#Rook Hunt x Raven

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

"Ohhh, Maarvellousss!" Rook stands at the alter with his beloved. "Madamonsieur Raven, I long thought I would never catch your eye, and yet! And yet! And yet here we stand before our friends and maker! Do I promise to honor and cherish you? OUI! Do I promise to be there for you whenever you need me? OUI!! Love me, and me alone, mon amour. I promise... your HEART will be safe in my clutches....."

...Great Seven, have you sent more roleplayers to spite me or to reward me for my efforts? Because I honestly cannot tell what the intent is anymore.

Well, regardless...I shall still amuse.

The Writing Raven dies a little on the inside.

The raven stares at him with a blank expression. Then their cheeks redden. Words form, and though they are small, they are not pleasant ones.

“...Are you daft?”

Rook staggers back with exaggerated motions, clutching onto his head as though he had been shot. “Aah! Yet another rejection...! My advances, denied again...! Oh! How cruel you are, Madamonsieur Raven!”

“Stop playing pretend and pay attention. We’re here to scout the venue,” the bird quips, gesturing to a nearby table. “Look. That is most likely where they will be serving refreshments at the wedding. When everyone is distracted with the vows, you must slip Vil’s poison into the groom’s designated cup. Only you, with your hunter’s stealth, are capable of this task.”

Rook nods, but it is clear that his mind is elsewhere--anywhere but focusing on the plan. He stares intently at them, his emerald eyes intense--with longing. The raven narrows her eyes, but continues with the explanation.

“The poison will induce a temporary death-like coma--long enough to convince the Ghost Bride that his spirit has departed from his body. We’ll send her and her legion away to search the world for Idia’s ghost when, in actuality, Idia will be alive and doing just fine--though perhaps living under a new identity.”

The raven stops. “...Did you get all of that, Rook?”

He sighs. “Oh, how sweet my name sounds when it is called from your lips!”

“...So in other words, you were not paying attention at all.” The raven holds their head in their hands. “We’re doomed.”

“Oho. No need to be so downtrodden!” Rook insists with a light-hearted smile. “I never said I would not be capable of the feat, now did I? Roi de Ta Chambre’s cup--it shall be poisoned, as you have requested.”

“So you were listening, after all.” They sigh, massaging their temples. “It looks like you really can be reliable when it comes down to it.

“But of course! There is nothing le Chasseur D’amour would not do for his beloved.”

The raven heaves another sigh, burying their face in their hands. “Must you insist on constantly flirting? Some day, someone will certainly take your silly jokes as the truth--”

“Ah, but they are the truth--my feelings, that is.” Rook brings a hand to his chest. “Like an arrow, my feelings always aim true, striking even the most elusive of prey.”

A pause.

“One day, I hope that my feelings will reach you,  Madamonsieur Raven.” His smile is like the moon itself--all shadows and silver, whispering of a midnight tryst. “Until then...I shall always be waiting for you, my little black bird.”

They glance away to hide their burning face--burning with what, they are not quite sure. Anger, annoyance, embarrassment. Perhaps even coquettishness.

“You...are so weird,” the raven declares at long last.

One day.

But not today.