Characters: Wei Renqiao (my OC,) Mac Nightwatch and Oisín Anbás (@/tixdixl's OCs) Ortho Shroud, Lázaro Muertinez (@/the-trinket-witch's OC, cameo)
Additional notes: This entire thing was spun off a conversation with Seris (@/tixdixl) about what would happen if Mac was gifted a geode. Shenanigans, naturally, but in the discussion, we both very quickly realized that Wei Renqiao would be the one to notice the damage and that it would trigger some serious executive dysfunction in his undiagnosed ADHD that would result in the following. (I really don't showcase Ren's ADHD tendencies or his Shan Yu tendencies enough.) Also includes mentions of my OC Marshall Eton and his older brother Gideon, and Seris's other OC, Mac's twin, Wesson.
"There's a hole in the wall."
Oisín and Ortho came to an immediate halt, turning back to Wei Renqiao in mild confusion. The tall young man had gone completely stock-still, his spine rigid as he stared at the far wall of the Ignihyde lounge.
[A hole?]
Ren didn't budge as the words flashed across Oisín's TV monitor, nor as Ortho drifted closer to him.
"Ren-dìdì?" the robot attempted to prompt him.
"There's a hole," Ren repeated, "in the wall."
Ortho and Oisín both turned to look at the wall, the latter pausing before they moved cautiously toward the wall. Ren took a deep breath, trying to calm the clamoring in his brain.
There were things he'd intended to do, an entire list and order he needed to attend to, and now he couldn't do it. He'd happened to look at the wall and he could see there was a hole there that hadn't been there before, and the suddenness of the hole, the alienness of it, and the lack of any explanation for its appearance had brought everything in his brain to a screeching stop. It was rare anything could cause such a reaction in him and make him completely freeze, but this was…this was…
"He's right!" Ortho said abruptly, apparently having finished a rapid scan. He zipped right over to it, pointing it out to Oisín, despite the dullahan already having pinpointed it. "Where do you suppose this came from?"
[Not sure. However…] For a brief moment, static flickered across the dullahan's monitor, indicating they were thinking. [It looks like it might have come from the other side.]
"Now that you mention it," Ortho said, "I do think someone's room is on the other side…"
At once, the mention of that brought to mind one thing for Ren and he let out a long groan as he kicked himself into motion, immediately turning and power-walking through the place. He knew exactly whose room that was now that it had been brought up, and it made almost too much sense why this would have happened. He heard his friends following in seconds, Ortho flying and Oisín using their fae speed to catch up. It hardly made a difference. He was going to get to the bottom of this, because he couldn't do anything until that damn hole was taken care of, and that started with confronting the individual who was no doubt behind it.
Stopping outside the offender's door, Ren had to take two deep breaths before knocking, and even then it was a close thing to make sure he controlled the knock.
The door hissed open and a large pair of eyes stared up at him.
"Well howdy!" Macadamia Nightwatch said, a bright smile blooming on his face as he beheld the three visitors outside his door. "Uh, what brings you here today?"
Working his mouth for a second, Ren managed to get out, "Macadamia. Are you aware that there is a hole in your wall?"
The vulture beastman's eyes widened and he said in mild awe, "Really??"
A long second passed as the two of them gaped at one another, Mac amazed and Ren agog. Perhaps sensing this wasn't going to get anywhere without a slight push, Oisín wedged their way in and interjected.
[We saw it from the opposite side, in the lounge wall. Did something happen?]
"Did you have an accident of some kind?" Ortho piped up, bracing his weight on Ren's shoulder as he too, took in Mac Nightwatch and his bedroom. There was just the faintest hint of sarcastic irony in Ortho's tone, as it was well known to the entire dorm that Mac was a walking disaster on the daily, and of course that sarcasm immediately went completely over Mac's head.
"Nope!" Mac said proudly, shuffling aside to let the three of them in. "Not all day! Maybe the hole got lost wherever it was goin'?"
At this remark, Ren let out a close-mouthed sound of distress and Oisín's monitor produced an alarming noise that sounded like multiple static pops that only those closest to them recognized as Oisín's equivalent of a physical snicker.
"Oh, bless you!" Mac said pleasantly to them, and the dullahan turned away as Ortho floated further in to inspect. Ren took a second to massage his temples, wondering how it was possible that his entire brain could hurt so much just around one person.
"I'm not detecting anything immediately out of the ordinary," Ortho remarked.
[Well, wait, what's this?]
They all turned to Oisín together, where the dullahan had walked over to the side of Mac's bed and indicated a large object wedged into one of the hexagonal wall cubbies. At the sight of it, Mac's brain-melting, delighted expression grew even more happy.
"That's m'geode!" he exclaimed, like he was just seeing it up on being reunited with it after a long separation. "Ain't it purdy? Marshall's big brother, Mr. Gideon, he gave it to me! He always brings me 'n' Wes'n gifts when he visits!"
Immediately Ren stifled a tired groan. Of course Marshall Eton was somehow involved. Macadamia and his twin, Wesson, always hung around the Pomefiore junior, like the three were glued at the hip. And while Mac himself was a handful, and Mac and Wes together were a pain, throwing Marshall in the mix made it a nightmare. Of course…of course that guy would be involved somehow, even if he wasn't present.
"You were just given an entire geode?" Ren managed to ask instead. What he didn't add was "how could anyone think that's a good idea?"
"Yee."
[Ren, Ortho, do you think…?] Oisín suggested, gesturing towards the geode. They came closer to get a good look at what the junior was indicating, and stared at a cluster of crystals before glancing towards the wall. If it was at the correct angle…and a powerful enough, concentrated form of light passed through it...
"Real shame m'laser pointer ran outta batteries," Mac suddenly said, sounding like a kid bummed out that he missed something he was only mildly excited for. "Was usin' it to make it shine all over th' room."
As one, the three of them turned to look at the vulture beastman.
"Your laser ran out of batteries?" Ortho repeated.
[Can you show us this laser?] Oisín asked before Ren could make a remark.
"Oh sure!" Mac immediately went rummaging through his belongings, calm and casual as could be. Ren moved away from the geode to inspect the hole, crouching down to examine it at eye level before he glanced back at the crystal cluster and humming pensively.
"It does appear to be at a precise angle for that to work," Ren spoke over Mac's noisy continued searching, "provided the laser is strong enough."
"Hey, is someone over there?" a new, muffled voice cut in from the other side of the wall. Ren immediately straighted up his spine and stared towards the hole. Unless he missed his guess, the speaker was Lázaro Muertinez, a fellow dormmate.
"Lázaro? Is that you?" he called loudly.
"Oh, hi Laz!" Mac chimed in, just as he turned with the retrieved laser pointer and showed it to Ortho and Oisín with a "here it is!" Ren didn't have time to turn and take a peek before he heard a response from the other side of the wall.
"Yeah, it's me!" Laz shouted back, before delivering a direct blow with "Hey! Did you guys know there's a hole in the wall??"
Ren had to take a second to master himself before he managed to say, "Please trust me, we're very aware."
"Yup," Ortho said in a tone of weary resignation. "The output specs on this laser definitely are high enough to burn a hole straight through a wall if the light beam is concentrated through something like the crystals in that geode."
[I can't decide what's more impressive:] Oisín mused. [That the geode is still intact, or that you got your hands on a high-grade laser like this, Mac.]
The beastman shrugged. "I dunno, just showed up in m'room one day. Say, any of you got any batteries?"
Ren finally got up from his crouch and crossed the space in a single massive stride, coming to loom over Mac with an intensity that would make most people cringe and whimper in fear. Mac only craned his head back to look curiously up at his fellow sophomore.
"Absolutely not happening," he huffed, crossing his arms. "I'll tell you what's going to happen. First, we're confiscating that laser to take to the Housewarden."
Mac's face immediately fell into a pout that would make most people wince and slowly crumble their willpower. Ren only bore down harder, unfazed.
"Then, we're going to fix that hole in the wall," he continued. "And after that, if I'm feeling calm enough and if there's a way to make one that won't turn into a complete disaster, we'll see about building you something like a disco ball, if you absolutely must have some infernal light show in your room."
You had to give Macadamia Nightwatch credit: he bounced back fast.
"Well that sounds swell!"
"Ren, why are you making that face?" Ortho asked.
[Remember to breathe, Deartháirín.]
Struggling now to keep what little composure he could muster in the face of this complete whirlwind of low-level disaster, Ren followed Oisín's advice and took a few breaths before reaching out and closing his hand around the laser pointer.
That Mac was still holding onto.
"Alright, then let's go," Ren said, giving the laser pointer a tug. Mac's grip only tightened as he looked up at Ren in confusion. "We're taking the laser to the Housewarden."
He gave another tug, and this time Mac yanked back, just enough to resist.
"Macadamia."
"What?"
"Let go," Ren said slowly, patience wearing thinner with each passing second. "Of. The laser. Now."
"But it's my laser," Mac said in the sulky tones of a child as he tried to pull it free of Ren's grip and utterly failed to do so.
"Didn't you just say it appeared in your room one day?"
"Ayup!"
"Then it isn't your laser, it was wandering, just like the hole in the wall," Ren groused, and with a tremendous yank, pulled the laser free as Mac attempted to process the logic behind the statement and missed the sarcasm yet again. Immediately Ren took the opportunity to power-walk out of the room at top speed, fuming with barely suppressed irritation, the others following behind one by one.
"Oh, waitaminute!" Mac said, clearly having some great epiphany. "Dya think the laser and the hole know each other?"
Ren let out a long groan through his nose.
None of them were paid enough to deal with Macadamia Nightwatch.
Final notes: this was the fic that almost got lost due to an issue I was having with Ellipsus and I'm so glad I got it retrieved. I had too much fun writing this, I would've been crushed if I had to rewrite the whole thing.
Another Createober story, back to Joker again! This time it's a moment with her bestie, @twst-the-night-away's Savvy (and a tiny mention of @tixdixl's Mac), where she talks about a hometown...
Tradition
“Savvy!” Joker called out to her friend from across the courtyard, waving with one hand and steadying a cooler bag with the other. “I’m baaaaack! Didja miss me? Anything exciting happen while I was home?”
“I think the fact that this weekend was so uneventful was enough for the calendars,” Savvy joked, putting her book down onto the wooden table where she sat. She got up to embrace the cheerful card soldier, and tucked a wayward curl behind Joker’s ear. “Welcome back, boo. Now, what was it you went back to the Queendom for?”
“Momma needed me and Punch to help out for the Hatterday tea. This was the first year we weren’t going to be home for it, like, ever, so she made a fuss until ol’ Crowley said we could scoot back for a couple days. It was as fun as ever, and I have sooooo many leftovers.” Joker settled onto the bench seat, and put her cooler bag onto the table. “Funny, only a couple other Queendom folks knew what I was talking about when I was getting all excited about it…”
“I hope you don’t mind explaining it again,” Savvy laughed good-naturedly. “It does sound intriguing!”
Joker rolled her eyes, but laughed. “Well, apparently it’s just a town festival. I always thought it was bigger than that. But you know how the stories of the Queen of Hearts sometimes talk about her citizens, and the members of the court? One of the folks in the stories, the Whimsical Hatmaker, was known for hosting great and expansive tea parties. You know that’s a big deal in Queendom culture. And our town, Hatter’s Hill? On the first Saturday in October, we hold the Great Hatterday Tea. It’s like a whole big fair based around the Hatmaker’s tea parties. There’s music, games, poetry readings, all kinds of fun going on!”
Savvy gestured towards the cooler. “And your mother sent you back to school with what part of the festivities, exactly?”
Joker shrugged. “Tea sandwiches, unbirthday loaf, entirely too much jam. It’s all similar to the stuff we already make at Heartslabyul, so I was hopin’ maybe I could offload a little hometown happiness onto you before I take this to my club meeting and let the boys at it. Cater already called dibs on the sammies I marked with orange sticky notes.” She looked at Savvy hopefully. “I told Momma I didn’t need this much, but she insisted it was traditional to pack a bag up for anyone leaving town, and she sent me and Punch back with way more than we could finish. At least Punny’s in a dorm where no one’s gonna be so picky about things, but in mine folks were weird about it being too close to Trey’s repertoire.”
“You didn’t want to step on his toes,” Savvy said amusedly.
Joker blushed. “I didn’t say that.”
Savvy peeked into the cooler. “And how much of this did you make?”
“Almost all of it, except the unbirthday loaf cake and the blackberry jam. That was Momma’s.”
Savvy smiled to herself. Joker was probably thinking she would impress her Vice Housewarden, but when the time came, she didn’t want to make it look like she was challenging him, so she took everything elsewhere. “And you didn’t think Trey would appreciate being on the receiving end of getting some goodies, for a change?”
“Stop making good points.” Joker pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s complicated, I think. I never asked him straight up, though.”
“Save him something,” Savvy suggested. “Whatever your favorite thing that you made is, let that be what you give him. Maybe you’ll impress him.”
“You think so?”
Savvy extracted a jar from the cooler, and turned it over in her hands. It held custard, fruits, and cubed cake pieces - a miniature trifle, glistening with cold. “I know so. This is still so pretty, and it’s going to be delicious. He’s a connoisseur, and he’ll know even better than me how great you did.”
“Savvy, your confidence in me is earth-shattering.”
“You deserve it. I’ll take this trifle, some peach jam, and one of the shrimp sandwiches, okay?”
“Thank youuuuuu! I hate seeing any of this go to waste.” Joker rearranged the rest of the items in the cooler bag, and closed it back up.
“I think if folks knew you made these, there might be a fight over them.” Savvy laughed. “Go on to your club meeting, feed them, and take something special back for Trey. Impress him.”
“Wish me luck, then.” Joker gave her a wry smile. “I wonder how Punch is doing redistributing his?”
“He has a Nightwatch brother in his dorm, Jo. I don’t think there’s a problem with him getting rid of food.”
So since both @the-trinket-witch and @twstinginthewind shared their OCs's birthdays, I figured I might do the same. If nothing else, having a reference would be helpful.
Characters: Trey Clover, Cater Diamond, Mac Nightwatch (my OC)
A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a minute, not gonna lie. Even though it's a lot shorter than I originally intended, I think it gets the job done! Hope you enjoy!
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Twilight painted the roses indigo. Like a wash over a landscape, the darkness damped the vibrancy of the sleeping garden. The lamp light illuminated the cobblestone. Guiding any passerby through the evening, the flickering of magic flames offered warmth, an invitation. An outstretched hand, and one that Macadamia took casually, without a second thought. With a rhythm in his head and a melody in his throat, the vulture beastman strolled down the entrance of the Heartslabyul dorm, this time with a goal in mind.
Though the absence of decorations momentarily struck him as odd, the slightest twinge of disappointment drifting by like a leaf on the wind, he kept on bopping down the road. He expected tables. Perhaps even tea sets. Contemplations of scones and sandwiches filled his mind. A joyous thing, really. He’d heard from his classmates that Unbirthday Parties always brought laughter. Games and jokes. Even if they always seemed really upset, unsettled, and even panicked around the times of Unbirthdays, which he never understood why. He always thought it silly, stressing over a party like that. Why would anyone have anything to worry about?
He’d never been to one prior. But overhearing gossip from his classmates made him eager to attend one. It sounded right up his alley.
Oh, and it was his Unbirthday too.
He needed no map, not that he knew the layout of the dormitory. No, he walked this path any time the dorm supposedly held a party. And the smell of sugar, fruit, and raw honey lured him like a fish to bait. It distracted him. As if he flew, with no more restraint than a fruit fly. Not that he fully paid attention to the surrounding garden anyway. Though, for a moment he swore he’d caught a glimpse of claw marks drug into the ever trimmed grass. A growl erupted from the vulture’s stomach, almost routinely, as his feet escorted him toward the ever famous Heartslabyul kitchen.
A gentle push forced the door open. From the corner, a single dim light illuminated the kitchen, at least in part. Its many wonky cabinets and appliances curved and stretched, towering over any and all who entered. The room itself lacked vitality, as if even the objects had fallen into a slumber. For a moment, Mac contemplated if the humming of the refrigerator constituted as snoring. He thought it an odd noise, but for an odd kitchen, perhaps it belonged right where it was. It was charming, in its own way. As were the many faces that lined the cabinets. The hooks and knobs no different than eyes, and the engravings twisted into smiling mouths. Some hung open. Others tight lipped. Each one holding their own expression and all of them friendly. The thought of why didn’t even cross his mind. They all were. They just were.
The smell came from the other corner of the room. Now in range, he could deduce where the lure lingered, and where it originated. The piercing sweetness almost tangible; it made his mouth water. Crossing the floor with a hop in his step, Mac bounded over to the corner, immediately spotting the bin and the bags all filled and tied off. His smile grew wider, realizing how big the selection of decadence was that befell him. He tore into the first black bag, his eyes landing on an array of smeared white and pink icing. Cherries slathered in sugar slipped further down the sides of the plastic. Now that the bag’s edges, laid out, created a wide open hole, the vulture took a few steps back. He slipped his uniform jacket off, setting it on the top of the nearest counter top. Rolling up his sleeves, he pushed them way out of the way. He took a wide stance, placing one leg on either side of the bag. And without hesitation, he began to dig.
He gripped onto the first piece of pastry he could feel and yanked it out. Cupcake. The wrapper still clung to its edges. Delectable. He shoved it straight into his mouth with a skill and precision that somehow none of the icing smudged his face. The yellow cake hit his tongue, immediately followed by a hint of almond. A pleasant surprise. The flavors danced with the subtle vanilla and maraschino in the icing. Truly, the artisan works of a master chef.
The next thing he dug out felt less spongey. It almost crumbled in his fingers. He pulled out a cookie, still somewhat warm and soft. The smell didn’t even have a chance to taunt him as he bit into it. Cinnamon. A classic, perfect snickerdoodle. He couldn’t stop the happy hum that escaped his throat. The little sways of joy as he chewed and savored the taste.
He continued to dig, feasting on the elegance trapped in the large bags. Croissants, loaves, scones, jams, a complete seven course meal of confections and delights. And despite him shoveling in bite after bite, the vulture’s stomach never seemed to grow full. He seemed fully lost in the sauce, solely focused on the endless banquet of sweets.
“Uh, Trey, you’re gonna want to see this.”
A voice broke through the quiet munching. But even as the footsteps approached, Mac just kept minding his own business. The expansive kitchen could hold an entire class worth of people in it, and he had no issue sharing space with other people. He was just doing what he did best. And in part, that included not paying full attention to other people unless he needed to. In fact, he tuned them out with virtually no problem.
He continued to fill his beak. The flavors fully commandeered his attention as he enjoyed the artisanship. The tune in his head picked up BPM as his happy dance, his food dance, spread across his limbs.
“Macademia,” another voice broke through his trance, clearly belonging to the Heartslabyul Vice Housewarden, “What are you doing?”
The vulture raised his head out from the bag, swallowing the remainder of the food in his mouth as he acknowledged the Vice. A bright grin flashed across the beastman’s face.
The student standing beside him, Cater Diamond, let out a snort and crinkled his nose. The smart phone in his hand only became noticeable just now to the Ignihyde student, though he knew Cater almost always had a device of some kind in hand. He didn’t really pay it any mind, as the thought left him as soon as the Heartslabyul student began to speak.
“Dude, that’s so gross–” the ginger haired student exclaimed, exasperated.
The vulture blinked slowly, in a way that resembled a frog.
This reaction seemed to make the other students recoil, grimacing wholly, even taking a step back. Trey’s gaze fell to the floor. His eyes widened. The progression of his expressions devolved through the stages of grief in succession. Disbelief and shock. Disgruntled ire. Straight bargaining. Defeat. Yet, acceptance… truthfully never came… not that Mac could fully read him either.
Cater on the other hand seemed extremely off-put, if not fully disgusted. The expression overtook him completely, obviously. But for what reason, he didn’t understand.
He thought the food was to share. Isn’t that what a party’s for?
Mac’s smile fell. He could tell the two were displeased to say the very least, albeit he failed to pinpoint any sort of rationale. It didn’t make sense.
“What?” he asked, a little absent-mindedly, “Something wrong with the sweets on here?”
“Uh- yeah!” the diamond card soldier practically scolded him, “You’re digging it out of the trash! WTF, dude?!”
Mac blinked. It didn’t look like trash. It didn’t smell like it either. It still tasted fresh, and he didn’t see any weird spots on anything. So… how was it trash?
“Macadamia,” Trey tried again, this time sounding like the words expended all of his patience, “What are you doing here? Why don’t you explain from the beginning?”
“Right!” Mac exclaimed, standing up fully, “So, I heard y’alls was havin’ an Unbirthday Party, and I wanted to try it myself. So I came down here when there’s supposed ta be the party, but when I got here, there was none yas around. But I smelled the food, you see? And I wanted to try some. So I came out here to eat what was available!”
That… clearly didn’t erase the looks on their faces. If anything, they grew a tinge more sullen.
Trey let out a sigh. Reaching up, he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. After putting the words together into a cohesive structure, he prodded, “Mac, are you looking to eat our leftovers?”
“I mean…” the vulture tapped a finger to his chin, considering for a moment, “I won’t say no to free food.”
“Yeah, okay, but that’s no reason to dig in our trash,” Cater complained openly, “I mean, if Housewarden Rosehearts knew, he’d totes–”
“He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t do it again,” Trey attempted to deescalate, “Mac…” he replaced his glasses and shot the vulture a look of… in truth it was pity but Mac couldn’t tell, “Why don’t you stop by and we actually give you leftovers? That would definitely be safer than digging through our trash to find something.”
“I definitely won’t say no to that!” he answered, practically jumping between his feet. He glanced over at the bags on the floor, “You sure you don’t want help with these though?”
Cater’s grimace returned in full force, no hesitation.
“Uh, no,” the clover card soldier cut him off before he could go any further, “No, I think you should just leave that alone.”
“Okay~!”
“...I still think we should tell Riddle,” Cater grumbled.
“Believe me…” Trey shook his head, “It’s not worth the fuss that’d cause…”
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Tag list: @the-trinket-witch @ramshacklerumble @twstinginthewind @cyanide-latte @inmateofthemind
I wish I could animate. I realize it's a case of "you just gotta sit down and learn", but i'm not in a space where I can do that right now. And I wanted to animate the chucklefuck trio's walk cycles like we see in classic Robin Hood (1973). So you're getting this sketch instead:
Feat @cyanide-latte 's OC Marshall
Tag list: @ramshacklerumble @the-trinket-witch @twstinginthewind @elenauaurs @inmateofthemind
A/N: This is the follow up ficlet to An Accident. I had the idea to include it in the first, but I opted to break the scenes up. They don't stop being silly and Silver truly is trying his best... Hope you enjoy!
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Golden rays of sunlight kissed the early evening sky as the school day wrapped up. Students flocked to their club activities and cleaning responsibilities in waves. And whilst the streets flooded with clamor and chatter, the fields remained largely empty, at least compared to the mid-day congestion. Thus the Archery club congregated in their designated spot, largely unbothered by those around them. Or at least, minus the occasional commentaries and stares.
“Mac,” instructed an exasperated Marshall, “you have to place the target toward the treeline.”
“Like this, sir?”
The vulture beastman picked up the target with his bare hands, lifting it up to the surprise of any unfamiliar with his knack for upper body strength. With a bit of a hop in his step, he turned the entire structure 90° and transferred it back by roughly 10 paces. He had the spirit, but his execution left something to be desired.
“Rotate it toward me, Mac,” instructed the wolf beastman, again, this time with a bit less patience.
And yet despite the frustration, the vulture did follow the instructions. Rotating it toward the duo, he set it into the grass with a beaming smile.
“That’ll do it,” Wesson affirmed, “Now stand back.”
The other vulture aimed the crossbow at the newly placed target. He closed one eye, and gazed into the scope to line up his shot. But just as his finger hugged the trigger, the voice of the wolf interjected, “Aren’t we supposed to be waiting until Silver shows up?”
“Yeah, but I can still get a shot in with Old Betsy before he arrives,” Wes pushed back, pulling the trigger with his finger without waiting for his brother to stand clear of the target. It was a wonder if he actually wanted to hit his brother sometimes. Yet historically, it more so seemed to be a result of Mac just not moving.
The arrow flew. Except instead of going straight for the target, Wesson shifted his stance too quickly to compensate for the rebound of the bow, and his arrow sliced through more than just air. It sliced through the gaps in Mac’s feathers, and with a loud THUNK, pierced the tree immediately behind the target. A slight groan of disappointment slipped out from Wes’s lips. He genuinely thought he’d improved since the fiasco with the Equestrian Club. And perhaps, if he could demonstrate a consistently solid aim, even if not hitting a bull’s eye, Silver might report back to Riddle that his explosion lacked adequate support and rationale. But no. No, the arrow didn’t even hit the target.
“You flinched,” came a sudden, stoic voice from behind the armed duo.
As they both turned around, the two archer’s eyes met with the same gentle aurora boris that offered them pardon. As if on the exact same wavelength, Wes and Marshall exchanged a look of mild surprise. And furthermore, they both wore expressions that spoke on their behalf: they weren’t immediately sure what to say to that.
“Ey! You’re here!” cheered Mac, “I was wunderin’ when you’d show! Did you have a good nap durin’ Alchemy?”
The mention of Silver’s sleep issues clearly hit him more fiercely than any other potshot. However, it seemed much worse with the understanding that Mac meant zero malice behind the question. Somehow the amount of genuineness in his inquiry made the unintentional dig sting worse than any other comment Silver received prior.
Running a hand through his hair, the Diasomnia student averted his eyes with a twinge of embarrassed shame. He cleared his throat, searching for the appropriate response despite the otherwise unchanging expression on his face.
“It… was fine,” he responded, clearly trying to sidestep the conversation without coming off rudely.
“Well, good!” the chipper vulture replied earnestly, and without giving him a chance to revert the topic of conversation, “I hoped it would be. Considering how angry Professor Crewel seemed, I figured any good dream would be worth missing a few minutes!”
Lemon juice in a paper cut. That felt like the only apt way to describe the sincerity in Mac’s commentary.
The human cleared his throat, signalling his deliberate shift in the conversation. He then spoke up in an attempt to prevent Mac from continuing the subject matter: “I apologize for the delay. I hope I didn’t leave you waiting long.”
“Not at all,” Marshall affirmed with an inky grin, “We just got set up!”
As Silver fully approached the duo of archers, Mac turned around and yanked the bolt out of the tree. Completely unphased, he bounded down the field with that same bounce in his step he had earlier. When he arrived at the group huddle, Mac held out the bolt to his brother, open palmed. The other vulture took it, not really saying anything, and replaced the bolt in the flight groove and pulled it back taught.
“Now, what did you say about flinching?” Wes asked, his tone more curious than not, albeit a note of ire tucked itself behind the words. Despite being agreeable to the arrangement, Wesson often rejected the unsolicited advice of others… and the solicited advice of others for that matter. And while he recognized that Silver meant well, he wasn’t exactly keen on being told how to shoot from a horse rider.
“Here.”
The Diasomnia student reached out, offering to take Old Betsy from him. To which, the vulture hesitated. Narrowing, his eyes stared at the open palm with scrutiny. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t fuss. Despite the buzzing nest of words circling his brain, the protests, the retorts, the stipulations, he buttoned his beak. He began to hold out the family heirloom, but paused midway. His brain screamed at him to stop. It laid out every potential worst case scenario for him. Every bad feeling. Every hypothetical. And yet, magic remained completely absent from his being. His Unique Magic wouldn’t trigger. And as the realization set in, his eyes widened, and he shot a look of awe up at the man holding out his hand. Silver’s brow twitched, and he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side in mild confusion. He couldn’t read Wesson’s mind, nor did he know Wesson well, so his reaction made perfect sense. And the vulture knew he’d have to swallow his pride and ignore his anxiety.
With a slow exhale, he held out the crossbow fully to the retainer. Silver took the crossbow with a surprising amount of care, or at the very least, surprising to Wesson. The retainer took a few steps forward, toward the target. And without delay, he began with his demonstration:
“When you shot the bolt, I noticed you flinched when the latch released the arrow spring,” he explained.
With intentionally slow motions, the knight recreated the motion that Wesson made almost identically. The bolt remained in the groove, however. Obviously, he intended to show them without putting any of them at risk. Even Mac could recognize that in the moment, as he made a quiet comment about how nice it was of Silver. But then, after a pause, as the retainer scanned them for non-verbal cues of recognition, he fully raised the crossbow. Placing his eye to the scope, he aimed fully, lining up the shot. Instead of taking the shot properly, however, he recreated the flinch exactly. And as he pulled the trigger, the arrow flew, hitting the tree in almost the exact same spot as Wesson.
The vulture’s eyes widened. His assumption about Silver’s lack of credentials proved completely wrong in a matter of seconds. He couldn’t even stop the tiny “woah” from fleeing his mouth.
“Now, watch this.”
The retainer reloaded the crossbow. He held the bow up, and looked out the scope once more. His arms, now notably toned from what had to have been what the trio assumed was years of physical training, held up Old Betsy with proper form. He took in a steady breath. And as he pulled the trigger, he kept his entire body locked. The recoil barely seemed to affect him at all, and as he lowered the crossbow, a loud THUNK resounded from the target itself. As the quartet examined the target, even from this distance, they clearly noticed the positioning of the bolt. A perfect bull’s eye.
Wesson and Marshall exchanged another glance. It would have been one thing for Rook Hunt to have shown up, shown off, and landed a bull’s eye. They knew of his background as an archer. Even if it was a point of contention- a point of competition, it would have made sense. But this guy? This guy.
This was Malleus Draconia’s retainer. His hand and foot. Didn’t he have to run errands? And to Mac’s previous point, he spent so much time sleeping. When did he have time to practice?
And yet, there he went. Off to collect the bolt that struck the target with exact precision.
When he returned with the two bolts in hand, Silver replaced the bolts in the quiver and held out Old Betsy to Wesson. As if non-verbally instructing the vulture to attempt the same shot, he nodded his head toward the target.
The vulture eyed him for a moment, but with less reservation than before. He had something to prove. And thus, he took his beloved crossbow back. As he assumed the proper position, he tried to mimic what he saw in Silver. That resolve. That steadfast stance. He lined up the shot, locked up his arms and shoulders, putting his weight balanced between his feet. Leaning into his claws, he felt the ache of his talons as they protested the shift. A slight groan in the joints echoed the call. But he refused to let that stop him. He took in a breath as he pulled the trigger. But as the bow recoiled, he felt his back foot shift every so slightly from the pain. And as the bolt struck the target, the tip embedded into the white.
He hit the target, but he didn’t hit the red.
“You moved again,” Silver commented bluntly. Even though he spoke with a monotonous softness, it didn’t really soften the blow. And if Wesson had spines, he would prickle. The retainer continued, “Try to keep your balance next round. If you keep your arms steady and keep your balance, you’ll get it.”
To the surprise of the trio, he then glanced over at the wolf beastman, who largely had been observing quietly as the demonstration had commenced. But as Silver looked over his eyes drifted down to the longbow strapped to Marshall’s back. The gears turned. Despite the unchanging expression, they could almost see the thoughts appearing in the retainer’s brain.
“Do you need any assistance on your form?” he offered with a genuineness that almost rivaled Mac’s.
Marshall’s eyes widened. His ears turned, almost flattening in mild surprise. His hands raised, almost defensively, as he shook his head.
“Ah, no, no… I uh,” he cleared his throat, “I actually feel I have a pretty good handle on my shooting, thank you. That’s mighty thoughtful of you.”
“Can I see?”
It wasn’t that Silver didn’t believe him, and both Wes and Marshall knew that. More so, he wanted to make sure Marshall felt certain and not excluded before the duo continued.
With that recognition, the wolf let out a relenting sigh as he removed the longbow from his shoulder. As the other three stepped out of his way, he sauntered on over to the marksman’s spot. He latched an arrow onto the string, and with a tempered ease, he pulled the string back. His posture appeared not only practiced, but technically solid. And as his fingers released the arrow,
A bull’s eye.
A smug smile grew upon Marshall’s face. His fangs nearly poked out from behind his lips. Satisfaction washed over him like an ocean’s wave. Salty yet sweet.
“If I may…”
To his surprise, though, the human approached with an outreached arm. And even though Marshall said he didn’t need it, it appeared that Silver still had notes for him. Noting the surprise on Marshall’s face, Wesson couldn’t read beyond the ambiguity of the expression. Did Marshall feel insulted? Did he welcome it?
Yet, the wolf held out the longbow, to which the knight received with gratitude. Silver took the appropriate position, but didn’t knock an arrow. As he did, he offered Marshall a side eyed glance.
“See how my shoulders hunch a little?”
It was only when he brought it to their attention that the collective noticed it.
“You’ll want to roll them back. It won’t change your aim, but it’ll lessen the strain on your arms and back, preventing injury,” Silver explained, immediately releasing the tension and handing the bow back to the wolf.
“Oh, uh… thank you,” Marshall replied, taking the weapon back and strapping it to his shoulder once again, “I’ll take note of that.”
“For sure,” he nodded before reverting his attention back to Wesson, “Now, let’s try that again.”
The vulture assumed the desired position once again. He loaded the crossbow with another bolt. As he steadied the bow, a voice called out “Wait!” just as he lined up his scope. He didn’t move, but as his finger hovered over the trigger, he watched as Mac darted into his field of vision. Like a scene out of a cartoon, he waddled over to the target, and pulled out the ammunition. Mildly exasperated, Wes lowered his crossbow. His expression flattened as he waited, annoyed by his brother’s general lack of awareness.
Once his brother finally left the firing zone, the vulture resumed. He raised the crossbow once more and pulled the trigger. Except… the trigger wouldn’t budge. He pulled it again. And again. And again. But it wouldn’t budge. His eyes shot open wide. Confusion overtook his expression, brows raised and nose scrunched. Lowering the bow once more, he immediately began to examine the trigger and the latch.
“What’s wrong?” Marshall asked, checking in.
“I dunno,” he grumbled, “Won’t release.”
“What won’t?”
“The latch,” he explained.
A pause fell between them as the vulture began to tinker with his firearm.
“Is the safety on?” Marshall asked after a moment.
As the question left his maw, a dumb silence overtook the air. Not even a single cricket or bird sang. The wind didn’t dare interrupt the moment of realization. Everything stagnated.
Wesson glanced down. In his hands, Old Betsy sat loaded, ready to go- ready to fire and the safety somehow flipped on. It taunted him. Mocked him even. Its metallic sheen glittering in the evening sunlight. And in a moment, he felt a button pressed in his own mind. Frustration began to seep into his veins, running them hot. With a quaking anger, he flipped the safety off. And with a growl in his voice, he exclaimed, “Nope. Screw it!”
And without looking, he pulled the trigger. He didn’t even face the target. He simply fired.
He refused to look. Even though the other three stopped and gawked at the target, he retained his gaze in defiance. Wesson didn’t want to even acknowledge his abject failure.
“Wow… I-” Silver paused, attempting to collect his words, “I have no idea how you did that.”
Marshall let out a single chuckle, “Yeah, no kidding. The irony sure is something, isn’t it?”
“You don’t have to rub it in,” Wesson snapped. But before he could get another grumble in, his brother interrupted him:
“Well, gee, Wess’n, I ain’t seen you ever land a bull’s eye that perfectly.”
He blinked.
What?
Hesitantly, he turned his head. His gaze fell upon the boldly colored rings waiting for him at the edge of the field. Sure enough, the bolt stuck out of the bull’s eye. He couldn’t have faked it even if he tried.
A series of laughs trickled out of his chest. Like a broken dam, it started small before escalating into full blown laughter. His right hand flew to his face as he did so, his head falling back to beam upward.
Of course… of course, he would hit the bull’s eye when he wasn’t trying. Of course, the bolt pierces the red, as if to mock his efforts further.
“You know what?” he clamored, “Yeah, that’s about right.”
“I’m sorry, Wesson…” apologized Silver, still wholly baffled by what he witnessed, “I don’t even know what to offer for advice.”
“Don’t worry about it,” the vulture let out a sigh, “I wouldn’t either.”
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