#Atri used to be their fighter/rogue but STUFF HAPPENED | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sabraeal · 6 years

Text

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find

“Name.”

The word itches in her ear as she stares at she box, stymied. She’s used to the ones at the apartments, where you press a button and talk, but this one is smooth, sleek, barely more than a speaker. It’s meant to not ruin the line of the gate.

Shirayuki shifts, staring up at the spear-points of the finials, the toe of one sneaker scratching at her ankle. She hadn’t known -- Zen hadn’t told her there’d be some sort of gate keeper. She’s known he was well-off -- hard to miss that, with the sort of gossip that went around him at the school -- but she’d thought -- Mcmansion. Three car garage. The usual sort of extravagance.

She was not expecting Wayne Manor, complete with wrought iron gate and stylized W, driveway stretching endlessly behind.

“Name.” Also complete with disembodied voice. “Just say it. We can hear you.”

That...does not make her feel any better. “S-Shirayuki.”

A sigh huffs out of the speaker. “Full name.”

“Shirayuki Nowakowski?”

“Are you expected?” the box demands, with about as much emotion as a toaster.

“Uh.” She stares at the brick wall, at the little spearheads on top of the gate. “I’m here for D&D?”

There’s no answer from the box this time, just a buzz as the gates swing open. It’s so slow she’d be waiting whole minutes if she was trying to drive up. As it is, she slips through the gap as soon as it’s big enough to fit her.

She turns back when she’s halfway up the drive, just in time to see it open fully, standing there like there’s an actual car to let through. She giggles at that, stumbling over some curbing, and –

“PLEASE DO NOT STEP ON THE GRASS!”

“Oh gosh!” she yelps, dodging the aggressive spray of a sprinkler. “It was a mistake!”

The sprinkler, for its part, is unmoved. Her left sock is partially soaked. A great impression to make the first time she does – whatever this is going to be.

Fun, she hopes.

Shirayuki’s seen a bunch of fancy entrances in her time. She grew up in a Victorian townhouse with full veranda, wrapping front to back, and most of the neighborhood was the same, save for where houses had been pulled down in the 50s to make room for pre-fabs.

Still, this isn’t -- this isn’t a porch, the wood musty and probably rotting in places, just waiting to give an unsuspecting kid a splinter they’ll never forget -- it’s a portico, all columns and statuary, like she just strolled up the lawn to Pemberley. There’s even a round-about that goes through it, so that cars can drive right up, and -- it’s a lot. Just a whole lot.

She gets to the front door -- real wood, she can tell, inset with tasteful stained glass that does not look like it came from Home Depot -- and fully expects a butler in full dress at the door, Jeevesian accent in full force as he asks, your coat, madame?

So she’s not expecting Izana. Not at all.

The number of things she knows about Zen’s brother could fit on the palm of her hand in nine-point-font, double spaced.

Bullet One: He’s older, not even in college anymore, though she’s not quite clear on what he’s doing now. Something important, from the way Zen always talks about him.

Bullet Two: He’s actually serious about this whole Dungeons and Dragons thing, or as he gently corrected after he first anxious text, Pathfinder. She never quite worked up the nerve to ask how long he’s been playing, but it’s long enough that he’s as comfortable modifying its rules as she is with a bread recipe -- he spent most of their first conversation trying to explain gestalt, but she really didn’t understand much beyond being able to start with two classes instead of one.

Bullet Three: He’s even more serious about Arthurian Myth, to the point where she’s sure he must have minored in it or something. He sent her the full text of Le Morte D’Arthur -- in English, thankfully -- as prep for the game.

Meeting him, she can now add bullet point four: he’s extremely, extremely tall.

“Shirayuki,” he says warmly, looming over her with almost a full foot of height. She’s seen him before, met him before, even aside from their late night texts about her character, but – not this close. Mitsuhide’s even taller, but somehow it never seems like this, like something she should be aware of.

“Oh!” she yelps, clutching at her hood. “I didn’t – you – I thought someone –“

“Security told me you were walking up the drive.” He says it so simply, like everyone has 24/7 surveillance at hand. “Can I take your…jacket?”

She shrugs her hoodie closer around her. “N-no! It’s fine. I get cold easy.”

He shrugs. “If you want.” He turns, clearly expecting her to follow. “Do you need me to validate your parking? Next time you can come right in. We have plenty of room, but I can send someone out to put a pass on your windshield. They’re a little strict about street parking here.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” she assures him, wishing her voice didn’t tremble. “I took the bus.”

His steps stutter on the stairs. “The bus?”

She stops herself just short of saying, do you know what one of those is?

He recovers. “I didn’t know there was a bus stop near here.”

There isn’t, but she doesn’t want to explain how she walked almost a half hour from the nearest one to here. “I don’t have a car. Or a license! So…”

“Hm.” She’s not sure what to make of that sound. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Shirayuki!” A chair clatters against the wall as Zen stands, slipping around the side of the table to…stand an awkward distance from her, as if he’s not quite sure he should hug her or shake her hand or – just let her exist in space. Mitsuhide, for his part, is half out of his seat too, while Kiki hasn’t moved an inch, only giving the barest nods as a hello. “I’m glad you could make it.”

She opens her mouth to say – well, something, she hasn’t really planned that far ahead, -- but –

“She took the bus,” Izana says offhandedly, sitting at the head of the table. It sets off a chain reaction across the room.

“The bus?” Zen’s face is a mask of horror. “Shirayuki, you should have said something. I could have sent a car around.”

She doesn’t miss how he says a car; it comes out so easily she’s not even sure if he knows that it isn’t normal for people to have drivers that can just…go pick people up. Without them there. It certainly doesn’t seem to faze Kiki, and though Mitsuhide makes a face, it’s a resigned one.

“Not to worry,” Izana drawls easily, spreading out his screen. “We have another player coming from that side of town. I’m sure he wouldn’t mine carpooling.” He glances up, gaze fixed over her shoulder. “Right, Obi?”

“There’s worse things than driving around cute girls.”

Shirayuki spins, staring up -- and up -- into a pair of gold eyes looming above her. He takes a step down, right beside her, and then he’s nearly normal height, only a head or so taller than her, mouth quirked into a grin.

Zen scowls. “Who is this?”

“Our other player,” Izana says easily. “You inviting Shirayuki reminded me you were very much missing another important role in your party, and I asked Obi if he’d be willing to fill it.”

Zen frowns. “Do you know how to play?”

His shoulders twitch, barely a shrug. “I played Skyrim at a friend’s house, once.”

Zen looks like he’d like to argue his credentials, but Shirayuki offers, shyly, “You’re already doing better that me.”

Obi stares at her, eyes round, as if he’s not used to -- to anyone taking his side. It last only a second, and then he’s back to his grin, back to his gaze sliding off of her like she’s furniture. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

You have heard of the great castle of Tintagel, but even the tales pale to the halls you are walked through. Everywhere, blue and silver hangs, a dragon and a lily sewn over every one, and when you reach the great doors to the throne room, over them is carved in bold script: Toujours Beau.

Always Beautiful. Always Good. The Pendragon way, it is said. You only hope that it is so.

You are instructed on how to approach the throne: head bowed, stop three steps from the dais, and perform an obeisance. You are glad to be reminded – you have long resisted your lessons, and now, when you need them, you wish you had paid attention.

You have barely dropped into your curtsy, when you hear a soft gasp, when you hear soft footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly you are being lifted upright.

“There is no need for that,” says the man that holds you. He is swathed in blue and silver, a coronet on his pale hair, and you know – this is Arturius, Prince of the Angles. “No women must humble herself before this throne.”

“My lord,” you manage, confused. His hands leave you, and already you breathe easier.

“Come, tell us what must be done,” he says, stepping back, taking his place on the dais once more. And empty throne, larger than the one he takes, sits beside his.

“My name is Lynet,” you say, “and my sister --”

“Lynet?” Zen frowns, craning his neck to see her sheet. “I thought you were going to be Gwenhwyfar.”

“I was,” Shirayuki says, gritting her teeth. “But I read around, and Lynette seemed a lot more –“

Interesting. Not that Guinevere wouldn’t have been, but – Lynette had possibilities. Possibilities that didn’t say healer girlfriend.

“We talked it over,” Izana interjects smoothly. “And Gwenhwyfar was more of a cleric/druid build, which Shirayuki wasn’t interested in.”

Mitsuhide’s brow furrows. “So what exactly are you?”

Force bursts from your hands, magic trailing like crystal flowers from your hands as the missiles shoot straight through the quintain. Sir Bedwyr stands next to you, solid as a wall, stymied.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had arcanists in Tintagel,” he says finally, smile wide.

“I’m not so bad with potions, either,” you offer, blood rushing to your cheeks. “And a bomb or too might be in my purview as well.”

Zen may not be pleased with her choice of character, but Arturius Pendragon, Prince of the Angles, is enchanted with Lynet, and hardly a half hour passes before he is pledged whole-heartedly to her quest to free her sister from dread enchantment.

Obi’s character has still not made his debut.

“Just what are you supposed to be?” Zen asks crankily, after they’ve had their break. “Do you have some quest or what?”

Obi looks up from his phone. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, mouth quirking up in a grin.

Izana glances down at his own phone before setting it aside.

“Shirayuki.” She startles, glancing up at him. “I’m going to need you to roll Reflex.”

“An arrow?” Arturius paces his study, incensed. “Someone dared to harm you in Tintagel, my own home?”

“I dodged,” you offer weakly. Morgaine, from where she stands, slowly shakes her head. His sister would know as well as anyone how intractable the prince could be in this temper.

“There was a message as well, brother,” she says, holding out the scroll. “’To our red haired guest…’”

There are more incidents like that over the next hour. Lynet locked out of her rooms in the tower, flower pots from high windows, all manner of accidents.

Obi keeps looking at his phone. So does Izana.

“You missed,” he says suddenly, while she’s preparing her bombs. “Shirayuki, I need you to roll me initiative.”

The knife hits your desk, rattling your alembic on its burner, and finally you cannot ignore it anymore. You whirl to face the shadows, unnatural in their corner, and spread the salve of true-seeing over your eyes.

It is a man, or something like, twisted ram’s horns curling back along his head and around his ears, eyes darker than night, only a slit of gold to mark them in his face.

“You!” you call out, no longer afraid, but – annoyed. “You are the one who keeps trying to kill me!”

He tries to run for it, but you’re ready, bag of tanglefoot bursting as it lands on the stone. He trips, wines wrapped around his ankles, struggling. You storm closer, immune to the touch of your own magic.

“Kill!” he coughs, smiling wildly as you lean over him. “Kill is such a strong word!”

“Apparently,” you deadpan, hands on hips. “Since you keep botching the job.”

“Botching?” His smile takes a wicked edge. “Is that what you think?”

You tumble, his hands around your wrists, hot and strong like bands of iron fresh from the fire. It tickles, really, you realize as you lay under him.

He stares. “Are you…?”

“I’m an alchemist,” you sigh, wriggling restlessly under him. “Do you really think I’d make bombs without some kind of protection?”

His grin breaks wide, into a smile. “You are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met,” he admits, the heat in his hands dying until it’s…almost pleasant. “Do you happen to have a sister?”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Gods --”

“Unhand her, scoundrel!” Arturius shouts from the door. “Never fear, Lynet, I heard your calls for help --”

You stares. “I didn’t call for help.”

Arturius stares.

“You didn’t?” Zen says, brow furrowed. “Are you --?”

“Yes,” Shirayuki sighs. “I thought I could handle it myself.”

“Mm,” Obi hums, pleased. “Beaumains certainly feels handled.”

“You’re certain you renounce your ways?” Arturius sighs, annoyed. “You won’t try to harm Lady Lynet?”

“Quite sure,” Beaumains the tiefling assures them, with little conviction. “No point after being caught. And if you pay me more coin than my last master –“

“We will.”

The room startles as Uther, King of the Angles strides in, resplendent even without his royal vestments. “I think it only makes sense that since you tried to take the life of Lady Lynet, that you should now be charged with protecting it.”

“Brother --” Arturius objects, but it’s cut short by a wave of the hand.

“There is no one better,” Uther tells him. “After all, even if he will not speak the name, he knows who plots against her, does he not?”

Shirayuki knows she should feel uneasy getting into a car with a man she doesn’t know, even if he’s apparently a friend of a...friend? But even though Obi’s spent the last three hours trying to kill her character, she sees his beat up Honda rusting on the side of the street and doesn’t even feel a twinge of doubt when she slips in.

“Sorry it’s not the town car,” he intones, not sounding anything like Izana, but still, she knows exactly who he’s imitating. “If i knew I was going to have a passenger, I would have at least stocked the minibar.”

“It’s all right,” she assures him, trying to smother her smile. “I think I would be afraid to leave fingerprints on the leather if you did.”

“God, right?” He shakes his head, pulling off the curb. “Our Overlord there tried to offer to have someone pick me up, and all I could picture was some butler rubbing his glove over the seat and pulling up dirt. No thanks.”

She laughs at that, tucking herself into the corner of the seat. It’s not a long drive to her part of town -- their part of town -- but it feels even shorter with Obi, who keeps her giggling almost the whole time.

“Beamains,” she says, eyeing him warily. “That’s not his real name, is it? You didn’t decide to call him Beautiful Hands.”

“He does have beautiful hands.”

She gives him a flat look.

Obi grins. “Beaumains has many names, and many secrets.”

They pull up in front of the apartments, and she tells him, “Sounds like an answer from someone who would name their character Beaumains.”

His grin widens, and there’s just -- something. Something more in the way he looks at her, like he -- he sees her. It’s almost soft, but not -- not the same softness Zen has when he looks at her, half-hopeless and half-determined, like she’s a puzzle to be solved.

He’s handsome like this. It’s a devastating realization, and she tries to -- to un-have it. If only to keep her heart from doing what it’s doing in her chest, to keep her hands from breaking out in this clammy sweat.

“Hey,” he starts, almost awkward, “you wouldn’t...”

He hesitates, eyebrows drawing down, like he’s -- he’s thinking.

There’s a part of her that just wants to bolt, wants to run up the walk and disappear inside to have an existential crisis in peace. But there’s another that wants to stay, that can’t help but wonder what all this -- this tension is. “I wouldn’t...?”

“You go to school with Zen, right?” he says, suddenly very...removed.

Her breath tangles in her chest. For no reason at all, we’re just friends sits uselessly on her tongue. “Yeah, I’m a senior.”

“Great.” Both of his hands grip the wheel, knuckles nearly white. “That’s -- great. I guess I’ll see you next week?”

She wants to ask what he was going to say, but there’s something about the way he’s turned, not quite looking at her, almost -- disappointed? angry? -- that makes her say. “Right, next week! Text me when you’re on your way.”

“Great,” he says as she slips out, closing the door behind her. She’s halfway up the walk when he calls out, “Hey, your birthday though...?”

“May!”

“Right,” he sighs, his whole body slumping into his seat, one hand lifting to his temples. “Right. Next week. Text before I come over. Perfect.”

He drives away, and Shirayuki can only wonder at the disappointment in her chest, at the way things feel unfinished.

“Oh well,” she murmurs to herself, hands trembling as she tries to fit the keys in the lock. “There’s always next week.”

#obiyukibingo2018 #Dungeons & Dragons AU #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #my fic #ans #the struggle with this fic was not getting ENTIRELY TOO LONG #or entirely too technical #because listen i know everyone's character #they're all level 7 #because the campaign has gone on long enough that they're finally competent #Atri used to be their fighter/rogue but STUFF HAPPENED #and there's only been the three of them since #if you've never heard of gestalt it's a subset of rules #where you get all the class skills and feats of having two classes #but the stat bonuses of one #so you just get the higher number for saves per level #and you only get your single regular feat every other level #unless you play classes that give you bonus feats #NOT LIKE THIS MAKES SENSE TO ANYONE but it's a cool rule subset #it allows for a more broad character build #ANYWAY enjoy obi being a tiefling thief/sorcerer #also enjoy his existential crisis #because he has realized Shirayuki is 17 #and he is 20

37 notes · View notes