❝ 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-FIVE
ATTICUS' LETTER WAS NOT ANSWERED. When he woke up, he was sure that the reason behind the lack of response was due to the Codfather—Jimmy. Surely Atticus hadn't lost first-name privileges, too?—not yet being back from Pixandria. But by noon, when Atticus was positive that Jimmy had read his letter and he still had not received one in return, he was sure that Jimmy was avoiding him.
He had ruined a perfectly good friendship over his inability to know when to stop. Except, that wasn't completely accurate—he knew when to stop. He knew when he went too far. He just kept going, and that was what went wrong.
A large part of Atticus wanted to talk to Scott; who better to assure him that Jimmy didn't hate him than Jimmy's best friend? But that was the problem, of course—Scott was Jimmy's best friend. If Atticus had one of those, he would have vented to them about the situation; it was likely that Scott would be just as upset as Jimmy was and avoid speaking with him. Lizzie and Joel were out of the question, too—being Jimmy's family, they were likely already against Atticus.
However small they may be, all of his friendships were based on his relationship with Jimmy. It sent a pang through his heart to realize that if he hadn't offered an alliance to the Cod Empire, he wouldn't have anyone to call a friend. He still didn't—not right now.
Atticus moved his gaze from his desk—empty of any paper from the Cod Empire—to his garden. Even from where he sat, he could see the wilting flowers; never surviving more than a few weeks because they weren't meant to. It used to be so easy to travel to the Cod Empire to pick more; yesterday, Atticus would have gone without a second thought. But he promised Jimmy space, and he was going to honor that.
He lifted himself from his chair, stepping onto the balcony. He watered the flowers and checked to make sure they were getting enough sunlight before he removed the flowers that were too dead to be saved. They would help with the soil, to keep the others alive; it was a worthy sacrifice.
The sun, despite the cold weather, continued to beat down on Atticus; his cheeks felt red from the constant light. For a moment, he worried that he might have a fever, but knew it wasn't that time of year; and he hadn't had another incident with the corruption, thank you very much, so he chalked the feeling up to his already incredibly shitty day.
He took his lunch in the garden—the main one, in the middle of the castle, surrounded by the towers that made up his home. There was a bench in the center of the grass, leaning against the fountain, but Atticus decided to spend his afternoon on the other side of the fountain so he could use the shade of the statue to cover him. It meant sitting on the floor, but he would take the uncomfortable position over the heat of the sun.
He brought a book with him; not to read, but to use as a desk. Paperwork might have been boring, and he was more than a little distracted with thoughts of Jimmy, friendship, and the lack thereof.
