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memento-morri-writes · 16 days ago

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Rook's Horrible, Very Bad, No-Good Day

(Aka, just one part of Rook's first Horrible, Very Bad, No-Good Weekend. (he's had two of those.))

I posted a small portion of this yesterday, but I'm just so obsessed with this scene, and I figured it's time I shared a slightly more complete version of it so you guys have a little bit more context. There's actually a lot more because a whole 'nother very intense conversation happened after this one, but that's for anther time. Enjoy getting stabbed in the heart several times in quick succession! pov: Rook wordcount: 1.7k character(s): The Liars [Rook (D&D), Sigmar (NPC)] canon status: canon session rewrite trigger warnings: mentions of death, suicidal behavior, and self-harm; implied self-sacrifice. (yk, usual Rook stuff.) summary: Rook wakes up after collapsing in the middle of a tavern. His mentor, Sigmar, interrogates him about the circumstances leading to his collapse. Note: I can only take credit for some of this, since the dialogue is as close to a direct transcript of the dnd session as I could manage. You can thank my amazing DM for all of Sigmar's gut punches here.

Rook comes to consciousness slowly, his mind fuzzy from sleep. He slowly opens his eyes, blinking them several times before he registers a wood-beamed ceiling. Where is he? He raises his head ever-so-slightly, looking around. The room comes into focus, semi-familiar. This is his room at the tavern. He has no memory of going to bed. The last thing he remembers is entering the tavern after the fight, and then…

Footsteps draw his attention away from that mystery. “Rook, you’re awake!” Sigmar rushes over to Rook’s bedside, relief clearly visible on his face. “You were out for twelve hours.” Seeing the question forming on Rook’s face he adds, “You fainted last night. It was… concerning to say the least.”

Rook slowly sits up as Sigmar continues talking. “What happened to you? I knew things were rough for you after we talked on the way here but the way you looked last night… you’re lucky to be alive.”

“I wasn’t.” The words are off his tongue and out of his mouth before Rook can process what he’s saying. “I wasn’t, yesterday.”

Sigmar peers closer at Rook, concern mounting on his face. “You weren’t what, Rook.”

Again, he speaks without thinking. “Alive. I wasn’t alive yesterday.”

The color drains from Sigmar’s face. “What do you mean? What do you mean you weren’t alive yesterday?”

Rook is taken aback by the forcefulness in Sigmar’s voice. Why does he sound so worried? Slowly, parsing out the words to keep from stumbling over them, he says, “Wolf sent an assassin after me. She succeeded.”

Sigmar’s brow furrows and his voice get louder. “Why didn’t you tell me?” When Rook doesn’t respond he adds, “Who saved you?”

“Aki. At least, I think it was him. I woke up and he was next to me.”

A flash of surprise crosses Sigmar’s face before vanishing, obscured by a new wave of concern. “What caused this? You looked terrible last night.” There’s a thread of something that sounds vaguely like fear in Sigmar’s voice as he says it, which catches Rook by surprise.

Rook takes a long moment to think. He can’t tell Sigmar the truth, at least not the whole truth. He’d tell the rest of the party immediately, and they’d all be in danger again. Rook settles on a partial truth.

“I haven’t been sleeping.” He thinks hard, trying to remember the details. “I don’t think I’ve slept more than a couple of hours in the past two weeks.”

Sigmar’s jaw drops. “With that little sleep, you’re lucky to be alive.” He looks at Rook closely, inspecting his face. Rook shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. “What has been keeping you from sleeping?”

Again Rook pauses, taking a moment to consider his answer. “I don’t know. I can’t fall asleep and when I do I wake up again shortly after.”

Sigmar narrows his eyes. “I’ve told you: you and I are the same. We’re both liars. So don’t lie to me.”

An answer pops into Rook’s head and he puts conviction behind it, laying on false hesitation as if he’s revealing a big secret. “It’s Captain Wolf. Ever since I ran into her again, I haven’t been able to sleep. I keep having nightmares. About her.”

Sigmar stares at Rook for a long moment before seeming to accept the answer. A sense of relief floods Rook’s body. His secret is safe, for now.

“Why are you doing this?” Sigmar asks, breaking the silence.

Rook blinks at him, uncomprehending. “Doing what? Coming to Torsek?”

Sigmar nods. “You’ve been pushing yourself to your limits, throwing your life on the line over and over again. Why? You’re endangering yourself, you’ve even died,” Rook could have sworn he heard Sigmar’s voice waver on that word. “But you keep doing it. What could possibly be worth that?”

An answer leaps to Rook’s lips. “Because they need me.” It comes out quietly, but seems deafening in the empty room.

Sigmar leans back slightly, eyes widening in surprise. He looks Rook up and down, as if he’s reevaluating him.

Without thinking, Rook adds, “You’re one of them.”

Sigmar, who has opened his mouth to speak, closes it again. He regards Rook for a long time. Eventually he says, “Your motivations may be more noble than mine, but at heart we act for the same reasons. I know you have not felt the care of a parent the same way I did…” He trails off momentarily, then continues, “But you are desperate for love all the same. I do everything in hopes of someday committing an act that will make the world love me. You, you act in hopes that the Vanguard will love you.” He looks Rook directly in the eyes, face serious. “You’re a fool.”

Rook says nothing, unable to summon up any kind of response to that statement. Sigmar continues, “The Vanguard does nothing but show you love, try to help you. They attempt to show you their love over, and over again. But you refuse to accept it.”

The words hit Rook like a slap, and he opens his mouth to retort, but Sigmar pushes ahead. “Instead of accepting their love, you throw yourself recklessly into danger, putting your life on the line again and again. You’re killing yourself, Rook.”

Rook’s eyes blaze with anger. He isn’t killing himself at all. He doesn’t want to die, far from it. He fights viciously for his life in every battle. He snaps back, “I’m not killing myself.”

Sigmar’s reply is swift and painful, like a bullet from his gun. “You might as well be.”

Rook finds himself speechless. What the hell is Sigmar talking about? He crosses his arms and turns away, refusing to meet the other man’s gaze.

A long silence stretches between them. Sigmar finally breaks it by saying, “I’ll help you. I just need to know that you’re telling me the truth.” His voice is surprisingly gentle, much softer than the whip-like tone from a moment earlier.

Rook looks up at him. “I am telling the truth.”

Sigmar frowns. “Rook, I told you, don’t lie to me.”

��I’m not!”

“You are. I know your tells.”

Arms still firmly crossed, Rook keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. He won’t – can’t – tell Sigmar the truth.

Sigmar seems to realize that Rook plans to stay silent, and sighs. “I can start listing off my theories. My ideas as to what’s keeping you from sleeping.”

Rook says nothing, still looking at the floor. His eyes follow the grain of the wood as it meanders through the planks.

“Did Maka do this to you?”

Before he can stop himself, Rook’s head whips upwards, mouth falling open in shock. “What? No!”

Sigmar merely nods, and Rook is hit with a sudden feeling that he may have just played right into Sigmar’s trap. Rook turns away again, trying to find the same grain on the same plank he had been before Sigmar had spoken.

“I’ve felt the same symptoms as you are now, but lesser, once before. Do you still bear Furicifer’s curse?”

A chill runs down Rook’s spine. He forces his voice to stay steady and calm as he says “Furicifer was banished. He’s gone.”

Sigmar is silent for a long moment, and Rook’s heart begins to race. Surely Sigmar will believe that. It’s not far off from the truth.

When Sigmar speaks, it almost knocks the air from Rook’s lungs. “I told you not to lie to me.” His voice is deadly serious, simmering with anger. As he begins to speak again, it grows in intensity, though still quiet. “What in the gods’ names were you thinking? We need to get rid of him.”

Rook interrupts him, voice firm. “I can’t. If I lose this curse, Furicifer is free to return to the material plane.”

Sigmar shakes his head. “We’ll find a better demonologist. Someone stronger than this Dr. Zayeed.”

Without thinking, Rook blurts out, “You promised you’d help me!”

Sigmar immediately falls silent, looking at him. His face is a mixture of sadness, concern, and something else that Rook can’t quite read. He stares at Rook until Rook grows uncomfortable, looking away. “I have two options here. I can enable you, help you continue to hide this from the rest of the party. Or I can tell them. Let them try and talk some sense into you.”

“I can’t.”

“What are you talking about? Of course you can. Tell the party and-”

“I can’t.” Rook’s voice shakes, but his tone is determined.

“Why not?” Sigmar snaps back.

“It was them or me.” The words are out too fast, and Rook regrets them the minute they’re out. But he looks up, meeting Sigmar’s gaze. He says again, softer, but more steady, “It was them or me.”

A long silence passes, and Rook eventually looks away. He stares at the ground for a long, long time, before he sees something enter his field of vision. Sigmar’s hand, holding one of the pills he’d made. Rook looks up at him, surprised. “Take it.” Slowly, Rook reaches out and grabs the pill.

He swallows it quickly, downing it before the taste can manifest on his tongue. Energy floods his body. Though he feels miles better than the day before, he hadn’t realized how much exhaustion still lingered in his body.

Sigmar grabs a pouch, presumably holding the other pills in it, and holds it out to him. Rook reaches for it, but Sigmar pulls it back. “I’ll help you on one condition.” Rook stares at him, but says nothing. “If your condition worsens again, I’m telling the party. And if you’re in your right mind, you’ll be telling them too.”

Rook’s shoulder slump in defeat. He needs the medicine desperately. He looks down at the floor again as he says, barely louder than a whisper, “Fine.”

Sigmar places the pouch in his hand and turns towards the door. “The rest of the party will want to see you.”

As he reaches the door, hand on the knob, Rook speaks. “Thank you.” The words are quiet, but genuine, tinged by the weight of Rook’s desperation. Sigmar’s hand hesitates on the doorknob, but he doesn’t reply or turn back before he opens the door. As he walks off down the hall, Rook can hear him calling out to the party, “Rook’s awake.”

#morrigan.text #my writing #dnd writing #oc: Rook #*Liars #okay: for a little bit *more* context #~2 weeks before this happened the entire party was suffering from a curse placed on them by the demon lord Furicifer.#they underwent a ritual to get un-cursed but afterwards Rook was pulled aside and told that the curse was the only thing keeping Furicifer #out of the material plane. So *SOMEONE* had to keep it. He was given the choice of taking it on himself or having the guy who uncursed us #secretly give it back to someone else of Rook's choosing. Rook being Rook took it on himself.#Since that point he's been tormented by nightmares barely able to sleep.#A few days before this Sigmar noticed Rook looked exhausted and offered to make him something to help with that.#So when we arrived in Torsek he split off to go do that. While he was gone Rook got assassinated.#the day after the assassination we got in two more fights. And on top of that Rook's been playing mental chess with the government of Torse #So all in all a very exhausting few days. In the fight that happened before he passed out he got knocked to 0 twice.#They went back to the tavern and met up with Sigmar and a couple other NPCs who were there.#The party was in the middle of filling them in on the day's many events when Rook just passed out.#Basically he had just pushed his body too far between the physical stress of combat and the lack of sleep.#He slept for ~15 hours. Sigmar stayed with him the whole time.#Also. The fact that Sigmar the Liar Extraordinaire wanted Rook to tell the party the truth about this... AUGH. IT HURTS.#It's really telling as to how much he cared about Rook because in basically every other circumstance he wanted Rook to lie to the party.#It's also telling that he caves when Rook says ''you said you'd help me. 🥺''#augh they make me so sick.#also.#I said this in the tags when I posted part of this before but when Rook said that Furicifer was gone he rolled a 26 Deception.#Sigmar rolled a 27 on Insight.#I absolutely lost my shit.#they're just so...#I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR #my two favorite lying bastards <3333

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sage-pages · 1 month ago

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WIP WEDNESDAY

saved this tag until Wednesday came around again lmao thank you @sloanesallow

I’m in the workshopping part of chapter building, but here we go:

“So,” she began, voice all breezy innocence as she moved a pawn of her own, “I hear Leander Prewett’s got his sticky, little hands on a love potion.” She said it lightly, watching Garreth’s face for any flicker of guilt. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

He didn’t so much as look up, his brow furrowed in deep, exaggerated concentration as he nudged his bishop across the board. The tiny figure toddled over with a grumble.

“No idea what you’re on about.”

“Mm-hmm.” Maeve nudged another pawn forward. The little piece puffed out its chest like it thought it could actually take on Garreth’s remaining pieces. Bless it.

“You’re certainly not the type,” she went on, a faint smile playing at her lips, “to be whipping up some dodgy little potion right before the Yule Ball, are you?”

Garreth grinned. That stupid, wide, all-teeth grin that reminded her far too much of that Cheshire Cat from the book her mum used to read her when she was little.

“Why?” he said, feigning innocence. “You looking to score?”

Maeve raised a brow, giving him her best unimpressed glare. Honestly — you’d think he was peddling Felix Felicis at the Quidditch World Cup with the way he carried on.

“Hey now, don’t you give me that look!” he added, holding up his hands, “I’ll have you know, I’m a legitimate entrepreneur.” Those bright green eyes of his flashed in the firelight. “I’m providing a valuable service. See a demand, meet the demand. It’s practically good, wholesome, humanitarian work.”

She snorted, right as her bishop stormed across the board and lopped the head clean off his rook.

“Please, you’re selling watered-down Amortentia knock-offs to desperate ninnies who couldn’t flirt their way out of a paper bag.”

“It’s not Amortentia,” he countered, leaning in like he was letting her in on a secret that was completely worth the detentions he’d get if anyone happened to overhear — worse if his Aunt ever caught wind. “It’s a variant. Been working on it for ages. Think of it more as a… mood enhancer! Just temporary romantic encouragement, that’s all! Slip it to a lucky lady and suddenly she actually wants to talk to you! No harm done whatsoever!” He gave a sage little nod, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Technically, it doesn’t even breach school guidelines either, since it lacks any active intent-manipulation compounds,” he added, rattling off the line like it’d been lifted straight from the school rule book. “No binding enchantments. No lingering effects. Just a little… nudge, shall we say? A step on the road to love versus Amortentia being a love destination. Best to think of it as merely Butterbeer goggles. But, with a much nicer aftertaste — it’s actually mint flavoured, you know!”

No pressure tags: @sloanesallow (again) @bookie-bookdust @anomalyaly @galaxiasgreen @myokk @writeblood @rebelrayne @malfoyesque

#Garreth is basically selling potions like some dodgy drug dealer and you can’t convince me otherwise #can you tell idk how to play chess lmfao #tag game #wip wednesday #hogwarts legacy fandom

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mwolf0epsilon · 3 months ago

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Ok, it's time to address how Gordon reverse uno carded Sir Nigel Gresley's own reverse uno card of a taming process.

As explained in a previous post, the Doncaster Works practices a very specific way of taming mimics that was developed by Sir Nigel Gresley himself. Favouring the mimics's craftiness and intellect over everything else (with the A4 Pacific mimics being the only kind who were selectively bred for), they would essentially use prototype engines to lure in wild mimics into the workshop itself. If these mimics could get past whatever traps and puzzles were between them and their prize, they'd be tranquilized, their health assessed, and then they'd be released and followed back to their nests.

Ideally, cubs would then be taken to be trained and be given the completed engine designs to help them not only take on said engine, but to also speed up their maturation process.

Now, not all mimics subscribe to the idea of taking on man-made forms. Some families of mimics have a hatred of/grudge towards humans that goes back several generations.

These 'true form purist' mimics avoid humans like the plague, destroy any kind of man-made object they see, and will even go out of their way to harass other wild mimics who have gone and claimed new forms despite still living free. They also see their 'domesticated' brethren as beneath them.

Of course living such reclusive lives means it becomes a little harder to rear cubs...

Mimics often lay large clutches of eggs, with each parent laying one clutch of up to 5 or 6 (sometimes more depending on size) each and carrying them in their respective pouches. True form mimics also take much longer to mature, needing about 100 years to grow to full adults without the boost of nutrients and hormones that the mimicry process provides them.

This means new true form mimic parents need to wait about 50 years for their 10-12 or so babies to become adolescents and at least wise enough not to get themselves killed, which of course means their freedom is non-existent since that's a two-mimic job.

Mimics are all, to some extent, hedonistic in nature. So true form mimics have adapted their reproduction in accordance to that desire of remaining unbound but still enjoying the process of replication.

One parent will lay a singular egg and both will raise that firstborn cub to be a future stay-at-home nanny for the rest of the cubs. Then, once the 'nanny cub' turns 50, the parents start laying multiple clutches and leaving their firstborn to tend to both eggs and any hatched offspring.

Such was the case for Gordon's parents.

Now, Gordon was particularly unlucky. Not only was he saddled with looking after and raising all of his little baby siblings, he also had the misfortune of getting all the hunting duties as well because he and his siblings were orphaned when both of their parents decided it'd be wise to go after the HGAMCB.

This of course meant the nest location was heavily compromised, so he had to find somewhere else to relocate all of the cubs to that would be safe from those maniacs. The criteria for a new nest being rather simple: Unreachable for the HGAMCB and near a good source of food and water.

Enter the Doncaster Works and perhaps the most masterful trick any mimic has ever played on Sir Nigel Gresley...

Not only did Gordon find a way inside the workshop's walls, he also escaped detection for months, figured out the A1 prototype was a trap and that the A1s that were being worked on were the actual thing to go for, then proceeded to plant a sibling in each of the engines that were being constructed, and tended to their needs until the time was right for them to start mimicking the engine (basically living there until the engines were all completed and ready for service).

Then, because he had nothing better to do, Gordon took on the A1 prototype and just waited for someone to notice him just sitting there.

Needless to say, Sir Nigel Gresley was both impressed and honestly a little mad that a mimic of all things bested him at his own game (it's why he auctioned Gordon off for so cheap, to get back at him in a way).

#Thomas and Friends #TTTE #Railway Mimics AU #ttte gordon #gordon the big engine #gordon got parentified and then proceeded to be very cheeky #unlike his parents he saw the benefit of allying himself and his siblings with the railways #so he took a huge risk in breaking into the Doncaster Works #only to basically play a 4D chess move #you can't out-changeling a changeling

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