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ambrossart · 2 years ago

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Paper Men: Ch. 27 Preview #2

With the full release just days away (I'm gonna try to have it up by Sunday, but worst-case scenario, it'll be up early next week, and it'll be totally awesome!), here's a special preview featuring Belch and Vic.❤️

The afternoon hadn’t gone so well for Victor Criss, either.

Thanks to Henry Bowers and his little lunchtime temper tantrum, Vic was almost twenty minutes late for his sixth-period government class. He walked in just as the last two students were turning in their quizzes, and when he asked Mr. Briggs if he could take the quiz during the second half of class, Mr. Briggs said no because he didn’t want Vic to miss his lecture: “These lectures are crucial to your understanding of the course.”

No, Vic wanted to say to him, your lectures are unresearched, uninspired, and taken directly from the textbook. Half the time I don’t even listen to you.

Instead, he just glared at his teacher with an exhausted, exasperated stare, which he supposed delivered the same message.

Judging by his teacher’s expression, it had.

“Look, I’m sorry, Victor. If you want to make up the quiz, you’re going to have to come in early tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to give you a zero.”

Come in early? On a Tuesday?

Screw it, Vic thought, my GPA can afford the hit, so he accepted his goose egg and chucked it over his shoulder.

He spent the rest of the afternoon going through the usual motions: go to his locker, switch books, go to class, sit down, zone out, wait for the teacher to give the assignment, start said assignment, zone out again, brace himself for the loud

BRRRRRRING!

The final bell burred directly over Vic’s head, making him flinch in his chair and drop his head into his hands. The damned thing was so loud, it might as well have been rattling around in his skull. Then came the excited chatter of thirty students talking all at once. Vic didn’t care how excited Kelly was to go to the mall or how “totally bummed” Mark was now that he had to go to detention. Vic had detention too, but you didn’t hear him complaining about it (although he was, constantly, in his head). He closed his notebook and textbook, stacked them into a pile, and tucked it under his arm before heading out the door.

The hallway seemed to go on forever. Classroom doors whipped open and closed, open and closed, releasing hordes of rowdy teenagers eager to leave. Vic kept his head down the whole time, staring at his boots, counting his steady, silent footfalls, and with each door he passed, the sound swelled around him. Every little noise—a cough, a laugh, a swish-swish of fabric—crashed together into a raging wave that flooded Vic’s senses. He could hear everything. He could hear nothing. His head throbbed and his body ached. His skin felt prickly and tight. When Vic finally reached his locker, he whipped it open, shoved his head inside the dark space above the shelf, and took a few slow breaths through his nose until he started to calm down.

Then he felt someone slump down beside him, and a grating, feminine voice said, “No offense, Vic, but your little girlfriend’s kind of a major bitch.”

Vic breathed out a sigh and even that was too loud in his current state. He buried his head deeper into his locker and wondered if she would just go away if he ignored her long enough.

But then again Christie Gibson was awfully persistent, like a fly that refused to buzz off.

“I don’t know what that means,” Vic said, annoyed, his voice echoing inside his metal cave.

“Tozier. I tried talking to her today and she totally wigged out on me! Like, I dunno what was worse: that fake nice bullshit��that was totally transparent, by the way—or her frantic babbling about coffee or whatever the fuck she was going on about. I dunno, I couldn’t make out a word of what she was saying. She said she wanted to give me advice or something, and I was just like, What? What are you even talking about? You know, she should be thanking me! I totally kicked her ass in the student council vote, but someone made me drop outta the race…”

“You don’t care about student council,” Vic said, his voice a low rumble.

“So? You never know, I might’ve been good at it.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t have, and besides, you don’t care about student council.”

“Whatever… still might’ve been fun.”

Her hand landed on his shoulder like a slithering worm. Vic shrugged it away.

“Look, here she comes now. Watch this, Vic.”

Vic reluctantly pulled his head out of his locker and turned around, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the change in light. Evelyn had just come around the corner in his mother’s bright yellow dress, her arms crossed in front of her, right hand rubbing and squeezing her left bicep. When she got within earshot, Christie said, “Hey, Tozier!” and Evelyn turned her head to acknowledge them. By now, it was practically an instinct for her, like muscle memory or something. Whenever someone said her name, Evelyn sprang to life like a wind-up doll, just like she was doing now. Her eyes popped open a little wider and brightened. Her mouth transformed into a picture-perfect smile, began to deliver an enthusiastic “Hi!” but then it just stopped and hung open, as if a pebble had gotten stuck in one of her gears. Evelyn drew back a step. Her eyes darkened, went to Vic, then to Christie, then back to Vic, and she gave them both a polite but noticeably stiff, “Hi,” before shuffling past them.

Christie snapped her fingers and pointed at Evelyn’s back. “See? Bitch!”

“Don’t call her a bitch,” Vic said, but even he had to admit that was a little odd. “Hey, what were you talking to Evelyn for, anyway?”

Christie raised her eyebrows at him. “Huh?”

“Why were you talking to Evelyn?”

Christie shrank away from him, then folded her arms over her chest and burrowed inside her oversized denim jacket. “Hey, I can talk to whoever I want, Vic. It’s not like I need your permission.”

Vic’s eyes hardened. “Why were you talking to Evelyn?”

“I just wanted to say hi and compliment her dress, that’s all. What? I’m not allowed to be nice to my fellow classmates?” She stuck her thumb between her lips and started chewing on her nail. Under her breath, she said, “Jeez, I was just trying to do you a favor…”

“You wanna do me a favor?” Vic said. “Stop talking to Evelyn.”

“Oh, fine! Not like I’m dying to talk to her again, anyway…” Christie took her thumb out of her mouth and shoved both hands into her pockets. “So you got my Green River CD?”

“Yeah. Here.”

Vic pulled the CD out of his backpack and handed it to her.

“Well? Thoughts?”

“Uh… not really my thing,” Vic said, but honestly, he couldn’t even remember what the band sounded like.

Christie clutched her chest in distress. “Really? Green River isn’t your thing? Boy, you are a tough nut to crack, Criss… but I’ll getcha, oh, I’ll getcha. I will find your music soulmate and you’ll live happily ever after, just like me and Stevie Nicks.”

She clasped her hands together in a silent prayer of thanks. Right now, Vic was saying a little prayer of his own: to be rid of Christie Gibson and have a few seconds of peace and quiet.

“Y’know your roots are startin’ to show,” Christie said. “You want me to touch ‘em up for you?”

Vic ran his hand through his hair, thinking.

It’s weird, and it’s ugly, and it doesn’t suit you at all!

“I dunno.”

“Oh?” Christie tipped her head curiously. “What, you thinkin’ about goin’ back?”

“I dunno… maybe.”

“‘Cause I can take you back if you want. Won’t be quite the same as your natural color, but I could probably get it pretty damn close.”

“Maybe,” Vic said, and they both turned to greet Belch Huggins.

He walked up to them while shaking his head, looking tired and frustrated, but he perked up a little when Christie Gibson’s eyes met his. Her smile was like sunshine. It always made his stomach flutter.

Nevertheless, he said, “Can you believe I got another day of detention over this bullshit?”

“Yup,” Vic said. He had gotten another day added to his sentence too, and all so he could watch Henry Bowers sulk in the front seat like a three-year-old until Evelyn Tozier gave him exactly what he wanted: attention. “I don’t even care anymore. They already gave me three weeks, what’s another day?”

Christie scoffed at them both. “God, you two are poster boys for the dangers of peer pressure… Hey, why’d you boneheads take her shirts, anyway?”

“I dunno,” Belch moaned. “Why do we do anything?”

It was just supposed to be a harmless prank, something to get Henry and Evelyn talking again. The last four months had been unbearably tense. Henry had been strangely quiet and extra irritable all summer, and Belch knew it was because of Evelyn (because somehow it was always because of Evelyn). He thought if he took her shirts, Evelyn would go to Henry to get them back, and they would finally squash whatever happened between them. He wasn’t expecting Henry’s temper to flare up and explode like it did, and he definitely wasn’t expecting Patrick Hockstetter to pour more gasoline on the fire. Lots of mistakes were made that day. Belch Huggins regretted every single one of them.

Because, boy, did it put a damper on his sex life.

Now Christie Gibson was turning to him with that familiar twinkle in her eyes. “Hey, can you give me a ride home from work tonight?”

“I can’t, remember? I’m not allowed to take the car out without my mom’s permission.”

“Oh, come on, please!”

“I can’t!”

“You’re really gonna make me walk home by myself that late at night? Past that creepy house? Reggie, I thought your mom raised you better than that.”

“Oh, don’t pull that card…”

“I’m just saying… next time I see your mom, I’m gonna tell her you made me walk home and I don’t think she’s gonna be very happy with you. I mean, what’s more important? Blindly following some rule? Or being chivalrous and seeing a young lady home?”

“Chris…”

“Please, Reg! I’ll even call your mom and tell her if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll pick you up.”

“Oh my god, thank you!” Christie lunged toward him, caught herself at the last second, and rocked back onto her heels, a deep blush rising to her freckled cheeks. She pressed the CD case to her nose in a vain attempt to hide it. “So, umm, I should probably get going, huh? Okay, well… have fun in detention, you guys!”

She spun around and sped off down the hallway.

Vic shot Belch a little smirk. “So you’re gonna give her a ride, Reg?”

“Shut up,” Belch said. He took off his cap, swiped his hand through his hair, and put it back on.

Now he was looking at Vic with a troubled frown. “Hey, what are we gonna do about Henry and Evelyn? ‘Cause what happened back at lunch, that was really freaky, wasn’t it? I mean, I’ve never seen him like that. Never. Not even at his worst. He was just… gone, man. You could see it in his eyes.”

Vic shrugged. “I wasn’t really planning on doing anything, honestly.”

That was Henry and Evelyn’s problem. It had nothing to do with him.

“Okay, yeah,” Belch said with a nervous chuckle. He started rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, this will all blow over, right? Patrick had his fun. He pissed Henry off, got him to explode. Now we just gotta wait for the dust to settle and things will eventually go back to normal, right? ‘Cause things will go back to normal. They have to, don’t they? There’s no way Evelyn would… She wouldn’t actually…” He broke into a confident, almost cocky laugh. “No… No way! I’ve seen Patrick pull off some crazy shit with the girls here, but Evelyn’s way too smart to fall for his bullshit. Yeah, there’s no way she’d ever…”

Silence fell around them. In it, they were both thinking the same thing:

She didn’t push his hand away.

Vic slammed his locker shut. The sound made Belch jump.

“Hey, I gotta go, man.”

“Huh?” said Belch. “But we got detention.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll be there. I’ve just, uh… I’ve got some shit to take care of, that’s all.”

Now more than ever, Victor Criss needed to release some tension.

After throwing Belch a quick nod goodbye, Vic went down the hallway, marched straight through the junior locker area, and briefly locked eyes with the quivering, whimpering Seth McFadden.

Without breaking his stride, Vic said, “Let’s get this over with, Seth.”

#bowers gang #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #victor criss #belch huggins #fanfic #it fanfiction #it 2017 #it stephen king #paper men #preview #fic preview #ambrossart #the wait is almost over #thank you for being so patient

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madschiavelique · 2 years ago

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A Crown Of Ink : chapter 4 - Five of Wands

summary : heimerdinger takes the class to the museum, reader and viktor have more banter, they go back to the academy to eat, oh look more banter, class happens, heimerdinger is a lil bitch.

content warnings : nothing that I know of (if you do find some elements that might be triggering please don't hesistate to tell me so that I can add it)

word count : 5,5k

author's note : hi besties, hope you're having a wonderful day/night/moment. kinda disappeared from the writing realm for a while ngl but life happened a LOT sooo i wasn't very present and i'm sorry. but here i give u some content and some kisses <3 (literally did not re-read this hdfqfdsv i'm tired i got uni tomorrow so there might be some orthograph mistakes I'M SO SORRY)

masterlist : 1 — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5

(not proofread, english is not my first language ✦)

tag list : @wincestisasincest @doctorho

Your week had been as thorny and bristling with problems as a porcupine.

Your schedule had been given to you a while before, and you'd considered math an illegal subject on a Monday since your first day. If only math had been your only problem...

From the first class you had with Viktor, you knew that the competition would be tough. Every time the teacher asked a question, you could expect that among the hands raised was not only your own, but also his.

And even when the forest of hands buried itself in the ground like falling leaves in autumn when a too complex question was faced, his persisted as a yellow hyacinth like his eyes, ready for the challenge.

Not being able to tolerate that the latter overtake you even more, you tried in turn to participate more in class to the great happiness of all the professors who were apparently impatiently waiting for the lessons where you and the skeleton were present.

One would answer a question posed by the teacher, the other would be quizzed afterwards, and the hand-raising ping-pong would be timed to whoever raised their hand the fastest.

You'd heard that students were starting to keep track of how many times you two were involved, and that the teachers were probably in on it.

And for good reason, the teachers obviously liked this Viktor who was bringing more participation, who seemed regular in his assignments and who was pleasant in class. In short, the perfect student.

And the truth is, if you were ever wrong, you suddenly felt as stupid as an inside-handled suitcase.

At least you felt a little less stupid about your cards. You had learned many things about them, from the meaning of the colors, to the gender of the person on the cards, to trying to find connections between the elements on them.

Sometimes you asked Sélène for advice, she knew much more about this art than you did, although you didn't visit her often because of your school work. You still managed from time to time to cross her in the corridors between two classes. You had been able to talk to her more during your first astronomy class, which in your eyes included basics that you knew only too well.

The end of your days were going on as usual. You'd come home, neaten up your day's notes, start making revision sheets, then chat with Sky.

She had quickly adjusted to life in Piltover, learning the customs, becoming familiar with the studies and the people. At first, making friends seemed like a complex thing for her to do, you almost feared that she would get hung up on you just by the fact that you were her room-mate and the only person she knew.

Fortunately, for both you and her, the options she took on her side were not the same as yours, which allowed her to meet other students and make friends.

"I don't understand why you have such a hard time with Viktor." Sky sighed.

You were at your shuttle stop, the mornings were getting cooler and cooler and the early morning sky was lazily letting the blue blanket of night languish, dreading the moment when the sun should truly rise and the quiet of the evening should give way to the life of the day.

Today was the first day of the week, and this morning was the famous field trip organized by the teachers to the Museum of the History of Revolutionary Inventions. The professors had insisted that the students invited to this outing should meet in front of the Academy, to avoid anyone with a doubtful sense of direction from getting lost.

Viktor, a being equivalent to a human compass always pointing in an impossible direction, would probably have ended up at the exact opposite end of the museum if his sense of direction was faulty enough to get lost in a hallway with no change in direction.

"Hmm?" You ask, not fully hearing her question as you both climb into the vehicle.

"Why so much animosity towards Viktor?"

People were abusing that name a little too much for your taste since it had entered their vocabulary only a week ago.

"I don't know..." you didn't really dare to say out loud that you hated him for the simple fact that he was ahead of you in the ranking of students and that number 1 was now him and not you, so you came up with a kind of half-thought lie, "I find him haughty."

"Haughty?" Sky repeats, surprised, "I've never seen him in that light before."

Of course, no one saw it that way. It was always 'Viktor solved Professor Panvos' equation so quickly, he's so impressive', or 'Did you see how Viktor corrected the arithmetic teacher the other day? He is so smart' and even 'The joke he told the other day was so funny, the whole class laughed for at least two minutes'. Viktor here, Viktor there, Viktor the smart one, Viktor the amazing one, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor.

If math hadn't already made you hate certain letters of the alphabet and put them in exercises, his name would be enough to make you hate those six poor letters.

"And that's it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is that the only reason you can't stand him?"

Maybe it was time you revealed to Sky the fact that the mere number 2 horrified you and that being considered so by your school system might give you enough valid reasons to hate Viktor.

And you would have told her, but at the time two things would have disturbed your explanation: first, you were on the morning shuttle bus to the Academy, which meant that other eavesdroppers might linger a little too close to your discussion. And second, one of Sky's new friends had just approached to greet her. What was her name again?

"Hey Orcelyia." Ah, yes there you go, Orcelyia. Very nice, at least from what you knew of her.

"Nice little trip to the museum," she smiled, "if only the Academy offered this kind of program more often."

You didn't really know how you felt about this visit, whether you would actually learn something interesting from it, or whether you would regret going when you could have studied more.

"Isn't this kind of activity a recurring thing?" asks Sky.

"A field trip? Doing it more often would be like giving them a nervous breakdown. The counselors are apparently far more interested in maintaining their finances and increasing their profits than sending their students to learn in ways other than reading."

Apparently she was taking a business or finance related option. It seems to be a pretty practical option if you want to sell your inventions, but you just never got into it. She did seem to know a lot about the financial side of Piltover, as the rest of the way she had blurted out a lot of information about how Piltover's money came in and out.

"I haven't ventured any further into Zaun's treasury functioning, but it looks much less sophisticated than Piltover's."

Sophisticated is indeed a term that does not fit Zaun's financial models. The corresponding words would be closer to "random," "barter" or " tricky". Just imagining how finance works in Zaun is extremely complex.

One neighborhood will have a totally different tariff from the next, one street will use one currency and the one next to it will use another. It is not the law of the richest, but of the one who has the most to offer.

A small group of students was already gathered in front of the golden gates of the Academy. The shuttle you had just gotten off of was the last one before roll call was made, which would allow enough time for the small town train to arrive.

"Where are Jayce and Viktor?"

Not really having the reflex to care about the presence of either of them, you started to glance over the small crowd. There was no sign of the tall naive man and the vicious gnome in sight.

"Let's hope for them that they won't be late," you said without any real interest.

You sometimes wondered about the origins of the meeting between Jayce and Viktor. What could have brought them together? Was it a previous meeting about the Academy? Were they childhood friends?

Not possible, Zaun's children don't mix with those from above. So why? How?

"Come near, come near, let everyone be properly counted." Calls Heimerdinger.

As his high pitched voice begins the call and the students respond, you find yourself watching in the distance, waiting any moment for the one built like a tank and a broomstick to cross the horizon.

But the call is finished, and still no sign. It's almost a relief that you don't have to see the man-whose-first-name-starts-with-a-V for the morning. The relief wears off soon enough, though, when, as you climb into one of the last cars in the back that had miraculously - and to your delight - remained empty, you see Jayce out of breath, followed by his colleague in the same state.

They go first to the locomotive where Heimerdinger and the second teacher, Mrs. Agrane, are, to indicate their presence. You sigh, the train is made of five cars with four seats each, and as yours is the last one where there are still seats, the two latecomers don't hesitate a single second more before coming towards you.

They took their seats, both facing you in the car as the train started its journey.

This little city train was usually reserved for tourism, quite practical to entice customers and let them see lots of little shops that could please them and make them come back to buy souvenirs and other trinkets that were sold for way too much money. But hey, it's Piltover, somehow it has to stay golden.

You look at them, they're catching their breath, they look like they just ran a marathon. Both pair their eyes with dark circles under them, did they even sleep last night to look like ghosts? Probably not.

"The alarm didn't ring," Jayce warned, raising his hand above him to soften the morning sun that bathed him all in an orange light as if he were blessed.

Yes, Jayce had the true look of a deity. He always looked as if he came straight out of a mythological story where he was a hero filled with beauty, glory and strength of mind.

It was all the more complex not to see this aspect of him once the group arrived at the museum. Because once inside, the corridor that welcomed you were two parallel lines of sculptures of various figures of Change.

Inventors, Scientists, Philosophers, Craftsmen, Creators, all the greatest were gathered. On the right row of statues were all the greats of Piltover sculpted in bronze, on the left, the revolutionaries of Zaun, sculpted in copper.

Jayce and his tanned skin, like the statues in the Piltovian line, seemed to blend in perfectly with all these icons of technology, knowledge and revolutionary change. It was as if he had been created, right here, sculpted among all the greats.

That he had been shaped, drawn between strokes of pure power, might, and traits of tenderness, kindness, generosity. Sculpted in the most beautiful of bronzes, the one that attracts the sun and keeps it close.

Because he would be nothing in the night.

The night belongs to those below, and even if those above can reach the sky, they will never catch the stars.

No, here, side by side with Viktor, Jayce could never be king of the night. Not the same porcelain skin, not the moles formed into constellations, not the dragging fatigue, not the intense calm, not the silent wisdom.

Strict opposites, brought together by a single objective. Let the opposites attract, and let the balance be.

"Well, please gather around, so come follow us." Informed Heimerdinger, followed closely by Ms. Agrane. "I suppose that most of you know the statues of the people staying in this hall. They have been placed here for the simple reason that, as the main creators in this city and the one across the river, they benefit from the entrance, the beginning, the commencement of the museum, since they are the founders."

Needless to say, even as the teachers began to ask questions about the founders, the first hands raised were yours and Viktor's. You exchanged a look, him with an amused sneer, your eyes ready to melt statues if your eyes had lasers.

Always putting sticks in your wheels. Speaking of sticks, this morning you had drawn the five of wands. The points that came up the most were about conflict and competition and blah blah blah. This morning you hadn't really read carefully what was written in the booklet about this card.

Maybe you should have looked into it more.

Professor Heimerdinger's questions had finally turned to the great creators of Zaun, much to the disappointment of some students and for most even to their disgust.

"They shouldn't even be in this gallery, rats aren't worth having statues of them." Spat silently a fool a little ahead in the group.

Near Viktor and not far from Sky, you couldn't help but notice their reaction to such a statement - one lowered her head, the other tensed and clenched his jaw.

Don't make waves, don't stray from the line, don't let anyone know where you're from: that's the rule if you want to fit in at the Academy.

Viktor's eyes narrow under his furrowed brows, his hand tightens on the handle of his cane. He is upset, obviously, but it is a bitterness he must swallow silently.

Heimerdinger, not having heard or probably ignored the student's intervention, continues his questions:

"You probably know the founders of Zaun since this is elementary level, but can any of you name the current Zaun leaders?"

Without raising his hand, Viktor speaks up :

"There are six of them, Chross, Finn, Margot, Renni, Smeech and Silco."

Wrong, wrong. Well, not all of his answer is wrong of course, but part of his answer is not complete. You're not sure if you should actually speak up and point out this error. In truth you would love to correct it, it would probably give you a dose of pleasure and personal satisfaction enough to keep you proud for the next two days.

But you wondered if that very idea was a good one, if responding to correct him would reveal too much about you. Too much knowledge can be fatal, you have to know how to measure it.

However, Heimerdinger intervened:

"Do either of you have anything to add to Viktor's answer?"

The offer was too tempting, too tempting for you to prevent this moment of glory. So you took it.

"The account is not good."

Your heart suddenly starts to race, as if it's stripping away from the muddy fog inside you and up into your throat. It's strange how you can forget it exists until it manifests itself. Your cheeks begin to heat up as eyes slowly converge on you, including and obviously Viktor's.

"What's wrong with it?" The latter asks, visibly troubled.

It was almost to wonder if you were not ready to do anything, even to invent lies, if it could allow you to be ahead of him.

"There are seven, not six. The last one is Tytos."

The attention turns to Heimerdinger this time, waiting for his answer. His little eyes sparkle with a special, satisfied glow and energy.

"Excellent, excellent..." He admits. "Let's continue the tour."

That name had escaped your lips like a curse word, like a whisper turned scream, as if the snowflakes had metamorphosed into ash and burned the pale freshness of oblivion.

You continued your visit, the parade of statues being now over, you passed to the last statue and you finally turned to enter a different part of the exhibition. After a while, the teachers finally let the students walk around the museum. The appointment to meet and return to the Academy was made for 11:45 in front of the museum entrance.

You found yourself in the section about some of the great inventors of Zaun, which was much less populated than the Piltovian section. Obviously, the Piltovians don't look at the lights that persist in their shadows, they ignore them, perhaps they will go out, for even the most ardent coals eventually soften and eventually fade away.

Not the flames of Zaun, no, they persist as much as the vermin that roam its streets.

However, flames cannot be kept in place in a museum without the risk of burning the surrounding works.

It is said that it is easy to be afraid of water and oceans, because in them live as much life as death - the story is similar for flames. Flames are fierce, devastating and uplifting. They are power, for they bring as much success as they can cause damage.

Your eyes wander over the paintings, the portraits, the schematics, the glass panes housing the very first prototypes that the inventors had put into the world. Incredible to think that these same prototypes dating from several decades ago have now evolved in an unequalled way.

Impressive to think that with these prototypes were born wars, that we have won and we have lost, that have allowed life, and that have built cemeteries.

The dead have built graves more beautiful than the houses of the living.

"Since when are there seven Chem-Barons in Zaun?"

You turn around, the skeleton is there, coming to beg for answers to his questions.

"As far back as I can remember," you say, returning to your notes taken between two inventions.

"I've never heard of them, though," he says as he steps forward a little more, coming to stand next to you to observe the prototype, "what do they work in?"

"Why ask me that? Isn't the library big enough for you?"

"God knows on which shelf three meters above the ground the books on Zaun's politics should be." he murmurs, lightly tapping his cane on the varnished parquet, "So what do they work in, you who know so much about it." The hint of bitterness is present in his tone from his precedent failure, and you revel in it.

"He's a smuggler, mostly, some trafficking, but what chem-baron doesn't get into that after all?"

"Surprising that I haven't heard of him. " You move on to the next prototype, maybe he'll leave you alone. "What did you say his name was?

"Are you going to follow me around like a duckling?"

"I think it was ending in Os. What was it again? Carlos, Mynthos..." You sigh, he's like a sticky mud on your shoes, a persistent gum that's not so easily overcome.

"Tytos." You sigh.

"Ah, there it is, Tytos. Sounds like the name of a virus."

"He has a similar effect on the city. "

"Is he that obnoxious?"

"Are chem-barons generous?"

Finding nothing more to say to your answer, you took advantage of this moment of silence to once again evade and take the option of fleeing.

Fleeing? No, rather a dodge, a parry. You weren't running away.

Talking about Tytos did not really enchant you, and even if this subject of conversation was very simple, you could not help feeling a certain uneasiness when his name was pronounced or when his subject was evoked.

So you put his presence out of your mind and continued the visit until it was time for the appointment. You found Sky who had spent the whole time with Orcelyia. They got along like real friends, which delighted you. Seeing her blossom like that filled you with joy in a way.

Because she had succeeded at something you had failed at, and in it you felt no defeat.

Viktor and Jayce climbed back into your carriage to your delight, and Jayce then began to fidget, probably trying to lighten the mood as best he could.

"What lovely weather today."

Both you and Viktor turned to him, his friend the first to respond.

"Did you really just start talking about the weather, Jayce?"

"What, it's a taboo subject?" The latter inquired.

"You can do better than that."

"Okay," he says, pretending to look for a topic of conversation, "what's your favorite color?"

"Wow, what a depth in your words, I guess the next question will be something like 'what are your hobbies' or 'what are your favorite foods'?" you say, the conversation sounding very much like a discussion that might be had by school children meeting on the first day of school.

"No," he said, crossing his arms.

He was going to ask those questions next.

You sigh, leaning against the side of the car and resting your chin on your hand.

"Purple."

You turn your head slightly, watching Viktor for a moment, meeting his gaze completely neutral but... expectant.

"Purple?" Jayce repeats, "Why?"

"I don't know. It's beautiful, it's calm, in lavender as well as plum, in cassis as well as grape, in wisteria as well as... whatever, it's the one I prefer."

"Interesting, I prefer warm colors, like orange for example. Pumpkins, carrots, clementines." Jayce gushes.

"Are you listing the five fruits and vegetables a day right now?" you say.

"Go ahead and tell us your favorite color so we can discuss it." Jayce suggests, slightly annoyed.

"None of your business." You answer simply, deviating again your glance towards the paved streets of the city.

"Conversation is a dying art." Viktor sighs.

It doesn't matter if you like the danger of red, the warmth of orange, the joy of yellow, the serenity of green, the wisdom of blue, the calmness of purple, the eroticism of pink, the security of brown, the depth of black, the sadness of grey or the shrill timidity of white.

Viktor is not your friend, he doesn't deserve to know this, no matter how small and insignificant this information is.

You could see what Jayce was trying to do - find common ground between you. But how many times should you tell him that you were not trying to get closer to Viktor? The very idea of becoming his friend made your hair stand on end.

And the saying that goes 'you have to befriend your enemy to beat him' - or something along the line - doesn't help.

Why did he have to come and ruin everything?

The train eventually stopped in front of the golden gates of the Academy, and if you didn't know the nature of the building, you could have easily convinced yourself that this golden portal led straight to heaven. Only for you, it was going to be the portal to hell.

"Well," announced Heimerdinger, "we'll meet again later after lunch to discuss this visit and the organisation of your first assignment."

To the general protests and grumbling generated by these few words and the certain disgust evoked by the simple word `assignment' led Heimerdinger to raise his hands to soften the crowd.

"Don't worry, the work won't be very complex, besides, you won't be working alone! But I won't say any more, I'll let you go back to the refectory. We'll discuss all this once we're in class."

After wishing the students a great meal, the teachers and students dispersed to go about their business.

You were about to turn back. You'd forgotten to take your packed lunch that morning and were going to head to the bakery to get a sandwich or a salad. But Jayce blocked your way with the wall that is his chest: "Where are you going?"

"Is this a trick question?"

"It depends on your answer?"

"I'm trying to eat my five fruits and vegetables a day so unless I have to give you a super secret password, can you please let me through?"

"No need, I'm inviting you to the cafeteria!"

"How romantic."

"Come on, I'm paying and the menu looks pretty good today." You know what's coming, the meal for three where he'll find every possible topic of discussion so he can introduce you to Viktor in a more subtle way and try to calm the somewhat tempestuous climate you two share.

However, Jayce is paying, and that's an offer you can't refuse. You sigh, turning back. The meal better be really good.

***

It almost pains you to touch the plate in front of you. It looks like it's come straight out of a Michelin-starred restaurant, or a culinary arts competition. It's almost the kind of dish that could inspire enough to be painted.

For the entrée, a slice of crab pie. For the main course, bronzed quail dipped in a creamy orange sauce accompanied by small potatoes with crispy skin and southern herbs. Half a cabécou was served as cheese and to conclude the meal, the dessert consisted of a small sloe tart.

Were the students of the Academy regularly so well served? Who had been hired to make every lunchtime meal a real feast?

You almost felt guilty for having to actually eat such a plate, but hunger won out over reason, and so you ended up taking the end of your slice of pie into your mouth.

"So, what are you up to these days when you're not at school?"

"Careful Jayce, you're treading on thin ice." You warn.

"Really?" He says, stopping cutting his quail on the spot.

"No." You close your mouth and pick up another piece of quail as Jayce looks at you with a look that varies between surprise and fatigue.

"So you don't want to talk about anything?" He said before bringing his bite into his mouth as if what he was about to eat was one of the simplest foods you could have at home.

"No," you say, taking a sip of water to clear your throat, "tell me how did you two meet?"

Suddenly, those who wanted to stop talking were the two concerned. They exchanged a knowing look.

"Anyway, our meeting between me and Jayce turned out to be much less thorny than ours," Viktor informed you, quietly chewing his food.

"One more word and I'll throw Sodium Chloride in your eyes." You point.

"Are you really threatening me with salt?

"It's a very effective weapon."

"I'm almost tempted to provoke you further to see how far you can go."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," you say, grabbing the bottle of salt.

"You wouldn't dare," Viktor smiles.

"That's an interesting theory," you point out as you start to unscrew the bottle.

" Hop hop hop let's calm down immediately," Jayce interjects, putting his hand on yours to remove the bottle from your fingers and place it next to him on the table.

"No, Jayce, come on, let her do it, let's stop talking theory and start practicing."

"Okay, you're not helping me at all Vik," Jayce confirms, sighing more as he runs his hand through the side of his hair. "When is your little war going to end?"

"War? We're only at the beginning of a meager battle. And for good reason, she failed to surpass me on the pre-test which... doesn't really count as an actual test."

It's amazing how his words and voice could give you an impulse to commit reprehensible acts.

You felt like an armour in a statue garden, where the red roses of wrath flourish in ruby anger all over the metal of reason that covers your rage, prepared to fight.

When conflict is added to desire, you get rivalry.

"As you say so well, the test doesn't really count, therefore you haven't outdone me in any way."

"Is everything just a competition to you?" Viktor remarked, his gaze shifting between intrigue and mockery.

"Isn't it to you, too?" You confirm, locking your gaze in his as your fork penetrates the tender of the quail.

"You guys are Grade A idiots," cuts in Jayce, who was probably beginning to regret having kept you around for lunch.

This meal was beginning to look like the very personification of a migraine. You looked down at your lunch tray.

Now that you were nearing the end of your orange quail, your plum tart was looking delicious.

It's beautiful, it's quiet, lavender as well as plum...

You were almost disgusted with your dessert because of the words he had spoken earlier. But you ate it anyway, because waste is not a primary value in Zaun.

"I wonder what Heimerdinger meant earlier, 'Don't worry, the work won't be too complex, and what's more, you won't be working alone!' What is he up to?" Jayce wonders.

"You know him, his little riddles bring us surprises every year." You answer.

"That's true," he laughs, turning to Viktor. "Last year he brought some kids we had to work with, the goal was that the kid we were paired with would tell us an invention they had in mind, something doable, and that we would end up doing the project in the time allowed over several weeks. His argument was that 'children are the future of this world'," he imitated in a voice that sounded more like a squeaky door than the teacher's, "'so show them what the world can already offer.' Or something like that."

"Jayce, for the common good, I feel compelled to inform you that you must never, under any circumstances whatsoever, imitate Professor Heimerdinger again." Viktor confirmed.

This was probably one of the few points on which you agreed with him in this discussion.

***

"As I said earlier this morning, we are going to discuss the organisation of your first assignment."

The small amphitheatre was listening, most of them anticipating the session, some of them stunned by their lunch break and wanting only to take a nap.

"As I told you, and I hope you paid attention this morning, the work you will do this year will not be done by letting you work alone! So you will be working in pairs between students."

Some people are already starting to get excited, with best friends already deciding to get together to do the project. You don't know if this will really be beneficial. The person you're paired with might slow you down and you'll end up doing the whole thing by yourself to get a good grade.

"This work will be based on collaboration, because it is important as an inventor to be able to work with other people. This allows you to be more objective, because the eye of others is important as an external opinion. If nobody ever contradicted us, we would end up saying nothing but nonsense. And since we tend to work with people we get along with at first sight, I'll have to spare you the right of choice. Therefore, I have decided to do the groups myself."

Those who were giggling begin to grumble and protest, as if this will sincerely change anything in the professor's opinion.

"All right, I'll give you your duets right now. After that I will give you the instructions for the assignment, and finally we will start the class."

The call begins. The idea that you would have to work in pairs bothered you, but the fact that you couldn't choose your pair added an extra parameter of constraint.

The names go by, some seem more delighted than others, but your name has not yet been mentioned. You hear Orcelyia's, then later Sky's, then Jayce's, but still not yours.

Again, your heart is pounding.

And what you feared most happened: Your name and Viktor's name were called together. There was silence in the room, much to Heimerdinger's delight, and then after a few seconds the whispering began.

You couldn't really hear what was being said, your mind divided, oscillating between denial and anger.

You really should have paid more attention to your map reading this morning.

"Incendiary events. Protests. Angry people. Drama. Exciting conflicts.

In the five of wands, five men appear to be fighting each other, using their wands as weapons. However, on closer inspection, their sticks are raised but not hitting or hurting anyone. It is as if there is no real purpose or outcome in this chaotic scene, except to create conflict and discord within the group. Each man is wearing a different outfit, symbolising the diversity of their backgrounds and belief systems, and suggesting that because of their differences they cannot find harmony and common ground with each other.

This card indicates that you are in the midst of a battle, tension and competition with others and that this is impacting your ability to move forward with your goals. Rather than being able to work towards a common goal, you are faced with constant opposition. Energy is dispersed but if forces work together, powerful results occur. There is a need for unity. You are hindered by people who do not act as you expect. Free yourself by embracing the present moment. Why did he have to come and ruin everything?

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#academic rivals to lovers #academic rivals #arcane #viktor #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader #enemies to lovers #slow burn #tarot cards #tarot #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane viktor x reader

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askyourwritergrandma · 3 years ago

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Do you happen to have any tips for rounding out a character’s personality and making them feel more authentic and real? I love your blog <3

Hello! Thanks for your patience.

Let's jump straight into the advice:

There are countless (and I mean this literally) character guides out there on the internet. They will ask you everything from hair color to opinions on hot topics to favorite drink order. I have never been able to answer these questionnaires because it's just so much information that I just don't know?

Some things you simply don't need to know about your character because it's not relevant to their world/their development/your story and knowing those things will do nothing for you. But a few things that every character needs in order to feel like a person:

Relationships. This isn't exclusively romantic. Friends, coworkers, family members. Positive and negative, people are almost never solitary. Even when they are loners/excluded/what have you they will still develop relationships/attachments to animals/objects/voices in their heads.

Flaws. Some of these, you decide before you get started and some of these you discover as you go along.

Goals, both things they know they want and things they do not know they want. Almost everyone has a conscious goal and/or dream. It might be heavily buried, but it's still there.

Personality Type - you can do one of those quizzes as your character and find out if they're an introverted thinker or an extroverted party animal if you want to. Or you can assign them a base emotion, like this person was born angry. This person is motivated by spite, by generosity. Etc, etc.

A childhood - regardless of how old you are and how much you've moved on, your childhood is where you became a person. Having an idea of the type of childhood your character had will help you develop them. Was it happy? Plentiful? Abusive? Lonely? Was there strife? Parents together? Divorced? Should have divorced? Siblings? No siblings?

Now, how do we go about creating these things for our characters?

For relationships:

Start with the obvious, if your character is alive and in a sexually reproducing species he has parents. How does he feel about his parents? If he grows up in a community he almost certainly had friends, how does he feel about them? Did he have a lot? A few? You can literally just give him a random friend named Fred and in your first draft/first daydreams just make Fred a stand in for the story needs. The more familiar you get with Fred the more he becomes a voice of his own and a relationship will blossom. But your character also has teachers? Coworkers? fellow students? etc. Think about which relationship is strongest for the character, this probably says a lot about him.

For Flaws:

Ah yes, the horror of coming up with flaws for a character. You really have two good options here: randomly assign one from a list of character flaws (I'm sure one exists) and make it work. OR think about what your story needs/the focus of your story and make your flaw match your theme. So, if you're writing a romance where their love saves the world, than your character's flaw can be that they are selfish? Stuck up? Uptight? Something that prevents them from having generosity or love in their heart. They have to overcome that internally the same the pair of lovers have to overcome the obstacles of the world to save it. If you're writing a sci-fi where a group of explorers are trying to stay alive on a broken space ship while slowly being consumed by space bugs, then the character's flaw could be fear or recklessness. Maybe they have never considered the implications of their actions or how they hurt others? Or maybe they have always been too cautious and never really had a chance to enjoy life. Either can be used to further the idea of your story. (Or you can have one character for each.)

For Goals:

Goals is almost exactly the same as flaws. OR you can give your character an unreachable or nonsensical goal that is an echo of their flaws, like they desperately want to be wealthy regardless of the cost so they become self-centered, reckless, selfish and cruel but through the course of your story, no matter how close they get to their goal it's always just out of reach. That's because their idea of wealth is always a little bit more than what they have. They eventually have to accept that what they truly want is security and they cannot get it until they confront themselves and their past and etc, etc. You can give them a goal that's so easy to attain that it's hilarious (a Starbucks Frap) but they prevent themselves from getting it by a series of cascading personal failures. (It's too expensive/it's too sweet/it's a waste of money/I don't evne know how to order one/I'm not that type of person/etc, etc.) Your goals and flaws work best when they match what your story is about/the theme of your story, BUT, you don't have to know the theme before you start. That's second draft business. Pick a flaw and a goal that you feel like you're capable of writing a story about. It's like picking a topic for a school essay, you wouldn't pick Elections in Ancient Greece if you know nothing about it and literally couldn't physically care less. You pick a topic you have a passing knowledge of so the research is easier and you start with a little bit of confidence you can succeed.

For Personality Type:

If you're writing fanfic characters, you pick the interpretation of the character's actions that make the most sense to you. Is he a little shit out of greed? fear? hunger? rage? fear of failure? It could be any of those, so pick the one you like best. For original characters that you haven't written any words for yet, you start with your best guess. The truth is, I've written a lot of characters that I thought were going to be motivated by one thing but two chapters later I'm writing a passionate, three page monologue about how all their life they've only ever longed for a Hot Pocket. You aren't bound to where you start. Explore your characters and let them breathe, if you hate it you can always c/p it out of the story.

For childhood:

I'm not advocating that you create an entire birth to adulthood backstory for your character. Think of how you view your childhood. Were you mostly happy? Did you play sports? Win games? Long for the best electronics? Get picked on? Were you mortified by something in middle school so hard that there are scars on your soul? Did everyone love you? Did you lose a best friend you thought you would have forever? Did you get a soccer ball kicked into your face and lose a tooth? A bad and/or good nickname? Were your parents present? Absent? Split up? Did you have sleepovers at your house? Away? Did you get an allowance? No allowance? Were you shy? ashamed? embarrassed? Pick a generic childhood memory for the BEST moment, a perfect birthday and/or a hard-fought sports win and pick a worst moment, a failed test or being left out of a big class party. Maybe there's other relevant things from the childhood, or maybe there's not. When your character reacts to not being invited to the company holiday party it's because his best friend in ninth grade humiliated him by refusing to invite him and his anger and embarrassment is a little irrational for an adult but old wounds are hard to heal.

I hope some of these helped! If you have any follow up questions I'd love to answer them!

Thanks again.

#writing advice #writing help #writing character #writblr

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