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belanekra · 5 years ago

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That one where Padmé is a sith lady and that makes all the difference:

Previously:

She finds him in a garden at the Jedi Temple just before dusk, two days after she commanded the execution of Order 66. She can tell by the look on his face and the set of his shoulders that he’s already been inside. All of the bodies have been removed and properly cremated, but there hasn’t been time for a full clean-up. She knows the hallways of the Temple are still littered with smears of blood and the scorched rubble left behind by blaster fire.

The area is completely deserted; the only two lifeforms around are herself and the man collapsed on a set of steps like a puppet with its strings cut. He doesn’t look up as she approaches, but the subtle way his body twitches as she gets closer indicates his awareness of her presence. She halts a few feet in front of him, skirt swishing against the ground as she stops. They remain like that – she, calmly standing before him, gaze sweeping over his dirty robes and soot-stained auburn hair, and he, slumped on the concrete steps, eyes locked dazedly on the ground – for a few aching moments.

“Obi-Wan,” she finally says when it becomes clear that he is not going to be the first one to speak.

“Padmé,” he spits out. He at last tears his eyes from the ground to look up at her, avoid her eyes, as he asks, voice harsher than she’s ever heard it before, “Or is it Empress Amidala now?”

“Obi-Wan,” she sighs out his name, the way a mother would address a child who was being particularly difficult. “Please don’t –”

“Stop saying that!” he shouts, cutting her off. “Stop saying my name like we’re friends!”

“We are friends,” she reminds him, gently.

“You’re a Sith, Padmé!” he scoffs and jolts to his feet, lurching toward her. Though she does not step back, knowing better than to show any weakness by giving ground, she cannot stop her hand from twitching toward her waist, where her lightsaber is concealed beneath her cloak.

His eyes do not miss the motion and all the fight seems to drain out of him, abruptly. The brief bout of anger is gone as quickly as it came, leaving behind nothing but weariness and sorrow. He staggers back and falls once again onto the steps.

“How could you?” he whispers, “Padmé, how could you?”

There are a thousand different things she could offer in response, explanations and justifications, lies and appeasements. But the only thing she says is, “Because I had to.”

It’s not enough. “Why?” Obi-Wan cries. Tears are slipping down his checks now, making twin tracks through the dirt and grime. His despair is palpable in the Force; she can feel it radiating from him. She has her own emotions locked down tightly behind her mental shields. One of them has to remain calm.

Slowly, she moves forward and lowers herself to sit on the steps beside him. While he flinches slightly as she reaches out to cover his hand with her own, he doesn’t move away from her. He still won’t meet her eyes, but that doesn’t surprise her. When the truth had come out between her and Anakin, she had stopped concealing her eyes in front of him. He’d spent the first few days unable to look into them for more than a few moments at a time. She has to admit, even she’s still occasionally unsettled by their eerie yellow glow.

They sit quietly for some time, each lost in their own thoughts, both longing for the days when words and affection alike had flown easily between them. Finally, she knows they can prolong this moment of fleeting tranquility no longer.

“I am your friend,” she reasserts, squeezing his hand. She counts it as a small victory that he does not outwardly protest it this time, though inside he must still have his doubts.

“I know that you don’t understand,” she tells Obi-Wan, voice a soothing hum. “I know that you’re scared and confused, and you feel betrayed. I could promise you that I’m not evil and I haven’t gone insane, that I am still the same woman you have called friend for years now, but I don’t know if you would believe me.”

He doesn’t deny it, and she smiles at him, sad but unsurprised. She had known before she’d come here that pacifying Obi-Wan would be no easy task. That was why she’d left Anakin at home, even though he was anxious to make sure his former Master was safe and unharmed.

She can feel that his anger and fear have abated. He is terribly sad, so very lost and unsure. Sensing his weakness, she allows hope to bubble up inside her, hope that she still has a chance to sway him to her side, that she will not lose yet another of her friends to their own stubborn refusal to yield.

Resolve strengthening, she rises gracefully to her feet and turns to look down at him. “Come home with me, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she implores, holding out her hand. “Let my husband treat your injuries, meet my newborn children. And let me prove to you that our friendship has not been a lie.”

He slowly lifts his eyes to meet hers, gazing into the tangible truth of her nature for the first time. After a long moment, he looks down at her deceptively small and gentle hand. It trembles ever so slightly as, heart pounding fiercely in her chest and longing a sickening twist in her stomach, she waits to see if he will take it.

What happens next:

Padmé is unsurprised to find Anakin pacing furiously just inside the door to their apartment when she returns. As she unlocks the door and enters, Anakin looks up and meets her eyes desperately. “Padmé!” he shouts, “Are you okay? Is Obi-Wan okay? Where –” He cuts off as he notices the hunched form of his Jedi master shuffling into the apartment behind Padmé. “Obi-Wan!”

“He’s alright, Ani,” Padmé says gently. “He’s just in shock. Why don’t you get him a glass of water?”

As Anakin hurries off to the kitchen to do just that, Padmé leads Obi-Wan over to the couch. He’s disconcertingly quiet, has been the whole way back from the Jedi temple. As soon as he took Padmé’s hand, he stopped talking, stopped projecting in the Force. He’s quiet now, inside and out, and Padmé’s honestly a little worried she might have permanently broken him.

Anakin rushes back into the room with a glass of water. He passes it to Obi-Wan, who clutches it between his fingers like a life line. Anakin resumes his frantic pacing, back and forth in front of his former Master. Obi-Wan resumes his empty staring, slumped in the corner of the couch.

Padmé leans against the wall separating the living space from the entry way, watching her husband and her friend, trying to think of what to do next. Getting Obi-Wan to the apartment without bloodshed was a good first step, but keeping him here might be harder. Luckily, she has a plan.

First, she has to deal with her anxious husband. His slightly hysterical pacing is doing nothing to bring down the tension in the room. “Anakin,” she says, “Where are the babies?”

He turns to her. “Sleeping. In the bedroom. With C-3PO and R2.”

Internally, she snorts. He left their newborn children with a high-strung protocol droid and a belligerent astromech. Of course, he did. This man she loves, honestly.

“Why don’t you go get them?” she suggests. “Obi-Wan should meet his niece and nephew, don’t you think?”

Anakin brightens immediately, stormy emotions buried under a wave of love: for her, for their babies, for the Jedi on the couch who is like a brother to him. The smothering tension in the room finally abates a smidge as Anakin bounds off toward the bedroom to gather the children.

Padmé makes her way over to the couch and settles down beside Obi-Wan, gently nudging the hand holding the glass of water. “Drink, Obi-Wan,” she encourages. After he’s drained the glass, Padmé takes it from him and sets it down on the coffee table. Then she grasps his hand in hers, running her thumb soothingly over the back of his hand.

She starts gently gathering up the psychic impression of love that Anakin has left in the room and nudging it toward Obi-Wan in the Force, trying to draw him out of his shell. It works, more or less, and by the time Anakin comes back in, holding an infant in each arm, Obi-Wan is the most present he’s been since she first confronted him at the Jedi temple.

“Master,” Anakin says. Obi-Wan winces, and so does Padmé. Maybe not the best word choice there Ani, she thinks. She’s really going to have to give Anakin some lessons in tact before they commence her take over of the galaxy.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin amends. “I’d like you to meet my children. This is Luke. And this is Leia,” he says, placing the children in Obi-Wan’s arms. Obi-Wan stares down at the slowly waking babies in his arms. His grief and pain are still bright and present in the Force, but underneath it, just as she expected, she can feel his resistance breaking down. She can feel a shining spark of love slowly growing, and for the first time all night, she allows herself to feel something she thought she’d given up on years ago. She feels hope.

Or maybe...?:

The lavas of Mustafar leave the whole planet glowing ominously from orbit, a red and black ball drifting through space. “We’re sure this is where he is?” Anakin asks the clone trooper beside him.

“Yes, sir,” the trooper says, “He triggered an alarm when he landed here two days ago. No idea why he came here of all places, or why he stayed, but he’s definitely here.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Anakin says grimly. “He won’t be leaving. Prepare a landing shuttle.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Anakin stalks through the corridors, troopers and Imperial soldiers alike hastening out of his path, as he makes his way toward his quarters. Once he’s closed the door behind him, he pulls out his personal comm and contacts his wife. A little blue holograph of Padmé pops up in front of him.

“Ani,” she greets him.

“Padmé. We found him. He’s definitely on Mustafar.”

Padmé’s expression is grave. “Right, that’s good that you found him…Anakin.” She hesitates for a moment. “Ani, you know what has to be done?” she asks, very gently.

Anakin’s body is tense, his face tight with grim determination. “I know. You don’t have to worry. I know exactly what I have to do. I won’t let him leave this planet alive. Not after …” he trails off.

On the hologram, Padmé’s hand drifts down to press against her abdomen, where he knows an angry red slash covers her side from her hip all the way up to her rib cage. Bacta could easily have erased the vivid scar, but Padmé has chosen to keep it, as a reminder, she said.

He thinks she probably meant a reminder for herself, but it serves just as well as a reminder for him. A reminder that the world is different now, that the people who were once his friends, his family, aren’t any longer. He has a new family now, a wife and children, and they’re all that matters. Anything and anyone that threatens that family has to be eliminated. It’s why he’s here on Mustafar.

“Ani,” Padmé draws him out of his pondering, “Please be careful. Do what has to be done and then come back to me. I love you.”

“I love you too, angel,” he says. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. You never have. Signing off.” Padmé disconnects the call and Anakin spends a few moments staring at the space where her image was, thinking about the future. The past. About the scar on Padmé’s side and how she got it. About Padmé extending her hand in friendship, and the man who met her offer of a place in their family with furious words and a saber to the gut.

He snaps out of it when a trooper knocks on his door. “Sir, the landing shuttle is prepped and the men are ready when you are,” the trooper announces before marching away.

Anakin nods once, decisively, and squares his shoulders. He clips his lightsaber to his belt, and holsters a blaster for good measure. He can’t take any chances. He has a mission to accomplish.

For his angel.

For his wife.

For his Empress.

Long live the Empire.

More Sith Padme: 1 and 2 and 3

#star wars #star wars prequels #my writing #sith padme #sith!padme #padme amidala #empress padme amidala #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #anidala #obianidala maybe #depending on what outcome you like best #i go for the angst myself #my sith!padme

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puffdragongirl · 6 years ago

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On Pillows and Papers

A little fluffy tale written in honor of my friend and best-beta-ever @muselover1901‘s birthday! Happy Birthday Muse! :D

The door to the Ducal office flies open, only saved from crashing loudly against the wall by a strategically placed cushion of fabric. Before the door can even begin its closing swing, Zen stalks into the room, dropping heavily into his chair and planting his face directly onto a pile of accumulated papers waiting for his signature. A miserable groan slips from his lips.

“Is it bad that I’m almost looking forward to a day of signing papers?”

Mitsuhide, following Zen to the room at a more sedate pace, snickers, but humors him, “It will be a nice change of pace from non-stop meetings, at least.”

Kiki, abandoned to doing the actual work during the past week while Zen and Mitsuhide paid glorified social calls to nearly every noble in Wilant, has no patience left for flinging doors or dramatic whining. She drops a folder on his head, ignoring the pitiful groan its weight triggers from the Prince, “Welcome back, Your Highness. Signature, please.”

After being revived by a cup of strong tea a sympathetic Mitsuhide sneaks onto his desk, Zen settles to his task of catching up on a week’s worth of paperwork. A companionable silence settles on the room, broken only by the rustle of pages turning and the soft scratch of quill against paper. He is so focused on the stacks of reports, requests and receipts that he barely notes the passage of time. Before he knows it, the morning is gone, and Kiki is settling a simple lunch of crusty bread and cheese on his desk. Suddenly starved, Zen inhales the food and downs a goblet of water, but gamely returns to the mountain of outpost reports requiring his signature the moment the plate leaves his desk.

The next time Zen looks up, words are starting to blur together in a haze of ink and he wishes this office had an adjoining bedroom like his old one in Wistal. His bleary gaze finds Kiki chatting with an attendant at the door. A few minutes later, the door opens again, and the attendant returns with a steaming kettle of tea and a tray of cakes, cookies and finger sandwiches. Thanking his lucky stars for his wonderful aides, Zen eagerly approaches the kettle, already plotting how he can slip an extra cube of sugar to his tea without anyone noticing, when a knock comes at the door. The attendant returns once more, this time handing off a letter and looking a bit nervous, and his heart sinks when he spies the seal of the Captain of the Guard against the creamy parchment.

Kiki takes one look at his crestfallen expression and sighs, “Shall I look into this, Prince Zen?”

Zen doesn’t even attempt to hide the gratitude in his eyes.

The hot tea (sweetened with an extra cube of sugar and definitely not accompanied by only cake and cookies) does wonders for his energy level, and Zen dives back into his reports. An hour passes, then two, before a concerned noise from Mitsuhide drags his attention from a land dispute claim filed in some of the least legible script he has ever seen. He looks up to find Mitsuhide staring intently at Kiki’s desk.

“Is…something wrong with Kiki’s desk?” he asks, carefully.

“What – Zen, no,” Mitsuhide replies, shaking his head and turning a concerned glance on Zen, “It’s just, Kiki hasn’t returned from speaking to the Captain of the Guard.” He glances at the clock in the corner, “It’s been over two hours; I wonder what could have held her up.”

“You’re right,” Zen scrubs his hands over his face, wondering where the last two hours had even gone before remembering the thirty page report from the Indrian ambassador. “I should really get through this report, but why don’t you go check on her?”

Mitsuhide nods, rising from his chair and stretching before exiting the room. Confident his knights could handle whatever the issue was, and would surely return to his side soon, Zen throws himself back into his work.

The sky is tinted with the red and gold hues of sunset when Zen realizes neither Mitsuhide nor Kiki have returned to his office. Frowning, he glances at the clock to find he lost two hours to the stack of mind-numbing sentry reports from the outposts surrounding Wilant. Under normal circumstances, an absence of this length wasn’t unusual, but it was concerning that Mitsuhide hadn’t even sent a note to explain whatever was holding them up.

Worried, Zen stands, grimacing a little when his back loudly protests the poor posture he’d adopted during the previous hours. I’d better go track them down, he thinks, stretching the kinks from his back as he exits the office, Someone must have seen them, and I could use a walk anyway…

He flags down a passing guard, “Excuse me, have you seen Sir Mitsuhide or Lady Kiki recently?”

It takes a few tries, but he eventually gets a lead on Mitsuhide, at least.

“I think I saw Sir Rouen heading for the pharmacy, Your Highness,” the maid curtseys, then continues apologetically, “I’m afraid I haven’t seen Lady Seiran, however.”

“The pharmacy?,” he echoes, trying and failing to push back his growing concern. Surely someone would have told him if Kiki, or Gods forbid, both Kiki and Mitsuhide were injured. Wouldn’t they? But he had been absorbed in his work. What if he had missed a knock, or ignored a message sliding under the door? He didn’t remember seeing any papers on the ground, but he also hadn’t looked. And wouldn’t Obi have come to his office if they really needed him? But what if Obi was hurt too? What if the situation was so bad that Shirayuki couldn’t take her attention away from them treating his knights? What if-

“-our Highness? Your Highness?” startled from his spiraling thoughts, Zen finds the maid watching him with concern, “Would you like me to escort you to the pharmacy?”

“No, I know the way,” shaking the dread from his thoughts, he inclines his head slightly at the maid, then turns to head for the pharmacy “Thank you for your assistance.”

“One…two…three!!”

Zen isn’t certain what he was expecting to find in the pharmacy, but it definitely was not an intricate fabric citadel. Blankets are strung across the bookshelves and desks, transforming the normally staid pharmacy into a wonderland of white. As he watches, Obi and Mitsuhide gently swing Ryuu airborne, and feathers explode into the air when the coltish teen lands in an enormous pile of pillows. The feathers drift down around the room like snow, coating everyone and everything in the room; a perfect accompaniment for the joyous laughter bubbling throughout the room.

“So, this is where my aides disappeared to…” Zen steps further in the room, ducking to avoid the arch of a low-hanging blanket.

“Master!” Obi calls, blowing to dislodge a clump of feathers clinging to his nose, “It’s about time you joined us!” He turns to Mitsuhide with a grin, “See, we told you he would come if we waited long enough!”

Kiki, somehow managing to look intimidating despite the feathers sticking haphazardly from her hair, turns to Mitsuhide and holds out a hand, “Pay up.”

As Mitsuhide tries to wheedle his way from paying up on whatever bet they had made, Zen carefully picks his way around the clumps of pillows strewn throughout the room. As he walks, he admires the artful drape of the blankets, impressed by the cozy feeling the cocoon of fabric lends the room.

Standing amongst his friends, a question slips from his lips before he can think better of asking, “What even is all of this?”

“It’s a blanket fort, silly!” Shirayuki smiles from her place nestled within one of the many clumps of pillows strewn through the room, “We started building them in Lyrais, and now it’s become something of a habit on notebook days.”

Ryuu nods, unearthing himself from his feathery prison, and gesturing towards the notebooks neatly stacked next to some of the smaller piles of pillows, “It’s…nice, to work in a fort.”

“Why Master,” Obi drawls, dancing closer to lean against his shoulder, “It’s almost like you’ve never played in a blanket fort before!”

“Oh no, not you too!” Shirayuki gasps, scandalized, scrambling to her feet, “Please tell me it’s not true, Zen!”

He can’t quite bring himself to verbally shoot down her hopes, so he just shrugs helplessly.

“Oh Master…” Obi shakes his head sadly, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment, “Even little Ryuu has been in a blanket fort before.”

“Obi!” Shirayuki hisses, then launches a pillow at his face.

“What?” Obi dodges the pillow, but falls dramatically into the mountain of pillows beside Ryuu, sending feathers flying once more, “We may have only started him on blanket forts a year and a half ago, but Ryuu did go in one before Master.”

“Oh, you hush!” sending Obi one last scowl, Shirayuki turns to Zen and extends a tentative hand, “Will you…join us?”

Looking at her earnest expression and outstretched hand, Zen struggles to remember why he should probably return to his office and the dozens of papers waiting for his attention. His gaze drifts to his aides. Kiki’s pauses her bickering with Mitsuhide to offer a nod and an encouraging smile. Mitsuhide grins sheepishly, feeling a bit guilty for allowing the deception to continue, but glad to see the Prince away from his work for once. Obi just winks and ruffles Ryuu’s hair, tangling feathers even deeper to the laughing boy’s dark locks. Really, he never stood a chance against such a tempting and united front.

Reaching out with a smile, Zen sets his hand in hers, and their fingers curl together loosely, “Yes, I will join you, Shirayuki.”

#okay so #Zen is the hardest thing to write #besides Mitsuhide #so this is probably OOC #but I hope the gratuitous amount of (literal) fluff included helps to offset this #ans #kiki #zen #mitsuhide #obi #shirayuki #ryuu #puff writes

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bubblesthemonsterartist · 6 years ago

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Misdirection

“Lord Lugis.”

Hisame smirks, pausing in the shadows between torchlight. The hallowed halls of Wilant Castle are long and empty and they are alone. Hisame can’t see him, not yet, but the way the firelight catches on that too sharp, too still face reminds Obi of a viper.

“Please, Sir Obi,” he affects a lightness of tone, hand casually at his sword. “That’s my father’s name and my brother already has his heir. Don’t mock me with a title I’ll never inherit.”

“That’s a shame,” he murmurs, voice echoing between stone. “Forced to either fratricide or witness the Lugis name consumed piece by piece by those slow moving jaws.”

Hisame’s eyebrow ticks, eyes narrowing in the dim. “I have a ball to attend with my fiance,” he says, so imperious. “So if you do not mind-”

“I do,” Obi replies, letting the edge of the firelight catch the shape of him. “I mind a lot.”

Hisame finds him instantly, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “And what are you then?” he says, tilting his head. “Another knight following her around like a love sick puppy? All words and noble gesture, but with no action to back your deeds?”

“And you think you will?” Obi’s body coils, a snake posed to eat another whole. “A second son possessed only by ambition?”

Hisame huffs, brushing his cloak free of invisible flecks of dust. “No matter how egalitarian your Master may be, the rest of Clarines is not. Seiran needs an heir. A male heir.” Hisame gives him a scathing once over. “Unlike those in your cohort, I actually know where to put it.”

Hisame’s back hits the wall, the acrid smoke of singed hair rising from a torch far too close to the man’s head. Obi’s eyes narrow against the brightness, but he’s grateful that infuriating superior smirk has been knocked clean off his face.

“How presumptuous to assume I haven’t,” Obi purrs, pressing hard with his knee into the soft flesh of Hisame’s inner thigh. He grits his teeth, a single unsheathed dagger digging into the soft underside of his chin. “I certainly know where to put this.”

He doesn’t know whether he is pleased or not to find Hisame sneer rather than barter like that monkey Mihaya would.

“It seems so,” he replies tightly, too long hair falling into his eyes. “So, then, what do you want to talk to me about, Sir Obi?”

Obi leans in, face so close he can smell a faint traces of wine still lingering from dinner. “Call off the engagement.”

Hisame’s lip quirks. “Can’t do that. Sorry.”

“Let her go.”

“To what end, Sir Obi?” Hisame tilts his head. “You saw the bloodbath with the Bergetts. Time is up. Kiki knows that. And so should you.”

He does. No matter how much he tries to avoid it, he knows.

“We’ve known each other since we were children.” Hisame says, voice dropping low. “I’m not going to hurt her.”

Obi stares, hand flexing against the others cravat. “You wouldn’t live through the wedding night if you did.”

“Noted,” Hisame replies, slightly strangled. “Where did His Highness get you anyway? It’s not like His Majesty to let a rabid dog wander the halls of the Palace.”

Obi bares his teeth, happy to show him just how sharp they could be. “I wonder...”

~ ~ ~

“Obi.”

He comes to a stop, dead and cold. He should have expected this. Should have prepared. In the shadows, his movements were easy, fluid as ever. They spoke his native tongue. But he walks in the light more often than not now, a stranger in a strange land. And it is glaringly obvious that the dialect here is awkward in his mouth.

So he folds his arms, and waits.

Kiki descends the stairwell, the very picture of a lady. Her hair unbound and caught in the glow of firelight, her hands almost hidden by her sleeves, silk slippers muffling the sound of her steps underneath layers and layers of loose fabric. His brow furrows, irritated. Irrationally betrayed. He’s not used to it.

The look on her face, though. That’s something he can cling to.

“Don’t fight my battles for me.”

Obi looks away, exhaling slowly through his nose. “I wasn’t.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously, staring at the knives still clenched in his fist. “What would you call that, then?”

Obi’s jaw works, looking at his own hands as if they were not his own. And then, one after another, he spins his daggers into a small pile in his palm, showing them to her. In the next, he twists his hands and they are gone, both of his palms empty.

“Better?” he raises his brows.

She doesn’t look amused. “I didn’t know you knew magic tricks.”

“I don’t!” he grins, but he doesn’t feel any lighter in his chest. “I’m just very good with my hands.”

Her nostrils flare. “Don’t do it again. I don’t need someone else dragged under by my problems.”

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. His smile slips away, and so does he, turning on his heel to go find his Miss. At this hour, she must be getting hazy-eyed in the dance hall. “It’s my choice whether or not I dive into the undertow.”

#bubbleswrites #answeek2018 #akagami no shirayukihime #day 2 #metal #kiki #obi #hisame #hisakiki #kikiobi #obikiki

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cathrynkenobi11love · 4 years ago

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5 Politicians, Three Jedi, A Battalion of Clones, One Traitor

"You know your marching orders. The safety of the Duchess Satine is of the utmost importance." My master told the clones as we stood in front of them, hands clasped behind our backs. "The Death Watch will stop at nothing to assassinate her before she pleads her case to the Senate." I added and he nodded. "The Death Watch may be backed by the Separatists, so stay sharp. Artoo, R8, use your scanners to probe for any suspicious droid activity." Anakin said and the droids beeped and rolled off. "Anything else sir?" Rex asked and we shook our heads. "No, that will be all." My master said and Obi-Wan's comm beeped. "Yes?" He asked into it. "The Duchess and her retinue requests your presence." Came a response and Obi-Wan sighed. "Very well." He said and we headed into the elevator. When we got in, I could sense a lot of anxiety coming off of Obi-Wan, something that like, never happens. I exchange a glance with Anakin that reveals he has sensed the same thing and he turns to ask Obi-Wan about it. "I sense some anxiety from you about the Duchess. She couldn't be in safer hands." Anakin said and Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes I know." He said while staring off into space and stroking his beard. "Then why..." Anakin started but Obi-Wan cut him off. "Never mind. It's all in the past." Obi-Wan said and I got intrigued. "Oh, so you're close to her?" Anakin pressed on. "I knew her. A long time ago." He said and gave us the look that meant drop it. I glanced at Anakin and smirked at him. He smirked back, clearly thinking what I'm thinking.

"War is intolerable! We have been deceived into thinking that we must be a part of it. I say the moment we committed to fighting, we already lost." The Duchess was announcing when we came out of the elevator. "Excuse me, Your Grace, are you suggesting we oppose the war on humanitarian grounds?" Merrick asked. "I'm going to oppose it as an affront to life itself. As the designated regent of 1,500 systems, I speak for thousands of worlds that have urged me to allow them to stay neutral in this war." She said and I was surprised 1,500 systems would actually want to be lead by this woman. "And yet some might argue that the strongest defense is a swift and decisive offense." Obi-Wan said and took a step forward. "You are quite the general now, aren't you, Master Kenobi?" She said, almost accusingly. "Forgive me for interrupting, Your Highness, I meant no disrespect." He said. "Really? Senators, I presume you are acquainted with the collection of half-truths and hyperbole known as Obi-Wan Kenobi?" She introduced him to the others in the room. "Your Highness is too kind." My master said. "You're right. I am." She said, almost like a whisper. "Allow me to introduce my fellow Jedi, Anakin Skywalker." Obi-Wan said and Anakin took a step forward, bowing. "Your servant, my lady." He said smugly. "I remember a time when Jedi were not generals, but peacekeepers." She said and I took a step forward. "We are protectors, Highness. Yours at the moment. We fight for peace." I said. Why does everyone think we aren't peacekeepers anymore? What have we done to them that's so bad? "What Padawan Tano means is that we are acting at the behest of your Highness to protect you from the Death Watch and the Separatists, who don't share your neutral point of view." Obi-Wan said. "I asked for no such thing." She said responded. "That may be so, but a majority of your court did." Obi-Wan said and she looked angry. "I do not remember you as one to hide behind excuses." She said and Obi-Wan walked towards her. "I do not remember you as one to shrink from responsibilities." He said and they glared at each other. "I am certain we all agree Duchess Satine and General Kenobi have proven there are two sides to every dilemma." The senator Orn Free Taa tried to reason. "Indeed. Now, in regard to the Senate vote, we think... I think a multitude makes discord, not good council." The Duchess said and Obi-Wan nodded and stepped back to up to us. "There may be two sides to every dilemma, but the Duchess only favors hers." He whispered to us and I nodded.

I grabbed a glass of wine from a passing droid and they stared at me. "Aren't you too young to drink?" Anakin asked and I froze when the glass was a centimeter from my lips. "I mean, since I'm a Jedi I have no guardian and goo-goo eyes over there is too focused on Miss. Pacifist so I'm going to take this opportunity to drink." I said and took a sip from the glass. "Me too." Anakin said and took a glass as well. We then turned back to goo-goo eyes and Miss. Pacifist. (I'm proud of these nicknames for some reason. I'm going to use them from now on)

"A Republic military presence is the only sure defense against the Separatists." Obi-Wan said to her. "Even extremists can be reasoned with." She said and stood up. "Perhaps, if one can be heard over the clanking of their battle droids." Obi-Wan said and started to walk towards her. "The sarcasm of a soldier." She said and started to walk towards him as well. "The delusion of a dreamer." He responded and they stopped an inch away from each other, staring each other down. I had just finished my drink and smirked at them. "Hey, the smugness of a spectator." I said and they glared at me. "Tano!" They said in unison and I kept smirking. I then whispered into Anakin's ear. "I ship it." And he started laughing. They glared at us again and we quickly turned our laughs into coughs.

"Duchess, Master Jedi, it's been a long trip. I think we could all use a little rest and refreshment." Merrick tried to reason. "Hear, hear. Now let us put politics aside until after dinner." Senator Taa said and they finally turned away from their stare down. "Fine!" They said and the Duchess pushed past Obi-Wan and walked out of the room. I walked over to Obi-Wan and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm sure she'll come around." I said and he sent me the I-would-punch-you-if-we-weren't-in-a-room-full-of-senators glare. He then spotted the empty glass in my hand and his eyes widened. "Were you drinking wine?" He asked and my face flushed and my Leku darkened. "No." I said and through the glass over my shoulder. He sighed and we walked into the elevator.

"You and Satine have a history." Anakin said and I nodded, agreeing with him. "An extended mission when I was younger. Master Qui-Gon and I spent a year on Mandalore, protecting the Duchess from insurgents who had threatened her world. They sent bounty hunters after us. We were always on the run, living hand to mouth, never sure what the next day would bring." He said. "Sounds romantic." Anakin said smugly and Obi-Wan glared at him. For some reason I started imagining my master and Satine- no, no, get that out of your head Ashlynn, don't think about it. "A civil war killed most of Satine's people, hence her aversion to violence. When she returned, she took on the difficult task of rebuilding her world alone." Obi-Wan said and I nodded. Makes since, war can cause trauma. Definitely has for me, now I'm highly claustrophobic! "But why didn't you stay with her?" I asked him, already expecting the answer. "My duty as a Jedi demanded I be elsewhere." He said sadly. "Demanded? But it's obvious you had feelings for her. Surely that would affect your decision." Anakin said, almost angrily. "Oh, it did. I live by the Jedi Code." Obi-Wan said and I sighed. "Of course. As Master Yoda says, 'A Jedi must not form attachments.'" Anakin said and inwardly I laughed. Your one to talk mister 'married to a senator.' "Yes. But he usually leaves out the undercurrent of remorse." Obi-Wan says and I nod. If I ever fall in love, I don't know how I'll get through it. Obi-Wan's comm then beeped and he answered it. "Yes, Captain?" Obi-Wan asked into it. "General, something's wrong with Skywalker and Tano's astromech. Scared them real good, sir. I've also lost contact with two of my men." Rex said on the other end. "I'm on my way down to assist you." Obi-Wan said but Anakin put a hand out in front of him. "I'll go, Master. If there's something dangerous down there, the clones and I can handle it." Anakin said even though we all knew he only wanted to go to leave Obi-Wan with Satine.

"I beg your pardon, Senators, our men are investigating a situation belowdecks. I respectfully ask you to wait here until it is settled." Obi-Wan said when we entered the dining room and I saw the food and licked my lips. "Ooh, Nuna legs!" I used the force to grab one and bit into it. Obi-Wan glared at me and I swallowed and my leku darkened. "Sorry." I said. "That's quite alright Ashlynn, eat all you want." Satine said and they glared at each other. I, on the other hand, happily ate the leg. "Please excuse me." Obi-Wan said and left ot answer his comm. "So, Ashlynn, what is your view on this war?" Satine asked and I swallowed and wiped my fingers on a napkin. "Well, ever since I was a padawan I've been a commander, but, when I was training with master Yoda I was taught to always resort to peace and use violence as a last resort. I hate this war as much as you do, but unless I give up being a Jedi, I can't refuse to participate in it." I said and she nodded in understanding. "You seem like a very wise Jedi, for your age." She says and I smiled. "Well, when Obi-Wan's your master it kind of just rubs off on you." I say and she tilts her head. "I never remembered Obi-Wan as being wise. More so a kind, proud, arrogant and brave man. Always one to rush into things and do whatever it takes to get the job done." She said and glanced at Obi-Wan who had just finished his call with Anakin.

Just then a giant assassin probe broke through the elevator and jumped onto the table, charging at the senators. I spun in the air and landed in front of them, putting my hand out to protect them. "Stay back!" I yelled and Obi-Wan came and drove his saber into the probes senter eye. I sighed and he turned to me. "Were safe." He said and then I looked past him and saw tiny little tiny spiders popping out of its head. "Uh, master!" I said pointing at them and he turned around and ignited his lightsaber again. I ignited mine and started destroying the ones far from us while he destroyed the ones close. "Do you always carry a deactivator?" I looked over my shoulder to see the Duchess and Obi-Wan back to back fighting them, with the Duchess using a deactivator. "Just because I'm a pacifist doesn't mean I won't defend myself." She yelled. "Now you sound like a Jedi." He said and I smirked. Forget assassins, Anakin needs to see this. I quickly pulled out my holo and took a picture of the two of them. When we finished Obi-Wan picked a dead on up off the floor and examined it. "Just like that swarm of venom-mites on Draboon, remember?" He asked the Duchess. "How could I forget? I still have the scar." She said and I walked over to him. "Begging your pardon, Duchess, I distinctly remember carrying you to safety." He said, sounding offended. "I meant the scar I got after you fell and dropped me." She said and smiled at him. "Oh. Yes." He said and looked down in embarrassment. "Now why would you 'distinctly' remember that Obi-Wan?" I asked him and he gave me a look that said say-another-word-and-you-are-going-to-end-up-polishing-all-the-212th's-armor-for-a-week. Later, the three of us (Anakin, Obi-Wan and I) we talking about who could have smuggled the droids onto the ship. "One of our four distinguished senators appears to be a traitor." Anakin says and we tense up, sensing something. "I sense it, too. It looks like one of our little visitor is still alive." Obi-Wan said, pointing at a tiny spider droid on the floor. "I have an idea how to expose the turncoat. Return to the hull of the ship. Destroy the last assassin droids. I'll find out which of the senators is the traitor." Obi-Wan said to Us and me and Anakin turned and went back to the hull. "Anakin, I have to show you something." I whispered and pulled out my holo and showed him the picture I took. He laughed hard and I laughed with him. "I ship it so much!" I said and we got into the hull. When we got there, however, we couldn't find any assassin droids. Obi-Wan called us and sounded worried. You know why he was worried? Satine had been taken hostage. No way my ship as going to be destroyed the first day I discovered it. We had to find the droids first though. "Cody, Rex, have you found anything?" Anakin asked into his comm with them. "All quiet over here, sir." Great. The longer we spend down her the longer Satine is being put in danger. Eventually though, we found both the little ones and the mother, and were able to destroy them. "Alright good, were done here. Now we have a ship to save. Literally and figuratively" I said and Anakin nodded. We ran out of the hull and down the halls to where we ran literally into Obi-Wan. "Did you find him?" I asked Obi-Wan and he shook his head. "No, but I've stationed troopers at every escape pod. Merrick will try to signal his allies for help. We have to find him." He said and we ran into the elevator. "This may not be the time to ask, but were you and Satine ever..." Anakin started to ask but Obi-Wan cut him off. "I don't see how that has any bearing on the situation at hand!" He said and I smirked. I'll take that as a yes.

When we got out of the elevator the halls were filling with battle droids. "What the? Guess Death Watch really is in league with the separatists." I said and ignited my saber. I have to fight on handed, since my other hands in a sling thanks to Vizsla, but I'll be fine. "We'll take care of this, Obi-Wan. You, go find your girlfriend." Anakin said and ran off, me following him. "Right. No, Anakin, she's not my..." I turned and shrugged and smirked at him then he sighed and ran off.

We fought against the droids and soon defeated them. I then sensed distress in Obi-Wan's bond and turned to Anakin. "Do you feel th-" He was already gone. I ran off as well to go find him and Obi-Wan and when I did he was standing in front of a body on the floor. "You killed him didn't you?" I asked him and he grinned. "Maybe." He said and I sighed. "General Skywalker, the last of the droids have been defeated, sir." Cody came up and said to us. "Very good, Cody." Anakin said and I turned to see Satine turn away from Obi-Wan. "I must get back to the business of diplomacy." She said and walked off. "As you say, Duchess, some other time." Obi-Wan said and walked off. I looked to Anakin who looked at me sadly. "Those to really need to sort out their priorities." I said and that brought a smile to his lips.

----- ----- -----

"A job well done, Master Jedi." The chancellor said when we came out of the ship later. "Thank you, Chancellor." Obi-Wan said to him. "Your excellency." Me and Anakin said and bowed slightly, then walked away as Obi-Wan and Satine had a conversation. "Anakin, I don't fully understand love." I told him and he smirked. "You will one day Ashlynn, you will one day." He said and we smiled as she put a hand on his beard and then walked away. "What was that all about?" Anakin asked and Obi-Wan shook his head. We turned to watch her ship go and Anakin put a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "A very remarkable woman." Anakin said and Obi-Wan smiled. "She is indeed." He said and sighed. "So, how long are we going to be staring at this ship longingly?" I asked and they laughed. "What's the rush to get back to the temple?" Obi-Wan asked me and I groaned. "I AM GOING TO SLEEP FOR THREE DAYS STRAIGHT!!!" I yelled at my master and grabbed his tunic and shook him like a madwoman. "Good for you." He said with a grin and took my hands off his tunic. We then turned and walked away, boarding a speeder to the temple.

#obitine #ashlynn ships obitine #ashlynn is the ship master #ashlynn tano #anakin and ashlynn #obi-wan and ashlynn #obi-wan and satine #obi-wan and anakin

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poisonappletales · 7 years ago

Photo

You all told me whose design you wanted to see first! Majority said: Arsenik of the Hulder clan.

When Ambrosia first meets him, his hair is waist-length. When they meet again, he has cut it above his shoulders...for reasons you’ll have to find out yourself.

Among the members of his clan, he’s a natural born leader, guiding the hunting parties with fluid ease and poise. He’s a mature gentleman and a deep intellect. Yet, he can never seem half as cool in front of Ambrosia nor figure out how to approach her.

Now, the question is...does his hesitation stem from a lack of confidence or some well-kept secret?

Sometimes, it feels like he’s actively trying to get you to stay away. Rumors have it that the Hulder are only gentlemen during the day...

“I don’t mind you sharing my likes and dislikes...but Miss Ambrosia isn’t seeing this, is she? I can’t help but notice that she’s mentioned twice. While it isn’t wrong, those are things I rather tell her myself. When I’m ready for it, that is.”

And now, here’s an early special for a certain day later in the month...

☆ HALLOWEEN DESCRIPTION ☆

It’s hard to miss your senior in class.

As your school’s top valedictorian, he has flawless attendance and perfect grades. Whenever he raises his hand, you know he has the right answer on his lips. Most of all, his height leaves him towering over everyone else, including the teacher.

“To be honest, I’m always hoping the teacher will assign me a seat in the back. If I’m anywhere else, I can’t help but worry that I’ll block the person behind me...it’s happened before. There’s not much else I can do but apologize. Oh, and lend my notes, which is the least I can do in that event, haha...”

He does everything with exacting precision. On his desk, he carefully arranges all his books and supplies, which always seems fully replenished the next day. There’s never a hair out of place on his head, and his locker practically shines. You might say he’s a bit of a perfectionist...

“Hm? Ah, yes, my eyesight’s only off by a few degrees. I can see the whiteboard and pass the Driver’s License Test just fine without my glasses...but a few degrees off are still a few degrees off. I would be remiss to ignore it.”

On any given day, you might find him poring over a book in the courtyard or working on his homework in the library. However, you might be surprised to learn that this bookworm...is also one of the star players on the swim team!

“After staying inside a classroom all day, it’s nice to stretch your legs and do some exercise. It’s a rewarding feeling. Not just the sport itself but the experience of being a part of the team. It’s almost like being a member of a community, a family.”

They say good men are hard to find, and indeed, it’s rare to meet an old-fashioned gentleman like him in this technological day and age. However...what happens when Arsenik takes off his glasses at night?

“...At night only? In that case, you shouldn’t merely fear what happens in the evening but the day as well. At least, that’s what logic would dictate.”

☆ Please Tutor Me, Sir Arsenik! ♡ The Halloween Special Episode ☆

“Oh? You would like me to tutor you, Miss Ambrosia?”

Surprise was more than clear in the blue eyes that peered down at me through polished lenses.

“Ah, yes...” I nodded, feeling my hands clasped together from force of habit. “Yes, I would.”

Truth be told, it was my cousin who wished for his help but...oh! Lady Rosemary was far too nervous to ask him on her own. Normally, she was of intrepid character, with a boldness that I couldn’t help but admire. However, this time was different, as she had made painstakingly clear.

“What if he turns me down?” she had cried to me. “There’s no way he’ll do it! I mean, just look at him. No, no, no, that is not a friendly face, Lady Ambrosia. That is the face of a model! Even if he does agree to tutor me, he’s going to think I’m an idiot! I can’t live with a hottie like him thinking I’m an idiot! I’ll die, Lady Ambrosia, I’ll just die!”

In the end, she asked me to approach Sir Arsenik for help without mentioning her name. If he thought poorly of my intelligence, then I could certainly live with that. However, I didn’t think he was really so condescending.

I told myself that, and yet, it was hard not to worry that I was bothering him. When I came to him in the courtyard, he had his attention fixed on a book, which he had kindly set aside once I addressed him, but as I awaited his response, I found his expression most unreadable.

“If you would help me,” I quietly added, “I would be indebted to you, Sir Arsenik.” Without thinking, I leaned forward in the formal bow that was customary of my family.

“There’s no need for that, Miss Ambrosia.” A light smile spread across his lips. “I would be happy to tutor you free of charge. It’s just that, if I’m not mistaken, your grades are already rather admirable.”

“Eh? Admirable?” I didn’t think my grades deserved any special note, but more than that, I hadn’t expected him to take notice of my performance in class.

“However, it’s true there’s always room for improvement,” he continued with a nod. “A lesson I’ve always applied myself. It would be my pleasure to offer you all that I’ve learned through my experiences.”

“Then...please teach me well, Sempai!”

“Sempai?” He tiled his head to consider the word. “Oh, that’s a Japanese term of address for an upperclassman, isn’t it?”

“Since you’ll be teaching me, I thought it was fitting. Unless you rather be called ‘Professor’ or ‘Sir Obi-Wan Kenobi’?”

He let out a low, pleasant chuckle. “I’ll answer to whichever one you choose, Miss Ambrosia. If you like, you can join me for lunch right now.”

“Ah, but I didn’t bring my homework with me. Next time, I will. I look forward to a thorough tutoring session from you then, Sempai!”

“Yes, I certainly won’t disappoint, Miss Ambrosia. Though, it isn’t necessary to bring your homework...at least, that’s what I should have clarified before she left.”

When I returned to my cousin, I thought Lady Rosemary would feel overjoyed at the happy news. Instead, her reaction was more explosive, for lack of a better description.

“He asked you to lunch with him and you turned him down?!”

“I-I didn’t turn him down, Lady Rosemary,” I said, my hands pressed against my chest. “I didn’t have my -”

“Do you realize how hard it is to get a lunch invite from him?!” With narrowed eyes, Lady Rosemary brandished a finger at me as if it were a knife. “Out of all the heartthrobs in Virgo High, Sir Arsenik is notoriously difficult to sit with. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for ladies all around the world and you blew it, Lady Ambrosia. You blew it!”

“But...I didn’t have my homework - I mean, your homework. You asked me to recruit his help for you, and I did. See? He isn’t thinking anything mean at -”

“YOU BLEW IT, LADY AMBROSIA.”

Hope you enjoyed your early Halloween treat, everyone! Next week? Chase of the Trold! Oh, and when I told him, this is what he said:

“Wait, I have to follow all that?! All right, just you watch me. I’m going to take that Hulder down!”

I probably had a little too much fun writing all that. Just as a note, this is a Halloween special, so it won’t be in the game. Consider it an AU (Alternate Universe) one-shot that’s just for fun.

Anyway, what do you think of Arsenik’s updated design? And do you think you’d enjoy having him as your senior valedictorian? (How about Ambrosia? How do you think that tutoring session’s going to go over?)

For more details behind the design, look here.

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shirayuki-wisteria · 7 years ago

Text

Protecting What's Important

Obiyuki Week, Day Seven: Protect

Title: Protecting What's Important

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing in this fan-fiction except my horrible grammar and writing skills. All of the characters or cities mentioned in this fan-fiction belong to Akiduki Sorata unless said otherwise. Any references to real people or places are purely coincidental.

Synopsis: When Shirayuki gets kidnapped by the Sea's Talons, Zen and everyone else come to Tanbarun to execute a rescue plan to rescue Shirayuki. How does Obi feel throughout this whole ordeal?

SPOILER ALERT: This prompt was inspired by the Tanbarun arc (chapters 22 – 26), so if you haven't caught up that far, please don't read this. It will spoil a lot of the plot for you.

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"Are you ready to go, Mistress?" Obi asked as he held out his arm for her to take. Shirayuki gripped her dress tightly, anxiety clearly showing in her emerald eyes. "Y-Yes, but I'm afraid I'll do something wrong... If I do anything uncouth, it would reflect badly on Prince Zen and his country..." It's just like her to doubt herself like that, even when she's so talented. He waved her off. "Don't worry so much. If you just act like yourself, you'll be just fine." She gave him a gentle smile and was about to say something when they were interrupted by an urgent knock on the door. "Excuse me? Mistress Shirayuki and Sir Obi? We've received a letter addressed to you both." They shared a skeptical glance before the ex-assassin went to open the door. "Who was the message from?" The messenger gave him an apologetic look as he held out the letter. "My apologies, but we didn't open the letter and therefore have no idea who sent it. All we know is that we were told to deliver it to you post haste on the Royalty of Clarines' orders." So that narrows it down to three people; Queen Haruto, Prince Izana, or Master, He thought as he took the envelope from the messenger. "Thank you for delivering this to me." "What does the letter say?" Shirayuki asked once he had shut the door and made his way towards her. He skimmed it over before answering, ""You can't go to the ball. It's not safe. Mihaya has discovered new information on the kidnappers. They know you're in Tanbarun."" Suddenly, a deep, cold chill enveloped them. They both turned towards the direction of the source and found a young boy standing on the railing. The balcony doors were forced open somehow and the drapes were flowing freely with the will of the wind. He had an indifferent expression on his face at first, but then he smiled. "Shirayuki! Found you!" "You're the pretty boy!" They both said simultaneously. He continued to smile at them. "Although I am pretty, don't you think it's strange to say that in sync on our first meeting?" Just then someone else jumped from the balcony, landing skillfully on the floor. Obi quickly positioned himself in front of his mistress and held a protective hand in front of her. "Run away now, Miss!" The man who had jumped down charged at him, quickly aiming blow after blow. He looked like he was a young man of about twenty and had a scar running across the left side of his face. Judging by the way he so easily dodged Obi's oncoming attacks, he was also a very skillful assassin who had previous experience in kidnapping someone. "Someone hel—" His mistress' plea was cut short and he glanced quickly to see why. The pretty boy had somehow managed to pass him and had now succeeded in tying her up. Right now, he was covering her mouth with his hand to prevent any words from becoming audible. Obi bit his lip as he returned his senses back to the battle at hand. I'll never be able to save her if I don't stop this guy first! Just as he was about to land a blow that would make the scarred man unconscious, the door was open and momentarily took his attention away from the fight. "Obi, Shirayuki, are you going to—" The voice belonged to Princess Rona, and as she took in the scene before her, she instantly fell silent. That moment was all the assassin needed to knock him out. While Obi was distracted, he aimed an attack on his neck so quickly he couldn't stop it. He found himself slowly fading from consciousness. "Sorry," The assassin muttered under his breath as he looked him in the eye. Obi could find no hint of malice in his eyes, but he couldn't find a hint of regret either. "Yeah... I... bet..." The Prince's Attendant barely managed to mutter before hitting the floor and falling unconscious.

"OBI! OBI!!" He quickly came back to reality as Shirayuki's frantic voice yelling his name ringing in his ears. "You're awake," A lady wearing the uniform of a castle worker said with relief. "You were knocked out before. Are you alright?" He nodded. "I feel alright. I don't feel like I've broken anything, so I'll be fine." "I'm sorry, Sir Obi," A small, familiar voice apologised. He turned towards the source and found himself face-to-face with Princess Rona. Her brother, Prince Eugenia, was right beside her. The black-haired visitor gave her a tight-lipped smile. "It's not your fault. I'm the one who got distracted right in the middle of a battle and lost the upper hand." "Still..." The Princess gripped the hem of her dress tightly. "If we hadn't intruded, Shirayuki wouldn't have been taken..." Obi quickly turned towards the nurse. "Where is Shirayuki?" The nurse gave him a solemn look. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that after you were knocked unconscious, Shirayuki was knocked out with a sleeping drug. The kidnappers made off with her." He mentally slapped himself for letting this happen. Shirayuki was counting on me to protect her, and I just let her down... What kind of knight am I...?! After seeing the worry in his eyes, she tried to reassure him. "Please don't worry. As we speak, all the guards Tanbarun has to offer are already up and searching for the kidnappers." He mustered up all the courage he could and plastered a smile on his face. "Good to hear, but do you mind letting me be? I've had a rough day and need some sleep to rest." The nurse nodded and directed the two youngest royals in Tanbarun towards the door. "If you need anything, just holler and I'll be there with time to spare." After the nurse had closed the door, he looked around to gather his surroundings. On the bedside table, someone had placed the letter addressed to him and Shirayuki. Right next to it was a new package. Although he knew he'd feel bad about it later, he opened the package and found a blue ornament that looked like it was made out of walnut stone. Kihal must've made this for Shirayuki.... He clutched it tightly in his hands, visibly trembling. I let Shirayuki get kidnapped... Not only did I let her down, I let everyone who cares about her down too...! He tucked it into his pocket and quickly wrote a note to explain where he'd gone. Once that was done, he opened the window and was gone in pursuit of the kidnappers.

Being an ex-assassin, I know they wouldn't want to get caught, so they probably avoided going on the main roads and stuck to forest paths instead... The amble knight jumped from tree to tree, trying to think like the kidnappers would. They should be around... "Kazuki!" He heard the scarred kidnapper call out. I was right on! They're here! In a few swift moves, he swooped down and landed a fatal blow on his stomach. "Kyah!!" The silver-haired man let out, completely blindsided by his attack. Obi quickly took advantage of this and pushed him up against a tree, lifting him off the ground. "Where. is. Shirayuki?" He demanded in a scary, deep voice. The scarred man withered against his grip, trying so hard to get free of it, but eventually went limp when he realised it wouldn't do any good. "I don't know. My partner was with her when I last saw him, but then I went to go get water from a nearby stream. I came back and they were gone." The black-haired man glowered down at him, daring him to lie. "Are you telling the truth?" The unfortunate mercenary gulped before answering, "Y-Yes! I'm not sure where he went or why--" The man froze as he looked more closely at the bark of the tree he was pressed against. He began withering again. "You have to let me go! It's an emergency!" Obi tightened his grip on him more. "What's with the sudden change in attitude?" The silver-haired assassin kept trying to get free of his grip. "You don't understand! You have to let me go, otherwise, Kazuki and your friend will be sold somewhere far away!" The Prince's Knight loosened his grip on him, but quickly got out one of his kunai and stuck it in the bark beside the kidnapper's head. "I'm not letting you go. You will take me with you to find out where they were taken, alright?" The kidnapper was too stunned to do anything but nod, and Obi let him go. "So, what did you mean when you said they could get sold somewhere far away?" The kidnapper dusted off himself before answering, "The mark on the tree was one that the Sea's Talons always leave to show they were there. In other words, they took Kazuki and Shirayuki and wanted us to know that." The black-haired traveler sighed before giving him a glare. "So in other words, Shirayuki was kidnapped twice?" The scarred man nodded, his eyes widening. "It-it'd be a good idea to join forces and help find them together, don't cha think?" He rolled his eyes. "Guess I have no choice. How do you plan on pursuing the kidnappers?" "By using the two horses Kazuki and I tucked away. You can use Kazuki's and trail behind me." "I'll be trailing very close to you. If you so much as move an inch without reason..." Obi took out one of his kunai and whisked it through the air, over the kidnapper's head. "...I won't miss next time." Shirayuki is too important to me—I mean, Master and everyone else—to let get kidnapped! He gulped, too terrified to do anything but nod in acceptance. The ex-assassin give him a tight-lipped smile. "Glad we have now properly communicated. Now, let's go rescue Shirayuki and Kazuki!" The kidnapper—who now introduced himself as Itoya—and he both mounted their newly acquired horses and set off in pursuit of the Sea's Talons. Shirayuki, wait just a little bit longer... I swear I'll find you and protect you this time!

#obiyuki #obiyukiweek17 #AnS #akagami no shirayukihime #Snow white with the red hair #Prompts

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sithlordintraining · 8 years ago

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Live with the Force, Honey

A/N: Hello everyone! January has most def. been the longest month ever. But this has been itching me ever since I’ve seen Adam’s GQ cover. And once people started giving him his own life, it just seemed perfect. I’ve loved Space Dandy for about 3 years now. This is mostly based on the first episode: ‘Live with the Flow, Baby’. If you watch the episode first, you might get a better understanding. Hopefully some of you guys like it <3

Word Count: 2,951; I’m sorry if it is too much for some.

Narrator: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away; Ben Solo: he's a dandy guy in space. He combs the galaxy like his hair on the hunt for aliens and any other things that people need smuggling. Planet after planet he searches, discovering bizarre relics and new creatures, both friendly and not. These are the spectacular adventures of Ben Solo and his brave space crew in space.

“You know what's wrong with women Threepio?”

“What is wrong with them Master Solo?” He responded.

“Women love showing their boobs like it's some spectacular sight, but really isn't.” Ben shrugged looking over to C3-PO. “The booty is where it's at!”

“Oh! Master Solo!” Threepio exclaimed.

Continuing to screw in the last bolt on the grate, he chuckled. “I'm telling, if you weren't all wires, you'd understand. But listen, every girl has boobies. But, booty?” He sighed standing up. “Well, those are the girls for me. A boob-man is a brainless man. And I got brains.”

“Oh Master Solo, if your mother could hear you, she’d-” C3-PO interjected.

“As for you,” He walked closer holding the screwdriver to Threepio. “My mother won't hear about this because I'm the one with the screwdriver.” He showed his gorgeous smile, leaving the robot in every more of a panic mode.

Narrator: You've met our protagonist and his robot companion who legally illegally smuggle for a living. You see this tall, handsome, dark-haired pale-face contrast of a man is Ben Solo. Depending on how many light years away your planet is, you probably still would've heard of him. Son of famous smuggler and General Han Solo and Princess turned General as well, Leia Organa-Solo; whose twin brother, Ben’s uncle, the famous Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, who defeated their infamously loved father Darth Vader and lead to the fall of the Empire. Who at the end, Darth Vader came back to the light and some say were reunited with the love of his life, their mother Padme Amidala. She was also a Royal who thought she would do better in politics. But back to Ben, who could be seen on the cover of any ‘SpaceThrob’ holo as the handsome bad boy royal. He could've been a Jedi or General or a Senator, but instead, like his father before him-

“I am a smuggler! And I will go where all smugglers go that need a quick job. Swinging his leg over to straddle the chair, he plopped down and hit the switches. “TO BOOBIES!”

“Oh no Master Solo, not again.”

“Master Solo, I never understood why you new age smugglers like to do business in a place like this.” C3-PO tried to keep up with Ben as he was dazed in the sea of women of various species chest. Finally, seeing him seated in a booth between two women, he relaxed as much as his wires could.

The women went away, leaving the golden robot and a drooling man-boy. “Did you find any jobs, sir?” Eyes still scanning the sea of women, Ben let out a chuckle. “Loosen up we will get something, we just need to have a little fun.”

Narrator: Such is the scene at BooBies, one of many chains of so-called "breastaurants" with locations all over known space. Breastaurants are where zero-G meets DD, staffed as they are by the top-heaviest girls of any species sporting boobs. And since the roster of ladies is different at each location, Ben's made it his mission in life to visit every single one. He dreams of buying out the chain someday and eating every meal there. Even if it's against General Organa’s liking.

C3-PO was so enthralled at the sight of the large alien, he missed Ben slipping out the both. His eyes couldn't stay focused as he made his way to the bar. Boobies! As far as the eye can see. And even farther! Ben thought, eyes widening.

“Urgh!” Ben stumbled back, falling on his behind. Opening his eyes, he knew for sure he was dead.

“Boobs.” He whispered as soft as he could.

“Are you okay?” Looking up at the chest to see where the beautiful voice came from.

(H/C) hair surrounded her face as he looked into her (E/C) eyes. Her brows furrowed as the man still didn't answer.

“I-I’m fine.” Ben blushed in embarrassment. You let out a little giggle, pushing his raven locks back. “You're cute! What's your name?”

Pushing himself up a little further, and confidence, he spoke. “I’m Solo, but you can call me Ben.”

You let out a toothy laugh. Ben couldn't help but glance down and watch your chest jiggle. The shade of red rose from his neck to his cheeks, as he let out a chuckle looking back up to your still closed eyes.

“Oh, Master Solo, there you are! I have been looking for you.” Ben groaned at the robot as he pushed himself off the ground. Ignoring his companion he helped the girl up, he couldn't help but chuckle at how much smaller she was than him.

“And what's your name honey?” Ben put on his best Solo mac. “It's Baby, and who is this knight in shining armor?” You turned facing Threepio.

Slightly caught off-guard, he shook his head and introduced the two of them.

“C3-PO, this is Baby, Baby this is C3-PO”

Stepping in front of Ben, he offered his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Baby.” Ben scoffed as you tried to hide your blushing face. “Oh!” You smiled. “And such a gentleman!”

“Yeah.” Ben let out a fake smile, pushing Threepio back.

“How ‘bout you guys get comfy and I'll bring you some drinks, how does that sound?” You smiled.

“Sounds great baby!” Ben exclaimed.

Making their way back to the booth, C3-PO filled Ben on the real reason he went to find him. “So it's just a simple transport job?” He looked at the robot. “Yes, sir. They are actually waiting in our booth.” Ben slowed his pace as he saw two built Lorridan men waiting for them.

Sliding in the booth, he let out a weary breath. “Gentlemen.” He composed his cool demeanor once again.

“The job is simple.” One of them spoke.

“Woah! I didn't even accept it!” Ben put his hands up.

“It's ok, your friend did it for you.” One smirked.

Slowly turning his head “Threepio!” He said through his teeth.

“As I said the job is simple, pick up and drop off.” The man rolled the scroll over to Ben with instructions. Ben chuckled at the sight of such an ancient system he's only heard about. “You can burn it when you're finished with the job. And don't open it until you ready for transport.”

Grabbing the scroll with his massive hand and stuffing it into his vest, his other hand brushed some strands back. “What is it you want me to pickup and drop off?”

“Well-” the man spoke up, only to be cut off by his partner. “That.” He pointed.

Ben slowly turned around. Seeing a small hooded figure hop on the barstool. Turning back around to asking about payment, only a satchel of credits were left in the men's place.

“Boy you sure know how to pick them, don't you?” He growled exiting the booth with C3-PO in tow. He stomped his way over behind.

Looming over the figure, he laid a hand on its shoulder. “Excuse me-” All of sudden, Ben was blinded by a drink thrown in his face. Wiping his eyes, he saw the figure dart away from him. Taking quick strides, Ben followed the small figures moves. All fours? What is he? Deciding to sneak attack, he hid behind the pillar waiting for the figure to appear. Tapping into the force, he sensed the figure, he kicked his leg out, having him fall to the ground.

Narrator: What is the force, you may ask? “It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together.” Stated by Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master to both Anakin and his son, Luke Skywalker. The power of the Force could be used by individuals who were sensitive to it, a power that was tapped through the midi-chlorians. The two main practitioners of the Force's power are the Jedi Order, the light side, and the Sith, the dark side.

“He's knocked out. Let's head to the ship.” Throwing the unconscious being over his shoulder he strode his way out.

“Oh, Mr. Solo! Here's your drink!” Baby's voice rang out from behind him.

Turning around, he saw a jumbo jug mug with a crazy straw pushed in his face.

“I know you're in a rush, so here are your complimentary BooBies To-Go Jug Mug!” You smiled and he seemed to have the dumb expression wash over his face again. Accepting the jug, they made their way to the ship.

Narrator: Meanwhile, aboard the First Order’s ship, Supreme Leader Snoke has managed to pinpoint the location of Ben Solo. Pleased with this discovery, General Hux prepares to capture his target. Outside, a galactic war rages between two opposing forces: the Resistance, and the First Order. They have been locked in a battle for ultimate control of the entire universe for years. As the battle rages on, Ben's ship, the Millennium Falcon, passes by as if oblivious that he is the key to ending this war.

“He's near.” His voice echoed in the dark chambers.

Standing up from his knee, his blue eyes pierced the hologram. “You feel it again, Supreme Leader?” The red-headed man asked.

“Indeed. He's been using the force more often.” The eerie figure spoke out. “General, prepare your ships.”

The General bowed and the hologram was gone. Turning on his heel, he made his way out of the room. The blast doors opened revealing his shorter and fidgety assistant. “Mitaka!” He scoffed at his close proximity.

“Sorry, sir.” He took a step back.

“Contact Captain Phasma and tell her we have found Ben Solo’s location.” The General swiftly made his way to the control room. Mitaka taking long strides to keep up.

Narrator: Back on the Millenium Falcon, C3-PO and Ben Solo stared at the hidden figure, trying to decipher what could anyone want with this creature. Of course, if Ben could remember the scroll with the instructions, he'd have better insight.

“What is it?” Ben inquired.

“It's a Loth-Cat, Master Solo. Found on-” waving at him Ben replied, “Yeah, yeah I get that, but he was walking as well.”

Leaning in to get a better look, he soon face to face with the creature. The creature opened its eyes and head butted Ben.

“WHAT THE KRIFF?!” Holding his head, he stumbled watching the creature run off. Gritting his teeth, he, once again ran off to find it.

Turning down various hallways and searching in small compartments, he finally found him. There was nowhere left to run.

“What do you want from me?” The creature spoke.

With wide eyes, Ben spoke, “You can speak!” Pointing at the creature.

“Yeah, so, is that why I'm here on this piece of junk?” He scratched the wall.

“HEY! The Millennium Falcon is not a piece of junk!” Ben was now towering over the creature.

Eyes peering up at him, the cat cowered back in fear. “The-then you are. You are Han Solo?”

Putting a hand to his chest, he let out an exaggerated a scoff. “Excuse me! I'd like to think I'm better looking than that scruffy nerf herder!”

“So you're not him? Then why do you have his ship?”

“Well it's a long story,” Ben scratched the back of his neck.

Narrator: You see learning to pilot a ship is any boy's right of passage to manhood. Han had promised his offspring a brand new ship if he fulfilled certain duties, one being able to take care of the ship he so cautiously bestowed on to the young Ben. On Ben's 20th Birthday he was presented with a beautiful sleek blue ship, and an excited Ben decided to take it out for a joyride. Fortunately, Ben met two beautiful Mandalorian girls, who showed him an amazing time. Unfortunately for Ben, this also meant waking up in an abandoned hotel room with no form of transportation to get back.

“And that's why we are here on this historical ship, so can you PLEASE refrain for any more scratches.” Ben bent down to observe the curled metal. That old man is going to kill me. “So why did you take me?” The creature asked softly.

“Well, it's just simple job, pickup” Ben swayed his hand “drop off.”

“DROP OFF? DROP OFF! DROP OFF WHERE?” The cat squealed jumping from wall to wheel.

“HEY! Hey! Relax, relax. You're damaging the walls. What's your name anyways?” The cat calmed down and just heaved, letting out a sigh he said “Maumau.”

“Meow Meow?”

“No, Maumau.”

Ben stifled a laugh. “How original.” Maumau rolling his eyes once again asked why he was taken and Ben just shrugged. “I don't know, let's ask Threepio since he got us into this mess.” Making their way back to the cockpit, C3-PO turned around “Oh, well know that you two have gotten acquainted, Master Solo did you open up the scroll?” He scrunched up his face. “What scroll? What are you even talking about?” Ben sat down slurping the last of the drink in his jug mug.

“Master Solo, your memory does concern me some time.” Taking a step closer, he poked his chest.

“Hey!” Clutching his chest only to fill the scroll. “Oh, thanks, Threepio” he mumbled.

Undoing the scroll, he quickly skimmed over it; eyes widening at the amounts of credits he would receive. This was too good to be true. Maybe he could buy a ship, or in all honesty, start a saving fund to buy a new ship. Looking up from the scroll, he glanced at Maumau.

“What did you do?” Ben inquired.

“Talk,” he answered. Ben lifted his brow.

“Yeahhhhhh.” he dragged. “How is that possible? I thought you guys were pets or something.”

“No! That’s the stupid Tooka’s.” He crossed arms. “It all started when I was captured, some people did some experiments and I learned how to talk, but they thought that I wouldn’t be able to think for myself. They treated me terrible and I had to go.”

Feeling sympathy towards the guy, he bit his lip and looked at the scroll once again. A new ship or save him?

“Master Solo, what do you want to do?” Threepio rushed to his side. Looking up, he was satisfied with his answer “I’m going to get a new ship!” Maumau suddenly became frantic hopping all over the cockpit.

Narrator: Approaching near, but still far, Captain Phasma and her troopers made their way to the Falcon. Due to the vastness of space, the captain couldn’t see the ship jump into hyperdrive.

“Contact the General.” the trooper nodded and the general soon appeared. “Captain, I assume the capture was a success?” He suppressed a smirk.

“General Hux, if I may?” with a nod he continued. “General, we’ve been sitting here for 5 minutes, he is nowhere to be found. This has been the third time this week. Even though I work for the First Order, you can’t just command my fleet to continuously stop and scan the galaxy looking for some space brat.” She shook her helmet.

Hux’s jaw locked. Catching Ben Solo was one of the only things that Hux hadn’t succeeded at. It’s been years and it wasn’t like he was running from the order, Ben knew too well to get mixed up in the war. (The reason he decided to join his father in the family business).

“If you would like to safe in that ship and expand the Order, I suggest you let my troops and I be.” Ending the transmission.

Quickly striding, he entered the dark room. “You have him?” Snoke’s voice echo.

“Well, Supreme Leader . . . No.”

Snoke gritted his teeth. “This is truly your downfall. If not to today, when do you expect to obtain him?” he inquired.

“Next week, hopefully.”

Narrator: Now that you fangirls have found out that Ben is safe and Hux is probably on the chopping block, you can all stop biting your nails and get back to the story.

“Where are we?” Maumau asked.

“I don’t know, if you don’t jump on all the controls and jump us into hyperspace, maybe I would know!” Ben grilled the cat. “Threepio, where are we?”

“Master Solo, processing my calculations, I would say: I don’t know,” he replied. And Ben huffed.

“Hey what’s that?” Maumau pointed to the window.

Approaching slowly, all three stared at what seemed to be a long never-ending chain floating through space. Sitting in the pilot seat, he began to follow the chain. “Look! It seems to be connected to that planet.” Ben maneuvered the ship approaching the white planet. Landing the ship, the three of them went to explore the planet. Stepping onto it, he was instantly hit with a rush.

“Are you alright Master Solo?” C3-PO asked. Shaking his head yes, he squinted his eyes following the chain. Ben was getting some strange pull to follow the chain. They followed the chain until they came to a handle. Reaching a hand, he went to grab the handle.

“Wait, do you know what it does?” Maumau asked.

“Nope.” And with that Ben pulled it.

Narrator: Ah, the cosmic string. A thread like concentration of energy within the structure of space-time. And our brave hero just pulled it. Possibly bringing the end to us all.

To Be Continued . . .

I hope you guys liked it, I really did the most for this. My English teachers would be so proud. I feel like I should cite my sources: Wookipedia & Space-DandyWikia. But let me know hope you guys feel about it. Of course, I had to tweak a few (seems like a lot ) to flow as much as it could.

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

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Desert & Reward, Chapter 11

[Read on AO3]

Written for @jj-carstairs, who was the second to blackout her AnS Fic Rec Bingo board! And with this, I am finished with this particular set of obligations...and moving swiftly onto the next....

For a wedding that is supposed to be small, intimate, and most of all secret, there sure are a lot of chairs crushed into the throne room.

“It’s not really a secret,” Zen tells him, contrary to literally every dire royal imperative Obi’s heard thus far. “Or it is, but only as much as anything can be a secret.”

Considering how many he’s prepared to take to the grave, Obi would beg to differ. But he tugs at his collar instead, slumping down onto the dais with palpable misery.

“Don’t fuss,” Sir chides cheerfully. “You look just fine.”

“I look like a present wrapped to within an inch of its life.” And with no one to open it. Obi grimaces, avoiding a glance at M-- Zen’s shoes. This definitely wasn’t the audience to air that particular grievance.

Sir’s mouth only bends into a smile. “There are worse things for a groom to be on his wedding day.”

“You’re right!” Obi's grin settles into something more tooth than toothsome. “I could be stabbed instead.”

That winsome smiles flips right around. “I haven’t stabbed a groom.”

“Obi!” Zen scolds, far too innocent. He hazards a glance at him, not missing the too-wide eyes, the twitching lips. “Mitsuhide wouldn’t be so rude to stab a man at his wedding.”

The big guy nods, solemn. “Yes, thank you--”

“Only one of his guests.”

“Zen!”

Zen sidesteps Sir’s advance, slipping right up the dais to put Obi smack dab between the both of them. Clever plan; Sir would never risk hitting a non-combatant.

Too bad for him; Obi’s never missed a chance to throw himself into the fray. “Be fair, M-- Zen.” The name sticks in his mouth, stumbling out only when he ushers it through his teeth. Terrible, how that almost ruins the joke. “He’s never attempted violence at a wedding. Only an engagement party.”

“You’re right.” Zen’s warmed to the topic now, voice litling into sing-song. “And at my brother’s engagement instead of--”

“All right, I think you’ve both had your fun,” the big guy informs them, shoulders hunched. “There’s no reason we have to keep talking about it.”

“Aw, come on now, sir,” Obi wheedles, knitting his fingers beneath his chin. “You can’t blame a man for wondering how much blood he’ll get to keep on his w-w--” no matter how hard he tries, the word wont’ come, a stubborn mule hauled up at the end of his tongue-- “at the altar.”

Sir’s eyes dart down to him, serious brow all furrowed, mouth pulled into the sort of frown that says things instead of quietly ponders, but Zen--

Well, he can always rely on his master to miss a misstep. “Well, at least Mitsuhide saved Hisame from having to lose it on his wedding night instead.”

That gets the big man’s attention, his chest already expanding with protest, and Obi takes the distraction with both hands, jumping up to ask, “Well, sir, if you’d save me the trouble too, I guess I’d thank you for it.”

“Obi,” he admonishes, “Shirayuki would never stab you.”

“Even if you deserved it,” Master adds, so helpful. “Besides, you might not be her first choice--” he doesn’t have to say who would fill that particular slot-- “but you’re a more preferable husband than Raj.”

“What a ringing endorsement.” The doors dwarf Kiki, even though she only stands beneath the open one, one brow raised to dubious heights. Even in her finery-- which Obi can admit is very fine-- her hip’s cocked like she’s on the other side of the training grounds and not the end of an aisle.

“Aw, come on now, Miss Kiki.” He jumps to his feet, grin already teasing up a corner of his lips. “What girl could resist a man who didn’t kidnap her?”

She saunters down the runner, blue and gold a river beneath her slippers, and smirks. “I suppose the ones who would rather a man that didn’t try to kill her.”

“Kill!” He slaps a hand to his chest. “Such a strong word. I prefer discourage.”

Mainly since that’s what the agreement was: strongly discourage-- what they called intimidation, in the business-- the young redheaded guest from overstaying her welcome. Undue violence or spectacle would cut the amount of coin in half, and oh, it’d been a long time since Obi had seen that much dil in one place back then. Lucky thing for Miss that the marquis abhorred a scandal, and Obi had been thinking about a nice steak dinner.

Lucky for him too, it turns out.

“Should I ask what you’re doing?” Kiki calls out, but it’s not to him-- it’s over his shoulder, both brows raised now.

“I, uh...” Obi cranes his neck, watching as Mitsuhide attempts to have this conversation with the wall. “I didn’t know-- you aren’t-- shouldn’t you be with Shirayuki?”

“I was.” Kiki mounts the steps to the dais, teeth peeking through the seam of her lips. “Is there a problem.”

Her tone says, quite clearly, there shouldn’t be.

“Well, um.” Big guy licks his lips, daring a quick glance back, before dedicating himself to the wainscoting again. “You’re not supposed to see, the um, ahhh...”

He flails a hand behind him blindly. A good thing; Sir would never survive seeing their faces.

Zen stares, incredulous. “You’re not the one getting married.”

“And for that case, neither am I.” Kiki clasps a hand around her husband’s shoulder. “Unless there’s something I should know?”

Sir’s red-faced when he peers down, but a shy smile rounding his lips. “You look beautiful.”

“Ah.” Obi never thought he’d live to see the day Kiki Seiran thawed enough to smile with all her teeth, but here he is, minutes away from his own wedding, hosted at the behest of the King of Clarines, and she does. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

There’s a spark in the depth of Big Guy’s dark eyes when he turns to her, mouth poised to riposte--

“Is there a reason you’re here?” Zen asks, harried. “Or are you trying to be a distraction?”

Kiki spins to face him, far too mild as she says, “I didn’t realize there was anything to distract from.”

“Of course there is.” At her expectant look, he provides, “We were having some, ah, bonding time. Just us men. Giving advice. Before, you know, he’s no longer a bachelor.”

“Please,” Obi begs, “distract away.”

“Well then.” Kiki turns to him now, face placid but eyes alight, and informs him, “You are needed in the vestibule.”

He blinks. “What? Why?”

Her mouth curves. “Oh, I’m sure you can come up with a few reasons.”

He can’t. Or, really, there’s too many, all jittering together at too many angles for one to rise to the top, leaving his mind as empty as the moment a bass bell stops ringing-- not the absence of sound, but its echo.

It’s not until he sees that scholarly slouch, that hair so tousled it circles back around to something approaching orderly, that he realizes-- Lata is here. Lata is here, and oh, they have a lot to talk about.

“Stop.”

His heels skid to a halt on instinct; one he’s grateful for when Her Majesty, belly bulging, bustles around Lata’s lanky frame, pretty brow just the slightest bit furrowed. She points one slender finger to a corner hedged in by a screen. “Stand right there.”

Obi knows better than to ask questions, but he does anyway. “Wh--?”

“Do as you’re told,” she says, fists perching at where her hips would be, if the heir of Clarines wasn’t currently occupying them. Despite her fancy get up, it comes out less like a queen and more like a bossy older sister, not above twisting arms if it’ll get her way.

It moves him. One foot, then the other, boot heels clacking together at attention. She nods, quick, approving. “Good. Now don’t move.”

A thrill goes down his spine, and he...really doesn’t want to think about what that says about him. Something he already knew, probably.

“All right.” Her Majesty steps back, a thoughtful frown marring her mouth. “Now ask your questions.”

Finally. “Wh--?”

“Obi?”

His head swivels toward the screen, heart leaping into his throat. “Miss?”

One foot sneaks out, trying to pivot him but--

Her Majesty clucks her tongue. “Now, now, sir. There will be no peeking.”

He freezes, wide-eyed. “Peeking?”

The queen favors him with a smile that is both gentle and mischievous, and honestly, he doesn’t know why anyone’s still afraid of His Majesty when Her Majesty is right there, looking like that. “A groom cannot see his bride on their wedding day.”

He almost protests-- it’s only Miss, after all; with her sense of propriety, he’s seen her any which way but naked. But--

But in an hour, she’ll be his Missus. No, his lady. Because he’s the groom. She’s the bride.

He must do an awful job on tamping down his rising horror, since Her Majesty adds, so helpful, “Especially when she’s in her wedding gown.”

His neck snaps to the screen-- the screen made out of paper so thin, so delicate, that a good lamp might cast a real show. He’d known a few girls who made a living off that, a nice shadow and some lighting, but-- that’s not the point here. Not when Miss is sitting on the other side of this thing, wrapped up in the fancy dress she’s going to walk down the aisle in.

Bad luck she’ll be walking towards him in it.

He squints at the vague, Miss-like shape the ambient light gives-- definitely not the crisp image he’s seen with red ones-- and frowns. “I guess I won’t be the first one to say you look nice today, huh?”

“Oh.” There’s a laugh bubbling beneath the sound, like a pebble in a brook. “No, I’m afraid I’ve been told at least five times already.”

He tilts his head back, crown scrubbing against the wall. “Ah, so this is what it’s like, being the one you’re dressing up for.”

Her breath catches. It’s a soft sound; one he’s not even certain he hears until Her Majesty turns her attention toward the other side of the screen. One brow arches with a level of amusement he’s glad she’s not gleaning from him. “I was under the impression you had a question, Shirayuki?”

“Ah, right!” He can see her hands waving, fingers spread, right by where her chin should be. “Obi, why is Lata here?”

Miss never speaks but to say things softly, sweetly, but even she has to exert an herculean effort not to draw a point with the word Lata.

The man himself frowns, the contemplative lines bracketing his mouth rounding into a pair of cross parentheses. “We just went over this.”

“Ah, I know.” Miss wearily holds onto her buoyant tone like flotsam in a wreck. “I just...don’t quite understand.”

“I don’t see what so difficult about it.” His arms fold across his chest, the velvet of his coat rumpling into mossy hillocks. Kiki was right-- the green does go well with the gold. If only Yori’d let him wear it. “Your father cannot, without causing a diplomatic incident by breathing in a foreign court, be in evidence. Therefore, I must stand in his stead.”

“Yes, that part I understand,” she says in her infinitely patient way, that kind that makes Her Majesty’s lips quiver. “I just don’t understand why.”

Lata’s face crumples with frustration. “It’s traditional.”

Miss hesitates. He can’t hear her mouth working-- those sounds are too soft to travel so far-- but he knows it is, just as her hands are behind the screen. “But, Lata, you hate tradition.”

“I do,” he allows-- because it’s true-- but adds, “but this is a familial duty.”

Obi’s heart stutters right in his chest. This really isn’t the time to be getting into all this. To try to explain-- “Sir--”

“Familial duty?” Miss manages, a whole octave higher than usual. “How--?”

“Yes,” Lata interrupts, clearly tired of rehashing a conversation he’s already solved in his head. “And one cannot shirk a duty to their family, no matter how ridiculous it is.”

Her outline shivers on the screen, parts of her fading and coming into focus in turns, like she’s moved her whole body. The shape of her head is strange, ovalish toward the top instead of round-- she’s tilting it. There’s a question trying to make its way out of her, and he knows every word of it, he just has to hope--

“Besides,” Lata coughs, straightening the hem of his waistcoat. “My mother would be quite cross.”

All right, well, now Obi had questions. But those can keep, if Miss’s stunned silence is any indication.

“You know, Miss,” he hums, voice pitched low to carry to her ears only. “Suzu’s here too, if you’d like another option.”

“Suzu’s here?” she echoes, the confusion stark in her voice. “But how did he...?”

Obi’s mouth curls into a grin. “He came in with Lata last night.”

“This morning.” Lata clears his throat, really giving that coat a good tug. “And he didn’t come with me, he attached himself to me, and I chose not to leave him in a drift outside of Oriold.”

“But...why?” Miss hesitates as she speaks, like she’s half put together a puzzle only to realize pieces are missing. “I thought no one was supposed to know about the wedding.”

Obi grins. “Outside of His Majesty’s three hundred most bosom companions, of course.”

He doesn’t need to see Miss to feel her glare, not when it’s reflected so fully in the flat look Her Majesty gives him. “What sort of message would it send if word spreads that the crown had Margravine Entaepode married to the Marquis Conti with any less in attendance?”

He holds back a huff of a laugh. Of course Her Majesty would see it like that-- the date was just details compared to the shame of having anything less than the whole of Clarines’ court to witness their nuptials.

“To answer your question,” Lata continues, fluster and frustration eddying around his eyes, “I think my family name does afford me some considerations in this matter.”

Obi’s grateful he doesn’t expound on what, exactly, those may be. “The rest of them heard about it and drew lots to see who came as his plus one.”

“There is no such thing,” Her Majesty says, firm as steel, in the same moment Lata complains, “Well, I never said they could.”

There’s a pause before Miss says, voice thin, “So everyone in Lillias, they all...?”

“Know about your happy occasion?” Lata offers ruefully. “I would say so.”

“Suzu’s here as his valet.” He has to bite down on the impulse to tell her about Yori’s horror as he watched Suzu give the footmen instructions like I don’t know, over there, somewhere, and nah, just leave those in the trunk, the folds will come out on their own, right?

It’s not the time for stories. Especially ones where she won’t even know who he’s talking about.

“Oh. Oh my.” Miss sounds faint behind the paper. “Yuzuri is going to be so upset.”

“Oh, no.” Lata shifts, impatient. “She’s upset right as we speak.”

Miss whimpers.

“Don’t worry, Miss,” he murmurs, leaning close enough to brush the paper. “You won’t be the only one she puts a stripe on.”

“Obi...” For a moment, he thinks she’s scolding him, but her shadow moves, and the paper bows out, her hand pressed against it.

He hesitates, the paper whispering over his palm before he lays it on hers. Her warmth is muted but familiar, easing the careening pace of his pulse. “We’ll make it all right after we get through this.

And you’re safe, he doesn’t add. Doesn’t need to, with the way her fingers tense against his. “Lata just has to get you down there--”

She balks, softly, a noise made only for him. He grins. “What’s the matter? Isn’t he the father of our little Lyrias family?”

“I think that would be Shidan,” she murmurs. “He’s more like...a distant uncle.”

Obi grins. “Who pays for lunch?”

Miss doesn’t reply, but he can feel her look through the screen. “I am perfectly capable of walking myself down a runner.”

Her Majesty hums a note of disagreement. “Perhaps. But it would be an unorthodox choice, and one that would carry...implications.”

Miss makes a frustrated noise. “Implications?”

“That I didn’t approve,” Lata explains, creating far more inconvenient questions than concrete answers.

“How--?”

“Well, I suppose we could always ask Master,” Obi offers, too cheerful. “Or maybe Elder Highness--?”

“Ah!” Shirayuki yelps, snatching her hand from the screen. “No. That’s-- it’s fine. Lata is a...fine choice.”

Obi returns to the throne room with a sense of relief; with only minutes left until the ceremony starts, there’s no time for any more unexpected developments. Not unless Prince Raj himself arrives mid-vows to stop the wedding.

At least, so he thinks, until he realizes: the throne is not empty.

Master is beside it, put-upon as he always is, and right on the velvet tuft reserved for the royal ass is--

Well, the royal ass itself.

“Marquis,” His Majesty hums, “you’re here, finally. Congratulations.”

“What are you doing?” he asks, eyes wide. “Why...?”

“To marry you, of course.” He smiles, mouth wide. “It is the pleasure of a liege to do so for his vassals.”

“But Zen is my...” His words trail off when he looks in Zen’s eyes, when he remembers at just whose behest that title of immediate knight had come from. Immediate knight, a man who served the family royal, and above all...

...The king. Even without his lordly title, Obi was Izana Wisteria’s dog, lowly mutt among the hounds he may be. And with it...

He grit down his teeth. “Fuck.”

The king’s mouth flashes teeth. “Well, now that we’re all up to speed,” he says, drawing up to his full height. “I think it’s time we begin.”

He has scarcely finished talking, when the horns blare from the balconies. It hits him all at once; this is it. He’s going to be married.

If only either of them actually wanted it.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #desert and reward #ans #every single one of these wedding chapters is me mentally screaming #as i have to push back CERTAIN THINGS #because i got OTHER THINGS to handle first #but if you are looking at Lata and wondering...#rest assured...obi knows #but you and shirayuki do not #(but you will both find out SOON)

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

Text

The Lone Wolf Survives, Part 2

Part 1

Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 5: Honor Always keep one’s word. Always maintain one’s principles. Never betray a confidence or comrade. Avoid deception. Respect life.

“Your cloak, Alpha?”

The footman bends, neck bared and arms outstretched, as if he might become a coat rack himself if he tried hard enough. On his knees, he would be the perfect tableau of submission, the sort only seen on faded frescoes, hidden behind curtains and left to molder. These Clarinese were civilized now, after all, not the barbaric alphas of their forebears.

Obi takes one look over the hall and stifles a laugh. Looks like all that was just a bit of varnish over some old paint.

“Alpha?”

He turns, cloak in hand, mouth open to say something properly awful, as any alpha would, and--

And his hand clenches, locked tight around the wool. He shouldn’t be able to smell anything over the stifling stench of alpha, the musk so thick in the room they might as well be on top of each other, but--

Berries burst brightly on his tongue, fresh from the vine. It’s so vivid, so strong, that the summer sun warms his back, his fingers reaching out to pick another plump berry for his bounty.

“Alpha?”

He recoils, nearly biting his tongue. “Take it,” he manages, tossing the garment to him. Anything to keep him from coming closer, to keep him from catching that tantalizing scent again. “Tell them to keep it for the fox.”

He taps his mask, white porcelain slippery against his gloves. And the footman nods. “As you wish, Alpha.”

Obi watches him go, a grimace hidden behind a fox’s leer. An omega amongst the footmen. What was the over-under of that being a feature rather than a coincidence?

He catches his breath between his teeth, gaze lingering on his miss as Tsuruba helps her down the stair.

Ah, he doesn’t like these odds, not one bit.

The manor’s corridors confound her the further she presses into the bowels of the house. The foyer and gallery had given every indication that it was built in the same style as its southern cousins, with wide halls to accommodate to the broad skirts ladies had worn in years past and well-lit chambers for open discourse, but the further she travels the older it becomes, the walls closing in and sconces becoming scare.

Good hunting, Eisetsu had said, but oh, with these walls so close, she is the one who has become the hunted.

The people are fewer here as well-- at least, so she assumes. An ill-placed table sends her stumbling, jittering a door on its hinges, and she could swear she hears a gasp behind it, followed by a soft, rumbling shh.

Ah. Heat floods her cheeks. It seems she has found where the shadows end for the embraces that start in them.

Alliances don’t always happen over a table, Miss, Obi had warned her he hooked the last eyes on her dress. There’s plenty of other flat surfaces that will do as well.

She knows all too well what he meant now. It would be funny if he were here with her, giggling nervously as he led her away, scolding him when he said, oh, but wouldn’t it be a good cover, Miss? No one would suspect a thing--

But he’s not. He’s alone, lost in this labyrinth of corridors as the candles burn, each inch deepening his confusion.

Fear chills her, her fingers nearly numb with it as she traces them along the wall. A prince was lost in a maze once; she’d read it as a child, pulling down books from the top shelf. He’d kept his left hand to the wall and wound his way out.

It’s a child’s tale, little better than superstition, but it’s something to cling to as the halls grow ever darker, and the din of the party fades. Something to keep her putting one foot in front of the other when doubt would halt her in her tracks. The foil paper beneath her fingers is the only thing that grounds her, that keeps her fluttering heart fast in her chest.

It does not escape her that this would be the perfect place to hide an exiled duke. Or to make an inconvenient knight disappear.

Her fingers scrape along a door, and she would think nothing of it, nothing at all, had it not creaked open beneath them, just enough for light to shine into the hall. She makes out two bodies inside, both dressed in black, a woman hovering over a man, and she nearly looks away except--

Except, at the last moment, she sees the mask, white and crimson and fox’s leer, fall onto the floor.

“Rugilia.” Tsuruba settles back in his chair, fingers tapping gently at his chin. The invitation sits between them, sealed, untouched. Or at least, it would seem so, if they both didn’t know different. “You sure have made yourself a strange pack, Sir Obi.”

“A man like me follows a pack, not makes one.” Obi lifts his cup to his lips, savoring the floral bouquet that blooms on his tongue. That’s one nice thing about being above stairs; you drink the same fancy tea the lords do. “But you know of him?”

“Of course I do. Rugilia is one of the oldest houses of the north. More than a few Bergatt brides came from their nest.” Tsuruba’s gaze is intent, fixed to his hands as he picks up a scone and butters it. “You might advise your master to make his friends carefully.”

“My mistress,” he corrects, swallowing his bite before he continues, “do you have reason to think she’s not?”

Tsuruba waves a hand, vague, before pressing it to the table. “None to hand. Eisetsu Rugilia ran with a fast pack while my brother held this seat.”

“Ah.” His mouth twitches at a corner. “A mistress in the opera? Unruly house parties? Plotting treason?”

“More the second than the other two.” Tsuruba taps his fingers, slow and steady, the beat of a drum in the night. “He came to all the soirees, but never participated in anything besides the entertainment. I can’t say what his true politics are, if he has any.”

“He was in your brother’s circle?” Hard to imagine an alpha like Touka Bergatt suffering a beta like that, right on the cusp of a coup. “Rugilia?”

Tsuruba lifts a shoulder. “His house is large enough to be a concern to anyone who wants to hold the North. And if Eisetsu truly painted himself an idiot, all the better.” His mouth tics up at a corner, bitterly amused. “After all, there is nothing my brother loves more than a beta he can easily control.”

Obi sips thoughtfully at his cup. “Do you think he was involved with his plans?”

“Perhaps,” the lord allows, unconvinced. “He thought he had his support, at least. Or could get it in short order.”

From Sir’s estimate, more the latter than the former. His mouth twists, wry over the rim of his demitasse. “Ah, how like an alpha.”

Tsuruba arches a single, aristocratic brow. “Spoken like an omega. Still,” his mouth turns thoughtful, “strange that he would ask for your help.”

“Is it?” He shrugs. “After that business at Sereg, he would be looking for a new alpha.”

“A good point,” he concedes, “if Prince Zen wasn’t a well-known beta.”

“But he has the ear of the most powerful alpha in the country.” His lips spread in a sharp grin. “And he is known for taking in traitors with a heart of gold.”

“Ha! Maybe, maybe.” The lord lifts his gaze. “Rugilia has always liked to be on the winning side.”

The fox grins up at her, mouth stretched so wide it seems ready to jump up, ready to say, I came in with the snow--

She takes a small step into the room, just enough to push open the door with her hip, to see--

To see Obi, his head tilted back against the chair, mouth open and wanting. To see this woman straddle him, mouth pressed to the long column of his neck. To hear noises wrung from him that make the room thick with musk. She has no alpha’s nose, but between that and the gloved hand clenched in a black silk gown, she has two instincts: one to flee, to run back to the gallery and forget she saw anything at all; and one--

One to throw the woman off and bare her teeth. To growl a warning about what happens to those who tried to take advantage of her omega.

The impulse is gone as quickly as it came. She has no claim to him, and she’s no alpha to cry one. Obi is a grown man, able to make his own decisions. Still...he could have chosen a better time.

He takes in a shallow breath, whimpering underneath this woman’s teeth. His fingers flex in her hair, twisted up its complex web, clutching her closer, urging her on, and--

And she doesn’t realize she’s opened her mouth until she calls out, “Obi?”

“Oh,” the woman purrs against his throat, her voice as rich as the silk she wears. “You didn’t tell me that you came with someone. Naughty, naughty.”

Eyelashes flutter, and she makes out the thinnest rim of gold as he slurs, “Miss?”

“She’s a pretty one.” The woman’s nails claw through the bristle of his hair; she grins when he rises up into her touch. “Shall we ask her to join us?”

Obi’s body jolts under hers, gripping the chair like he’s woken up from the edge of sleep. “Miss,” he breathes, head lolling along his shoulders, rolling to meet her gaze and--

And his eyes are black, pupils blown until his iris is just a thin wire of gold wrapped around them. Shirayuki has never been looked at with desire, not like this, but even still-- that’s not what this is.

“I think he’s had too much.” The words must come from somewhere inside her, but she can’t fathom where. All of her is focused on where Obi clutches at the chair, nails biting into the wood, body too sluggish to do more than pull away. “I’ll take him outside.”

Crimson lips plump into a pout. “Oh, but we were just starting to have fun. Weren’t we, darling?”

She reaches out a hand, coming to stroke his cheek, but Obi snaps his teeth, a growl rumbling up from his chest.

“I think we better be going,” Shirayuki says, steel in every word. “Sorry to ruin your...fun.”

The woman sighs, sliding from Obi’s lap with an elegance Shirayuki has only seen on a ballroom floor. “I suppose. If you must.”

She plucks at the golden applique on his coat as he shakily gets to his feet, a sultry smirk titling her lips. “Too bad. I think we could have had a good time.”

Shirayuki slips an arm around Obi’s waist, steadying him, and he has just enough presence of mind to turn, all charming smile and say, “I’m sure it would have been a night I could never remember.”

She laughs, low and throaty. Even with her mask obscuring her eyes, it’s easy to see the lingering look she gives him. “Oh yes, a very good time.”

He’s supposed to stay with her; an idea Obi likes if only because it means she’s not alone with an unknown quantity. As much as his miss trusts these northern lords, as any beta would, he isn’t so quick to forget that one aided a coup-- against his will, but still-- and the other very recently held her as a hostage to his own good behavior.

And that’s where Miss’s plans fall to pieces: they rely on Rugilia and Tsuruba being where they need to be with no supervision aside from each other. And so when he catches a glimpse of Eisetsu across the gallery, conspicuously missing his escort, Obi only lets out a huff and a shake of his head.

They might all be running as a single pack now, but Obi’s known far too many lords. Not everyone is as dedicated to fairness as Master, even other betas.

He glances at Miss, watching her weave through the throng, head held high and oozing alpha confidence with every step, and makes his choice. Plunging into the dark, Obi doesn’t even risk a glance back. He’ll only be a minute, after all; just a quick peek to see where Eisetsu is hiding himself, and he’ll be back at her side with no one the wiser.

Or at least he would be, if this place were not a warren of corridors, each growing increasingly dark, increasingly isolated. The perfect place to have a scandalous assignation.

Or to hide an exiled duke.

Eisetsu winds through the halls with a practiced ease. Obi smothers a knowing huff. So much for being just a casual reveler.

“Ah, Lord Eisetsu.” A woman emerges from the shadow of a doorway, silk gown rippling down her like a waterfall over a cliffside. “There you are.”

His breath catches, displeased. “You!”

“Tsk,” she clucks, sashaying closer. Her mask, pearlescent and glimmering in the lamplight, casts an eerie pallor over her expression. “Is that how you greet an old friend?”

He swallows hard, loud enough for Obi to hear it where he hides in the shadows. “Madame Liera. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He can’t see much of her expression, not with her mask to hide it, but there’s no missing the way her gaze roves over him. “The feeling, my dear count, is mutual.”

Eisetsu steps forward, seizing her arm. “What are you up to?”

“Oh dear,” she hums, mouth canting into a sultry smirk. “We have so much to catch up on.”

She’s utterly lost; the din of the party is far away in every direction, and no matter which way she heads, it never seems to get any closer. Obi pants heavily in her ear, his weight making her feet stagger underneath her as she tries to steer his limp, stumbling body away from the room, toward the safety of numbers.

It’s useless, she realizes. He’s as vacant as the omegas in the gallery, just putting one foot in front of the other to keep her from dragging him.

With a sigh, she stops, propping him up against the nearest wall. He sags against the wallpaper, miraculously upright, and-- well, beggars can’t be choosers.

She steps close, skirts sweeping over his boots, and he stiffens. “What are you doing?”

“Let me look at you.” She raises her hands to his face, using her thumbs to pull down the skin around his eyes. His flesh burns beneath her palms.

“No!” He jerks back from her touch, plastering himself to the wall. “Don’t touch me.”

She stares, uncomprehending. His pupils are wide, two endless pits in the dark of the hall, his face tense with fear, and--

Ah, he’s scared. Of course-- the candles are burning a deliriant, known to cause confusion. He must not recognize her, even now.

“Obi.” She bends closer, hoping he can smell her beneath the alpha musk. “It’s all right, it’s just me.”

He recoils, pressing against the wall so tight he might as well be a part of it. “Miss, please,” he pants, voice hardly above a whine. “I can’t...”

Something’s wrong. More than just the drugged air-- his fingers stretch and curl, scrabbling against the wainscotting, breath coming so shallow he’s swaying on his feet.

“Are you hurt?” Her hand splays on his chest, trying to keep him upright--

And he bucks right up into her touch, a groan rattling out of his throat. “Don’t,” he whimpers. “Please, Miss. You can’t-- I can’t--”

His heart beats a frantic tattoo against her palm, and she frowns. The deliriant Eisetsu described should have been lulling him into complacency, not sending him into an anxious spiral. Unless--

“Can you breathe?” If this is an adverse reaction--

“You can’t be so close...” he murmurs, too still beneath her touch, his only movement the tremble of his chest with each labored breath. “I can’t...”

Her hand darts between them, gripping his chin hard enough to feel the bones of his jaw cut into her palms. With a tug, she’s staring into his eyes, only seeing black. “Obi--?”

Her back hits the wall, driving the breath from her. Obi looms above her, a shadow in the dim light of the hall.

“I said,” he rumbles, hands clawed into the wall above her. “You can’t be so close to me.”

She blink, opening her mouth to-- to protest, to ask why, and she-- she breathes in.

Alpha musk lingers in the air, but it’s not the woodsy muddle she distilled at Eisetsu’s, oh no, it’s thicker, full of smoke and spice, and--

“You’re an alpha,” she breathes, the word trembling through her. “You’ve been an alpha this whole time.”

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Eisetsu?” Every move Leira makes is a suggestion, one meant to be taken lying down. Rugilia sways on his feet as she sashays closer, nail plucking at the embroidery on his coat. “What has it been? Half a year already? What could you have been up to, I wonder.”

Half a year. That’s how long it’s been since Sereg, since Bergatt failed to launch a coup. Obi steps further into the shadow. So Tsuruba hadn’t been so far off with his guess.

With a steeling breath Rugilia leans back, teeth bared. “What are you doing here, Kageya? Is he...?”

“Tsk, tsk,” she clucks, “good boys eat when their alpha leaves them scraps. Loyal boys.”

“This isn’t a game.” He’s never heard Rugilia speak in anything but that affable lilt of his, but it’s gone now, a beta playing at an alpha’s growl. “Touka--”

“It was never a game,” Leira growls back, “not for the rest of us. My lord alpha--”

The scent hits him, a delicate bouquet of almonds and rose, cloying. It’s too sweet, he huffs, trying to get it out of his nose, but--

A jolt of heat slugs him right in the gut, unavoidable, inevitable, and he-- he stumbles, hands scrabbling at the wall. His vision blurs, just for a moment; the next he sees everything with crystal clarity. The mumble of the party behind him is so crisp he can pick out individual voices, and he scents--

Almond. He’s dizzy with it, salivating at the thought, thinking about burying his nose in the crook of her shoulders and breathing it down--

“Ohh, well,” a voice purrs, too close and not close enough. “It looks like you brought a friend, Eisetsu.”

Obi’s shoulders stretch across her vision, and it’s not until now, not until he’s her whole horizon that she realizes how broad he’s become, how tall he is. Obi’s always made himself small, an omega, a puppy eager to play, but now--

Now he’s every inch the alpha he’s no longer trying to hide.

“Why didn’t you...?” She licks her lips-- a mistake, since his eyes track it like a rabbit in the brush. “Why wouldn’t you tell us?”

A laugh huffs out of him low and deep, shuddering through her. “What kind of alpha would consent to be beneath another?”

Eisetsu’s words ring in her ears, coated in Obi’s bitterness. “Still. Zen wouldn’t have turned you away.”

The words ring hollow, even to her own ears. To have a born alpha bend to a beta, well-- she’s never heard of it. Not until now, at least.

“When the lone wolf dies, the pack survives.” His mouth sharpens into a grin. “And if there’s one thing I’m good at, Miss, it’s surviving.”

He breathes in, slow and controlled. She should run; take this moment to put space between them. Instead, she puts her hands to his chest and meets his gaze. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes pulse wide, and-- there it is, the thinnest disk of gold, wrapped around the abyss of his pupils.

“Miss...” His arms shake and give just slightly, a subtle lean. His chest expands with his inhale, long and deep, gaze hooded-- “You need to go.”

“No, Obi...” He trembles under her palms, chin brushing her jaw as he leans in, as he buries his nose in her hair. “I’m not leaving you. Not when you’re...”

In a rut. His scent is thick in the air now, surrounding her, and oh, she’s never been this close to an alpha in rut, never known how distracting the scent would be. It’s hard to keep herself still, to keep herself from tilting into the warmth of his skin.

“I’ll find someone else,” he says, as if that isn’t exactly the problem, as if that won’t lead to more complications for them to untangle. “It wouldn’t be hard--”

“No.” She startles, surprised by her own vehemence. “I mean, you, um...you don’t need to.”

“Ah...” His hand fists in the waist of her dress, so hot even through the fabric. “But I do, Miss.”

She takes in a shuddering breath, and oh, this would be so much easier if his nose wasn’t tracing a distracting path down the column of her neck. “I have-- I have the antidote, but you’ll-- eek!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, hands running down her sides, mouth pressing where his teeth pricked at her. “I can’t-- you need to-- go, please.”

“N-no.” She shakes her head, pushing him away, trying to put the barest amount of space between them. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that Tsuruba was coming.” Obi tugs at the cuff of his boot, trying to get it to sit right with his trousers. What he wouldn’t give to be able to wear his uniform for once.

“Hm?” Rugilia’s gaze lifts from his costume, bemused. “Oh. It’s fine.”

He hesitates, hands wrapped around his belt. “Ha, it’s strange isn’t it. All we do is apologize.”

“You aren’t wrong.” Obi flashes him a grin that’s only mostly teeth. “Let’s make that the last one.”

“Agreed.” The lord hesitates again, fingers clenched tight in the fabric of his cloak. “Or perhaps...just one more.”

He glances up, brow furrowed. “What was that?”

“Haah,” Rugilia sighs, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

She ducks under his arm, capturing his hand in hers. “Come on. We should, um... work fast.”

Two arm lengths seems to be enough for Obi’s head to clear, for him to ask, “What about Tsuruba and--?”

“They’ll have to catch another right home.” She looks back, squeezing his hand. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

His brow furrows. “I...”

“Is something wrong?” She steps closer. “Do you--?”

“Ah, haah.” He takes a step back. “I think...we should go. Now.”

His world tilts when lips meet his. Her scent’s all wrong, roses and rotten, but it doesn’t matter, not when he feels like this, when his body can finally release--

“Oh, you fool.”

It’s hardly more than a breath, but it’s not just an alpha’s scent that is sharp. He turns his head, meeting a pitying gaze. He can hardly hold it, not when her mouth suck right beneath his ear--

“I’m sorry.” A man turns to a shadow, retreating into the hall. “I’m so, so sorry.”

#obiyukiweek20 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #A/B/O au #not naughty yet #some pre-naughtiness in this chapter #naughty adjacent shall we say #but also here have some plot #also clearly the bolded bits in the header #are meant a little tongue and cheek #because that's how we roll here #also let me say I have had this sitting ready to post for months #and i was so worried yesterday's chapter would would joss me re: eisetsu #BUT NOPE #all i had to do was add just ONE instance of kageya's name

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sabraeal · 5 years ago

Text

Odalisque

Written for @septhi-draw’s birthday; she asked for either some Shirayuki & Kiki or some Mitsuhide & Torou, and my original plan for it fell through (some chapters just got TOO LONG and the timing did not work out), so instead: a part of @onedivinemisfit’s Concubine AU that I felt would fit the bill!

Kiki did not make friends easily.

“I’m sorry.” The boy they have manning the pharmacy today is tall, fair, and sweet-faced; the sort of man that has a hometown girlfriend who snapped him up early and never let go. “Who is it you were looking for again?”

And dense as a brick.

“Sir Obi’s wife,” Kiki repeats, the request growing teeth. She’s said it at least twice, and by the rucked-up confusion on his face, she should prepare for at least once more. “She volunteers here. Small. Freckles.” She hesitates. “Red hair.”

“Ohh!” Finally, those big cow eyes spark with recognition. “You mean Shirayuki.”

“Yes,” Her smile is all canine. “Shirayuki.”

In the grand scheme of the royal court, an earl’s daughter -- or a count’s, as those southerners were apt to call themselves -- did not amount to much. A lady-in-waiting, perhaps. A season’s favored court decoration. Under another king, perhaps even a mistress. But in practice...

Seiran was an old name, older that the walls of Wistal and the Wisteria line by far. Before the flower kings of the south has settled their quarrels and set their sights north, Seiran had been ancient, siring more high kings than any of the other clans. It had been fortune, plain and simple, that had seen a Bergatt on the throne when they were all made to kneel.

And among the ton, it was power that intoxicated men, not titles.

There were no shortages of young counts’ daughters, nor earl’s, when she made her debut at court, but it was to her side that every young buck flocked. She flattered herself at first, believing that she truly was like no other woman they had known. After all, she was witty, she was educated, and she was unbeatable in the yard, at least by her own admission. None of these other court decorations could possibly compete with such interesting company.

That is, until the first proposal. It had confused her, as had his anger at her refusal. He had been a particularly close compatriot, one who had whispered wry commentary in her ear at dinner and trained with her in the yard.

What did you mean by all this, then? he had demanded, as if she had owed him something, as if she had whispered promises instead of jests into his ear. What did you think we were doing?

She had thought, naively, that she was making friends. And still did, until the second, and the third. At the fourth, a particularly persistent fellow, she informed him that she wouldn’t marry a man who couldn’t best her in the yard. The court had taken it as a joke, as a challenge set by a girl foolish enough to believe herself equal to a man.

It was not a misconception that lasted long. Neither did her popularity.

“Is there something you needed?” For once, he seems to gain an inkling of common sense and eyes her with a furrowed brow. “She’s not able to received patients.”

“Oh, no. No,” she assures him with a smile. “Nothing like that. I just thought she might like to go to lunch.”

Even though Kiki soundly rejected every young buck that dared to darken her father’s doorstep with sword in hand, it had not endeared her to the other debutantes of the court. They might have snatched up her spurned suitors, but none of them were grateful to her for the chance. No one enjoyed being reminded that they were second choice.

She had returned to Seiran happy to have her first Season behind her, happy to never return to the gleaming halls of Wistal. Which is why when Father proposed that she go to court again, Kiki had thought the Wisteria madness must have finally kindled on their side of the tree as well.

But when he suggested that she go not as a lady, but as an aide...

Well, Father was always full of clever solutions.

The wife emerges from the stockroom on coltish legs, taking each step as if it were her first. She sends a wide-eyed, helpless look behind her; her face is meant for it, eyes already too-large in her face, the rest of her features small and button-cute. She’s a doe in the clearing, wary of a hunter’s arrow.

Kiki’s mouth thins. She knows the type all too well.

It’s not a surprise when the receptionist comes out behind her, nor is the encouraging smile that lights his face, but --

But Kiki frowns at the hand at her back. She may not know much about love, about relationships, but she knows how hometown girlfriend would feel about that.

And a certain someone else.

Kiki did not make friends easily, but the ones she has...

She protects.

“Lady Kiki.” The girl shuffles, awkward, and for a long moment Kiki wonders if she might drop a curtsy, might show off some of that much-vaunted court training Tanbarun allows their courtesans --

But instead she nods politely, peering through her thick eyelashes with a wary expression. “Higata said you were looking for me.”

“I was.” Kiki tilts her head, offering her a small, toothless smile. “I hope that’s all right.”

“Oh, um!”

The girl is pale as cream, as is fashionable in both the Tanbarun court and Clarines, spotted faintly -- which is not -- and while Kiki looks on, red flares across her cheeks. Not delicate, not controlled, but blotchy, like she’s been slapped on both sides.

Oh. Well. She was under the impression concubines weren’t capable of that. At least, not anymore.

“N-no. I mean, yes. That’s fine. It’s only...” She puffs out her cheeks, clapping her hands to either side. If they weren’t so small, she might cover the whole of her blush. With a firm shake, she continues, “I’m not allowed to treat patients. Not that I couldn’t! But it’s only...pharmacy rules.”

Kiki holds up a hand. “I know. Your friend -- Higata? -- informed me. That’s not what I’m here for.”

Her brows are perfectly shaped, arched so that they may be raised ever so slightly in surprise, so that she barely needs to move in order to convey all the acceptable emotions a woman might have. After all, beauty did not wear wrinkles well.

And yet, she furrows them, forehead crinkling in confusion.

“Then why are you...?” Her lips close around the words. “I mean, what can I help you with?”

“Nothing too terrible, I hope.” Kiki pulls her smile wide, baring just the briefest flash of teeth, trying to radiate warmth, trust. “I just thought you might be hungry for lunch.”

His fingers arrive first, hooked around the balustrade, before his body hauls into view. It’s nothing from there to get a leg beneath him, and then another, perched on the rail like a cat on a sill.

“Glad to see you’ve finally showed up.”

Obi yelps, nearly slipping right off into the bush below. “Miss Kiki! I thought you’d be inside with Master.”

“I was.” She bites back a grin, sidling up to the rail beside him. “They’re talking about birds.”

He lets out a world-weary honk. “Still?”

“Still.”

“I’ve been gone for three months,” he sighs, settling himself on the balustrade, letting one leg dangle over the edge. “I thought you guys would be over all this by now.”

“Oh, you know Zen,” she tells him airily, “he’s very invested in...birds.”

Obi lets out a huff. “If he’s so invested, he should just go see them already.”

Kiki cocks her head, raising her eyebrows in a way that already has him squirming. “Is that your opinion as a married man?”

He makes a noise, something sister to a choke and cousin to a gasp but also neither, and she finally pays attention. “Is something wrong?

“Wrong?” he laughs, looking harried, looking hunted. “No! No. Nothing’s...”

Even before she came into Zen’s employ, Kiki had been the girl amongst the boys, the rose amongst the thorns, and as such, had honed her do not bullshit me expression to a sharp point. She can make even the most incorrigible man regret his choices at a hundred paces.

Obi only lasts as long as it takes for him to look up. “I don’t think she’s happy here.”

Kiki stares, but he won’t look at her, won’t look anywhere but the gardens with an expression she can only call tortured. “I’m sorry?”

“Shirayuki,” he sighs, and oh, she can hear the trouble brewing in that name alone. “She hasn’t said anything but...”

It’s not like Obi to run out of words, but he does, using a twist of his wrist to indicate that she should take them to their obvious conclusion. Which she does, with a twitch of an eyebrow and great zeal. “The honeymoon a bit of a disappointment?”

Obi, to her everlasting shock, blushes. “W-wha? No! That’s not-- I wouldn’t--” He lets out a pained pant. “Who teaches you these things, Miss Kiki?”

“Would it disappoint you if I said Garack?” He looks fit to choke, and, ah yes, his lovely new wife was one of the pharmacy’s newest volunteers, if she remembers correctly. “I could make up a lie if you like. I watched bitches in heat--”

“Please,” he creaks, holding up a hand. “Stop.”

Not if he is going to make chasing this rabbit into its warren so rewarding. “My, my. Is the illustrious Sir Obi, ‘I Light a Fire in Many a Girl,’ all talk?”

“N-no!” he snaps, defensive, straightening his spine as if another two inches might help his reputation. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that’s not where it matters. “It’s just...”

She hums, lifting an inquisitive brow.

“I maybe haven’t...been the most truthful...” Each word falls from his mouth as easy as a pulled tooth. “About exactly how I ended up married...”

The enthusiasm is a surprise, to say the least.

“I’ll only be a minute.” The girl is practically bouncing on her toes, red curls bobbing brightly down her back, and has been since Kiki deigned to take a seat on their sofa. It’s from Viande, she’s heard at least twice; a wedding gift from Marquis Haruka.

Kiki eyes it warily when the girl bounds back into her boudoir to ‘ready herself.’ The last she’d heard, he and Obi had barely been able to stand being in the same country as each other, let alone room, and now Haruka was sending them wedding gifts.

“It was very nice of him, wasn’t it?” she calls out. “So generous.”

“It is,” Kiki agrees mildly, crossing her legs tighter. She could only trust that Obi had done his due diligence and searched it for poisoned pins in the like. After all, Haruka was no dear friend of his, and Viande was the city of...canals.”I hadn’t realized you were so close to the marquis.”

“Oh, yes!” In all her wildest imaginings, Kiki had never dreamed that she might hear someone gush over Haruka, but here she was, listening to Obi’s own wife recommend him for heaven. This is where her life had led her.

In retrospect, it only made sense that Obi was to blame.

“If it weren’t for him,” the girl continues blithely, “I never would have...”

There is a hiccup, a hesitation. The moment practiced liars sail through with nary a thought. “The marriage was his idea.”

Hah. That made this particular gift come into focus. It had been Haruka, after all, that was sent to Tanbarun’s court, who had been meant to broker better relations with their neighbor. Obi had ridden along as an attaché, something between personal assistant, body guard, and spy.

He’d threatened to vomit when Zen told him. But now, well -- it only makes sense that they had reached some level of accord. So much had changed in Tanbarun, that might as well too.

“I admired the pattern before.” Her words come slower now, more careful, as if she’s sifting every one. “Obi’s room has something similar, when he...”

The silence hangs heavy between them, and Kiki lets it. The longer it ages, the more awkward it becomes, and she bites back a smile. There is no better way to get the measure of a person than to see how they squirm in the absence of idle talk.

“Anyway,” the girl huffs out with a limping laugh. “I’ve held us up enough.”

The door swings open, and -- and Kiki expected a full walking gown, expertly made and expensively embroidered, just flirting with the amount of humble restraint a knight’s wife is supposed to show. Instead it’s a short dress, hardly embellished at all save for the wrap around her waist, with leggings beneath. It’s a style she’s seen in the market, worn by the city girls who wander it; something practical yet fashionable --

And on Obi’s wife, wholly unexpected. Kiki stares down at her own tunic, cinched tight like a bodice, and her own pants, tailored close to her shape like a man’s buckskins, and realizes -- there are some who would see them and say they matched. Peas in a pod, to quote her father.

It should bother her more than it does.

“We best get going,” Kiki says, wincing at how the words trip out of her mouth, ungainly. She takes a breath, composing herself. “After all, I would hate to take up too much of your time.”

Small fingers grip her vambrace, and those wide eyes shine up at her. “Oh, please.” Every syllable shakes as Shirayuki speaks, tremulous, “no moment would be wasted with you, Lady Kiki.”

“Oh.” That is...entirely too earnest a sentiment for a woman like this. Kiki gently tugs her arm free, gesturing to the door. “Then we should get started. I did promise you lunch, after all.”

“A concubine?”

Obi head whips over his shoulder, shushing her with a hiss. “You don’t need to say it so loud!”

His gaze darts all around, as if the dogwood or the honeysuckle might spread the word. Thought, to be fair, with the amount of spies at court, Kiki wouldn’t doubt a man hiding in the branches.

She settles a glare in him that quite eloquently portrays, it’s a pity I have to say it at all.

Obi withers, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Aw, Miss Kiki, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she asks, miles away from her body. “Surely you’re not the first man who led a mission of diplomacy with his--”

“W-wait! Wait.” He waves his hands, distressed, which is exactly what he’s going to be if he doesn’t explain himself in full. “It wasn’t like that at all!”

“Please.” Her fingers tap thoughtfully at her hilt. “Do enlighten me as to what it was like.”

“I know you only said lunch.” The girl keeps pace easily beside here, the thick curl of her hair bouncing with every step. “But I thought maybe...”

Kiki braces herself. Here it is, the first request. Something small, something that would seem innocuous. A stop to an expensive shop. And introduction to a handsome friend, a --

“Maybe we could go to the market too?”

Kiki blinks. That was certainly...small. “The market?”

“I’ve never been.” Her words rush out in a jumble, like a pack of ungainly hounds being called to dinner. “Well, not for a long time, and never here. I used to go all the time when I...”

Her jaw tenses, trapping the rest of the thought behind her teeth.

“Anyway,” she begins again, brighter. “I thought it might be fun. Just the two of us.”

It’s easy to see how she’s taken in the boys with this act; Kiki’s half-fooled herself. With her soft blush and those down-turned eyes, the way her conversation keeps skidding to a halt, well --

She may not be a man, but she is a knight. Her job is to protect the weak, the helpless.

She just doubts this girl is one of them.

“Of course,” she says, smile firmly in place. If this girl wants to give her more time to figure out her game, Kiki will cherish every second. “Let us go to the market, Lady Shirayuki.”

She takes two steps before she realizes the girl hasn’t moved. “Lady--?”

“Please,” the girl blurts out, “there’s no need-- you shouldn’t--”

Kiki may not trust her, but she’s savvy enough to know when distress is feigned, and this -- this is not. “Is something--?”

“Please.” The girl takes a deep breath, summoning a tremulous smile onto her face. “Lady Kiki. You can just call me Shirayuki.”

It’s only when Kiki snaps her jaw shut that she realizes it opened at all. “Then you’ll have to call me Kiki.”

The girl smiles at her, so bright and wide and genuine that it hurts to look at. “All right. Kiki.”

The texture of her disapproval is different this time, at least. “Have you told Zen?”

His grimace tells her everything she needs to know. “Not in...so many words, but,” he hurries to add, “His Majesty knows!”

Kiki let out a sigh. Of course, Izana knows. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had records of the first day of her menses and the proposed date of her next, let alone that his brother’s idiot retainer married a concubine straight out of Prince Raj’s seraglio.

“I had to ask permission,” he tells her, as if this should clear him of his idiocy. “Well...it was after the fact. But I did ask.”

Her pulse presses against her temples, and oh, will she have a headache later. “And what did he say?”

“Well...” He pulls at his shoulder, eyes rolling heavenward. “He was very...skeptical.”

Oh, to put it mildly, she’s sure.

“But he understood we had a limited amount of choices, and an even tighter amount of time to make them in.” He shrugs a shoulder. “His Majesty seems to like her now.”

Kiki’s mouth draws flat. Of course he did. Every man seems to like her. All men want to be needed, and she gives that to them in spades. The girl is practically irresistible.

“Oh yes.” Her teeth buzz with her annoyance. “And His Majesty’s reason could never be compromised.”

Obi nods, without a hint of irony. “Exactly.”

Kiki rolls her eyes. Men were utterly useless.

A single step into the market, and Kiki feels it, that pinprick on the back of her neck.

They’re being watched.

With an air of unstudied ease, she brushes a piece of lint from her shoulder. It’s nothing to flick a casual glance up, and -- yes, there. A man lingers in the shadowed maw of an alleyway.

Ah, so perhaps Izana was not so certain of the concubine’s loyalties after all.

“Oh, there’s an apothecary!”

Kiki startles; she barely has enough time to get her feet underneath her before she’s subject to the full force of Shirayuki’s gaze, as gentle and irrefutable as the tide. “Do you mind?”

It’s not fair that she can look at a person like that, not when her face is practically all eyes. “I would have thought you’d be tired of herbs.”

“Oh, no, never!” Kiki doesn’t recognize this smile on her; it’s wide, earnest, so different from the one she turns to the men when she needs them. “I was going to sell them, back before...”

Ah, there. Another smile is sacrificed to her silence, buried by the thin spread of her lips.

“I never get tired of them,” she says softly. Her fingers reach out, caressing a spray of dried lavender with as much tenderness as a lover. “Did you know? Garack told me I might take the apprentice exam the next time they offer it.”

Kiki blinks. “I...did not. No.”

“Oh!” Her eyes blow wide, hand clapping over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that! I haven’t even told Obi yet. I just--” her cheeks flush sheepishly-- “I suppose I got excited.”

Kiki isn’t used to this, this forceful need to support. “If Garack Gazalt personally invited you to take the exam, then there’s everything to be excited about.”

The noonday sun is bright above them, but it pales in comparison to how Shirayuki glows at her words, hands fluttering over her skirt like wild butterflies. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course.” Blind confidence has always come easier than tender feeling. “Garack is an excellent judge of skill.”

And character, she doesn’t add. That doesn’t feel pertinent, save to her.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when the girl grabs her, her small hands wrapping tight around hers. They’re soft, like she expects, but there’s hard calluses too, forming right at the palm and fingertips. Right where one might hold a pestle. Or a dagger.

“Thank you.” Shirayuki gazes up at her with shining eyes, a tremulous smile shaking her lips. “Thank you for saying that.”

It is not a choice to smile back, it is just something Kiki’s mouth does, unbidden. “I’ll say it anytime you like. You only need to ask.”

Shirayuki lets out a noise that is something like a laugh and something like a croak. Something not pretty, something real. “Thank you,” she says, eyelashes fluttering wetly, “but I think I’ll only need the once.”

“I’m worried.”

Kiki nearly snaps back, I’m worried for you, too, but she knows how he’ll take it, how her doubt will do far more than sting. She’s livid, ready to shake him down to his bones for being so stupid, but-- her trust is important to him. And despite all this, he still has it.

“About what?” The girl manipulated herself out of a seraglio and across a border; that she has anything to be unhappy about it patently ridiculous. Perhaps her prospects have disappointed her-- though Kiki can’t see how, not when both Zen and Mitsuhide are wound so tightly around her finger-- but if she was really so miserable, she’d have caught a hay cart to Viande by now.

Obi rubs at a shoulder, mouth pulled thin. “I think she’s...lonely.”

She stares. “Lonely?”

“I mean, I spend time with her!” he yelps, as if Kiki isn’t absolutely certain just what kind of quality time convinced Obi to hang an albatross around his neck. “And she volunteers in the pharmacy too. I just think she’s worried that...”

His mouth closes but his hand opens, at a loss, and -- and she knows. If anyone were to find out the storied past of Sir Obi’s new wife, that she wasn’t some court lady in Tanbarun but instead the first prince’s concubine--

Kiki knew all too well: the court of Clarines was not always kind. Perhaps they might smile; after all, Obi was the second prince’s aide, too close to the crown to cross, but --

Well, that has never kept an invitation from being misplaced. Or stopped the whispers that ran rampant behind fans. We cannot trust a foreign whore.

Kiki might pity the girl, if she didn’t know the type. She might not have a back door on this plan, but she has a half dozen windows. It’s only a matter of time before she takes one of them.

And it will be Kiki who has to clean up the mess she leaves behind.

“Maybe we should have invited the boys,” Shirayuki laughs, engulfed to the elbow with bags. “At least then we would have someone to carry things.”

Kiki tamps down on her impulse to agree. It would be nicer if they could saddle the boys with their purchases and let them sort it out. “We do fine enough on our own.”

Shirayuki gives her a speculative look from the corner of her eyes. “But Mitsuhide is so strong. It seems like a waste not to let him show it off.”

He’d carried her bags for her when they’d first arrived, the girl clinging to him like a limpet. She’d done the same at the festival in Yurikana, all big eyes and breathless voice when he’d bought her the shawl she’d been looking at --

“I like him quite a bit.” If the words seem bold, it’s nothing next to the coy look she casts at her. “Strange that no one’s snapped him up.”

“Hm.” Kiki manages. It’s hard to speak when she’s trying so hard not to pull hair.

“Mitsuhide,” she says again, like she enjoys the way it feels in her mouth, like it’s hers. “He’s your...?”

“Mine.”

“Ah, well.” Shirayuki’s mouth curls. “Then that explains it.”

Kiki does not make friends easily, but the ones she has, she protects.

Whether they want her to or not.

Kiki had planned to take the girl somewhere nice, upscale. A small Tanbarunian cafe had popped up in the market, popular now that their relations were so warm with Clarines, attended almost exclusively by the young, fashionable, and upper crust of the court. An irresistible spot for a spy longing for home, or a social climber searching for a convenient bed to hop to.

Shirayuki, of course, had other ideas.

“Are you sure you’ve never had a meat pie?” she asks, eyes incredulously wide. “I thought they had them everywhere.”

The last meat pie Kiki had eaten was expertly prepared by Seiran’s chef, served in a small, ceramic dish, garnished with fresh sprigs of parsley and sage; the entree to a very restrained five courses. A dish as related to the thing this vendor was hawking as a lion was to a house cat.

“Not one I could hold in my hand,” she says instead, eyeing the stand. “We don’t have many street vendors in Seiran.”

“Oh!” Shirayuki’s mouth spread wide, in a grin that was half pleasure, half mischief. “Then I’ll point out all the best things for you to try.”

There is no reason for her chest to clench like this, or for her eyes to tear, not when she has not given them permission. There is no reason for her to so fondly think of how that grinning mouth reminds her of another, when --

“All right,” Kiki sniffs, blinking away-- pollen. It must be pollen. Summer was terrible for...trees. “But remember, I’m paying.”

Her eyes round with distress. “But we’ll get so much! It’s only fair that I pay for my own, at least. I have some money--”

“Please.” Kiki puts a hand on hers, stilling it in her pocket. “It’s my pleasure. But,” she bites her cheek, uncertain, “you’re sure you don’t want to go somewhere--?”

“No, no!” Her hand twists, catching Kiki’s and twining their fingers. If Shirayuki usually smiles like this, Kiki really can’t blame Obi for stealing her away. “The food is the best part.”

“It would just be nice if she felt like she had a...” Kiki feels rather than sees his eyes dart to her, then away. “...friend.”

“A friend.”

“Yeah.” He rubs at the back of his neck, sheepish, guilty. “She didn’t really have much of a choice in coming here, you know?”

Of course he would think that. The girl practically throws herself at him, angling him into an impossible situation, and yet she is the one who lacked a choice in the matter.

Kiki has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. Every man thinks a woman is born with both hands broken.

“All right, all right, I’m sure she wasn’t disappointed, so you can stop looking at me like that, Miss Kiki,” he tells her with a wry twist to his mouth. “But the whole marriage was...last second. I’m not really sure that she knew...”

She lifts a brow. “I think she had plenty of ideas about what to expect--”

“Miss Kiki!” he gasps, scandalized hand pressed to his breast. “I didn’t mean that. I meant...” He blows out a breath, color high on his cheeks. “I meant being married to me.“

Oh. It’s so clear on his face now, like the sun through parted clouds and, he-- he--

He’s in love with her. The idiot.

“I have a free afternoon next week,” she says, because she is too good of a friend. “Unless you don’t think you can keep her happy for that long.”

“Miss Kiki,” he breathes, and it’s too much having him look at her like that, like she’s -- she’s something special. Not Lady Seiran, not the second prince’s sword, but Kiki. “Thank you.”

Kiki marks another man as they stand in line, this one lounging on the terrace of a nearby cafe, noticeably not reading his broadsheet. There’s another that hovers by a stall with scarves, fresh-faced and staring so baldly that he must be new to the business. She’ll have to tell Izana the boy needs some work.

“I know it doesn’t seem like much, but there’s something satisfying about eating off a stick,” Shirayuki tells her, weaving through the crowd, “we just have to-- oh!”

Something chimes as it strikes the cobbles, and Shirayuki’s hands fly to her mouth. “My pin!”

With no thought whatsoever, the girl bends straight at the waist, and --

Ah, those are not Izana’s men.

Kiki steps up behind her, giving her a firm tug on the elbow to yank her upright. “You have it now?”

“I do!” Her cheeks are flushed, and Kiki is not the only one who notices. “I can’t believe it fell out.”

“Here,” Kiki takes the stick from her hand, sweeping up Shirayuki’s impossible locks into a knot, and pinning it tight. “Now you won’t lose it again.”

“Thank you!” She raises a hand, touching the simple twist with such reverence that Kiki feels heat flush at her own collar. “I’d be heartbroken if I lost it.”

“Mm.” Kiki squints, the dangling tassel all-too-familiar. “That’s the one Obi won for you, isn’t it?”

In that stupid streetfight, she doesn’t add. They both know exactly what she means. How could the girl not, when Obi had dragged himself through the festival like a man trudging to the gallows, all because they had some sort of falling out, one so quickly forgotten when his wife had realized that he’d fought for--

“Yes, in that stupid fight,” Shirayuki spits with enough vitriol to make Kiki blink. “He got himself a black eye for that too!”

“I know,” she murmurs faintly, “I was there.”

“Yes, you were! Ugh.” Shirayuki rolls her eyes. “It’s very pretty, but I wish he had just--” she lets out a frustrated noise that contained the sort of multitudes that only a woman could understand-- “men.”

“Men,” Kiki concurs, teeth bared as she meets the eyes of such creatures steadily in turn, letting them see just what sort of plans she had for those who could not control a wandering gaze.

They all seem to find the cobbles intensely interesting, all of a sudden.

With a toothy grin, Kiki loops her arm through Shirayuki’s, tucking the girl firmly against her side. “Now come on, our lunch is getting cold.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Kiki warns him, hating how her stomach twists. “We may not be friends.”

Most women didn’t take kindly to having their machinations exposed, after all.

Obi only hummed, his mouth curling at a corner. “You’d be surprised.”

“I don’t think I can eat all this,” Shirayuki admits, taking a bite of another meat pie. Juice dribbles from the edge of her lip, but she doesn’t notice, only shakes her head as she swallows it down. “I had us get too much!”

“It’s fine.” Kiki can’t help but smile, leaning in to catch the drop before it falls onto her skirt. “We’re sharing, after all.”

Shirayuki stares up at her with those too-large eyes, jaw dropped, and there’s-- there’s something that makes Kiki squirm in it. Something too close to awe.

“Right,” the girl murmurs, nodding her head. “Because we’re sharing.”

They settle into a companionable silence, picking at the dishes between them, nearly all of them fried and most of them stuffed with meat, and in a few memorable instances, sweet cream. It’s like nothing Kiki has ever had; the food may not be as high brow as she’s used to, or as expertly spiced, but there’s a sort of satisfaction to eating things from a stick, or biting into dough only to get powder all over her trousers. And the company...

Far better than expected.

“Kiki,” Shirayuki blurts out, red-faced, her head hung over her lap. “Before, when I said I was excited, I-- I lied.”

Kiki may have known this was coming, but she finds herself disappointed anyway. “Oh?”

“I said I was excited because of Garack Gazalt.” Her hands fly out, gripping on to hers. “But I was excited because I was with you.”

She blinks, staring down at the fingers that have clenched themselves white. This was...certainly a new way out of a loveless marriage. “Shirayuki--”

“There aren’t...” Shirayuki’s mouth wraps around her words again, stilling them, and -- and Kiki is so tired of it, so tired of watching her struggle past the things she can’t say.

“Please.” Kiki squeezes her hand. “You don’t need to do that around me. Say what you need to.”

“In the women’s quarters, we didn’t...” Shirayuki won’t look at her, her gaze fixed to where their hands clasp each other, to where Kiki has still not let go. “Concubines don’t make good company for each other.”

She wouldn’t imagine so, not when they’re all vying for the attention of the same man. And with one as flighty and useless as Raj...

“I’ve never had...” Shirayuki hesitates, as if she’s pulling out thorns to say it. “A friend.”

“Oh.” That throws this whole excursion into a new light.

“I don’t mean-- obviously, there’s Obi, but...” She bites her lip. “It’s different. You know what I mean?”

Kiki first got her menses in the castle, right on their first mission beyond its walls. Zen had stared at her as if she had been gored, as if she were about to die right in front of him. Mitsuhide had wrapped his cape about her and bundled her off to the first apothecary he’d seen, paying for herbs and fresh linen with a smile.

It’s natural, he’d told her as she’d stared at the rags with wide eyes, you might feel like you’re going to die, but you’ll be right as rain in a few days. At least, that’s what my sisters say.

Sisters. She’d clung to that; even through the cramping and bleeding, that had seemed to be the more important thing. Mitsuhide had sisters. Yet another crumb he’d given her when she’d been starving to know him, because even then she--

Ah. “Something like it.” She offers her a small smile. “It’s far past time we had another woman around here, at least.”

Shirayuki dares to look up at her, dares to let her smile mirror Kiki’s. “You know, when we first met, I was worried that you...well.” Her cheeks flush, two terrible blotches that Kiki can’t help but be fond of. “You’re very pretty, and knew Obi well, and, ah...” She gives her a significant look. “You know how well Obi can light a fire in women.”

Kiki gapes. She certainly knows how he thinks he can. “You thought...Obi and I...that we...?”

She shakes her head. It’s unthinkable.

“That’s why I asked about Mitsuhide!” Shirayuki giggles, squeezing her hand. “He seems very kind. And very handsome. So I thought if anyone might tempt you...”

“Oh.” She had said he was hers. Just. Said it. Because she thought that Shirayuki was... “Hah.”

Shirayuki’s mouth curves in a shy smile. “As I said, I like him quite a lot. I told Obi he’s just like how I imagine my big brother would be, if I had one.”

“Like a...” Mine. It had come right out of her mouth, so easily. “Brother.”

“Though,” Shirayuki’s smile takes a wicked cant, “I could see how a lady might feel differently.”

She had fooled her. Used her own preconceptions against her and got her to admit out loud something she would have happily taken to her grave, and--

And now she’s teasing her, mouth rucked up at a corner, so like her husband that for a moment it makes Kiki come unmoored, and--

“I only invited you because I thought you might be using Obi.”

Shirayuki’s eyes go wide, searching, before both their gazes drop to the space between them, as if she’s a hound that’s been sick on the carpet, as if her words might have made an actual puddle of sick between them.

“But I don’t think that anymore,” Kiki hurries to add, gripping her hands so tight she must be hurting her, though it’s nothing next to what her words have done-- “Not at all.”

“Oh,” Shirayuki manages, breathless. “Oh.”

“I’m...” This should not be so difficult, not when she has already said the worst of it, not when the damage is already done. “I’m having a very good time. I hope we do this again soon.”

Shirayuki’s breath rasps in the silence, sharp and wounded. She won’t answer, not when Kiki has already ruined everything by telling her--

“Yes!” Her fingers squeeze so tight their knuckles crack. “Yes, please. Anytime.”

Kiki blinks, lifting her gaze to finally look, and-- “You’re not upset?”

“Of course not.” Shirayuki’s smile is blinding, even in her confusion. “You like me! You-- you want to be friends.”

“I do,” she breathes, surprised at how much she means it. “I do. But I didn’t...this wasn’t...”

“Kiki, I understand.” Her head bows, wisps of red springing free from her twist to kiss their clasped hands. “Obi must have told you that I...that we...”

“You aren’t precisely a love match,” Kiki offers delicately. She refrains from adding, on one side.

“Yes,” Shirayuki sighs, relieved. “Any other man would have just left me to fend for myself, but he brought me here, even after...”

She hesitates now, but this time it’s different; it isn’t from shame or fear, but privacy instead. A moment between her and Obi, still too fresh to share.

“I know it can’t be easy to trust me,” she says, “not when he had so little choice.”

Kiki stares. “Obi?”

“I know that’s not precisely true--” Shirayuki flushes, blotching at her collar, her cheeks, her ears-- “but it would never occur to Obi that he could have just gone without me, and I--”

Oh, she knows that look. “You love him.”

“I--” Shirayuki drops her hands, blood draining abruptly from her face. So pale, her freckles sit starkly against her skin. “Is it obvious? Do you think he knows?”

Her jaw works for a moment before she manages, “I can say with all confidence that he absolutely does not.”

“Oh.” Shirayuki’s hands flutter to her face, pressing to the apples of her cheeks, as if she could keep the pink from them if she only tried hard enough. “Are you sure? I thought maybe that was why he wouldn’t lay with me.”

Kiki coughs. Good thing she hadn’t put anything in her mouth before that. “What?”

“He wouldn’t touch me in Tanbarun,” she says, thoughtful, “which seemed prudent of him, at the time. But now we’re married, and I thought...well, there must be some reason he hasn’t tried to, you know--”

“Yes,” she interjects smoothly, before any more of that sort of talk can arise. She could curse Obi, putting her into a situation like this. “I just...I’m quite sure that’s not the case.”

Shirayuki tilts her head, as if she’s mulling over some particularly complex puzzle, and heavens and stars, Obi is an idiot.

“But really,” Kiki starts, unable to help herself, “you haven’t don’t anything?”

“No!” Shirayuki moans, dropping her head into her hands. “And I left all my good lingerie in Tanbarun.”

“Oh.” She shouldn’t get involved, she shouldn’t, but-- “Are you done with your lunch?”

She blinks, staring down at the remains of the plates between them. “Ah! It is getting late. I should let you--“

“Oh, no.” Kiki stands, brushing off her trousers before offering out her hand. “We’re not done here.”

Shirayuki stares up at her, wide-eyed. “We aren’t?”

“Of course not.” Kiki grins. “After all, I know just the place for you to recoup your losses.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #concubine au #ans #this fic took THREE DRAFTS #THREE OF THEM #it was supposed to be 3k TOPS #and it ended up being nearly 7K #BUT I'M GLAD I DID IT #getting both Kiki and Shirayuki's voices in this were a bit of a challenge #but man it eventually worked out a lot better than I even hoped #and I got some Kiki/Obi friendship in here #and some background mitsukiki hints #ALL IN ALL A GOOD DAY

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sabraeal · 6 years ago

Text

Lies Save a Man Once (and Truth Saves Him Twice)

Obiyuki Trope Madness Semi-Final Really Royalty Reveal

There had been nights when she first arrived in Lyrias -- frigid ones that had seeped even through the flannel of her sheets and wool of her nightgown, ones that had left horses dead in their stalls -- where Shirayuki had lain wide awake, wondering if she would survive her studies. In the darkness, chill pressing in around her, she’d wondered if she had not been sent north to be forgotten, if she had simply been an inconvenient snag in the tapestry of Wistal, snipped out before it could ruin the rest of the weaving. She’d shivered under the covers, fingers stiff from cold, and struggled to make the best of what she’d been given.

A spot at Lyrias was an honor, even if it was exile too; better yet, it was an opportunity. Luck like that had been thin of the ground those last few years.

Shirayuki knew better than to spurn a hand up, no matter what it looked like. If there had been one thing she’d learned before coming to Clarines, there was always a way to turn a hardship into a success.

She’d done more than succeed; a few good fur blankets and better company had turned Lyrias into home. Endless hours studying had turned a talent into a career. There had been nights, towards the end, where she’d forgotten Wistal entirely.

Wistal, however, had not forgotten her.

If there’s one thing Shirayuki has missed about the South, it’s the open windows.

She nearly forgets that she can open them -- in Lyrias she never dared, save for the few tepid weeks of summer where the snow melted and the sun shone, or if the air became far too stale in her rooms -- but when a maid bustles in with a tray for lunch, mentioning the beautiful weather, she hardly hesitates. The catches spring open under her fingers like a breath held too long, and the warm winds of Wistal envelop her.

It’s Izana’s household that nests in the south wing, its windows overlooking the expansive pharmacy gardens, but Shirayuki’s view in the west isn’t without its charms as well. Though the aromatic gardens don’t spread their scent this far, a smaller, ornamental garden sits beneath her balcony, and when the wind blows she can smell every bloom.

Rose and honeysuckle hit her first, followed by the subtler scents of camellia and marigold. Warmth spreads through her that has nothing to do with the heat of the afternoon. She’s missed this; as astounding as the hothouses are, they can’t compete with the subtle pleasure of summer wafting through a window.

The breeze catches just right, and salt stings her nose. It’s faint, the sea miles away from the capital, but it’s enough, so welcome after only the sharp bite of winter.

Shirayuki sighs, content, and turns back to her trunk. The maid had offered to do this too, but she’s never been in the habit of letting others do what she can do for herself. The only clothes she relinquished were those dirtied by the road, and only because she knew from experience that the laundresses did not take kindly to interlopers.

She also doesn’t quite know how long their stay will be, and she would rather not be repacking this trunk in a day’s time, only having used a single set of clothes. But admitting that to someone in Izana’s employ is an amateur mistake, something that will only lead to him dragging the visit out longer than he already has, greeting them days from now with a smile curving into a smirk and a wry, I hope you weren’t in a hurry.

She lets out a huff, shaking her head. There are some things in Wistal she has missed, but that is not one of them.

A shadow falls across her floor, and she ducks her head, hiding a smile. It’s not only the scent of flowers that comes in through her balcony, here.

“You’ve finished?” She turns her head just slightly, catching his long limbs in the corner of her eyes. “Everything is to your satisfaction?”

“No,” he sniffs, perched precariously on the balustrade like a particularly put-upon gargoyle. “But that’s not surprising, since Sir Zakura won’t take any of my suggestions.”

She bites her lip, fending back a laugh. “To be fair, the last time you were here, you were more skilled at breaking security than making it.”

“That’s not true, Miss.” He’s trying to debate the point, but it comes out more like a whine. “Lord Makiri called me indispensable before I left for Sereg!”

She favors him with a long look. “I didn’t mean for a visit, Obi.”

“Oh.” He hops off the rail with a thoughtful cant to his chin. “Well, that may be true, but I am a loyal knight of the Royal Circle now, Miss.” He presses a hand to his chest, insincerely sincere. “I’m utterly trustworthy.”

Her look turns flat. “If that’s the line you used on Zakura, I can see why he threw you out of his office.”

“He didn’t throw me out, Miss!” he protests, sauntering toward her door. “I gracefully retreated --”

He halts at her threshold as if he’s hit a wall. His lips peel away from his teeth in a grimace that makes her heart stutter in her chest.

“Obi?”

It’s impossible to keep the fear from her voice; Obi’s a body in perpetual motion, but he’s frozen now, eyes darting about her room with enough suspicion to make her shiver.

“Something isn’t right.” The words come out so low they’re practically a growl, her skin pimpling with goosebumps. His foot crosses the threshold, taking a cautious step, and --

And he sniffs. “Is that...lilac?”

She stares. Lilac? “Is that--?”

He’s at ease now, his little game over, and Shirayuki fantasizes about closing the distance between them, laying her hands on his shoulders, and shaking the life out of him.

She breathes. The moment passes.

“Yes. From the sheets.” She lifts a sprig from the stack she’s left by her bed; whoever made this one had gone slightly overboard in their desire to scent them.

Obi shuffles over, wary, his fingers wrapping around her wrist to steady it as he takes a deep, curious inhale. “They’ve switched from lavender.”

He jerks back, nose wrinkled and mouth pulled just short of a grimace. “If His Majesty wanted us gone so badly, he could have just summoned us sooner.”

Shirayuki huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s the reason they switched the herbs, Obi.”

“Could have fooled me.” He takes a step toward her bedside table, and with one quick swipe of his hand, sweeps the rest of the sprigs into the trash. “Besides, the whole staff knows that you prefer...”

His teeth snap down on the rest of his thought, but -- but Shirayuki has not learned nothing from her tour of the North. The implication, now that he’s said it, is...unmistakable. And distinctly uncomfortable.

When Shirayuki had first moved from the pharmacy dorms to the west wing, the scent had been the sharp sweetness of verbena, a favorite of Haruto’s when she still lived in the castle. She’d only inquired the once if they could lay hers with lavender -- she knew that they had plenty from her hours in the gardens -- but by the next week the whole wing smelled of it.

Of course, Kiki had laughed, the domestics always follow the tastes of their mistress.

And now it had been changed again.

“Don’t be silly,” she huffs out, ignoring the way her stomach lurches. “If something like -- like that had happened, Zen would have told us.”

Obi’s silence is damning.

“He would have written, at least,” she insists, though it does nothing to settle the flutter in her chest or the wrench in her gut.

“If he knew,” Obi agrees, too late. She wants to protest -- there is no way he couldn’t know, that such a decision could be made without him, but --

But it isn’t so hard to imagine Izana’s subtle hand in this, switching out small things at first, removing the traces of where she touched, exorcising the memory of her from the west wing’s very stone...

And then leaving someone else in her place. Someone who preferred lilac scented sheets.

She doesn’t even realize her hands are clenched until Obi taps them, each fist releasing under his barest touch.

“We have been gone for a while,” he opines, sauntering past her. “Sir could have developed a terrible lavender allergy while we weren’t looking. Breaks out in nasty hives. He was just too embarrassed to tell us when they visited.”

Shirayuki ducks her head, smothering a laugh. “Or Kiki.”

“Nah.” Obi waves off the thought. “Miss Kiki is made of marble and fire. Little things like allergies can’t touch her.”

“I don’t think that’s how biology works,” she says, casting a sly glance at him, and --

And it’s been so long since they’ve both been here, alone in her room. Or maybe he never has been; all her memories of him are in the the window of the dormitory, clothes hanging off him even when they’d been made new, just for him. He’d been sinew and sharp angles; a chin digging into her shoulder, or elbows spurring her in the gardens. But now --

Now he stands taller in this room, wider, taking up so much space she feels...cramped, even though it’s twice as large as her quarters in Wilant. She’d known he’d grown since they’d gone to Lyrias; she had watched him fill out his uniform more and more, until the fur of his coat no longer hung off his shoulders but clung to them --

But that doesn’t prepare her for this, for the realization that it’s all turned to -- to confidence. To muscle.

A dress is in her hands, but they itch to hold something; it feels entirely too dangerous to leave them empty, to leave them with no excuse not to –

A knock saves her.

“Hello?” A familiar form hovers at the open door.

She spins, grateful for the distraction. “Shikito! It’s been far too long!”

“Lady Shirayuki, Sir Obi. It has been.” He steps into the room with a warm smile, giving them a polite, if informal bow. “I’m sorry to admit I’m only here on business. I’ve been asked to relay that His Majesty requests your presence in his study.”

She blinks, fingers bonelessly dropping her dress to the bed in a heap. Izana had certainly wasted no time putting these wheels in motion, now that they were here.

Of course, Obi feels differently. “Took him long enough.”

Shikito’s smile stills on his face, as if he’s unsure whether he’s supposed to answer or not.

“Of course, Shikito,” she says, throwing Obi a quelling look as she heads to the door. “We’d be happy to come.”

“I understand congratulations are in order,” Shikito says as they walk down the palace corridors, mouth parting wide in a smile. “The guard isn’t privy to most of the gossip at court, but the word is that your work with the knights’ circles was an unprecedented success.”

It’s not quite a laugh that escapes Obi, but something like amusement’s more bitter cousin. “Nice to know how low the bar was set, wouldn’t you say, Miss?”

She knows better than to glare; giving him attention only encourages outrageous behavior. “The knights were much more accommodating than reports had led us to believe.”

“Especially when Miss was the first woman most of them had seen in --”

Annoyance and embarrassment make heady kindling for the heat that licks at her collar. “That wasn’t why.”

She doesn’t need to be looking at him to see his teeth flash in a knife’s edge of a smirk, to hear the bark of his laugh. “Notice how she doesn’t say it isn’t true.”

“Most of the circles were...remote,” she admits, feeling the heat work its way to her cheeks, her ears. “But I wasn’t the only woman to visit. The circles host many travelers over the year, and I’m sure more than a fair share are women.”

Obi weaves in close, too close. “But none so pretty as Miss.”

It’s a lost cause to try to bank her blush now, not when he says things like -- like that.

“Now that i can believe,” Shikito admits. “I’m sure they found you entirely agreeable, my lady.”

Obi coughs; it’s a poor cover for his laugh. “I’m not sure agreeable is the word they’d use...”

“In any case,” Shirayuki manages. “I’m glad Izana has made time to see us.”

“Finally.”

It would be too much to expect Obi to not pluck that low-hanging fruit. She should have known better than to tempt him.

Shikito blinks, surprised. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No,” Shirayuki says, at the same time as Obi says, “Yes.”

“Three days,” she admits grudgingly, shooting Obi another quelling look. “Though we’ve only just been invited to the castle today. We spent the other two in the city.”

“I am sure His Majesty got to you as soon as he could,” Shikito manages, striving for sincere. It’s undermined completely by Obi’s snort. “I know he was eager to see you before His Highness’s arrival.”

“Zen?” Shirayuki blinks, dumbly watching as Shikito opens the door to the royal study. “Zen is coming?”

Obi shrugs, eyes just as wide as hers as they are lead out to the terrace. “Master never said anything to me.”

“His Highness --”

Shikito never manages to finish the thought.

A sea of white cloaks crests on the terrace, drawn blades glinting in the radiant light of the afternoon sun. This by itself would be enough to set her heart galloping, but she trips at the open door, boot scuffing on stone, and as one, every head swivel towards them.

The term post-mortem has never seemed more threateningly apt than now.

Obi’s hands hover at his back, just over where he keeps his knives, every line of his body tense and coiled.

“Well now, Mistress,” he drawls, voice tight. “Are we sure we didn’t commit any treason while we were in the north?”

“No.” Shirayuki stares at the grim faces of the guard, stomach twisting. “At least...not on purpose?”

Obi doesn’t dare turn his attention from the swords in front of them, but she can read the annoyance stiffening his jaw. “Miss, I really need more conviction than that right now.”

“What’s going on?” Shikito calls out, confused. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Ah, it seems my expected guests have arrived.”

The blinding wave of white shifts, and in the ebb stands Izana, like some goddess from one of Wistal’s frescoes, only with impeccable tailoring. At first glance, his expression is bored, as if he were merely offended that they had kept him waiting, but Shirayuki knows him better to believe the mask, to take anything the king does at face value. She ignores the obvious and looks at his body; the stiff line of his shoulders and the firm set to his jaw.

The king of Clarines is tense.

“Lady Shirayuki,” he drawls, not quite meeting her eyes. “It seems you and your knight have arrived at a most…exciting time.”

She blinks. “Exciting…?”

Izana’s eyes roll pointed southward, and it’s only then that she sees the guards at his feet.

“Oh!” she gasps. They’re alive, up on hands and knees or prostrate on their backs, all with minor injuries – it’s hard to tell from where she stands, but one has a broken nose, another a dislocated arm, and the third clutching at his knee.

Obi’s outstretched arm bumps against her front, and it’s only then that she realizes she’s taken a step toward them.

“I...” She tilts her head, confused. “Did they fall?”

That surprises a laugh out of him. “Fall?”

Biting back a surge of annoyance, she asks, “What happened?”

Izana’s mouth pulls tight. “A misunderstanding.”

“My apologies…”

Shirayuki is poor with faces and names – Suzu had teased her often enough about only squeaking by with her cheery attitude – but she never forgets a voice, and this one – this one is both utterly strange and comfortingly familiar, like a well-loved bedtime book read by her grandmother instead of her grandfather. The words are the same, but the way they are read is disconcertingly different. It sets her on edge, even though the voice, deep and resonant, soothes.

Obi must agree as well; he’s stiff as a board beside her.

“I should make my entrance using more…polite channels, next time.”

Izana’s smile pulls as tight as a noose. “Please.”

A man emerges from the crest of white, sauntering through a sea of hostile faces as if this were merely another part of his day, something he slipped between lunch and a turn around the gardens. He’s even more familiar now, though she’s certain they’ve never met – she’d remember a man like him, tall and lean as whip, with a smile more like a threat than a greeting.

He reminds her of Izana, in a way; their build is similar, and his charming smiles just as deadly, but while Izana hides his training beneath waistcoats and cravats, this man displays it like a trophy. Even standing still she feels movement in him, anticipation, like a cat coiled to pounce. His smile is stark against the bronze of his skin, and the way it crooks at one corner is so strikingly familiar she feels nearly dizzy from it, as if she should know where she’s seen it before.

His face falls when his gaze lands on Obi, lips wrapping around a word --

She doesn’t even see the knife in the air; she only knows it’s been thrown by the way one sits perched in Obi’s grip, by the way his hand trembles as he lowers it.

“Nanaki!” The man flings himself across the stones, long arms tangling around Obi’s shoulders as he hits him like a wall.

It’s...a hug.

Obi is stock still, motionless, little more than a wide-eyed statue. “Brother?”

Shirayuki blinks. “Brother?”

Izana gives a thoughtful hum and he strolls closer, hovering just behind Shirayuki’s shoulder. “Ah, so this would be the cause of your...abrupt entry.”

The man -- Obi’s brother -- pulls back, smile broad and genuine. It looks...strange, on a face so similar.

“Oh yes,” he breathes, his eyes -- just as gold as his brother’s -- drink in his features like a man who hasn’t seen water in years. “My Eyes said that my brother was detained here, in the capital.” His large hand squeezes Obi’s shoulder, fond. “But I see these reports have been...exaggerated.”

Obi’s expression shifts instantly from shocked to annoyed. “I can’t be detained if I don’t want to be.”

“Of course not!” his brother says, entirely insincere. “I of all people know your sk --”

His voice skips, brow furrowing as he takes a step closer. His hand raises, thumb tracing over the scar that sits over Obi’s eye. “This didn’t heal well.”

Obi rolls his eyes, but doesn’t brush him away. “It’s old.”

He -- he leans in, just a bit, before his brother shakes his head, stepping back to arm’s length.

Shirayuki’s gaze darts between them. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Our esteemed guest is a....person of interest in Clarines,” Izana explains. “He manages a great many ventures in Port City, though he specializes in the ones that often...bring him to the attention of my men.”

She stares, lost.

With a sigh, he clarifies, “He is known, colloquially, as the King of Thieves.”

“Inaccurate,” the man says absently, gaze never staying from Obi. “But it does have a certain...dramatic flair to it that I can appreciate.”

Izana’s smile turns sharp. “You’re too modest.”

The man’s grin is just as dangerous. “I’m merely a man with a great many friends. Surely you would have more proof if I were otherwise, Your Majesty.”

Izana looks as if he would be all too-happy to answer that challenge, but Shirayuki asks, “And he’s your brother, Obi?”

“Yes,” Obi grits out, just as his brother says, “Yes?”

The man’s eyes turns owlish eyes to her, swivels back to Obi. “Obi?”

He rubs his neck, right where it was starting to flush a startling red. “It’s, ah, a long story.”

His brother stares at him, measuring, and with deliberate slowness says, “I’m sure.”

He turns to her then, charming smile in full force as he takes her hand. “And who is this enchanting creature?”

Obi makes a strangled noise as the man bends over her hand, pressing his lips to its back.

“I-I’m Shirayuki,” she squeaks.

If anything his smile widens. “And you know my brother...?”

“Obi has been my guard for the last few years. And,” she adds, with some amount of steel in her voice, “my friend.”

“I see,” he drawls, mouth quirking. “What a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance, Lady Shirayuki.”

“You too, Mister, uh….”

His teeth flash behind his lips. “Why, you must call me Nanaki.”

“What?” Obi snaps, eyes glinting.

“Come now, Obi,” Nanaki drawls. “It’s only fair.”

Obi’s mouth pulls thin. “Well, you’ve found me now. I guess you can just…turn back around and go right home.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” his brother says, still holding onto her hand with a grin. “I just found you again. And besides, I want to get to know your…friends.”

Obi’s gaze snaps to Izana. “Shouldn’t you be arresting him, or something?”

For once, Izana seems…uncomfortable. “Ah yes, well, the thing is…”

“Brother, come now.” Nanaki’s smile sharpens in amusement. “I’m merely a man with connections! I can’t help what people do with them.”

Obi, for one, looks even less amused than Izana.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” she says, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “You must have great stories about Obi!”

“Oh,” Nanaki enthuses as Obi moans. “How did you know? That is simply my favorite topic.”

The checkpoint’s report arrives late in the morning: three young men riding at a relaxed pace, the prince among them. Shirayuki is informed not long after they finish lunch, the news brought to her by none other than Izana himself.

“May I suggest,” he says, “that you might wish to explain the…current situation to my brother yourself?”

It doesn’t sound like much of a suggestion, but she takes the point. By the time her and Obi reach the stables, he’s already ridden in, Mitsuhide and Hisame already dismounted at his side.

“Shirayuki! Obi!” he calls out with a wave, his smile fading as his gaze settles just behind them. “…Brother?”

Izana’s smile spreads entirely too wide. “I think there’s something your knight wishes to tell you.”

Zen nearly falls off his horse.

“Who is your brother?” he snaps, brushing the dirt from his trousers.

Obi rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s not that big of a deal…”

“Don’t be so humble, Sir Obi,” Izana drawls with a smirk that makes Shirayuki’s skin crawl. “If we extend the metaphor, why, that would make you the prince of thieves.”

Obi grimaces. “That’s not --”

“And to think,” Izana sighs. “I despaired of you ever making friends with your peers.”

#obiyukimadness19 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #match 2 #really royalty reveal #my fic #ans #i've honestly had the idea for OBI PRINCE OF THIEVES for like...years #but never had the opportunity to run with it #but now Obi and Nanaki are reunited #and Obi has to live with the embarrassment #of having his older brother hanging around #using his NAME

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sabraeal · 6 years ago

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Sensitive Negotiations, Chapter 5 (Shirayuki’s POV #3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Obiyuki Trope Madness Championship: Mutual Pining

“It’s just over this rise,” Shirayuki whispers, twisting on the bench. “The best view in the barony.”

Obi casts a dubious glance at her knees, then at the snow, and only says, “Careful, Miss.”

The sleigh crests the hill in a joyous burst, the snow flying out from beneath its runners sent shimmering into the air, like something right out of a fairy story. Shirayuki rocks on her knees, bench squeaking under her, and -- and as the horizon unfurls before them, her breath catches in her chest.

The south may have their treasure with gold and baubles, Lord Kichirou had told her, but in the north there is no greater jewel than when the sun shines on Kaninshala.

It had not been an exaggeration. Shirayuki has never been fortunate – or interested – enough to see any of the ancestral treasures of Wistal, but they must pale in comparison to this, to the way the snow glitters under the full light of the north’s sun, the way water glints like sapphires in the distance.

“Over there.” Her arm swings out toward the spill of icy blue, growing as the sleigh swings closer. “The lake. The jewel of Kaninshala.”

She sways, just slightly, and that’s when she notices the band of warmth around her waist, the worn white against her Lyrias blue.

“Is that what his lordship says?” Obi’s tone is light, inquiring, but she knows his sarcasm when she hears it, no matter how well masked.

His arm tenses around her, hand pressing firm to the span of her back. She doesn’t think he even notices, no matter how...personally distracting she finds it. No matter how it reminds her of the last time his hand had laid there --

I could just...cut it off, he offers, tugging at her laces, the gold of his eyes molten --

“I thought we might go skating,” she blurts out, as if she might blot out the gravel of his voice with her own. “If it’s not too late in the season. Since we seem to have to provide our own entertainment.”

“If we get close today, I can take a look.” Obi’s lips curl up at one corner, wry. “But I wonder what his lordship will call it after.”

Her brow furrows in confusion. “After?”

“After he lures you into being Lady Kaninshala.” He meets her gaze now, in the full light of day, and there’s -- there’s none of that heat, of that secret promise, just his regular spark of mischief. “Or will you just merely be one of the jewels in his --”

“Oh hush,” she huffs, her laugh leaving steam on the air. She twists, sinking back onto the bench. The velvet presses in around her, warming her even without the furs. “Not every lord is trying to find himself a wife.”

“Of course not, Miss,” he says, too easy. “Some of them are trying to find their sons wives.”

She fusses with her covers, pulling them up over her lap. “Izana sent me here to treat with the lords, not marry them.”

Obi lifts a narrow brow, mouth rucked up on one side. “Are you so sure about that, Miss? He said he wanted you to do the sort of diplomacy only you could do.”

Her stomach churns, heart fluttering breathlessly in her chest. She would like to think that Izana thought more of her than that, that he hadn’t sent her to Lyrias only to see her married off to some baron of the the north, assuring loyalty, but -- but even if it was not, he certainly would have considered the possibility. He would have arranged it so something so advantageous could happen, and here she is, bare months since Zen and Chiyo’s engagement has been announced --

“I’m not going to be Lady Kaninshala,” she says, firm. “Or lady of anywhere.”

Obi’s eyebrows waggle teasingly. “Not even for the Olin maris?”

“No, not for that.” She smooths the furs over her lap, shaking her head. “I’m not about to marry myself off for...for that sort of thing.”

“Political connections? Money?” Obi supplies, mouth splitting into a grin. “Personal gain?”

She hates how she blushes, heat spreading over her face like a beacon. She should be used to this sort of talk now; she’s not some common girl anymore, growing up in the merchant’s quarter where the only marriages that were arranged were between widows and widowers to bind business or raise children.

“Yes,” she tells him primly. “Nothing like that.”

“Then what could lure Miss into marriage?”

Obi leans back, eyes narrowing until she can only see a sliver of gold between the thick fringe of his eyelashes. It’s playful, the way he looks at her, the way he rubs at his chin as if he’s solving some great puzzle. But she cannot help but wish it was -- was more, was the way he had looked at her deep in his cups at Svarbjorn, that the rasp of his stubble was not against his palm but her own skin --

“I-I wonder,” she stutters, trying to give him his own mysterious look. It at least draws a laugh out of him.

“Maybe...” He leans in, arms caging her against the velvet, gaze pinning her breath in her lungs. “Maybe it is --”

Wet and cold land on her face, sudden and unpleasant, and she can’t help the shriek that tears from her, the way her hands reach out to grasp at the sleeves of his coat. Obi jerks back, head swiveling to stare out across the snow, gaze fixing on --

On the gaggle of colorful wool coats that follows them; the small, fair faces above them the very portrait of innocence. Shirayuki is confused still, up until her eyes shift to the back of Obi’s neck, catching the snow dripping down from his hair, collecting in the collar of his coat.

“Clearly,” Obi grits out, “it would be these charming children.”

Of all the things that could await her at Kaninshala, Shirayuki does not expect the children.

“I’m too used to Lyrias, I think,” she murmurs, sweeping snow off the sleigh’s furs as Obi lowers himself back to the bench. She flips them back over his lap, but he eyes them warily, shifting so he’s half out from underneath them. The children all are shrieking alongside, trying to knock the snow from their hair and shoulders. “I never thought it was odd, how few of the houses had them.”

“Lata did say they foster here.” Obi shifts, his leg slipping out from where her blanket laid over his thigh. Shirayuki frowns, fiddling with the endge of the furs. He can’t be comfortable, just sitting on the seat like that, nothing to protect him from the cold besides his coat. “Maybe they send some of them south. To Wistal, probably.”

Something about that doesn’t sit well, doesn’t feel like truth. “If they sent their sons to Wistal, I doubt we’d be here.”

Obi lets out a surprised laughed. “True enough, Miss. Then His Majesty would have all the assurance of good behavior he needs.”

She flushes. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Of course not,” he chuckles, tilting his head back, letting the snow gather on his eyelashes, melts on his cheeks. “But it is what would happen.”

She grunts, not quite in agreement, but their conversation is cut short by a blur of red and gold swinging into the seat across from them. Another half dozen follow, blue and brown and black in turns, resolving into flushed-cheeked children, clad in their finest woolen coats.

“And here I thought a sleigh ride involved being in the actual sleigh,” Obi drawls, grinning at the girl in red, her golden curls spilling down her mantle.

Nina lets out a huff, breath misting in the air, confounding the snow that falls into it. “It’s boring to sit the entire time, sir,” she tells him, haughty, every inch a noble girl. A cousin of the lord, Shirayuki suspects, though no one’s told her so. “Besides, there’s so much better things to do in the snow!”

Obi’s gaze cuts to her, hand lifting as if to say, see?

“It’s quite nice,” Shirayuki says, “so long as you’re under the furs. And even better if you share.”

He’s already red-cheeked from the cold, but Shirayuki could swear he gets the slightest bit pinker, turning his head away.

“Share?” Nina sticks out her tongue, already getting to her feet. “That’s what couples do.”

Now it’s her turn to flush, sinking beneath the furs as Obi vibrates beside her, holding in his laugh.

Lord Kichirou is young, less entrenched in the stiff tradition of the North than most of the other lords she had met. Seating at dinner is not rigidly assigned; instead he sups in his great hall, the dais meant for his lordship and his guests left unused as he sits down among his men. Still, when they answer the summons for dinner, he has kept the seat to his right hand empty for her.

“Ren-ichi,” he calls out to his man, a little ways down the table. “Make room for Lady Shirayuki’s knight.”

Obi offers the man a death’s head’s smile as he extricates himself from the benches, all teeth and no humor. He’s ill at ease here, despite the lack of rules. Shirayuki is at a loss why.

“Please, my lady, sit” Kichirou says, patting the table next to him. He looks like a lord from bygone days, clothes rough and well worn, with a heavy fur cloak dominating his shoulders. He reminds her not a little of Hideo.

“Ah, you have a good eye,” the lord tells her when she mentions it over the soup course. “My mother was his sister. Before my father passed, I fostered at Vitsjo.”

Mouth full of stew, all she can do for a moment is nod. “I had wondered! There were so few children elsewhere --”

Obi’s hand clenches hotly on her thigh, and she only just manages to swallow down a squeal. Her gaze darts to him, and he stares at her steadily, eyes filled with warning.

“Are there?” Kichirou’s smile remains in place, but there’s a strange quality to it, a hardness. “Still, you are so good with them, Lady Shirayuki. Even Edur speaks highly of you, and he hardly speaks at all.”

She smiles, remember dark curls over a blue coat, a rosy face only glimpsed from around a bigger child’s hip.

“They make it easy,” she tells him, pleased with the compliment. “They’re good kids.”

“When they aren’t putting snow down your back,” Obi murmurs into his venison.

The benches are so convenient. They let her shove an elbow into him and make it look like an accident.

“I appreciate the compliment, my lady, and it does you credit to give it.” Kichirou gives her a warm smile. “But I do share this castle with them. It is a testament to your patience that you lasted out the whole day, and a recommendation to your character that they loved you for it.”

She flushes under the looks he turns to her, in turns both assessing and – and far warmer than that. “I think that nurturing is a skill that comes easily to you, my lady.”

She opens her mouth, not sure how to answer such a compliment, but –

“It’s only to be expected,” Obi says, insinuating himself obviously into the conversation. “Miss is the best pharmacist in Wistal.”

Kichirou gives him a mild glance, lips tight. “Ah. That’s so.”

“Oh, that’s not –“ Heat curls under her collar and burns at her ears. “That’s not true at all. There’s so many of us, and it’s really – it’s that we’re a team…”

“Ah, and humble too.” The lord beckons one of the footmen to him, carrying a pitcher of some wine. “Here, a drink, from my own personal cellars. To thank you for a job well done, today.”

The goblet is set before her, pewter and plain, the drink inside stinging her nose. Still, it would be rude to refuse it, and after the day outside, snow dripping down her back –

“Thank you, Lord Kichirou,” she says, “it’s much appreciated.”

He nods, looks the other way –

And Obi swaps their glasses. Her mouth pulls tight, but she drinks the watered wine when Kichirou turns around, smile plastered to her face.

“I wanted that,” she mutters through her grit teeth.

Obi takes a sip, grimaces. “No. You didn’t.”

Frustration is her constant companion at Kaninshala.

The foremost is for her mission. It has been months since they began this trip, months that she has been smiling and eating and drinking and convincing, only for every lord to give her a kind smile, to ask her, but have you spoken to Rodatrad? Lord Kichirou’s reception has certainly been the most gracious, the most marked – but it gains her nothing behind closed doors, where he only nods politely, looking halfway to bored before he changes the subject to something else, to either the children or her interests or her other studies.

The second is – is Obi.

In Wistal, she’d been used to being treat like – like she was precious, made of glass. Zen had always wanted to be her shield, be the one to keep her safe, protected. The one counting her drinks, the one to volunteer for a dirty job so that she could stand back, the one who had never quite realized the difference between what a lady did for herself – and what a common woman could.

She’d found it…nice, at first. So different to how her life was in Tanbarun, to how she was always expected to bear up, to do everything herself, to be the one everyone else ran to for their problems. To be treated as if she didn’t need to be that person, that she could be delicate, could be someone to be helped instead of the one always helping, had been a relief.

But she’s not that girl, not anymore. Lyrias has given her confidence, has given her friends who trust in her competence but catch her when she stumbles, has shown her what it is to be respected, in the way people respect Garrack, or Shidan, or even – even Izana.

And Obi is supposed to be one of them.

“My lady,” he murmurs as she sweeps out the door of Kichirou’s study, falling into step beside her. He’s back to not looking at her again, back to keeping an arm’s length between them. She’d hoped between the sleigh ride and dinner tonight that he had – had forgotten whatever was making him this way, whatever was making him act like her touch was a plague.

“Obi,” she replies, tight, words trying to flee her mouth so quickly they stick in her throat. It’s like she’s a corked flask over flame; every small disappointment, every unsaid word leaves her ready to explode.

They turn a corner – one she takes too tight, forced to sidestep a statue lest she upturn it entirely, and he – he –

He jerks away from her, like she burns.

So she does. “There was no need for that.”

He cocks his head, eyes earnestly wide, like a dog not quite sure why it’s being scolded. “Miss?”

“I can have a drink,” she says, because this is the one thing she can explain, the one thing that makes enough sense to put words to. “Maybe not as much as you, but – one drink would have been fine.”

Obi’s smile pulls tight, settling on his face like he’s – he’s angry. “But it wasn’t one drink. He poured you two more after you were finished --”

“Only because I finished,” she says, trying to keep her tone even, trying not to sound angrier than this all deserves. “If it’d been strong, I could have just nursed it all evening. Then you wouldn’t have had to drink three of them.”

“Only two,” he assures her. “I didn’t drink much of the third. It wasn’t a vintage you would have appreciated anyway, Miss.”

It’s something in the easy way he says it, in the way he can be so casual when she is – is mortified and – and incensed that makes her feet stutter beneath her. He stops a moment after her, turning his head over his should, confused –

“That isn’t my point, Obi.” She’s tearing at herself to get these words out, but she needs to, she needs to. “I don’t know why you’re acting like I can’t handle myself.”

Not when he’s never done it before.

“Miss…” He won’t look at her, can’t even bare to drag his gaze up from the carpet to talk to her. He just stands there, eyes wide and – and lost. “I know that you can…that you’re able to…”

He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “His lordship isn’t the sort of man you should let yourself go around.”

“Let myself go?” she echoes, flat.

“I didn’t --” he shakes his head – “Miss, I only meant you shouldn’t let your guard down.”

“It was a drink! No more! Obi.” She steps closer, leaving only a hand’s-breadth of space between them. Tension fills the space, like it did at Svarbjorn, when he cornered in their halls, and she just – just –

Wishes he would close it, do something besides stand there like a scolded dog.

“You don’t need to protect me from every lord or lord’s son we talk to,” she tells him, soft. “Do you really think I would just…throw myself at someone after one drink?”

His silence speaks volumes.

There’s a part of her that’s betrayed, that aches at this lack of trust -- but there’s another, larger part that is agog. Between the two of them, it’s Obi who has thrown himself into his cups and then at her, who begged her to stay in bed with him.

“Well,” he laughs, stilted. “It’s not as if you haven’t been caught in someone else’s bed.”

She jerks back. “This is about Varghala? Are you really upset that someone saw us in bed? Fully clothed?”

The maid hadn’t even looked surprised.

“No, it’s -- it’s not about that.” He’s frustrated, his words coming out clipped and desperate. “That’s just an example, not --"

“Obi, nothing happened.”

His mouth clicks shut so hard it’s painful. Obi stands there for a long moment, taking a ragged breath through his nose before he dares, “But something could have, if things went differently.”

“But you were there,” she presses. “The only person I took to bed was you.”

His lips pull thin, narrow brows furrowed. “That’s --”

His mouth works, but all that comes out is, “I think we best get to our rooms, Miss.”

“This is a lot of fruit,” Nina whines, golden curls bouncing back over her shoulders as she sits up. “Do we really need more?”

Shirayuki offers her a smile, looking up from where she’s helping one of the younger children peel. “There’s a lot of syrup on the stove!” she explains. “And the pieces will get smaller as they cook. So it’s up to you how much candy you want.”

Nina’s mouth juts into a pout, and she bends over, sullenly intent on her task. Of all the brood at Kaninshala, it’s her that has the sweetest tooth.

A tug on her sleeve brings her attention down into large, gray eyes. “Yes, Edur?”

He is so small, so serious, and his voice is barely above a murmur when he asks, “Could you help me with this?”

He gestures to a knife, slightly too big for his hands, and she smiles. “I think I could handle that.”

She makes to get up from where she’s hunched, but Obi’s already there with a steady smile and helpful hands. “You hold it like this,” he says, molding his hands around Edur’s small, pale ones. “And you move the blade like this – keep your fingers up, off the table, one along the back just like – perfect. And your other hand –“

Obi’s good with the children, a natural. It doesn’t strike her why she never doubted his skill, not until he’s standing over Edur, until she sees their dark heads bent together and gray turns to blue –

Oh. Of course, he’s always been good. As rough as he likes to pretend to be, he’s soft too, safe. She knows all too well how safe it can feel to be with him –

Provided he hasn’t too much. Then he’s – he’s –

He’s a type of dangerous she doesn’t know how to deal with.

A flush curls up her neck as she remembers how he held her close, how he told her he could cut the corset off her, if his fingers couldn’t manage. Of how she’d woken up next to him in Varghala and wondered if he had found his way into her bed as well as his cups, and she had burned –

“Why are you here?” Katla’s reedy voice cuts through her thoughts, her little button nose wrinkling as she tries to make yet another cut. “Everyone says you’re on some sort of mission.”

She blinks. “Oh. I hadn’t…”

The children are everywhere, she realizes. At dinner, at meetings, in the hall when Kichirou hold petitions – there is no part of Kaninshala they are not welcome, save private chambers. It only makes sense that they know about this, too.

She sets the littlest one on her lap, holding her hands steady as she peels. “It is about a plant. One that I made.”

Nina scoffs. “You can’t make plants.”

“Miss can,” Obi tells her, grinning with all his teeth. “But this time you’re right. It’s that she’s made a stone and a plant together.”

The children look at her with wide eyes.

“It’s a special plant,” she tries to explain. “It glows. And it can grow nearly anywhere. But before it…wasn’t safe to have around.”

“But then Miss made the seed able to live in the stone,” Obi adds, “and now it’s safe for everyone.”

“I want to grow it all along the roads in the North,” she says, “but I have to get support from Lord Kichirou to do it here.”

“Is it very pretty?” Nina asks.

“It’s like holding a star in your hand,” Obi says, and his opens, the glow stone alive on his palm. The children openly gape.

Katla nods her head, arms crossed over her chest. When she opens her mouth, her words are decisive.“I’m gonna tell him he should let you.”

“It seems you’ve gathered yourself quite the potent allies,” Kichirou tells her as the meat course is served, haunches of venison and roasted onions steaming on the table between them. “The children are all eager to grow stars in Kaninshala. Katla will name one after herself, of course.”

Heat blooms high on her cheeks; she takes a sip of her wine -- watered tonight, pored under Obi’s watchful gaze -- and hopes he thinks it’s the drink. “Oh, I hadn’t – I hadn’t meant to use them. They wanted to know why I was here. It must have occurred to them that you hadn’t hired me and Obi to be their playmates.”

Kichirou’s smile softens, reaching out to place the choicest cut on her plate. “Of course. I should have known.”

The cough in her right ear is dry, and sounds suspiciously like personal gain.

She swivels on the bench, lifting the pewter ewer set between them, and fills Obi’s cup.

“You should watch that,” she advises him solicitously. “Shidan said it’s all too easy to catch your death in the North.”

The only hint he’s felt the sharp heel on his toes is a twitch at the corner of his lips. A raise of his cup covers even that. “You’re too kind, Miss.”

“A natural healer,” Kichirou agrees earnestly. “I see whey the children have taken to you so easily.”

“Oh! Don’t let them sway you, please,” she presses, twisting on the bench. She nearly forgot she had a purpose at this table. “I only want your support if you think --”

He lays a hand, as rough and careworn as any Northern lord’s, over hers, stilling the words on her tongue. “I am afraid they are the only counsel I listen to.”

It’s hard not to notice how his palm swallows hers whole. “Oh, I --”

“Save for one.” The set of his jaw changes, eyes narrowing grimly. “You haven’t had much luck with the other lords, have you?”

“No,” she admits, ears burning. She’s hoped things would be different here. “They all said that they were impressed, but they couldn’t give me an answer. Not yet.”

Kichirou nods, hand lifting from hers to his cup. “They’re all waiting on Rodatrad.”

Her teeth grit in frustration. “Does his word mean so much?”

“His is the truest line in the North,” he says, as if that should explain it all. Perhaps to the lords, it does. “There is a reason he alone keeps his title, when all the other duchies of the North now suffer Southern lords.”

Shirayuki tilts her head. “I don’t follow.”

A hand lands hotly on her thigh, burning her through layers of wool, and Obi leans close to murmur, “He was powerful enough that Master’s father feared taking his title.”

“Your knight is correct.” The glance Kichirou throws Obi’s way seems almost...displeased. However, what ill-humor Obi’s observation draws from him evaporates from his gaze long before he turns it to her. “It helped that he had not fallen in with the Bergatts and their mad plan to take back Wilant. But still, he was the first to…”

The words hang in the air, Kichirou’s fist clenching hard on the table.

“Kain made him suffer anyway. And the rest of the North.”

She’s missing part of the picture; whatever had gone unsaid in his silence, Kichirou clearly though should be plain to her ears.

“I had no idea….” she manages, biting back, and I still don’t.

“Of course not, my lady.” His smile is harsh. “I would not expect you to. But there is not a man in the North who would not wait on his word.”

“Well.”

The word echoes hollowly in the corridor as Obi walks her to her rooms, emphasizing the space between them. At dinner he may have squeezed her thigh, but here, alone in Kaninshala’s halls, he acts as if there’s a whole other person walking between them.

Maybe, for Obi, there is. “That explains the children.”

Shirayuki blinks, shaking away her speculations. “How? He only said --”

“Where are all the heirs to these houses, Miss?” Obi's eyes are steady on hers as they walk, face strangely serious. “Lord Hideo’s are by his side, but they’re younger than Kichirou. Where are the ones his age, the sons who should be having children to fill the halls?”

She’s not sure what he’s trying to pick at, what secret he wants her to know, not until –

Not until she thinks about years, about history – Hideo’s sons are her age, maybe even a few years younger, the closest she’s seen to children until Kaninshala. Kichirou, though, he – he’s Izana’s age, the age of most of the young men at court, too many to account for all the lords of the south, and yet here in the north, he’s the only one she’s seen –

“Fosterage,” Shirayuki breathes, the picture painfully clear. “Zen’s father punished the northern lords by taking their sons.”

“We’ve been worrying about the wrong children.” Obi’s laugh is a harsh, bitter thing. “It’s not the young ones that are missing, it’s their fathers.”

“That explains why Kichirou keeps so many about the castle,” she says. “And why there’s no formality here. They must all be – be children of the North --”

A laugh bursts out of Obi, so hard he grips the wainscoting to stay upright.

“What?” His eyes search hers, wide and gold as coins. “Children of--? Miss.”

“What--?”

He holds up a hand, waving her off as he gasps with laughter.

“Did I…?” She swivels her head around, trying to see if there’s any explanation for his outburst, if there’s anyone who could possibly explain it to her. They’re alone, save for the animal heads on the wall. “Did I say something funny?”

“Oh, Miss,” he gasps, wiping away tears. “I think you have missed some…crucial details.”

She frowns, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Obi levers himself up off the wall, chest still shaking as he tucks her arm against him. She’s be more upset about it if – if he wasn’t so warm.

“Don’t worry, Miss,” he tells her, entirely too amused. “I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

“Miss!” Obi waves as he slides to the shore, grinning as he catches buckling her skates, skirts all rucked up in the snow. She’s a sight, to be sure. “Are you finally going to join us?”

“Yes!” Shirayuki sighs, settling back. “If I can manage to get these on!”

He drops down beside her, carefully balanced on his knees. “Having a problem there, Miss?”

“It’s all these petticoats!” she fumes, dragging more skirt away from her legs. “And the coats, too! How does anyone put on their shoes around here?”

He laughs, catching one of her booted heels in his hand. “Let me, Miss. You’ve been so busy helping the kids, you’ve hardly thought to help yourself!”

Her face flushes. “You don’t have to --”

He ducks his head but meets her eyes, mischief in them as usual, but –

But there’s more there too. There’s heat. “But what if I want to, Miss?”

Her mouth opens, closes, but she doesn’t have words, not when she’s watching his fingers so dexterously buckle on her skates. It can’t take more than a minute or two, but it feels like an eternity, every muted press of his fingers against the leather of her boots reminding her of the way they had felt through her dress that night, how they had felt on her leggings when he’d gripped them in the stables months ago, how they’d feel on her bare skin if she dared to let him –

“There,” he murmurs, squeezing her ankle as he finishes. “Isn’t it nice to let someone care for you, Miss?”

Her cheeks sting with heat taking in that arch tone of his, that wry lift of one narrow eyebrow. “I could have managed if I didn’t have so many of these skirts.”

“Of course, Miss.”

“Lady Shirayuki!”

Both their heads jerk toward the ice, to where Nina is dragging a recalcitrant Edur. “Are you going to skate or not?”

“I’ll be there in just a minute,” she promises. “But make sure everyone is being careful. I know it measured fine this morning, but it’s not so cold this afternoon. The ice might be thinner in places than we know.”

“It won’t be warm enough to break until summer,” Nina scoffs. “The ice freezes as deep as my whole arm!”

Shirayuki shakes her head with a laugh. “If you say so. Just be careful!”

“We will, we will!” Nina waves her off, skating away with Edur in tow, heedless to any warnings.

Obi cranes his neck back toward her, grinning. “Look, it’s like you’re their mother already.”

“Oh, hush,” she laughs, trying to work her way to her feet. The children had all made it look so easy, but with the ice beneath her and her skirts tangling about her knees, it seems like an impossible task to Shirayuki.

A hand juts into her vision, a vibrant bronze against the pale blues and whites of winter. “Come on now, Miss. You aren’t even on the ice yet.”

She follows the arm straight up into Obi’s grinning face and clasps his wrist, letting him haul her to her feet. She promptly wobbles.

Her hands flail for his coat, fur tickling her palms, and she can feel him vibrating with laughter. “Problem?”

“No,” she laughs, gripping him tighter as she shifts her legs under her. “It’s just been a while.”

“Clearly.”

She pulls her lips playfully thin. “I haven’t been since we all went in Lyrias. The time we were trying to --”

“—Teach Ryuu.” He grins. “I remember. He fell three times and called the whole thing a waste of time.”

“We should try again,” she tells him, letting him pull her a little ways out, where the ice is smoother, not so slick with snow. “When we get back to Lyrias again, I mean.”

Obi laughs. “I think you should focus on this time, Miss.”

Her legs wobble, and she squawks, “It will come back to me! Just…don’t let me go.”

His hand squeezes around hers. “I don’t plan to.”

He says the words so flippantly, so easy, but it makes her heart race, makes her wonder whether the Obi that tried to coax her into bed is the same as the one who won’t let her fall, if Obi waking might know something of the Obi who emerges from his cups. She doesn’t – doesn’t know how to even begin to approach it, how to tell him about all the things he’s said, he’s done, what she’s wished he’s done.

But she can try.

“Obi --”

A crack shatters the air between them, like glass breaking over heat but – but louder, like it could be heard for miles –

It’s the splash that is the most telling.

“Edur!” Nina shrieks, and Obi is already moving, already an arrow across the ice, their linked hands dragging her with him. Edur’s dark head bobbles above the water, his hands scrabbling for a grip on the ice.

“Get back!” he calls out, but it’s useless trying to move them, not when the children are all trying to reach out to him, all trying to grab Edur’s hand and pull him up.

Obi skids to a stop, ice spraying their splayed legs, and he huffs out a word she knows she’ll forget to chastise him for later.

“I said, get back,” he growls, grabbing little Katla’s legs and sliding her back on the ice, behind him. “It can’t hold all of you!”

“Edur! Edur!” Katla shrieks, tears streaming down her face, leaving frozen tracks behind, as Nina snaps back, “He can’t swim!”

Shirayuki doesn’t know how to say it doesn’t matter, that what matters is the minutes he sits in that water, how his clothes will pull at him and how small his body is under all those layers. Swimming is not what will save him here, but –

The crack is softer this time, almost like the sound of a spring, and it’s only Obi, dragging frantic children back by their feet, that keeps them all from going under. But –

“Nina!” Odd yelps, trying to surge forward as the ice breaks beneath her chest, as the eldest of them starts slipping in –

“When I say get back,” Obi pants, hauling her out, “I mean it.”

“He went under!” she sobs, fighting against him even still. “I couldn’t hold him!”

Shirayuki’s gaze whips back to the break, to where a dark head no longer treads above the water –

Just in time to see the splash.

“Obi!” she gasps, taking an thoughtless step toward the hole, towards the endless layers of clothes he shucked upon the ice.

If anyone can do this, it’s Obi. She knows that, knows it in her bones, but it doesn’t stop her from thinking about how disorienting it is under the water, how hard it is to find the place where you left –

Her foot is poised for another ill-conceived step when a ragged gasp breaks the surface, Obi’s soaked head not far behind.

“Take him!” he grunts. That’s when she sees the mop of dark hair flopping over his arm, limp. A half dozen questions race through her mind – is he breathing? Is he sensate? – but none of them matter if they don’t get him out of the water.

Shirayuki slides onto her belly, creeping towards the hole. She doesn’t know how to do this, not really – the pharmacists may know how to treat frostbite or hypothermia, but it’s the guards who fish people out from the ponds. Still, she remembers some of what she’s heard, scooting out to where Obi treads as quickly and carefully as she can.

“Grab hold!” she tells him, holding out her hands. He stares at them, uncomprehending.

“You can’t pull us both up, just --” he tries to bring Edur to the edge, to put him in her arms, but the effort sends the both of them back under the water.

“Obi!” she shrieks as he surfaces, grabbing at his free hand. “Just help me --”

Fingers wind painfully tight around her glove, paler than she’s ever seen them, but she grips back just as hard. She doesn’t have traction on the ice, not enough to try to pull him up, but she supports him as he hauls himself up onto one elbow, Edur cradled tight against his chest. The boy’s face is pale, eyes closed and mouth slack; unconscious, at least. Impossible to tell if he’s breathing.

“Miss!” Obi’s got both elbows on the ice now, trying to haul himself up, but he’s been in the water too long. Strength doesn’t matter in temperatures like this; the cold leeches life from anyone in minutes, and he’s already struggling to keep not only his head but Edur’s above water. “Take--”

She grabs his shirt with both hands and hauls.

Obi’s not a big man, not like Mitsuhide or even Zakura, but he’s not the same stray cat he was when he prowled Wistal’s roofs, more sinew than sense. Without her legs under her, she doesn’t have the power to move him much --

But it’s enough. He flops onto the ice, belly first, coughing hard.

Still, Edur doesn’t move.

“Take him,” Obi grunts, shoving the boy toward her. She pulls him across the ice, up into her arms, but still she’s rooted to the spot, watching Obi pant with his body half-on the ice

“But--”

He drags himself across the ice until only his shins are left in the water. “I can handle myself, Miss.”

“Edur!” Nina’s shrieks are far too close, and soon there’s a half dozen pair of hands grasping at her, helping her lay Edur on the ice.

“He’s not breathing!” Katla warbles, and for a moment Shirayuki’s heart stops, taking in the pale face and still chest.

She take a breath, long and deep, and puts two fingers to his wrist, to his neck. It’s sluggish and slow, but there’s a pulse.

Katla isn’t wrong about his breath, however.

“Get him on his back,” she tells them, pulling off her gloves, trying to remind herself of what she’s read in treatises about drowning.

She lowers her face to his, opening his mouth, pinching his nose, and --

And before she can seal his mouth with hers, he coughs, water burbling from his lips, and --

“Turn him to his side!” she yelps, only just managing to wrangle him to one side before the rest comes out of him -- water and breakfast all.

“Eww,” Katla shrieks, scurrying away from the spreading pile of sick. Edur’s eyelids crack open, just the smallest bit, sweeping around the scene before closing.

“Edur?” she tries, shaking his shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

“Mm,” he groans, nose wrinkling. “I don’t...feel so good...”

Shirayuki sits back, a relieved laugh bursting out of her. “That’s all right. I don’t expect you would.”

A red wool coat drops over his body. Nina stands over him, hands fisted on her hips, looking like thunder itself.

“You’re so stupid, Edur! Didn’t Miss Shirayuki say --”

Shirayuki shakes her head, letting the children crowd the boy. Her heart still races in her chest, but it’s slowing now, starting to regain its calm. She turns her head, just in time to catch Obi rolling onto his side, fully on the ice.

“Obi!” she breathes, scrambling to his side. His coat is too far for her to reach, so she drops her own on him, rubbing the fur lining over his skin to get some heat into him. “You saved him.”

“Oh good.” His teeth chatter. “At least I finally get to save someone around here.”

There’s a flurry of maids that come to greet them when they make it back to the manor, half of them buzzing around Edur and the other half around Obi.

“We’ve been preparing for you all to come back,” Cook says as Shirayuki steps in, hanging Obi a steaming mug. “Some hot-buttered rum will have you right as rain. Girls, you best be taking those clothes.”

The kitchen maids seem all-too happy to help Obi divest his layers, haphazardly shoved back on him as they made the hike back to the manor. He’s happy to tease, to joke, until they get to his trousers, pulling at his belt –

“I don’t think that’s – it can wait,” he tells them, darting a worried look over at her. “My rooms are right upstairs.”

“No need to be shy, boy,” Cook says, ladling another round into his mug. “Ain’t nothing my girls haven’t seen before, I’m sure.”

He’s flushed, almost painfully so, as they drag the sodden things down his legs, leaving only the tight flannel of his underdrawers. They cling to his thighs, so tight that as he turns she can see the precise shape of his –

“Edur!” Lord Kirichou rushes into the kitchens, sweeping past the swarm of children, to clasp the blanket-swathed child in his arms. “Thank every ancestor that you are safe.”

“Too tight!” Edur coughs as the lord lets him go, suffering the man to clasp his shoulders. “I’m fine. Lady Shirayuki saved me.”

He turns to her, all gratitude. “My lady --”

“It was Obi, really,” she insists. “He was the one who dove in to save him. I barely did anything.”

“Nina said she kissed me back to life,” Edur supplies, entirely unhelpful. Shirayuki is tempted to correct him -- she was only trying to get air into his lungs, and he’d woken up before she even got the chance -- but with the excitement of the sleigh ride back, she knew it was a lost cause.

“It’s nothing,” she tries instead, lifting her hands to ward off Kirichou’s gratitude. “Really. Edur did more of it himself.”

“Your humility does you credit.” His hands fall to her shoulders. “I am eternally indebted to you, my lady. I don’t know how it shall ever be repaid.”

“Oh, really, it’s not necessary,” she insists. “That wasn’t why --”

“I know,” he says, hands clasping her tighter. “But Edur is my son, the heir to Kaninshala, should no lady bear me more. I cannot…convey to you the depths of my gratitude.”

Shirayuki stares. His son. Edur is a…a…

She looks at the other children, their gray eyes all fixed on her, so similar to – to –

Their father’s.

Suddenly all of Obi’s warnings make sense. The warning about strong wine, about not reading into his lordship’s offers –

“Oh, really,” she chokes out, “It’s no problem at all.”

A few refills of that rum and the shyness of the kitchens is gone; Obi can barely remember that he has blankets on, let alone that he’s practically naked beneath them. Getting his door open is a trick with him beside her, rubbing his face all over her shoulder and back like some over-friendly cat.

“All right,” she sighs as they tip inside, Obi wobbling beside her. “You can take off the blankets.”

The look he gives her is – trouble. With an exaggerated slowness, he drops them to the floor, leaving him in just his damp underdrawers, no line of him hidden.

“Um,” she hums, nervous, palms itching at her side. “You can’t – you can’t sleep in wet drawers, Obi. You’d be liable to get some sort of skin infection to go along with that fever.”

That is...not the right thing to say, if she wants to discourage him from -- from trouble.

“Miss,” he purrs, thumb hooking under the band. “If you wanted me naked, all you had to do was --”

She spins, keeping her back to him so she doesn’t see – anything. In detail. Obi laughs.

“—Ask.”

“You can – can get into bed now, Obi.” Her face is painfully hot, and she hopes that he can’t tell, hope he can’t see how her hands are trembling. “You’ve gotten cold enough today.”

He sighs, and she hears the covers drawing back, his body sliding onto the sheets. “It would be warmer with someone else.”

“Obi --”

“I’m so cold even in bed,” he sighs, throwing himself dramatically to the pillows. “Cold down to the bone.”

She puffs out her cheeks, ready to tell him she’ll send for more furs, if he’s so chilled, but –

“Please.” His voice is softer now, and the delicate skin around his eyes looks bruised, tired. “Stay.”

She shouldn’t. He wouldn’t ask if he wasn’t so deep in his cups, and he especially wouldn’t ask if he knew --

If he knew what he was like when he got this way. Sober, Obi might wheedle for attention, but he wouldn’t -- he wouldn’t even think of cutting off a corset.

Still, his eyes are so pleading, so sad --

Shiyauki sighs, plucking at her buttons. “Fine.”

His eyes pulse wide, hands clenching tight on the sheets as if he’s afraid of his propriety, as if he did not just make a show of dropping his blankets. “Miss, what are you--?”

“You’ll be warmer if I’m not wearing three layers of dress,” she tells him, wrangling with her bodice. “And I’ll be more comfortable.”

The answer mollifies him, and he settles back against the pillows as if he’s watching a show. Her mouth pulls flat, and she yanks the bedcurtains shut, enjoying his squawk of displeasure. Once she’s down to her chemise, she wriggles onto the other side of the bed, worming deep beneath the covers.

He rolls over to her, arm reaching out to pull her back to his front. “Thank you.”

She lays a hand over where his rests, hot against her stomach. “It’s better if I’m here.”

“Oh, Miss.” His sigh tickles the small hairs of her neck, makes her skin prickle alarmingly. “You take such good care.”

“I think you’d normally protest that point,” she laughs, hoping he can’t hear its nervous waver. “After all --”

“I mean of people.” His fingers move idly, brushing just over her stomach. Obi is never still, she knows that, but -- it’s distracting. “That lord is right. You do well with those kids.”

“His kids.” Even now she’s mortified to have missed it, to have overlooked his advances. It didn’t help how obvious Obi had found them, how he’d even tried to warn her --

She buries her face in his pillow with a groan. His fingers still over her stomach, tense. She wants to tell him to -- to not stop, to keep touching her, but that is -- it’s too much. Too intimate.

“Miss.” His chest rumbles with his laugh, warm against her back, and that’s just -- worse. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“You told me,” she protests, wishing her voice sounded less like a squawk. “I didn’t even realize until he said --”

“You always believe the best in people.” The tips of his fingers move again, dancing over the flannel of her chemise. “It’s good of you, even if it isn’t deserved.”

There’s something too serious, too personal in his tone for her to ignore. “Most of the time it is.”

He hums, unconvinced. “You always believe the best in me.”

Shee reaches down, stopping his fingers to tangle them with hers, to hold them close against her. “Because you’ve only ever shown me your best.”

It’s so silent in this room, the both of them so still, she could hear a pin drop. That is, if her breath wasn’t so ragged, if her heart didn’t pound so loud in her chest.

“You’re so sweet to me, Miss.” His palm kneads into her belly, dragging her flush against him, his face buried tight against her neck. “You take good care of me.”

She’s oddly without breath. “It’s – we take good care of each other, Obi. That’s how it’s always been.”

“Mm.” Her fingers are still knitted with his, but he skates them lower, the callused tips of his tracing the rim of her belly-button. “I’d like to take care of you. Show you how sweet I could be.”

He can’t -- he can’t mean how that feels, but her breath stutters in her chest, anyway. He stills, his body tense against hers. “Do you like that?”

There’s no missing what he means, not when his voice is -- is like that, so low and too much entirely, but she -- she tries, “It’s nice to be held.”

Obi shifts behind her, and in that moment, something in the air changes, the lingering warmth under the blankets turning to -- to heat. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then wha – ahh,” she sighs as he repeats the motion, a soft trace around the divot in her belly.

“Well?”

He doesn’t need to sound so smug, not when it feels like she might burn up from the embarrassment. “It’s…it’s nice.”

“Hnn,” he rumbles thoughtfully. Their fingers circle her stomach a few more times before his untangles from hers, trailing up the bones of her hand, playing at the knob of her wrist. She didn’t know that something as simple as that could feel so -- so good, could leave her feeling so breathless.

“You liked it here.”

She blinks. “I...?”

“Having kids around,” he clarifies, fingertips brushing her forearms in a way that can only be termed as distracting.

“I did.” This is an odd conversation to be having when her skin feels so tight, when her breath comes in little more than pants. “I’ve always thought I’d have children, if the – the opportunity came. I thought –“ air is so thin in this bed – “I thought I’d have one, with…someone, but that doesn’t seem…likely now. So it was nice. To have this.”

He’s silent for a long moment, fingers and breath leaving to rails of pimpled flesh over her body. Then his face rubs over her neck, mouth right next to her ear as he says, “I’d give one to you, if you wanted.”

She grasps for words, but finds none, finds only a soft, “ha-aaah,” as his stubble scrapes down her neck.

“I’d make it good for you,” he sighs against the shell of her ear, hand tracing up her arm. “Most men can hardly manage the once, Miss, but I could bring you there at least --”

“Obi,” she laughs, breathless. “If you’re trying to – to make a child, I think it’s you we need to be worried about.”

The laugh that rumbles out of him sends shivers down her spine. “It won’t be hard, Miss. Not if I’m inside you. With you.”

His palm draws up her arm, but he’s not careful with his fingers, letting them hang over the curve of her bicep as they pass and –

And she is only wearing a chemise, flannel though it is, and they brush over already an already taut nipple and –

And she grinds back, his hardness against the curve of her, making him gasp, and oh, that was – certainly more than she’d seen through the flannel. More than she’d seen in any exam.

“Obi,” she gasps, straining into his hand.

His laugh makes her feel liquid, as does the hand he grips her waist with, keeping her still. “Ah, see, Miss? I knew you’d like it rough.”

His hand trails down, so gentle, resting right on her thigh, wringing a helpless whimper out of her throat. “Though you could like it both ways, too.”

He doesn’t move, just lets his fingertips rest right on the inside of her thigh –

“Obi,” she moans, frustrated, rolling onto her back, rolling toward him to see –

His eyelids fluttering, gold eyes heated by confused. Of course; he’s tired and drunk, and she shouldn’t be – be entertaining this. Or encouraging it.

Not until the morning, at least.

“Go sleep, Obi,” she laughs, pushing him onto his back.

“You’ll…stay?” he asks, hardly awake.

“Yes.” She lays her head on his chest. “I’ll stay.

#obiyukimadness19 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #mutual pining #Sensitive Negotiations #drunk diplomacy arc #my fic #ans #this thing has been stuck in my drafts for nearly six months #almost entirely done for obiyukiweek #except for the edits #which ended up being TOO NUMEROUS at the end to complete on time #BUT HERE WE ARE NOW #FINALLY #on the last leg of this fic

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sabraeal · 6 years ago

Text

Flapping Lips

Massively late for the Obiyuki Soundtrack Challenge, but this is for track 2. Part of Go For Broke

Kai’s a good kid; Obi’s never quite been sure exactly what his job title is -- bouncer? butler? bodyguard? Both him and the older guy seem to share whatever job gets thrown at them, all in unironic ascots and tails -- but he leads Obi straight out to the poolside when he arrives, murmuring, “Miss Arluleon has been waiting for you.”

Good thing he wore black today; at least none of these turkeys would see him sweat.

“That so?” he manages, adjusting his hat. “Can’t wait.”

The first time he’d seen the soon-to-be Mrs Izana Wisteria, she’d been splayed on a bunk in the barracks, all legs and sun-kissed skin, blonde hair bobbing over bare shoulders.

The new Betty Grable, Hiro had said proudly, showing off his collection of pin-ups. Obi hadn’t known there was anything wrong with the old one, but there was something about her, barely eighteen and all tits and ass and sunny smile. She’d been the wallpaper of every place he’d bunked down, sharing space with Vargas girls and Rita Hayworth as men talked about their girls back home.

Now’s not the time to think about how most of them never made it.

Obi’s never held a hundred dollars in his life, never even seen Franklin except in school books, but here he is now, standing at the end of million-dollar legs, all 35-22-35 above them wrapped up in a white bikini that would have been an instant favorite in the bunks.

There hadn’t been many good times in the war, but what ones there were, Haki Arluleon was there. She just...doesn’t know that.

Her chin tilts up, and beneath her wide sunglasses and brimmed hat, her lips spread into her signature smile.

“What do we have here?” she drawls, angling herself so the oil on her skin glistens, so that she looks like one of those bronze statuettes her set are so keen to hoard. “Mr Private Investigator, I presume? Izana did tell me you’d drop by.”

She arches a brow, somehow coy and innocent at the same time, and -- ha, maybe she does know about those good times.

“Obi,” he says, taking the hand she offers. Despite the lean curve of her body, her grip is strong; a businessman’s daughter through and though. “No ‘mister’ needed.”

“Obi.” The way her lips wrap around his name is like something out of a Bogart movie. “No last name? How mysterious.”

He grins at that. “A little bit of mystery in this town can go a long way.”

“My my,” she says, too pleased. “I wouldn’t expect that sort of sentiment from a man in your line of work.”

It’s dangerous, this Bogart-and-Bacall banter they have going; it makes him want to like her, want to think that she couldn’t have anything to do with the bad business stinking up this house.

He can’t help himself. “Without it I wouldn’t have much of a job, now would I, Miss Arluleon?”

“A fair point,” she allows with an enigmatic smile. “Though I can’t see why you’d look for one here. There’s nothing mysterious about Wistal.”

He wants to laugh -- even without Wisteria gasping his last with his pretty little nurse-turned-heiress holding his hand, there was probably more than enough dirty laundry in these walls to spend two lifetimes unraveling, let alone for the greenbacks Zen Wisteria waved under his nose.

Hell, everything in Wistal stinks to high-heaven, and here he is, the sucker who wants to believe Haki Arluleon smells like roses.

“Well, someone didn’t feel that way,” he hedges, though by her face, he can tell he might as well have named names for all the secret it was. “And I thought I might as well poke around. You know, since the lady of the house gave me permission.”

Obi’s watching her close, waiting for that smile to waver at the mention of the other woman, but instead that mega-watt smile only grows brighter. The skin around her eyes crinkles, and for one moment, he can tell she’s forgotten to mind her face, to remember that every real smile now is a dime she won’t make later.

“Shirayuki is always so accommodating, isn’t she?” The words are pleasant, but he doesn’t miss the sharp glint in her eyes as she watches him. “Such a doll. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

He catches himself reaching for his shoulder, flexes his hand instead. Obi’s not sure he’d go so far as to say Red’s been accommodating; he’d been surprised by her letter -- or her lawyer’s, really, even if the man swore the permission came from the young miss’s mouth herself -- but he wasn’t about to start calling it altruism.

People got antsy, trying to prove their innocence. Especially the guilty ones.

“She’s sure a lot of something,” he allows, leaning on the lounger. “But I’m not here for her, Miss Arluleon.”

“Is that so?” A curved brow arches over the rim of her sunglasses. “A pity.”

There’s a strange amount of sincerity in that.

She rolls toward him on her lounger, looking attentive. “But I’ll be as helpful as I can.”

“I appreciate it,” he says, wry. “Can you tell me where you were when Kain Wisteria died?”

She tilts her head, like she has to wrack her brain to remember, like she hasn’t already given this statement half a dozen times since the old man rattled out his last and shook all the tinsel in this town with it.

“In bed,” she says finally, slowly. “We’d had quite the late night, Izana and I. A party down at the marina. On Shenezard’s boat, I think. One of them, you know he has something like a dozen. His son was having a little soiree on one of the more...reserved yachts in his father’s fleet.”

Now that’s an interesting tidbit. Not to do with the investigation, of course -- alibis were such fickle things when their owners had the clams to make bodies disappear -- but the tabloids would love to hear something like that: Wisteria Heir Makes Time On Shenezard Pleasure Cruise.

“I didn’t think Izana kept up much with Raj Shenezard.” His father worked for another one of the Big Five, and by all accounts the Prince of Paramount ran with a faster crowd than Izana Wisteria would be caught dead with. “Must have been some party.”

“He puts in his appearances at a few of them, for old time’s sake.” She waves a hand. “And sometimes it’s the only place to catch who you need to see. Even some of the wallflowers come out for a party on a Shenezard boat.”

Obi wouldn’t know, but he nods. “This is the night before.”

“And the wee hours of the morning,” she laughs. “I don’t think we left before one, and by then it was much too late for me to be going all the way back home, so Izana insisted I stay here.”

He quirks an eyebrow. Another thing the supermarket rags would love to hear. “And I suppose this is your fiancé’s alibi as well?”

Without the help of colorists, it doesn’t seem like Haki Arluleon can blush, but she claps a hand to her cheek as if she had. “Why, of course not! I may have spent the night in Wistal, but we stayed in separate beds.”

“Of course,” he allows, wry. “And I’m sure you’re planning to keep that arrangement when you’re married too.”

She presses a hand to her heart, mouth curved to one side. “I live my life by the Hays Code, sir.”

Only because being in her unmentionables doesn’t break it. “Sure you do.”

“Why, I’ve already picked out the nightstand to go between our two singles.” Teeth flash behind red lips. “Mahogany and marble tops all around.”

“Sounds dynamite,” he assures her. “But what about the morning?”

“Asleep,” she tells him, easy. “I don’t think I roused myself before noon. That was when Izana came in and told me --” she gasps, hand pressing to her chest -- “told me that Kain had -- had --” she makes a real show of struggling with the words -- “passed.”

It’s a good show; clear to see why she’s got so many of those metal statuettes at home, even though she’s barely scraping twenty-five, but he didn’t come here for a bunch of lines.

“Can anyone vouch for you, Miss Arluleon?” he asks, watching her dab at the corners of her eyes. He wonders how many of the chuckleheads down at the precinct have been taken in by her, if they all bought her Perils of Pauline act.

“I’m not sure.” Her lips purse into a thoughtful moue. “The staff must have seen me at some point, but there was no one...well, watching me sleep.”

It’s tempting to buy into her ingenue act even now, even knowing that she’s not a Grable but a full Bacall. Even more tempting to think that she is just how the nastier tabloids paint her: a gold-digger who made a name for herself with her legs and her measurements, a girl looking for a leg up in the movie world and found a man able to lift her tits and ass and all into the Olympus of Hollywood Royalty.

It’s tempting, but Obi is a man who does his research. Not some clown with a badge.

“How long had you known your father-in-law?” he asks, voice light, inquiring.

“Oh,” she sniffs. “Ages. Daddy hardly worked with anyone else, even in the studio. Only the best for Kain, you know.”

And there it is -- what sets the gumshoes above the flatfoots. So tempting to think a girl needs a leg up, when she looks like a dream wrapped in a fantasy --

But Haki Arluleon never has. Tabloids don’t care about colorists -- technicolor might as well be magic, for all they know -- but Hollywood does.

Kain Wisteria did. The rest of the world might see a pin-up reaching for the stars, but Haki’s practically Hollywood Royalty herself; after all, you don’t get a Swedish model mother by having a nobody as a father. Not in this town.

“Of course,” he says with a smirk. “How else would we have that Wisteria blue?”

Her smile freezes like a rictus on her face. “Arluleon blue.”

Sitting so close to her, he can tell why. Sure, it comes close to the shade of Izana’s eyes, to Zen’s, but --

It’s not their peepers that would be true to color on film.

He leans in, conspiratorial. “Can you think of anyone that would want to rub out Kain Wisteria?”

The piercing look evaporates, as if it never existed at all. “Oh, never.”

“Never?” She’s got to know that’s a bridge too far, even if he was a cop. If there were a thousand reasons to kill in this city, all but a hundred of them would have to do with the Big Five.

“Well,” she tilts her hair, coy. “He had been in the business for years. I’m sure he’s stepped on a few toes.”

An understatement of the century. Like saying Randolph Hearst was moderately wealthy.

“But someone who would want to -- to kill him?” She shakes her head sadly. “I can’t imagine it.”

“You know, people say Kain and Izana had been arguing in the days leading up to his death,” he presses.

She waves a hand, as if the idea itself was absurd. “It’s hard to thrive under a shadow as large as Kain Wisteria’s. Izana has been wanting to try his hand at directing for ages, but Kain was determined to keep him on screen as long as possible.”

“And you don’t think he’d try to get out from daddy’s thumb another way?”

She sighs, unimpressed. “It’s the same story all around this country. Boy doesn’t want to take over the family business, him and his father fight about it until we’re all sick of hearing it. Zen was trying to take some opportunities at another studio, and they’d all been having a fit about that too.” She shrugs. “Nothing anyone would kill over.”

He sits back, doesn’t tell her that happens all the time. People get tired of being bossed around, they fight back, and suddenly Pa’s on the floor with a crack in his skull. Or in this case, poison in his lungs.

“It’s all so unfortunate,” she sighs dramatically, settling back against the lounge. “Kain was an institution in this town, but he’s been ill for years. Gassed in the first war, you know. That’s the reason he had to drop out of acting. Ruined his voice, and all they wanted after the war was talkies.”

He hesitates. Now that he hadn’t know.

“That’s why he had Shirayuki,” she confides, keeping her voice soft. “Chronic infections. Every sniffle could be the end. It was only a matter of time until it was.”

Obi grits his teeth around the truth. Something tell him Miss Arluleon wouldn’t be so forthcoming if she knew what the papers in his pocket said.

“He died as natural a death as a man could in his condition,” she concludes. “It’s sad that some have got to see shadows in sunlight. Though,” she adds, a bit lower, “I suppose that apple never fell too far from its tree.”

“Is that what Kain was like?” Obi asks, a little too sharp. “Seeing shadows in sunlight? A few sandwiches short of a picnic?”

Her body goes rigid, just for a moment, and then she eases back into her sultry lean, her bright smile. “Of course not! Kain had his eccentricities, but so do all geniuses, don’t they?”

He nods. “So you can your soon-to-be father-in-law got along well, I take it?”

She gives him a reproachful look, as if she’s surprised he doesn’t know better. “Of course. I was his muse after all.”

Obi raises a brow. “Didn’t they say that about Haruto, back in her day?”

“And his first wife,” she adds, her playful tone taking an edge.

He blinks. “First wife?”

He’d known about Haruto -- a scandal that the rags still like to bring up whenever there was a good photo of Kain standing next to young starlets; she’d hardly been eighteen when he’d cast her in her first role, and before it’d even wrapped they were married, Kain nearly twenty years her senior.

But a first wife? That’s...something different.

“That’s the only way to be a Mrs Wisteria,” she says, voice tight. “Catch Kain’s eye.”

There’s something about the way she’s looking at him, like she’s willing him to hear the words she’s saying, but --

“Shirayuki!”

He blinks, head swiveling over his shoulder, back towards the house, only to find his nose practically brushing the cotton of a sensible skirt. Thoroughly ignoring his presence, she skirts around him, holding out a dripping glass.

Haki seizes it with gusto. “You’re a darling, Shirayuki. What would I ever do without you?”

The lady of the house offers a tight smile, pointedly not looking in his direction. “I’m sure you would manage.”

“I’d suffer,” Haki tells her, raising the glass to her lips. “After all, who else would bring me --” she sputters as she takes a sip, eyes wide -- “Why, darling, this isn’t gin at all.”

“It’s water,” Red tells her, brows raised. “It’s practically desert weather out here. You need to keep hydrated.”

Haki gestures out to the pool. “I have plenty of water.”

A long suffering look passes under those freckles. “Sitting by it doesn’t count.”

“It should.” Under Red’s unwavering look, Haki sighs, taking a sip. “If you’re up anyway, darling, do you mind heading back inside? I need a little gin to help the water go down.”

If Red were any less of a lady, she’d roll her eyes. As it is, she just muffles a sigh. “Of course.”

Nowakoski pivots on the stacked heel of her Oxfords, military-sharp, and strides past him without a glance, like he’s no more than a stain on the pristine white of the lounge.

He clucks his tongue, gathering up his fedora. A dame like that should know that ignoring a man was more intoxicating than come-on. At least men like him, who make their business digging up the skeletons everyone else would rather stay buried.

“If you’ll excuse me, Miss Arluleon,” he murmurs, getting to his feet, “I think I’m getting a little parched.”

Her mouth rucks to one side in a smirk. “And here I thought you’d come for me.”

Obi reaches out, gives her hand another shake. “Who’s to say you can mix business with pleasure?”

Her lips give a wry quirk, amused. “And here’s me, wondering which one I’m supposed to be.”

In the closed confines of the house, Obi can admit – he’s in a real pickle trying to suss out which one Red is himself.

There’s a right answer: between pin-up and zipped-up, it should be clear to any red-blooded man which one is the pleasure part of the equation. There wasn’t a boy in Camp Shelby that wouldn’t have given his best nut to have ten minutes with Haki Arluleon, sure, but –

But there’s a real economy of movement in Red as she nips behind the bar, a sort of focus he hasn’t seen since he crossed back over the Atlantic. She looks almost at home back there, even with the high collar of her blouse, and the school marm cut of her skirt. There’s enough booze on the shelves it’s daunting; he doubts there’s a single person in this house that’s tried a nip from every bottle, but she cuts through with hardly more than a glance, gripping a bottle’s neck with a sort of confidence that leaves him more than a little dry-mouthed.

“So.”

She startles, hand slipping on the lemon she’s juicing. Her eyes dart up, owlish and wary, watching him lean on the bar.

“What’s the most expensive thing here?” He makes a show of squinting at the bottles, like he knows a damned thing about anything that isn’t a couple of cents a bottle. “Whiskey?”

She stares. Arluleon would have made a fortune if he could capture a color like that on film.

“How about two fingers of that.” He knocks on the bar, like he’s at any old dive. “On the rocks.”

Her mouth tightens, lips pressing white.

“If you’re thirsty,” Red says with her politest voice, “I’m sure there’s a half dozen bars between here and the bus stop that would be happy to oblige.”

“Aw, kicking me out, Red?” he drawls, leaning on a fist. “After you gave me an invitation and everything?”

“I don’t believe that it included the bar,” she tells him primly, opening a jar of what looks like powdered sugar – even now, he salivates just thinking about that much of it in one place – and mixing it in with the juice.

“Part of the investigation,” he fires back. “Perfect place to hide poison, isn’t it? An after-dinner drink?”

Her eyes narrow, just the slightest bit. “Then you’re picking the wrong spirits. Mr Wisteria wasn’t a whiskey man.”

Those flushed cheeks, those ruffled feathers – just what he likes to see. People are so much easier to grill if they’re about to blow a gasket. He grins. Only thing left is to apply the right pressure.

He eyes the top button of her blouse, closed prudishly at her throat, the trailing bow that ties over it, contrasting neatly with crisp white. Good thing he knows just what laces to tug on girls like this.

“Now that’s what I’m looking for,” he drawls with a wag of his eyebrows. “Some moxie. Been missing out there with our Able Grable.”

This should be the point where she preens a little, where Cinderella takes a little joy at poking at one of her stepsisters, but –

Instead her expression shutters, shoulders tense as she tosses him an incredulous look. “If that’s what you think after talking to Haki, then Zen should have saved his money.”

It’s his turn to stare, for his jaw to practically come unhinged. That’s not – that’s not how the script is supposed to go. The hard-working Girl Friday and the Femme Fatale are not – not –

Friends.

“I may not…agree with Zen’s feelings,” she says haltingly after a moment. “But I respect that he needs to…to know. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.” She fixes him with a look. “So let me tell you that Haki is far cleverer than men like to think. And that’s the way she likes it.”

He recovers enough to ask, “Clever enough to murder a man?”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Kain Wisteria died of pneumonia.”

Not according to the paper burning a hole in his pocket. “That wasn’t the question.”

She stares at him them, hard. “In my expert medical opinion, it doesn’t require much cunning at all to kill someone. It was harder to keep Mr Wisteria out of his bed than in it, at the end. But do I think Haki would kill a man? No.”

Obi taps his glass, watching her pour the gin, mix in the syrup, crush some ice. His chest burns where the paper sits, Suzu’s scrawling script practically tattooing itself into his skin. It’d be stupid to bring it up, to tip his hand early, but --

But there’s something about this girl that makes him want to ruffle her a little. Shake some of that blind confidence in the goodness of man.

So of course, he does. “You know, I had a friend look over your notes, and the ones from the coroner.”

Her eyebrows lift, unimpressed. “Is that so?”

“He works over at the university,” he says. “A real egg-head, you know? His boss is some big shot in medicine. Wise? Wives?”

“Weise?” she prompts, gaze swiveling toward him. “Your friend works for Shidan Weise?”

He’s not sure what the big deal about that is, besides that he made some…antidote for something during the war. Suzu’s explained it, but it all flies over his head. Still, it’s got Red’s attention, which is what he needs.

“Apparently,” he leans in, conspiratorial, “it all looked like pneumonia. Both you and the coroner’s notes agreed. But.”

She leans in, just slightly. “But?”

“The coroner’s report mentions something interesting.” He pitches over the bar, just a little more, until he can smell the soap on her skin. “An edema in the nose.”

She rears back, face ashen. “Edema?”

He nods. “Yeah, you know, some swelling --?”

“I know what an edema is,” she tells him, flatly. Her fingers drum on the countertop. “Do you happen to have that report?”

“Made a copy,” he says, showing it to her. “But I --”

It’s gone from his hands in seconds, Shirayuki poring over the words as her face goes stark white.

“I-interesting,” she murmurs, before adding, slightly louder, “But I’m not sure if – that’s not entirely – conclusive.”

“Well,” he drawls. “I think I can draw a conclusion from it.”

Her hands shake as she sets the paper back down. “If you’ll excuse me, Haki asked for that drink some time ago.”

She steps out from around the bar, hurrying toward the poolside.

The glass sits on the bar, sweating, forgotten.

#obiyuki #obiyukisoundtrack #track 2 #akagami no shirayukihime #noir au #Go For Broke #my fic #ans #FINALLY THIS PIECE IS FINISHED #i had a couple more planned for winter challenge #but unfortunately i just didn't have time #BUT THE OUTLINES ARE ALL THERE #and like...a fourth of a draft for the other one #so ONE DAY #one day i'll get to write them

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