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kaiwewi · 4 months

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Once Upon a Christmas Mission

Secret Santa gift for @chaoticgoodthief Prompt: "Two people with opposite personalities falling in love and balancing each other out." Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

Synopsis: Supervillain gives her second in command a new mission. The job, (un)fortunately, comes with a new teammate.

“What do you make of this one?”

“The newbie?”

Frowning, they scanned the newspaper clippings Supervillain had spread out on the desk between them. The lack of enthusiasm on the journalists’ part was plain to see in the five unremarkable blocks of text with unimaginative titles. A small, slightly blurred image next to a short article on a mall robbery a month ago showed the grinning rookie villain dodging out of the way of some local hero’s attack. He held a fistful of jewellery in one hand and a hot dog in the other.

With an attitude like his, one could only wonder how the guy hadn’t been caught or killed yet.

They shrugged. “Amateur. Opportunist. Reckless. Flippant. More luck than brains.”

Supervillain hummed. She wore her impervious poker face. Everything about her posture and tone indicated disinterest. To so unnatural a degree, in fact, that it was fairly obvious she did have an agenda.

They internally groaned. This wasn’t going to end well, was it.

“Why are you asking?”

The corner of her lips twitched with something that might have been amusement at the audible unease in their question.

“No more than simple curiosity,” she said, clearly deflecting. “The other day, he approached me. Asked if we were hiring. Said he’d be eager to join us.”

Of course he would be. Any new villain in the area would grovel for a chance to work even a single job for Supervillain. Instant infamy by mere association. But the newbie’s audacity, bypassing the official procedures and approaching Supervillain directly…

“Ah, great. Reckless, flippant, and presumptuous.”

“So, you do not believe him promising?”

“Promising?” They made no effort to hide their scoff. “All I see is a liability.”

“Or a great asset, under the right person’s supervision.”

“You must be joking.”

That phantom of a smile on her face grew teeth. She was most definitely not joking.

“Surely you could utilise a versatile new piece on the board to its full potential, brilliant strategist that you are.”

“You know I don’t work well with unpredictable people.”

“You work fine with me, don’t you?”

She made that sound like casual banter; it smelled an awful lot like a trap.

“I don’t know why this newbie intrigues you so,” they said, weighing their words carefully, “but, and please pardon my bluntness, I do not want rogue pieces fucking with my game.”

“I’m afraid I need you to give him a chance,” she said as she produced a thin folder from the upper-most drawer of her office cabinet and slid it across the desk, “because I already hired him for this job I’m putting you in charge of.”

“Unbelievable! You could have asked me first.”

She should have asked them first.

“You would have said no.”

Damn right, they would have.

She gestured at the folder. “Christmas Eve. Your target is the Downtown Museum’s special End of the Year Exhibition. Can I count on you?”

Always. And she bloody well knew it too.

They heaved a heavy sigh.

“Fine. One chance. But I swear, if he fucks up…”

***

In the end, as irony would have it, when their meticulously crafted plan did fall to pieces, it wasn’t the newbie who’d fucked up.

He, against their admittedly low expectations, had listened most attentively, had carried out his orders diligently, hadn’t so much as offered a single sign of a contrary disposition. He’d checked in every other minute to report his position, had followed the exact route he’d been assigned at the exact pace they’d agreed upon.

So, as they guided him and the rest of the team through the first stage of their plan – getting everyone inside the museum undetected – they’d had to begrudgingly admit to themself that the only thing that stood out about the newbie was his annoying enthusiasm for doing a fantastic job.

And then, just when they’d started to think that maybe this would be another flawless operation after all, one of their field operatives, Tempest, reported in.

“—s….hing’s wrong. Sec..ity guard in Sector E. Hav. ..en spotted. Abort—”

Her voice cut off. Replaced by nothing but eerily crackling white noise.

It didn’t make any sense. How was there a guard in Sector E? They’d done the maths. They’d checked everything, countless times. Security wasn’t supposed to be in Sector E for at least another 10 minutes.

Not that it made much of a difference now that their cover had been blown.

Abort operation…?

Really the only viable option at this point. But that was unprecedented. There’d been hiccups on other missions, sure, but they’d never had to call for a full hasty retreat before.

Supervillain would be so disappointed.

But they had to. By the looks of it, they’d lost one operative already. They had to get the rest of the team out. This was their responsibility. Their fault. They had to do something before—

“Reporting in,” the newbie’s voice rasped from the radio. “This is Ghost. Current position: Sector E, entrance to Stairwell 4. Assisted Tempest. She is unharmed. But the security guard escaped. And he is not one of the regular crew. I repeat, the security guard is not one of the regular crew.”

Different security. Why was there different security?

They sucked in a breath that hardly made it past their throat and did nothing to relieve them of the tightness in their chest. Then they picked up the radio, and faltered.

Which of the escape routes was least likely to be compromised? It had to be an exit point everyone was able to reach. And quick. That security guard must have raised the alarm by now.

Precious seconds ticked away.

“Exit Strategy B,” they croaked. “I repeat, Exit Strategy B. Abort operation.”

***

A mere 40 minutes after their first failed mission – hardly enough time to begin to come to terms with how badly they’d fucked up, let alone recompose themself – the newbie found them sulking at the little table in the corner of the HQ’s staff kitchen.

If he’d seen them hastily brush some wetness from the corners of their eyes as he entered the room, he didn’t let it show on his face. Instead, he wordlessly walked over and set a tray of cookies down next to their still untouched cup of black coffee.

They couldn’t bring themself to contemplate where he’d found those and they didn’t particularly feel like eating anything either. They took a cookie regardless.

“Great hiding spot,” the newbie said after a moment of tense silence. “Took me forever to find you.”

That’s because they hadn’t wanted to be found.

“What do you need?” they said, speaking more to their coffee than him.

“Nothing. But I’ve got something for you; thought it might be able to lift your spirits.”

Yeah, not bloody likely.

“No thank you.”

“Why not?”

Because they didn’t deserve cheering up.

“I messed it all up,” they said, and it felt like too much of an answer. Too raw. Too honest.

Their voice shook horribly. Pathetic.

“Nah, that was bad luck. Your plan was genius.”

“My plan failed.”

“You got everyone in and out.” He offered a loathsomely genuine reassuring smile. “That the museum spontaneously hired a different security team sucks. Not your fault though. No one could have seen that coming.”

They listlessly stirred their coffee with their cookie and laughed bitterly as it broke apart and disintegrated. Just like their plan. Nothing but lukewarm wet mush.

“I should have considered the possibility. I should have had another contingency plan. You don’t understand, do you? Knowing things, anticipating events, is my job. What good am I to my team when I can’t ever acquire crucial information? I almost got Tempest arrested.”

“But she wasn’t arrested.”

“No thanks to me.”

“You weren’t there,” he said, and somehow made it sound soothing rather than accusatory.

A beat of silence in which they forced another shallow breath into their lungs.

They wanted to scream. But they had to keep their frustration in check, be professional. The newbie didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. None of this was his fault. He’d done great. Without him there…

“Thank you,” they said on the exhale.

“We are a team, you know. You do the research, prepare the operation, brief us. You find us a safe way in and out.” As he spoke, the newbie scooped up a ridiculous number of cookies from the tray. “You’re not a field operative like Tempest and me. Reacting to unexpected events and new information in the field is our job,” he said kindly, then unceremoniously dumped the entire handful of cookies into his mouth.

Like this was coffee and cake at grandma’s and not him obligingly turning a blind eye to the fact his team leader was about to have a most unprofessional breakdown in front of him.

Gosh, it was so very hard not to judge him for his table manners. It was so ridiculous it almost startled a laugh out of them despite everything.

“For what it’s worth—” they tried for a small apologetic smile “—you did do a splendid job out there. I’ll make sure to inform Supervillain about that. I know how eager you were to work with her. I cannot imagine she’ll be best pleased when we turn up empty-handed … but I’ll do what I can to ensure this mess doesn’t reflect badly on you.”

Hazel eyes watched them closely while the newbie chewed and swallowed audibly. He licked the residue powdered sugar off his lips, off the tips of his fingers. The slight creases lining the outer edges of his lower eyelids bestowed a slightly impish quality to his gaze.

The only prominent lines on their own face were those born of frowns and brooding.

His was the face of someone accustomed to grins, smirks, and laughter.

He wasn’t grinning now, of course, but …

They’d expected him to be upset. Disappointed. Anxious, perhaps, that he might have lost his one chance to impress Supervillain. But, if anything, he appeared clad in an air of nervous excitement.

“Soooo,” he drawled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Speaking of Supervillain … I was wondering. Why didn’t you tell us what we were to steal for her? Why weren’t we supposed to know until we reached Gallery 5?”

“No particular reason,” they said, careful to temper the displeasure creeping into their tone. “It was information you didn’t require prior to reaching the target location.”

The newbie pulled a face and visibly bit back what would have undoubtedly been a snide comment. Instead, he asked, “yeah okay, but what was it?”

“Hardly matters now, does it.”

“Actually, I really think it does.”

They scrubbed a hand down their face, sighed. “How so?”

“Say, what if—” he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and lifted his shoulders in a shrug “—I had, hypothetically speaking, ignored your final order, made a breezy lil detour, and used Exit Strategy A instead of B?

“And what if,” he continued, “I had, hypothetically speaking, grabbed a couple souvenirs along the way?” He gave them a sheepish look as he pulled his hands back out of his pocket, producing two messy piles of tangled jewellery and trinkets that he placed on the table between them. “Because, confession time: I did.”

And there it was, amidst all the precious metals and all the valuable stones, their target – the ancient, allegedly cursed, Amulet of the Mothers’ Sorrow.

All they managed was a choked, breathless laugh. Their head swam with so many questions and yet they couldn’t seem to locate enough words to form a single sentence.

The newbie began answering the most pressing of them – HOW!? – without prompting.

“Well. When I pulled that guard off of Tempest, I noticed that shiny keycard hanging right there on his belt, and … I nicked it. Just couldn’t help myself. Grabbed his communicator too. Also wanted to knock the guy out, but he got away.” He made a small disgruntled noise, followed by a snort. “But then the idiot ran down Corridor 14. Like, I don’t think he was even familiar with the museum’s layout.

“Anyway, I figured I’d have at least 4 minutes before he’d find the next phone or reach another guard. And even if he found a panic button, security would still have to regroup first. And with access to the staff elevator … reaching Gallery 5 would take me, maybe, 2 minutes at best. And there I’d already be in the perfect position to use Exit Strategy A.

“Long story short: I know a worthwhile opportunity when I see it. Of course—” and here his voice gained an unmistakable edge “—I hadn’t been told what exactly I was supposed to steal. So I had no choice but to stuff whatever I thought were the most likely candidates into my pockets, hit or miss, and make a run for it.”

He made a vague gesture encompassing his loot.

“Did I get the right one?”

“I—” They cleared their throat and reached for the dark amulet – a filigreed pattern, seemingly liquid, a mercury river delta, against a background of polished onyx – on a necklace with a rich green cord woven through a silver chain, and untangled it from the other treasures. It was so pleasantly warm still from when he’d carried it in his pocket, on his person. His body heat seeping into the palm of their hands as they cradled the amulet to their chest.

They could have cried. Or kissed him.

“Yeah,” they said, barely above a whisper.

“Well then,” he offered, amiably, “lucky you. And maybe next time just tell the rest of us what it is we’re going after.” A grin tugged on their new favourite teammate’s lips. “Merry Christmas.”

The newbie took a bow, turned with an exaggerated flourish, and, humming a festive tune, strolled off towards the exit.

They stared after him, transfixed.

On the doorstep, with the door already opened, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

“By the way,” he said, “you got it wrong. Supervillain’s cool all right. But it isn’t her I’m eager to work with.”

~~~

Epilogue: New Christmas Traditions

“How’s the plan for this year’s Christmas operation coming along, darling?”

Their partner came up behind them, slung his arms over the back of their office chair and around their shoulders, and let his upper body go slack. As he nuzzled against the crook of their neck, he leaned on them like a particularly heavy but not at all uncomfortable scarf.

“Almost done.” They scanned the markings they’d made on the map covering half their desk. “I know how to get us inside. Currently working on how to get us out afterwards.”

“My criminal mastermind. Always gotta have at least 3 escape routes.” Their partner chuckled, somewhere between fond and mischievous, and started walking his fingers slowly down their chest.

“I prefer ‘exit strategies,’” they said, and caught him by the wrists before he got the chance to fully launch his tickle attack. “The word ‘escape’ implies opposition or pursuit. Ideally – assuming a certain someone’s antics don’t negatively affect the quality of my work – we’ll encounter neither.” Nevertheless, they turned their full attention to him now. “But should something ever not go according to plan,” they murmured into his hair, “I know I can always rely on my partner’s quick wit and nerves of steel.”

He pressed a kiss below their ear. “Damn right. Those heroes will never catch us.”

“Partners in crime.”

They shared a hearty laugh and a few seconds of tranquillity.

Then they gestured towards a booklet half-hidden beneath a stack of documents. The catalogue of the current target’s exhibits. “Have you had a chance to compile your wish list yet?”

“Nah,” their partner said, “I think I’d like it to be a surprise. I’ll know which ones I want when I see them. You?”

“I have picked a few favourites.”

“Perfect,” he purred. “You can tell me all about them over dinner. I made lasagna.”

“Perfect,” they echoed.

And that he was indeed: absolutely perfect.

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fictionalenneagrambti-blog · 6 years

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The Hunger Games | Haymitch Abernathy [ISTP] [5w6]

Investigating | Intellectual | Contrarian | Cynical (x)

ISTPs are observant artisans with an understanding of mechanics and an interest in troubleshooting. They approach their environments with a flexible logic, looking for practical solutions to the problems at hand. They are independent and adaptable, and typically interact with the world around them in a self-directed, spontaneous manner. (x)

Ti [Introverted Thinking]: Haymitch is harsh and critical in his rational assessments of everything. He is logical, but his logic comes from within and he articulates only well-formed ideas, most of the time preferring to resort to caustic remarks instead. For instance, during his Games, Haymitch initially does not bother explaining his reasoning to Maysilee about moving toward the edge of the arena. Haymitch is excellent at analyzing systems and figuring out how they work; he easily understands the mechanism behind the force field in his Games.

Se [Extroverted Sensing]: Haymitch is very aware of his surroundings and is able to use them and manipulate them to his advantage in new and inventive ways. In his Games, he observes the effects of the force field and is subsequently able to turn it into a weapon. He also acts quickly to seize opportunities, gathering supplies and escaping the Cornucopia while most of the other tributes are still distracted by the new environment. Later in his Games, he encounters three Careers tributes and is able to hold his own against them despite their size and strength due to his speed and agility, although he only has minimal training in combat. In the present, Haymitch does not engage as much in the physical world because he prefers to tune out his environment completely with alcohol. Nevertheless, he remains opportunistic and aware of his surroundings, quickly sizing up Katniss and Peeta physically after they act out on the train and seeing in them the potential (Ni) for District 12 to finally have another victor.

Ni [Introverted Intuition]: Haymitch does not typically look too far into the future, preferring instead to focus on the present issues. He is usually of a single mind; for instance, he does not leave room for speculation in his instructions for Katniss and Peeta in the arena: get away from the Cornucopia and find water. Apart from these directions, he merely tells Katniss and Peeta to “stay alive” instead of planning ahead into the future. Haymitch is not really one for symbolism, but he is able to imbue with meaning his sponsor gifts for Katniss in order to communicate with her in the arena. Haymitch is occasionally able to think in the long term; his prolonged involvement with the rebellion in Catching Fire and his warning to Katniss that given how the future will play out, she will have no choice but to say with Peeta forever, are indicative of his foresight.

Fe [Extroverted Feeling]: Haymitch is usually insensitive and detached, and rarely expresses his feelings and emotions. However, he can be charming when he needs to be, amusing the crowd with his sarcasm and apathy in his interview: “They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same.” Unlike Katniss, Haymitch understands the importance of appealing to the audience as well as what will and won’t contribute to that effort, but he also understands that Katniss is most convincing when she is allowed to be herself. Haymitch knows how to be persuasive, somehow being able to convince tributes from other districts to sacrifice themselves for Katniss and Peeta in the Quarter Quell for the sake of the rebellion. After Peeta is hijacked and Katniss starts to give up on him, Haymitch essentially guilt trips her into realizing that Peeta would be trying to do everything to get her back if the situation was reversed.

Enneagram [5w6]: Haymitch is self-sufficient and refuses to accept anyone’s help. He is an excellent strategist and eagerly seeks knowledge, observing and analyzing things in order to discover how he can use them to his advantage - like the force field in the arena. Haymitch is cynical, drinking away most of his days, and paranoid, sleeping with a knife in his hand to protect against any potential dangers.

*** I used images of my own fancasts since I’m not a fan of the movie castings and don’t consider them canon.

#the hunger games #haymitch abernathy #mbti #enneagram #istp #5w6 #char: istp #char: 5w6

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cagedbycravings · 7 years

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Of Blood and Fire

Title: Of Blood and Fire

Word Count: 2,729

Characters: Ignis Scientia X OC

Warnings: None? At least not this chapter.

Summary: With the threat of invasion looming over the horizon, Lucis sends their best strategist to strike an alliance with the Infernians who have only just ended their Isolation period. When plans go awry, Ignis learns first hand of why the Rogues thrive on blood and fire…

Also: As I’ve realized three chapters in, Umniya isn’t quite working. I’m switching her name to Emniya. Sorry for any confusion. I will also be updating the previous chapters with this name change.

@itshaejinju @xnoctits @atarostarling Thank you for your continuous support. It makes my heart flutter at the thought of you all reading my work.

Of Blood and Fire

Chapter Three

Running in the sun had brightened her earthy skin tone, leaving her cheeks flushed as she tucked her sweat slicked curls behind her ear. Looking down at the ingredients she’d purchased from the market, she felt almost giddy. The Festival of Flames was taking place. In the past decade or so, the Commander granted them their right to celebrate the Festival noticing the baby boom it produced every year. Three days of dancing, feasting, and offerings to Ifrit’s softer side. The side of robust laughter, uninhibited salaciousness, and fire play. The first day was celebrated as a time of gratitude for the blessings of the previous year. The second day was filled with harvest and satisfying primal desires. Encouragement for a brighter, more hopeful following year were celebrated on the last day.

On her first day, Emniya had woken even earlier than usual to begin prepping the celebrations. Candles, incense, and golds and reds adorned the walls spilling into her doorway in a rare show of faith. She’d rushed to the market as soon as it opened, bearing no shame at being first in line for the ingredients and herbs she’d need.

Waiting at her home was a man who represented life outside of the blood walls. Already, she was so grateful. Her eyes lit up, as she could practically feel the brightness in them. There was just one more thing she needed before heading back. His spectacles. Over the past several weeks, they’d cracked the language barrier separating them from actual conversation. However, as time went on, she noticed that the strategist had a persistent headache that required him to rest every few hours.

She’d returned to the abandoned church, to find nothing behind the altar where she’d found him. Worrying her lower lip, Emniya found herself asking locals. It was the baker who’d recommended she look in the marketplace. If those glasses were to be found, Jax the opportunistic scavenger would have them.

She’d arrived at his stand where miscellaneous baubles and trinkets gleamed in the sun. Her eyes trailed each row of items until she’d found the lightly damaged pair. Jax, a short statured man in his late twenties watched her carefully, his eyes matching hers.

“You do not wear spectacles.”

Emniya shrugged. “And? I’d like to buy them.”

“But these are clearly for men.”

Emniya quirked a brow. “What do you want for them?”

Jax leaned forward, as Emniya mirrored him. “A favor. I need you to get a message to someone in the the Bloom.”

“Jax…” Emniya tilted her head, uncertain of where this was going.

“It’s nothing bad. Just give Roseline this.” He withdrew an envelope from his jacket. “Do that and the spectacles are yours.”

Emniya passed a glance towards the spectacles as she forced an impatient sigh through her nostrils.

“Fine.”

>>>>

The Blooming Bordello, one of the few vices permitted by the puritanical Commander, was sequestered away from the rest of the city. Restricted contact meant the blossoms who sat idly inside, had little else to entertain them aside from smoking poppy powder and listening to music.

The air was stained with pink smoke as Emniya watched two blossoms drift off to sleep. Clinging to the shadows, she cautiously looked for anyone vaguely resembling the description Jax gave. His scratchy voice echoed in her mind . She’s got hair like the flower and a voice like an Astral.

She’d just rolled out of sight whenever the sound of sniffling reached her ears. Overlooking her shoulder, Emniya watched a woman with hair like a rose sitting with her back facing the Rogue. Knowing this situation would only have two outcomes, Emniya worried her lip as she lifted herself from behind the couch to see Roseline holding her knees. Tears dripping from her eyes. Undoubtable the Festival would increase their visitors, regardless if they were celebrating.

“Roseline?” Her whisper caused the blossom to flinch as she looked over her shoulder with wide eyes smudged with mascara.

“H-How did you know my name?”

Emniya shook her head, shifting her eyes towards the exit. “It’s not important. What is important is the message Jax sent.” She had just handed Roseline the envelop whenever a door slammed open. Emniya ducked behind the couch as Roseline shoved the envelop in the cushion below her.

“Roseline?” A woman with a slimming build bordering the lines of acetic, stood hovered over her. The Madame’s tightly wound bun seemed to tug at her face, giving her an almost inhuman appearance. Her piercing green eyes stared down at the young girl. “I’m here to collect.”

“B-But Madame I already paid my s-share.” Roseline felt herself begin to shake.

The Madame shook her head. “The Commander raised the blood tax. I’ll need another fifteen percent.”

“F-Fifteen percent?! How will I afford food?”

The Madame’ checked the room for any prying ears, before allowing her face to soften as she joined the young woman on the couch. “We can split it into payments, but I will still need to collect.”

Her words offered, perhaps, the first bit of comfort Roseline had found since entering the brothel as she agreed.

“Okay, good. I’ll be back tomorrow, yeah?”

Hearing the Madame’s footsteps fade, Emniya reached into her pocket, withdrawing a small bundle of gil. Unraveling it carefully, she smiled before sliding it in the envelop wedged between cushions.

Roseline shifted, her hand discreetly reaching for the much fuller envelop. Her eyes widened as she leaned over the couch, her savior nowhere in sight. Roseline thought a moment before an idea struck her. In the whispers of the Bloom, she’d heard that the Matriarch chooses two daughters. One who thrives on spite and suffering. And the other who thrives on selflessness and sacrifice. Roseline pressed the money to her, a grateful smile spreading across her lips, her whisper sweetening the air. “Thank you.”

>>>>

Drifting his hand to her steady her hip, he watched as she overlooked her shoulder with those deep set eyes he’d grown accustomed to seeing each morning. A flicker of lust filled them as she bit her lower lip. Tossing her hips back at him, he tightened his hold, nails sinking into her flesh. He teased her already dripping entrance before slowly entering her. Her lips pressed together in a soft hum. Hum? That couldn’t be right.

The humming grew louder as Ignis cracked open his mint green eyes. His erection poked through the sheets as he covered it with a pillow. Regaining some composure he slid from the bed, curious as to the source of this disembodied humming. Descending the stairs, his eyes widened at the spread on the table. Colorful fruits, braided bread, and smoked sausages were served as he saw Emniya busily scrambling eggs and boiling water for their morning tea. She dressed in a crimson tunic top revealing tattooed Infernian proverbs lining the front of her shoulders. Her tied skirt shimmered gold against the darker red material that hugged her hips as she danced bare foot in the kitchen.

Music played softly from the record player as he watched her hips bounce and sway. She was oblivious of how her skirt lifted as she twirled, her eyes closed, lips parted to mouth the lyrics.

What little sexual engagement he’d had in his youth turned into more research than relations. He needed to be prepared to handle anything as the future king’s advisor. That said, as Gladio often pointed out, it was one thing to theorize, it was another to practice.

Much to his disappointment, the song ended as Emniya slowed her pace as she sifted the tea, before pouring the steaming water into the teapot. He’d grown accustomed to the potent brew stinging his senses awake. He still missed his precious Ebony but in the meantime, the morning tea Emniya crafted for him was enough. Whether a tonic, or a dish a magic radiated from her as she never made anything, she created.

The strategist felt his heart flip when her face spread into a smile. “Good morning.” She greeted, a flush to her cheeks as he took the egg dish from her and set it beside the sausages. He stood close enough to catch a whiff her perfume. A rich, earthy blend that brought a smile to his face.

“Good morning.”

Their usual morning routine had involved Ignis offering his help in some way. Today he’d set the table with napkins and utensils. He hadn’t heard Emniya behind him as he turned around too quickly, their bodies colliding. In a moment of panic, he thrust his hands forward with the intent of steadying them. He succeeded at the cost of a gasp escaping from her mouth. In his haste, he’d connected their hips with one hand while grasping her wrist with the other. The moment halted time as mint green peered into dilated violet irises, the hand on her wrist feeling her pulse elevated. His reaction had been no better as he tensed, hardening painfully against his zipper. His teeth sunken into his lower lip.

The fires of Ifrit had ignited in her body, spreading in ways she’d not felt without pain attached. This fervent surge overwhelming her senses. They’d become magnets as resisting what few inches existed between their lips seemed futile.

The impatient clearing in Kostya’s throat made them freeze. Emniya broke the stare to see the boy glaring daggers. He waited for them to part, providing adequate space for him to pass between them towards his seat at the table.

Ignis, for all his knowledge and confidence, was never good with children. They were too sporadic, unruly, loud. Noctis was different as the strategist was introduced to him as a toddler. They were literally raised together. His attempts to engage with anyone significantly younger than him often backfired as the images of ice cream, vomit, and snot caused an unpleasant association. None the less, he’d always end up in a staring contest with the boy. Kostya staring at him with those distrustful chestnut brown eyes. The strategist recognized the mistrust in his eyes, the disdain on his tongue as he spewed Infernian at Emniya who merely waved off his frustrations. And now Ignis had encroached on territory that Kostya had long since claimed making for almost palpable tension whenever the two of them were left in a room together for more than a minute.

Ignis deduced by Kostya’s festering would only be a matter of time before enough pressure filled his mind and the words would burst from his mouth.

Kostya didn’t care for this man. At all. His foreign lilt hit the boy’s ear wrong. When Emniya began to teach him about their language, their culture, the history of the blood walls; he was livid. Emniya had been too trusting. This outsider carried himself as though he were above them. From his sly smirks at Emniya’s mistakes in his language, to his bumptious swagger. Above all things, Kostya abhorred the lingering. The way his eyes lingered on Emniya when she entered the room. The way his words would steadily slow as he inched closer to her when they’d believed him to be in bed. And now, after catching them in that position his patience was holding by a withered string. Emniya mentioned something about forgotten candied cream as she returned to the kitchen, just out of earshot.

“Why did you come here?” Kostya didn’t bother to hide his irritation as Ignis quirked a brow; not realizing how much the boy had learned from the lessons he’d shared with Emniya. Setting his teacup down, mint green eyes locked with chestnut. Ignis opened his mouth to speak whenever a knock at the door caused them to jolt. Emniya rushed for the strategist, pushing him towards the space benathe the stairs. Covering it with a colorful tapestry, Emniya took a deep breath, wiping the nervousness from her hands on her skirt as she opened the door hesitantly.

Emniya sighed in relief at sight of the elderly woman who visited to sell her loaves of bread. Ushering Kostya to fetch her pocketbook, Emniya offered her generic conversation, determined to stay in the woman’s view of the tapestry. Kostya soon returned as she paid the woman for her goods, the two bowing in respect.

“May the Fires of Ifrit guide you.” The old woman cooed.

“And to you.” They said in unison.

Ignis could practically hear the relief in Emniya’s body as she helped the strategist out of the crawl space.

“Sorry about that. This evening we’ll see about getting you some fresh air, yeah?”

Ignis nodded. “That would be pleasant.” He’d been gracious about his growing cabin fever, as he craved to exist in more than their quaint but limited apartment.

Tucking a curl behind her pierced ear, Ignis noticed she’d purchased new earrings lining her lobes.

“I have something for you both.” Ushering the two back to the table, she placed their gifts in of them as the two exchanged glares. Kostya begrudgingly yielded first, as he unwrapped his new blade. His eyes lit up as it had been the very one he’d been eyeing in the marketplace for weeks. Ignis’ narrowed his eyes as Kostya shot him a threatening look as if daring the strategist to say something. Emniya had been oblivious as she eagerly drank her tea, a gentle hum leaving her lips. Her eyes traveled to Ignis’ gift as she worried her lip.

The strategist delicately unraveled his gift, gratitude washing over his features as Emniya felt her heart skip indescribably. He gently placed the spectacles over his eyes as her heartbeat raced. The blood rushing to her cheeks as his glasses enhanced the vibrancy of his eyes.

A small crack in the lens wouldn’t bother him too terribly as Ignis heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Emniya. Your efforts are most appreciated.” He gazed curiously in her direction as he noticed her blushing. “Are you alright?”

She nodded emphatically before clearing her throat. Turning her head towards to Kostya, she smiled. “I figured you may need that for your endeavors.”

“Yep. This will serve me well during my Initiation.”

An unsettling chill entered the room as her fingers wound tightly around her teacup. Her smile had fallen from her lips as her eyes pooled with fear. She realized her mistake too late. His eyes were already darkening as his smirk curled far too similarly to Avarice. Violet eyes filled with instant regret as he flicked open the knife, admiring its gleam. Swallowing the emotion in her throat, Emniya encouraged the boy to eat.

Ignis tilted his head at their terse exchange. Knowing Emniya often tried to hide her displeasure, for his sake or for Kostya’s he wasn’t sure but none the less, she began eating. Finding enough joy in the meal to return some light to her eyes.

>>>>

Night had fallen as Emniya had taken great measures to ensure his safety and more importantly his anonymity. The hooded leather trimmed coat prevented anyone from seeing his features as he followed Emniya through the shadows. They’d have to stay off the ground as too many prying eyes would suspect something. Rich earthy incense mixed in with summer blossoms in the air, enticing Ignis’ senses as he looked towards the marketplace. Men, women, children happily celebrating the Festival of Flames. Ignis was almost overwhelmed with the aerial view. Fire breathers, salacious dancers, charming illusionists shedding new light of his understanding of Ifrit. Amongst his people, he was not the damnable betrayer lore made him out to be. He was warmth against the desert chill. He was comfort against the daemons beyond the blood walls. He was hope in land despaired by autocracy. The thought reminded him of his reason for being here. He was to establish an alliance with the Commander. In the missive they’d received, the Commander vocalized support of the East’s intentions to win the war with the West. However, from the number of Rogues he’d noted, Ignis began to suspect they were setting the groundwork for a coup. Knowing that this could provide vital information to the King, Ignis bit his lip. He’d need to shift his strategy. His eyes shot towards Emniya. Her violet eyes were blissfully unaware as she gazed at the festivities. The first lesson of strategy is to utilized resources until they can no longer serve.

Next Chapter

#ignis scientia #of blood and fire #chapter three

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