to sink in. Your words came out faster now, as though you could convince him to see reason. “You must be crazy. I can’t understand where your confidence comes from, saying such a thing to a stranger. I could report you!”

“You aren’t a stranger, Miss Chekhov. You’re Gogol’s friend.” His lips, a charming pale pink, curled almost imperceptibly. He wasn’t bothered in the slightest.

“Oh, yes,” you scoffed, “he’s very trustworthy.”

 He hummed quietly in agreement. The sound was pleasant, almost musical. Your chest tightened, ears tingling with pleasure. “Please, do what you wish. In fact, we aren’t far from the administrative district. If you’d like, I’ll walk you.”

He had such an unexpectedly sassy way about him, calling your bluff like that. You predicted that, contrary to Nikolai’s outright desperate attempts to force laughter out of you, this man’s joking moods could be difficult to distinguish from his serious ones. “Alright, I get it. We both know I can’t do that. Say what you want to say.” 

He turned his head now, surveying the sky beyond the window. He seemed quite satisfied. “Well, the storm won’t be coming for a while now. Why don’t we continue this conversation elsewhere? I can show you where my confidence comes from.”

 He stood again, moving behind you to pull out your seat and offering a hand to you as you stood. You were stunned by his sudden gentleness, quite the contrast from his indifference at your arrival. 

 You sighed. “Alright. I’ve come all this way to hear you out, so I’ll see it through.” As long as he wasn’t trying to prank you, you figured you’d experienced worse than whatever awaited you. 

Outside, the clouds seemed just about ready to weep. Yet, on your quiet walk, not a single drop fell. You eyed him, perplexed. Even you couldn’t predict the weather. What use did he have for an oracle?

He led you down a narrow street. Children in dirt-caked robes laid under the shadows of trees lining the road, tilting their heads to watch the two of you pass with tired eyes. Fyodor’s steps never faltered, his attention set upon a small church ahead of you. Upon it rose a belltower that pierced the sky above like a dagger’s blade. The boarded windows told you it was likely vacant, yet he strolled through the front doors as casually as one might in their own home. 

 You followed a few paces behind, the old floorboards creaking beneath you. Your voice echoed across the space and bounced off of the dark, plain walls. “Do those children live here?”

“No one lives here. This is where I prefer to speak about sensitive matters.”

“Why here, and not in that teahouse?”

Even as he spoke to you, he didn’t turn back until he reached a shining organ on the far wall. He swiped a hand across it. “It may be quiet, but it isn’t always private. And,” His fingers caressed the instrument’s ivory keys with pure veneration. “I enjoy the organ just as much as drinking tea. So of course, I happen to like this place.”

The church obviously had not been occupied in a long while, but it hadn’t fallen into disrepair. It seemed to hover in a strange emptiness, void of worshippers yet teeming with reverence. Dust powdered the pews, but the organ and altar were spotless. You followed him as he approached a massive idol carved from stone, a strange and wicked scene of a man pinned to a cross. Countless more questions leaped to the forefront of your mind. “You seem quite devout,” you stated.

“I am. Are you devoted to God?”

“I’m not. I knew nothing of religion until I came here. Gurov’s natives don’t worship any figure so much as they do…um, fate itself.” You trailed off, feeling the sudden need to hold your tongue. Your old life was one stripped of humanity, so it wouldn’t be far off to say that they didn’t feel the need for this God because of their reliance on the Chekovs’ power…on you. But shame suddenly enveloped you like a child caught with sticky fingers. Now, you wanted to whisper. 

Sparing Fyodor a sideways glance, a bit antsy, you watched his eyes part from his lord’s and sweep over you. As they did, you turned to look upward again. He knew what you were getting at. No criticisms left his lips. They remained politely upturned, leaving your shame to hang in the stillness. Your legs felt unsteady as you shifted your weight, a desire to escape him welling up within you. His silence was cornering you.

 Finally, he spoke again. “I do wonder. If you have no need for those powers, what made you agree to meet with me?”

 “Nikolai asked me to.”

 “You must think very highly of him.”

 “I suppose. I just didn’t want to be impolite to a friend, that’s all. It wouldn’t kill me to hear you out.”

 “That is smart of you. God looks favorably upon loyalty.”

 “Does he? That’s surprisingly benevolent.”

 “Of course.”

 You turned to meet the eyes of the statue. In truth, you weren’t sure if this could be considered loyalty. Fear constricted every breath that you took. Fyodor, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at peace to put his own fate in the hands of a higher power. What did that feel like, you wondered? To trust in something, or someone, so unconditionally? Perhaps it was something deeper, something you weren’t sure you were capable of. 

A cold draft blew through the plywood nailed to the windows. Fyodor didn’t shiver. Maybe someone unflinching could give you the answers you sought.

 The silence was stretching on again. You couldn’t stop yourself from filling it. “Fyodor,” you began, curling your fingernails painfully into your palm. “I’m curious. What does your god teach about love?”

His eyes closed, long and elegant lashes fluttering over the peaks of his cheekbones. “God cares for perfection above all else.” He opened his eyes again, turning his head toward you as though amused by your train of thought. “But I suppose many would say that sacrifice is the ultimate act of love.”

 You smiled, pained. Perhaps, in this soundless void forgotten by all worshippers except one, you could confess what had been decaying your mind. “I see. I fear you’ll be disappointed in what I have to say, so may I tell you a bit about myself first?”

 “Very well. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

You were grateful to finally have an audience. You wouldn’t waste this chance. “In the village where I grew up, oracles are a precious resource. The community worships their visions like they might diamonds, or artifacts, or even a god. In turn, oracles must create a deep connection with their people and their land so that they may have visions about them. But the cost of this connection is high. The Chekhovs’ powers lie in the hands of both their people and the highest bidders. So, to become the perfect servant, an oracle must ward off worldly desires or fickle emotion. Their thoughts have to be entirely consumed by everything they watch over: the sick, the unborn, the fields, the unions. These are the conditions I grew up in. Without respect for myself, without respect for others. An empty vessel.”

 “So, you are telling me that you sacrificed everything for your people, despite being treated as a tool. How touching.”

 “It might have been, if I didn’t run. It’s true that I disgraced myself by forsaking everyone who needed me. But I couldn’t possibly have stayed.”

“Is that so? It wasn’t an act of cowardice, but a necessity?”

 “Yes. I didn’t have it in me to sacrifice myself. When I should have been committing the ultimate act of love, I actually couldn’t bring myself to love anyone or anything. In the moments my mind returned from that abyss of apathy, I was vengefully angry.”

 He said nothing. You drew in a deep breath and continued. “So, standing in front of your god, even as irreligious as I am, I’m sure he would ask me to repent. He must know that I can’t love unconditionally, that I have no desire to save others, and that I can only be content if I live selfishly. That’s why I won’t use my power anymore, and why I can’t help you.”

“What a touching sentiment, as expected. But worship comes in many forms, and ‘love’ is an irrelevant one. What I ask of you is far simpler.”

 “But, I…” The words were stolen from you momentarily, your head starting to spin. You couldn’t get a grasp of his true thoughts, no matter how hard you tried. “I just don’t think it’s right to involve myself in others’ fate anymore. Especially because it’s of no consequence to me what happens with Count Bram.”

 “You are not meant to play the role of the savior. Of course, God punishes sinners as he pleases. But I won’t make you repent.”

 “I don’t understand.”

 “Our roles are quite the opposite of what you’re thinking. Once you’ve offered me your power, I will be the one to save you.”

 Both of us will be saved.

 The words rang in your head like a great church bell. Suddenly, you grew incredibly cold, your clammy hands gripping at the marble altar beside you. The image of a rat–a fractured one, heavy with fog–scurried across your mind, sending a shiver down your spine as you were seized with the fervent desire to run. You couldn’t remember that last vision. It was muddled by the lingering effect of suppressants. Still, you recalled the thread that triggered it: spilled wine, warm, viscous, and glaringly red as it pooled beneath you. Your stomach churned. Something was wrong here. There was another thread dangling before you, but the pills dissolving in your stomach barred you from grasping it. 

 Fyodor came back into view, a polite, worried expression crossing his face as he lightly patted your back. You became very aware of the sweat pooling on your skin.

 Come back. What was he talking about? Fukuchi. Bram. Salvation.

Though you were intrigued by him, pulled by the inexplicable force of his charm, you shut the proposal down curtly.

“Your words touch my heart. I still have to decline your offer, though. I’m sorry. I hope you find someone who is willing to let you guide them.”

 “There’s no way you’ll be convinced?”

 “I’m afraid not.”

You straightened again, breathing deeply to calm your racing heart. Your lips formed an apologetic smile as you stepped away from him. “I’m sorry. I suddenly felt faint. I should go home, eat something.”

 “Of course.” You backed toward the door, and his eyes looked pitch black now.

“If you need anything, come to Auguste Apothecary. I’ll gladly help you, to repay you for listening.”

 You focused on the sound of your heels thudding on the brick outside. As soon as the church was out of sight, a violent rain poured from the sky.

-

Your eyelids drooped as you stood behind the counter, organizing ingredients. Dr. Yosano wasn’t usually a slave driver, but there was much to be done the following morning. And tired as you were, sleep had been eluding you in the days following your meeting with Fyodor. You hoped that you had made the right choice.

 You hadn’t crossed paths with Nikolai since then. It was entirely possible that you never would again. Perhaps he had truly only buddied up to you for Fyodor’s sake. Now that you had refused involvement with the rebellion, he had no more business with you.

 That left you with Dr. Yosano as company. Though you missed Nikolai’s chaotic presence, you could never complain about this. She may have been your boss above all else, but she was the one facet of your life that was completely irreplaceable. There were too many ways to describe your relationship, but on your end, it was marked by a feeling of overwhelming gratefulness. No one had ever treated you with the humanity and respect that she had. 

 …Even so, the two of you could only coexist as equals because you kept secrets from one another. The monsters under each of your beds were contained to the darkness of your pasts, and that was enough to glue the pieces of your present into something like a life. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t lonely. You wanted to be understood, to be seen without saying a word. You thought of Nikolai again.

 Come to think of it, Nikolai was often on your mind. You tried to push him away. He dizzied you. He thrilled you in a way nothing else ever had before. Was it his absurd manner of speaking, the way his laughter left you breathless? Maybe it was just the invigorating swell of his closeness; he may as well have seen you constantly buck-naked, knowing everything he knew about you, and yet he continued to fearlessly look you in the eye.

 No doubt, this was why it blindsided you so fatally when the door to Auguste swung open minutes after you had closed it for the night. Another storm was picking up outside, and the white fringes of Nikolai’s hair stood up as if to sing in chorus: ‘come on, he actually used the door today— look elsewhere for the real show!’ 

 This particular trick of his was almost too nasty to believe, and yet there it was, crumpled and damp between his thumbs. His eyes, narrow and dark, sparkled in the candlelight above his upturned lips.

 Though the ludicrously high reward might’ve made the average working lady faint where she stood, the extra zeroes didn’t faze you. What truly spiked your heart rate was the drawing of your face in the middle of the page, devoid of the old baby fat and fit with the new freckles and grown-out hair. You stood frozen before him as he waved your own missing poster in your face.

 The words finally came out in a terrified whisper. “What is this?”

 “You must not have looked in the mirror lately! This beautiful lady is you!”

 “Nikolai,” your shaking arms swept over the counter and knocked all of the meticulously prepared bottles to the side as you rushed toward him. 

 “Kya!” He squealed in delight as you grabbed his shoulders and pushed him roughly against the door, the fabric of his overcoat bunching up in your fists.

 “Don’t you dare taunt me. Why do you have this?!” 

 “Don’t shoot the messenger, darling,” he cooed. “I only came to tell you that someone is looking for you.”

 The sides of your vision darkened. His face felt far away, as though he was backing away from you. An elated giggle swam through your ears as your legs weakened and you leaned more of your weight on him.

 “How? How could this happen?”

 His giggling quieted but continued as he rested a hand on your head, stroking your hair tenderly.

 “I don’t blame you. You’ve taken flight, but you’ve been trapped in the eye of a storm for too long. You haven’t noticed how the world is changing.”

“Why? I don’t want to… Why? Why?” 

 He held you. You repeated yourself until you were hoarse, until you could gather enough strength to peel yourself away, ducking your head to avoid him as you ripped your coat off the hook. 

 It was really coming down now. You couldn’t see a thing. You tripped over the roots of the elm tree as you ran from the apothecary, fear wiping all sense of logic from your head.

 He probably wouldn’t even be there. You needed him to be there.

 And as you burst through the doors of the church, shivering and heaving, Fyodor sat leisurely in front of the altar, a cello resting on the ground before him. A melody, low and heavy with sorrow, drifted through the air. As you listened, hypnotized, your thoughts slowed enough to break you. You found yourself on the floor, grasping at the hem of his robes with a voice so weak you almost couldn’t recognize it as your own.

 “I’ve changed my mind, Fyodor. I want to help you. I want to be saved.”

 He chuckled sweetly. The thread dangled in front of you again, just out of your reach. I can’t chase you anymore, you thought petulantly. I’m tired. You closed your eyes, willing it to blow away with the rest of the city, and succumbed to darkness.

[tacticiandrafts]

tumblr makes me feel like an old woman ~_~ ch 2 is not showing up in tags BOOOO I don't rlly know how to fix it but hopefully I'll figure it out by ch 3 lmao

[tacticiandrafts]

you got this 👍😁👍

It may have been like 7 months but I still have hope you are working on the fic and doing a great job

(Writing this kinda makes it sound like I'm rushing you but this is not my intention sorry if it ends up feeling that way (⁠●⁠´⁠⌓⁠`⁠●⁠) )

Anyway look at this giraffe playing a saxophone 🎶🎵🎷🦒

you'll never believe what I just posted...

HAHA thank u for ur lovely message <3

[tacticiandrafts]

THE CRUCIFIXION ; Nikolai Gogol, Fyodor Dostoevsky x fem!Reader

Part two / 4.7k words

P.S. ! If ur wondering what could’ve possibly taken me so long…I was getting my degree!! I took a break from all creative endeavors to graduate and then shake off the burnout, but I’m so freaking back. no ao3 curse... crossing my fingers. Hope u enjoy!

also posted on ao3 @ tactician!

Important to balance dry humor, particularly excess phlegm. Gargle warm salt water three times per day until the throat is relieved. Externally apply poultice of fennel, basil, and witch hazel. Do not ingest. Sage and honey may restore natural vigor: mix with warm water and drink throughout the day.

You straightened the piece of cloth and set it aside to dry as you sat back and stretched, surveying the finished order forms on the desk. That was the last one. Your wrist cracked satisfyingly.

On occasion, doctors sent in prescription requests that were to be mailed out to nearby clinics or to the homes of patients. As a novice in the art of writing, the task of filling out such menial forms was entrusted to you.

It wasn’t customary for oracles to learn to read and write, and you were no exception. You were discouraged to learn that literacy was considered high fashion in the capital these days and you were leagues behind everyone else, but Dr. Yosano had no problem teaching you (as she did with every other skill you lacked when the two of you met).

With a warm sense of pride washing over you, you leaned even farther back, propping your feet up on the desk. The years of practice and occasionally working through breaks had done you good. Your script from today looked even, neat, and well-spaced. You hadn’t smudged a single letter nor had you elbowed the inkwell. Your progress was evident.

With the curtains drawn and the door of the back room only slightly cracked open, the comfortable darkness made you sleepy. You heard Dr. Yosano let out a yawn from somewhere in the next room, the idea of a midday nap sounding better the more you considered it. It was a slow day and she never yelled at you anyway, so perhaps it would be fine to kick back and rest a little…

The front door slammed open with enough force to rattle the windows. You sat up too quickly and a hot pain shot through your neck. Perhaps it wasn’t time for a nap, after all. You stood and rushed to see who had come in, Dr. Yosano already by the man’s side and pushing him in your direction with a nod toward the chaise longue in the corner.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulder and helped him to sit down. He was an older man, gasping through ugly, deep burns on his mouth and chin that beaded with blood. As he groaned and shivered, gesturing wildly, you turned from him for a moment to grab a piece of cloth and the pen you’d just been using. He nodded gratefully, taking them into his shaking hands and beginning to write.

I bought an artifact from an officer in the lower market. A flute. I tried to play and it burned me.

“An artifact? Wait, an officer? Are you sure?”

“What’s the problem?” Dr. Yosano called over her shoulder, searching a cabinet for a rag.

“He says he bought an artifact from an officer and it burned him.”

This stirred her. “Shit,” she said, slamming the cabinet shut and rushing over. “Where is it?”

He gestured weakly to the carpetbag he’d dropped by his feet, discarded at the door. Quickly, you moved to grab it.

“Gloves,” She ordered sternly.

“Right.” You reached into the deep pocket of your work pants to find thick leather gloves, shoving your hands in them as you picked up the bag and brought it to her. She did the same, motioning for you to hold the bag open for her to rummage through. The flute, swimming innocently at the bottom, emerged as she turned it around in her fingers. The roughly textured ivory instrument looked like it was carved from an animal bone. You cringed, wondering if it even sounded like a flute, and Dr. Yosano scoffed. 

“You fell for an obvious scam. This isn’t an artifact. But I don’t know what it is, so you’ll have to hang in there for a minute while we look at it.”

He groaned, and she sighed heavily. “I can’t treat you until I can be sure of what happened. If it’s some sort of spell cast by a mage, who knows what’ll happen if we touch your face? I’ll have to refer you to a barber-surgeon.” Punctuating her words with a rough pat on his shoulder, she turned to you.

“Now, do you know whether this is a real artifact?”

Logically, you didn’t think it could be. Not only would it be a miracle for genuine Camus artifacts to be sold at a discount on the street corner, but Count Bram’s powers simply rendered it impossible for officers, his direct subjects, to engage in illicit activity. Obviously, there was something wrong with this instrument, but…

“I wouldn’t be able to tell. I’ve never seen one before. Still, it feels like a magical object to me.”

Given that you often worked with magically imbued seeds and also took magical drugs on occasion, you knew well that anything imbued would pulse with faint electricity. Poking the barrel of the flute, you could feel something of the sort emanating from it.

Dr. Yosano took it from you again. “Let me show you a trick. Feel the mouth plate, then the end. Notice anything?”

“It feels…uneven? It’s like the mouthpiece has tiny impulses flowing through, but not all of them are of the same magnitude. The magic is even weaker at the end.”

“Good.” She left your side to crouch next to the miscellaneous tool cabinet, running a hand through her hair. “Where’d you put my hand saw?”

“It should be in the back somewhere.” 

The man trembled next to you, shaking his head vigorously. You rubbed his back comfortingly. “It’s okay. She likes playing barber-surgeon, but she doesn’t intend to use that thing on you.” 

Successfully retrieved, she wasted no time in taking the saw to the flute, cutting it cleanly in half. She rubbed a gloved finger along the inside of the cross-section and hummed, satisfied. You moved to do the same and your eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh! The magic doesn’t penetrate all the way through!” 

“Right. To be more specific, there’s a thin layer on the outside.” She began swabbing it while you marveled at her.

“How did you guess that? Have you seen a real artifact before?”

“Of course not, but I do know a thing or two about magic. Here’s a lesson: only an object made by someone who can imbue things with magic will have consistent impulses all the way through to the center. A counterfeit, like this, will feel more like weak remnants, and there probably won’t be any trace at the center. It’s hard to tell what exactly it is, but it’s clear that this is coated with some sort of organic matter grown by an agricultural mage.”

“Ah…so, in other words, someone made a poison with amplified botanicals and put a whole lot of it on the flute to hurt whoever bought it.” 

“Something like that, yeah. Now we can be fairly certain he has a regular caustic wound, so I’ll treat him accordingly. I can trust you to handle that thing without hurting yourself, right?”

“Yes. I’ll dispose of it carefully.”

Your thoughts spun as you worked alongside her in silence. Lately, there had been lots of people coming by with burns, severe rashes, pustules, and the like. You worried that perhaps a new illness was spreading around, but could it be that they were actually due to the sale of fake artifacts? On occasion, you heard about unrest spreading across the far provinces. You couldn’t imagine rebellion spreading to the capital with how tightly Count Bram controlled his forces here, but it really did seem like the distant cries for magical freedom were making people curious. If someone wanted to take advantage of that curiosity, maybe there really was a market for counterfeit artifacts.

“Sorry for cutting your break short.” Dr. Yosano interrupted your thoughts. She’d sent the man off a few minutes ago, but you were still loitering around the front room.

“It’s fine. I was actually just about to go take a nap or something.”

“Hm. What’s distracting you, then?” 

You frowned, looking down at your fingers as you fiddled with them. “I’m still thinking about that man’s story. I just wonder how an officer could have given that to him. Don’t you think that sounds far-fetched?”

She only shrugged. “Who knows? He barely gave any details. Anyway, there are better things for you to worry over. A letter from Kenji came by late last night.”

Almost instantly, the tension between your eyebrows was released in surprise. You didn’t want to let that train of thought go, but she knew how to pique your interest.

“Is he coming to visit soon?”

“He said he’d start making the trip up here once a few matters were settled with his cows, so I think we can expect things to get busier around here in the next week or two. Think you can handle it?”

The thought of seeing Kenji again brightened your heart, even if his arrival meant more work. Auguste was soon to enter its most dreaded time of the year: paperwork season. 

You extended an arm and flexed. “Of course I can handle it!”

She chuckled and swatted your shoulder. “That’s my girl.”

Kenji was of the rare sort whose magical power didn’t necessitate service directly under Count Bram. Because he was an agricultural mage, he could live as he pleased so long as the majority of his yield made its way to the capital. Though he wasn’t compensated for this, he had the even rarer kind of disposition that allowed him to take it all in stride. He enjoyed farming and enjoyed helping others even more. 

At the very least, Dr. Yosano did pay Kenji generously to grow a variety of plants with medicinal properties in her garden. A few times a year, he made the journey to Auguste and stayed for a while to help with planting, harvesting, and pruning. His visits were always a bright spot in your life, and having his company would most definitely alleviate some of the stress you had been feeling. The issue was, in order to keep her business license, Dr. Yosano would be inundated with a tremendous amount of paperwork. She needed to send meticulously documented ledgers, inventory reports, and inspection statements to the Court each time she privately contracted Kenji’s services. It was all a huge headache, and its only true purpose seemed to be keeping a monopoly on magic for Count Bram. Most facilities in the country would see no point in wasting all their time on documentation, even if it meant increasing the efficacy of their medicines. 

…Your employer couldn’t be lumped in with most people, though. If she wanted to be the best, she’d find a way. This was the biggest reason why Dr. Yosano, who could have easily run the show by herself, solicited an inexperienced assistant so early on in her career. Aside from the fact that she yearned to boss someone around aside from herself, she simply hated doing paperwork. 

Things were about to get hectic, but that prospect didn’t bother you much. Kenji, who had quickly become like a younger brother to you, was just about the only friend you had aside from Dr. Yosano. Thinking about all the treats you wanted to buy him when he arrived, your eyes sparkled.

She didn’t miss your expression. A smirk grew on her face and she opened her mouth to make fun of you. Knowing exactly what she was about to say, you readied your retort (I do not dote on Kenji– I’m not a doter!) when the window rattled loudly behind you as though something had barreled straight into it, sending a frightened shiver down your spine.

“God, what kind of bird–” 

You turned to see someone shoving their head through the frame. A shriek tore out of your throat and Dr. Yosano jolted from the noise.

“Goo~d afternoon!” Nikolai peered up at you, his lips twisted in a devilish smile.

”Nikolai!” You quickly backed away, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You fiend! What’s wrong with you?!”

“What a warm greeting!” With his back bent at such an odd angle to allow his head to fit fully through the window, the playful giggle he let out was unsettling.

Caught completely off-guard, you felt your ears growing hot. “If you want me to talk to you, come through the door, please!” You groaned, glancing behind you meekly. Dr. Yosano was silent, only raising an eyebrow. 

The door flew open with a flourish of his arm and he skipped over the threshold. Your friend still made no move, but her judging eyes pierced the back of your head like lasers. Before the man could get another word out, you cried, “this is Nikolai! I told him to meet me here. I’ll be taking my break for real now. Bye!” 

You barreled into him and pulled him out with you, Dr. Yosano’s laughter drifting behind you as the door slammed shut again. He said nothing for a moment and you didn’t look at him, simultaneously willing your cheeks to cool down and cursing him for showing up a full month after your meeting.

He had certainly kept you waiting. At that point, you assumed he’d never show up, that all of it had been an elaborate act and he had to have made it up just to pickpocket you or something (though you weren’t sure what he stole). You couldn’t fathom how he had the nerve to show up now, and to embarrass you in front of your boss–!

Well, maybe you should have expected that. In truth, you were desperate to hide your excitement and hope behind a fake outburst of anger. Unfortunately, your act wasn’t good enough to convince anyone else, let alone yourself. When you finally glanced at him from the corner of your eye, his smile was sly.

“So quick to kick me out! Didn’t want your friend to know about us?”

“No, I didn’t. I don’t need her knowing that I sent a scam artist to her business.”

“You’re still convinced I’m trying to scam you?” 

“Didn’t you outright admit to it? And do you think you appear more trustworthy than before after showing up a whole month late?”

“Who said I was late? You never told me when to come by.”

“Couldn’t it be reasonably assumed that I’d be expecting you sooner rather than later?”

“Do you find me reasonable?”

“No. In fact, I can’t imagine you having anyone to hang out with. So perhaps I’m the one in the wrong for thinking you’d call on me quickly like a normal person.“ 

“Speak for yourself, darling! Here’s a quiz: is it true that you barely ever leave that apothecary and jump out of your skin if a stranger so much as speaks to you unexpectedly?”

“Did you—what do you mean by that? How do you know that?”

He ignored you. “Well, I had some business to take care of this past month, so that’s why I’m late!”

“Was that business stalking me? You’re way more of a freak than I thought.”

“Another quiz! Who’s the bigger freak? The man who stalked you, or the woman who’s still following him?”

“It seems you already know I don’t get out much, so I don’t feel the need to answer. We’re birds of a feather, I’ll admit that. But I’m tired of this subject now. Just tell me where we’re going.” 

Nikolai’s smile grew wider, his eyes shining with excitement. His pace quickened and you huffed as you struggled to keep up with him, panting like a dog at his heels.

Of course, he said nothing in response, but you followed his lead anyway, too curious to keep pretending you were angry at him. Something was different this time. For one, he was actually letting you speak. If he’d spent a month observing you from afar (you truly must have been just as strange as him for accepting it like that), perhaps it had loosened him up a bit. Then again, Nikolai seemed like the type who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and yet here he was leaving you in the dust. 

His long, tightly braided hair gleamed in the sunlight as he walked, swinging across his back. Your heart began to pound. 

When he finally stopped walking, you were a bit winded. To your surprise, he hadn’t led you to the lower market, nor did he lead you very far away from the apothecary at all. You laid the back of your hand on your forehead, now cool with sweat, as you assessed his chosen meeting place. It was a tall and narrow three-story building with a carved stone facade and dark purple doors and window frames. Smoke curled out of the chimney despite the lingering summer heat while the heavenly aroma of baked cheese and sweet spices drifted from the open windows. Out front, a group of small girls taunted a soot-streaked sparrow perched on the gable with torn pieces of bread. 

You let out a sigh of relief. What a perfectly unassuming restaurant.

Inside, the sunlight rained down across spacious wooden tables, most of them filled with patrons enjoying cool soups, platters of grilled corn, and afternoon beers. The weather must have brought good spirits upon the capital’s fast-moving working class. You noticed a few small groups of men in well-tailored vests, ducking their heads together and chattering lowly at tables pushed into the corners of the room. A few you recognized from the administrative building across the street, clerks and secretaries who had handled paperwork for the apothecary the previous fall. You caught their eyes and raised a hand in greeting before quickly turning away to face the counter.

There, a wiry young woman sat trimming away at a basil plant with a knife, her delicate fingers caked with dirt and swiping across the stems with the accuracy of a butcher. Her black hair draped across half of her face and hung like silk over her shoulder, obscuring her view of the front entryway. Her ears begun twitching like a cat’s the moment you entered, but she didn’t raise her head. Nikolai only chuckled, and you cleared your throat just as a cough sounded from behind her. A man with skin as pale as moonlight slipped around the corner, nudging her with a thin hand as he muttered, “Gin.“ He gazed indifferently at you from under similar dark strands that lost color at the tips, curling neatly under his jaw like crow feathers dipped in plaster. The woman’s back straightened as she finally acknowledged you. 

“Hello. The tables in the back are open,” she said shortly, her voice surprisingly soft and girlish compared with the sharpness of her eyes as they swept between yours and Nikolai’s. 

Nikolai waved animatedly at the two (siblings, maybe?), who only nodded back at him. You followed as your companion pranced to the end of the room, stopping to pull back a curtain partitioning a table from the rest of the place. Immediately, a strange feeling washed over you. If the woman offered this table to him without any pretense, he must have frequently come here to discuss private matters. The implication had your knee bouncing on your chair as you sat across from him.

“The owners of this restaurant are good friends of mine,” he offered with a sly smile, seeming to pick up on your discomfort. Of course, he avoided your true concerns.

“That’s nice.” You questioned whether they felt the same way about him, but smiled politely anyway. “Now, start talking. Why are we here?” 

His voice suddenly quieted some, though his words were chillingly sweet as he leaned across the table, swiping a finger over the tip of your nose. You swatted him away and pushed yourself back until your chair hit the wall. “Oh, you’re antsy! I guess it’s to be expected, since you are the Chekhovs’ runaway oracle.” 

There it was. Your entire body from your toes to your neck and ears grew hot with barely controlled panic at the admission, but you forced yourself to continue breathing. You’d spent the past month preparing yourself for this, knowing it would be too good to be true if he didn’t know. Regardless, the strain in your voice pained you. “Alright. You got me. How do you know that?”

He chuckled, throwing a leg over his knee and resting his chin on his hand, grinning at you in amusement. “Don’t worry, your identity hasn’t been exposed. At least, not in the capital! The story is quite simple,” he began, recounting his own memories like a distant folktale, “While traveling, I happened to stop in the town of Gurov many years ago. You would’ve loved the atmosphere. It was a riot, literally! Even though the people there are so boring—seriously, darling, it’s hard to believe you’re from the same place—I happened to learn something very interesting from them, about why they were so incensed. Can you guess what it was?”

“I’m well aware of the damage I caused. So you happened to be there just after I left? That’s quite the coincidence, don’t you think?” 

He ignored you and continued rambling theatrically. “I was so wowed by you! I mean, an effective god forsaking her power? It’s so amusing– hehe, I mean, amazing! Since then, I’ve been your biggest fan. I took your missing poster with me and slept with it under my pillow every single night. When I saw you again, I just had to meet you!”

My poster under his pillow? Why would he tell me that? If I ever did something so embarrassing, I’d certainly keep it to myself.

You shook your head, putting that thought aside to digest his claims. His story wasn’t entirely unbelievable, but there was a lot wrong with it. The Chekhovs’ power itself wasn’t an especially guarded secret. Had he truly passed through Gurov, especially around the time of your escape, he may have seen your face or heard something in the commotion. The problem was, your hometown was not only in the middle of nowhere, but it also wasn’t very welcoming to outsiders. Aside from couriers and the occasional merchant, most travelers would have no reason to pass through. And if they did, the highly distrustful locals weren’t likely to speak much to them beyond allowing them to rent a room at the inn or service their caravans so they could quickly get on their way. As you scanned his face, chewing on the inside of your cheek, another detail became difficult to ignore. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than you, meaning he was probably a teenager at the time. What reason would he have to be there? Moreover, how could he have recognized you from a decades-old poster? His story and identity became increasingly more puzzling the longer you thought about them. 

Your fingers drummed nervously over your thigh. It was suspicious, but just about everything about him was. Some of your questions could wait. “Whatever. If that’s the case, what is this favor you wanted to ask of me? Surely you can’t have gone through all this trouble for an autograph.”

“I respect and envy you.” You would have rolled your eyes at such an abrupt detour from the conversation at hand if it wasn’t for the way his voice dropped in tone. Suddenly, he was chillingly serious, and once again you abandoned any previous misgivings to hang on to his every word.

“…What for?”

“When I first saw your face, you reminded me of a bird. I knew I was right when we met. You’re just like a bird.”

“A bird, huh? I’ve never gotten that before.” You let out a nervous laugh, unable to decide if he was serious or just messing with you.

He giggled, then, and all of the tension disappeared in an instant as though you had only imagined it. “Tell me. Is this life freer than your past one?”

Another strange thing to say, but you felt compelled to answer honestly. All of your cards were already on the table. “Sure. Significantly.”

“Not completely?”

“Power isn’t everything. Even someone like me can want for more.”

“Full marks! You just don’t disappoint!”

“Great.” 

He crossed his arms, satisfied enough to continue. “That leads me to my proposition! I’d like you to entertain a friend of mine. He could make use of your powers, and I think you’ll be interested in what he has to say.”

At this, your jaw dropped. You sat up straight, your face flushing as you started to rant. “You must be joking. You say you understand my desire for freedom, yet you’re asking me to allow someone to use me for their own interests. And you say this knowing about my circumstances, fully aware of the difficult position you’ve put me in. What a convincing performer you are. Before you suggested that, I thought you were genuine.”

“Who knows? Maybe I am genuine! My intentions might be pure and sincere!”

“That’s very encouraging.” Your hand curled into a fist on the tabletop as the other came up to fan your face. Judging by Nikolai’s widening smile, you failed to keep your composure.

“You are so entertaining, do you know that? I love arguing with you! Forget what I said, let’s run away together!”

“Quit teasing me. This isn’t the time for jokes. I just don’t understand you or this situation at all.”

“Come on, dove. When I said I admired your desire for freedom, I meant it. I’m only offering you an opportunity to start living boldly! After all, I’m simply a pawn in this game, not its king.” You only blinked at the nickname.

“So, you’re claiming that you have nothing to do with this. You’re just conveying a message? Trying to help me gain courage in an extremely convoluted way?” You leaned back, skeptical. His words were confusing, but you couldn’t deny how much you longed for someone who understood where you came from… Was this dangerous opportunity really just a favor for a friend? You thought about it for a moment more as he observed you, his expression unreadable. No matter what he said, there was nothing trustworthy about him. Unfortunately, you couldn’t deny how strongly he’d piqued your interest. He certainly knew how to hook you. “Well…maybe I was a bit defensive just now. I still have questions, though. What do you stand to gain from any of this?”

“Why assume I have ulterior motives? Frankly, whether you help him or not means nothing to me! But if you ask my opinion, you definitely will.” 

You weren’t asking for his opinion, and you knew for a fact that you definitely would not. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s an equal trade.”

“What could be equal to godhood?” You scoffed sardonically.

His eyes sparkled. “You said it yourself. Even a god can want for more.” 

You sighed. Leave it to him to use your words against you. “Then…what do I get in return? How do I know that any of this will benefit me personally?”

“Who could better understand the despair of this kingdom than a victim of the Chekhovs’?”

A victim.

You took a beat, your chest tightening. The Chekhovs’ role in government corruption had oracles torn to shreds in the past. Just about everything Nikolai said was strange, but this particular statement made you suddenly feel very dizzy. Your mouth opened and closed a few times but no clever response came to you, so you cleared your throat and moved on. “I’ll meet with him on two conditions. The first is that I have no intention of helping him. I only plan to hear him out.”

He smirked. Clearly, he was confident that things would go his way no matter how you protested. You continued. “Second, the advantage you have is unfair. Given all the dirt you have on me, it would be easier to run away than to trust that you won’t expose me. To make this work, you have to tell me your secrets.”

“It’s a deal!” He jumped out of his seat, elated, and clasped your hand tightly with both of his. As he shook it hard enough to rip your arm from its socket, you prayed he hadn’t lured you into making a terrible mistake.

[tacticiandrafts]

fall classes started and I had to adjust to real life again but I’m back y’all…DW CHAPTER 2 IS IN THE WORKS!!!

[tacticiandrafts]

THE CRUCIFIXION ; Nikolai Gogol, Fyodor Dostoevsky x fem!Reader

Part one / 5.2k words

SYNOPSIS . . . Your plans to lay low as a fugitive in the magical capital of Athlyne are spoiled upon meeting Nikolai, an eccentric conman. Interested in your powers, he introduces you to Fyodor, his charming and mysterious associate. You’ve stepped into his trap before you know it.

CW/TAGS . . . Dark fantasy setting, mentions of drug dependency and a corrupt government, reader is an anxious mess

P.S. ! HELLOOO EVERYNYAN! this is part one of a series (out of ~6 or 7, tentatively). i’m experiencing nikolai fever so i’m excited to continue letting him consume my mind :)

also posted on ao3 @ tactician!

As a light breeze drifted through the window and fanned your hot neck, your eyes fluttered shut. You let the pestle slip from your hand momentarily as you leaned against the counter, shivering as the sweat cooled. From behind you, Dr. Yosano chuckled.

“Letting the heat get to you?”

“Yeah, sorry. This is the last one, though.”

She peered over your shoulder and nodded approvingly as you finished crushing a mixture of ginkgo root and dried centipede. “Looks good.” Counting the bottles neatly tucked away on the shelf above you, she let out a low whistle. “You’re really on top of things today. I thought we’d be behind on orders.”

You grinned, dragging a forearm across your damp hairline. “I’ve got an errand to run, so I thought I might take my leave a bit early.”

She nodded approvingly. “That’s fine with me. Thanks for the hard work.”

You spent a few more minutes helping her box up the orders you had just made and finally straightened your aching back with a groan. A strong arm snaked around your shoulders and you shivered as Dr. Yosano smirked, a dark glint in her eye. “Are you sore? Why don’t you let me take a look, hm?”

A shiver traveled down your spine, and you doubted it had anything to do with the remnants of magical seeds you’d just been working with. You flailed a bit as you slipped from her tightening grip, bounding toward the door to pick up the satchel and parasol you’d thrown on the hook earlier that morning. “No thanks, I should get going. I’ll see you for dinner!” Her dramatic sigh drifted out behind you as the door swung open and closed, the humidity fully enveloping you.

The afternoon sun hung high, occasionally eclipsed by passing clouds. The summer air was thick as the pulp of a blood orange; you cowered under the parasol as you made your way down the street. Even the shade that canopied the area surrounding the apothecary could do little to relieve your discomfort as a damp film coated your skin. 

Auguste Apothecary, the pride and joy of your boss, Akiko Yosano, was nestled by the side of a towering zelkova elm. The massive size of the tree made the building appear dwarfish and shoddy, but its regular customers hardly minded its outward appearance. Though the elite had their own pharmaceutical facilities closer to the palace and Auguste had a bit of a shady reputation, it was located smack dab in the middle of the largest residential district in the capital of Athlyne, so it had likely never experienced a shortage of customers from the day of its opening. 

Dr. Yosano’s pool of patrons wasn’t huge by any means, but no one would dare visit another apothecary after walking into hers. Her knowledge of natural medicine was unmatched and her ingredients, supplied by a talented farming mage, were of the highest quality. Though, you probably would have stayed by her side even if she turned out to be an incompetent fraud. She was sharp and incredibly capable, this was true, but you thought that her kindness and discretion were her finest qualities by far. For that reason, you expected that no one was more loyal to her than you were. 

You had run away from your hometown, located in a distant territory of Athlyne, at age fourteen. Fleeing to an adjacent province and finding work as an apothecary’s assistant in exchange for food and shelter, you lived with a constant knot of anxiety twisting in your stomach, wondering how many days of peace you had left until your family found you. That was, until the Meursault Post arrived on the shop’s doorstep, containing an advertisement for a position at one of the capital’s finest apothecaries with the promise of shelter and a decent salary. Athlyne’s capital was densely populated and located hundreds of miles away from your home—it was your best shot at a halfway normal life. Adrenaline running all the way to your toes, you traveled for two weeks on about half the rations you really needed for such a trip and eventually found yourself collapsed in Auguste’s entryway. In your starved and fearful state, you’d begged Dr. Yosano to take you in, listing every personal merit you could think of, and all she’d done was shrug. Sure, she said nonchalantly, come here and show me what you know. As it turned out, no one else had shown up regarding the position (she was a teenager, only a few years older than you, and everyone else had simply laughed in her face) so she would have hired you no matter what sort of impression you made. Regardless, you could feel simple appreciation and sympathetic care in her every action. After all, she never asked any questions. She had no interest in your origins, nor did she pry when she found you sprawled under the elm tree in the middle of the night, under eyes dark and knees bouncing. She helped you set up your living quarters in one of the cabins behind the building, helped you make dinner every night, and wordlessly prepared a steaming cup of jasmine tea each time you were hit with a bout of insomnia. 

Hitching a ride on the back of a supply cart headed toward the lower market, you thought you might pick up a batch of sweets or a bottle of wine for her.

Your thoughts trailed off as the cart began to head downhill, passing through the open gates into the underground sector of the capital. The air became cooler the further in you went, and you let out a little sight of relief. The streets there were sprawling, narrow, and winding. It was easy to get lost and even easier to find yourself trapped for hours searching for the exit. Though it may have felt a bit claustrophobic, the lower market was far livelier and less sterile than the markets above ground. It was rare to find Count Bram’s police force wandering around there, so the atmosphere was energetic and relaxed, with a variety of talented performers and community-oriented business owners. On top of that, the usually tight regulations on magical powers and objects were far more lenient, so there were certain things you could only see or purchase there.

Dr. Yosano never spoke of it, so you didn’t dare ask, but rumor had it that the lower market was the territory of her former teacher and the previous owner of Auguste Apothecary. Little was known of the shadowy Dr. Mori, but stories often circulated of the scandal that drove him underground. It was said that the apothecary was burned to the ground by the military after numerous reports of malpractice leading to death. It was revealed that he was an unregistered mage, but his imbued medications were so powerful that Count Bram allowed him to run free in the lower market provided that he offered his services to the palace. Left in the ashes of a terrible disgrace, a still teen-aged Dr. Yosano received funding from an anonymous benefactor and rebuilt the apothecary herself. Now, she barely broached the topic of Dr. Mori, but she was outspoken in her disdain for the medications he produced.

Incidentally, these medications were the reason for your errand. If you followed certain whispers, you’d be able to find one of Dr. Mori’s subordinates selling suppressants, pills that blocked your magical ability. You felt guilty for keeping this from Dr. Yosano, but it couldn’t be helped. At the moment, suppressants were your lifeline. Though the apothecary’s ingredients were nothing to sneeze at, you hadn’t yet succeeded in making your own solution with anything close to the same efficacy. Dr. Mori’s methods to make such a medication remained a mystery. 

Jumping off the cart, you weaved through the crowd. Cheers erupted as a man, likely a former member of the traveling Fitzgerald Circus, juggled fiery tennis balls with his bare hands. Going further downhill and turning onto several more backstreets, your eyes roved over the various shops, snoozing animals, and hollering people before arriving at the front of a small and unassuming tavern. Squeezing through the door, you passed through the low-lit hallway and ducked around the corner past the bar to find the back room. You swore under your breath as you approached the door. Low stock. Be back Monday. Sorry :). Reading the words, a deep frown crossed your face. You had run out days ago and hadn’t had the time to make the trip until today. 

Cursing Dr. Mori’s subordinate until the end of time (count your days, Ichiyou Higuchi!), you turned back, ignoring the old bartender’s piercing, monocled stare. You would’ve stopped to play a game or two of chess with him as you usually did, but you were too absorbed in your current dilemma to give him much other than an apologetic smile and a wave. This situation was a first, but you guessed that you only had a few days before your power began coming back to you. 

Suppressants were a double-edged sword. They helped unregistered mages live normal lives without having to serve in Count Bram’s court, police force, or military by erasing their abilities without a trace. Even if a tip sent the police knocking at your door, they’d find it impossible to tell whether you possessed abnormal powers or not. But dependency on suppressants was a lifelong struggle. There were no unwanted side effects, but they rendered users financially dependent on Dr. Mori’s underground trade forever. If you stopped taking them, your powers would return, for a short time more powerful and difficult to control than they had ever been. Of course Dr. Yosano didn’t approve: they were a bandaid of a solution to a larger problem that would only benefit one man in the end.

Mages were few and far between in Athlyne and its territories, but they were plentiful in the capital’s lower market due to Dr. Mori’s services. Whole families were killed serving in the military generations before you were born. Now, during Bram’s rule, mages were either from one of two families serving directly under the Count or they were the product of a mutation, the first of their kind in their family. Most members of the latter group did everything in their power to avoid being drafted, and that usually meant selling their livelihoods to afford a lasting supply of suppressants. The state of the nation at the hands of powerful figures was unforgivable, and Dr. Mori’s greed only worsened the struggles of the common people. But given your own circumstances, coexisting with your magic was unthinkable. Ridding yourself of that curse was the entire reason you started anew in the first place. So, like many others, you found yourself in an impossible dilemma.

In your restlessness, you must have made a wrong turn. When you finally broke out of your own head and took a look around, the surrounding streets were unfamiliar. You let out a slow and heavy sigh. Perhaps you’d wander and shop for a while before asking for directions.

At that moment, a hand slipped into your own. Your arm was lifted above your head with a flourish, and before you could react, you were spun around to face the man who’d grabbed you.

“Hello, my lost-looking lady!”

You blinked at him, trying to swallow down your instinctual panic. You didn’t expect to be left alone in your wandering knowing that the capital’s conmen were notoriously bothersome, but abruptly grabbing a stranger was like asking for a fist to the nose. …Gosh, though, your annoyance stuttered as your gaze traveled over his face. His radiant skin, mischievous smile, and glowing eyes almost distracted you from the scar running across his eye and the calluses littering the heel of his palm. Even these attributes were attractive, cutting through his forcibly high tone and boyish features. He was tall, with a long braid thrown over his broad shoulder… You huffed in an attempt to shoo these thoughts out of your head. As you stared up at him, numerous passersby peeked at the bizarre scene before turning their heads down and briskly walking away. It would be best to yank your hand back and continue on as though nothing had happened, much the same as everyone else. 

“May I ask what you’re doing touching me?” And yet, you did the opposite. You couldn’t be blamed. He was very handsome.

“Allow me to explain. I couldn’t resist seeing a surprised look on a lovely face like yours! You see, I can tell you’re in need of excitement!” 

“Ah, twenty words or less, please. I’m trying to decide if I should punch you or hear you out, you see.” 

“Oh! I like you already! I have fifteen left now, right? Wait, no, I messed up! I’m running out!” He squealed as he let you go, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. You frowned, trying to hide the amusement beginning to mask your annoyance. Instead of responding, you placed a hand on your hip and raised a brow at him. The man dropped out of the cutesy pose he had been holding and took off his hat, bringing it to his chest in a polite gesture. His voice lowering, though still not without a teasing lilt, he began to explain. “My name is Nikolai and I’m a fortune teller!” He threw his hat up and gave you a spin, catching it as he faced you again. This time, he inched closer, eyes narrowing. “I sensed quite a turbulent energy as you passed by just now. In fact, I can tell how special you are! You can see your own destiny, can’t you? How exciting! Would you spare a moment for a reading?”

You shivered, tensing. Those words, a bit too close to the truth, felt far too pointed. And that look in his eyes—did he know you? Though this was undoubtedly a part of his routine, you couldn’t help the way his words triggered your deeply rooted paranoia. Perhaps he recognized you—but he couldn’t, you were so far from home, and the photos would be outdated by now…You were falling right into such an easily avoidable trap. Even so, with the threat of your magic looming over you, your judgment became impossible to trust. Dread pulled at your shoulders and fingertips, the thought of this man knowing something chilling your blood. You’d have to indulge him, just to be sure. Even if you were only being paranoid, your life was on the line here.

(There was no need to mention the small part of your mind that was bored and frustrated and very much wanted to hang out with a funny and attractive man, so long as you kept a tight hold on your wallet.)

“A reading…?” You tilted your head, coy.

“Yes, your fortune! My shop is just down the road, so what do you say? Will you place your future in my trusty hands?” His words were laced with so much mirth and mischief that you wondered if he was even taking himself seriously.

Hesitantly, you shrugged. “Fine. My plans for today have fallen through. Lead the way.”

Anyone who took such a tone with him was probably not likely to agree to follow him in the end. You could tell from his genuine look of surprise at your words, which quickly morphed into even greater mirth than before.

An infectious giggle rang through the air. He wasted no time invading your personal space again, hooking an arm around your elbow and starting to skip. You would have tripped and slammed your face into the ground if not for his surprising strength as he pulled you along. If you were anyone else, your suspicion might have eased up as you processed how ridiculous the two of you definitely looked, frolicking through the crowds like a couple of hearty drunk men. 

He didn’t take you very far, making only a few turns (hopping all the way) before leading you down a slightly quieter street. There, you found yourself pushing through the door of what looked like a small library or bookstore. Clouds of dust puffed out as you moved through the space, ducking your head to squeeze past eerily low rafters toward a sitting room in the back. This was obviously not his shop (an old man greeted you when you walked in), and he probably rented this back room out for his hustles. Still, it looked surprisingly cozy, with an old armchair positioned near the entrance and a small walnut coffee table between two stools in the back. Nikolai had finally let go to allow you to navigate there without encountering any hazards, bewildering you a bit as he bounded through with almost impossible grace given his height. You took the chance to look around, wondering if you felt impressed or put off by his design choices. The creaky wooden boards were muted by numerous rugs scattered across the floor, an eclectic collection of oil lamps bathed the room in a low but warm yellow light, and a violently red porcelain tea set glittered on the table. Taking it all in, you sat down, playing with your hands for a moment as you watched Nikolai follow behind you.

A grey cat with barely-there stripes glanced up at him, squinting sleepily on the armchair. He patted its head as he passed, chirping in feline fashion as he met its eyes. The cat simply flopped to the side, curling its paws as its soft, fat stomach spilled over the cushion beneath it. He almost mirrored it in the way he plopped himself on the stool across from you, grinning. 

Sweat began to gather at your temples. He continued staring at you without saying anything. The attention flustered you, so you averted your gaze to his hands. They were long and slender, and they had felt gentle, rough and warm in your hand—make up your mind! Are you scared or attracted to him?! “So…shall we?”

Nikolai nodded, gesturing widely to the cat. “Don’t mind my assistant, oka~y? She won’t spill your secrets, so don’t worry about a thing!”

“Yeah, sure,” you snorted. You were starting to regret everything from the moment you woke up that morning as you stared at the lounging cat, thinking you really needed to work on your impulse control, so you decided to turn your attention toward Nikolai as he shuffled a set of cards. You hadn’t seen him pull them out. 

Now that you were sitting right in front of him, your eyes moved absently over him a few times.

He wore a long white tunic with ornate black embroidery traveling past the collar and circling the buttons down the front. His white pants were similarly intricate, the patterns disappearing where the wide legs were tucked neatly into his boots and the waist was fastened to his hips by a silky black sash. Strings of pearly beads and brightly colored tassels adorned him from head to toe: they hung from his neck, draped across his black fur cap, and swayed across his pants. The maximalist patterning and embellishing of his clothes wasn’t unusual for an entertainer, especially one who operated in the lower market. Showmanship was probably what paid the bills, after all. Still, there was something more to him that you couldn’t place hidden beneath the flashy gestures and showy words. Perhaps if anyone else wore those clothes, so fit for a clown, they’d be easier to avoid altogether. But Nikolai seemed scarily calculating for the second-rate, theatrical scammer he presented himself to be. Though he disguised it well, you still couldn’t shake off the feeling that he’d approached you for a reason. His words and his gaze were just too pointed. The thought startled you, and you averted your eyes again for fear of him noticing how blatantly you were checking him out. If he noticed, he made no indication if it, immersed in his own show.

“Ah! I see!” He gasped loudly, pulling a single card out from the stack and scrutinizing it before nodding dramatically. He held the card between his index and middle finger, shutting his eyes as though he was performing some sort of ritual. Then, he spun it around and let go of it, letting it flutter down in front of you.

A stranger in the capital using cards to tell the future was utterly laughable to you. Only the scattered descendants of the Chekhov family had the innate gift of foresight. Even if these cards themselves were magical, they had to have been imbued by a Royal Sorcerer of the Camus family, and artifacts made by a Camus were just about as hard to come by as the throne itself. Nikolai was obviously not a Chekhov, and he couldn’t possibly afford an artifact if he was performing cons in the lower market.

Nevertheless, the image that stared back at you froze your pulse.

You recognized The Lovers from your own handling of cards nearly a decade ago. This particular rendition featured two birds circling each other over an abyssal, grey sea. They were seagulls, and their coloring was a striking match to the one on the Chekhov family crest: an image you were intimately familiar with.

“Oh my!” Nikolai let out a high-pitched giggle. A horrible heat rose to your neck. “Now, for a quiz! Do you know what this card is telling us?” You opened your mouth, mind racing for an excuse, for a lie, or some other explanation. You couldn’t come up with anything, nor could you bring yourself to get up and run. Though, he barely gave you time to think about it because he didn’t wait for your answer. “We were destined to meet today, darling! This could mean only one thing.”

Your heart began to pound so frantically that you almost missed his next words.

“You and I are soulmates!” He threw himself forward to look even closer at you, his mouth curling into a scandalized grin.

“Um, what?” You couldn’t mask your confusion. Your head was spinning, the shock from what you expected him to say had rendered you dumb. To make matters worse, that most certainly was not what the card meant, and somehow his shoddy grasp of tarot was so funny to you that you shook with the effort it took to force yourself to stay serious.

“As you can see, this card here called out to me. The Lovers! The name says it all.” Though you should have played along the same way you had done this entire time, you forgot to react. He continued on, waving his hands in excitement. “We’re destined to be together! Yay!” 

After a moment, you shook your head in disbelief, heaving out the breath you had been holding in. “Are you messing with me right now? You don’t even know what the cards mean.”

Even the offense he feigned held a trace of barely concealed humor. “Surely not! My assistant can sense it too!” You turned your gaze to the cat, who had rolled over to face away from Nikolai and his loud voice. 

He was ridiculous. You suppressed a smile.

“You are messing with me. This is the worst scam ever. Even though I walked into it.” You started to stand, pouting facetiously.

His hands quickly found yours and he stared at you with an exaggerated, puppy-like sadness. 

“My love!” The sadness quickly dissipated as he winked cheekily. “My services aren’t free, silly.”

The moment abruptly ruined, you recoiled. “What? …You’re serious?” He stuck his tongue out, sliding you a piece of paper (where did that come from?) across the table. You glared down at the beautifully inked, absolutely preposterous bill. A drawing of Nikolai’s face mocked you from beside the numbers. “What’s the point of this? I think you know I’ve never seen this much money in my life.” And I really thought we were flirting just now, even though I still kind of feel as though you might be plotting my downfall.

He nodded, snatching the piece of paper and crumpling it up. “Co~rrect!” He stood, pointing at you. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the conundrum! You’re in debt because of a scam, but you’re broke as a joke! Wait! Oops, forget I said that! Oh no, what should we do?!”

Your horror, amusement, and bashfulness having now faded slightly, your head was clear enough to observe him. He had a habit of rambling on like he was telling one long inside joke, pretending to get worked up while speaking fast enough to prevent you from getting a word in unless he wanted you to say something. His behavior was beginning to confirm your suspicions—you were convinced now that your original hunch was accurate. He wasn’t at all as dense as he made himself out to be, and he wasn’t just a scammer. 

Still, you couldn’t understand him at all. Nikolai was putting on such an obvious show, one you’d seen many times in your curiosity surrounding the self-proclaimed fortune tellers of the lower market. But nothing about him was adding up. Why did he seek you out? How could his reading have exposed you so thoroughly, even though he had no knowledge of the cards’ true meanings? And if he approached you because he knew who you were, if he was trying to reel you in and sell you off to your family, what was the point of fooling around so obtusely, of making a scene outside? In the capital, your family name was synonymous with dirty money. He’d have more trouble on his hands than it was worth if he attracted too much attention.

All of that being said, he had drawn you in with alarming skill. You were curious. You wanted to run. You wanted more. Your head spun. Should you be running?

Only one thing was clear. He’d spent this time trying to confuse you because he wanted something. What could that be, though, if not the Chekhov family’s ransom money?

“A date!” Nikolai announced his wish before you had even a moment to ponder it. 

Once again, he made you feel slow. The realization made you laugh. “A date with me?”

“A date with you!” He grabbed your hand and spun you around again, this time pulling a single red rose seemingly from thin air. He slipped it behind your ear with a ghostly soft touch and tapped your nose lightly before taking a step back. 

“All of this was a ploy to…ask me out?” It wasn’t, but the joke relaxed you. You wished you could be naive, that you could trust that it was. He offered a knowing smile in return.

“Bin~go! You pass with flying colors!”

You laughed again, loudly, from deep in your stomach. “Great. You can have your date, so I’ll get going now, alright? Quit harassing me.” He took a step back, watching you from a distance now.

The smile that bloomed on his face was small enough to bewilder you again, to quiet your laughter. His eyes lost their mischievous shine as they softened, the clownish pitch disappearing from his voice when he spoke again. It was as if he was speaking to you for the first time. “Sure. Think of this as the start of another game. I’d like it if you entertained me just once more. I have a favor to ask of you, when we meet again.”

His genuine gaze was heart-stopping. It filled every inch of the distance he’d just put between the two of you. Dr. Yosano had taught you to be careful of the unpredictability of strangers in the capital, but your answer came easily.

“Alright. You can find me at Auguste Apothecary when you’re ready. I’ll pay you back. Promise.”

He said nothing, but his eyes narrowed again with his usual jovial pretense as he held the door open and watched you go. 

Continuing on your way as though nothing had happened and your heart wasn’t seizing inside your chest, you found yourself buying a few bottles of wine in a stupor.

Nikolai was nothing if not confusing. How could a man you’d just met touch at your deepest anxieties with just a few cryptic words, sending your heart plummeting to your stomach, then eclipse every inch of fear simply by amusing you with a teasing look and a sharp laugh?

The confusion followed you all the way out of the cool underground air, through the oppressive summer humidity, and to the familiar silhouette of Auguste. 

“Did you travel all that way just to get me some wine? Seriously?”

Dr. Yosano’s familiar voice unfurled your tangled thoughts. You turned to smile at her, embarrassed. “Not exactly. This was the only errand I was able to get done, though.”

She returned your smile with a bemused one of her own. “Sounds like things didn’t go your way today.” She grabbed two glasses and took your hand, wrapping your fingers around the stem of one. “There’s always tomorrow, though. Wanna drink to that?”

You huffed, silently judging her heavy-handed pour as she filled them both. “Sure. To a luckier tomorrow.”

As you took a sip, all the air left your lungs and the force of it nearly bowled you over. Everything around you seemed to disappear, your senses swept away in a vacuum. The image was clearer than any glimpse of the future you’d seen before taking suppressants: your hands, dripping red. Your nails, caked with dirt and blood. Nikolai, his expression obscured as he soaked in the shadows at the furthest corner of the room. A man you’d never met before sat in front of you, smirking. His black hair framed his pale, sullen face like a marble arch, cold to the touch. When he spoke, his words were quiet and soft. They hit you like thorns. You shook your head, angry, scared, and tearful. “It’s because I trust that both of us will be saved,” you retorted, and his smirk twisted.

When the vision ended, it was like a sheet being ripped from over your head. The back of Dr. Yosano’s hand was cooling your forehead and one of the glasses was shattered on the floor, staining everything red. Your fingers, your nails, both of your feet, her wool socks.

You leaned into her touch and thought about how to breathe again. You blinked away everything you had just seen, focusing only on the image of Nikolai, of his face, unreadable.

You were prepared this time. You repeated this like a mantra in your head, thinking of nothing else as the other woman helped you into bed, laying a cold towel over your head. 

You can find me at Auguste Apothecary when you’re ready.

You kept blinking, but the shadows never left, never revealed his eyes.

Even as you recalled all the times you, yourself, weren’t ready, each time you failed at your duties, you kept repeating it. You were prepared. The vision faded, and the words shifted in your mind as you succumbed to sleep.

I’ll find you there soon. Are you ready?

The voice was soft. You bled when you touched it. The sound sent rats scurrying away, fleeing. Everything was cold, like black marble.

By the next evening, you remembered nothing of your dream and could only recall bits and pieces of the vision. Again, you cursed Ichiyou Higuchi, who had really done nothing wrong except for being absent when you needed her. Finally feeling the weight of a bag of suppressants in your hand, you felt you could face anything.

All you needed to do was wait for him to show up.

[tacticiandrafts]

getting engagement on my kunikida one shot after 117 like damn i feel kinda bad for u guys (i’m in so much distress rn don’t look at me) … i fear i have no kunikida left in the tank, but im planning something of more substance with nikolai so pls look forward to it >:)

[tacticiandrafts]

Source D'espoir ; Kunikida Doppo

Using your ability pushes you to exhaustion. Which Agency detective will take pity on you?

Having successfully completed a solo job, you were expected back at the Agency to report the day’s happenings. Unfortunately, the journey there was becoming increasingly more arduous as your legs wobbled beneath you. You nearly passed out standing up in the elevator but somehow managed to pull yourself out as you reached the fourth floor.  

“I’m back,” you called, tired eyes surveying the office.

Ranpo cheered around a lollipop, probably saying ‘welcome back’. Naomi shot a bright smile in your direction and Atsushi waved. Kunikida grunted without turning around, evidently hustling to stay on schedule as his fingers tapped away urgently on his keyboard. 

You made your way toward your desk at a snail’s pace, wondering how you were going to convince him to take a break. That probably wouldn’t happen, so instead you sat down and stared straight ahead with bleary eyes, attempting to summon the mental fortitude to either eat or finish your work. You heard a panicked squeak and realized that you were squinting aggressively at Atsushi. Well, time to give up.

You paused for a moment, then folded over in your seat and slipped your head under Kunikida’s arms, resting on his lap. He sputtered a bit.

“You were gone for less than two hours. You can’t possibly be this tired,” he groaned.

“The job actually took me an hour. But then I wanted to try a new place for lunch and I ran into a shootout.” Your words were muffled as you turned your face into his leg.

“Was it the Port Mafia?” Atsushi’s eyes widened sympathetically.

“Mhm…I think the restaurant was a front for a rival gang…that old guy from the Port Mafia walked in right behind me and raided it before I could even order…” You whined as Kunikida started grinding his knuckles into the top of your head, irritated. “Kunikida,” you cried, “I’m so hungry!”

“Stop making it my problem and go do something about it,” he insisted roughly, but he made no move to push you away.

Tomorrow, you’d definitely be embarrassed by your clingy behavior. You tended to be quiet and cool-headed, but using your ability often tired you out to the extreme. Your fatigue obscured your typically reserved behavior, and every once in a while you ended up bothering Kunikida like this.

You felt slightly guilty for interrupting his workflow, but you really needed help and you only wanted it from him. Kunikida flung harsh words at you, but his motherly instincts betrayed him. No one else would have let you get away with this much, opting to send you to the couch before you had the chance to complain.

You sat up for a moment to grab his arm, stopping him from attacking your head and pinning it beneath you as you laid back down. “I have two reports to write now, but I wasted all my energy…”

He groaned, slamming his book of ideals down on the desk and pulling you up with him. 

“Oh?” Dazai’s eyes glinted as he strode in. “How forward of you, Kunikida!”

You felt his chest puff with rage as he shouted at Dazai to stop wandering around and get your work done! You craned your neck a bit to watch his ears turn red as he began dragging you into the kitchen, ordering you to sit still.  

You stayed silent, staring at his back as he rummaged through the fridge and started ranting. He was no doubt scolding you into oblivion, but you barely heard what he was saying.

“You’re the only person I know who’s so incompetent that you can’t even control your own ability. And if you weren’t so responsible most of the time, I’d tear you a new one for acting like such a damn baby when you’re tired. I already have to deal with that shitty waste of bandages coming in late every day, so why do I have to deal with you and your moods too?!” 

You sighed contentedly. Kunikida missed the happy note in your voice.

“Good,” he sighed back, “you should feel remorseful.”

Your satisfied smile grew wider as you rested your head on the kitchen counter, closing your eyes to the sound of his voice lecturing you on nutrition. 

Ranpo passed through for a moment, digging through the cupboards for a snack. He snickered at the sight of your smile as you dozed off, noting the affectionate, dutiful tone that Kunikida often took with you. Fukuzawa had been looking for you a moment before, but he supposed he could keep his mouth shut. You’d owe him a soda later.