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ridhearts · 1 year

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As you return home, a new friend is thrown into your arms - literally.

*note: this au follows a specific order! please click below for the chapters as they're intended to be read!

overview. ♕ chapter i. [chapter is.] chapter ii. chapter iis. chapter iii. chapter iiis. chapter iv. chapter v. chapter vs. chapter vi. chapter vii.

Intermission I - An Unexpected Guest

By the time you crossed the border into your country, night had already fallen. The rough pebble roads, torn apart by conflict, jostled your carriage, jolting you from the peaceful nap the roads of the Queendom and Savanna lured you into. Sighing into the plush wall, you looked out at the scenery with bleary eyes. Lantern-lit houses dotted the road, huddled far from the well-traveled path in fear. A light mist curled at the ground, gripping the sleek carriage wheels as they turned. In the distance, settled in the valley path leading to the blot-dominated chasm, a thicker, darker fog billowed up into the air - a grim reminder of your most likely fate.

As you approached the castle, you did your best not to worry your bottom lip between your teeth. Riddle would have your head for that, and if you happened to be given another invitation to go meet with the monarchs of any other countries, you had to look your best. Heaving another sigh, your eyes trailed up the abandoned scaffolding and broken sections of tower walls that were becoming clearer and clearer as the carriage drew closer.

Your eyes were drawn to a sudden movement in the distance, visible in the spaces between the scaffolding. Where the dark, swirling fog of the boundary between your country and the shadowlands settled, one single plume rose into the sky. The thin, spindly tendril curled around itself, leisurely stretching past the light gray mountains and disappearing against the backdrop of the midnight sky. Something cold and uneasy sank to the bottom of your stomach. You had never seen such a thing happen before.

Scrambling to the other seat of your carriage, you pulled on the small curtain and reached through the window to tap the coachman, who yelped in response. Even though you were far from the disturbance in the boundary, you still shushed him - rather ungracefully, to your chagrin. His confused, startled eyes peered at you over his shoulder as he pulled on the reins, willing the carriage to a stop.

"Do you see that?" You whispered, pointing to the tall spindle of fog. The coachman followed the imaginary trail your finger made, squinting to make out the details in the dark. You watched as the wrinkles by his eyes smoothed and his face went slack.

"What in the world…?" He murmured. In front of him, the horse pulling your carriage huffed and shifted on its hooves. You wondered if it felt the coachman's sudden uneasiness. Clearing his throat, the coachman tried to sound authoritative despite the tremble in his voice. "Fear not. I will get you to the castle safely and your family can hide while we send out troops to investigate."

"What? No!" You hissed. The frame of the carriage window was too small to fit your head through, but you pressed your face as tightly as you could against it anyway. "Take me to it. I'll check it out."

"But your highness," he protested calmly, "I cannot allow any harm to befall you. Please, allow me to take you back to safety."

"If there's a breach in the boundary, nobody will be safe anywhere," You argued back. Then, betraying your own fear, you added, "Besides, it's such a small thing. Probably just the wind. All we need to do is confirm."

Your fake level voice was far more convincing than his had been. You almost let a proud little grin show on your face, but you needed to act the part of a leader. The coachman was almost convinced by your cool attitude, but he hesitated once again.

"Protocol states that your safety must be preserved at all costs."

"What does protocol state I should do when a member of the castle staff refuses to listen to a command?" You asked. The coachman opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. "Take me to the boundary."

Huffing, you threw yourself back to your original seat in the carriage, crossing your arms and staring out the window at the boundary. The carriage didn't move for a moment, the coachman clearly getting his bearings. You tried to embody Riddle - the petulant, self-assured version of him, the one who would never let a member of castle staff disregard his word - but something gnawed at you. After all, you weren't raised to be an absolute authority or a strict ruler. You were raised with good old common-folk manners.

Sighing once more, this time much more dramatically, you crawled back to the window behind the coachman and gingerly pulled aside the curtain. "Take me to the boundary, please. And thank you."

A beat. The coachman cursed under his breath, then the carriage started to move.

Once you arrived at the boundary, you threw open the door to the carriage and stepped out before the wheels stopped turning. The coachman called out for you while simultaneously swearing at the horse for stopping so slowly. You stopped in your tracks, eyes fixed on the mingling fog, weightless white twining with deep, dominating, inky black. There was a single spot directly beneath the rising plume that looked a little thinner than the rest of the boundary, like a gaping void that could swallow you up. With a tentative step backwards, you shouted for the coachman.

“Do you have a sword?” You asked over your shoulder, unwilling to take your eyes off of the breach. The coachman wordlessly walked to you, his shoes scraping across the loose gravel until he stopped at your side. When you held your hand out for the sword, he looked at you as if you were insane.

“Your majesty, surely you don’t expect me to allow you to approach the boundary by yourself.”

“I have military training.”

“As do I. We would not allow the royal family to go so far from home without the proper protection.”

Casting a sidelong glance to the coachman, you nodded once, firm and assured. If you hadn't been in your serious battle-ready mode, you would've flushed at having overlooked such a sensible detail. The two of you crept closer to the opening. Your footsteps were careful, purposely as silent as they could be on the rocky ground. Your legs kicked up some of the white fog, the two of you wading through it like knee-high waters. The fabric of your rumbled clothing bunched at the bottom, effectively chilling your ankles in the cool night air. The cavernous abyss waited for you, watching the two of you move with a languid lethargy, two startled deer approaching a lion waiting to pounce.

When you accidentally kicked a small shower of pebbles, both you and the coachman froze. Where the shadows and the fog were twirling around was now completely, utterly still. No wind dared to blow; no human dared to breathe. Then, the unmistakable sound of a twig snapping caught your attention.

“GNYAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Something small and black flew out of the breach, almost as if it had been propelled by a canon. The coachman stepped in front of you in a flash before you could even lift your arms up to your face. He held the sword defensively, bunting the creature out of the air. Startled blue eyes stared up at the coachman for a split second, while blue flames licked out of the creature’s ears and illuminated its cat-like face. The coachman faltered, and the creature struck.

It jumped on the coachman’s head, digging its claws into his scalp and yowling louder than you’ve heard any other animal scream. The coachman dropped his sword and stumbled back, trying to coax the animal’s claws out of his head and pull it off at the same time. Tripping over his own feet, the coachman landed flat on his back and you dove for the sword.

You didn’t have a moment to worry about whether or not you might hit the coachman. The moment you skidded to a stop beside him, you raised the sword above your head and put all your weight behind the swing. The creature noticed the shadow you cast and looked up at you, panic flashing in its eyes when it registered the sword.

“W-WAIT!” It yelled in plain English.

You stopped, nearly teetering over from the momentum of the sword. The coachman rolled out of the way, picking the creature up by the scruff of its neck. All the while, the creature yelled and complained in words you could understand, though its body hung limply from the coachman’s hand. While both you and the coachman panted to catch your breath, you looked to the boundary, only to see that the breach had closed.

“What is that thing?” You asked once you caught your breath, staring at the creature. It watched you with a flat, unamused expression. You almost thought it was pouting.

“I…have no idea,” The coachman admitted. Realizing the boundary was solid, he huffed and held out his hand. “Give me the sword. I’ll finish the job-”

“WAIT! No!” The creature wailed, kicking its legs as much as it could. The coachman furrowed his brows, focusing on keeping his grip on the creature firm as it wriggled.

You gestured for the coachman to relax before standing in front of the creature. “You can talk?”

“Duh! Don’t you have ears?” The creature responded. Its tone was dripping in pure pomposity.

“How did you get through the boundary?”

“I’m the great Grim! I can do anything!” It said with a self-assured smirk. You and the coachman exchanged exasperated glances.

“Such a powerful, unidentifiable creature poses a threat to national security, wouldn’t you say?” You asked the coachman. He nodded sagely while Grim’s eyes darted between the two of you, panicked.

“Might I suggest the dungeon, your majesty?” He asked.

“Ah! Wait! No, let me explain!” Grim insisted, wriggling his legs again. “I - I don’t actually know, okay? I was lookin’ for food, got too close to the border, and it just spit me out!”

“What were you doing in the Shadowlands?” The coachman asked firmly. Grim shrugged as best as he could while in his grasp.

“I dunno! I think I lived there? But, to be honest, I don’t really remember…”

You and the coachman exchanged looks again, clearly dubious. Grim’s stomach grumbled almost as loudly as his earlier yowling.

“What should we do?” The coachman murmured. His eyes narrowed on the dejected creature in his hands - clearly, he wanted to get rid of the noisy nuisance. A sympathetic string was pulled in your heart, though, and as you looked at the creature with tears in his eyes, you couldn’t just leave him here to die.

“I think I should welcome my first royal guest,” You answered. Then you reached out and collected Grim in your arms, holding him like a baby. He shrank into you, probably wanting to stay as far away as possible from the coachman. “He may remember something and be able to give us valuable information about the Shadowlands. Besides, he’s in our country now, and I refuse to let any of my people go hungry.”

Though he appeared utterly disappointed, the coachman didn’t put up a fight about your official decision. He held the door open for you instead, making sure to give Grim a cold glare before taking his spot at the front of the carriage. Finally, you would make it home.

“You’re way more reasonable than that guy,” Grim muttered. You tried not to chuckle at your coachman’s expense.

By the time you were allowed to return to your room, the sky had turned a deep sapphire blue, trying to keep the last cover over the world against the rising sun's persistence. Processing Grim wound up taking hours, because, apparently, he was a creature composed entirely of mysteries.

The first thing you had to do was debrief your father on the situation. After answering a generous amount of questions about the momentary breach, you explained how a catbeast had been launched out of the shadowlands and into your arms. Your father was a curious and courageous man, so you led him to the dining room where Grim was feasting on some bread and meats. The two of you went unnoticed while he gobbled up his food in record time.

“What do we do with him?” You whispered, watching with morbid interest as he gulped down his food. When not mistaken for a terrifying threat to your country and the entire continent, he was sort of cute…in an annoyingly endearing way.

Your father hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I can't say I know. Are you certain he isn't dangerous?"

You shrugged. Grim seemed like a lot of things - arrogant, reckless, gluttonous - but dangerous didn't seem to be in his wheelhouse. Not when he was so scared of your clumsy attempts to disarm him, or how he curled into you to avoid the coachman's wrath.

"Fairly certain," you answered. "I know that anything from the Shadowlands should be treated as a threat, but look at him. He's different. He's more sentient than the phantoms and he's been docile ever since we stopped trying to attack him. It didn't feel right leaving him to starve…or cause panic if he was spotted in town."

"I think you made the right choice," With a nod, your father waved for one of the guards nearby to approach. "However, the coachman wasn't incorrect in his caution. We'll keep him locked in one of the unfinished guest rooms until we figure out how much of a threat he is."

"All by himself?" The guards approached Grim then, gently leading him towards the new quarters your father assigned. Grim didn't put up much of a fight, satiated by the food and the promise of a bed.

"Better than the dungeon, wouldn't you say?"

"Have the dungeons been repaired already?" During the war, the revolutionary forces staged a raid to free the political prisoners locked beneath the castle. Your father always told the story of smoke and gnarled metal like it was an old hero's tale and not his own doing. As he reported, the dungeons suffered massive damage and were nigh on unusable once everybody cleared out. Perhaps it was ironic that now he was the one in charge of cleaning up his own mess.

He averted his gaze, indicating that no, they had not been fixed and that was why Grim was being afforded such luxurious accommodations. You expected a spark of indignation to flash inside your chest, but you could see the logic behind the blasé way your father talked about imprisonment. Allowing Grim inside the castle at all was a gamble. Before you could trust his intentions, you had to learn something about him. Even then, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t succumb to blot exposure at some point. Keeping him on lockdown was the most sensible option.

“Alright,” You agreed. “I’ll be checking on him every day, then.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Giving you an affectionate pat on the head, your father turned and went to give orders to those who would be keeping Grim under watch.

Finally, you could sleep.

As it turned out, Grim was a destructive force.

The first few days, though he complained about being held prisoner, he was easily placated with food. When you asked him questions, he got a little irritated after the first few, but his tune changed quickly once you offered snacks in exchange for true answers. He didn’t cause large amounts of trouble for the guards who tended to him when you couldn’t, even though he liked you the best.

Then he got restless, and things got a little more difficult.

Upon entering his room, you saw that the ends of the bedsheets and all of the curtains had been ripped to shreds. Grim sat in the middle of the room, postured much like a housecat, watching the door in smug satisfaction. For a moment, you weren’t sure what to do with the tattered scraps of cloth strewn around the room. Instead, you silently shut the door and instructed the kitchen staff to withhold dessert from him.

He let you have it the next morning, bemoaning how you starved him and your kingdom clearly didn’t know how to treat guests. Then, catching the glint of your silver crown as you shook your head in exasperation, he had the audacity to try and bargain for answers. He just wanted a couple of jewels! It wasn’t anything a monarch would miss, surely.

When you wouldn’t cave to his demands, he took to escape attempts. The first time, he nearly made it out of the front doors, but you dove for him and crashed on the hard, polished floors. He kicked and squirmed in your arms, yowling about wrongful imprisonment and tyrannical rulers. His tune didn’t change after you personally carried his dinner up to his room.

At wits end, you decided to try to dine with him and maybe reestablish the shaky alliance you formed with him on that first night. The guards opened his door for you, standing behind you in a defensive stance in case he decided to bolt again. Having smelled the food, Grim decided against running and instead sat expectantly at the small tea table in his room.

When you sat across from him, he barely paid you any attention, favoring the food in his bowl instead. It was beef stew, the biggest meal the chefs had prepared in weeks. You were hardly wanting for sustenance, but after many of the fields in the land had been destroyed and livestock confiscated during the war, everyone had to ration their meat and grain to get by. That included your family - after all, it would hardly make sense for you to overthrow a king for misallocating resources, only to do the exact same thing once you were in power.

“Finally! Some good grub!” Grim cheered with his mouth full. You huffed, taking a dainty sip of the broth from your spoon. As you watched Grim shove his face into the bowl, broth dripping from the fur on his chin, you wondered if this was how Riddle felt when he first met you and inwardly cringed.

“I’m glad you like it,” you tried to respond gracefully, though you were unsure if Grim could hear you over the sound of his own slurping. Sighing, you decided to let him eat before grilling him with questions.

Grim was halfway through with his bowl when he broke the silence - which didn’t take very much time at all. “By the way, what gives? You only break out the good stuff when you’ll be eating what I eat?”

“I’ve been eating the same thing as you have the entire time.”

“Well then, why is your food so disappointing?” Masking your emotions was an art you hadn’t quite mastered. You could feel your eyebrows furrowing deeply, holding Grim in a disapproving gaze with a matching scowl. “Come to think of it, even your castle’s falling apart! What kind of country is this?”

Slowly, you let your spoon rest in its bowl with a soft tink. This got Grim’s attention, and he watched as you interlocked your fingers and rested your chin on your hands. “Tell me this first, Grim. What do you know about the current affairs of the continent?”

He cocked his head to the side, inquisitive. “Not much. Politics are boooooring.”

“Well then, allow me to bring you up to speed. My family has only been in power for a few months. We overthrew the last king for being irresponsible in his politics. The war destroyed parts of this castle and many of our fields. Reconstruction takes time, as I’m sure you could surmise.”

At the word war, Grim’s ears drooped and he flinched away. You continued, keeping your voice even. “The barrier you jumped through is a thin line of magic that is keeping the Shadowlands away from us. Should that barrier fail, we would be unable to defend ourselves. We are rationing our supplies and focusing on building defenses for our people rather than opulence for our castle. That is why, up until now, you were not served ‘the good stuff’.”

Grim was silent for a moment, staring deep into his stew as if his image would change into some kind of prophetic vision. “I-I didn’t know…”

Unsure if you could respond civilly, you instead took a bite of the piece of bread beside your bowl. You could feel Grim watching as you ripped into it, not bothering to watch for falling crumbs or opening your mouth to a disgraceful degree. “You know, it would be helpful if you could remember something about the Shadowlands, rather than tear through the room decor with your claws.”

“But nothing’s coming back to me!” He protested. “Will you just throw me out once you realize that? Why bother keeping me around?”

“Because,” you answered coolly, “we were left on our own by the countries around us when we needed them. I don’t intend to let anybody else be left behind.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment before you turned back to your food. A second later, Grim did the same, eating much more appropriately than before. You didn’t share another word that night, but it still felt like progress.

After gaining a little insight, Grim was a little less combative. Your father was finally able to get a trusted mage to analyze Grim for any dangerous side effects of exposure to blot, and Grim let himself be poked and prodded at with minimal complaint.

“Amazing,” The mage murmured, running the tips of his fingers through the blue flames of Grim’s ears. They started to twitch in response, and Grim glared at the mage from the corner of his eye.

After a few tests of his magical aptitude - which was a little out of control, but would be able to be controlled with a magestone - the mage ended his examination. He couldn’t find any noticeable signs of aggression and left after he assured you that Grim shouldn’t cause any blot related problems. Having officially been cleared, you allowed Grim to accompany you throughout the castle, walking him through the slightly overgrown gardens and showing him which rooms were intact. Along the way, Grim scurried after you, cracking jokes and bumping into tables as his claws skidded across the hard floors. Other than a few narrow brushes with some expensive vases, he proved himself to be good company.

As the days passed, you gave Grim small tasks to help you. He retrieved Riddle’s letters and ran yours to the messenger when she stopped by. He was also proving to be a good listener, even if he preferred to talk on and on about how he could blow you out of the water with his magical prowess if only you allowed it. You didn’t want him to spiral out of control, though, and he actually listened to your instruction…on this matter, at least.

Without really meaning to, Grim became your shadow and accompanied you everywhere. He was granted a seat at the dining table and was even allowed to be present while you discussed more official matters with your family. Your siblings were fascinated by him, and while they got along with him well, Grim was known throughout the castle as yours. Eventually, he even began sleeping in your room with you (after you made him promise that he wouldn’t destroy the curtains.)

As you were preparing to peel back the covers and fall asleep one night, you huffed at Grim curling up on your pillow. You scooped him up, watching as his limbs hung down limply beneath him. He protested as you tossed him on the other pillow and fell on your spot before he could reclaim it. Muttering beneath his breath, Grim began kneading at the pillow and trying to get comfortable again.

“If you don’t want your spot taken, maybe you should get to bed earlier,” he murmured. It was a backwards approach to showing concern for your wellbeing, but you were beginning to get used to that.

“There’s so much to do…” Throwing an arm over your eyes, you groaned quietly into the moonlit room. “Besides, you should be grateful you have a home instead of stealing other people’s places.”

“Home…” As stealthily as you could, you peeked open one eye and watched Grim. In the powder blue light of the moon, his wide eyes seemed even more striking than usual. They practically glowed as brightly as the fire in his ears, yet neither were so bright that it hurt your own eyes to watch him. His three-pronged tail flickered in thought as he traced the floral pattern on your blankets absently. “I’ve never had one of those before, I think.”

A familiar hollow opened up in your chest, the one that pulled you towards Grim and made you want to help him. You were more similar than anybody cared to notice, after all. Life in a treacherous land made you both a little tough, a little reckless - and now that the storm had subsided for a while, you had to adjust to something entirely new. Hopefully, that something would be permanent. But everything could come crashing down in a moment, sending you both back to hell.

You doubted Grim would agree if you said anything - after all, he couldn’t remember much of anything before meeting you. Even if he did agree, it wasn’t like he’d tell you. Instead, you kept your fondness closely guarded and instead turned to face him, brushing a gentle finger down the bridge of his nose a few times.

“How did it feel?” You asked quietly. “Not having a home, I mean. If you can remember.”

That was where you differed. At least you had your memories of your home, and they were fond. At least you felt like you belonged in this country. At least you could be certain the blot hadn’t entirely changed you. Yet.

“Free,” Grim answered cheekily. But instead of smirking at you, he kept his chin on his front paws, pensive. “Lonely.”

“Mind keeping me company, then?”

Snapping out of his reverie, Grim finally gave you a signature smug grin. “Even your lame rations beat foraging for berries every day.”

Despite your fondness for him, you were not too keen on being Grim’s babysitter for the rest of your life, so you began to concoct a plan to put him to use. At your request for his audience, your father listened to your proposition and nodded thoughtfully as you explained Grim’s progress and the trust you were building with him.

"Ah, I don't know…" Your father mused when you were finished, stroking his chin. "A pet is a big responsibility."

"I don't think he would qualify as a pet," you corrected, though you were entirely unsure if what you said was true. After a moment of thinking, you said, "But running a kingdom is an even bigger responsibility and you're trusting me with that!"

"So I am," your father agreed, slowly grinning.

Days later, after a small magestone had been affixed inside a simple pendant, you searched the castle for Grim. You found him on a balcony overlooking the entrance to the castle, the peaks of nearby cottages visible above the stony walls. He didn’t turn towards you when you opened the door, but he did swish his tail in acknowledgement.

“I have a gift for you,” You said, and he gave you his full attention.

“Don’t leave me hanging!!” He insisted, craning his neck as if he could see behind your back. Stifling a laugh, you presented the magestone to him and watched as he jumped up in excitement. “What are you waiting for? Put it on me!”

“Stop moving then!” Threading a piece of silver ribbon through the top of the pendant, you gestured for Grim to turn around. He did, showing his back so you could tie the ribbon in a neat bow.

“We need to find a mirror. I bet I look the coolest!” Finally calming down, Grim narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute. What’s the catch?”

“No catch, though I do have a separate proposition,” You answered. Grim sat expectantly, and you wondered why he insisted he wasn’t a cat when he acted so much like one. “How would you like to be my royal advisor?”

Grim blinked at you for a few moments, processing your request. When he finally pieced things together, he leapt up and began prancing along the railing, recklessly enough that you worried he might tip over and fall. “Well, obviously you’d be desperate for The Great Grim’s advice! You’re smart to take advantage of such a rare opportunity for such amazing help. My first suggestion: make beef stew the national dish!”

You sighed, letting him go on his excited tangent. There was still work to be done - even more than usual, now that you had to train Grim - but at least now you didn’t feel like you were on your own.

#accidentally made the reader more traumatized than originally intended but i think it works lol #twisted wonderland #twst #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #royal au

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busybrain7 · 4 years

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The Design Of This 1930's Style Village Facility Is Helping Alzheimer's Patient's Remember. - Faithreel.com

So brilliantly sweet.

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oracleffxiv · 5 years

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Prompt #2: All or Nothing

In which the Basilisk takes a wager.

Prompt: Bargain

(No TW’s, yeet!)

The bright full moon poured forth through a crack betwixt two dark storm clouds. Thunder and torrential rains blanketed the valleys to the north of Doma, skirting the Steppes. The shadows and rains offered the perfect cover for the two agents who laid in the underbrush on the cliff edge. They’d been here for some few hours, even before the storm came, simply waiting and watching. When they had found the clearing below, along the mountain path, their shared training and instinct told them that this is where their opportunity lay.

On the left lay a man known only as Andor, the Sunless; a tall but almost unhealthily thin and sleek Raen man in his early twenties, dressed in a dark and form-fitting garb that sported a wide array of long leather straps dangling from the sharp lines of the body to break the silhouette and offer a form of camouflage. His partner, known to this circle as only The Basilisk, did not suffer this particular problem. She, too, was frail and Raen, but due to the dimorphism of their particular people, her much smaller size allowed her to more comfortably conceal herself beneath the leafy growths. Their bodies were pressed firmly together, both to share in each others warmth but also a constant, silent reminder that their partner was still there. While not shinobi, this pair operated in a similar shadowy fashion, where absolute silence was key.

That was usually the case. With the heavy downfall, the pair was offered the unique opportunity to discuss in no more than extremely hushed whispers. The noise required them to be close, Andor’s mouth very nearly touching the left horn of the Basilisk; the only exposed portion of her head, save for her amber eyes, the rest concealed by a feathered hood that shrouded her entire head and face.

“From the east.” Andor muttered. The Basilisk turned her extended spyglass to the mountain path curving from that direction. Sure enough, Andor’s keen eye had spotted the caravan very carefully moving along. Four or so carts, each with two horses and four or so men and women. Mostly Xaela, with the odd helping of the stray, nomadic Hyur who sometimes wondered out this way. The second cart from the back was different in an extremely subtle way while the rest of the carts sported lanterns that glowed with a normal yellow flame, this carts’ lanterns burned a subtly darker orange. The kind of difference one might only notice if they were searching for it.

“Hino came through.” The Basilisk hummed back. “Not that there was any doubt.”

“Mhmm.” Andor agreed. “The best of the best.”

A few more moments of searching through their spyglasses proved fruitful; their marks were spotted. For Andor, it was one of the aforementioned nomads; a berserker of a bandit, responsible for much of the grief travelers and traders (and, more importantly, caravans carrying merchandise belonging to the noble Doman families of the Hunt). For the Basilisk, it was the head of this very caravan, a Xaela Khan who… the Basilisk was given little reason to target, other than that was the job and she took her job very seriously. The fact the two targets had come together was simply a complete coincidence.

The Basilisk set her spyglass down in favour of her rifle, which sported a spyglass of its own, albeit one with less magnification to make the weapon less unwieldy. It was a slightly messy mixture of contraptions, but served their purposes well. To her surprise, however, Andor did no follow suit. “...are you not ready?” She posited.

With a slight smirk, he offered her a look. “I’d like to strike a bargain.” This threw the Basilisk for a complete loop.

“A bargain? This is hardly the time for trade.”

Andor huffed a sigh, annoyed as ever at her pedantry. “More of a bet, then. A gamble. That kind of bargain.”

The Basilisk huffed a sigh of her own, irritated as ever at Andor’s penchant for theatrics and drama when they were working a job. “Fine. Go on.”

“You obviously need to eliminate your target, right?” The Basilisk did not dignify this with a response. “You’ll take half of my pay if you can eliminate my target with the same shot.”

A challenge of skill. A cash reward. A chance to knock Andor the Sunless down a peg or six. That finally caught the Basilisk’s interests. She lowered her rifle slightly, turning her gaze upon him. He’d always somewhat admired those eyes- they held a soft golden glow, even in this deep dark. After barely a moments’ contemplation, she returned to watching the caravan through her spyglass. “All of it. You get mine if I miss.”

Were it not for his years of conditioned training, Andor might have barked out a laugh. This girl, who Andor understood couldn’t have been older than fifteen, was all but guaranteeing him that she could make this two-for-one shot across a valley at a distance of almost three hundred yalms. Or, she was guaranteeing him double pay for doing essentially nothing but be there. “Alright, little Basilisk, you’re on.”

What Andor the Sunless didn’t realise at the time was just how many thoughts the Basilisk went through in the tense few minutes before waiting for her shot. Wind speed. Rain speed. The weight and force of the individual drops. Elevation. Distance. Weight of the round. Force behind the shot. The movement of the targets. The penetration of the skin, bone, and flesh of not one but two targets of different races… and the two carriage walls the bullet would also need to pass through. Those minutes passed with a tension that was almost unbearable, broken sharply by the crack of the gunshot. Andor’s heartbeat thrummed so loud in his horns that he was worried the Basilisk might have heard it too. Seconds went by before a single red light rocketed into the air from the west side of the valley; confirmation of the kills by their shinobi support, Hino Akio.

Still, a sloppy shot. Rikyo huffed, as she thought back. It was the only memory she had of those times that she held with anything approaching positivity- for when she pulled that trigger, it was the very first time she’d ever won a bet. She took her double pay, and made absolutely sure to rub Andor’s nose in it- much to his chagrin, and the absolute amusement of the rest of their companions.

The very companions Rikyo now hunted.

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast for entry!

#FFxivWrite2019 #ffxiv #Rikyo Takahashi

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seemabtechno · 5 years

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