❝ I can't save us ❞
in which the Foxling and the Codfather exchange
trades, looks, and blue orchids in a world of war,
death, and political alliances.
❝ my Atlantis ❞
( male!oc x solidarity )
( empires smp...
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FORGOTTEN ORCHIDS | CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SCOTT WAS QUIET AS HE settled onto the couch across from Atticus, hands gripping the offered teacup so tight that Atticus was worried it would shatter in his trembling hands.
Scott hadn't said much on his way in, only that they had failed to keep the dragon alive, and now Xornoth was more powerful than ever.
It had been a terrifying thought, but even more upsetting was the expression of shame on Scott's face. Atticus hadn't expected them to keep the dragon alive—not because he doubted the team's skills, but because it was the Ender Dragon and they were going against a demon. And it wasn't as if the dragon understood the team was there to protect her; she'd probably lashed out the moment they got too close.
Atticus did not voice his thoughts, however. He convinced Scott to spend the afternoon in the castle's private library with a warm cup of tea, surrounded by books old and new. Atticus was happy to hand out with Scott in silence, if that was what Scott preferred. Scott had been doubtful about stopping by Vulpesterra at all and hadn't seemed very happy to sit down, but the longer he relaxed, the calmer he seemed.
Atticus picked two books at random and handed one to Scott. Scott murmured under his breath, which Atticus took as a thank you instead of asking him to speak up.
Atticus settled onto one of the couches. Scott stood standing for a moment, looking around the library with a tired curiosity. He nodded to a picture on the mantle above the fireplace. "You had long hair," he noted softly.
Despite his tone, Atticus felt himself tense. He had forgotten about the picture; it was of a young Atticus, maybe five or six, standing with his mother in front of the castle. It was the only photo he had from his childhood. In it, Atticus was baby-faced and bored looking, a braid of long hair falling over his shoulder as he pouted at the camera.
Atticus clenched his jaw, turning away. "Vulpesterian customs," he muttered.
Scott shrugged and sat on the couch across from Atticus, opening his book. In the silence of the room, Atticus allowed himself to think.
It had been a few days since he had last seen the Codfather—Jimmy. Gods, Atticus still hadn't gotten used to the name. It fit Jimmy perfectly, of course, but Atticus had never expected to know something so personal about the Codfather. And it's not like he could use the name with Jane—he respected the Codfather too much to betray his privacy like that. But it's not as if he could go to Lizzie or Joel to talk about Jimmy; other than the fact that they were friendly with him only for said ruler's sake, he also didn't know them very well.
He didn't know Scott very well, either. But they were on their way to becoming friends, weren't they? This is what friends did—they hung out. They talked about crushes, too, didn't they?
