A Fogged Up Plan
Summary: For three weeks, the Kingdom of Spades’ royals have been held captive in Diamond’s Fort Shellac. After one weevily meal too many, they hatch a plan to escape.
Made for @usuknetwork's USUKUSTwicePer zine: Cards, With Spades to Start. Read the full collection here (hehe I also designed the cover, please show everyone some love!!)
AO3 Link // Words: 3,812
Five moons before Queen Arthur Kirkland’s coronation, the isolated swamps of Southern Spades were inhabited by an insect known as PB Cup.
Previously known but unstudied, a small population found itself in the hold of a cargo ship en route towards the Kingdom of Diamonds.
Once docked, it is rumored that a seawoman unloading barrels and crates of imports carried the insects to her town on the outskirts of the port, where the red buzzers settled onto a Camellia sinensis farm. There, the small population decimated the crops. When customers purchased the expensive processed leaves in tea, it tasted of woody, bitter peanuts.
Diamond’s PB Cup population quickly spiraled into millions and one of the kingdom’s primary exports, tea, crashed.
With it, Diamond’s economic influence sank to match the impoverished Kingdom of Clubs.
Through no fault of his own, Queen Arthur inherited one of the world’s worst foreign affair conflicts in history as the Diamond government demanded compensation for their introduction of the bug to their crops, and Spades denied any responsibility for the lack of preparedness on the part of Diamond’s farming protection or economic infrastructure.
Thus a war broke out between the two kingdoms. Luckily, the Queen of Diamonds, Francis Bonnefoy, and Queen Arthur Kirkland had fluttered in similar social circles on opposing navy forces, during earlier military careers, before Oracle selected them for positions of royalty.
Due to their previously-held relationship, the conflicting countries maintained (albeit strained) contact.
However, twenty years later, the strung out conflict saw no resolution in sight. Neither party would budge. In the last two decades, Diamonds had mostly recovered, converting and subsidizing previously small industries to make up greater lumps of their exports.
Diamond GDP had mostly recovered, and the occasional skirmishes along the Spades-Diamond borders had lost their impact to both sides' citizens.
Mentions often paralleled this tone:
“Hey mom, Junior’s little league game’s canceled. Queen Arthur just announced Diamond shots fired near the field.”
“Gee, I’m in absolute shock. Let’s order a Continental basket for the other team. I know those sweet kids were looking forward to a Spadian roast but it can’t be helped.”
“Yes, ma.”
“Our government should really step off their high horse- it’s practically a soap opera! ‘You sent our kingdom into a depression!’, ‘No, your lack of planning sunk your economy!’ Honestly. Time for Gen. Jones to call it cuts… bring the phone while you're up, let’s reserve that basket before we forget.”
“Yes, ma.”
And so you see, neither kingdom withheld reservations to mock the ongoing conflict. So far in, it was nothing more than a contest of resolve between two too-proud kingdoms.
Bi-annual tea shortages, sport game cancellations, flight and ship delays, internal division among governments… but neither party appeared to be dismounting their positions, and as the conflict neared its twentieth anniversary Spades-Diamond tension surged.
Unbeknownst to regular citizens, the jack, queen, and king of Spades had disappeared from the castle three weeks prior.
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Drop-drop-drop sounded a mysteriously originating source of water, droplets plopping onto a moist stone ground.
The Jack of Spades, dressed in creased gold, purple, and blue fabrics cast his eyes towards his hands where he organized a cheap deck of playing cards.
The action demonstrated disinterest to anyone unattuned to Yao’s discreet mannerisms, but the way his fingers twitched to swipe brown hair behind his ear was telling.
“...I beg your pardon?”
Drop-drop-drop.
Army General Alfred Jones raised thin eyebrows above round glasses in a look that read “everyone in this dungeon heard me loud and clear”, but continued in a patronizingly careful tone.
“You need a command like brown bananas to banana bread, or day-old rice to fried rice. Something that suits your past-prime station, y’know?”
Drop.
Arthur Kirkland’s forehead actually twitched but his expression remained unaffected. “Well done, dear. I’ll be the first to admit, never in a million years would I imagine you capable of something so complicated as a simile”.
“Har har, Your Majesty,” Alfred reached across the cramped cell to knock his knuckles against the wrought iron bars.
Drop-drip.
“When I met you, 200-odd years ago, those magic bones would have no problemo melting, or-or slicing through these bars like butter.”
“-OH be silent for once, blathering-”
“And now look at you!” Alfred flung his hand in the general direction of his husband, himself melted on the floor, head balanced on a rock. “A washed-up seadog, no good for nothing but a semi-ok fuck. What the hell happened to you, man? You used to bring dragons to their knees. Now some Diamond-fired metal’s too much? Y’all know their quality’s shit,” he yawned.
“Retirement might be on the horizon, sweetheart. But no offense.”
Drop-drip-drop. Drip.
Yao didn’t even blink when hands lept for King Alfred’s throat.
“Gah-!” Vague choking escaped Alfred’s mouth while his oily hair tossed wildly and his cheeks went red from the loss of air.
Drop-drop-drip.
“Worthless excuse for a leader, I’d sew your thin lips shut before these stinking walls hear another lie from them. Seadog I am- and proud, too!” Arthur gave one last throttle before throwing Alfred aside in disgust.
It could have been his breath, too. They hadn’t exactly been given a toothbrush. Three weeks into captivity and their last frigid bucket shower was over four days ago.
At least they had a toilet, even if it was awfully cold when you sat. Stars above, Alfred wanted out.
Patience, Alfred reminded himself. That voice in his head sounded suspiciously like a certain magical queen, and the king ignored his own internal voice which insisted self-restraint would never be his specialty.
Drop-drop-drop.
The queen had retreated to the opposite wall to collect his composure, Alfred’s own ragged breathing filling the chamber and he coughed, once, before resuming his idle splay on the floor.
Arthur ascertained the damage choking his spouse had cost his nails.
“As for the jab at my sexual performance, love, I think everyone in this room can deny that claim with absolute confidence. Isn’t that right, Edison?”
Drop-drop-drop.
“H-huh?” Their guard startled at his post, not expecting to be addressed by name. His feet kicked at the ground, “Um. I-I guess rumors do get around.” Arthur turned smugly towards the army general and received a playful scoff for his troubles.
The jack spoke up, unimpressed by the exchange, “Do be mindful of others nearby who may not be so invested in his co-workers’ thrilling sexual escapades, please and thank yo-”
“Chow time!” Interrupted another guard, sliding three portions of beige sludge through a small slit in the bars, accompanied by biscuit.
All three groaned.
“C’mon! I get the prisoner thing, but is this,” the queen knocked his biscuit against the bars and three weevils fell out, “really necessary?” said Alfred.
The guards shrugged with indifference and Yao dipped the corner of his flour ball in their water, softening it enough to break off a piece and chew. He paused, fiddled the bite with his tongue, then pulled a long, curled hair out from his teeth.
Both guards had left for a smoke break.
With stony resolve, Yao declared, “We’re getting out of here tonight.”
“Fiunwwy!” said the king through his porridge.
“Ditto,” Arthur scowled. “And, these meals aren’t so bad. Navy ships serve far worse.”
“Ugg. That doesn’t make you look good, Admiral.” Alfred took a small handful of his food and fed it to a cluster of shadows in the corner of their chamber.
Gotta keep his slimy friend nourished, Alfred smiled as the shadows accepted the grub.
Meal finished, Arthur tossed his tray through the bars and sat against the wall, joining Yao where the jack dealt out three piles of playing cards. His technique was quick and clean, and Arthur would never admit to admiring the show.
Not even magic could put on that performance.
Envy forced him to deign his husband with a response. “Do us all a favor and shut your trap.”
Alfred clutched at imaginary pearls and Arthur smirked. “And finish your plate. Besides, army rations hardly pass as food, General Jones.”
Cramming the rest into his mouth with hardly a gag, Alfred discarded the plate and crawled towards the pair. He added an ass wiggle while Yao’s attention was elsewhere. The queen’s ears glowed red and he sneered at Alfred, disapproving of his husband dangling treats with no ability to give in the confined space.
Alfred laughed to himself. The queen was afflicted with an unfortunately high libido. Something which Alfred eagerly satisfied, even if his own needs paled in comparison. However…
Restricted to the meager dimensions of their cell with the observant jack… well, all jokes aside, the king looked with a mixture of trepidation and delight at the demolishment of his ass the moment they found a private space.
They were lucky enough to acquire the deck of cards and spent their time playing every game under the sun- and some new. With Arthur’s unmet sexual needs and most forms of exercise impossible, stir-crazy was an insufficient descriptor for the kinetic energy burning through them.
Cards helped starve off frustration, and offered an iota of normalcy.
Their favorite guard, Edison, returned from his break and all three royals exchanged glances. Alfred straightened up and humm-ed, “Did I ever tell y’all ‘bout that time Major Maisie single-handedly rallied the marines through Norbrandy?”
Yao and Arthur, having heard Alfred’s stories a million times, shook their heads. Alfred laid down a Four of Clubs and dove into his narrative, smiling behind his cards as Edison’s head tilted to hear their conversation better.
“Soulda heard from the boys direct-like. Said she flew in like a cannon. Fort Potomac was occupied by Hearts. Maisie rode in under the shield of fog, took one look at the opaque path ‘round the hill, and led her advance in the dead of night. Bombarded out of nowhere, King Kiku’s soldiers resisted heroically. But,”
“Potomac was conquered by dawn, with only five Spadian casualties.”
Arthur inspected his nails, ignoring the swell of power growing in his breast. “Impressive, I’m sure. What were the odds?”
As an ex-citizen of Spades (likely hired by Diamond forces for better wages than Spades’ less impressive salary), Edison’s vague admiration for his home-kingdom’s success fed the royals’ power. Having been away from the appraisal of most Spadian citizens for a month now, the ignorant guard was their only supplyant.
“Four Hearts soldiers to every one of ours.”
Alfred shivered in excitement when that number reached Edison’s ears and their unknowingly-benevolent guard emitted a burst of patriotism.
“Capital.” The queen spun a card onto the pile.
Yao delivered Arthur a sharp look. Sarcasm was fine, but not when a deaf person could hear it.
“500 points”, Yao announced in a tone which attempted neutrality but failed, tossing the last trick towards himself.
Arthur and Alfred groaned in unison, scratching one more check to the scoreboard on the stone wall. The box under “姚” had comically more checks than the “Al” and “K” beside it.
Alfred thought dreamily of their own castle’s gameroom, which displayed a point board of less comparatively devastating results.
The king’s husband stared hard at their score board, then exchanged with Alfred a look he recognized as offense. Eyebrows drawn to etch little wrinkles above his nose and the tiniest sneer curling the right side of his mouth.
The admiral’s tisk made Alfred break out into pearls of laughter and Yao allowed his own expression to revel in the satisfaction of besting his co-workers.
It was these shared moments which reminded Alfred of Oracle’s excellent match-making.
Drip.
Behind them, soldiers shuffled their shoes into the floor and small movements clinked metal armor.
Probably jealous they weren’t in on the joke, heh.
Yao caught his eye, subtly jutted his chin towards their window. A few miles off an oncoming fog made itself known. Alfred nodded, canines flashing in his grin.
It was go time.
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That night, all men finished their trays of food, persevering through the mealy texture.
Finally, after three weeks of drawing on Edison’s flaky Spadian patriotism, Yao, Arthur, and Alfred felt strong enough to fuel their escape.
But that had been true for three nights now. There was something else they needed to ensure a successful breakout from Fort Shellac. They knew it was only a matter of time, in Diamond’s chilly forest climate, for moisture to collect in the air. All they had to do was intensify the natural way of things.
In the ancient and clammy foundation of their prison, fog poured in through the bars and it only took slight encouragement from Arthur for a Féth fíada to emerge.
“Maisie’s a mage as well as a scientist, no?” asked Yao as the mist grew thicker.
Alfred nodded proudly, cupping something close to his chest so he wouldn’t lose it in his blindness. “Made her own fog machine and bribed some fairies to superpower it- resourceful as always.”
Their security was starting to notice the clouds curling at their metal feet and muttered in distress while their prisoners whispered and waited.
Moonlight cast its reflection on the fog, and as the minutes passed the damp room filled with blue hues.
Drop.
“H-hey!” Edison finally addressed them, kicking spastically at the vapor as though it could be intimidated by violence. He pointed an accusatory finger at Arthur, who played a game of Patience against the tilted wall, “You’ve something to do with this, necromancer?”
Drop-drop-drop.
The Queen of Spades didn’t respond, pulling an ace from the stockpile and whipping it at his captor.
It bounced off Edison’s helmet.
“What on Earth?” The guards watched in horror as the fog swallowed up their legs and began on their chests. “Find the director,” one snapped. Edison didn’t waste a moment, keys clanging in his grip as he scrambled to the exit.
His hurried footsteps echoed through the stairway while silence enveloped the prison. Yao could smell anxiety pouring from the invisible guards, the gentle clinking of their metal armor interrupting an otherwise soundless environment.
Suddenly the cast iron bars screamed, brute force bending and tearing through the metalwork. “Merde!” cursed a Diamond accent.
“That’s a lad,” complemented Arthur, patting his husband’s back while the King of Spades huffed another breath before finishing the job, ripping the door out of its hole with one last ear-splitting jerk.
With inhuman speed Alfred was gone in the fog. Before the unfortunate Diamond soldiers realized, their prisoner smashed them apart so they couldn’t see the other.
“Heh- happy to help.” Alfred smothered the unnamed guard’s mouth, delivering a fist into the armored abdomen. The force was enough to penetrate the protective metal and padded fabric and the body slumped instantly, held up by Alfred’s hand gripping his face.
Yao stepped over the raw metal of their prison door and into the face of Alfred’s catch. The Jack of Spades reached into the guard’s fauld and produced a string, on which he pulled and produced a small sheet of inscribed metal. In complete blindness Yao skimmed his finger beds along the sheet, memorizing the meaning of the indents, before stepping back and handling it the the Queen, who confirmed his interpretation with a hum.
“Thank Oracle for y’all’s Diamindortic, couldn’t read it even if I could see an inch from my face,” Alfred said, dropping the unconscious body and listening with satisfaction as it crashed into the floor.
Dusting off his hands, the cluster of shadows from their cell made itself known against Alfred’s prosthetic leg, oozing up the complicated gears and bolts. It chirped.
“Butters would like some gravity, Arthur,” Alfred said, taking “Butters” from his thigh and flailing in the air before locating the queen’s outstretched hand.
Butters slid the languid journey onto Arthur’s palm and waited patiently for the kiss which Arthur pressed to its head. “Erg. Revulsion doesn’t scratch the surface of your pet’s chosen skin.”
“Yeah, I know. But the mucus keeps ‘im healthy!
A large silhouette, barely discernible in the air, expanded before the three Spadian royals. It stopped growing at around six feet tall and sneezed when Yao touched its nose, approximately the size of a bocce ball.
“What a fine boy,” the jack complimented Butters’ chosen form, petting what felt like an enormous panda.
Yao felt the round ears under his hands and the strength behind the bones of its face. The doublecoat swallowed his fingers when the jack adoringly brushed them under Alfred’s pet’s ears. Beneath Butters’ muzzle were thick canines, and from the animals’ stomping Yao sensed hoofs rather than paws.
“Excellent form, bao.”
Butters wiggled at the praise.
With reluctance Yao released Butters from his coddling and stepped back, allowing the king’s approach towards his service animal.
Steps hurried down the staircase towards them, the sound bouncing off the walls like a stampede of metal-wearing bison.
“Time to go,” Arthur said, dragging a sword off an unconscious guard and advancing towards the stairwell, blade tip forward-facing. Yao chose a barbed mace from his own casualty and wasted no time in singing it through the air.
Alfred cringed against Butters’ neck after mounting, listening with unwanted familiarity to the shrieks and groans of wounded men and women. He had blown off many faces in his long career, but avoided violence when he could.
Right now they could not, and Alfred didn’t bother looking away when he held out two fingers and punctured a soldier through the neck as he and Butters rounded the last turn.
Ignoring any pain emitting from the base of his amputated leg, Alfred ushered Butters onward, the overgrown puppy smashing a recovering enemy back into the stone as they ascended the stairs behind his queen and jack.
Arthur’s weapon, guided under the experienced swordsmanship of a centuries-old navy admiral, sliced through Diamond flesh like butter. The queen was momentarily distracted by Yao’s comment and jammed the mental length through a ribcage up to the hilt.
The soldier’s scream was cut off as blood pooled up her throat and over her teeth, and when yanking went nowhere Arthur pressed one foot against the woman’s side and pushed, orange blood spurting all over him as the body crashed, limp and lifeless.
“Somehow,” panted Yao mid-run, “I didn’t expect so much blood.”
“We didn’t correctly anticipate enemy numbers,” Arthur nodded. “Either our previous estimations of Fort Shellac were off by hundreds, or Diamonds has since fortified its defense.”
“Fucking Francis,” Arthur grumbled to himself, sweat pouring down from his hairline and mixing with the Diamond blood on his cheek.
In Alfred’s marital opinion, his husband looked actually terrifying- and handsome as heck.
“You better not be,” Alfred laughed. In front of him, Yao groaned in a mix of exasperation and disgust.
“Spare me,” the jack pleaded.
Two pairs of feet and one set of hoofs ran along the fort’s main floor, evading who they could and decommissioning any who they couldn’t with little regard for the permanentness of the blow.
With poor Edison’s admiration for Spades to blame, amassed over weeks of captivity, the three royals utilized their inhumane strength without restraint, bulldozing through room after room, leaving behind a trail of massacred soldiers, heads and limbs and organs soaking the stone floor with orange and yellow blood. Like a line of sheets hung out to dry whipped up by a hurricane, screams tore and ripped themselves out from the throats of the wounded and dying.
“And that’s why we don’t wear white to the wedding,” Alfred joked at a guard’s white armor soaked through with orange “wine”. General Jones maintained a light mood with breathless chatter and the queen and jack responded in kind.
Anyone watching might express disgust at their attitude, might expect more from such experienced political figures.
The seasoned monarchs had no reason for suppressing resentment, for the trust broken and their own time wasted and negligent treatment, and did not benefit by acknowledging the graveness of their actions in the moment.
Kidnapping a suit’s royalty was a serious crime, war or no war. It would spell out a dreadful escalation back home. The Spadian monarchs were no wet-behind-the-ear politicians- they were representatives of an empire, with a responsibility to their kingdom above all else.
King Rajesh and Queen Francis would regret their decision, and the first part of Spades’ retribution began with the public condemnation which would befall Diamond royalty when the media caught wind of Fort Shellac’s heavy casualties.
Finally, Yao caught sight of sunlight streaming in through the squares of the portcullis. "सृष्टि डायमंड्स के साम्राज्य और इसे बनाए रखने वाले सभी लोगों को अच्छे अवसर प्रदान करे।, “ said the jack without much relish, quoting from the metal sheet’s engravings.
Only four women stood guard and they jumped in surprise at the correct spell, frozen with disbelief as the gate lifted.
The moment they advanced, the three royals were gone. Beneath them Butters galloped past, encouraged by Arhur’s remaining strength. They rode mile after mile, thoroughly exhausted by their massive expense of magical energy in so short a time.
The Clock gave them inhumane tolerance, but it would never be enough to keep the strain off their bodies in a fight like that.
Eventually, Butters’ pace petered until he came to a complete stop on a road.
Arthur and Alfred had passed out against the soft fur off Butters’ back, too exhausted to stay awake.
The weight of Yao’s eyelids threatened him with the same fate, but sleep wasn’t an option until they were with Spadian authorities.
Thankfully, Spades and Diamonds shared a long boarder and Yao only had to encourage Butters for another hour before a Spadian soldier’s blue armor could be spotted up the road.
She saw them immediately and grabbed her sidearm as she walked up. “Identify yourselves,” she demanded.
Without the energy to even speak, Yao peeled Alfred’s head from between Butters’ ears and used his sleeve to wipe the grime and caked blood from his face.
She recognized her army general immediately, even beneath the thickly remaining dirt, and dropped her weapon to fall to attention.
“Y-your majesties! My deepest, sincerest apologies, I didn’t recognize-,” She stumbled over her words, clearly struggling to find the next course of action.
“It’s fine,” waved aside the jack, feeling himself losing against consciousness. The woman before him might be a fresh recruit but he could care less. The sparkling spade over her breast was all that mattered.
“Just lead him to the nearest lookout,” Yao pointed to Butters. “Don’t bother waking us up,” Yao said before he slumped like a deck of cards with his king and queen, dead to the world.
