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Old Sport

United States

flynn

marry me in vegas and we'll gamble off our lives.

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more active on the prose

Message to Readers

DO NOT COMMENT ON MY PIECES ASKING FOR A SPECIFIC SERIES. I WILL WORK ON IT WHEN I HAVE THE INSPIRATION. I DON'T OWE YOU ANYTHING. BE. PATIENT.
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oh?

Ace of Spades | Chapter 2 | Helping Hand

November 24, 2018

FREE WRITING

2
    
author's note: hello! i got bored as shit and now i started this i guess!
this is meant to be some sort of prologue to deltarune, n it's mostly gonna focus on the card kingdom and their residents and how things became like they are now!
also the way i write the king of spades is different than he is ingame, whether it be before the events of the game or the prologue. i don't condone or accept how he acts ingame.
as expected, some deltarune spoilers below, enjoy the show
also some kingkaard cause i'm weak
chapter 1 here

~~~~~~~~

    It was as if the longer the Queen of Spades was gone, the longer every minute seemed to crawl by. Pique was losing sleep, and according to Dimon, he was probably losing his MIND. The diamond king was quickly scolded by Passon. Hydra was definitely the least affected by the incident--he never seemed to have cared much about the others. He tended to be distant, and even when he did show up at the table to eat, it was as if he wasn't even there. Dimon didn't seem to care whenever Pique passed on eating. Hydra didn't worry when Pique had been noticeably losing sleep. Passon, out of concern, offered to help but got denied every time. It reached the point where the King of Hearts began doing small things in secret--leaving small notes where Pique usually was, searching relentlessly for the Queen despite her being absolutely gone, occasionally helping out with Lancer (while urging him not to tell his father he showed up at all); He even went as far as to break into Pique's room to tidy up or to leave the previously mentioned notes. Pique appreciated the small notes despite not knowing who left them--he assumed it was Kaard. The notes were short things like 'make sure to get some rest' or 'please remember to eat!' in scratchy, almost rushed-looking handwriting. He chuckled to himself--he never expected Duke Kaard of all people to write like that. What he couldn't figure out was why sometimes, his room appeared more put together than it was when he passed out. Whatever the reason was, he couldn't find the energy to care much about it.
    At one point, it seemed someone else joined in the note-leaving (though none of their notes were ever put in Pique's room). The handwriting was much neater, and each note was filled with both reminders of self-care and short reassurances. Some of the notes were simply intended to be mood-boosters or for comfort. Pique chose to keep those types of notes he found. As days of the notes showing up, Pique only felt a small bit better. It was good to know someone cared deeply about him. Hell, in one note, he spied a quickly scrawled 'I love you.' down in a corner. He felt a short pang of sadness, as it reminded him briefly of the Queen, but it was comforting nonetheless. Eventually, the notes with bad handwriting stopped coming, and it was only down to the fellow with neat writing. Pique was sure he knew damn well who it was, and he decided to pay them a visit.
    
    Duke Kaard was sitting on his shop's desk, facing away from the entrance. He was singing something quietly, venting to nobody but the echo of his own voice. Feelings were odd. He wished he could hit a switch and shut them off, sometimes. His sing-vent session was cut off by hearing someone come towards the shop. He scrambled off of the desk and leaned forward onto it, offering a pleasant smile to whoever was about to enter. He slapped on the fake, butchered Old English he used towards subjects as he spoke.
    "Good morrow to you, sir, madam, or other! How may I help thee on this fine evening?"
    A hearty chuckle could be heard from the customer as they entered, revealing themselves as Pique.
    "So that's the ridiculous way of talking I've heard so much about." 
    Kaard's eyes widened, and he dropped the fake English immediately. "A-ah! Sire! I didn't expect to, er...I didn't think you'd be showing up here! How may I be of service to you?"
    "Again, Kaard--you don't have to call me Sire. Just Pique will do."
    "Very well, then my king--" The duke cut off, and hesitated for a moment-- "very well, Pique." It felt odd not referring to him as 'sire' or 'my king' or anything like that, but it felt oddly pleasant being able to call the other by his name, too. "What..was it you needed?"
     "Ah, well..." Spade dug in a pocket for a moment before pulling out one of the many notes. This one was written on a pale blue sticky note; the one with the 'I love you' scrawled at the bottom. "I was wondering if you knew who wrote this?" He slid it over to the duke. Kaard raised an eyebrow and scanned over it...and felt his heart jump in his chest. Noticing the quick glances between the paper and him, Pique snuck a tiny smug smile towards the duke. 
     "Actually...I believe I may know who, now that I think about it."
     Kaard swallowed down his nervousness before speaking. "Is...is that so, Pique?"
     Pique's smile only grew. Another friendly laugh escaped the king. His smile softened. 
     "You're the one who's been leaving these, right, Duke?"
     "...Please, Pique. Feel free to call me Rouxls." He nodded in response to the king's question, averting his eyes away from the other's face. "Perhaps...not in the presence of the other kings, though."
     "Of course, of course...that's all I really needed to know. Thank you." Pique turned to leave. Duke Rouxls Kaard. A wonderful name...truly wonderful. He paused in the doorway. "And, Rouxls?"
     "My king?"
     "I'd be lying if I said your feelings weren't returned in one way or another."
     With that, Pique left the shop and left Kaard alone to think about that.

     Pique found himself on the castle roof again later that day. The equivalent of the sun in the Dark World was setting. nights in the Dark World put emphasis on how dark it could really get. At 'night,' there are no stars. There is no moon. The sky becomes a swimming ocean of pure, empty blackness. It's almost freezing cold. The only light you'd be able to have would have to come from things like fire, torches, lamps, and other things of that nature. Pique brought nothing that night--he was willing to simply live with the cold, able to live with being unable to see a thing. Small lights could be seen in the distance from torches far away as if the stars have landed on the ground below. He found the sight beautiful, but he was unable to enjoy it properly. The thoughts about the Queen were terrible that night. They were much worse than they had ever been. He tried to block them out to no avail--they just got louder. Louder, louder, LOUDER, LOUDER. He felt himself start to shake. Whether if it was from emotion or from the cold he couldn't tell, but he began feeling tears flow down his face. It..hurt. She's gone. Gone. Gonegonegonegonegonegonegonegonegonegonegone. It didn't matter if people cared. It didn't matter if he was loved. It didn't fucking matter. That wasn't going to fix anything.
    ..Pull yourself together, Pique. He took a deep breath. He knew nothing could be fixed, but he also knew he needed to keep his head, else things could turn dire. He allowed himself to sob and cry, but he refused to fall apart just yet. 
    Just then, he heard a voice.
    "From what I understand, you must be Pique, the King of Spades."
    The voice was completely unfamiliar to the king. Something about it was strange. It talked in a pleasant tone of voice, but something felt off. Something about the situation made his blood run cold. He didn't offer the stranger an answer. They spoke again.
    "It's okay. You didn't have to answer. Your choices don't matter, anyways." Pique could hear the smile in the other's voice. It sent a feeling of disgust through him. "I know exactly who you are."
    He looked over his shoulder to see who was talking. 
    The person was tall and skinny, wrapped in a black cloak that covered their whole body save for their face. Pique wished it covered up the head. Their left eye was half-shut and a large crack stretched from it, trailing to the top of their head. It looked...painful, but they didn't seem to mind. Their right eye was the only eye that was able to emote properly. It was cracked as well, this time from the bottom. The crack connected to their mouth, forcing it into a permanent half-smile. On closer inspection, the 'cloak' appeared to be dripping a strange black substance. 
    "..Who are you?" 
    "Me? I am none other than The Knight. I heard your distressed cries, and I wish to help, O King of Spades."
    "How do you expect to help me?" Once more, Pique turned his back on the stranger. "The Queen is gone. I've come to accept it. It's best if you try to as well."
    "Accept it? Dear king, you have wept for her several nights over. You have not accepted it--you are still hurt, still mourning. That is why I'm here."
    
"Once again, 'Knight.' Why do you believe you can help me?"

    "Because I know where she is."

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1 Comment
  • AminahMcBina

    Your "bored as shit" line is totally ruining it. I'm only thinking of that line, as I read.

    I completely and entirely love your works,
    Mina


    8 months ago