#Jade is ironically the only person to actively try to be considerate to him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

baoshan-sanren · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 19

of the wwx emperor au that still doesn’t have a damn title

XiChen not only readily accepts responsibility for WangJi’s meeting with the Emperor, but he has a list of reasons why he has done so, each one rooted in undeniable logic.

The Emperor seems to be fond of WangJi; in the view of the recent assassination attempt, this fondness could be beneficial. The Emperor has also revealed to WangJi (and by extension, to the Lan Sect), his competition plans, which implies a certain amount of trust. (Competition plans, XiChen says firmly, although uncle will go on to grumble about immature antics all the way to the Jade Sword Palace courtyard).

In addition, the Emperor believes WangJi to be a worthy opponent, and is specifically interested in crossing swords with him, out of all the young masters who are competing. This is a compliment, and should be taken as such.

Also, the Emperor might have been sitting on their roof, which is not exactly dignified behavior, but the alternative would have been rudely invading their living space at an unseemly hour. Something Nie HuaiSang had readily done, but the Emperor did not seem willing to do. Which, at the very least, implies some consideration, if not outright respect.

XiChen reminds uncle that the Emperor had done a proper investigation when XiChen was unjustly accused.

He reminds uncle that the Emperor has posted guards outside their residence to protect them.

He reminds uncle that Jiang YanLi had insisted on escorting WangJi to the Jade Sword Palace, and had spoken up against her future father-in-law in Lan Sect’s defense.

He reminds uncle that the Emperor is sending assistance to Gusu, which they desperately need.

XiChen talks until uncle is tired of hearing it, and stops offering rebuttals.

WangJi has never been more convinced that his brother will make an exceptional Sect Leader. He is also very much relieved to have that particular discussion concluded, or at the very least, shelved for later, by the time they arrive at the Jade Sword Palace.

Despite dozens of awnings set up all around the main platform, each one occupied by a clan or a sect, the courtyard somehow seems larger, the iron shields and dragon statues more intimidating. The Lan Sect’s designated place is so far from the platform that they are unlikely to see much of the actual competition. Still, their small, south-west corner is peaceful, attracting no attention.

WangJi cannot see the groups of disciples arriving from the West and East courtyards, and has no way of knowing if Wei WuXian is among them. But he hears the roar of approval coming from the Nie Sect, and has to assume that the majority of the top five winners must be wearing the Nie Sect uniforms.

The Emperor’s seat has been built at the top of the staircase leading to the Jade Sword Palace. Its canopy is made of layers upon layers of blue silk, hiding the person within. Once in a while, a vague shape can be seen. Twice, a pale hand extends through the folds of silk in order to issue some instructions. A row of Emperor’s personal guard is lined up behind the seat, and one level down, the High Councilor shares a table with his wife and daughter.

WangJi wonders if Jiang WanYin is competing as well. For the first time, he feels slightly disappointed that the Lan Sect is situated in such an inconvenient place. The Jiang Sect has a unique sword technique, one that WangJi would very much like to see.

There is another hour, at least, before the competition is to begin. In the meantime, tea and snacks are served. The Sect Leaders use that time to wander around, gossiping with their friends, and smiling with fake politeness at their enemies. The Lan Sect is a subject of many false smiles, but neither XiChen nor WangJi are bothered by it. Uncle just seems relieved that no one has had their tea poisoned this time around.

They do not expect to be approached by anyone, but when Nie MingJue does just that, WangJi is not surprised. He does not think that a single day has passed since they arrived, where Nie MingJue has not sought out his brother, or made it a point to speak to him. Although uncle has yet to address this, WangJi thinks it must be obvious to him as well.

Cornering the man and demanding to know his intentions is something that WangJi is actively trying not to do every moment of every day; XiChen would not thank him for interfering, and a wrong answer from Nie MingJue would probably end with an actual murder.

The Nie Sect Leader bows, and addresses uncle, “Sect Leader, the Emperor is concerned that your location will prevent the Second Young Master from properly observing his opponents. He asks that the Lan Sect suffer a small inconvenience of moving to the Nie Sect table for the duration of the competition.”

WangJi is certain that the Emperor has made no such request. Wei WuXian should be somewhere among the other Nie Sect disciples, trying not to reveal his identity. The idea that this consideration comes from Nie HuaiSang sours his stomach, despite the fact that only moments ago, he had been wishing for a better view of the platform.

Uncle glances at XiChen, then at WangJi. He is wearing the long-suffering expression of a man who has lost control of the situation, and can find no way to gain it back. He cannot refuse a request from the Emperor, and he cannot find a fault with being seated at the Nie Sect table.

The Nie Sect is directly below the Jiang Sect in placement. The gesture is a blatant sign of favor. But more importantly, if there are to be any other underhanded attempts on WangJi’s life today, the Nie Sect table may be the safest place in the courtyard.

In a cool tone of voice, uncle asks Nie MingJue to relay their gratitude to the Emperor.

The space reserved for the Nie Sect is comically large compared to the number of people seated behind the long table. Nie MingJue introduces his sister, an uncle, and two of the Sect Elders. Even with the Lan Sect present, the table could easily hold another dozen people.

They have only just settled down, when Nie MingJue turns to XiChen, “Young Master Lan, if you are willing, I had hoped we may have our match before the competition officially begins.”

Although XiChen nods and immediately gets to his feet, WangJi can easily tell the state of his nerves from the way he clutches his sword.

The platform is large, set slightly above the courtyard cobblestones. Even half of a step past its edge is considered a forfeit.

WangJi’s own nerves are just as tightly strung as XiChen’s. Neither one of them had ever faced an opponent with a different sword technique than that of the Lan Sect. Uncle had always seemed pleased with their progress, but this is the first true test of their ability.

“There is no reason to worry, Second Young Master,” Lady Nie says, leaning closer so her words would not carry, “I believe A-Jue means to go easy on your brother.”

Lady Nie bears little resemblance to Nie MingJue, but a great deal of resemblance to Nie HuaiSang, despite being nearly twice the boy’s age. There is nothing about her manners that would cause WangJi to dislike her. And yet, that resemblance is difficult to ignore.

“I hope he does no such thing,” WangJi says, “unless his intention is to lose quickly.”

True to his words, the moment their bows are complete, XiChen moves like lightening.

In a single breath, he has forced Nie MingJue into an offensive. In three breaths, he has pushed the man to the very edge of the platform. He backs away then, allowing Nie MingJue some space to regain his composure, and to rethink his strategy.

XiChen may hold Nie MingJue in high esteem, but there is more at stake today than only XiChen’s reputation. No matter his feelings, WangJi knows that his brother will not lose by choice.

When they fly at each other again, blades clashing, it is clear that Nie MingJue has decided not to hold back. Still, WangJi can see from his technique that the Nie Sect values strength over agility. His brother is not weak by any means, but he cannot take many direct hits, and still keep his leverage. Instead, XiChen shifts fluidly, invading Nie MingJue’s space, allowing him no room to use the saber to his full advantage. In an actual fight, this is a dangerous method to employ; after all, the greatest benefit of the sword is its reach. WangJi and XiChen have been taught that this strategy is only to be used when they are certain that their opponent is physically stronger.

The blades scrape along each other more than once. Their robes are now a swirl of green and white, and it is difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. XiChen is light on his feet, never pushing straight on, but always shifting just enough so MingJue must meet him with speed instead of force. Still, he is pushing, and gaining ground. He does not allow enough distance for the tip of his sword to be of any use; had they been using short blades, WangJi is convinced that MingJue would have already found one sticking out of his flesh. As it is, MingJue can do little else but use his saber as a shield. Each time he tries to step back to give himself room, XiChen steps in closer, the edge of his blade always a hairsbreadth away from MingJue’s ribs, his thigh, the unprotected flesh under his arm.

It is beautiful to watch, WangJi thinks. MingJue is taller and wider, the stiff shoulders of the Nie Sect robes only contributing to his towering presence. In contrast, XiChen had chosen the simplest set of white robes he possesses, mindful of the fact that they may be ruined by blood today. His brother is not small, and he is not short, but next to Nie MingJue, he looks to be both. And yet, he is clearly winning, moving with quickness and fury that MingJue cannot match.

WangJi knows XiChen cannot keep this up for long, and XiChen knows it as well. The moment he has managed to push MingJue close to the edge of the platform, he shifts the grip on his sword. ShuoYue swings in an arc, away from MingJue, the flat of the blade horizontal with XiChen’s arm. The move takes MingJue by surprise; WangJi hears uncle grunt in approval. The hilt of XiChen’s blade slams into MingJue’s unprotected side, throwing him off balance. Sliding deftly under the saber, XiChen delivers a quick kick to the back of MingJue’s knee, an elbow to his ribs, and a second thrust to his chin. The chin strike can easily shatter the jaw, but WangJi can tell that XiChen uses very little force, just enough to knock Nie MingJue down to the ground.

To WangJi’s surprise, Lady Nie is the first to stand up and cheer. The Jiang Sect follows her example, and once they do, most of the smaller sects join in as well. XiChen looks flushed and disheveled, but he is smiling brightly, tentatively offering his hand to help Nie MingJue back to his feet. Nie MingJue accepts, looking far too cheerful for someone who had lost a match, and got an elbow to his face in the process.

The joy on XiChen’s face is so genuine, so unrestrained, that WangJi’s chest tightens painfully in response. How often has he seen his brother look this happy? How many of these moments is XiChen likely to have in his lifetime?

The future leader of the Lan Sect winning against the General of the Emperor’s army will probably be talked about for years. And yet, WangJi does not think that this will stop the next innkeeper from spitting at XiChen’s feet.

307 notes · View notes

pinnithin-writes · 4 years ago

Text

I Realized. Then I Couldn’t Stop Realizing.

Chapter 5: C-53

Depending on where he looked, it had begun with the Federated Alliance.

Immediately following the events of the Battle of Sistoo, C-53 had been captured, his frame junked for parts, and his consciousness locked inside a cage with a heavy iron bolt. He’d been through plenty of painful experiences before his initiation into the Alliance, but nothing had so powerfully suppressed his emotions like this.

It was agony of a different sort, standing on the surface of a frozen lake, his feelings swirling like a sea beneath him. He could see them, he could reach for them, but if he broke through the ice that supported him he would surely be swallowed up and drown in them. It was a horrible state of being.

Everything was muted in the worst way. Experiencing joy, anger, sadness, always working through his coding, only to be met with the oppressive iron wall of his restraining bolt, left him feeling as if he were only a shell. C-53 was a droid who normally felt things quite strongly - perhaps too strongly, at times, but at least it was him. This Federated Alliance protocol and diplomatic relations designation was not who he was. But the bolt was cinched tight on his words and his thoughts until he wasn’t sure who he was even supposed to be anymore.

Getting that thing off was more freeing than anything he had ever experienced. He hadn’t even cared that his stupid Alliance frame had been destroyed in the process. Being subjected to another bolt as an On-And-Off Burger employee had nearly broken him.

Pleck, of all people, had been there to pull him out of it that time.

It was strange to have a relationship with someone who, for their first season of working together, had only known C-53’s canned and pre-processed personality. It was embarrassing, to say the least. He still remembered when he had told the tellurian, icily, “I am not your friend,” and watched him wilt like a forgotten daisy.

Granted, they hadn’t known each other very long when he’d said that, but he could have handled it more tactfully. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t wanted to get to know Pleck better at the time. At least well enough so that every word coming out of his mouth didn’t rile C-53 up so much. The restraining bolt’s effects were typically less painful when he wasn’t actively trying to suppress his emotions. A high enough spike tended to fire off a pretty jarring error code.

“No, I - he got, like, erased or something.” ERROR.

“What if you were a car and I like, drove you around?” ERROR.

“C-53, have you been programmed to cater to my ignorance?” ERROR.

“You’re more than just a cube!” ERROR.

C-53 had a pretty long list of the times being around Pleck had been painful for him when they were working for the Federated Alliance. He was also the first face he saw when the crew had slotted his cube into the ship’s un-bolted humidifier, and the sudden flood of unrestrained feelings had almost caused C-53 to shut back down again.

“Hey, C-53?” Bargie’s voice reverberated around the droid, shocking him out of his thoughts. “Why are you in my cargo hold?”

Squatting among the boxes and crates seemed like the best place for the droid to go and process what he had just learned undisturbed, but of course he could never escape the ship herself. “I just needed a little solitude, Bargie,” he responded, not unkindly.

The ship let out one of her long, audible sighs that the crew was so familiar with. “Not you, too. I thought the party was going to make everyone start hanging out again.”

“Things like this don’t always repair themselves overnight,” the droid reasoned.

“Things like what?” Bargie prodded. “Are you okay? You’ve been sitting there on the floor for like, eight hours.”

C-53 considered. He had been playing through videos stored in his memory bank for quite a while, but he hadn’t realized it had been that long. Bargie was a trusted friend - she probably wouldn’t have any constructive advice, but she would at least let him voice aloud what had absorbed his thoughts all day. “Are you projecting over the PA right now?” he asked.

“Uhhh.” There was a long pause, and then a heavy beep sounded overhead. “No.”

“You definitely were.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bargie deflected. “Spill. Tell me everything.”

Wearily, C-53 recounted the conversation he’d had with Pleck the previous night, leaving out some of the tellurian’s more personal details in consideration of his privacy, and finished with the conclusion he’d drawn about his feelings. It still made his coding fray inexplicably to think about it, but once he fell silent, Bargie’s reply was nonplussed.

“I already knew,” she said. “The feelings part, not the Allwheat part.”

“You-” C-53’s processors whirred in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s kind of obvious. I thought you knew too and were just hoping it would go away because it was too awkward.”

“I most certainly did not know,” C-53 answered, somewhat stirred.

“How?” Bargie demanded. “How did you not know? I’ve been telling you guys there’s tension for years.”

“Yeah, I thought you meant sexual tension,” the droid was beginning to feel defensive now. Was he really stupid enough to have missed something so glaringly obvious?

“Well, I thought it was that at first, for sure,” Bargie clarified. “But C, seriously? Seriously. Do you not listen to him when he talks to you?”

“What - I -” He dug around in his coding for the words he needed and came up short. “I listen,” he declared. “What do you mean by that?”

Another heavy sigh. It rumbled the walls of the cargo hold. “This is embarrassing. You should just go ask him about it.”

Alarm raced through C-53’s wires. “I will do no such thing. I’m still… figuring out how I feel about it.”

“Oh, that’s no good,” C-53 could feel the ship humming with intrigue. “You should just reject him and get it over with.”

“It seems like that would be indelicate of me,” C-53 replied, deflecting from the notion that his first instinct was not, in fact, to reject him at all.

“Hey, look, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again,” Bargie’s tone took on a scolding edge. “Workplace relationships never work. They just make things complicated and messy and nobody should ever do them. You saw what happened with Dar and Berger.”

“Well, yeah, but that was mostly just - y'know-”

“Jucking.”

“Jucking, yeah.”

“Isn’t that what you’re after?” Bargie groused. “You’ve offered before.”

C-53 felt his cube grow warm inside his torso. “That was a long time ago.”

It was one time. Back when he’d still been restrained. C-53 still wasn’t sure if the proposition had been an effect of his altered programming or if he had actually wanted it. Either way, it didn’t matter. Pleck had decisively declined. It was the first time he had witnessed the tellurian be decisive about anything.

“I am not after that at the moment,” he clarified.

Bargie offered a heavy, “huh,” but said nothing else.

The silence that stretched was long and tense as they both pondered the situation. Finally, C-53 clambered to his feet, jostling cargo crates as he went.

“Bargie, I cannot stress enough how important it is that this conversation stays in this room,” he warned.

“It’s gonna leave this room eventually,” she argued. “Secrets don’t last long aboard the Bargarian Jade. Better figure it out before someone else does.”

“Thanks, Barge.” The droid’s reply was laced with sarcasm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He exited the cargo hold and made his way up the hall. The passage was dark, illuminated only by Bargie’s security lighting. He briefly missed the Midnight Shadow and its wide spectrum of sensors. The loader frame’s capabilities were rudimentary at best - he couldn’t even process the entire light spectrum. It did, at least, have a limited night vision option, which he flicked on as he made his way down the hall, flooding his scanners with muted green.

C-53 had a rather long list of qualities he wanted from the next frame he occupied, feeling terribly limited in his current one. It definitely beat that pathetic Tiny TM model he was in for a brief stint, but he still knew he could do better. He wanted to see infrared again. Longed for an organized filing system. And, yes, he missed the sensation of touch. Loader droids weren’t exactly built for physical contact with other beings.

A bright green figure appeared around the corner up ahead, and C-53’s frame stalled to a halt when he recognized its heat signature. Pleck had actually emerged from his room and was wandering down the hall in his direction.

“Oh, there you are,” the tellurian said brightly as he approached him.

The night vision made his face appear to C-53 as a blurred white dot, so he quit the command and dispelled it. The dim lighting didn’t make seeing him much easier, but at least C-53 could somewhat discern Pleck’s facial expressions this way. The man’s animated countenance was a good 50% of how he communicated.

“Were you looking for me?” C-53 asked, gazing down at him in surprise.

“Well, yeah,” Pleck responded, peering back at him in the darkness. “I heard Bargie on the PA saying you were all by yourself down here so I uh, I just wanted to check in on you.”

The droid’s machinery whirred idly as he processed this. That something as trivial as C-53 being alone would pull Pleck out of his isolation made sense considering how the tellurian felt about him, but C-53 still found himself touched by the sentiment. “Well, that’s very nice of you, Pleck, but I assure you I’m doing fine.”

Confused and still working through things, but fine. Probably.

“Oh, okay,” Pleck rocked back on his heels, nodding. “G- Good. Good to hear.”

After a short pause, C-53 prompted, “How are you feeling?”

The tellurian chuckled and jammed his hands in his pockets. “Oh, man, I’m pretty hungover,” he replied, offering a weak smile.

When he didn’t elaborate, C-53 prodded again. “Has the Allwheat been talkative today?”

Pleck’s brows drew in, looking as though the question puzzled him. He responded hesitantly. “I… slept most of the day,” he said, his voice growing small. “So I didn’t hear it, then. It said a few things about an hour ago, but, ah,” he shrugged in an attempt to downplay the issue. “It wasn’t any more horrible than it usually is.”

The security lights hummed indifferently around them as they stood facing each other in the empty hallway.

“Hm,” C-53’s neural networking was already looking for patterns, casting around for a way to ease his friend’s torment. “What seems to set it off?” he asked.

Pleck still had a strange look on his face, as if searching for an ulterior motive beneath his words. “It… usually comes through when I’m not, uh,” he gnawed on his lip as he found the words, “mentally engaged? Like, as soon as I zone out, it’s -” he snapped for emphasis, “- right there.”

“You do tend to zone out quite a lot,” C-53 commented.

Pleck’s laugh was bitter. It sounded like soured sunshine. “You’re telling me.”

“What sort of activities would you consider mentally engaging?” C-53 prompted gently, trying to shake the unpleasant feeling that just raced through his wiring.

He watched the tellurian fidget as he thought about it. “Well, I meditate,” he began. “And, uh, talking to the crew helps, and going on missions where we meet new people. But we haven’t had a lot of those lately, so….” he trailed off, his stare vacant. C-53 could barely make out the soft lines of his face in the dim light.

“Do you think a holo would help?” he prompted.

Pleck shrugged again. “I haven’t tried it. I can’t watch holos in my room.”

“Why not watch one in the lounge?”

His shoulders were beginning to curl in defensively when he responded, “I just- I didn’t wanna bother people.”

C-53’s head tilted, considering him fondly. “When has that ever stopped you before?”

A laugh startled out of Pleck, shocking a genuine smile onto his face this time. He raised an arm and scratched at the back of his neck, looking away. “Well, you got me there,” he admitted. “I don’t know why it feels different now.”

An inexplicable impulse to scoop the tellurian up in his arms and carry him to the lounge himself surged up in C-53’s coding. He clamped down hard on the urge, bypassing the loader’s programming with a great amount of effort and a small amount of juddering from his processor. Good Rodd, that was unexpected. His fan was spinning again.

“Let’s watch a holo and see if that does anything,” C-53 declared before Pleck could ask the question he was showing on his face. “Come on.” He surged past him toward the lounge.

“Wait, both of us?” Pleck spun, hurrying to match the droid’s stride.

“And anyone else who wishes to join,” C-53 answered. “Sound good?”

Pleck nodded, a smile sneaking onto his mouth as if it didn’t have permission to be there. “Sounds good.”

The common area had been reverted back to its usual state, with its cushy couches gathered around the video monitor. Pleck popped a bag of popcorn for himself while C-53 ruminated over movie options. The smell of hot butter and salt lured AJ in from the adjacent room, and when he told the two of them he had never seen Bargie’s greatest hits, they decided to have a marathon to get the clone caught up.

“You can sit next to me, C-53,” Pleck said, patting the space beside him on the couch and grinning. He sat cross-legged on the cushion, balancing the bowl of popcorn in his lap.

“Very funny,” C-53 replied dryly. “At this size I would definitely crush that couch.”

“Okay, your arm can sit next to me, then,” Pleck conceded.

AJ was on Pleck’s other side with his feet up on the coffee table, helping himself to the popcorn. Both Pleck and C-53 watched, half disgusted and half fascinated, as the CLINT stuffed it into his helmet kernel by kernel.

“Hey, maybe take your helmet off, AJ,” Pleck suggested. “That can’t be comfortable.”

“Yes, we don’t need a repeat of that time you got hijacked .” C-53 agreed.

With no small amount of grumbling, AJ disengaged the pressure lock on his helmet and pulled it off, covering the couch in crumbled bits of corn. Pleck scooped the bowl out of the way to avoid catching any stray pieces, an amused light dancing in his eye.

“Robot Man, you gonna watch with us or what?” AJ prompted as he brushed crumbs off of himself.

C-53 belatedly realized he had just been standing there, staring. He settled his frame next to the couch and, after some consideration, rested his arm as gently as he could on the cushion next to Pleck. The couch groaned, but it held. Pleck patted his frame assuredly.

The films were, well, they were definitely Bargie flicks. AJ interrupted every few minutes to ask what was going on, and Bargie herself chimed in with commentary once she noticed that the hits were being played. C-53 kept a watchful scan on Pleck as the playlist dragged into the night. A few times, he caught that silent, prayer-like motion as he repeated mantras to himself, and did his best to redirect his attention to the holo.

AJ eventually fell asleep and Pleck wasn’t far behind, eyelid drooping wearily. The tellurian shifted sideways and stifled a yawn, leaning against the arm of C-53’s frame.

The droid felt the weight of his body and dimly registered a sense of warmth as Pleck rested his drowsy head against him, but that was all his rudimentary sensors could manage. His coding twanged with a sharp sense of loss, but he redirected the feeling.

“That doesn’t seem very comfortable for you,” he said after some processing.

Pleck made a muffled, placid noise. “S’fine. I sleep in a cold metal box every night. This is definitely a step up.”

“You still don’t have a mattress?” C-53 asked incredulously. “I thought that was a running joke.”

Pleck laughed softly against C-53’s frame, shaking it a little. “The joke is that I’ll have chronic back pain by the time I’m thirty.”

C-53 did not laugh. “You could sleep out here on the couch,” he suggested.

“Mmm, maybe just this once,” Pleck murmured, his voice thick with fatigue. He shifted slightly, pressing himself closer to C-53’s frame. It seemed he was craving physical touch as much as the droid was, which apparently was a laughable amount if he had resorted to cuddling an unyielding metal bar. C-53 found it endearing.

The holo flickered in the dark, casting the three sentients in a shifting blue glow. Pleck and C-53 watched the droning video feed while AJ dozed. Near the end of The Ship Stars Are Made Of , C-53 noticed Pleck’s breathing evening out and going soft beside him. His eye had fallen shut. He was asleep.

Well. Looks like he’s never moving from this spot again.

Chapter 4 <-----> Chapter 6

#ink #fanfiction #mission to zyxx #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work

2 notes · View notes

desktopdust · 5 years ago

Text

Phantom Network: Spacetime Exception

(Recently I applied for a writing position, and was presented with a series of prompts and told to write a short story for consideration. The following is what I came up with, and while they liked it quite a bit, ultimately another candidate was selected; not sure if I’ll do anything further with this idea, but at the very least, I wanted to make it available for anyone interested.)

I really thought I knew what I was getting myself into. But as I hopped onto the underside of a small bridge, pressing myself up against it to stay out of the rushing waters beneath me, it occurred to me that maybe that assessment hadn’t been so accurate.

I’ve been running jobs like this for years. Sure, I usually prefer to pick my own targets, but it wasn’t unheard of for someone to contact me and make a good case, just like my current “client” did. So I proceeded as normal: read up on the target, dropped them an @ on social media saying “Congratulations! You’re next!”, and went to get my wardrobe cleaned. (I know what you’re thinking, but a proper wardrobe is essential in this line of work! The gunmetal-colored alchemar I wear is some nice armor for sure, but on its own it just doesn’t pop. Add a dark brown fog coat, a bowler hat, and a green silk scarf, and there, brings the whole thing together! Well, that and a black domino mask with fabric over my mouth for anonymity…also important. Anyway.)

The property belonged to Jenaro Walters, one of the richest men in the world and exactly the kind of scum I love to steal from. According to the client, he kept one of his most prized possessions, a priceless jade vase, in his summer castle near the southern shore. (Yes, summer castle. He owns multiple honest-to-God castles, and that’s in addition to five other homes. What’s that? He could feed the entire country for a decade with that kind of money? You’re right! But he won’t!) It had a lovely view of the surrounding countryside, otherwise untouched for miles around with the sea lapping in just on the horizon, and was protected by immense stone walls reinforced with iron supports and guarded by a “highly-trained” security team. The castle itself is on the small side for a castle: still unreasonably huge, but looking at others on the market you can see Walters had some restraint. It sported half a dozen battlements and barely fewer towers, a moat inside and outside the outer wall, but decoration-wise it was rather plain. Not a single gargoyle in sight! What a waste. Well, at least I wouldn’t be tempted to steal one.

The job went well at first. I waited until night had fallen before making my approach, discovering that the guards were in such a panic thanks to my announcement that it was child’s play sneaking past them and scaling the wall. I made my way across the courtyard, in through one of the windows, and around a few bends in the barren stone hall before realizing what was wrong. The floorplan didn’t match the one I had memorized at all. When that dawned on me, I ran back outside to gather my bearings, but wouldn’t you know, I came across the one guard who was actually doing her job and suddenly the whole place was on alert.

Now, the cautious thing to do probably would have been to fall back and gather some new intel. But I didn’t do that.

At the very least, I was careful in crawling onto the right side of the bridge. No one was around to see me, so I sprinted back over to the castle, pressing myself against a shadowed wall to remain out of sight as I thought. This was honestly a pretty troubling development: the floorplans I get from the Phantom Network are always accurate, and are updated frequently enough that my target couldn’t have had enough time to remodel. So the way I saw it, there were two possibilities. Either someone here had some kind of technology or ability that allowed them to quickly rearrange the interior of a building, or…one of my fellow thieves provided a fake floorplan.

But I had to set that aside for the moment—this vase wasn’t going to steal itself, and the longer I wait the more chance these idiots will have to get their act together. My alchemar switched on with a low hum. Gravity’s hold on me lessened, and with one leap I shot up towards the castle roof; just before reaching it, I shifted gravity sideways, dropping on all fours against the wall and creeping forward to glance over the edge. A tall tower stood at the center of the rooftop, and the surrounding area was barren. Unfortunately, there was a balcony about halfway up the tower, from which several spotlights scanned the area. That and the door at its base were the only ways in.

I could certainly take out the guards, but with the place on high alert it wouldn’t be long before someone realized they weren’t at their post—getting out would be a lot more difficult than it needed to be. I knew I needed to take the long way. I waited until the searchlights had just swept past and then threw myself over the edge. With my gravity still rotated, I “fell” straight across the rooftop to the tower door, successfully avoiding detection; I then restored normal gravity, dropping down from the wall, and tried the door. It was…unlocked? That didn’t bode well. This job was getting worse by the minute…but, I was too stubborn to back out. So in I went.

The first few floors of the tower were totally empty. I was extra careful in sneaking past the entrance to the balcony, and made it roughly three-quarters of the way up before encountering something I couldn’t avoid. The floor in question was one long hallway, lined with fancy artwork and exotic plants, terminating in an elegantly carved double door that had a single guard. He was large. Large as in roughly the same size as the doorframe behind him. Tall, broad-shouldered, muscular physique, and wearing flashy gold alchemar made of thick plates with a horned helmet that totally obscured his visage, with locks of straight brown hair flowing out the back. Nice aesthetic, I’ll give him that.

I took a moment to weigh my options. I could go back to the balcony—incapacitating the guards from behind would be even easier, and then I could climb the tower from the outside and avoid this wall of muscle. However, that didn’t solve the problem the conspicuously-still searchlights would cause. Forward remained the best choice. Hoping to avoid a fight if possible, I activated my alchemar and quickly increased the force of gravity upon him from a distance. Unfortunately for me, rather than collapsing like a normal person would, the big gorilla managed to stay upright, and now knew someone else was nearby. Fantastic.

“Who goes there?” he bellowed. “Show yourself, trespasser!”

Well, no point in hiding. I strolled into the room, keeping gravity focused on my foe, and tipped my hat to him. “Evening, friend. Would you mind letting me through?”

He glared at me—even with his face hidden, it was obvious. “You…! You’re the one I was told to watch out for! Phantom Thief Roche!”

“Oh, I see my reputation proceeds me,” I said. I removed my hat, twirling it around with one finger. “Well, you know my name: who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

Despite the intense gravity, the guard raised his arms and flexed them proudly, declaring, “My name is Aldebrand! I have served under Master Walters for the whole of my life, and in light of your recent threat, he has ordered me to ensure the safety of his most prized possession!”

“Ah, so his prized possession is kept here! Thanks for confirming that, Brandy.”

Aldebrand lowered his arms. “Oh…”

Returning my hat to my head, I said, “Look, Brandy, I can see you’re under the rich bastard’s thrall so I won’t try to reason with you, but I am getting that vase one way or another. Just lie down, for your own sake.”

Instead, Aldebrand took a defiant step forward. “I think not! I know your tricks, thief—you think that you are unstoppable simply for wielding the power of gravity? You have chosen a coward’s element! I shall defeat you head-on!”

He charged. The second he did, I willed the point my gravity powers were pulling him towards to move forward even faster, pulling his head down to the floor. On one hand, it worked. On the other, that didn’t stop him. Aldebrand pushed himself forward along the floor, his alchemar flashing and releasing flames that wreathed his body; I was only barely able to jump in time, adjusting my own gravity so that I “dropped” to the ceiling.

“Fire,” I mumbled. “That’s less than ideal.”

Honestly? I was expecting something like rock or metal. When a big brute uses alchemar, they usually favor an element that’s tough, strong, and, well, physical. Were that the case, I could easily counteract any move he made: no matter what rocks or blades he threw, I could alter gravity to redirect them, staying out of range while using his own attacks against him. Fire, though…fire doesn’t care so much about gravity. Basically, Aldebrand had the advantage in both ranged and close combat, and I was going to need to get creative.

“What’s the matter?” Aldebrand asked as he struggled to his feet. “You come to pick a fight, yet are too afraid to finish it?”

He held both hands out, shooting a volley of fireballs at me. Rolling out of the way, I willed gravity to pull Aldebrand towards the farthest wall, momentarily ceasing his attack; he spun as he fell, ultimately landing on his feet, and then threw a punch. His fist spawned a compressed, fast-moving fireball that shot directly at me. Quick reflexes were all that saved me, dropping me to the wall just as the flames sailed past my head. Aldebrand didn’t let up: he ran along the wall towards me, shooting more fireballs every second. I opened my hand and pulled a painting into it, catching the attacks and setting the art on fire in the process.

“Fiend!” Aldebrand shouted, stopping his offensive. “How dare you damage Master Walters’s property!”

I gave a shrug. “Alright, if it means so much to you…”

Spawning another gravity well, I threw the flaming portrait at Aldebrand. The extra pull brought it to his face faster than he expected, giving me time to get moving, but that was all. He used the power of his alchemar to extinguish the flames, and then punched another pinpoint blast my way. This time I was ready, and pulled another painting forward to shield me. Aldebrand roared.

“What’s the big deal?” I asked as I flung the painting. “Walters has more than enough money to replace this trash.”

Aldebrand swatted the painting away—oh, he adjusted quickly, good for him. “It is the principle of the thing, you impudent cur! But what should I expect of one who simply takes what rightfully belongs to others?”

Ducking below another fireball, I said, “Rightfully? That’s rich.”

Aldebrand reared back. Just in time, I leapt onto another wall, dodging his attack, and then leapt right at him, manipulating gravity to pull us both towards each other to amplify the force of the punch I delivered to his face. I remembered too late that he was wearing very thick armor. As we both dropped to the floor, I clutched my hand, grunting through my teeth, and Aldebrand wasn’t willing to give me a chance to recover. A huge fireball sent me rolling across the floor—if not for the protective field my alchemar generated, that probably would’ve burned me to a crisp. I got on my feet as quickly as I could, only to find Aldebrand charging at me.

“Die, wretched thief!” he yelled.

Flattening myself against the floor, I created a gravity well that pulled Aldebrand upward, sailing right overhead and crashing through the door he was meant to guard. He groaned in pain as he picked himself up, and that was when I finally worked out how I was going to win.

“Tell you want, Brandy, I’ll humor you,” I said as I pulled three paintings through the air, lighting them on the residual flames from Aldebrand’s recent attacks. “You wanna know why I don’t give a damn about Walters’s property? I’ll tell you: it’s simple reciprocation.”

Aldebrand led with a flurry of fireballs as he ran back into the room. I carefully manipulated the paintings to shield me, throwing one of them when the opportunity presented itself.

“Walters and all the other elitist bastards like him don’t give a damn about anyone else. They take what they want, leaving as little as possible for those without the power to stop them, all so they can horde everything of value for themselves.”

Aldebrand swatted. Anticipating him, I pulled the painting off to his side, throwing a second at the same time.

“They say you should treat others the way you want to be treated, right? If he’s treating everyone like dirt, then I can only assume that’s how I oughtta treat him!”

The second painting smashed into Aldebrand’s face while the first circled around to hit him in the back. He braced for the third, but instead of sending it at him, I sent it around the room to light up the potted plants sitting around. Aldebrand shook with fury.

“You understand nothing!” he told me. “Parasites like you are the greedy ones! I shall tolerate no more of this slander!”

He rushed across the room, and I stood ready. With a calculated application of my power, the many burning trees all flew straight towards Aldebrand, who surrounded himself in intense flames to totally incinerate them before they could make contact. A second later he was upon me, throwing his entire weight into a single punch, just like I was hoping. I leaned back as far as I could—I couldn’t alter my gravity to escape, I needed to focus on Aldebrand’s gravity. The first step was eliminating the natural force keeping him on the ground, making his body lighter and his punch come faster. As it passed, the flames surrounding him singed me, but I held fast to my concentration: I generated a powerful gravity well at the exact point where his momentum aimed him, and with nothing to hold him down, the force of Aldebrand’s punch threw him headfirst into its pull, launching him through a support pillar and into the wall with a loud smack. Any flames that lingered went out as he dropped to the floor, unmoving.

“Whew,” I said, dusting myself off. “That was a workout. Hey, Brandy, are you dead?”

I didn’t get a response.

“So that’s a ‘maybe’…ah well.”

I couldn’t be sure that no one had heard our scuffle, so once I was on the other side of the doorway I stacked as much rubble as I could to block off any would-be pursuers. Luckily, I didn’t come across any more opposition until reaching the top floor. The sprawling circular room had low lighting, and was entirely empty save for the pedestal at the very center, upon which sat a jade vase with a rounded body, short neck, and twin handles. Drawing a pellet from my coat, I crushed it and blew the resulting dust forward—thin beams of red light came into view, crisscrossing through the entire room to form a tight net around the treasured pottery. The original plan had been to sneak into the castle’s generator room and deactivate any security measures like this, but now that the floorplan I had received had proved faulty, that was no longer an option. One look was enough to tell me I wouldn’t fit between the beams, so I took a deep breath and reactivated my alchemar.

First step was to create a gravity well above the vase that was equally strong as the natural gravity pulling it down. By adjusting the balance between these two forces, I was able to gently lift the vase from its pedestal and move on to the hard part. Most of the gaps in the net were wide enough that the vase would be able to pass through them standing up, but not all of them—I was going to need to turn the vase on its side to thread it through the laser grid, and figured I’d have the most room to do so right above the pedestal. It was a very precise process, and being worn out from my fight sure didn’t help matters. Shifting my hands to help myself better visualize what I was doing, I gradually moved the sources of the opposing pulls on the vase in opposite directions, subtly angling both as I did so that they remained centered directly upon the vase. One false move and it would drop to floor, shattering and triggering the alarm to notify every guard on the property of my location. I had to try not to focus on that possibility, though.

It took a while, but I eventually got the vase horizontal, the two gravity wells holding it firmly in place like a pair of tweezers. I paused to take a breath, and then manipulated the balance between the wells, slowly pulling the vase towards me and through the first opening in the grid. The next gap was to the side, so I halted the vase and again adjusted the locations of the wells to get it in position. The vase needed to be reoriented this way after every single gap—the grid was cleverly-made, turns out—but eventually it made it across the room, allowing me to pluck it from the air and power down my alchemar. I allowed myself a sigh of relief as I clutched the vase. Finally, I thought, I had the damn thing and could get out already. I had had my fill of surprises for one day.

I turned around to find a gun in my face. My first thought was that it was incredibly rude—hardly a proper greeting. My second was a storm of rage I can’t quite articulate with words.

“Congratulations, Roche!” said the one holding the gun. “Job well done, I’d say.”

My eye twitched. I recognized that voice. Sure enough, I was looking at an athletic woman with medium brown skin and bright red, shoulder-length hair that nicely framed her smug face. Her alchemar was silver and looked very lightweight, the armor itself being very sleek but accentuated by a knee-length half-skirt and off-the-shoulder shawl, both made of smooth pink fabric. Despite the situation, I was totally powerless to stop myself from letting out a long, wordless groan.

“Kari,” I then muttered. “So good to see you.”

She giggled. “Aw, thank you! It’s lovely seeing you as well.”

I gestured around, careful not to touch the still-active lasers. “Come here often?”

“Nope, first time.”

“What a coincidence, me too. I’ll warn you now, the service is terrible—I ordered a drink an hour ago and haven’t heard back since.”

Playing along with a sour expression, she said, “Oh, that’s a shame. It had such good reviews.”

“Well, maybe they’re having an off night, I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

“Good point.” Kari held out her free hand. “Anyway, I’ll take that.”

Pulling the vase away, I said, “Um, excuse me? I stole this fair and square, Kari. I won’t give it up so easily—you haven’t even bought me dinner.”

“How can I if the service is bad?”

“I never said it had to be here.”

Rolling her eyes, Kari said, “You’re such hard work, you know that?”

“I take pride in it, in fact.”

A smirk crossed Kari’s face. “Darling, if you don’t give me the vase, how can I pay you for your services?”

I can only imagine what my face looked like as I slowly processed what she was telling me. I’m imagining something very stupid-looking.

“You…you’re my client?” I asked.

Kari nodded. “Mm-hm!”

“If you wanted the damn thing, why not just steal it yourself?!”

“Too much work. This was easier.”

I’m an idiot. A fool. I’m a complete and total sap. I’d say she played me like a fiddle, but I’ve tried playing fiddle—it’s actually very difficult, and saying that’s what happened when she exerted zero effort would be an insult to the skilled fiddle-players of the world.

As I was mentally kicking myself, I noticed a change in Kari’s expression. She looked…serious? Maybe? Hard to tell, I’d never seen her serious. “All joking aside, Roche…I needed to evaluate you, and this seemed like the best way to do it.”

“Evaluate?” I repeated. “…Wait, this was a test? You set this all up to…hang on: are you the one who swapped the floorplan in the Phantom Network database?”

Her coy smile returned. “Haven’t the foggiest what you’re referring to, but sounds like it’s beside the point.”

“It’s definitely point-adjacent.”

“Listen, darling: I have a lead on a much, much bigger job, but after running the numbers it looks unlikely I’ll be able to pull it off myself. I need an…assistant. And after screening a few candidates, I’ve decided you’re the best fit.”

“Lucky me,” I grumbled.

“You are lucky! Now, what do you say you hand me that vase and we talk business?”

I handed her the vase. She had to grab it with both hands, finally removing the gun from its threatening position, and I replied, “I say ‘see ya’.”

Not giving her a chance to answer, I headed for the door. However, in the time it took me to blink, Kari was suddenly standing in the doorway, pouting with the vase tucked under one arm. At least she had put the gun away.

“Hey now, what kind of response is that?” she asked.

“After discovering I’ve been bamboozled by a chronic pain in the neck who wants to make me her lackey? An entirely fair one, in my humble opinion.”

“‘Humble’, huh?”

“Well, it sounds nice.”

Kari sighed. Her alchemar shimmered briefly as she let go of the vase—rather than falling, it hung eerily-still in mid-air, allowing her to ignore it as she stepped towards me.

“Roche,” she said, looking…probably-serious again. “When I say this is a big job, I’m not talking about payment. I’m talking about what it means.”

I snorted a laugh. “What? Suddenly you care about what jobs mean? My gosh, Kari, when did you become a proper thief?”

I expected a sharp retort, but that’s not what I got. Kari’s expression remained the same, and something danced behind her eyes…I couldn’t really tell what it was, but it made me feel like a bit of a jerk. And not in the satisfying way.

“I may owe you some explanation,” Kari said, “but certain things are still personal. I hope you understand.”

Ah. So it’s personal.

“A job like this unsettles the elitists, shows the people their oppressors aren’t invincible. But miscellaneous gestures like this just aren’t enough. Haven’t you ever wondered what it would take to really change things? To not just undermine the oppressors’ power, but to take it all away?”

I had to think for a moment, ultimately saying, “That sounds too good to be true. And in any event…frankly, Kari, I wouldn’t feel safe working with you. You’ve screwed me over a few too many times for me to just trust you.”

Kari nodded. “…Fair enough.”

Really? Who is this? What the hell happened to her?!

Before I could form a coherent reply, though, she extended her hand and said something even more shocking: “Honor among thieves.”

I gawked. I was just too stunned to do much of anything else. When I finally found some words, I said, “You…do know how serious a promise that is, right? If you break it, the Phantom Network will ban you—or worse.”

She stared directly into my eyes and said, “I understand completely.”

…Dammit. Just when I thought I knew how to handle this thorn in my side, she finds new ways to defy expectation. I couldn’t believe I was actually considering her offer. But, even with our history, I couldn’t deny she seemed genuine…and admittedly, I had found myself wanting something more than petty theft. Stripping the elites of their power altogether was too tantalizing a prospect to simply ignore.

“Oh, what the hell,” I mumbled, taking the hand offered to me.

Kari’s face brightened a bit, and she failed to suppress a smirk. “Not very official.”

Smiling back, I leaned forward and said, “Honor among thieves. I look forward to working with you, dear Kari.”

To be sure I was overselling it, I quickly kissed her hand before letting go. Kari turned, tossing her hair, and said, “Excellent. Welcome aboard, Roche. Now, shall we make our escape?”

As she walked through the door, she pulled a pink veil over her face. I took a step after her, but then realized the vase was still hanging there, and turned to say something.

“Oh,” she said, “and would you mind carrying the vase?”

The power holding it aloft cut out suddenly—I had to scramble to catch it in time. Giving a heavy sigh, I said under my breath, “Yup. I really have no idea what I’m getting myself into.”

#original #Phantom Network

1 note · View note