A Scholar Forced to Hold a Sword and a Soldier Who Chooses to Pick Up a Pen: SFW, Scholar Reader x Divine Priestess Kokomi
Perchance
Brainchild
A Welcome Prodigy
Proposal Defense
A Night to Remember: SFW, Employee Zani x Employee Reader
Then I Walked Away
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p.s: I don't have a very clear upload schedule, and my content could vary from continuing a series, starting a new one, or posting another drabble. I write when I am inspired to. Comments and reblogs keep me going.
Part 4 of Then I Walked Away. For details, refer to the link attached.
Synopsis: A final dance? How ridiculously overdone. You wouldn't, not in your life, ever participate in such an obvious scheme... wait, where are you going?
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Carpet covered polished floors and high heels that strike the edge just before the undisturbed center of the venue. Some of the daring guests had already made it to the dance floor, hand in hand and even twirling each other around to the music. Others, already drunk out of their minds, cackled with an arm over each other, while some couldn’t even look in the eyes of their partner. Wandering gazes, flushed cheeks, shifting feet, and pursed lips, all while their gloves are seeping warmth into one another with a swishing tail behind—
Wait, that’s an awful too specific, isn’t it?
P/N felt a blush run through her body.
How long had they been standing there after her declared challenge? …probably not that long—but it’s different when she feels as stiff as stone.
The circle is right in front of them, beckoning them closer. The unfunny emcee encouraging other employees to join as well, but P/N feels rooted to the floor.
And a brief look to the side is needed not to anticipate the amusement on Zani’s face.
P/N huffs with a sharp turn to the side. This is pathetically disorienting.
A click of a heel, barely audible.
The firm grip around her wrist halts her.
Confused, P/N glances back with a frown.
The ram-horned woman lifts an eyebrow. Shifting with amusement, Zani took the space beside her with a purposeful brush of their shoulders.
Their gazes met, and she let out a chuckle.
“Taking the lead? I think we both know who’s best suited for that.”
P/N blinks in surprise, and she opens her mouth to protest—only to be pulled into a strong side. She staggers for a second before feeling something slither along her lower back, a suggestion of a firm coil around her waist before seeing it. Her heart spikes up again.
A soft gasp left her lips, but she quickly buried it with a click of her tongue. “That doesn’t quite excuse dragging me around, does it?”
The other shakes her head with an obvious smile threatening to show.
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. Besides,” –joined figures ascend to the stage— “I can see behind those furrowed brows you always hide behind.”
Crimson eyes crinkle. “Or that pout you always wear.”
A pair of downturned lips straightened immediately. “It’s not a pout. It is, in fact, a frown of disapproval.”
Hand in hand, glove hues distinct, Zani leads her partner to the center with an air of sophistication unbefitting the sarcasm she always enunciates. P/N almost felt inclined to express her feelings but found herself at a loss once she was swayed to the front. A steady coil around her waist held her along with the warmth in her hand. The former loosens, a slow and gradual action.
It resumes its natural course behind the other, lacking the contentment it usually conveys. The motion reflects in P/N’s eyes before Zani’s own do.
The imperious woman scoffs, refusing to tear her gaze away. “And do indulge me, what can you see behind it all?”
Zani slides her fingers across her arm, settling the fabric down to her open palm.
She leans in closer. “That you’re secretly enjoying this, and we’re not even starting yet.”
“Hah!” P/N blinks away. “Impudent words for an impudent fool.”
“Better a witty Fool than a foolish wit.”
“Not in this case, no.”
A collective union of cheers buzzed in the air, muffling the announcement delivered. The music garnered everyone by hand, stepping in amidst the crowd of employees to guide them to the rhythm and taps to the beats. Zani parted from her partner, not enough to be separated, but to bring forth attention. P/N, upon catching the signal, took a step back in accordance.
A dramatic fade from the beckoning—then commenced the waltz.
In the beginning, there came an aura of uncertainty from both women. A twirl carefully spinning her around, P/N carefully observed her partner’s footings when successful. Something Zani smiled at.
“I’m no dance expert, just so you know,” the latter mentions, a teasing tilt painfully obvious.
She narrowed her eyes in exasperation. “With how much you’re comfortable with violence, I’m surprised you even know how to.”
“In my line of work before joining the Montellis, the clients were much more… Creative with their requests. Just something I picked up on the way,” Zani huffs, shrugging with fairness.
“Oh? It’s rare for you to mention your past.” Their gazes remain locked as she’s outstretched from her position, hand curled into the air. “Care to tell me more? I promise I won’t hold it against you.”
“’You promise,’ eh? That’s rare. Guess I hooked you in with that one,” Zani muses. A part of her enjoyment falls, yet her hold around her partner remains steady. “Honestly, my past is nothing worth mentioning. It’s kind of similar to my life right now—with noticeably less paperwork. I wake up at 6:30AM, get hired for a commission if I’m lucky, get it done—rinse and repeat.”
P/N shakes her head. “I’ve heard smarter ways to avoid a question.” A smile of amusement. “Come on, I already promised you, didn’t I?”
Grace falls along with the glide of her feet, collapsing right into her partner’s arms. A strong head lifts her chin up, while the smart-mouthed one tilts down.
Zani looks back at her with surprise, and thereafter, a moment of ponder.
A resolute heave in besetment became its conclusion. “Fine. You got me,” spoken with mild endearment.
She unravels P/N from the tangle of their arms, returning her to stand before her with a steady hand atop her hip.
Zani began, “My life before the Montellis… was a routine. I meant it when I said that it isn’t much different. At first, I took on jobs just to pay the bills. A bit of pocket money whenever I took some overtime. Whether back then or now, work was all I had. It wasn’t exactly something I enjoyed or found fulfilling. But now… now, things have changed.”
“Which is?”
“…I was on my way to receive a commission back then. I was a bit late, but knowing the rich—I had no doubt they would be too. I heard some talking nearby and couldn’t resist taking a quick look. Turns out, it was some bastard stealing from an innocent girl. At that time, I couldn’t care less if I was already late. Long story short, I saved the girl, and she thanked me. I left before the Order could arrive at the scene.” She snorts. “Pretty simple, right?”
The other lifts an eyebrow, choosing silence.
“…When the girl thanked me, I…” The sharp creases around her eyes dulled. “I still remember that day clearly. Sometimes, I look at myself from time to time and remember the time when someone had thanked me so earnestly.”
Strong hands place firm between P/N’s shoulder blades and around her hand before hauling herself into the air, drifting back down with navigation that felt natural. A smooth drift from her dress settles around her legs.
With quiet understanding—“When you think about it, that girl that you saved gave birth to the ‘legend’ of the—”
“Ah. Ah. Don’t even try it,” Zani scolds with a click of her tongue. “So much for believing that promise you made.”
“I’m not teasing you.” A furrow of brows. “Although I suppose I can’t blame you for thinking that.”
Smooth rhythm curved into the air slows to a subtle sway, almost as if contentment composed to a piece. The music had given up long ago. Even when the others listened to its command and twirled, they remained a unique notes it can’t align into slurs.
“I know that I seldom resist the urge to poke fun at things, but—” lacking awareness and any care to return it. “—I’m always serious about you, Zani.”
Another step off-key.
Zani stared. “…and does that include when you called me an impudent fool?”
P/N blinked. “…That was different. You know what I meant.”
The other offers her from the tips of her fingers, a small smirk playing on her expression.
“Not quite.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, not really.”
“Yes, you do. This is different.”
“Different in what way?”
A scoff. “You were the one who was acting like a ‘know-it-all.’”
“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t.”
“You’re being ridiculous. You’re not fooling anyone here.”
“And who said I was ‘fooling’ around?”
P/N felt a nerve throb in her head. “You want serious? Fine.”
They’re crossed from behind, and it would be easy enough to mimic the tender turnings of the others, but P/N executed hers with a keen twist of her partner, whipping Zani around without an ounce of depicted tenderness.
She deliberates them both closer until their noses are threatened for contact.
“I am serious about wanting to know more about you—whether it’s about your past or the reason behind the legend. I’m serious when I say that I think you’re one of the gentlest and kindest people out there that I know. And that I really admire every single sacrifice that you make in disguise of ‘overtime.’ It’s stupid, really. You, out of everyone, deserves recognition beyond words for what you do. Those additional fees don’t cut it. And not to mention that you shrug off any ounce of gratitude from others without so much as acknowledgement for what you did. So, forgive me for calling you an impudent idiot. Because that’s what you are. You are impudent to yourself, you philanthropic blockhead.”
Crimson-ivory eyes widened.
“…huh?” Zani sighs, nearing a gasp. “I… I never realized. You… you pay that much attention to… me?”
P/N inhaled and turned, returning with the same abruptness. “Naturally. Who else but you in this room is worthy of my attention? Who do I turn to after receiving such an ambiguous invitation?”
At the corner of her eye, the infuriating silhouette of Carlotta is facing her, a sly curve on the daughter’s mouth. P/N’s own pursed before resuming her attention on her partner—who had, unbeknownst, gripped her hand too hard.
Their steps halted, but her admission did not.
“Who else but you, Zani? Tell me.”
Repeated blinks concocted from confusion and surprise. “I… I don’t know. Someone else but… me…?”
Crimson eyes sweep across the crowd dancing without their regard before snapping back to the challenge laid upon her. Plump lips open only to close again. Is it due to reluctance or refusal to imagine anyone else?
A faint chuckle—“I…I don’t think anyone else but me can catch your attention"—is subsequent to a smirk—"Is that the answer you were looking for?”
P/N flashes one back (even if her very being is shaking). “Yes. Yes, it is. Because that’s the only correct one.”
“And what exactly does that mean, you imperious woman?”
She leans back. “Why don’t you take a wild guess?”
Zani paused—truly paused—and wandered her gaze across P/N’s features. The woman met it with an intensity that defines her characteristic when the connection didn’t sever, not even when her own heart hammers in her very chest.
It felt like a loss if she looked away.
Then, her brows suddenly lifted—only to fall again. She shook her head before tilting her chin high, the sharp curve of her black horns catching the light from the chandelier above.
“I have no clue. Besides, I’m not the one confessing here. Why should I take the spotlight?”
An intense pang shot through P/N—it was hard to discern whether it was frustration or embarrassment—but it shot through her nonetheless.
She could only look away, therefore, at the face of shameless boldness. A defeat.
From a mile away, the weary voice of the other rang: “Impudent words for an impudent fool?”
…perhaps it sincerely was frustration.
“Almost,” P/N acknowledges with exasperation.
Reluctant, she greatly was, when she turned to properly gaze back at Zani. Undeniably hopeful—"So, what answer will you give me?”
“Answer?” A mocking chide. “To what? As far as I’m concerned, there wasn’t a question in there.”
Another pang—more acutely discerned. P/N sighed dramatically. “You’re such a handful. Seriously, can’t you give me a luxury for once?”
Zani flashes a smile, contrasting greatly out of all the smiles they offered each other—which were made under the pretense of condescension.
“It’s not about making something purposely hard,” she assures voice laced with gentle understanding, the suddenness extinguishing away all flares of irritation. “It’s more about taking something… seriously.
“Out of everyone here, you wouldn’t want to do things half-assed, right?”.
P/N held her breath.
Oh.
Oh.
She let out a self-deprecating laugh.
“You’re right. How foolish of me.”
There was a silence, born out of the thoughts that strayed.
“Zani,” she uttered, spoken with reverence, just as she felt the hitch of the other’s breath. “Will you be my girlfriend?”
There—she witnessed it. A twitch on the other's colored lips and cheek.
“And what if I say no?” Zani jests in an attempt to withhold her excitement.
She let out a laugh of disbelief, shaking her hung head. “Then you wouldn’t be here right now.”
The attempt (as expected) failed. “You and your smart mouth…” the weary one quips.
They shared no theatrics—not with Zani. But there’s something fresh that sprouted, or maybe it’s been there all along, merely hidden underneath the pride they always sowed.
Her grin, softening into a look of adoration, sent a rush through P/N. Despite its expected alienation, it was anything but.
“Yes, you dummy. As if that wasn’t obvious enough,” Zani answers without another second to waste.
…who would’ve thought that the night would end this way?
P/N had imagined this numerous times, even if she convinced herself time and time again that it wasn’t as serious to the point of confession.
But as her lips trembled and pinched together, the grip around their clasped hands tightened before her head hung—thousands of words fought at the tip of her tongue to do what she always does: tease, mock, jest.
Yet all she could muster was a laugh. Unprecedented joy seeps deep in her bones so shamelessly it was almost uncharacteristic. It felt magical and light. Like a fantasy.
But, upon feeling the presence before her bend forward and hover over her with a returned squeeze of their hands… it wouldn’t belong to any other moment than this reality now.
Meanwhile—"Hey, hey, are you crying?!” Zani flusters, her other hand dangling uselessly in the air. She sounded like another version of herself, quite far from the person who was teasing her just a moment ago.
Just then, a pair of black fingers held P/N’s chin, benevolent in its treatment as it subtly encourages their eyes to connect.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it—"
P/N shakes her head, feeling a flutter in her stomach once their eyes meet again.
“It’s not about that,” she chuckles briefly. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “It’s… I’m just really happy right now.”
Taking Zani’s palm into her own, P/N lets go of her shoulder to leave a kiss on the clothed surface. Soft with gratitude, unhesitating in its steady devotion.
She allows herself a moment to breathe in the comical scent of pizza before pulling back. Leaving the other stunned when her arms found their way around her waist, face slotting underneath her chin.
“Thank you, Zani. You won’t regret this, I promise,” she whispers.
The one opposite to her tensed.
But before it could be mistaken for anything else—warm arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer. Zani buried her own face on the crown of her head, and—once more—she felt a coil around her waist before witnessing it.
“I know, amore. I know.”
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A/N: you made it yippie. Did you notice? The border looks like Zani's tail. If you're wondering how they didn't get bumped into during the confession, it's because of Carlotta, our wing woman🤞
Part 3 of Then I Walked Away. For details, refer to the link attached. Next part
Synopsis: The lines blur between speaking with your employer and a friend... almost. Withholding the grudge felt to the Montelli daughter; you suppose you can forgive her for how the events of the night had been unraveling. It isn't entirely agreeable, but most of all, it's bearable. This time, a portion of her intention is exposed: she poses a challenge straight to your face. And who are you to back down?
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The two, true to Zani’s abrupt proclamation, stayed within each other’s company as if they were the only people in the room. But considering the infamous nature of their dynamic, many people raised a brow whenever they leaned a little closer to each other under the pretense of looking at something or when their gazes lingered a little longer once the other turned away—or when their bickering couldn’t be discerned from a harmless quarrel or… flirting. From an onlooker’s point of view—it was certainly painful to watch. Groups of drinking employees clinking their glasses fill the room with laughter and chatter; classical music comes from the musicians playing, and waiters walk about while holding trays of Nectarwine glasses—after the confrontation with Alexandro, the night proceeded without much hiccups. Sure, they had to take care of some drunk employee on one side when he stumbled toward them and hold in their laughter when the emcee attempted a comedy script on the other, but it wasn’t anything they would hold against Carlotta or the Montellis. It appears that, once in the presence of one another, almost anything is bearable.
But then, in the high of the celebrations, the very person P/N was cursing a few hours ago stepped forward from the shadows with slightly pursed lips.
“A lovely evening to you both. Zani. P/N,” Carlotta greets, her voice dipped in elegance and velvet. “I trust the celebrations are holding you two well?”
Both heads turned simultaneously.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” P/N replies, crossing her arms and squinting her eyes at Carlotta.
Zani only sounded mildly surprised. “We meet again, Lady Carlotta. No need to worry. Everything is proceeding just fine—food included.”
Her broody eyes gave P/N a brief glance.
P/N sighs.
“…Indeed. Despite my initial reluctance to join the festivities, it doesn’t appeal to me as something I would have preferred to fail to attend any longer. I found my own way to entertain myself throughout the night, thankfully,” the imperious woman reluctantly states, softening the edge of suspicion in her tone.
Carlotta and Zani exchange knowing looks.
“That’s reassuring to hear.” The daughter smiled and nodded, pressing a hand to her chest while ignoring P/N’s pointed look. “Seeing as you didn’t immediately seek me out and demand an answer for my rather… abrupt invitation—which I do partly apologize for—I was beginning to think that the evening was getting rather dull for our dearest P/N.”
“’Partly’…” P/N repeats in a mutter, dripping with skepticism.
Carlotta continues, her lip twitching, “But don’t worry. Rest assured, I have no intention of spoiling your night with some frivolous matters. I know you must think of me as someone shrewd, which I won’t blame you for, but do believe me when I tell you that I did what I did for the sake of your enjoyment. Not just as your employer, but as your friend also. In fact, I had prepared a source of… ‘entertainment’ for you to occupy yourself with. And from what I’ve gathered—” a light chuckle. “—you’re receiving it quite well.”
At the corner of her eye, P/N spots a smug smirk across Zani’s lips. A flare of irritation coursed through her.
“Why, yes. I have encountered some rather curious elements for one night. But none of them quite bear the brand of ‘Lady Carlotta.’ I find it hard to believe that Alexandro, that drunkard from the back, or even the obviously staged comedy act a few hours ago would be something of your belief that would suit my tastes,” P/N spurs, lifting her chin.
Carlotta’s eyes light up with mirth. “While I can’t say anything of certain for the other two you just mentioned, I must insist that our emcee is a new hire. He insisted, stating that he wanted to give it a hand and is currently doing his best to gather laughter for his paycheck. We did make a promise.”
From the side, Zani snorts. “Well, can’t say I blame him.”
P/N shakes her head, furrowing her brows. “Maybe you wouldn’t if his dignity is less valuable than the laughter he garnered. Did you hear the audience? I don’t think that was meant for the act.”
“People have their own types of humor. I actually found it quite amusing,” Zani muses, shrugging a little.
P/N scoffs. "Zani, your definition of amusement is more closely related to mockery than anything genuine.”
“Hey, I’m trying to be supportive here. He’s just starting, after all. I think it’d be too harsh to expect too much.”
“Being supportive means being genuine with your responses and feedback. Yours just happens to be sarcasm wrapped with a bow.”
“Sarcasm wrapped with a bow? If we’re going to talk about comments and suggestions, I don’t think yours were any better. Don’t try and pin this on me. Your laugh was the loudest out of everyone, actually. I heard it myself.”
“My laugh? I am a refined woman! If anything were loud in this room, it would be the silence that followed after your attempt at humor earlier.”
A hand carefully rests on their shoulders.
“Ladies,” Carlotta interjects.
The two flaming heads halted, like cats splashed with cold water. Their eyes flicker between each other before clearing their throats and stepping back, noticing just now how much they crossed the distance between them. Carlotta pulls her hands away and looks at them with faint amusement.
“I’m certain that our emcee would appreciate any sort of feedback to improve his performance. But tonight is meant to be a celebration. Let’s not delve into those matters. Any comments or suggestions you may wish to convey, you may tell himyourselves after. If you’d like, I can send you both his contact information,” Carlotta says.
Zani sighs, a hint of embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. “That won’t be necessary. He’s clearly trying his best; that’s all that matters.”
Carlotta nods in acknowledgement and turns to P/N expectantly.
The imperious woman merely huffs with a cross of her arms.
Still smiling to herself—“I understand,”—Carlotta remarks.
Distantly, in the background, the emcee of the celebration announces the so-called “Final Dance.” None of the three bothered to face the stage, since the details are the name itself among every other event they participated in. Still, a dance in an employee’s celebration? P/N couldn’t help but find it rather ridiculous. The others, however, are far more enthusiastic than them. People left their seats and gravitated to the center without so much as hesitation on their faces. The gentle clinks of glass echo in the air along with their laughter as they drag one another to the main floor.
“On another hand, it seems the climax of the night is finally nearing.” Carlotta garners their attention. “Had you two engage in any of the previous dances?”
The weary employee shook her head, pulling at her collar. “While the music is well-composed, I’m not counted as a social butterfly enough to just join in and be welcomed with open arms. I prefer sitting by the food and watching the crowd.”
The daughter bobs her head. Then, she meets P/N’s scrutinizing gaze with a well-masked expression of her own. “How about you, P/N? Are you interested in joining the dance? For such a ‘refined lady’ such as yourself, I have no doubt that you will capture the crowd with your charm.” She gestures to the gathering crowd.
How flattering.
It’s most obviously a ploy.
A challenge, as clear as day, would never see the dark with P/N in the vicinity. Especially one posed by Carlotta.
She places her hands on her hips. “Hmph. Very well, then,” P/N declares, staring directly at her employer. “Since you so generously brought up such a staple, I don’t see any reason to refuse.”
Unbeknownst to her, the gentle and steady swaying of Zani’s tail halted.
Carlotta’s minuscule of a smile widens. “Excellent. Although I understand that taking the hand of someone unfamiliar isn’t your forte—” she sneaks a glance towards Zani (whose eyes widened like a deer jolted by the womp womp lamp’s light before quickly turning away). “—It won’t be the main reason if your sweet night ever turns sour.”
P/N takes a step forward, lips curling to a confident smirk. “Oh, your worry is admirable, Lady Carlotta, but you have my word that everything is well taken care of.”
Electricity sparked between them as the provocation hung heavily in the air. And neither of them looked away.
A ghost of her own smirk appears on Carlotta’s lips, but it disappears just as quickly.
“Then, it’s decided. Thank you for your willingness to participate, P/N. You have my word that our preparations for the Final Dance won’t be a disappointment.”
Carlotta curtsied briefly and turned to walk away—but she suddenly glanced over her shoulder, meeting her employee’s crimson eyes.
“Zani, since you aren’t interested in joining the dance, why not join me for a couple of drinks?”
At the call of her name, the weary employee blinks. A spontaneous action.
“Me? Ugh…” Zani stammers, a brief silence enveloping them.
P/N takes a curious glance and finds Zani’s tail flickering anxiously.
“I’m… I’ve had quite enough of drinks for one night. I appreciate the gesture, Lady Carlotta, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass,” Zani continues, an almost unsure look on her face.
A knowing glint flashes in the daughter’s eyes. “Worry not; no offense is taken. We all have our limits. Well then, I hope you both enjoy the remainder of the evening.”
The infamous duo watches Carlotta depart, the click of her heels blending in with the chorus of chatter from the crowd a few meters away. The chandelier light shines warm and bright above the numerous participants, illuminating each of their figures and the preparing musicians warming up their aching fingers. Most of the plates on the long table have long faded to crumbs, with only a few standing—pizza tropical included.
Now left alone with nothing but the promise of separation, the entirety of the situation befell P/N. She glances briefly at Zani before cursing under her breath.
Her companion, on another hand, turned to her with a somewhat pinched expression.
“I would say that you were pretty brave back there. But with you, it’s hard to tell whether you were acting brave or being reckless,” she muses—but it came out more hampered than usual. “What’s with the sudden interest, anyway?”
A silky and almost amorous tune fades into the room, orchestrated by the musicians carefully tuning the atmosphere with their nimble fingers. As expected, the crowd buzzed with giggles.
P/N spared an unimpressed glance towards the noise before snorting. “In a dance, one of the most basic necessities to join the circle is to find a partner. Carlotta mentioned this just now—but she doesn’t know that I already have mine.”
She lowers her arms. Slow and careful. A flicker of hesitation tilted her chin down. The pondering expression on her face giving birth to a pregnant pause.
Only for it to transform into a fire behind her eyes.
Her hand reaches out, an inviting offer.
“So, since we’ve made it this far, why don’t you make this Final Dance bearable, too?”
Zani’s brows lifted high, and her eyes widened like that one time P/N genuinely complimented her.
P/N felt a flutter rush through her heart.
Laughter? Not quite. Fear of rejection and getting laughed at? …most likely.
This was definitely out of line—out of line from what? From the invisible boundaries they set between themselves? When their shared moments between commissions became something they looked forward to? When they started to unravel their layers in between arguments, slipped words betraying their truest thoughts?
‘It’s just a dance,’ P/N could mock herself. Yet when pushed forward by Carlotta’s hand, there’s no bigger fool than herself.
There was a pause, stiffened impossibly further when Zani glanced down at the hand offered to her. It was almost adorable how much she mimicked the hesitation that flashed through P/N just moments before.
Those captivating and alluring droopy eyes flickered back to meet P/N’s eyes, and—with the euphoria of winning against the impossible—Zani’s gloved hand slipped into hers.
With a mix of exasperation and affection, the weary employee mutters, “…You’re impossible.”
Part 2 of Then I Walked Away. For details, refer to the link attached. Next part
Synopsis: Pizzas are served on the long table displaying Ragunna's delicacies, and Zani certainly wouldn't complain about missing a long line just for a slice. Even if her employment is subsequent to such. Naturally, she ought to share it with her companion, only to be faced with a recommendation for sweets.
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On the decorative flooring of the venue—countless displays of proud artworks, a wide array of colorful balloons, and clam-shaped hanging lights from above—Zani spares a few glances at the trays scattered about the group of seats that are housed by some sober employees as they descend the stairs towards the long table filled with Ragunna delicacies. While Zani couldn’t deny the growling of her stomach, it didn't quite compare to the beeline P/N made to the dessert section of the display.
She watched as the other brushed past her with an amused smile of her own before following behind. The food is as delicious as anticipated—and expected—from the Montellis. And upon taking just one glance from where she approached, she already knew where they ordered the menu from. A mouthwatering mix of triple-scooped ice cream, Nuvola pasta, and even potato wedges—Margherita sure got busy.
“Impressive spread.” Zani’s gaze sweeps across the food. “Now, the question is, where to even start?”
The other, already stuffing her favorite dessert in her mouth, looks at her over her shoulder with a grin. “I already know my priorities,” she quips, coming out slightly muffled. P/N might be a mouthful to take, but her sweet tooth is undeniable.
Zani stifled a laugh. “I see your priorities are firmly in place.” Her heels halt right beside the other, and her gloved hand comes to rest on her hip, opposite of P/N. “I suppose I should find something for myself, then, before you devour the entire table.”
P/N perks up adorably before pointing across the table. “I think I saw some Pizza Classica right over there.” She swallows her mouthful. “You like pizza, right? Maybe there’s some left. Go and grab one.”
“…Is that so? Let’s hope I get lucky, then.” Zani casts one last look at P/N before stepping behind her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” she bids.
Her hand drops as she leaves, leaving the other alone for the first time that night. Pointy, black heels click against the marble floor. Crimson eyes glance down to the warmth lingering on her glove under the chandelier light. It clenches hard, pressing itself against the thudding sensation in her chest.
Turns out, there really were a few boxes of her favorite pizza lined up at the end of the table. Not quite freshly baked, but it’s only natural, considering that these must have been prepared ahead of time. Zani picks one up, balancing it on her fingers and taking a big bite. Delicious, as Margherita’s pizzas always are.
She glances back to the balcony, remembering the sudden and intrusive entrance of her friend (a presence she welcomed nonetheless). The night had been incredibly dull. For the minutes she endured before her, the night had almost been a promise to be another mundane event spent hovering over a table littered with food and tolerating drunk bastards.
When Zani first entered—she had been greeted by Lady Carlotta herself who expressed her gratitude for attending the event so early, praising her for her punctuality. Zani merely shook her head and dismissed it as something more out of a habit. They spoke briefly, asking for updates about her personal life in a casual boss to employee exchange. There was barely anyone at the venue, but Zani wasn’t interested in making small talks just for the sake of it.
But then—“On another hand, how is P/N doing as of late? It’s been quite a while since I last saw her.”
It was a surprising change of topic. Zani thought to herself for a moment.
“P/N? P/N is doing just fine as always. You know how she is. Always out there, pissing off whoever is dumb enough to believe they can out argue her.” She chuckled with a shake of her head.
Lady Carlotta held a miniscule of a smile. A glint of something in her eye—
Zani’s brows furrowed.
What exactly did that mean?
“I see. It’s reassuring to hear that she is still the same as ever. Sometimes, what is familiar is most comforting to us,” the daughter said smoothly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Did she contact you on whether she’ll be attending or not? It would be a shame for her to miss out on this event.”
Zani’s brows lifted briefly. “No, she did not. We actually hadn’t talked for a while. What I had told my lady were just the numerous accounts of the employees back at the vault. Would you like for me to ask? I can contact her right now.” She reached for her terminal.
Surprisingly, Lady Carlotta dismissed the action. “No need. I’m certain that she’ll find her own entertainment for the night. Whether she arrives or not.” After that, she curtsied and bid farewell to her employee, wishing her a pleasant night.
Her gaze flickers to the slosh of wine in a passerby’s hand.
P/N mentioned that Lady Carlotta had directly invited her—which isn’t that odd in itself. She still stands by her thinking that the daughter foresaw the imperious woman isolating herself yet again. Still, the fact that she made an effort to message her is telling. The lady knows that P/N can be quite hard to please at times, especially when invited. Not exactly demanding, but she could be quite specific with her circumstances. So, Lady Carlotta must have prepared some things in advance if she truly had wanted her to just enjoy.
Zani lets out a huff. Lady Carlotta can be considerate in her own way.
But ever since P/N’s night started, the woman has not been contributing much to her own enjoyment as a sort of “repayment” for the trouble—well, besides her obvious pleasure in quenching her sweet tooth, that is. The woman had just been in her company ever since.
The chewing movement of Zani’s lips halted.
“I’m gonna need some company to get through this night.”
“I get it. I’m someone you can’t miss out on!”
“After all, we’re partners, right?”
…
Zani shakes her head.
Maybe she’s overthinking it. P/N has always been self-sufficient. If she wanted something, she’d be more direct than a gun pointed at someone’s head. And she’s loose with her mouth. No matter what she’s saying, it’s easy to mistake it for something else. She’s just dragging Zani along just to mess with her.
The taste of the pizza on her tongue had already dulled from her slow chewing—and she quickly swallowed it along with the straying path of her thoughts. Zani pulls her pizza back.
How long has it been? She probably looked awkward while standing here, staring off into space.
She quickly grabbed another slice from the box before turning back around. “Hey, so it turns out—”
The words faded from her mouth. Right in front of her, isn’t the pleased expression of her friend with a mouthful of dessert—but the rear of a tailored dark suit, topped with slicked back brown hair.
Her tail twitched, eyes narrowing. Who is he?
Tilting her head to the side for a clearer look, she managed to make out a familiar face—Alexandro. A fellow employee from the vault. She sometimes catches glimpses of him whenever she orders at Trattoria Margherita—always arguing with some Fisalia—and Zani has worked long enough in the vault to recognize most at a glance.
From where she stood, he’s practically hovering over her even from far away—and most likely smiling too.
Her tail twitches again. What is he doing here?
“Sorry for suddenly intruding—but I couldn’t help but notice your enthusiasm for sweets from across the room. I share the sentiment myself,” Alexandro purrs, grabbing a chocolate cupcake from a stack and offering it to P/N. “So, you’re a big fan of sweets, too?”
“Uh-huh,” P/N grumbles, sounding the flattest Zani has ever heard her. “While I appreciate it, I prefer choosing my owndesserts to eat. I’m not interested. And it’s literally a chocolate cupcake. I’m sure anyone would know what a chocolate cupcake tastes like.”
Her own droopy, crimson eyes take one last look at the two before ultimately deciding to lean against the table. She bites into her pizza once again and closes her eyes while gripping the edge of the clothed table.
They’re only talking. Nothing to fuss about.
The man chuckles lowly. “Oh, I don’t mean any offense from it. Just a small recommendation from a “sweet lover man” such as myself.” He follows it with a laugh. “You know, most of the females I meet are always surprised when they hear that.”
Zani greatly resisted the urge to scoff. She opens her eyes again to glance at him from the corner of her eye. Is this guy serious?
“I tried these out myself and they taste delicious,” he continues, taking a bite out of the cupcake with deliberate slowness, tilting his head up. Then, he holds the cupcake towards her, purposely tilting to the part he bit.
“Would you maybe… be interested in trying it for yourself?” Him and his lame self asks.
Much to Zani’s satisfaction, P/N did the scoffing for her. “I just told you. I’m not. And even if I was, I’d take one from my own cupcake, not out of yours. Can you just leave? I’m not planning on taking any recommendations from you.”
That’s right. No matter how much the guy tries, P/N would have him crying before she even considers it.
Unbeknownst to Zani, the condiments of her pizza threaten to slide off the bitten edge she took—but all of her senses are zeroed in on the absurd conversation happening a few meters from her.
Alexandro huffs in amusement. “Well, there’s always room for new experiences, right?” He rests a hand on the table to lean in closer, and his voice drops to a low, intimate murmur: “What do you reckon about spending the night with me?”
Zani’s tail twitches again.
She manages to catch a glimpse of P/N at the corner of her eye out of curiosity. And she finds her shifting uncomfortably, probably wanting to back off from the guy’s insistent contiguity but either doesn’t want to get cornered or absolutely refuses to show that she’s being affected by it.
Without thinking, Zani clicks her tongue and shoves whatever’s left of her pizza slice in her mouth before pushing off the table.
“Who knows? This might just be—”
Her gloved hand latched onto his shoulder and gripped it. Firmly.
“Hands off,” Zani growls, uncaring for any mediation. “She isn’t interested.”
Alexandro snapped his head to glare at whoever was bold enough to intrude. Their eyes meet, and his mouth snaps shut.
“Z… Zani! You’re… you’re back,” he grumbles, failing to hide his annoyance. He pauses for a moment as he glances between the bitten cupcake in his hand and P/N’s lifted brows. “…You mistaken me; I was merely recommending P/N here a simple chocolate cupcake! It’s sweet and delectable. I just thought she would appreciate it.”
Zani raises an unimpressed brow before she squeezed his shoulder tighter—eliciting a flinch and a grit of Alexandro’s teeth.
“Oh, I don’t think I’m mistaking anything, Alexandro. I heard the entire thing.”
She takes a step forward to plant herself between the two. Alexandro retreats steadily.
“I don’t think recommending a piece of food to someone includes taking a bite out of it and offering them to eat out of the same side. And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know you that well to give you a pass,” she retorts sharply, staring at him dead in the eye.
“Unless, of course, there’s something else entirely that you want out of this conversation.”
Alexandro’s eyes narrowed at her dangerously.
Zani crossed her arms, a silent challenge in her crimson eyes.
Unperceived by the both of them—P/N, from behind, shares a nervous look between the two opposing figures, gripping her dessert a little tighter than usual. Not because she’s flattered by the exchange—but because she is absolutely certain that, if things go south, Zani would certainly plummet this man.
But before she could even get a word in—Alexandro relaxes his clenched hands and softens his features to a sheepish smile. “Oh, well, you caught me. So much for starting it slow and steady,” he lets out a chuckle, shaking his head and placing the chocolate cupcake back down on the table.
“To be honest, no one else in this room but P/N has caught my attention,” Alexandro starts. For a moment, it seemed like he was trying to talk it out with Zani, but not even a moment later—his eyes meet P/N’s through Zani’s horns. “More than anyone else. I’ve been eyeing you for a while, and to say I was surprised to see you attending the event is an understatement. I was absolutely delighted!”
Zani clenches her jaw.
He adds strongly, the smugness radiating off of him, “The moment I saw you, I wanted to talk to you right away! But I understood the need to speak with your…” His eyes cast over Zani unimpressively. “…Friends first. So, I didn’t interrupt you even when I really wanted to,”
The pointed words are laughable. And Zani would’ve if people weren’t already sparing glances at their way.
Is he trying to put her in her place?
A brief moment of silence stretched out between them. Zani was in too much of disbelief to come up with something snarky.
All the while P/N drawls out from behind, “So… you like me. What, like I’m supposed to care?”
Alexandro’s face drops, and Zani had to turn away briefly to stop herself from chuckling.
She quickly clears her throat and looks back at him once recovered. “Look, Alexandro, whether you like her or not, that doesn’t give you any excuse to invade her personal space and ignore her rejection. And I’m pretty sure that waiting for someone to finish a conversation is… Just basic decency and isn’t something you do to fish for compliments.”
Zani closes her eyes for a moment, debating if her following words are worth it for the inevitable teasing she’ll get battered with later.
…Well, she’s already here, anyway.
“And besides.” Zani looks behind her and suddenly reaches for P/N’s hand to entwine it with her own. P/N nearly tripped when Zani pulled her closer, followed by the long length of Zani’s tail wrapping around her waist. “P/N and I are partners for tonight. So, you don’t have to worry about her being alone. She’s with me just fine.”
Alexandro’s eyes widen. A flicker of defiance lit up the aggression that passed through his face. He flickers his gaze between the two. To their entwined hands, the possessive wrap of Zani’s tail, and P/N’s expression (that now radiates smugness despite the absurdity of the statement)—in search for any discomfort, coercion, and even hesitance.
There was absolutely none. In fact, P/N leaned closer to fit by Zani’s side like a glove.
At first, she just thought it was entertaining to watch Zani defend her, but now? It may just mean something more than that.
His charm offended and his testimony backfired, Alexandro quickly straightens his back and adjusts his tie. Perhaps he thought using his interest would embarrass Zani into backing off. “…right. Right then. I understand. My apologies for my sudden intrusion. I…” he takes a step back and turns around. “I shall leave you two to it. Have a wonderful night.”
The space around the delicacy filled table has never been easier to breath the moment Alexandro leaves, taking the awkward atmosphere stimulated once Zani claimed her as her partner.
Her heart skips a beat again at the reminder.
It was most amusing. P/N would definitely tease the hell out of Zani for the next few weeks after this. But right now? All she can think about is the feeling of their hands fitting in one another and the loose yet firm hold around her waist. She had always wondered what it feels like to have it encircled around her. Zani does often use the trick to haul criminals into the air. Safe to say, she couldn’t help but wish it’s a little tighter.
She couldn’t help but sneak a glance at her when she felt Zani physically relax and saw the tension gradually diminishing from the other’s face. Her own lips curl into a smirk.
“You okay?” Zani beats her to it, turning to face P/N.
P/N meets her eyes. Those crimson irises reflecting their own mix of concern and lingering irritation.
She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Very brave. Would you like a pat on the head for that?”
Whatever concern Zani had for her; she witnessed its dissipation. The weary employee rolls her eyes and retorts, “Very funny. I don’t need a pat on the head. I’m not some dog, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” the other muses, shifting a little on her spot.
The action caused the tip of Zani’s tail to nudge against her stomach. Both of them jolt. It retracts immediately—hindered by a faint blush on the owner’s ears.
Their eyes meet, only for the contact to last a mere second.
P/N’s fingers twitch against the back of Zani’s hand before she pulls away, stepping to the side at the same time as Zani while clearing her throat. They turn away from each other—with P/N desperately hiding the flush on her cheeks and Zani scratching the back of her head.
If it wasn’t awkward with Alexandro before, it surely is now.
But as she takes a quick peek through the curtain of her hair to glimpse at the other—maybe “awkward” isn’t the right word.
She tucks a strand behind her ear and coughs into her hand before turning to the flustered employee.
An inaudible sigh left her. What is she doing?
Without thinking too much about it, P/N takes a step forward and reaches out, her gloved hand weighing gently on top of Zani’s hand. It flinches, but she doesn’t mind it.
“Thank you, Zani,” she whispers, voice low with gratitude as she smiles at Zani. “You handled that better than I could. I don’t think he would’ve listened to me.”
What were once droopy and playful eyes, softened in a way that caught P/N’s breath in her throat. The other doesn’t quite return the gesture—but that alone is enough.
“It was nothing,” Zani replied, shrugging nonchalantly. “Just doing my job. Can’t have some creep bothering you all night.”
P/N resisted the urge to sigh. Typical Zani, always putting her heroic acts under the banner of “work.” Though a part of her admires her value for humility.
A blur of motion quickly lured P/N’s gaze. It was Zani’s tail, swishing gentle and slow.
Now, where had she seen it react like that before?
She thinks back for a moment. It was always whenever Zani eats Margherita’s pizza after work. P/N isn’t an expert in discerning the tail language or whatever—but perhaps it isn’t too far off to assume it’s contentment.
Her lips curve to a pleased smile before huffing softly. “So… all that stuff about being your partner for the night,” she muses, leaning forward. “What was that all about?”
The tail jolts like it’s been squeezed a bit too hard.
Zani grumbles something under her breath before crossing her arms. “Ugh… It was the best I could come up with at that moment, alright? And to be fair, it worked. I knew you were going to tease me if I said it, but—” she sighs, avoiding P/N’s teasing stare. “…go easy on me.”
The faintest of red on her cheeks doesn’t go amiss. P/N felt a great urge to mock her—but…
P/N snorts. Mercy didn’t look like something she was fond off—yet when she pulls her hand back to place it on her hip, her features were anything but mocking.
“Hmm… fine. I’ll let you have this one, considering you did push Alexandro off my tail. I’ll tone it down for you,” she says, lacking the usual fire behind her words. Her lips stilled for a moment. “But seriously, Zani. I know that this might seem weird coming from me, but I’m… grateful for what you did—even if that might start some rumors between us—guess I’m not just some grumpy employee who’s a pain in your ass.”
Zani’s eyes widen. A silence.
Then, she turns to look at P/N again, her expression thoughtful with a mix of something else.
“No, of course, you’re not. You’re my…”
Her mouth went agape with fading words that never left her throat.
It closes back again, and she continues after a beat—“…You’re a trouble magnet who I have to keep tabs on at all times.”
Disappointment simmers deep in P/N’s chest. But it’s quickly drowned out by her hearty laughter.
“I suppose that’s more accurate,” she chuckles.
But still, the question gnaws at her: What was she about to say?
Content includes: (Zani x Brat reader!) SFW, WLW, usage of "P/N" which means "Preferred name" because I refuse to use "Your Name" (Y/N), confession, Carlotta Montelli appearance in later chapters, multi-chaptered series (I finished it already tho. dw)
Synopsis: Sleeping in bed or attending a tedious event offered by your employers? The answer is obvious. The former, obviously. Unfortunately, the daughter of the Montelli family chose for you. And what else can make something bearable than the right company? You wouldn't dare speak about it aloud—not even if your eyes searched for those curved horns the moment you entered the room—but even initial regrets can turn a forceful invitation into a night to remember. Next part
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The Montelli family. It won’t be an exaggeration if one were to deem it as one of—if not—the most influential families in all of Ragunna. To become a member in itself is a privilege in its own right. Not only will it secure you with a job, but also with a lineage that will undoubtedly have your back when the time of crisis is nigh. But the name itself doesn’t bear all the weight. It’s constantly supported by its members that navigate through social circles on a daily basis, participating in power struggles and refusing to be pawns in games. It’s to be expected that the second daughter of the family, Carlotta Montelli, has become a natural when it comes to planning and devising an array of plans that benefit the family.
And this case is no different.
P/N stared at the message from her boss about a celebration for employees. A small yet noteworthy event that serves as a small “break” from all the work tossed to them every day. Whoever is available or wants to is free to attend; everyone knows that. However, the term “free” doesn’t exactly hold the same meaning to Carlotta as to anyone else.
Her hand clenches around her terminal, and she swears she could practically see the smirk on that daughter’s face.
After all, who would ever dismiss a direct invitation from their own boss?
No matter who’s hosting the event or what it’s for, P/N would rather spend the time by herself, lounging in her bedroom and snoozing the day away. A behavior that the cunning Carlotta saw ahead of time.
So, she’s stuck. She’s attending an event she’d rather sleep through.
But the right company might just get her through the night.
The venue, as the Montellis always are, is predictably extravagant and rich in color. Bright chandeliers light up the ceiling under warm rays of light, furry red carpets soften the thuds of footsteps, classical music swoons in the air that blends in with idle chatter, and a tempting display of delicacies all laid out on a long table. Dressed up are the guests, some to flaunt, some to catch another’s eye. Jewelries adorning their every stride.
P/N, self-assuring, mimicked the same.
But grandeur, fame, or even connections? Oh, she couldn’t bother with that.
Perched alone on the balcony overseeing above, the lone figure she was looking for stood out like a sore thumb. Easy to spot, even amongst a crowd, thanks to her black, ram-like horns that contrast starkly with her ivory hair.
Sharp clicks of heels came from the stairs, barely audible amidst the chorus of laughter and the band from below as P/N ascends the steps. The long fabric of her dress sways with each of her sharp movements. A waiter, holding a tray of Nectarwine glasses, descends the stairs simultaneously. Her own hand reaches out without warning to snatch a glass swiftly from the plate.
Both of them passed by each other without much acknowledgement, and P/N reached the top of the stairs soon after. Her gaze landing on the exposed tacet mark that stretches across Zani’s back and the numerous scars that have faded, brought by the new appearance of a dress she didn’t know she had. Plain white, backless, and fit to her figure.
A brief pause in her steps. Stunned and frozen when her eyes began to trace every mark etched across the other’s skin. Roaming and wandering to the curves outlined by the light above them—but they swiftly flickered back up when the pointy edge of a tail slithers across the fabric.
She takes a deep breath, taking a moment to herself. Then, she braced herself for a step forward before the empty space beside the lone, swaying tail was promptly occupied by a pair of glimmering eyes and cheeky of a smile.
“Mind if I join you up here?” P/N intrudes as she settles in the place right beside the other, wearing a light smirk. “Of course, you wouldn’t.”
Surprise, confusion—then amusement. Just as she anticipated, that weary pair of crimson eyes easily fell to her own. She looks stunning, was her first thought. Only broken when those colored lips curved into a smirk.
“I don’t suppose you’re giving me much of a choice, really.” A voice naturally tinged with exhaustion. “By all means.” Zani tips her glass towards P/N. “Join me.”
P/N had already rested her elbows on the edge of the railing. Gold in paint, intricate with linings. The dangling lights from the center cast flickering shadows over their reunited figures.
She stretches her arm behind her to pull out her terminal and flash a message from Carlotta Montelli.
“At first, I almost thought this was a wrongly sent invitation,” P/N starts. “But unfortunately, it seems even attending a celebration is a requirement for her.”
A small huff of amusement. “Don’t act like you didn’t see it coming,” Zani humors, only briefly glancing at the image. “It was announced a while ago. To all employees. Whether you stayed or not during the announcement didn’t really change anything.”
P/N puts her terminal away before glancing between Zani’s glass of wine and her own. Her fingers grip the glass tightly, a flicker of disappointment flashing across her eyes. Something she quickly drowned by tilting her head back and taking a large swig from her wine.
At the corner of her eye, Zani is staring at her with slightly raised eyebrows.
“Whether I stayed or not, basically demanding that I come is a bit too far of a stretch, isn’t it?” P/N grunts, dangling the now empty glass from her fingers and slouching on the railings in front of her. “I wouldn’t have minded attending.”
Zani took a brief sip of her wine before responding, her crimson eyes almost cautious when they look at the other, “Perhaps she already knew you wouldn’t attend and took extra precautions to make you. I wouldn’t be surprised. Carlotta does tend to be very specific with who she wants here and… well, not here.”
A slight pause. Flickering between the rim of the hanging glass and P/N’s slightly downturned lips.
“…need another drink?” She tilts her own wine to her.
P/N looks at the offered drink for a long moment.
She turns towards the open space before them with a shake of her head. The overall “freedom” of the room almost mocking her. “Are you doubting my words? I know what she said. What she means just from her words alone.” She turns her head to Zani as her eyes narrow, stepping closer. “She needs me here for something. I don’t know what for, but I won’t allow her to just force me out here and expect me to just go with it.”
The corner of Zani’s lip curve upward, followed by a carefree and boisterous laugh.
P/N glared at her. She would’ve been offended if Zani didn’t look drop dead gorgeous right then.
The weary employee shakes her head. “Don’t worry. Lady Carlotta might be playful at times, but she’s not some evil mastermind who does it for no reason. I’m sure that whatever she’s planning, it won’t be anything you can’t handle.”
P/N grumbles something under her breath, resting her chin on her palm while overlooking the people below. A curtain of hair covers her face from the other. “A clear opportunist she is. Only the Sentinel knows what on Solaris she’s planning for tonight. I only hope it’s worth whatever trouble I’m about to go through.”
Red liquid dances across the surface of Zani’s glass; a closely colored pair of orbs observes the motion. The loud, classical music dominates the air around them.
Zani lifts her gaze to her.
“Have you ever thought that… Maybe Lady Carlotta just wanted to bring you here to enjoy the party?”
…enjoy the party?
P/N lifts her head, meeting Zani’s solemn expression.
“I know we all have our own ways to enjoy ourselves,” Zani continues. “I always eat the pizzas from Margherita for a good example. But maybe this time… Lady Carlotta opted yours to be something else other than shutting yourself out or spending it somewhere drinking alone.”
With a shift of her feet, Zani holds out her cup towards her, a small and inviting smile on her lips.
“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to enjoy it with other people.”
P/N’s eyes widen.
Something lurched in her chest. Warm and fluttery.
For a split second, the sharpness in the edges of her face softens, leaving only but a soft smile on her lips.
But then—she scoffs, reaching out for the Nectarwine from the outstretched hand after placing her own empty one on a nearby surface. Her eyes filled with reluctant acceptance.
“…You’re in on this, aren’t you?” She accuses and takes a sip from the glass, careful about the lipstick stain already marking the rim.
Silence stretched on between them.
P/N peeks through the reflection of the glass. Zani quickly looks away.
“I honestly wish I was,” Zani gruffs after clearing her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. “So, I don’t spend my night glancing at my watch every five seconds.” Her hips move with elegance, leaning against the handrail to face P/N properly. Her tail sways slowly behind her. “But there’s always a bright side to everything. You just have to look.”
Now it's P/N’s turn to laugh—incredulously. “Bright side, huh? And what “bright side” could this night possibly hold?” she mocks.
Zani drawls out, her smirk returning, “Oh, you know, there’s always the company one keeps.” Dark, almost droopy eyes flickering across her friend’s figure. “Or the fine wine.” Her gloved finger lightly taps the rim of her own glass, now in P/N’s possession.
“And who knows? We might get lucky and avoid any major trouble just for this one night.”
The glass clinks against her bracelet, but P/N’s observant gaze remains fixed on the way the light makes it seem as if Zani is glowing. Maybe she really is.
She huffs lowly. “You just want me to stick with you during this entire thing, don’t you?” P/N jests, a mix of exasperation and amusement.
And it might just be the first kick of the wine doing its work when her heel takes a step closer to Zani, pressing her side right against her. Fabric brushing against fabric, hip bumping against hip, the slightest of warmth seeping through between layers. She leans in with a snarky grin and a drop of the Nectarwine swirling at the bottom of her glass, the rim tinted with both of their lipstick on each side.
“Alright, alright. I get it. I’m someone you can’t miss out on,” a pointed tease. Perhaps then, she can ignore the flutter in her chest. “I’m feeling nice today. So, I’ll let you have this once.”
Already having her eyes on her, Zani doesn’t avert her gaze nor move from (or to) the contact.
Then, an amused chuckle. “I’m perfectly capable of surviving a party on my own, thank you very much,” Zani muses, casually bringing her arm closer to support her weight.
A pause. The brief silence lifted the corner of her lip. “But you’re right. Having you here does make it far more bearable.”
P/N’s heart skipped a beat—something she quickly shoved down. Gotta act natural.
“Now that you’re here, I’m gonna need some company to get through this night. Whether you like it or not, we’re stuck together.” She smiles, nudging her side before abruptly taking a step back, making Zani’s hand slip slightly from the small of her back.
The sensation lingers for a few more seconds before it reluctantly pulls back.
…well, shit.
Great move, P/N.
Zani tilts her head at her with a raised brow. She reaches out, wrapping her fingers around the glass of wine before pulling it from P/N’s hold. “I don’t mind. Besides, we work well together,” she says while hovering the rim near her chin.
P/N watches the last drop of wine slip in between Zani’s lips and the way her Adam’s apple bobs when she swallows.
She herself swallows thickly before looking away just as quickly, leaning on the railings instead to watch over the central space down below. Like patterns on a diagram, the wool occupied floors are replaced by swirling figures of dancing employees, filling the celebration with their cheers of laughter, rushing colors, and bright smiles. Her eyes stray from the crowd, however, shifting their undivided attention to a sparkly, lined-up showcase of food.
The hem of her dress swooshes gently against the back of her knees when she pushes herself off the railings. “Well, I’m not going to spend my entire night getting dizzy over their dances. I’ll head downstairs for some snacks,” P/N declares abruptly.
Just as she was about to turn around, a voice was quick to halt her from moving.
“Mind if I join you?”
What a ridiculous question. Does she even need to answer?
Nonetheless, P/N glances at her, smugness written all over her face.
“Not at all. After all, we’re partners, right?” She turns on her heel, missing the way Zani’s lips curl into a smirk.
“If that’s what you want to call it, then so be it,” the weary employee chuckles, placing their glass of wine down beside P/N’s.
They both step away from the balcony, bringing a certain unspoken tension between them.
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A/N: I know I have a history of discontinuing fics, but my love for Zani prevailed, and I made sure to finish the whole thing completely before uploading it. So, don't worry. This'll be updated consecutively for the next few days. Complete.
Content includes: (Ruan Mei x/& Assistant reader!) SFW, usage of female pronouns for the reader, usage of "P/N" which means "Preferred name" because I refuse to use "Your Name" (Y/N), can be viewed as romantic or platonic so I won't label it as WlW only. It's up to you!
Synopsis:: After being suddenly called over to the aloof genius' laboratory late in the night, her assistant couldn't help but wonder if her life still hadn't run out of new firsts.
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Everyone says that there's a first time for everything.
And well, they were right.
Her eyes reflect the bright screen and the message she received a few minutes ago. P/N had just been talking with Asta when the familiar ding of her boss' notification popped up.
"Come to the lab," P/N mutters under her breath, clutching her phone in hand as she walks down the silent corridors of the seclusion zone. The hallways are almost dreadfully dull, filled with the distant echoes of technology, cleaning robots roaming around, and mini Herta puppets passing by her without so much as an acknowledgement. They must've been given a task.
When she first landed on the famous Herta Space Station, she was nothing more than a lowly researcher, enthusiastic about the infinite possibilities brought about by simply stepping on the very floors of the Emanator’s space station. It was only pure coincidence that someone saw her, assumed her to be thick-faced, and sent her off to deliver some papers to a hidden lab—well, it isn’t really hidden, just isolated.
She didn't comprehend it at first. Why couldn't they give it to someone who's a veteran in the space station, like someone with a valid access card to most doors?
But then again, when ordered by a higher-up, when has the newbie denied a request?
And that’s how she first met the mysterious Genius Society Member #81. What first caught her eye wasn't the undeniable beauty that sent others off—it was the empty yet not unkind turquoise eyes that bore into her figure. Aloof, indifferent, and almost cold.
The two stared awkwardly at each other for a moment, briefly forgetting why she was sent there in the first place.
Then, the scientist took notice of the papers and tablet P/N held in her hands and blinked in acknowledgement.
“You must be the new assistant Herta sent over.” The owner of the soft and gentle voice turned around, gloved hands reaching for a console left open on a nearby table. “Come here. I have much to discuss with you.”
…huh?
A few months later—accompanied by numerous late-night endeavors and confusion towards interpretation—P/N stopped wondering if this is what she signed up for when she entered the lab she once thought to be odd. For a while, she attempted to shrug it off as something done out of convenience, but she always finds herself staying up late just to sort out files for her new… boss, so to speak.
This isn't the first time she's suddenly called for… whatever reason. She's more curious about what task she'd be given in—well, she'd say in the middle of the night, but she was woken up at three in the morning once, at one in the morning twice, and three times during her lunch break for various reasons.
Ruan Mei isn't a stranger to staying up late, most of the time, not sleeping at all. P/N is well aware of this but never dared to raise her concern. They both know where and when their words are well spent.
Maybe Ruan Mei needs to arrange the results of another experiment? Like a baker creating another piece of pastry, leaving unwashed dishes and half-opened packets in their wake.
The huge doors of the entrance to Ruan Mei's lab whir open, revealing the cakes and buns roaming around; they were always lively whenever their creator was around. But something seems wrong.
The idle squishiness of the creations jiggles in an undeniable rebound of dejection. Even the angry-looking bun has softened edges around its eyes.
Following its gaze, it isn't hard to find the familiar palette of brown and turquoise hunched over numerous consoles that emit a faint blue glow over fair skin. Plants erect in a sealed vacuum chamber from behind, a mini greenhouse on their own. From where the other stood, the graphs of data are clear, with tables showing results of the readings P/N recognized to be from a new experiment on a monitor in front. She already handled the previous readings; this one is entirely different. A new DNA distinctive from the little ones.
But just as the assistant was about to announce her presence, no matter its insignificance from the hiss of the large doors, she caught it—the faintest of tension rooted in the genius' shoulders.
Before she could ponder, a smooth voice disrupted her—"Ah, you're finally here."
It was a greeting of its own kind—yet neither of them acknowledged it as a pleasantry. The woman doesn't turn.
“I have been running this system for weeks, and I have been supervising its development since the beginning,” Ruan Mei continues. In hindsight, nothing appears to have changed, but perhaps being her assistant for a few months has brought a drastic change in her perspective. “However, despite my best efforts, the tabulations are not aligning, with the same conditions conveying different conclusions each time. It feels as if the universe itself is laughing at me."
Then, a low, most definitely exhausted sigh. Her shoulders slouch, a surprising sight. "I'm afraid that… I require your assistance, more than the usual tasks I usually assign you."
Ruan Mei turns around, and it doesn't take much observation for P/N to notice the dark circles under her eyes, nor the sunken expression on her face. "Come here," the genius says, picking up a file of messy papers sprawled about the desk. "Taking into account your exposure towards these kinds of things, my experiments included, you should be enough to provide me a new perspective despite Herta's absence."
P/N's eyes followed the movement. Although, she made no move to obey.
"With all due respect, Madame Ruan," she starts, treading carefully. "I believe that you don't require my assistance at all."
Ignoring Ruan Mei's little frown of disapproval, P/N takes a few steps toward her and looks between the dancing figures of data across the monitor with Ruan Mei's obvious weariness. "What you require is rest."
Ruan Mei stared at her blankly. "I do not require rest. I did not ask for you here so you can convince me to stop my work," she protested with a hint of impatience in her usually well-composed voice. The genius gestures to the file she holds. "Now, come closer. This is comparable to the formula you used for the critters. I'm working on…"
An audible sigh. The assistant crosses her arms, carefully noting the frostbite etched in each of her boss' movements. Stubborn, Ruan Mei is.
"Madame Ruan, I refuse to assist you if you continue working without rest," P/N firmly states.
It's a risky statement, but a necessary one.
The aloof genius' lips press together tightly. "You do not have the grounds to refuse me." She lowers the file onto the desk. "You are my assistant; assisting me is what you are required to do."
"That is true, but I absolutely refuse to assist someone who's halfway collapsing from overwork. It's not that I don't want to help with the experiment, don't misunderstand; I just simply wish that the very person I'm assisting is in their right state of mind. Lest, I cannot even begin to imagine the complications."
Ruan Mei furrows her brows. "In the right state of mind?" She grumbles—another factor P/N took. "Nothing is wrong with me."
"I didn't say anything was wrong," P/N rebuts, reaching out to slide the file over to her side of the desk. "Madame Ruan, you're tired. That's what I'm worried about."
Another firm press of her lips together. "That is debatable. I have reached the minimum amount of meals for the day." Gloved fingers press onto the folder, pulling it back. "And I don't need your concern."
"I agree." The assistant slides the bundle of papers towards herself. "What you need is rest."
"I am not tired." The file is pulled back.
"That is debatable." The file slides across the table.
In any other circumstance, P/N would've spared an amused smile for the lines of grumpiness that now formed on her boss' lips if it weren't for the threat of her on the line. Well, she's already knee-deep, isn't she?
It is funny… a little.
Especially when she can clearly see the frustration bubbling just underneath the surface of Ruan Mei's well-maintained composure—the slight twitches in her eye, the tightening of her jaw, and the weighted glare of disapproval boring into her.
Then, after a bated breath—"…fine. If you're going to be stubborn about it." Ruan Mei turns around, reluctant to face her assistant. Perhaps she finally noticed the futility of her argument. Saving her energy for more "worthy" matters. "However, let me make it clear that you will assist me to the best of your capabilities once I 'rest.'"
P/N let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her future is still secured in this space station. "Of course." She hovers a hand over Ruan Mei's shoulders, subtly guiding her towards the pair of couches tucked at the corner of the lab. The creations that were watching the entire dispute quickly hopped away with their cute little noises.
Content includes: (Aglaea x Warrior Demigod reader!) SFW, WLW, filled with fluff, usage of "P/N" which means "Preferred name" because I refuse to use "Your Name" (Y/N), implications of relationship between the two
Synopsis: The Dressmaker is finally allowed to indulge in her artistry after neglecting her art for what feels like forever. A fellow demigod stumbles upon it and brews what was thought to be a forgotten connection.
When the proud demigod invited herself in the Goldweaver’s chambers—for she sensed the golden threads quiver—she expected to find the other behind a stack of scrolls, pen in hand with scribbles of ink marking the paper, the only sound to be heard.
Fortunately, what she found is far more pleasing than what she anticipated—for both of them.
Aglaea, the esteemed leader of the Chrysos Heirs, is wielding a sewing needle in between her elegant fingers. The aforeanticipated mountain of papers is set aside along with the quills of ink that are well-kept in the inkpot.
Amidst the occasional yet distinct silence, their eyes meet at either side of the room, and an almost nostalgic look reveals the flutter in P/N’s chest. The sight stirred more memories than she’d prefer, with the passage of years leaving a sensation of yesterday.
“How rare,” she quips, pushing the heavy door open further to make room for herself. “I ought to find you soaking in a bath rather than indulging in your artistry.” Her worn armor clinks with each step she takes closer to Aglaea, the sunlit entrance closing behind her, eliciting a thud.
The golden woman herself briefly strayed from her work, delicate fabric dangling from her hand. She would have scolded the warrior for entering without so much as a knock—but they both know that would fall on deaf ears. “Indeed. As much as how unfortunate it is, simply weaving a thread has become a privilege,” Aglaea answers, threading the needle through, tugging it towards her. “But now, as I have found some time for myself, I plan to make the most of it.”
The latter crosses her arms, an undeniable smile soft on her lips. No further explanation is needed, like every lingering gaze they claim for each other—by each other.
“It’s… been a while, hasn’t it?”
Something akin to bittersweet acceptance flashes through Aglaea’s eyes—even more flicker than the whims of the Titans. She didn’t answer—an instance P/N knew was more precious than any word she could have replied with. There’s no need for formalities between them, for images to serve as a barrier for the sake of a strong front.
However, it was brief.
P/N resisted the overwhelming urge to frown, for in the past, Aglaea would have revealed more than a mere fleeting emotion. The repeated realization stabs her more than the black tide could ever corrupt her.
She steps forward, taking the space in front of the table and leaning on it by her hip. “What are you making this time?” P/N asks, for the sake of familiarity.
Turquoise eyes met hers, still ever so beautiful.
Soft and thin lips gape open but hesitate a second before speaking—“A dress,” the dressmaker replies. Simple. “I have been… pondering on a pattern for quite some time now.”
“A dress?”The warrior repeats with a tilt of her head. “A dress for whom particularly?” a pause. “Or is this another incident of your whims?”
Aglaea’s eyes drift briefly from the stitches, lingering on her abrasive friend in front of her. “No one in particular,” she answers, looping another thread. “Sometimes, we do things for the sake of doing it.”
P/N allows a frown on her face. “I know that,” she defends, recognizing Aglaea’s tone.
The other returns to the nimble work of her fingers. “I never said anything about such,” she hums. “You know better than anyone what it feels to be idle despite being occupied.”
Ah, now P/N knows whose eyes have been watching her from afar—though it’s hardly surprising.
Particularly when she’s wishing for a moment for herself, practicing the mastery she has over her body and weapon in a far corner of Okhema.
P/N sighs. “You might as well be the very definition of contradiction,” she grumbles.
The dressmaker lets out what sounds pleasantly close to a chuckle. “You make too much from my words.”
“And yet you understood my unspoken ones,” she rebuts with mildly furrowed brows.
Aglaea’s lips twitch to almost a smile. “A habit I am unable to break free from.”
“And it isn’t something you’d wish freedom from.”
Aglaea doesn’t deny it.
Silence followed their little exchange, one that neither of them dared to break. It’s a conversation they both thought to be trapped in Oronyx’s capsule, never to rekindle. For nothing is the same—nothing ever will be again. But perhaps, this brief glance at what was is enough to remind them that the before is still as precious… despite its fragility.
P/N watched the way the dawn from Kephale reflected the gold strings adorning Aglaea’s face that curl inward by their tips, long and slender nails that had been painted a captivating gold that always manage to make her gape, and focused turquoise eyes that hold nothing short of gems—perhaps even more beautiful and precious.
She’s staring. Unabashedly. And yet, it remains to be a problem.
Then, her own orbs drift to the constant movement on the wooden platform, a hypnotizing notion. She observes the way the dressmaker’s fingers make deft progress on the work of art they both assumed would be forgotten. It’s intricate—every part of the piece and the weaver herself. Carefully created, considered, and appreciated. Within the confines of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder… if she has something similar to treasure.
Only when a clear pattern had been drafted on the fabric, woven by the goldweaver’s meticulous hands, did the P/N speak up, “Once… this is all over.” Her voice soft, unlike the calluses that marked her own hands. “Aglaea, what…” she pauses—but the words have already been teased. “What do you think… shall become of me?”
The other demigod remained quiet, but P/N knew better than to assume ignorance.
“You know better than anyone that I was born and raised as a warrior. But…” she wavers. “After all of this is over—not to be presumptuous—but once I finally bear the responsibility of victory, along with everyone else in Okhema… does there remain a reason for myself?”
P/N looks up, finding that she drifted off to the wooden markings on the table. “You shall return to dressmaking, weaving with your golden threads and create a fad that will shake the entire market, while I—”
“I believe that the answer to that is of most obvious.”
…
P/N blinks, a pierce through her melancholy. Aglaea had lowered her hands, her focus now entirely directed to the demigod before her, her gaze piercing.
“You shall become my muse.”
The warrior—whose skin is of the earth, muscles twice as thick, and attitude as alluring as that for dromas—couldn’t contain the disbelief in her laugh that followed, the melodic sound echoing throughout the quarters.
The dressmaker merely observes.
“A muse?” she repeats, embodying the sheer incredulity of the statement. “You could hardly qualify me!”
Aglaea returns with a barely discernible tilt of her head, and she could swear that a strand of her golden hair is tempting P/N to tuck it away.
But Aglaea remained silent, as if daring P/N with her words.
And P/N did anything but refuse her.
“I am not as captivating as the other muses Okhema praises,” she continues, still holding a candle to the reason behind Aglaea’s proposition. "So, to say, I hold quite a reputation for being the complete opposite of them.”
“Is that what you view of muses of Okhema?” she huffs, amusement seeping in her words.
Aglaea listened. Listened to her dear friend with a small smile on her face—reserved for moments that make Mnestia’s coreflame shine brightly.
The Goldweaver chuckles with a shake of her head. “Let me have a guess… a muse is of white skin, bearing a figure that of an hourglass, and… a personality that befits a priestess?” P/N struggles whether to cry or laugh. She highly disapproves of her own tone reflected back at her. “If that were all it takes to become a muse, then why would so many dressmakers—even the very citizens of Amphoreus—bother with such frivolous matters?” A gentle rebuke, always with that intelligence that made her golden.
Then, their eyes met—and it was decided that P/N’s breath be stolen instead.
Aglaea always seems to weave something reserved for her—pure, unadulterated adoration.
“What you were thinking of just now is a mannequin. Not a muse.”
The proud warrior crosses her arms, a slight frown on her lips. “You know well enough that I was only ever considered as “yours” for the lack of there being anyone else willing to endure your rigorous practices and measuring,” she refutes, feeling defensive all of a sudden.
Aglaea lowers her threads. “That is where you find yourself completely on the opposite side.” She continues with mock disappointment—an emotion P/N hears more often than not. “You gravely miss an important factor that I took into well consideration.”
The Goldweaver reaches out, offering her skilled fingers to gently caress the warrior’s downturned lip, leaving her needle stuck in her fabric—untouched for this one moment, no matter its scarcity. P/N felt herself readily surrendering.
“Muses, my dear, can only be called as such because they are personally chosen by their garmentmakers. We don’t find perfect models; we choose what fits the masterpieces we make.” Aglaea retracts her hand—only to find the other reach for it. She doesn’t let go.
“And I…” Her voice, smooth and velvet, almost a whisper yet strong with declaration. “Chose you.”
So, I don't know if anyone's still waiting for this account to actually still upload or AT LEAST show signs of life—but I decided to stop running from this part of myself that I'm really proud of.
For these past few months, ever since my last post, I've brewed a lot of ideas that I knew would cook to be fanfics. I held most of them off since I didn't have time to do them—but then, gradually, I found myself turning my back on it entirely. More often than not, I resorted to reading my old fics and thought, "Oh, I need to edit this or that."
So, I began to think: "If I can't create a masterpiece, I shouldn't post anything at all." I developed a mindset that basically said, "If I don't put my EVERYTHING into it, why would I even spend time on it?"
But recently, I've come to realize that that doesn't apply to art. To create masterpieces, you must first create a candle that holds to it.
Being human is being flawed; not everything I do or create is going to be life-changing or so incredibly polished that I would spend weeks editing it to be "perfect."
How can I continue to love my passion for writing if I can't accept such a simple fact?
While it's true that my schedule is incredibly packed, I will try my absolute best to stop picking at my work like it's woven by gold. It's formed by flawed, human hands. And I should strive to create more flaws than to create perfection.
Because sometimes, it's not the end product or the process that matters—it's the overall experience that I did something. Something that I enjoy thoroughly.
Verified campaign - please check the end of the story
Hello dears! Merry Christmas! I wish you many happy returns of the day.
I am Alaa and thank you for looking at us with compassion and I ask you to support my campaign to help me achieve my goal. I am in dire need of your support now to help my family survive and be safe. Gaza is a very dangerous place both in terms of living and life. I need your financial support to enable me to get the basic needs for my family until the Rafah crossing is reopened to transport my family to safety and peace. Please help a family survive through your small donations or through your contributions to others. Thank you so much for standing by those who are there Need.
https://gofund.me/3c02770c
Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is (#4)
Good day, and happy late holidays! I am so sorry for responding so late. I know the situation in Gaza is an urgent and life-threatening one. So, I really do apologize for not lending my help earlier.
For anyone who sees this post, please do your part in supporting Palestine and repost this post or dontate any amount of money in their fund me! Every little effort we do will help a lot of people suffering in Gaza. Thank you!
I'm Amal, a mother of three children, living under the weight of the genocide taking place in Gaza. 🍉
Here’s my story, and I’m reaching out with a hopeful heart 💔✨, hoping someone will feel what my family and I are going through.
My son is suffering from a severe and life-threatening injury after being shot by Israeli drones. He urgently needs medical treatment outside Gaza.
Time is running out, and we are facing a critical situation. I am asking for your generosity to help us save him either through a donation or by sharing this urgent plea with others
I beg you, i kiss your feet, to help my son. My son may die at any moment.
I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my son too 🥺
Mohammed deserves to live a happy and healthy life, just like every other child on this earth.
So I humbly ask you to donate even a little or at least reblog this appeal.
I humbly ask any good person who sees this post to please donate using their link! Any amount will help her and her children, especially her injured son.
If you can't donate, then please at least reblog this post or send it to people who can. Any effort you give may end up saving them. Thank you!
Content synopsis: WuWa Phoebe gets caught with her echo friends! (the reader will be named as "P/N" in this fanfic, meaning "Preferred name")
Scroll away if you do not entertain fanfics of Acolyte Phoebe x Acolyte Reader and wlw
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The city of Ragunna is a highly revered region in Rinascita for its use of common echoes that can be seen littered across its streets, mostly seen as serving more to be a functional part rather than for combat. Sometimes referred to as “Divine Envoys,” they are seen as gifts from Sentinel Imperator. These helpful, soft, and friendly echoes, however, are stated in the Codex of the Deep to be treated objectively to avoid wrongful preaches. As one of the Acolyte’s of the Order, P/N had remained at a certain distance from these cuddly creatures as much as she could. She couldn’t deny that they were certainly adorable, but the Codex is clear about its regulations.
…unlike a fellow Acolyte of hers.
She had initially traveled to Whisperwind Haven to visit one of the elders there. To assist him in his daily routine for her schedule is free in the meantime. They were well acquainted—she offers him her service; he tells her of the tales that lurk around Elga town.
The sun is high above the peaceful Egla town, enveloping it in a comforting warmth that urged the elders, echoes, and children to venture outside to bask in its warmth. A breeze had ruffled her Acolyte hat to near removal. Quickly, she raised her gloved hand to press it against her head, keeping it from flying away and be subjected to yet another sermon from a senior.
That was when she spotted a familiar figure in the distance at the turn of her head. They, like her, wear an Acolyte hat and pristine uniform worn by one.
And she knows little whom would visit the Haven apart from herself in the vacant time allotted in an unrestrained schedule.
Soft crunches followed her footsteps as she proceeds towards the blondie, bending down while surrounded by fluffy echoes. The blades of the grass tickle her skin through the white tights she wears. From where she stood, she can faintly hear the delighted laughter from the person she holds dear.
She pauses her tracks from a few meters away from the adorable scene.
“’Members of the Order are to remain at a distance towards echoes to better handle matters relating and concerning them, and to better share knowledge about them’…” she speaks up loud enough to be heard from a distance.
A few echoes jump in surprise and turn to look at her, similar to the fellow Acolyte whose eyes widened. “Right, Acolyte Phoebe?” P/N continues.
“O-oh! Acolyte P/N!” uttered Phoebe, getting up from her position in the middle of petting an echo. “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you there…”
Her hands clasp together in a nervous habit as she faces the other, unable to meet her eyes. “Y-yes… I am aware of the instructions of the Codex towards these echoes. As an Acolyte, it is part of my duty to avoid favoritism and honor to inform the public…” –her gaze wanders to the echoes that had now seek shelter behind her legs— "but I couldn’t stop myself from indulging even momentarily… They were kind enough to present a present to me, after all.”
P/N settles in front of Phoebe, wearing a slightly amused yet endearing smile with crossed arms. She watches as the latter digs something up in her pocket before showing it to her in her hands. It was a small bouquet of flowers—most likely picked up from the flowers that adorn the fields around them—clustered together with a thin thread of string.
Her gaze lowers to the various echoes surrounding Phoebe, a Hocus Pocus, a Lottie Lost along with some Cuddle Wuddles, and a Diggy Duggy. As she scans the group of little echoes, hiding behind the Acolyte, she recognizes a pair that captured her attention the most—it was Brenno and Livia.
It was Phoebe’s closest friends, almost like family. There’s been a lot of instances when she caught the Acolyte retreating to them at certain days—she recalls a particular moment of them sneaking around the Order of the Deep in an almost comical manner. She also remembers well the moments she sees her cuddling with them in secret, or they cuddle up to her.
P/N isn’t oblivious to the fact that the instruction to stray far from them is achingly hard for Phoebe. Even if the Acolyte knows that it’ll mean trouble for her, she remains faithful to these fluffy friends.
There was one time she had conveyed the strict orders to these two, thinking Phoebe failed to tell them. However, when they only gave her a gift in response, it was only then she realizes that they know she has been spectating them from afar and that she hadn’t said a single thing to the others. After that, P/N couldn’t find it in herself to ever snitch on Phoebe. In a way, she felt it was her responsibility to have them remain a close relationship in secret.
Striking up conversations abruptly to others at a close call, taking a few errands for her own when she’s aware the place is one the trio utilizes for their hang outs, even pretending she didn’t see Phoebe patting some echoes’ head even within the Order—
But the Codex’s content is clear, as well as the instructions given. Proper punishment must be appointed to the violator of any verse in the doctrine.
She glances between the flowers in Phoebe’s hand and the sheepish smile on her face.
“You know I can’t ignore this, Acolyte Phoebe,” stated P/N.
Phoebe’s lips quiver in nervousness. The hand which holds up the gift falters. Her eyebrows furrow.
And as simply as that, her resolve is swiftly abandoned.
“But…” Once again, she takes a look at the echoes tilting their heads up towards her in an almost pleading expression. That’s odd, when has she ever been able to know that? “…I suppose I’ll pretend to not see it this time.” And the several dozen times before this.
A relieved smile dances across Phoebe’s lips upon hearing her agreement, a sentiment shared by the echoes around her. They cheered and even looked excited somehow despite how near they were to despair earlier, leaving their place behind the blondie’s legs.
“Thank you, Acolyte P/N! May the Sentinel bless your understanding heart! I was only supposed to pass by Egla town for some fresh air… but they followed me out here, I couldn’t ignore them,” Phoebe says in delight. She holds up the flowers in her hand, and her expression brightened as she takes a step closer.
P/N sighs—though not in exasperation. “It’s alright, it would be quite rude to ignore a gift from a friend, wouldn’t it—”
Suddenly, the bundle of flowers is tucked in her hair, in between her Acolyte hat and her ear.
The words die on her mouth as she looks upon Phoebe, carefully placing the gift she had received into the beautiful features of her companion. Her touch ever so featherlight yet ignited a wild rhythm in P/N’s heart. Even with the gloves she wore as part of her attire, the touch is just as heartfelt as it could be without it.
When Phoebe pulls away, a pleased smile graces her lips. “There! Take it as my and the echoes’ thanks. For keeping it a secret.”
P/N couldn’t find any smart response in the rapid train of panicked thoughts that swirl in her head. She clears her throat and attempts to find solace in the eyes of the echoes below. “S-sure… Whatever.”
At the corner of her eye, she can see Phoebe tilting her head. The echoes around them observed the two with interest.
Another wave of embarrassment brought a flush to her ears. “A-anyway—you must be careful when you meet them like this, Acolyte Phoebe. If it wasn’t me, then you would have been sent back immediately.”
Phoebe’s expression turns a touch serious and she takes a step back. “Yes, of course. I know. I promise I’ll be more careful next time.” But just as quickly, she recovers, gratitude glimmering in her eyes.
One of the Cuddle Wuddles—one she hasn’t met before—at least she thinks so—comes up towards her. She looks down to its button eyes.
It glances at Phoebe, and almost immediately, the Acolyte understood.
“Oh!” she giggles. “Marcy wants to show you something—if you don’t mind.”
The echo turns back to P/N before waddling towards a certain direction, to the side of Egla town. It looks back at them when a few other echoes followed while some remained by Phoebe’s side, wordlessly asking them to follow. Livia and Brenno were even tugging slightly at the hem of her skirt.
P/N hesitated. She really shouldn’t be entertaining this little trip the echo asks of her, much less actually indulge compared to the times before she merely observed from afar.
Yet—when she stole one glimpse of Phoebe under the cover of the shadow of her hat, she sees the contained happiness mixed with anticipation underneath the composed exterior the diligent Acolyte always wears as she gazes at her and the way the echoes that remained by their side slowly leans in, sharing the Acolyte’s subtle wish.
There was a hopeful silence that sprung as P/N remained quiet.
…really, was there ever a choice in the first place?
“…alright, but just this once,” she concedes.
As always, she can never truly bear to see disappointment across Phoebe’s face. To P/N, there is nothing more sacred to her than Phoebe’s smile.
The little echoes all cheer in unison, their fluffy figures jump in the air with hands raised in exaggeration. They soon dash away towards somewhere, the tension felt from before lifted by the obvious delight in the echoes’ actions.
Phoebe’s face softens into quiet excitement grows at her agreement, it shows at the way her eyes disappeared, and her cheeks lifting at her smile.
She chuckles and begins walking beside P/N as they follow the group of echoes. “I must thank you again for keeping this a secret between us. These echoes… they’re more than just that to me. I know it’s wrong but—they were there for me during my hardest days. I can’t abandon my friends!”
P/N looks back at Phoebe, holding her gaze with an affectionate one of her own. One that is also deemed wrong by the Order. “I understand, Acolyte Phoebe… Friends are important to keep, after all. I wouldn’t take that away from you.”
‘Members of the Order will not indulge Their favor in idle pleasures or desires.’
The familiar verse pops into her head. However, she can’t find any feeling of guilt nor regret. Her feelings—the strong tugs in her heart are more than idle pleasure. They are more than that.
Under the shadow of her Acolyte hat, P/N smiles. A gesture Phoebe mimics with a warm one of her own.
“I wonder where they’ll bring us.”
Phoebe shrugs, feigning innocence. “Let’s keep following them to find out!”
Content synopsis: H:SR Robin comforting her overwhelmed bodyguard in Dream's Edge. (the reader will be named as "P/N" in this fanfic, meaning "Preferred name")
Scroll away if you do not entertain fanfics of Robin x bodyguard.
✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .
“P/N, I need your opinion on this matter. Come quick. There’s been a case—”
“Are you busy, P/N? If not, the Bloodhound Family is shorthanded right now, so if you could come help us chase down this criminal on the loose, we’d deeply appreciate it—”
“Have you completed the task I gave you a few days ago? I need it now. The guest demands an overview of the documents you gave last time.”
“Hey, P/N… uhm, I know you’re busy, but there’s really no one else willing to help me… so, if it’s fine—”
“P/N! Perfect timing-!”
“P/N! P/N!”
Throughout these past few weeks, the cosmic popstar, the songbird of Penacony, Robin, has noticed the steadily increasing schedule of her bodyguard, P/N, in ways that far surpasses the pay grade offered to her. She is aware of the previous position they had before being personally assigned to her as a bodyguard—that being as the Secretary of Security—but perhaps this is too much for one person?
She must admit that the intelligence and expertise she wields quite literally makes her overqualified for the position. P/N is both strong and has a sharp mind. Thus, it was easy for her to navigate through the ranks to even be recognized and trusted by the previous head of the Oak Family—despite her brother already banished from the position, she was chosen to remain due to the lack of evidence of her being Sunday’s accomplice in any part of his plan. However, deep inside Robin, she knows her brother cleared her name far long before any investigation was done.
The sound of her heels clacking along the floor echoes within Dream’s Edge with P/N following behind her with quiet footsteps of her own. After an overwhelming practice session for her vocal cords, Robin retreated to this very spot to escape from any worries she might have during the day. While, of course, her bodyguard was required to accompany her, she did not mind this. The two share—what she likes to think—a far closer bond than a professional relationship.
However, her initial wish to spend a moment of solitude with her bodyguard is completely shattered as she can faintly hear the sound of tapping on the phone and a number of calls being made. She glimpses behind her—only to find her bodyguard talking with someone on the phone. At this juncture, she can vividly remember the amount of absurd requests P/N had been receiving. Robin isn’t oblivious. It’s very clear that even her esteemed bodyguard has been affected greatly by the number of tasks assigned to her.
Naturally, P/N appears to be as pretty as she always will be—but the increasing darkness under her eyes and noticeable fatigue in her body causes her worry to rise. It’s been distracting her lately. Why doesn’t P/N decline when she has so much on her plate already?
Robin waits until her bodyguard finishes her call before calling out, “P/N, can you come here for a second?”
In great speed, P/N averts her attention from her phone at the sound of her voice. Placing the device in her pocket before making her way towards the songbird. At the decreased distance between them, Robin can see the brief look of relief on her face. Perhaps for something else to occupy her mind with? Unfortunately, the expression fades away into one of her usual indifference.
“Yes, Miss Robin? Is something the matter?”
A glimmer of concern flashes in Robin’s eyes, causing P/N to reciprocate the feeling briefly. “If you don’t mind me asking… How many tasks have been assigned to you today?”
P/N blinks in surprise. “About 3, Miss Robin.”
“And yesterday?”
“2 tasks were assigned to me yesterday.”
“The day before that?”
“4 originally, but I have accomplished one of them already.”
The tiny wings behind Robin’s ear glower. “And with those tasks that you mentioned, how many have you completed?”
“The task from the day before yesterday, Miss Robin.”
“So only one,” she mutters in despair for her bodyguard. Amidst all the assigned requests for her, it escapes Robin how P/N is able to work in this state. Especially a job as demanding as being a bodyguard of a cosmic popstar.
Sensing she might have said something that could spell trouble, P/N speaks up in the silence that followed. “If I may ask, Miss Robin, why do you ask?”
Robin, still wearing a contorted face, lifts one of her gloved hands to caress the signs of sleepless nights etched on P/N’s face. It felt rather… rough to her touch. Unlike the previous instances when she held her face in search of injuries. She sees the line marks across her skin, the ever-present tiredness in her eyes. Her heart breaks just from seeing her precious bodyguard exhaust herself from all the tasks assigned. She, who has done so much for her continuously tire herself out. And for what? Why? Isn’t doing her job as her bodyguard enough?
She shakes her head gently, noticing how stiff P/N became once the soft fabric of her glove makes contact with her tense muscles. The bodyguard stares at her in confusion—with a bit of flush.
“I’m just… worried, P/N. For you. I’ve seen how hard you’ve been working these past few days, and how little you rested. At every corner we turn, I always find you talking to someone and leave with another thing to do. On top of that, you always ensure my safety. You’re always there whether it’s for a tour or not. Even at my selfish endeavors to the Oti mall even when I know you’re busy—” Robin pauses at the forming lump in her throat. “I appreciate everything you do for me—but I can’t help but be worried. You always give your all to everything you do. Aren’t… aren’t you tired?”
She can see the mix of emotions glimmer across P/N face like a carousel. Hesitation, reluctance, shame—she wants nothing more than just hold her close. Robin has always been the one to force care for her wellbeing—much like how she cares so much for her. But her bodyguard is always one to dismiss any concern thrown across her way.
This moment, she can only hope to Xipe that P/N can give the same dismissal to any front she would want to put up. Just this once. She wants to do something for her. To tend to her needs much like how she always comforts the idol when torn apart by media expectations—or the abundance of demands and cautions she must always heed to—the same ones her dearest bodyguard carry on her own.
But she’s never alone in the burden. She never has been.
With a tentative step forward, Robin cups P/N’s face so carefully—as if she was as fragile as an injured charmony dove.
The bodyguard flinches yet does nothing to pull away. In the silence that followed, the two shared a wordless conversation in their eyes. Robin’s own worries confront the visible tiredness in P/N’s eyes.
Then, the tension slowly dissipates from her shoulders, it was so subtle, Robin can barely catch the action in the dim light of the setting sun. They slump as P/N leans slightly into the touch, her eyes softening. Her walls always crack so easily underneath Robin.
“I… I am, Miss Robin. I really am,” the bodyguard concedes.
Robin’s heart lurches into a fast rhythm.
“I was afraid to admit it but—” P/N continues, her weary eyes meet the idol’s concerned ones. “I just wanted to do something for you.”
Robin’s hands—which hold her dearest in them—begin to caress the stiff muscles on her face in small semi circles with her thumb. A determined yet kind look on her face is present.
“P/N, you’re already enough just being by my side. You’ve done so much for me; you have no idea. Even when you think you’re just standing by my side as my bodyguard—I’m contented just having you with me. You might not even realize it but—you really matter to me, P/N.”
Her bodyguard remains in silence. Her eyes, usually containing nonchalance now holds a certain vulnerability to them. She feels the weight on her hands grow heavier, and she is more than glad to support her.
“You’re the person who always holds me when I cry. When I wish for some time alone, you’re the one I always want to be alone with—or when I’m stuck on composing lyrics for my song, I can always count on you to inspire me again—Can’t you see, P/N? Just by being here… beside me… means everything to me,” Robin confesses in an affectionate voice—perhaps a bucket too full of love.
“…But there’s still-“
“You don’t have to do anything else for me… I know how much effort you bring into your job.” –for me— “And that’s really all I could ever ask from you.”
P/N’s gaze falters, and Robin can practically hear the gears turning in her head.
Robin decides to gently probe her, as much as she would allow her in hopes of clearing the doubts clouding her mind, “When we… when we go back to The Reverie, promise me, P/N, that you’ll stop accepting every request given when it’s not from me, okay?”
In all honesty, she would have preferred to have her abruptly abandon those tasks right at this moment! But… P/N is already doing so much just simply being open to her. She doesn’t want to overwhelm her. They’ll take this slow. Slow and steady.
As she had hoped, her bodyguard gradually bobbed her head.
The heavy weight in Robin’s chest swiftly eases at this little gesture, earning a relieved smile from Robin which P/N couldn’t stop herself from mimicking.
“…Understood, Miss Robin,” the bodyguard sighs in solace before closing her eyes, still wearing the comfort in her features.
Robin doesn’t know whether she agreed so easily due to her being her boss—or simply because she is too exhausted to retort.
Nonetheless, she relishes in the tranquil atmosphere between them with a light-hearted flutter in her heart. Her eyes gloss over the face of her dearest bodyguard fondly. Now under the bask of comfort only exclusive to them both and the peace the quiet Dream’s Edge offers to them—which Robin can now happily bask in with her—the strain previously on P/N’s face ceases to exist. Only remains the lovely profile of her beauty. Whether she has lines of stress or darkness from sleepless nights changes this not.
“Thank you… I really needed this,” P/N mutters wearily before nuzzling her cheek in Robin’s palm.
The songbird tucks her bodyguard’s hair. “I’ll always be here for you… always.”
Content includes mention of drugs that cause drowsiness and loss of sensation, Vampire! Harbinger Childe, the reader is a witch hunter, and kissing scene. Word count is 4k.
Scroll away if you don't entertain any au regarding vampires, witches, and hunters.
previous part -> 🇲🇦🇸🇶🇺🇪🇷🇦🇩🇪
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It was clear to her now that she had to get out of here.
She’d forever be branded as a fool if she persisted in this Manor any longer; the consequences would be irredeemable for herself and for the other witch hunters who still carry on their duty.
Her line of work is already so sacred that losing one out of all the thousands left would do more harm. Taking into consideration their reputation, the mere leak of information that there are still active people like her would send every villain organization into action, and she wouldn’t want to trade for their downfall even with her life.
Heels clack against the marble floor, and mutters of greetings meet her every gaze upon crossing paths with certain people. Some act polite, while others are suggestive. [Name] only responds accordingly, as nonchalant as she could. Ignoring the crushing sensation in her chest once she nears the previous dance floor of the room.
Only a few more steps were required to be able to exit the suffocating Manor, but she was impudently interrupted by a familiar sight appearing suddenly before her. “Ah! There you are, Lady [Name]. I have been looking for you!”
She needs not to look at the person to be able to guess who they are.
“I deeply apologize for my actions earlier; I had realized too late that I should have informed you first before leaving.” Childe lowers his head with a hand to his chest. “Again, I apologize,” he adds, a tinge of guilt heard in his voice.
[Name] glances at the exit, suppressing her deep desire to push him out of the way. “It’s not a big deal, Sir Childe. I understand that the matter must have been of the utmost importance; I take no offense to it.” she assures.
Childe’s lips turn into a frown, eyes glaze with what she assumes to be doubt. “Even if that is so, please, I must make it up to you.”
The self-possessed woman shakes her head. “You need not to. As I’ve mentioned before, I understand and forgive you.” She returns her gaze back to the gentleman once he raises his head.
“Such kind words, Lady [Name], but I truly do insist. I’m afraid this feeling of guilt will never leave until then,” he persists, his hand lightly crumpling his tie.
[Name] felt her irritation flare up at his comment. How much of her time does he wish to waste?
But no matter—for it appears his subtle interest in her might just let her accomplish her mission.
In between her own fears and the sake of an ongoing mission, she’s once again, preoccupied with curiosity. “Well, if you insist, then I would be happy to," said she, coughing out a chuckle.
Upon hearing her words, a grin blossoms on Childe’s face. “I’m glad to hear that! Now, if you allow me, I shall lead you to one of the Manor’s room beyond the garden; it is not too far so I hope you can be patient with me. There I’ll be giving you an item that I think will suit your tastes.”
[Name]’s courteous smile falters. “And pray, tell me, what is this item that you speak of?”
The latter chuckles. “Oh, you’ll see. I will tell you though that you’ll find it worth your time.” he takes a step away, almost colliding with someone in the process.
“Now, shall we?” Childe asks, outreaching a hand towards the entrance of the Manor’s garden.
Much to her dismay, [Name] has no other choice but to nod and be all smiles even as she consciously walks into the fox’s trap.
No words were uttered between the said lady and the accompanied gentleman even a few minutes after the start of their walk, and she couldn’t help but wonder why he hasn’t bothered to make the trip entertaining for them both. Excluding the reason the garden of the manor didn’t require much ground to cover, surely anyone would feel the need to converse a simple causerie?
Much to her relief, Childe, so to speak, starts, “I take it that you’ve met a comrade of mine?” he takes a curious glance at her from the side.
Dread easily injects itself into her nerves; did she accidentally conjoin her expression and thoughts?
“Why, yes, I have. An impressive man he was,” she adds for the sake of civility, though, judging from his reaction, it can be said that there was no need.
He lets out a breath that is best paired with hands caressing the bridge of his nose, “I best hope what he might have said does not tarnish your image of me—nor that of the Fatui’s.”
[Name] didn’t know whether to pity him or laugh at their so-called "comradery.” “Oh, worry not, he had not spoken ill about you. He had only apologized on your behalf.”
“Really? No lies said; that’s surprising to hear. He isn’t really the most friendly one. However, please keep that as a secret between us. I wouldn’t want to anger his grumpy self any more than needed,” said the Harbinger, followed by a wink.
[Name] chuckles, utterly unimpressed. “My lips are sealed. Though, if I may be honest, I have to agree with you on that note.”
He smiles apologetically, though it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Please, Lady [Name], despite it all, don’t take his inclemency to heart, even with his cold attitude. That’s only how he usually is.”
[Name] nods. “I’m sure there are more qualities more worth looking into.”
The pair fell silent after a chorus of laughter. And deep in their indifferent expressions which they present to maintain a ethical image, both knew well that the latter is a lying imbecile.
The coldness of the weather does not only come from external forces, but also from the underlying atmosphere that’s thickening the more the two walk together in silence, which continues to grow as even the crunches of leaves beneath her provided her with more entertainment than her companion. The option to excuse herself is always present, as much as her delusional freedom provides her with, unfortunately for her, the mere thought of what he would do to her easily demolishes any courage she mustered up. After all, it is known to both that her life is in his hands.
At the thought, the not-so-nostalgic feeling of fear overrides her pathetic attempts to enjoy their stroll, constantly looming above her head, behind her back, and at every corner they turn, like an unwelcome and invited parasite. It makes her head spin with caution, raising the hairs on her neck.
Suddenly, something ruffles the end of her dress, too close for comfort. No one else is around other than them, and alarm bells start to ring in her head at the sudden intrusion of space. Something is closing in to her from behind. And she has no idea what it is or what to do.
She glances at the man beside her, finding him looking elsewhere, void of the fear she wished to share to depart her alertness of facing it by her lonesome.
She clutches her gloved hand into a fist, hardening her resolve to get ready to fight or flee if necessary.
[Name] whips her head around in one swift action. If she is to be afraid, she must face it afraid.
The figure behind her is—
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Similar to a breath of warmth released into the cold night air, the condensed suffocating air dissipates as quickly as it came.
Silhouettes of people sauntering, followed closely by their shadows, occasionally pausing to take a glass from the kind waiter, is the only view presented to the frightened Lady.
It was almost humorous how different it was from what she had expected it to be. The guest’s expensive jewelries and watches glimmering brightly under the golden light, their laughing faces, and squinted eyes behind their fans—was it wrong to feel uncomfortable watching such a peaceful scene unfold?
“-Is something wrong, Lady [Name]?” a silky and concerned voice echoes amidst her troubled thoughts.
[Name] stills. The etched formalities in her spooked mind moves her mouth. “No.. Nothing,” she replies, coming out less smooth than she would like. “I am fine, Sir Childe; it is nothing to be concerned about.”
She watches the tranquil view wordlessly for a moment longer, fearing the ominous feeling would only return to claim her once more the moment she let her mind rest. Though, much to her relief, there is nothing in sight that could ever relate to the forbidding presence.
Already expecting a smile she has to return, she turns around to return her focus to her companion.
But instead of the foxy smile he always greets her, she was faced with Childe’s eyes flashing a genuine glare with his head tilted to look at the balcony of the floor above.
As if noticing his own lack of response, the Harbinger swiftly disregards his deep scowl and transitions it into a bright smile as he returns his attention back to her. “Are you sure? Do you feel uncomfortable perhaps?”
Terrifying it was to witness such an incompatible expression upon his usually beaming face, [Name] speaks with hesitation, which shows that she’s on delicate ground: “No, I am perfectly content. A thought had just occurred to me. Please, spare it no more thoughts.”
Childe couldn’t help but frown at her answer, yet he was in no position to pry further. “If you wish so, Lady [Name]. If you ever need something, you can just tell me.”
The lady offers a polite smile and says, “I give you my deepest thanks, Sir Childe. I appreciate your support.”
“It’s no problem at all.”
Further into the garden’s grounds, is a beautiful flower-filled environment with little to no blemishes marked upon it. The said flowers marvelously compliment each other befittingly of the abundant range of colors among them that radiates prettiness in aid of the light given by the lamps standing along the carved path to support any dweller’s footing. Beyond it lies an outstretched balcony, overlooking the ethereal view of the faraway civilization illuminated by the city’s lights. Stood along its sides glamorous wooden doors that give off a faint light below them, indicating the presence of someone in the room it hid. The pair stroll along the stone path, easily finding their way around the place thanks to the indicated direction in the pavement. There was no need to regard where they might even stumble upon, the path made it very clear to anyone that it meant to lead them towards the view.
Small talks were made along the way, both making attempts to engage the other in the conversation. Mostly made by the Harbinger, who is deeply troubled by [Name]’s anxious behavior. Noticing the change of habits after numerous sightings: she became more fidgety, stealing glances to her surroundings when she thinks he’s not looking, and the usual lighthearted chuckle she lets out takes a more strained tone. All of these could very well be the result of his “comrade’s” antics.
What sort of fuckery did he do this time?
One night, he couldn’t resist leaving his plans alone. He just had to make it harder for him.
Childe lets out an exasperated sigh.
He leads the beautiful lady in a secluded area, an area he hopes the damn shorty or any other guest visiting don’t even dare to enter. It wasn’t particularly scary, in fact, it the was opposite with how the garden presents itself, it was merely well hidden enough to casually ignore.
All while [Name] racks up her brain for any strategy of escape for the situation she had forced herself into. Unfortunately, despite tedious thinking, it always ending up to be incoherent due to the constant feeling of his presence—or more accurately—his stare. Having caught a glimpse of the eye-catching pale skin and indigo hair she knows awfully well in the balcony above after following her companion’s glare. She can’t handle another encounter with him; she might actually vomit on his expensive-looking suit and die at his hands.
Why must he be here—or rather-—why is he here? Was he the one who was about to ambush her earlier?
She feels that her earlier thought of the mysterious presence behind her previously was her doom might be correct in that regard. At this point, she’d rather stick herself to Childe’s company which in any case, is only a tad better.
Blades of grass tickle her dress upon passing a unique-shaped bush; the ground, cluttered by rocks, was engulfed by the neatly mowed lawn; butterflies hovering around the flowers tease her outreached fingers.
“Lady [Name]. I thank you again for your patience and cooperation,” said he once halting his tracks. “Before we go inside though, I must ask you for a small favor.”
[Name] raises a brow.
Is he going to ask for my blood now? No- wait, in any regular situation, this is a perfect set up for a marriage or a courting proposal! Possibly not? Either way, I don’t think I have much choice if he asks. If I were to refuse, would the other one start hunting me next?
She involuntarily starts fidgeting with her gloves. “I see. What shall I do for you, then?”
If Childe was bothered by this, he doesn’t show. “May you give me your hand?”
[Name] squints her eyes at him before complying with a nod.
“Now I ask for your outmost trust if I am to continue further,” said Childe, tenderly. His thumb gently touching [Name]’s knuckles.
Very stupidly but without much choice, she replies, “..I give you my trust.”
Childe smirks before taking off the glove off of her offered hand, pressing it to his lips, and subtly sniffs before turning it around and turns his attention to her wrists, but unlike her initial assumptions, [Name] is surprised to find him kissing her palm.
Nevertheless, [Name] gets ready for the pain even at the facade shown. For even if he is surely going to collapse right after his teeth bare her skin, it doesn’t make the process less painful. If she were a normal citizen, she’d be merely confused on what is happening. After all, the knowledge about vampires having certain kinks are only limited to witch hunters and alike. He could be very well about to just reveal his hidden love for her at this moment. So the best cover is…
“Wh-what are you planning, Sir Childe?” she stutters, shoulders rising in a bashful manner.
The man in question looks up to her, his eyes half-lidded. Appearing to be highly contented, he purrs, “In this moonless night, Lady [Name]. You-”
“..Excuse me for interrupting.”
Childe flinches while the other freezes, having completely forgotten about anything else in the heat of the moment. Head slowly turning to the side, [Name]’s breath catches and tangles in her throat at the sight of Scaramouche standing before them. Their gazes lock, and once again, she loses the ability to look away. He looks the same as before—if not even more dazzling under the moonlight compared to the bright yellow lights within the ballroom. His gaze pierce at her like they’re the only ones in the garden, and she’s never been more frightened yet enticed by the implicity of it.
Something tightens around her hand and she’s brought back to the hold of Childe, who is currently preoccupied with transporting his anger onto his glare towards his uncaring comrade. It was tempting to pull her hand away immediately, but it would give rise to further suspicion.
Her face turns pale. If childe had collapsed there and then, she’d be hunted by now. Or worse, dead!
Obvious mockery displayed on his face, Scaramouche continues, redirecting his gaze to his moping fellow Harbinger. “But Signora needs your assistance, so it’s best for you to head over, she looks rather agitated. You didn’t abandon your previous errand did you?” he crosses his arms.
Childe furrows his eyebrows. “Now, now, you’re making me look like some sort of slacker, dear comrade. Perhaps she just needs me for something else now.”
Scaramouche’s smirk doesn’t falter even as Childe lifts himself from the ground. “Whatever the situation may be—I couldn’t care less really—but you best to make your way to her now, unless you want another scolding from her?”
[name] couldn’t find it in herself to be amused at the blatantly planned obscuration to Childe’s dine. More so when even a slightly exaggerated sigh of her lips catches Scaramouche’s attention. Damn him and his eyes.
So instead of planning her escape, she prays for her dear life. Practically smelling the murderous intent behind their words, no matter if it isn’t directed towards her.
Sighing with obvious disappointment, Childe returns his gaze towards her, ignoring the pointed stare from the other as he does so. “It looks like I’ll have to make it up to you later once again, Lady [Name]. I hope you don’t take this to heart.”
“I understand. And there is no need to worry, for I am one not easy to offend. I’ll see you soon.” she smiles kindly.
From the corner of her eye, she sees Scaramouche rolls his eyes as Childe softens with appreciation. He lifts their intertwined hands to press a soft kiss to her knuckles, the gesture stirring the whirl of nausea in her further. Taking a step back, he bows in farewell. Making his way past Scaramouche with an unwavering glare. The unbothered latter’s smirk only grows wider, finding the scowling towards himself amusing.
At the ginger head’s departure, Scaramouche turns his attention back to his subject of interest, eyes piercing past the previously dark cover over her head. His brows furrow as he sees a… discernable face on her head, one that was not present before.
Was it odd to find a face on a person’s head? …perhaps he’d gone ballistic as well.
Previously, even with the bright lights inside the manor, he could not take a glimpse under her hat veil despite his numerous attempts. Yet Childe was persistent enough to find her attractive without taking her blood into consideration. So naturally, this lady must be the gorgeous one.
But now, in the dim light of the lamps near them, what he can faintly see is… a face that brings forth disappointment. With how Childe had continuously pursued this young woman, he anticipated her to have some unique features, but she looks… lackluster.
Is he seeing her wrong? What’s the reason for Childe to be so infatuated with this mortal?
He steps towards her. “I take it he has apologized to you formally?”
Perhaps she slipped up when they were dancing? No, his entrance was abrupt and she wouldn’t have enough time to cover it up. And the audience would’ve had a reaction at least.
[Name] stretches a smile. “Yes, he has.”
For a popular lady she is, he expected more accurate acting of civility, but she doesn’t seem to be in favor of lying, is she?
“I see.” he leans closer. “So he does have some manners after all.”
[Name] takes a step back, not without checking the space behind her. “...that he does…” she mutters a reply.
As he stood right in front of the retreating lady, his eyes scan every feature he can capture. But no matter how much he stares, every and any distinctive attribute observed fades away with a blink. Not even his sharp eyes can accurately paint a picture of [Name]’s face. Might it be the work of her hat veil? He squints his eyes.
He’s come to the conclusion that something is wrong with her. She’s most definitely odd.
The only source of her reactions is her body and the badly hidden tone of her voice. He strongly dislikes having to be played into a guessing game by a mere human just to quench his curiosity. “To be honest, I am quite surprised you're not upset for him leaving you the second time this night,” he starts after an awkward space of silence.
Blinking her discolored eyes, she replies a beat later, “It cannot be helped. Someone of high position like him is bound to be busy even in a night such as this.” she tucks her gloved hand to her chest, faltering at the realization that Childe took the other glove.
Not caring any more or less, Scaramouche says, “..you know of our organization?”
[Name] looks at him with confusion—judging by the tilt of her head. He stares at her. “It would be a wonder if someone didn’t,” came her hesitant reply.
“Indeed it would be, but more than that.” he steps closer. “I find it more questionable that you’re rather calm in the situation you find yourself in.”
For split second, much to his surprise, the distinction in her eyes remained, showing a clear display of skepticism. “…what ever do you mean, Sir Scaramouche?”
A flare of irritation creeps up his spine. “Being alone in the night with a vampire of a highly sought out organization amongst humans for quite a big bounty.” he pauses, mainly to calm his nerves. “Doesn’t that make you shiver, even a little?”
She tilts her head up, only then is he able to make out the shape and color of her lips. Again, it’s far from what his eye caught earlier from a glimpse. But this time, the image doesn’t flicker.
…is this woman under a curse?
He looks back to [Name]’s eyes. They haven’t changed from their earlier form. Is this how she really looks?
As he continues to stare, his eyes twitches. “…or are you one of those ignorant humans who indulge themselves in their own little world, completely oblivious to the harsh reality of the true world?”
“The main objective of this gathering is to settle the complicated relationship between both races. For me to come willingly with this clearly stated in the letter and still hold fear in me towards your kind, it would be hypocritical,” she replies. Stepping away abruptly as she turns her head away.
Without much thought, Scaramouche’s hand flies up and grabs her chin, forcing the lady to face him again.
Great satisfaction overwhelms him at the realization that her facial features remained. Ignoring the flustered yet alarmed expression now transparent on her face. No more guessing games. He’s got the cat in the bag.
This woman is under a curse. And it contorts her facial features to something pleasurable to gaze at.
She was planning something with Childe, wasn’t she?
He should have left him alone if that were the case, his time would’ve been more well spent if Childe had been left out from it.
Scaramouche laughs, his fingers digging into her skin. “It’s truly laughable how stupid someone can be, perhaps Childe needs to have his brain checked for finding interest in you.” he moves her face from one side to the other. “Other than your lack of knowledge, you seem to have a lack of beauty as well.”
[Name] furrows her brows and opens her mouth to protest. However, upon seeing her reflection in his eyes, she freezes. All courtesy in her manners vanished, and she’s left in her most vulnerable state—her curse free self.
Her worried stare fades into a fierce glare. She raises a hand to try and pry his away from her face, but he doesn’t budge, only pulling her closer to his face.
“You… You’re not a normal mortal, are you?” he whispers tauntingly, low and menacing.
[Name], void of the delicate demeanor, grits at him. “You’ll soon find out what I am.”
And then, without warning, she leans forward to kiss him.
Immediately, his body recoils, a shiver of disdain yanks him away as quickly as it happened. “What do you think you’re-”
Cut off by a yank of his clothing, [Name] crashes her lips together again. Pulling him closer while she exerts force to keep him from moving away.
He felt dizzy—and disgusted. Mostly disgusted. He goes to push her away, but it proved to be fruitless as her grip is as steady as ever. His stomach churned, lips turned numb, and the colors of the vibrant environment started mixing together like a pot of color—a disgusting vile of soup.
Realizing he’s still gripping her chin, he swiftly pulls it off to grab her by the neck and—
…wait, he did pull away, right?
He attempts to lift it again, but all it did was pitifully limp on [Name]’s shoulder. Even a newborn’s grip showed more force than his proud hand.
Where… where did his strength go?
[Name] tilts her head which deepens the kiss even further as her hand crawls up his back, cradling the back of his head. Scaramouche’s body tenses, utterly sickened by the sensation of her lips against his. But it relaxes just the same, like chords of an instrument cut off, his body refrains from listening to him.
As he glances to [Name], her eyes were shut, close to looking blissed out. And he couldn’t stop himself from copying the lady, letting out a sigh of exhaustion despite the overwhelming urge to rip her head off. It’s as if something is controlling his body, or more accurately—he’s losing control. Why is he letting her do as she pleases? He’s a renowned Harbinger for Tsaritsa’s sake. He’s not so frail as to crumble underneath a mortal’s lips.
At that moment, he smelled it—the distinct scent of assorted drugs right on her lips.
Oh. Oh, Tsaritsa.
Before he could form another thought, the malevolent woman parts their lips, leaning back far enough to soak in his drugged state. She looks at him with what seems like gratification, her lips curled into a smile. He does his best to return the gaze, despite his half-lidded eyes and heavy chest, every breath feels like labor. Humiliation fills his system, much like the numbness overriding his senses until he ceased feeling at all.
He thinks something held his cheek, but after seeing [Name]’s mouth move discernably and impossibly slow, he promptly blacked out.
.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐.ೃ࿐
I changed the "witch" hunter to "vampire" instead so it can be more accurate. I realize only now that it was tomfoolery. Scara isn't even a witch. Who is reader hunting.
Content includes: SFW, pair of Kokomi and reader who is named as "the scholar" in this fanfic (and who is probably autistic), use of non-binary pronouns, lengthy thought process, use of dog traits (for Gorou).
Scroll away if you do not entertain fanfics of Kokomi, slow burn, and a multi-chapter series. previous part
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
In the humblest shrine of the Sangonomiya clan, its flamboyant structure standing out from the middle of Watatsumi island, the color distributed along it mirrors the pigments staining the environment, a mix of soft pink and purple covers the humungous corals taking sprout in the edges of the land it stands on. A sort of pastel of green coats the plants around and within, and at a parting at the far side near the entrance, flows down a waterfall, a fascinating sight upon treading on the wooden bridge towards the coral stairs leading to the shrine. In an undisturbed chamber within the building, the bright greeting of the sun passes through the slit left unnoticed by the elegantly painted glass window that once shielded the tender, newly awoken eyes of the Divine Priestess sitting with her head down inside her accommodated bureau. It hits the Priestess’s eyes and weary blinks were taken to shift her gaze away to the papers piling to her right. In a blink of an eye, it seems, a whole night has passed, and the Priestess is unable to recall on the reasoning for her lack of persistency to maintain awake the evening before. An addition to the number of her fainting? Perhaps, but it’s best to cease the fogginess in the state of her mind for now, for she can already foresee the endless grunts of concerns coming from the shrine maidens.
With a brush of her hand to the loose hair descended on her shoulders, a brief gleam of surprise enthralls her at the realization of the securement of her clip had crumbled somehow and is currently placed neatly on the table, making her squint at it suspiciously. Though, no further feelings other than relief befell her. She remained reckless in terms of preventing any headaches. But another dose of medicine along with a requirement to pause her duties would only gravely increase the pain. She sighs before reaching for the accessory previously worn by her hair.
Taking in the room while her hands busy themselves tending to her soft locks, it is strangely in a perfect condition for slumbering judging by the perfectly covered windows with closed curtains, almost no light could ever hope to pass through it. She wonders who could have entered the room to do such thing and managed to avoid waking her. It dawns on her the implications of the possibility that the person took pity on her, bringing a wave of embarrassment pass through her.
She’ll have to figure it out later however, as the bustle of the murmurs outside forces her to release the pent-up strain in her arms and legs. As she stretches in tune with a yawn, a knock on the door nearly makes her arms cramp.
Kokomi clears her throat. “Y-yes, who is it?” she croaks out, cringing at the tinge of hoarseness in her voice.
A pause on the other end.
Then an orotund voice sounded out, one that she recognizes to be always filled with enthusiasm, “Excuse me, Your Excellency. It’s me, Gorou! Is this a good time? I would like to address a matter with you.”
Gorou? Rare he ever was in requesting a moment of her time, and it sounds like it’s for a personal request and considering the lack of his usual smart military fashion he always executes, she deems her usual strict Priestess persona unnecessary to execute.
Kokomi soon answers him, “It’s alright, Gorou. You may come in.”
So, he does; and the sneaky glance the general gave to the covered windows doesn’t escape her. “My apologies for suddenly requesting a moment of your time- but I must tell you this as soon as possible since it’s really important.”
The Priestess shakes her head. “Please, you don’t have worry. I am eager to know what it is, now is a good time in any case,” she assures with a soothing tone, keeping an eye on him as he begun to walk across the room.
Gorou unveils the windows per his own accord and Kokomi came to a conclusion. “I’ll start by saying that this is a matter that I had taken based on my own wishes, and any setbacks or negative reactions, I will face and accept it all.”
The sudden shine of the room brought forth by the sun causes a squint to both of their eyes. “Recently,” he continues once turning his back on the window. “I had been personally overseeing a project suggested by a scholar; the one that the eremites that were stranded here had mentioned before. They tested it out and it consisted of farming certain plants in Watatsumi island, to give improve the agricultural state and be able to provide more contribution the economy. However, since the soil here on the island isn’t very suitable for normal planting, they suggested to create a fertilizer for the land.”
Giving rise to… Watatsumi’s agricultural state?
How would a scholar from another region have the audacity to judge the status of another? She can’t deny the scholar is right, though. Their usual supplies and trades have been making ends meet for them, but only enough for survival. She can’t deny that the residents of the island have it difficult as well. Their stock wouldn’t hold up well in a few decades, especially considering the rising population of the island.
They have made efforts to foster their own agriculture. It didn’t go well in theory unfortunately, even with the previous scholars that had attempted to achieve the same. This is what started the complex relationship between the Akademiya and Watatsumi island. It can serve as a way for researchers to experiment and the word of mouth of the island to remain good for future investors. That doesn’t mean the residents of the island smile at the sight of a researcher, however. And with the amount of proud and prideful scholars who have tried, she doubts that it is possible to grow anything on the island.
Despite all odds and ends however, she can trust in her general. He’s one of the most formidable soldiers she’s ever met. He’s surely thought of it with care.
“I understand that we have been faring well these past few decades with our sango pearls, but with this new opportunity to enrich our sources for mora to provide for the people, it would be a good course of action to take. Of course- I am well aware of what this project would mean and what it would cost, so I had prepared a summarized report of its progress. I’ve ensured that has been scrutinized carefully myself, along with a few other soldiers.” the General hands out a rolled-up paper.
Kokomi takes the roll in her hands, sliding some papers piled up on her table to the side to make room for the newly introduced one. She lays it down flat on the surface, her eyes glazing over the messy writing littered with annotations and detailed description of chemical formulas she hardly gave attention to. Did Gorou write all of this? She never knew he was interested in these types of things.
After a chorus of questions about the general idea of the project and the scholar’s standing, Gorou continued, “This has been going on for three and a half weeks, only today did I see any progress of it blooming, so I refrained from mentioning this to anyone else. I didn’t mean any offense by it, I just didn’t want people to be disappointed.”
“You didn’t offend anyone; I understand your situation,” Kokomi dejects between his clear sounds of concern, “You judged correctly in discussing this in a private place, since I’m worried about the reactions of the others as well. But- you should have informed me of such a big project. I trust your ability to judge a situation very much, but I need you to report matters like these ahead of time. Even if disappointment is guaranteed.”
Knowing Gorou and his history with the past scholars that proposed a similar project like this, this must have taken quite a toll on him- and it would have also comforted her further that both of them are dealing with it. After all, two heads are better than one.
It was rather obvious, the expression of a kicked puppy on her general’s face at the time of his swivel, to which Kokomi couldn’t continue her emotion of disappointment, no matter how mild it was. “I understand, Your Excellency. I won’t do it again,” Gorou lours, his tail glowering behind him.
Kokomi lets out a soft puff of air. “Anyway, from your words, it seems you’ve been working with this “scholar” for quite some time. Have you observed any ulterior motive of some sort?”
“Indeed, they do, they intend to give rise to Watatsumi’s agricultural status and help the island’s residents eat more nutritious and fulfilling food. They also said that this will serve as a project to the Akademiya as well.”
“Hm, yes, prissy. Is that all?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.” a pause and his ears perk up. “Ah! they also plan to use the funds gathered.”
“Have you negotiated the gross income of it if it were to be successful?”
“Not yet, Your Excellency, since the product of the project is yet to be successful prior.”
Kokomi holds her chin; a moment of judgement passes by. “Thank you for notifying me, I will be sure to take this into consideration.”
She concluded the brief meeting to be finished with her words, though to her surprise—“Your Excellency, if you would… lend me your indulgence on this. I swear you won’t regret it,” Gorou declares, confidence shaping his tone and demeanor.
At the expression of faith and assurance at his words, that of which he is overly cautious to speak out, Kokomi is left to wonder who exactly the scholar is to sway her general’s stoic precepts.
It is sufficient to convince a margin of her doubtful stance, “Yes, I am counting on it. But further investigation is required before I lend this project my support, I’m sure you’re aware of this.”
“I am aware, but before you retreat to your usual duties for the day, may I ask one more favor from Your Excellency?”
“Very well.”
“Would it be alright for the scholar to personally discuss the details of the project here?”
Her eyes widened. “…Right now?”
“Yes, Your Excellency, but only if it’s alright with you,” he is quick to add.
“It isn’t that, it’s.” —Kokomi’s eyes wander the room— “…No matter, I shall meet them outside.”
Gorou’s tail began to wag, although it stills more often. “Thank you so much, Your Excellency! I’ll be waiting for you outside whenever you’re ready.” and with a big smile on his face, Gorou bows to Kokomi before taking his leave. The silence of the room giving space for a whirlwind of thoughts.
Heels clack against the wooden floor as the languid Priestess nears the door leading outside. It has been a few minutes since the General’s monologue of persuasion, and Kokomi had been ensuring to herself the main concepts both parties may want to convey. She has little knowledge to go on concerning the esteemed scholar, so it escapes her how she will persuade the latter to follow the accommodate script acknowledge in her mind. Will they be arrogant, cunning, or even manipulative? She readies herself for any possibility. Using her past experience with previous scholars who pursued the same feat, would only lead to heightened expectations and leave no room for adjusting. It’s of good basis, that is if she were to ignore the visible signs of her general’s faith in the new character. He implies the new scholar- despite their previous experience with them- to be someone worth investing quite a sum of trust in.
Realization plunges deep in her chest.
No. She should still be cautious of the person, for it’s better to refrain giving any trust at all than give little and be disappointed. In that matter, she could hardly call herself feeling such if it were ever the case, another event of neglection to a series of projects would hardly be surprising. In spite of the fact a tinge of her privately wanting to lean towards the promise of efficaciousness.
However, merely standing idly is only further proof of inactivity being a resultless course of action. She’s sure her guest and general are becoming restless the more she delays, she will simply have to improvise the more the scholar responds. This should hardly be a challenge, another goody two-shoes of a scholar. Another consideration is their capability in the Akademiya, and how on Teyvat they were able to establish the deprived state of the island in a short amount of time. If they indeed had only been here for the mentioned time stated by Gorou, she didn’t know whether to act offended or appreciate their observation and efforts to lend a hand. With that, Kokomi applauds their superb ability of observation. Still, it’s questionable why they had remained to be unannounced as a guest in the island, they wanted perception on them not, she could get that much- unless she’s sparing it a thought too much. So why would they abruptly announce their project and intentions? Moreso have the General of the island present it for them. Perhaps they thought it to be unnecessary as it isn’t required to make the visit known. What were their reasons for arriving on the island in the first place?
The priestess groans sympathetically for herself accompanied with a shake of her head. Should she begin theorizing on the subject again, she’d drive herself to ceaseless pondering.
The sound of murmurs on the other side pushes the soles of her feet onwards. A bright light enraptures her vision in a flash that soon fades away as the breeze of the wind coldly welcomes her. Boisterous yet calming splashes coming from the waterfall nearby, and captured gazes from the occupants of the shrine. Foreign pieces of clothing were quick in demanding her attention, in the middle of the platform outside, there stood a fidgeting person accompanied by her general. It occurred to her; the person is the infamous scholar.
They adorn the uniform coat of a researcher enrolled in the Akademiya-which appears to be necessary considering the stifled shiver that ran through the scholar at a breeze—though she doubts it is able to help with the cold. Consisted of pieces that help in accustom to their fragile body, their inner clothing leans more towards a comfortable attire rather than being concerned with presentation. Their eyes darted from one place to another more out of sheer curiosity and wonder than caution and unease. Kokomi couldn’t help but wonder how much the scholar has seen of the island.
The Priestess’s heels brought the wandering gaze of the scholar to meet her own, and their mouth fell open when their eyes met, followed by a slight widening of eyes. Kokomi’s brows furrow. What an odd reaction.
The General introduces them both to one another while the scholar only stays still. Staring rather intensely at her.
She had somewhat expected them to speak first, but at the continued silence between them, she took it upon herself: “It’s a pleasure to meet you, [Name]. I’ve heard of the project you proposed from General Gorou. And while I am interested, I have a few questions if you wouldn’t mind answering.”
She waited for the scholar to reply. However, she is answered with silence. And the splashes from the stream nearby fills the space between them until Gorou shuffles his feet to nudge them alert. With a blink of their eyes, the scholar lifts themselves out of their daze.
“Yes. Of course, it would be my pleasure,” came their hasty reply.
Kokomi continues, “You must be aware of the relationship the island has with the Akademiya. I applaud your character for proposing this project with the objective of providing a better future for the residents in contrast to other researchers who tried to achieve the same feat. And I’m sure you have your own set of feats, but this sort of project would require more than mora to solve. As we have trusted previous researchers with a similar project, succeed was never achieved. And resources are more important than ever due to the aftermath of the war with the Shogunate’s forces. Therefore—while the reports and annotations presented are filled with promises, accusations even—the island is going to need more than empty promises or expectations.
With those stated, I must ask you: Why do you think your project is any different? And would it even be something worth investing in?”
Gorou, who now is standing idly on the side, had sweat trickling down his face when the scholar only stayed silent. Even the guards who overheard were distracted by the volume of the Priestess’s voice, including the shrine maidens who were wiping the same spot for a while now.
Kokomi thought they were intimidated, frustrated even that someone is questioning their actions just like the others who came before them. She had expected them to answer bitterly with sarcasm fueling her disappointment, to face a scholar who wasn’t anyone special at all. She feels pity for Gorou, who appears to be glancing vigorously to the presenter of this project.
“I understand that you all must be doubting me- and I do not blame you for thinking that way,” the scholar starts, “However, I only propose things that have shown results not only in theory. I am different from the other scholars you have met.”
The General’s tensed shoulders deflated at their answer. “I will answer your question in a short moment—for I wish to clarify Your Excellency’s statements earlier. Regarding the relationship—which I imagine is complex—between the Akademiya and the island, I’m afraid I have no idea. I hardly involve myself with any social interactions and I care little. I can only assume it to be multifaced and somewhat fragile, but please do not place my sense of knowledge on par of societal matters. I am aware; however, it is something important to consider so if there is a need for me to be aware of something, there isn’t a need for hesitation. As for the previous researchers, while I may not be able to reverse the damage they must have done—to the island and to its people—I will ensure that I am not as shallow. I will exhaust myself for this project—be it resources, mora, or perseverance. My words are not empty nor will they ever be.”
With a slight pause, they added with a touch of enthusiasm, “I thank you for your patience, and now—I commend to you that I will show you results, not only promises!”
Their voice was hushed compared to anyone else, but the sheer determination and confidence that raised it is hard to ignore. It was all she could hear other than the actual words said. It silenced the whispers among the shrine maidens who witnessed the scene, including Kokomi’s thoughts of doubt. And judging by the relief displayed on the General’s face, she knew better than to continue sharing the island’s hesitation.
The two exchange knowing looks which results with Kokomi nodding and it made Gorou’s tail shook.
Then suddenly, the scholar pulls out a pot.
“Behold,” they announce proudly.
A long, embarrassing silence followed.
In the scholar’s hand… is a plant within the pot. It is amazing in itself, the presentation on the other hand…
A snort that was quickly stifled echoed throughout the quiet space.
Everyone who was knew what it is, but bafflement override the miracle event of such a simple item. “What… what is this, if I may ask?” the Priestess asks.
The scholar nudges the pot afloat. “As I have mentioned, Your Excellency, this is the result of the project I proposed.”
Gorou sighs, catching the attention of each person. “Indeed, Your Excellency. I have forgotten to mention, but that is the plant that has newly taken sprout just this morning. I had originally planned to invite you to take a look of it personally, but it seems that isn’t necessary anymore.”
“You need not to worry, General. For I have dug this out myself and made sure it will thrive even within a pot. An astounding result indeed!”
The sides of Kokomi’s lips twitch. “I see. And that is taken from the very soil mentioned in the report?”
“Yes.”
She looks between the oblivious scholar and the dumfounded audience to come up with a conclusion to this queer meeting. The scholar has indeed exceeded her expectations in every way she scarcely imagined.
With a conclusive breath, “Very well. I approve of this project and will lend you the necessary support to flourish it further. However, you must agree to the following conditions I ask of you.”
The conditions mentioned were only standard protocol for a guest, and the scholar agreed to it easily. She also agreed to lend the management of this project to Gorou, who looks more enthusiastic about the ending of this meeting than the person who suggested it. His tail wagged more than it usually did when he came closer to the scholar who was showing the plant to anyone that peeked at it. The scene confused the Priestess, yet she can’t deny the promise of a better future for Watatsumi doesn’t make her even a little excited herself.
As she ordered the eavesdropping guards (who acted nonchalant despite flinching at the initial call) to escort the scholar to the land they mentioned, they suddenly spoke, “Excuse me, Your Excellency, but will you not come with us to peer upon the land the project will undergo on?”
Ignoring the scrutinizing twitch to her General’s ears, Kokomi replies, “No, and I mean no offense when I say that I don’t think it will be as necessary. I entrust this project to General Gorou and I have faith he will monitor the progress as efficiently as possible. I trust in his observations and reports, and I recommend that you to do the same.”
The scholar nods, glancing at Gorou with slightly furrowed brows.
“Thank you for your time, Your Excellency. I will do my utmost best for this project and for the future of Watatsumi island!” Gorou exclaims once the scholar is out of earshot. “I will follow the scholar after dealing with my duties for the day. But before I go… what do you think of them?”
A glance is given to the direction where the scholar was once at. “They have an interesting character. We may have a more promising researcher this time, but I wouldn’t be so confident about that.”
The General huffs, more like a breathy chuckle. “Dare I say they were definitely more open than the previous ones.”
Kokomi remembers their earlier speechlessness and intense staring. Now it’s her turn to furrow her brows. “Perhaps… might I say questionable in some departments, but nonetheless yes—more open.”
Gorou winced. “My apologies for their odd behavior earlier. They have never acted that way ever, thankfully they recovered soon enough and was able to present their point.” —then he faced her— “With that said, Your Excellency, I thank you again for your time and approval of this project. In the meantime, I will resume my regular duties and report in when I am about to observe the scholar. Your Excellency may call me whenever I am needed.”
“Of course, Gorou. Thank you as well.”
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
Merry Christmas!
edited: I had to add extra lines of dialogue since it was rushed and it wasn't very appealing the first time.
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