Idk how common of a take this is, but the writing in Wizard101 is miles better when the game is taking itself at least a little bit serious. OG wizard city wasn't re inventing the wheel but it was good enough for it to emotionally resonate with most of the core audience. Cause the game didn't condescend to the player base.
When Urianger said he had a plan I turned to my husband and said, "I think Urianger is lying to us. More specifically to Y'shtola. Because if he told me he didn't have a way to save me I'd probably still do it and try my best, but if he told Y'shtola now that he didn't have a way to save me she would beat him to death with her bare hands."
If they wish to impress someone for whom they have romantic (or at least sexual) feelings, does your OC attempt to present themselves as more confident, wealthy, popular or otherwise impressive, than they truly are?
Title: Impress
Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Y'shtola Rhul, Thancred Waters
Rating: Teen
Summary: Late ARR timeline, sometime after the events of Operation Archon but before the Bloody Banquet.
Notes: I could have sworn I had already published this. I've had it written for -ages-.
Zoissette had her tools for artifice at hand, and she was working on something in the public area of the Rising Stones.
Thancred noticed that Zoissette liked working in the public area. Most others left her alone as she worked, but she seemed to enjoy the simple companionship of just being in a shared space, able to hear the others as they went about their day. If she needed a hand, she would just ask for it, and if she needed something more specific, she would usually just petition Tataru. But really, she was working alone, and that seemed to suit her fine. She did what she could to stay out of the way of the others, and they, in turn, left her to her work. Sometimes, someone would get curious enough to keep her company for a short while, but rarely did anyone ever bother her past that unless there was an urgent matter needing her attention.
So when Y’shtola sat down nearby, Zoissette looked up and nodded an acknowledgement, but barely paid her any mind past that. Thancred had been nearby the whole time, but he, too, was keeping to himself. There was a friendly silence, with Zoissette working, and Thancred reading his book.
Y’shtola sat and watched for a while, clearly interested, but Zoissette failed to notice. Her eyes flicked over the work being done. Zoissette had some sort of assembly in front of her. Obviously magitek, with rings and discs and cylinders, and arcane sigils that had been inscribed on various parts of it. Y’shtola watched as Zoissette frowned, rotating a cylinder, and watched as a pin fell into place and the corresponding sigil triggered. And she licked her lips ever so slightly as Zoissette stood up, reaching her long fingers deep into the core of the device, and chewed on her tongue as she tried to adjust something.
Thancred glanced up, and noticed Y’shtola’s interest. Ears forward. Tail slightly up, its tip curling on itself into a question mark, but with a forward curve to it. He glanced between Y’sthola and Zoissette, and stuck a thumb on the passage in his book, and pretended to continue reading.
“My,” said Y’shtola at last. “I feel as though I could fain observe you work all night.”
Zoissette stopped, blinking, and looked up at Y’shtola.
“Uhm?”
Y’shtola leaned forward, elbows on the worktable, resting her head in the cradle of her hands. Smiling.
“Just commenting on enjoying watching you at your work. Such delicate movements you manage with such dextrous hands. What, may I ask, are you working on so diligently?”
“This, uhm. Is a locking mechanism for that magitek armor we liberated from the Garleans. You know. Uhm. Maggie. I mean, Maggie is intelligent, but the Imperials stole her back once. I thought to… make a locking mechanism… that would prevent them from making that attempt again.”
Zoissette leaned forward just a little bit, getting her fingers just that little extra distance further in the mechanism. She closed her eyes just a little, to concentrate, and there was a distinct click and a ping noise as she got whatever she was going for.
Y’shtola practically purred. “Impressive, how deep your reach. I wonder, how sensitive must your touch be, to manage such work?”
Zoissette looked up to stare at her blankly, then looked down at the contraption she was working on, and back up at Y’shtola.
“You find this… interesting?”
“Oh, very.”
They looked at one another for a long moment, Zoissette blinking, blankly, while Y’shtola leaned a little further forward, her tail now high enough to be even with her head.
Thancred was the perfect picture of a man reading and unaware of the world around him.
“Oh. Uhm. Well, I never knew…” said Zoissette, carefully pulling her fingers back out, and shaking her hand. “Wait here! I have something to show you.”
Y’shtola tilted her head, and watched with interest as Zoissette ducked behind the counter. Thancred suspected he knew where she was going with this, and it was growing very difficult for him to maintain his composure.
Well, not that difficult. He was a professional.
This was about to be incredible, though, he surmised.
And he was not disappointed, as Zoissette came back to the worktable, carrying a large box which she set down with a thud. She was all grins as she opened it up, and began to lay aside her extended toolset.
It was Y’shtola’s turn to blink, uncertain, as the Elezen began to… well, to babble.
“Oh, I never knew you were interested in such things! Thancred might have told me, we have shared a few tips and tricks over the moons.”
“Have you now?” asked Y’shtola, a hint of irritation in her voice. Thancred glanced up, as though he was only just now aware of what was going on.
“Here! Let me show you how I got started!”
Zoissette had retrieved from the box a wide variety of what Y’shtola vaguely recognized as locksmith’s tools. Small pieces of metal, often just shapes at the end of a stick, or with odd bends in them whose purpose she could not guess at. And also, locks.
So many locks. Zoissette seemed to have a rather large and extensive collection of locks of greatly varying types. And she was just now picking up a thin metal stick with some sort of wavy pattern on the end of it, and what could be recognized as a simple, common sort of padlock.
“You see these practically everywhere,” Zoissette said, grinning as she held it up. “And they are terrible locks. Easy to use, though! And very cheap. Excellent for a beginner. To open it requires practically no skill at all. You just take this, often called a rake or a jiggler. You hardly need to know anything about locks to use it, though understanding how the common lock works will help you understand why this picking method works. But here. You take it, and just…”
Zoissette jammed the rake into the keyhole, and holding it loosely in her hand, jiggled it back and forth a bit while twisting. With a flourish, she tossed the lock to the table, freshly unlocked, and dropped the rake next to it.
“But not what you were interested in I imagine, since you were mentioning my technique in handling Maggie’s lock. Well, you see, the interesting thing about locks, is they need to be able to both secure something, and be able to be unlocked, right? The most secure lock would be no lock at all, just seal the item shut, but that is no help if you want to get at it later. But if you want something to be usable, the best option for ease is no lock at all! So you have to keep in mind how to reach a happy medium. There are a variety of methods of doing so, which I wish to implement in the mechanism I am making for Maggie. Here, let me show you a few more examples, how to pick them, and how I overcame their deficiencies while still allowing a way to release the lock later…”
Y’shtola’s ire had faded almost immediately, as did her attention on Thancred. He pretended to watch only for a moment longer, until he was certain neither woman had their attention on him any further, so that he could return to his reading. Which he did not do, instead continuing to watch the exchange out of the corner of his eye.
Zoissette was continuing to be very enthusiastic about her lockpicking skills and deep knowledge on the matter, some of which he was forced to admit exceeded his own. Y’shtola seemed to now be turning to a sort of interested politeness, interjecting and asking the occasional question, and even trying to sneak in a few more hints as to her actual intent. However, they were lost on Zoissette, who, having someone interested in her work, was growing increasingly excited in describing the details of the lock mechanism she was making for Maggie. The lock, the cylinders, pins, false pins, shearing discs, and even the addition of some arcanima techniques, the lock truly had it all. A lock among locks, the very ideal of what a lock might be.
And poor Y’shtola’s tail was slowly drifting back downward, and she was sagging slightly, too polite - or perhaps too interested in at least being kind to Zoissette - to disengage. Her hints and innuendo were falling flat, as Zoissette was either not noticing or ignoring them. Thancred did notice her attention briefly wax once more at points, as Zoissette demonstrated some technique or another. And Thancred had to admit, Zoissette did indeed have very capable hands.
“You see,” said Zoissette, “Some people think it is just about raw finger strength - applying countertorque, and being able to brute force pins into place. To others it is more about endurance, to hold the pins in place as you do your work. Still others opine on the benefits of a deft touch, as you yourself noted earlier.”
Zoissette had Y’shtola’s full attention again, now, as she had Maggie’s lock in her hands, and was showing how to work its inner mechanisms. She glanced up at Y’shtola, and seeing her attention, winked at her, and nodded her head with no small amount of swagger. How Zoissette could be so enticing in her element when she was normally so daft otherwise was one of the many mysteries of the Elezen that he suspected drew Y’shtola in.
“But if you ask me, it is no singular element. No, the experienced locksmith knows that she must use all of her skill, strength, dexterity, and senses to truly plumb deep into the depths of her work. To bring a fresh curiosity to every single, ah, device that she encounters. The ability to feel the finest little shifts and changes in movement, and respond to them accordingly, the dexterity to work in the very slightest and tiniest movements…”
Zoissette’s speech was slow, now. Measured. Careful. Her attention was wholly on Y’shtola, and Y’shtola’s attention had fully returned. It was obvious that she was trying to split her focus between Zoissette’s eyes, and what Zoissette’s hands were doing.
“And the strength to apply pressure in just the right places, an ear to listen to the pleasing sound of surfaces as they slide just so, and then, at the exact right moment, apply just a little touch of magic…”
The arcanima sigils flared, and Zoissette’s fingers suddenly - well, Thancred was not sure how to describe it. But there was a flurry of motion, a gentle pitter-patter of the noise of mechanisms finding their right spots, and then, with a huge and exaggerated ta-da sort of motion, Zoissette let her hands free, and Maggie’s would-be lock slid into the open position.
“There you have it. Task done with great satisfaction, if I do say so myself.”
Zoissette had the smuggest smile on her face, while Y’shtola just stared.
Thancred resisted the urge to clap. It was a splendid show. Instead, he played at turning a page in his book, and hoped that neither lady noticed he had not actually done any such thing in some time.
“Uhm. Too much?” asked Zoissette. She began to turn red, and she quickly stood up, beginning to gather her tools back up. “Oh. Uhm. My, uhm, mine apologies, Archon Y’shtola, I overestimated your interest. Or maybe missed the aim of it? I rather hoped to share my, uhm, well, all this with you, but I can tell that your interests may have truly laid elsewhere, and I lost you at some point.”
Y’shtola blinked a few times, seeming to come back to herself.
“Zoissette?”
Zoissette laughed unconvincingly. “Yes, just cleaning up just now. Uhm. I still have more work to do, but it shall wait. I think I just - well, it is very late. And I did not intend to be, uhm, boorish. I think I need to go to bed. Yes. Thank you for asking after my project. As you can see, it is coming along quite nicely, I shall finish it shortly, good night.”
She could move quickly when she wanted to, and she stood, now, her precious locksmithing box cradled in her arms. She grinned apologetically at Y’shtola, and practically fled, not so much putting the box back as chucking it into its spot behind the bar.
“No, you misunderstand, Zoissette, wait, I was merely-”
Y’shtola reached out a hand after Zoissette.
Thancred took a drink from his mug as he watched with great amusement. Zoissette was gone, leaving a somewhat frustrated looking Y’shtola behind.
“Quite unusual to see such an error from our very own cultured conjurer,” he said.
Y’shtola glared at him, settling back into her seat. “I am quite certain I do not know what you mean,” she said.
“And I am definitely certain she had no idea what you meant, either,” retorted Thancred. When Y’shtola huffed, he laughed, loud and boisterous.
She crossed her arms and looked away, annoyed.
“My apologies, Y’shtola. It is just so refreshingly rare to see you so out of sorts.”
“Well, I am certainly glad to be amusing,” she said frostily.
“I think she was trying to impress you.”
Y’shtola sighed. “Well, she is quite talented,” she admitted. “Not the talent I sought, but I will confess, she certainly seems extraordinary at her craft.”
“A word of advice, if I might?” he offered. “Innuendo for her is more playing with words than it is anything else. It is well you tried to play in her arena, but if you truly wish her attention, perhaps you ought to play less. Instead of hoping she picks up on your subtle insinuations.”
“I did not think myself very subtle.”
“And you weren’t, but I believe she is the sort to assume the least. You can’t just hope she understands what you’re after. You have to tell her the idea of what you want, rather directly. Unless, of course, you wish to just banter. She’s great for that.”
“So I am discovering.”
“Not a total loss though. I think I have rarely seen her so animated. You really got her in the mood.”
“You will find that I, however, am not in the mood just now, Thancred.”
He laughed.
“If I may be serious for a moment, however,” he said.
Thancred clasped his hands, and gathered his thoughts. Y’shtola frowned, but did not dismiss him.
“I try and stay out of your business, though I know you’ve had your fair share of discreet dalliances over the summers. But on the matter of Zoissette, let me just say. She’s done more for me than I know how to put words to, and I consider her as close a comrade to me as you or Urianger.”
Y’shtola’s tail twitched in that way that suggested danger to him, or perhaps caution in herself.
“If you’re interested, you’re interested. She’s a fine woman; no judgement there. But I don’t think she’s the sort for the type of tidy little thing you usually go after. I know you’ve been avoiding undue attachment, but I fear she’s not nearly so jaded as you are.”
“I have always been clear with my intentions, Thancred, and kept my duty and my dalliances, as you say, separate. I trust her to do likewise.”
“I know,” he said. “Just… please be careful.”
Y’shtola looked appraisingly at him, before a look of realization crossed her face.
“Ah. You have my sincerest apologies. I did not realize that I was treading upon a boundary.”
Thancred shook his head. “Look, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“I am aware, my friend, but what you are saying does tell me much. I believe I shall take my leave towards bed for now, before I embarrass myself even further.”
Y’shtola stood up, her tail going low as her anger and other emotions seemed to bleed away, the cultured conjurer standing up in her place.
“Good night, Thancred,” she said as she left.
Thancred sighed, unhappily, and pulled his mug closer, staring down into the dregs of drink still left in it.
“Nothing quite like that, no,” he said to its waters. He sighed.
“Dammit all to hell,” he said, taking another swig. “Guess we’re all going to bed sad and alone and stupid.”
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