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whump-a-la-mode · 4 years ago

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Escape: Part 2

This is a bit different from what I usually do. @equestrianwritingsstuff recently posted a one-off piece, and I got a little bit obsessed with it. So, with her permission, this is a continuation! The original post can be found here.

Summary: After being captured and forced into a torturous reform program, Villain attempts escape-- but throws it all away to save the life of his foe.

CW//Attempted conditioning, denial of food, denial of water, intentional self injury, broken glass, blood, mentions of car crashes, collars, chains, firearms, attempted murder

“Okay.” The sigh was sharp, enough so to make Villain bite their own tongue in apprehension. “Let’s try another one.”

Nosey shuffled through the stack of papers piled before them on the desk. Villain glanced down at the pile-- noting its sheer height. He wasn’t expected to go through all those, right? No, that would certainly take all night.

“Here.” The hero before him settled on one of the pages, picking it up. “This one should be easy.”

Villain muttered something under his breath, laden with swears and insults.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Mhm.” A haughty exhale. “Here. If you get this one on the first try, you can go back to your cell and... I don’t know, do whatever it is you do. I’m tired of looking at your face.”

Back to his cell. That made Villain perk up, nearly straining against the cuffs holding him firmly to the table.

“Okay, let’s just get this over with. Here’s the scenario. You’re walking along the street, and you see someone hit by a car. The car does not stop, and the victim is thrown onto the sidewalk in front of you. They are clearly alive, but severely injured. Do you:

A: Use your healing powers to treat their injuries.

B: Search the surrounding area for a civilian with medical training

C: Contact the Heroic Civilian Treatment Team to take the victim to hospital.”

“Um...”

Villain felt the hairs on the back of his neck stick up, despite being half wetted down with sweat.

If someone had been struck by a vehicle, the obvious answer would be to help them as quickly as possible. As soon as injuries like that were inflicted, the clock was already ticking.

The heroes were terribly resistant to him using his powers in any situation-- that was somewhat the whole point of the Villain Containment Practices. But in this case, it would certainly be an exception, right? Their whole job was supposed to be protecting life.

“Uh- I- I think A.” He at last croaked out. “Use my healing powers to stabilize them, then find a civilian doctor to get them to the hospital.”

Nosey sighed.

“A situation like this should always be deferred to us. Using your powers is never the answer.”

They placed down the paper, hastily rearranging the messy stack of them.

“Let’s go back to the gym. I’ll let you off with ten laps, this time.”

Villain gulped, phlegm sliding down a dry throat, as a pair of guards advanced to untie him from the table.

“C- Can I have some water? Please?”

“You’ve already lost your food privileges for the day. Do you really want to lose your water, too? You get water once you’ve earned it. For now, we’re going to the gym.

At this rate, maybe you should just become a permanent resident in our program.”

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The glass was mocking them.

Villain was certain of that, even as he kneeled on his cot of a bed, half delirious, half exhausted.

The glass of water sat on a small table at the bed’s end. Just a glass, hardly even filled halfway. Haphazardly placed under a faucet for a few moments without thought.

He knew he had to drink it. He didn’t have much of a choice. Tomorrow would only bring more questions, more laps, more push-ups, more lectures. It would be terrible, certainly, but the small amount of liquid would make it at least the tiniest bit more bearable. Give him the tiniest bit more strength.

It was all he had. He’d spent the day watching his classmates-- that’s what the heroes called them, they were fellow prisoners, at best-- eating their meals, while he sat at an empty table.

Just because he had started a fight didn’t mean he should have to starve. Besides, they had it coming. Stuck up ass.

Villain frowned, cracked and dry lips sticking together, and reached forth to pick up the glass.

He needed to drink it, but as soon as he did, it would be gone. He would have to earn the next few drops through countless tears and buckets of sweat. At the very least, right now, he had control. He had a choice.

Not a very good one, but...

When had he gotten to this point? Having a crisis in a barren room over a half-glass of water? He was supposed to be a villain. Others were supposed to fear him.

Besides...

Villain’s hand shook, water sloshing, even as he was careful not to lose a single, precious drop.

He didn’t know how much longer he could survive like this. Endless exercise, endless questions. Maybe they would never let him out. Maybe they wanted him to die here. Hell, they probably wanted him to die here. One less problem, drained of strength until they no longer had enough to breathe.

This was one long, drawn out execution. Even if it wasn’t, he could hardly imagine a situation in which they allowed his parting. In which they considered him at long last “reformed.”

Villain had to leave. He had to. He was leaving here either in a glorious escape, or in a body bag. Or, worse: In a hero’s uniform.

He downed the water, feeling the heavenly moisture fill his throat. It was the best thing he had ever tasted, despite the fact that water had no taste to it.

It was far less pleasant than what would come next. He knew from unfortunate experience that there were only two things that could get him out of this cell: Going to ‘class,’ or having an emergency.

The first wouldn’t work.

There was no camera in the room, he had searched long and hard to confirm that fact. At the very least, he didn’t have to do much in the way of acting. Not yet.

He swung his unsteady legs over the edge of the bed, standing, stumbling halfway to the end table.

Before throwing the glass to the floor.

It was a miracle, that the heroes allowed him glass dishware. The cup exploded, a thousand shining pieces scattering about the floor.

Now, for the unpleasant part.

Villain gritted his teeth, throwing himself onto the broken glass, ensuring that it dug into his flesh, his legs and his palms. At the very least, his screams were genuine.

“Help! Help!” He wailed. “I’m hurt! Help, please help! Oh god, that’s my blood, oh god oh god...”

There was no camera in the room, but the door was plenty thin, and in this facility, screams carried far. To ensure this, he let out a few more cries, carrying them on until the door lock was frantically turned, the door thrown open on its hinges.

Hero’s inhale was quick enough that she nearly started choking on her own breath.

“V-Villain, oh god, that’s- That’s your blood?”

Of course it was, dimwit. It was flooding from his skin, wasn’t it?

“Y- Yes. I tripped, um, oh god, oh...”

The swaying and slurring of his words were not pretend, either. Dehydration and hunger made sure of that.

“Can you walk?” How was there so much concern in her tone?

“Don’t know.”

“We need to try. I can carry you, but- We need to get to the infirmary.”

The hero hurried to their foe’s side, arms under his shoulders helping him to his feet. He could walk on his own, not well, but he could-- though Hero had no need to know that.

“Okay.”

“It’s a pretty long walk. We can take it slow, okay?”

“Yeah.”

That was exactly what they did. Their movements were so painfully slow that at times Villain wondered whether or not they were moving at all, but, after some time, they did cover some distance. The few people awake at such an hour steered clear, seeing a villain covered in blood and wanting nothing to do with it in the slightest.

The infirmary was on the bottom floor, Villain had seen it on his way in, making note of its placement. Of course, Hero wasn’t about to make him struggle down all those stairs. No. She went straight for the elevator, stepping into the isolated box with her foe and letting the doors closed.

This was it. The elevator ride would only last a few moments-- it was now or never.

As subtly as he possibly could, Villain placed his hand upon his injured leg, the minty thrum of healing powers knitting together the slices. Though, it did nothing to dry the blood that had already seeped out.

He was healed, and Hero was alone. Trapped.

By all accounts, it was a fight that Villain should have lost. He was exhausted, stomach left empty for far too long, and veins severely lacking in blood. Hero had the benefit of being well-fed, well-rested, all of it.

But that explanation left out one thing.

Villain was desperate.

He watched the small, digital screen count down the floors.

4...

3...

2...

Now!

The strike may not have been powerful, but it was aided by the sheer speed at what it was launched. Villain’s fist collided with Hero’s temple, knocking her sideways, stumbling. He wasted not a millisecond in preparing his next strike, hearing the crack of a cheekbone beneath his knuckles.

Hero let out a cry, holding her face where a bruise would certainly bloom in the hour. Limbs still soaked in scarlet, Villain swung out with his leg, catching Hero in the knee, sending her to the elevator floor with a hollow crash.

The elevator doors opened.

It was the fastest Villain had ever run in his life, he was certain of that. His legs were little more than blurs of red as he sprinted forth, tearing through a lobby that was nearly barren. An infinitesimal distance between him and freedom.

“Oh no you don’t!”

His legs came out from under him, his face striking the tile floor, almost certainly giving him an identical blessure to Hero.

The voice-- it was Nosey’s stupid, avian squawk. And, too, their polished boot struck Villain’s back.

“You really thought it’d be that easy?”

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The metal chafed horribly against Villain’s neck, somehow making his throat’s desiccation more acute. He laid his head against the thin carpet, spine aching terribly. The movement shifted the chain latched onto his collar, the slight clinking noise making his heartbeat stutter.

Tied up like a dog.

“Is this really necessary?” He grumbled, shifting himself to a sitting position, gazing upwards.

To Hero’s bed. Her legs dangled off the side of the mattress, hands gripped into fists around gathered bedsheets.

“We’ve been over this. That cell was a privilege, and you’ve lost it.”

“And so you chain me to the wall like a dog.”

“Exactly. You need to be under my direct supervision.”

“Yeah, whatever. Did you really have to stick this stupid collar on me?”

“I’m no happier about this than you are. But I’m not giving you free reign of my bedroom. You already tried to kill me once tonight.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“Whatever. Unlike you, I actually have things to do in the morning. So, if you would please let me sleep?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“If you do something for me first.”

“You are in the worst possible position to make demands, right now.”

Villain’s sigh tore at his throat.

“I just want some water.”

“Just that? Wait. You’re not going to smash the glass again, are you? I’m way too tired for that nonsense a second time tonight.”

“Just don’t put the water in a glass, then.”

“You actually just want water?”

“Yes.” He added rather pathetically. “Please?”

“I... Fine. Then you’ll let me sleep?”

“Mhm.”

“Fine.”

Hero stood, glancing suspiciously at her captive as she made her way across the room. As if he could do anything-- the chain was maybe three feet in length. He could barely lay his head down.

She maneuvered to her kitchenette, returning with a plastic cup-- filled to the brim with that precious liquid. She placed it before him. He was already drooling.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Villain.”

“Goodnight.”

Was that really all it took to domesticate him? A glass of water? It hardly mattered. As soon as Hero turned off the light, bathing the room in shadow, Villain downed the liquid as though his life depended on it.

Perhaps, it did.

It wasn’t long before Hero’s steady breathing had turned to soft snoring. Villain shifted himself into the most comfortable position he could manage. Even that, however, was far from being pleasant, with the chain threatening to strangle him at any moment.

That wasn’t what kept him from sleeping, however. He needed to sleep. He knew that, he wasn’t stupid. He would need his energy for the next day of lessons, of shouted orders and lectures.

That was all his life would be from now on, wouldn’t it? Orders and exhaustion and being forced to earn the most basic of needs by answering moral quandaries incorrectly.

Villain wanted, longed, to cry. To let out all the horrible emotions that had stuck in his chest cavity, threatening to drown his lungs in sorrow. But that would break the conditions of the deal.

He had to be quiet, or else he might never again be allowed water.

It was that dread in his chest, that hopelessness, that forced him awake.

So, he laid, still, listening to Hero’s snores as his own body refused to allow him unconsciousness.

Snores, and...

Footsteps.

Footsteps? Villain tensed, holding stock still, pricking his ears for the noise. They drew louder, louder, before stopping. Stopping outside the dorm room door.

He held his breath.

The door opened gently enough that the hinges made only the slightest noise. Then, the footsteps were inside.

Villain shrunk down in the corner, making himself far smaller and quieter than anyone of his status should ever have had to be.

Two sets of footsteps. Growing louder, coming towards the bedroom. The bed.

Hero.

“Are you sure we need to do this?” An unknown voice, whispering.

“If you want this plan to work, we don’t have a choice.”

That voice, that voice was not unknown. It was loud, terribly high pitched, terribly-

Nosey.

“We really have to kill them?”

“We won’t get the chance if you keep talking. Just do it, don’t chicken out on me, now.”

“Okay, okay.”

Villain’s heartbeat shivered.

The cocking of a gun. That horrible sound, that precursor of bloodshed.

Then, the shot. Two pairs of footsteps, fleeing, slamming the door behind themselves.

Villain gulped.

It was no doubt what had happened-- if he had had any doubts, they were quickly drowned out as Hero’s breathing hitched, then quieted to an almost imperceptible level. Growing slower, weaker by the second.

They are clearly alive, but severely injured.

In the scenario, he had had three choices. But this wasn’t a training scenario.

Now, he only had two.

A: Praise his lucky stars and use the opportunity to escape. There was a fire escape, just outside the window. He would be gone into the night before anyone knew any different.

Or...

B: Do the right thing.

Villain threw himself against the chain about his neck, collar threatening to cut off his airways. He spun about, gripping the chain in clammy fingers, pulling and tugging and-

Her breathing was getting quieter, weaker.

He pulled harder, muscles straining with the effort. The chain was anchored to the wall with a spike, drilled in. There was no way he could break the chain, no way he could break the spike, but-

Villain’s heel slammed through the plaster and drywall, chain flying backwards at his face. He hardly made note of it. Spike and chain and all dragging behind him, he tore to Hero’s bedside.

It was almost fortunate, that the lights were off. He couldn’t see the extent of the wounds.

He placed his hands upon her head, that minty feeling rushing to his fingers, his palms, her skin.

Using your powers is never the answer.

No. No, that wasn’t true.

Rules didn’t matter. Training didn’t matter. All that mattered was doing the right thing.

#villain whumpee #hero villain whump #conditioned whumpee #whump community #whump

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thelionshoarde · 7 years ago

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heading for a small disaster; part 1

I have no excuse! I started writing a magical au for obiyukiweek17 day 2 and lo! The first chapter is done and I have NOT YET touched the day 2 prompt. Regardless, here is this thing.

Mosquitoes swarmed the area, incessant and hungry. Tucked into a hollow above an ancient, gnarled tree limb, Obi re-applied his anti-bug charm for the third time. The moist, warm air sat heavy against his skin, slicking him with sweat, his clothing damp and stifling; but the marsh was made mysterious and interesting in the dark.

Nothing lit the gloom where he hid save the swollen moon, yellow and cragged and half-hidden by the trees. What light filtered through mostly caught on the duckweed, leaving the spaces between black as pitch. The splash of water somewhere in the distance - a fish, perhaps, or an alligator; one of those big, man-eating snakes he’d heard about coming closer, if Obi was lucky - kept him alert, curious. A whole world was thriving here, secreted away in the dark, and Obi found it both familiar and comforting.

Except for the frogs. It might have been mating season, Obi guessed. They were especially loud.

The raven came through just as Obi was trying to decide if that pale flash a few yards out was duckweed drifting by, or something more disconcerting. He snatched it from the air, mid-flight, its brittle parchment bones snapping in his grip. The spell broke. With a rustle of crisp paper its wings unfolded, and Obi tilted it toward a faint stream of moonlight.

Shirayuki, read the spider scrawl of blue ink, the letters dark gashes on the ghostly parchment.

Where had he heard that name before? Frowning, Obi caught a small herb sachet as it slid down into his waiting palm. He brought it to his nose, sniffing - but none of the scents were familiar to him, save that together they gave him the distinct impression of being medicinal. Only the lightest touch of magic was imbued into them; something crisp and competent, that pinched against Obi’s skin as he studied it.

He couldn’t place it - the magic or the name.

No matter. It wasn’t as though he needed a back story. If there was anything he needed to know to do his job, Obi was certain he’d learn it once he’d spotted the mark.

Pocketing the sachet, he let the kill order drift down. When the edge of the parchment nearly grazed the heads of a patch of milkweed below his perch, he jerked his finger at it, twisting a bit of magic along the arc of it. A shard of fire struck it on the fluttering edge. The heavy parchment caught, and a moment later ash drifted onto the murky waters of the marsh.

By the time the pale specks settled Obi was already gone, a specter in the dark leaving no trace. The night sounds never once ceased.

His tracking spell brought him through rugged lowlands and along a curiously curling trail over rolling hills, dotted with well-kept villages and towns. Obi stopped in one - Aeesghi, which was rumored to have the best beer on tap in the entire county, as well as a truly fine underground gambling ring - for just a night. By morning’s light he was richer by nearly seventy goia, a laugh caught in his chest and lip rouge smeared across his neck. Miles away from the town while a truly sour gentleman no doubt rampaged through whore houses trying to find that bastard Nanaki.

All in all, not bad for a solitary night’s mischief.

Fifteen goia went to buying a horse from a carter two towns over, and another week of hard travel found him boarding passage at a busy shipping channel, the waters rough and choppy and the seagulls mean, to bring him from Postilia to Rechiv. From Rechiv it was just a short stroll down the coast to the unmanned border of Tanbarun.

Obi squinted up the sheer cliffs, noting the roaring wind and narrow, rocky ledges. There was no way up but to spend an exorbitant fee for a mule that turned out to be far more malicious than the horse he had left at port.

In his pocket the herb sachet tugged homeward.

That was the trouble with tracking spells, he thought. They took you in as straight a line as possible, ease of passage be damned.

But the only other ways into the country were a full day’s journey in either direction, where he’d run the risk of checkpoints and soldiers. Might as well go the hard way. The easiest paths weren’t always the safest, in the end, and Obi had the scars to prove it.

At the top, the cliffs transformed into jagged mountains. Obi and the mule glowered out across the only available path. “There’s just the one,” the mule seller had told him, “And it’s treacherous at the best of times. Lead you right into trouble, too, if you’re not careful. Up there’s the Lion’s domain.”

Treacherous seemed too kind a description.

Obi wove hastily drawn spells to help the mule keep his footing, grasping at shadows before the noon sun chased them away, and tried to keep his breathing easy and light. So high, the air was thin and sharp; the fall no doubt long and hard. There was no room for a misstep.

Despite the danger, they came through with little trouble. Obi let the mule loose close to the village and made a path for himself, scrabbling down rocky inclines and using stubborn, stunted trees to ease his way back up, until the mountain he’d been climbing down began to settle into terraces that rolled more than they jutted, little valleys and coves opening up. Grass carpeted the ground and trees began to grow straight and strong.

A day later and Obi breathed a sigh of relief. The sachet tugged him straight to a moderate sized town half-way to sea-level before his tracking spell dispersed, job done.

Finally.

Time to pinpoint which of these townsfolk were his mark and be done with it. Climbing mountains was not his preferred method of travel, and he was tired of shaking pebbles out of his boots. He was actually starting to miss the frogs. The marsh may not have been his best choice for laying low between jobs, but it had its perks, and not being a mountain was apparently one of them.

Obi shook off dust and debris, pulled illusion and charm around him, enough to make him normal, to blur his scars and hide the cold glitter of his eyes, before heading into town.

Oh, he thought. Her.

Shirayuki stood in the center of a cobbled yard surrounded by kids. Tucked up high on a steepled roof, one arm hooked around a dented weather vane, Obi counted seven - no, nine - of the hairy little beasts romping around her full blue skirts. The goat herder was an aging man, but long of limb and agile, ducking down to nudge aside one of the kids before it nibbled a hole into the woman’s hemline.

Obi wanted to bring a breeze to carry their words to him, but after seeing the flutter of her hair, thought better of it.

The name Shirayuki had led him to the south-eastern outskirts of town, to the lone cottage of a Mage that Obi knew vaguely by reputation. The Mage of the Mountains, some called her. Obi had also heard Scarlet Witch hissed nervously from the mouths of more simple-minded folk. But that moniker was far out numbered by the reverent Red Lady that dropped from the lips of her more awestruck neighbors.

There were few enough who ever called his mark by name. No wonder he hadn’t realized who she was.

Obi pursed his mouth, considering the woman. She was small of stature, hands clasped politely at her waist. Even from this distance Obi could easily read the sharp angles of her body language: polite, but stern.

The goat herder bowed at the waist and led his charges down the road, ushering them out of the Mage’s yard with a line of frayed rope. Squinting, Obi managed a peek at the spell laid onto it - a nice bit of small magic, neat and tidy. No goat would manage to chew through the lead anymore, not even where it had been worn down to barely a few lingering threads.

And this was the woman who had lifted an entire village from its bedrock amidst a spring flood?

It hardly seemed likely; what Mage with that type of prestige would stoop to this level of paltry magic? There was strength in the spell she’d laid for the goat herder, but it was in the skill of it, how she’d interwoven each piece carefully into an interlocking whole. It lacked the raw power he had been expecting.

But the wind once again lifted the long tail of her hair over her shoulder, a banner of vibrant red.

There was no mistaking it. Only one Mage had hair that color in all of Tanbarun. Shirayuki and the Mage of the Mountains were one in the same.

Obi narrowed his eyes, unease prickling along the back of his spine. By all accounts the Red Lady wasn’t a trouble-maker. Obi hadn’t been aware of any conflicts. No whispers of enemies bent on revenge. Until this point it had seemed her strangest power was the ability to make friends with everyone she met. And while it was a skill Obi didn’t take lightly, he would hardly count himself as the norm.

What was a name like her’s doing on a kill order?

But - Obi forcefully pushed the question from his mind. It was not his place to wonder at the motivations of his employers, only to see the deed done. He tilted his head back, squinting at the passage of the sun.

Hours yet til evening, and though the daylight ate at the smoke and shadow of his magic, his illusions would hold for a while yet. Beneath the mellow autumn sun the red shingles were warm, and with a gentle breeze blowing in from the north Obi was content to loiter for a while. Maybe he could catch a nap, wait until the stars came out, washing the world in glitter and shine, to give him shadows to wrap round his body. The sleepy bustle of a mountain town was near enough to a lullaby, really; even if his illusion slipped with sleep none of these soft, milk-fed creatures would notice him, even out in the light as he was, a black blot against the day.

He propped himself on his elbow, craning his head for one last look toward the Mage’s quaint little cottage, a half-mile out from where he lay. She had a piece of scry-glass held before her eye, trained right on him. Obi could just see it glinting a cloudy blue.

“The fuck,” he yelped, leaping to the balls of his feet in a hunched crouch, tensed to run.

A frantic check told him his illusion was still in place - she shouldn’t have been able to see him. Shouldn’t have even noticed him. Even weakened with the sun full on him Obi was still a master at his craft, and some country Mage shouldn’t have been able to mark him. Not even one with her reputation.

And yet -

I was warned about you, whispered the wind. Zen said something like this might happen. Well. We’ve both seen each other, now. No point in pretending otherwise. Why don’t you come down and have some tea with me?

Zen? Obi thought, bewildered. She couldn’t mean that Zen - could she?

After only a second’s hesitation he pitched his voice back at her, swatting the breeze with his palm to swing it round: What an interesting offer. Don’t mind if I do! But you wouldn’t begrudge me taking a nap first, would you, Miss Mage? I’ve traveled quite a way.

Battered by the wind, her voice still came through dryly amused: I wouldn’t dream of it. You know where to find me when you’re ready.

Obi waited, watching as she dropped her arm, the distance too great for him to make out the expression on her face. Her shoulders, though, were still stiff, polite and stern. Probably she had been aware of him all through her exchange with the goat herder, waiting until the man had safely left before deciding to confront him.

Huh. Interesting.

Turning on her heel, blue skirts flying up as though in exclamation, Shirayuki strode in through the open door of her cottage. To Obi’s surprise, she didn’t bother to close it; he had gathered she left it open during working hours, to invite any of the townspeople to come inside, for poultice or charm, a warm welcome waiting for all. But that was before she knew an assassin had been sent to kill her.

What was she going to do if Obi took it as invitation as well?

With night came clouds; a storm rolling in from the south, causing the easy breeze of earlier to buffet and whip about. A hot cup of tea in doors sounded delicious. Obi swung down from his perch with a faint, predatory grin. Unlikely as it was that she had meant the offer, there was no reason he couldn’t imbibe after the job was done. He imagined a Mage known for her potions and tonics and healing touch would have many a special blend.

All he had to do was kill her.

His grin faded. Tension coiled in his shoulders, hands flexing with uncertainty. Knowing she could find him had chased all ease and carelessness from him; he spent the intervening hours between their first contact and now honing his blades, readying his spells, checking and double-checking the strength of the wards stitched into his clothes.

As much as he would have enjoyed that nap, Obi found it difficult to treat anyone perceptive enough to pinpoint his illusion with anything less than wariness and respect. Though she had yet to show the depth of power she was rumored to have at beck and call, it was more than enough to set his teeth on edge.

He should have known. Most of the more challenging, obstinate marks went to him, after all. Why would this Shirayuki be any different?

Just before her wards Obi paused, examining them. They were set up precisely across the entirety of the Mage’s grounds in a method almost elegant in its exactness. Obi took the space of a breath to admire the handiwork, unease once more scratching at his spine. But Obi was good at picking locks, at coaxing spells to budge over and give room, and it was only a matter of time before he’d found a corner he could pluck and pull at, tucking it in to make space between two rows of herbs in the back garden.

He crept in, wary of any silent alarms he might trigger.

But it seemed the Red Lady hadn’t thought to set anything further than base perimeter wards. The path to her little stone cottage was clear. Gaily painted shutters were latched shut, her door closed with the fall of night, but spools of golden light eked out between the slats. The ivy crawling along her stone cottage swayed madly, and the winds scattered the smoke from her chimney.

A circuit of the house gave him all he needed: the Mage sat in her front room, body relaxed, mind distracted. Perfect. Obi allowed himself to think that, despite the earlier surprises, everything really would be all right. No matter her skill set, she was no match for him in the dark. There was only one way for this to end. In and out, with barely a scream - his thoughts turned slow, hazardous, imagining blood down her throat, a stream of red to match her hair. The tension in his body eased.

Yes, he thought. Like that. No fuss, no drawn out game.

He could give her this, at least, the Red Lady, the Scarlet Witch, the slip of a woman who had pinned him with her scry glass and offered him tea. A kinder death than he’d given some. Thinking of the clever way she’d worked her wards, the intricate texture of the spell on the goats’ lead, he thought - I can be kind, just this once.

Obi drew the night down around him with a wrenching twist, until he was made of smoke and storm, the owl’s steady gaze and the bat’s silent wing. He became the dark heart of the sky between the stars; the waiting shadow of a shallow grave.

He ran into trouble immediately.

The only way forward was through the back door, the barest gap left open for him to pour himself through. On the other side Obi found himself in a homey sort of kitchen. Glazed tiles and checker-print curtains, an old, nicked table buffed to a honey-gold glow with a basket of bread set in the center. Dishes were drying to the side of a sink, towel still dripping next to them. Embers smoldered in the stove, an empty kettle set to the side.

The domesticity of the scene made Obi’s skin itch.

Treading carefully he headed toward the only available door. The kitchen led straight into the front room, a bare expanse of hall between. Obi could feel the clever folds that hid the rest of the Mage’s house from view, and he thought that, with time, he could wedge his way inside, unrolling Shirayuki’s careful system.

But he hadn’t the time - a fracture, hair-line but dangerous, had already begun to snake its way through his spell.

Obi hadn’t noticed the start. By the time he was aware of it the damage was already done. Stunned, Obi pressed his hand to the wall, papered in bright yellow with white vertical stripes, vivid against the black leather of his gloved hand. For a moment he stood there, staring wildly at the contrast. Somehow his illusion was unraveling. Obi had once laid on the side of a busy market street, bleeding copiously and half out of his mind, and still his illusion hadn’t dropped, not once.

What had this Scarlet Witch done to him?

Stubborn, he pulled the edges of himself together and held them tightly through sheer force of will. But the damage was done already; his easy confidence in the Mage’s yard was shaken, unease once more worming its way through him. Get a grip, he raged at himself. He flexed his hand against the wall, jaw tight. You’ve dealt with worse circumstances.

Just a few more steps and he would be in the room with her. Perhaps he was making more of this than he should. After all, she might be clever, but so was Obi, and it was for times like this that he trained with steel, with wire and arrow and the strength of his bare hands. He had nothing to fear when his magic was only one part of him, and not even the part that made him lethal.

He let his breath out in a slow, controlled exhale.

There was still a chance to do this right. From the front room the only noise came from a crackling fire, and the slow turn of pages as Shirayuki read. Obi could just see her bowed head, the fall of her bangs hiding her face, her bare feet tucked up beneath her. As he eased forward his feet made no noise, and his breath did not disturb the air. Obi was made of the waiting dark, the shadows out of view. But still a voice murmured: “Just a moment, please. I’ll freshen up the tea when I’m done with this page,” as he crossed the threshold into the front room.

Obi went still.

It was one thing for her to have found him that afternoon, scry glass in hand and sun high in the sky. Another, entirely, to have done - this.

The splintering in his spell widened, yawning wide. Thinking furiously, Obi let the spell grab hold of his own, prying at him with clever, meticulous fingers, and followed it out to see the scope of it. His breath left him in a startled rush as understanding set in.

Shirayuki had not wasted time with alarms. Instead, she had laid a trap so strange that Obi hadn’t registered it until he was well and truly caught within. It was as though the very nature of this place was pulling him into relief, setting him on display. The very warmth and hominess of her little cottage turned against him, calling into contrast Obi’s own magic, an obvious spill of nastiness, like soot tracked across her well-swept floor. He could practically feel it crowding him, very gently but sternly pushing him into compact form, giving presence to his very lack thereof. The spellwork had been so subtle, laid out with such a light hand, that Obi hadn’t even noticed until after it had taken hold.

He flickered where he stood, there then not.

Stars and stones, he thought, that is impressive.

Obi’s face crumpled in thought, curiosity plucking at him. The spell she’d laid was almost gentle, nothing to harm him, nothing to actually trap him. It merely took away his ability to hide, running on the same principle that the stronger the light source the deeper the shadows. She could have tried traps to bind his magic, to strip him of his ability to harm her, spells to maim or murder him - all things that Obi would have seen and dismantled with ease.

She had chosen, instead, to simply see him.

Sliding a dagger - etched with an anti-magic sigil directly into the steel - from his belt, Obi spun it on his finger. He had a clear line of view. The room was not large. Shirayuki sat in front of the fireplace, nearly in the center of the room. From where he stood nothing blocked the path his dagger could take to reach the tender line of her throat. He could risk it; take the chance that Shirayuki really hadn’t laid any more traps out of sight, that the one spell she’d cast was the extent of her cleverness.

One well-aimed throw, and she might be dead.

But - he eased the blade back into place, fingers lingering for just a moment. It had been a long time since he felt both off-kilter and delighted by it, and Obi wasn’t one to turn fun away when it presented itself to him. Shirayuki was - more than he had expected. As soon as he’d crossed her wards his plan had fallen to ruins.

Crossing his arms he leaned back against the wall. She was still his mark; Obi still had a job to do. But this was no simple in and out. Obi had a feeling that it would take more than one well-thrown dagger to end this woman’s life. And, perhaps unsurprisingly, he found himself almost eager to discover what would.

Obi felt a grin stretch at his mouth and let it curl there, crooked.

Time to change the game, then.

The Mage of the Mountains finished her page, placed a ribbon to mark her place, and turned to him with solemn green eyes. “You may join me, if you like.”

She gestured at the paisley-print chair beside hers, angled so that they faced each other. A full tea tray sat at a jaunty angle on the round table between them. Obi watched as Shirayuki placed her book on the clear space before it, and then rapped her knuckles on the teapot. It was ceramic, painted with red and yellow flowers nestled into curling, whimsical green leaves. Steam rose abruptly from the spout, eager to please. Apparently, Shiryauki had actually meant it when she offered him tea.

Obi let his spell go with a snap loud enough to sound like a thunderclap.

“Oh,” Shirayuki breathed, blinking. “You’ll give the townsfolk a fright if you keep that up.”

“Storm’s almost here,” Obi said easily, crooked grin firmly in place. “Surely a little thunder and lightning in the distance isn’t anything to be afraid of. They’ll never realize the danger.”

Those green eyes of hers narrowed, just slightly, before flicking away. She bent to pour water into two matching teacups, little sachets of tea leaves already waiting at the bottom. “I suppose not,” she mused, voice pensive. “I’d appreciate it if it stayed that way, please. And -” her eyes darted back toward him, gaze sharp, before returning to her task, “I really do wish you’d come and sit.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like sitting when other people are standing,” Shirayuki muttered. “I’m short enough as is, I don’t need to feel shorter.”

A faint flush crept up the back of her neck beneath where she’d coiled her hair. Now that he was closer, Obi could see that she was no great beauty, though she was pretty enough. A wide mouth, a pert nose, a stubborn chin. And those eyes, like still summer ponds, green and deep. The high neck of her dress only highlighted the graceful column of her throat, the elbow-length sleeves calling attention to the subtle strength of her forearms.

Hey now, Obi thought, lazily amused, am I here to ogle her or to kill her? Finding his gaze latched onto the curve of her waist, he figured it was both. He always had been attracted by competence.

“I would never wish to make a Miss as lovely as you feel inferior,” Obi sniped, finally pushing off the wall to amble casually across the room.

She set the teapot down onto the tray with a strident clink. “I never said anything about feeling inferior, especially toward you. Would you like honey or sugar?”

Obi laughed. “Neither, thank you.”

If he weren’t so curious - so mind-bogglingly stumped - about how to proceed, he would never have been caught dead in the chair Shirayuki directed him toward. It was a plump, stiff affair that Obi had to settle into cautiously. Usually he did his utmost to avoid chairs like these, which somehow managed to make all of his cultivated casualness awkward. The padding of the high back pushed him forward, so that he felt hunched over his own lap, uncertain what to do with his arms or legs.

If the kitchen had been enough to make him itch, the Mage’s front room nearly had him clawing his skin off.

Glow-globes floated gently near the ceiling, spinning slowly in an unknown orbit, so that the whole room was lit with soft light, cheery and bright. Her work room must have been tucked away in the hall, because the front room was nothing more than a parlor, a room to welcome visitors within. Book cases filled the wall from floor to ceiling in between wide, arched windows. Little ornate tables sat below with elaborate potted plants set atop them.

Every other spare inch of wall was taken up by beautiful beech-wood frames, dried flowers and herbs pressed between the glass. Behind them the fire was merry, crackling and warm, with a cauldron hung from an iron hook. A lid kept its contents hidden, but Obi smelt magic like spring rain bubbling inside. Across from them was a couch with a low table between, this one cluttered haphazardly with books and journals, pens and half-finished cups of tea.

Obi peered into one, dismayed to find something growing inside.

“That is disgusting,” he said, finally leaning his forearms onto his thighs. He tilted his head to watch her. Guilt flared across her face just as she dropped one cube of sugar into her tea with a loud plop. Obi grinned. “You’ll ruin this whole charade you have going on here if you leave these out and about, you know.”

“I don’t - I don’t know what you mean.”

Her hand hovered over the sugar bowl, tongs tight between her fingers. Obi snorted, drew power through his arm and sent all four dirtied teacups dancing through the air, into the kitchen. They landed gently in the sink.

“Oh,” Shirayuki said, looking down the dim hallway. “Thank you.”

Humming, Obi lifted his arm up in front of his face, examining the crooked knobs of his knuckles, his blunt fingertips. His thumbnail had a crack down it where he’d banged it too hard scaling a stone wall; there was a scrape circling half of his wrist, disappearing beneath the leather of his glove. Holding it there, he let his magic reach out and brush against hers.

She felt like a babbling creek, quick and strong, but not too deep at first glance - she slapped his magic aside, and Obi was surprised to find the cheerful force of her raw magic turned cool and nearly clinical with use.

Obi dropped his arm and admitted, “I didn’t expect you to notice me.”

“No? Not even as you killed me? I’d like to think most people are capable of seeing death when it’s right before their face.” The honest surprise in her voice had Obi looking at her again, just as she tried to sneakily add a few extra cubes of sugar to her tea. Obi’s throat tightened at the thought of how disgustingly sweet it likely was; he snatched up his cup before she could decide to give it the same treatment.

Obi was amused to note that the matching teacups did not match the teapot. “You think so? Hm, that seems very kind of you. Please, do keep on thinking such nice and innocent thoughts, regardless of reality.” When she sent a stern, unimpressed stare his way, Obi merely grinned brightly, asking, “Hey, what kind of tea is this?”

“The healthy kind,” she said smartly. “You look like you could use a whole pot of it. I didn’t expect my assassin to look so - scruffy.”

“Scruffy!” Obi yelped, a laugh caught in his throat.

Shirayuki squinted at him from over the rim of her teacup. “Malnourished?” she tried. “Er - no, that sounds worse, doesn’t it? Ah. Travel-worn, perhaps?”

The laugh spilled over, enough to send his shoulders shaking. Tea splashed over the rim of the teacup, touching his skin. He checked it quickly: not poisoned, or brewed to make him sleepy. No magic at all, in fact. The tea was simply tea. Still chortling, Obi brought it up to his mouth to try a sip, pleased to find it fruity and mellow.

“How about rugged?” he suggested, arching his eyebrow in a way he knew made him look rakish and charming. “Rogue-like?”

Both the Mage’s eyebrows shot up, lost beneath the messy fall of her fringe. “Ragged, maybe.” Her tone was perfectly dry, that sense of humor Obi had heard through the wind even more fetching when it wasn’t distorted. “Though you do look a rogue, I’ll admit. Fitting, I suppose. Were you really sent to kill me?”

Obi sipped his tea, thinking hard.

“I wonder. Tell me, Miss Mage, is there someone who wants to kill you?”

It was like watching a door slam. Shirayuki’s face closed down, and that was the moment Obi realized how cautiously open she had been in the first place. Her body drew in tighter on itself, fingers curling around the warm ceramic of her teacup. “I had hoped there wasn’t,” she murmured. Then, louder, “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern. Unless you are my would-be assassin?”

“For someone who hoped for a misunderstanding, you certainly didn’t leave much to chance,” Obi teased, flicking a finger toward her dress. “That is quite the slew of sigils, Miss Mage. How long did that take you to whip up?”

Self-conscious, now, Shirayuki smoothed one free hand over her knee. Wards and charms and protection spells were embroidered into the blue fabric with matching blue thread. Only close up was Obi able to make out the gleam of the spell-work. She was armed to the teeth with defensive spells. Even if she hadn’t noticed him, Obi wouldn’t have been able to lay a hand on her, not with her dressed like that. He’d made the right move in not throwing that blade.

“A friend of mine had it made for me.”

Obi sipped more of his tea, wishing he dared lean back in his chair. But he hadn’t the slightest clue how Shirayuki managed to curl up in it so comfortably. Magic, maybe. A secret spell known only to a few. He shifted in his chair, teacup held easily between his knees as he studied her.

“That’s some friend,” he said, soft. The dress must have cost a fortune.

Shirayuki’s face tightened.

Obi winked, and let his voice drawl out, knowing he sounded mean, wanting to see what she would do if he pushed, if he threatened: “I guess any would-be assassin would need to find a way past that dress to get to you, Miss Mage.”

The lid atop the cauldron behind them rattled, the potion bubbling ferociously for a moment. Shirayuki’s knuckles tightened against the handle of her teacup before she forcibly relaxed them. The scent of fresh rain and young, spring growth intensified.

“I suppose you may be correct,” Shirayuki said. “But as that seems very unlikely to happen, I think I’m quite safe, thank you. The dress is quite well-made, and I have more like it. Even nightgowns, if you would believe it!”

“Yes,” Obi agreed, voice grave. “I see a few sigils there - just below your left armpit - that make quite certain you are the only one who could take off that dress. But,” his voice lifted, became a curling, crackling tease, sharp and sly, “all your would-be assassin might need do is, ah, charm you out of it.”

“Charm me - oh!”

“That really is a fetching blush, Miss Mage,” Obi grinned from behind his teacup.

Shirayuki was flushed, her face nearly a red to match her hair. Every inch of her was turned prim and proper with embarrassment, her eyes snapping with outrage. Taking a bracing sip of tea, she cleared her throat before speaking. “As I said: that seems very unlikely to happen. I am not a fool.”

“No,” Obi agreed. “But I can be very persuasive.”

Between them, the very air seemed palpable, nearly crackling with sudden tension. Obi felt it throb through him, his hands very delicate against the warm ceramic, ready to drop it in an instant. Power crackled through him like the storm nearly upon them; the wind shook the shutters, as if called to brutality by Obi’s bold declaration.

Then Shirayuki’s feet slid out from beneath her, the long fall of her blue skirt rippling. Standing, Obi wagered that she’d barely come up to his collarbone. He watched her from beneath his lashes, not moving, yet, but every muscle poised for action. Shirayuki clutched her teacup in both hands, held awkwardly at her waist, and said, “I think you’ve had enough tea for one evening. Please leave.”

“Aw, come now, Miss Mage. Things were just getting good.”

Frustration tightened her mouth. Her chin jerked upward, obstinate, and Obi felt the shift as her magic crowded beneath her skin, clear and clean, like sunlight on waves. All at once his chair bucked him off, and he gave a mangled curse as he stumbled three feet before he slid into an easy stance, facing her, teacup held aloft by one hand.

“Didn’t spill a drop,” Obi taunted.

“Impressive,” she said, voice flat. “Now, if you would.”

Before he could react, the teacup was out of his hands, spinning swiftly through the air to return to its place on the tea tray. The front door swung open behind him. Obi hesitated, gaze heavy as he studied the Mage of the Mountains, still with a flush bright on her cheeks. Outside, a clap of thunder announced the arrival of the storm.

“All right,” Obi finally said, forcing his body into an easy posture. He let a smile take hold on his face, and wondered, meeting her hard gaze, what she saw without his illusions to soften the blow. “If you’re going to be like that about it, I guess I’ll go.”

Obi backed up slowly toward the door, hands outstretched at his sides as if that could possibly make him any less dangerous. He felt the press of the night at his back, the howling storm and the darkness, and let it comfort him. Shirayuki might be a tough nut to crack, but Obi would find a way. All he needed was patience.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he promised.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Please, don’t.”

Then his feet edged past the threshold and the door slammed shut, a bare inch from his face. Obi laughed, relieved and somehow not. Tension was jangled up inside him, impatience and curiosity. It felt as though the storm lighting up the sky overhead was somehow trapped within his skin, a seething tumult. In an instant he flickered, the night drawn down around him. He was shadow once more, flitting from the Mage’s yard as the rain began to pour.

He let the storm move him; ran along lightning and chased the wind, howling, letting the rain wash him clean, until he was nothing but flesh and bone again, breath rasping through his lungs, hair plastered to his scalp. He stumbled through the door to the town’s inn, surprising the night clerk.

“A room, if you please! And a hot meal and even hotter bath, if you have one. I’m afraid I rather got caught in a sudden storm, you see.”

“Ah - yes. Of course,” the night clerk stammered, reaching blindly behind him for a key while Obi dripped charmingly onto a rug. “Just for the night?”

In his mind he imagined her, red hair tangled down her back, a nightgown sewn with protective sigils fluttering about her thighs, the thin material brushing against her nipples with each breath; he remembered the stubborn set of her jaw and the snapping fire in her eyes, the steady cleverness of her mind. Obi smiled, a bare curl of his mouth.

“No,” he murmured, “I think I’ll be here for quite some time.”

#my fic #ans #obiyuki #heading for a small disaster #OBI IS NOT NICE IN THIS #just so you know #he's a bit bloody minded and threatening toward shirayuki #be warned #MAGIC AU #i used too many words again #sob

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roses-amet · 8 years ago

Text

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Cassius spoke up, taking my attention away from preparing dinner. I looked down at his hand, where little Nersillia had her teeth clamped on. I let out a brief chuckle as I tried to grab her to pull her away from him, but she held on pretty tightly.

“Sillia, let go of Cassius!” I said, trying to be gentle, but rough.

She only growled in response, as her wings fluttered in my face, forcing me to let go of her. I was on the verge of sneezing with all her feathers tickling my nose, but at least she let Cassius free... at the cost of his hand, which she was still gnawing.

“Sorry, Cassius...” I spoke up, once the sneeze subsided.

“It’s all right ma’am... it’s only expected of a growing child to act... rebellious...”

I grinned at him, then looked down at the seasoned chicken all covered in dark red feathers. I huffed out a sigh as I wondered about what I should do with it now.

“Let me get dinner ready, ma’am,” Cassius insisted.

I looked up at the hollow knight with a smile, and shook my head. “No, it’s all right... I should handle this myself. It’s only right! Being a mother and all... Besides, you’re missing a hand!”

“Maybe so, ma’am, but I can do it better than you can, even with just one hand.”

I narrowed my eye at him, but I can’t deny he was right. I never can get the hang of cooking food properly myself. And besides, tonight was a special night. It was decided that today would be Nersillia’s birthday after all!

“I will leave it to you... I need to go to the store to buy something anyway.”

“Will you be going with Smiley?”

Nersillia perked up and stared at Cassius with his metal hand still in her grip. “Papa?”

Cassius’ metal helmet that is his head jerked downward with a click to look at her. “Your... ‘papa’ is indeed awake.”

She grinned widely, and with the hand still in her arms, she hurried off to find Smiley. Honestly, I am glad he is awake as well, considering the fact he tends to sleep a lot. But, it seems that he is waking up more often now, which could be a good thing.

But I am quite worried about him. Being human must take a lot out of him, since it’s so different than being... whatever he was before.

“Xio?” Cassius spoke up.

I stared at him for a moment, trying to think of something to say. “Ah, um... okay, I will leave the cooking to you. Remember, Sillia can’t handle vegetables, so give her a special plate. I don’t believe cake is good... but... well...”

“Don’t rush it, Xio. Parenthood is still rather new to you, no?”

“I suppose...? Living a peaceful life like this is... different... but... I just need to get used to it.”

“You will figure it out, ma’am. Now then, if you will excuse me, I need to get another hand before I start cooking.”

“I thought you can handle it with just one arm, Cassie?”

“I can, but it’s much more sanitary to use two hands...”

“What does that even mean?”

Cassius didn’t respond to my question as he just walked out of the kitchen. As much as it bothered me by what he just said, I decided to just forget about it, and do what it is I need to do for later. Actually, was that a joke?

After doing some shopping, for cooking something special for Sillia, and getting her a gift, I returned home to see Scarlet taking a sip of tea, as she rests on a couch.

“Hello, darling,” she cooed.

“Good afternoon, Scarlet. You’re here for the celebration?”

“Of course! I decided to bring the little one a gift!”

I heard a heavy thud from upstairs, and a shrill of joy from Nersillia. I put down my things in a hurry to go to her, only to see her play around in a gym set built inside her room. A swing set hung from the ceiling, with climbing rocks nailed against the walls. Trampolines were set in selected spots, with cushions all around. “This is... your gift?” I asked Scarlet.

She nodded her head as she took a sip of her tea.

It was kind of her to give Nersillia a gift... but to build a gym set, in my home, without my permission? While I wasn’t entirely happy about it, seeing Nersillia giggle with glee as she hops from one trampoline to another, fluttering her wings as if she was soaring, did make me smile. But, I didn’t want to see her hurt herself.

“I will keep a first aid kit nearby if she gets hurt... but... thanks...” I said. “Where is Smiley? I thought he was playing with Nersillia.”

“He is currently outside, taking in the nature, he told me. He needed a moment to himself, after spending time with her.”

“I see... I will go see how he is doing.”

“Very well.”

I left Nersillia with Scarlet watching over her, and picked up the bags I dropped, into the kitchen. Cassius was still preparing dinner, and seemingly baking a cake, which I had to bring myself to question, “What’s with the cake?”

“For Nersillia, ma’am... have you really forgotten?”

“I mean, what sort of cake is it?”

“A special kind... meatloaf, just for Nersillia.”

“Ah... do you think she can handle it?”

“I believe she could, considering her diet lately. She is willing to explore different kinds, but she has yet to get accustomed to anything aside from certain selections.”

I let out a low hum as I stared at the loaf that is the “cake”. I noticed that there was another one however, which I suppose is a genuine cake. Looked like it at least. “I don’t want her to get ill... but I trust you can make something decent.”

I then turned to Smiley, as he stood outside.

“I will be right back,” I told Cassius, as I left the bags to him.

Smiley turned to me as soon as I opened the back door of the house, and forced a weary smile. In all honesty, I don’t think I will ever get over of how much he looks like Renny, but I know that Smiley is not Renny. He never was, and never will be. But, he resembles him a lot. I am not sure how to feel about him looking more and more like my late husband.

But, I greeted him with a smile, because much like Renny, I also loved Smiley. Maybe in a more platonic way, considering our past, but I cared about him.

“How are you today, Smiles?”

He nodded his head as he scratched his dark red hair. “Well, I suppose... and you?”

“Good... yet tired. I am trying to get everything together for Sillia later.”

He let out a brief chuckle as he nodded in understanding. “You’re definitely trying hard, Xio... but don’t push yourself too much.”

“I will try not to... Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

“I am waiting for dinner to finish, and I just recently took a jug of water.”

I frowned slightly. I suppose it’s because of his long hours of sleep that he is dehydrated, but that is what worries me. He hasn’t been eating well for a while, but then, a normal human diet is different from what he is used to.

I sighed as I gave him a gentle pat on the arm. “Well, it’s good to see you awake. When you feel better, come inside. We have to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to your daughter!”

“And your’s as well, Xio.”

I giggled. “Of course, she is our adopted child... but, she hasn’t seen much of you, Smiley. You sleepy bum.”

He chuckled briefly and nodded. “I believe my body is slowly getting used to being human... There is nothing insane about me... well, not very much, I suppose.”

“You still carry it, don’t you?” I sighed, then shook my head. “Then we both have something in common, sort of.”

“What I have is different from yours, Xio. You are what they called ‘perfect’. I... I am far from ‘perfect’ myself.”

“I suppose... eh, whatever. Let’s not think about it too much! We have a birthday to focus on!”

Smiley’s smile turned into a genuine one, but I was the one who went back inside first. It took him some time to come into the house, which I decided to not question, and called out Nersillia down to the kitchen.

The gift I gave her was a small black and red dragon plush toy. She stared at it in silence for a moment, which I wasn’t sure was out of awe, or disgust, but she held onto it, much like she did with Cassius’ hand earlier.

Then we all sang her the birthday melody as we brought out her “cake”, and once the candles were blown out, we cut out a piece of it for her. She ate it steadily, as she gazed at us with wide eyes. She then grinned, with her mouth stuffed with food, which made us laugh, but I had to gently scold her that she must chew and not smile with her mouth full.

The night carried on as peacefully as ever, even with Alice’s rough personality, as she stomped down the stairs, chasing after Violet, who ate her weaponry it seems.

Nersillia was glad to see her father awake again, seemingly enjoyed her gifts, and loved to be around us, her family.

And I was happy to be a mother, even if I adopted her. Blood related or not, this was my family, and this sense of peace was much needed, after many years of chaos.

Man, I never felt so happy.

#writing is a hobby

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