Russian Roulette

Author's Note: Once, I was on a long plane flight and asked for random interactions to write. Only 2 were completed, but here they are (with a bonus fic as well!) Please don't act like these are fully compliant to my canon; they're old and bad. Thanks!

Kim and Paris
It was times like these that made Kim want to hit Ariel. (Even though he would dish out just as much pain as he got, it didn’t make Kim’s urge to hurt him any less strong.)

The two had managed to work out an agreement, even though it was apparent that they shared a mutual disdain for each other. Every few weeks, it was a roommate’s turn to buy some snacks. And Kim was sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was Ariel’s turn.

And yet, there were no snacks to be found!

This wouldn’t have been much of a problem in Kim’s eyes, but he was also rather hungry. Hence, the violent urge to knock Ariel clear into next week. (Maybe then, he’d remember to get Kim those chips he liked…)

Unfortunately, it was daytime. He did not particularly enjoy going out during the day, for a number of reasons.

For one, it was entirely possible that he’d run into Marietta or one of his friends. (He wasn't sure which option sounded more painful.)

Still, hunger and irritation won out over the thought of yet another stupid kid asking their mother ‘why does that man have a pig for a face’. It was a nice enough day, according to the weather report. He could handle a little walk into BookEnd.

And so, he set out, determined to get this over with without biting anyone’s head off in the process.

(He made no guarantees though.)

So far, Kim hadn’t run into anyone. That was a blessing in itself.

There were no opportunities for someone to comment on how he looked, no chances to anyone he knew to begin infringing on his personal space, no-

He must had been daydreaming. He must had been. That was the only plausible explanation for the sudden appearance of a stranger on the path.

He looked about Kim’s age, but that was where the similarities ended. One major difference was the fact that the teen did not resemble any member of the kingdom Animalia (besides Homo sapiens of course). Another was that he had been blessed with large headphones, ones that proudly displayed the common depiction of an alien.

Kim rolled his eyes. He was one of those people: the ones that took pictures of aircraft and declared that they had discovered UFOs, the ones that ran conspiracy theory blogs, the ones that believed firmly in cryptids. He probably had posters in his room that said “The truth is out there!” or some crap.

Of course, that didn’t automatically make the kid unbearable. He was sure to be, at the very least, a little interesting. However, Kim had no real desire to get to know him.

They had almost passed each other when the kid looked up, eyes widening slightly at the sight of him. Almost as if he was purposely trying to up the eerie factor, a wide smile was present on his face.

Almost instinctively, Kim winced away from the boy. That large grin reminded him a little too much of Marietta’s. It was not a pleasant comparison to make, considering the fact that the stranger didn’t look very threatening, but he didn’t want to find out in any event.

The stranger stepped forward. Kim stepped back. “What do you want?” He huffed, exuding an air of standoffishness. And, god damn it, why was he still smiling?!?

The boy continued to smile sweetly as he grabbed Kim’s face and began to squish his cheeks together. “You look so adorable~!” He cooed. “Just like that pig in Lord of the Flies.”

Despite the fact that comparing him to that book was an apt analogy, Kim loathed it. “Could you not say that?” He tried to say, but his words didn’t sound very intelligible.

The stranger furrowed his brow. “Would you prefer me to compare you to Animal Farm?” Somehow, he had understood.

Kim blanched. “No, that’s even worse! Get off me!”

The boy’s eyes glazed over. “Okay.” He jerked back, as though he had been scalded. Once he was no longer in contact with the pig boy, his eyes gained their old clarity. He blinked tiredly at him. “Hi, I’m Paris Delacroix.”

“I don’t care.” Kim said, without really thinking.

Paris didn’t flinch at his sudden venom. “That’s fine. What’s your name again?”

“... Bora. Bora Kim.” He still wasn't sure what the kid’s deal was, but he could picture Marietta very clearly, lecturing him for not being polite. All he wanted was some snacks, not snacks and stress.

“That’s a pretty name.” Paris told him, in a sleepy manner. He was still wearing the headphones, and showed no sign of taking them off anytime soon. “Are we friends now?”

“No.”

“That’s fine too.” Even rejection couldn’t bring him down from his happy mood. “Would you like some company today, Bora?”

The way he said the name, his name, Bora

, should have been criminal. Paris possessed a very soft, high voice, to the point where the poor boy could hardly hear himself speak, but it was one that made almost every syllable sound like a song.

Instantly, Kim resolved himself to hating this boy, who dared to casually touch his face, the face of a virtual stranger, and address him by his first name.

“No. Leave me alone. And call me Kim, damn it!” He exploded, and made himself look as fierce as it was possible to look when one currently had a pig head.

At this command, Paris froze. “Okay.” Continuing to smile, he did a little bow and went on his merry way.

Kim turned to watch him leave. Try as he might, he couldn’t help it! The urge was far too strong for him to resist.

As he gazed at Paris’ odd stride, a peculiar feeling began to settle in his gut. Bewildered, he quickly attributed it to a mixture of newfound disdain and hunger, and continued to walk to the store.

(And, if there was anything else to it, no one was the wiser.)

Ark and Connor
Ark, by his very nature, was not a friendly boy. Dude was trying his hardest to instill the trait in him, and (secretly) he appreciated this valiant effort (but only because it came from such a cute boy), but he was not one to ‘play nice’.

Callisto sometimes complained about this. “No one wants to be friends with me once they find out I’m a Pellen. What on earth did you even do?”

It was a difficult thing for him to explain. It wasn’t that his bad reputation had extended to her, like she assumed. It was that people disliked the idea of becoming friends with a dead girl walking. But, Ark was loath to remind her of this. She was far too eager to fulfill her role, much to his displeasure. Instead, he would just chuckle deeply at her, and leave it at that.

That being said, it was rare for him to make friends. After all, Ark delighted in conflict. If he hadn’t picked a fight (verbal or otherwise) with someone, he was sure to have done so with someone they cared for. Most people didn’t (or couldn’t) want to overlook his cruel streak. He was not a very pleasant person to be around.

So, when someone plopped their bag into his space, disrupting his routine, Ark was not the type to calmly accept this and move on. No way! Ark was pissed and he was determined to vocally express this fact.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ark spat, relishing what felt to be the beginning of a loud argument.

The offender turned around, frowning deeply. He looked vaguely familiar, since Ark had only seen him from a distance before, but the closer proximity only made him dislike him even more. He was too handsome, an exaggerated example of prettiness. No wonder the rumor mill had been ablaze after his arrival! Oh, yes, Ark had a bone to pick with this guy.

“Can I help you?” His tone clearly communicated the fact that he had no intention of helping Ark in any way, shape, or form.

“Yeah, sure! Can you tell me what it’s like?”

“What it’s like what?” Conrad? Cornelius? Co whatever the fuck his name was parroted his question.

“Being a pussy.” Ark flashed his best shit eating grin, one honed after years of practice.

“What?” Connor (yes! that was his name!) gawked, shocked by the simultaneous brazen insult and vulgarity.

“You heard me, pretty boy. Does being the lamest prince around get you brownie points? Do you spend every day waiting for Mommy Dearest to pat you on the head and tell you that you’re ‘too good for this sinful earth’?” He batted his eyelashes at the prince mockingly. “I really want to know!”

“Shut up before I shut your mouth for you.” Connor seethed. “You don’t know anything.”

“Do I?” Ark smirked, on the verge of circling him like a hungry vulture. “I know quite a few things. Let’s name three, shall we? I know that Briar doesn’t like you. I know that you don’t belong here, and that you never will. And I know that you’re in my spot.”

The look on Connor’s face implied that he knew exactly what this was about. “It doesn’t have your name on it, now does it?”

Ark raised his eyebrows. “Of course it does! Why, you must have covered it up!” He violently shoved Connor’s bag off the bench. “Let me help you with that.”

If Connor wasn’t angry before, he sure was now. “What is your problem?!?” He yelled. “If you’re having a bad day, there’s no need to take it out on me.”

Another fault of Ark’s, one that his father loved to point out, was that he was not very perceptive. This gave his sister yet another edge in the hunting field, one that he was happy to relinquish. And yet, wasn’t Connor just a little bit taller now? Didn’t he seem more fit than before? Ark wasn’t entirely sure if he was actually seeing these changes, or if his eyes were deceiving him. It didn’t matter much though. There was still reckoning to be reckoned.

“Nah, I’m not having a bad day. I just want to hear how loud you cry once I’m finished with you.” With that, he blew a kiss, turned on his heel, and ran. One outraged roar later, Connor barreled after him, fully prepared to rip him to pieces.

Ark laughed, leading Connor to the fighting area. Now, this was the fight he had longed for!

The two lay next to each other on the floor. Everything ached, and not in a good way. Ark was certain that he was going to be covered in bruises from head to toe. He was glad to have earned them from a worthy opponent.

His parents wouldn’t have approved. Ark took pleasure in that. (Callisto and Dude would fret though. That was his sole regret.)

“Your fighting technique is awful.” Connor spoke up at last. “There is no finesse to it. No strategy. … Also, you cheat.”

“Nuh-uh. Can’t cheat in a fight.” Ark protested. “And you’re one to talk, Mister Pummel Your Opponents Into Submission.”

Silence.

“Yes, well,” the prince sounded embarrassed, “I was angry. I’m not usually that sloppy. You have no excuse however.”

“I don’t need excuses.” Ark chortled darkly. “It works, doesn’t it? And I don’t give a shit about your fucking critiques. All the best fights are brawls. If you don’t come away from a fight bleeding, you messed up.”

“Is that your philosophy?” Connor asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s a stupid one.”

“Fuck off!” He laughed. His words lacked heat.

Silence yet again.

(Ark held the firm belief that the stillness after a good fight was the best kind. Especially if he had won said fight. In this case, he thought it worked well enough as a draw.)

“Next time, I’ll beat you so badly that you won’t be able to walk.” Connor promised, interrupting Ark’s train of thought and breaking the silence all at once.

“That sounds an awful lot like a proposition. Are you challenging me, Sir Tully?”

“More like promising you some more bruises. Sparring buddies?” He sat up and reached out a fist in Ark’s general direction.

Ark pulled himself upright and stared at Connor’s bloodied knuckles. “That’s too many syllables.” He shot this idea down. “How about… bros?” He offered his fist.

“Bros.” They solemnly bumped fists.

In that moment, a terrifying bromance was born.

Bonus: Connor and Oswald
“I hate you.”

Oswald blinked at him, owlishly. “That’s not very logical. You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t need to know you to know that.” Connor insisted stubbornly, before letting out a pained sniffle. “You’re a fu- ACHOO!”

A little sigh permeated the air. “Well, if you want to waste your energy on pointless anger, that’s your prerogative. Would you like a tissue?”

“Screw you.” He hissed in reply.

“I’m not hearing a no.” Oswald made a motion to pass it to the suffering boy, but accidentally dropped it on his face. “Oops.” He said, but without any feeling.

Connor angrily made eye contact (perhaps in an attempt to establish dominance) as he roughly pulled out a tissue and blew his nose. Oswald stared back, wondering if they were having a contest.

(After a while, Connor blinked. He silently celebrated his victory against the sick boy, before promptly being hit with a small wave of guilt.)

“I’m sorry for making you fall sick.” He said, somewhat sheepish. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive to my… Er-”

“Your what?” It was more statement than question. “You’re not even pretty.”

For all of his faults, Connor was not Ark. He didn’t take any pride in carelessly insulting someone, not even someone he didn’t care for. So, when Oswald suddenly developed a fascination with how the floor looked, he felt bad. Feverish, too, but still pretty bad.

“I know,” he said at last, “but that doesn’t make the story any less true. I must be going through something right now. Hormones, maybe? Mine isn’t all that potent, but I know people have gotten sick in the past from it, if they’re susceptible.”

Connor nodded, not really trusting himself to speak. When he was sick, he said stupid stuff. If he blurted out an apology now, one that would probably be peppered with little coughs, it’d probably be nonsensical.

The way Oswald was looking at him now was peculiar. It made him feel like some puzzle to be worked out. He wondered if the other boy was the sort to analyze everyone subconsciously, even himself. If so, he wasn’t too sneaky about it. He was clearly thinking about something.

“Want soup? It’s chicken broth.”

The bowl was nothing to write home about, but it kinda looked like a peace offering. Connor gingerly took it, staring down at the liquid inside. “Spoon?” It was meant to sound like a demand, but the congestion ruined it.

Out of nowhere, Oswald procured a silver spoon, one engraved with little designs. It was the prettiest utensil Connor had ever seen in his life. And yet, he was supposed to shovel chicken broth into his mouth with it. That somehow seemed blasphemous (but, then again, it had come from the guy wearing semi-formal clothing in winter).

“Do you need help eating?” Oswald took his hesitance for… something else. Connor wasn’t quite sure what, but the prospect of the other boy feeding him was one he didn’t like. At all.

“No.” With an air of finality, he scooped up some broth, and noisily sipped it.

He refused to look back up, gazing into the broth, but eyes continued to bore into his sweaty forehead. His hand shook slightly. What was this guy’s problem?

“Y’know,” Oswald said nonchalantly, leaving him unprepared for what came next, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Careful. I heard that could be dangerous for the ill prepared.” There he went again, channeling his inner Ark. The bully was clearly a bad influence.

To his credit, Oswald didn’t rise to the barb. “I’ve come to a conclusion, and I think you might find it interesting.”

“What is it then?” Connor raised the spoon to his lips.

“You’re kind of a prick.”

He spluttered, choking on the soup. “What?”

Oswald continued speaking, unsympathetic. “I’m not one to judge people hastily. All it does is offend people, and as many stories show, that’s only what an idiot does. I’m really quite neutral about most people. So, it’s hard for me to discern what a prick is, exactly.”

“I had someone I know draw me up a checklist, so I could know for myself when I see one. And you check off a lot of boxes without even trying. I’d ask why you’re like this, who made you this way, anything for that sweet context. But, it’s not my business. And frankly, I really don’t care about you and your tragic backstory.”

Clink. In some distant part of Connor, it registered that, in his surprise, he had dropped the spoon.

“I do kinda pity you though.” Oswald patted his head. “It must suck, being you.”

Connor gawked, aghast. No one, and he meant that too, had ever said something like that to him. “You don’t even know-”

“And I don't want to.” He interrupted. “If you want to share why you’re like this when you’re not trying to feed your bruised ego, then sure. Maybe then you’ll be more tolerable. But, for now, I’m going to go play Dark Souls. Bye.”

You forgot the spoon.

Some things just never got said.

“Look who’s back from the dead!” Ark crowed, eager for the chance to gloat about his robust immune system.

“Fuck off.” He shot back, dejected.

“Connor, watch your language!” Dude gave him a scandalized look. (In an instant, Connor envisioned a future where all swear words were abolished, and shuddered.)

After a moment of deciding if he had been properly chastised, Dude’s face softened. “Oh dear. Is something the matter?”

“No.” He said sullenly, thumb tracing over the cold metal of the spoon clenched tightly in his hand. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Liar liar~” Lily sang, before her gaze hardened into stone. “Now spill before I set your pants on fire.”

Connor gazed at each of them in kind. Callisto was sleeping on the table, Dude was gently trying to wake her, and Valdis was drawing something on a piece of paper. Only Lily and Ark showed any sort of interest, and he knew both were the sort who enjoyed ganging up on people when teasing was involved. Would they even care?

After a moment to mull it over, attachment to his non smoldering legwear won out over common sense.

“Fine. There’s this guy. He made me sick the other week, and he got me soup, only to tell me that I’m a prick! I mean, what the hell?!?”

He slammed the spoon down on the table, somehow not rousing Callisto from her slumber. “And he didn’t take his fucking spoon back! It’s been bothering me this entire time, and I don’t know what to do about it!”

Ark blinked.

Lily blinked.

Everyone blinked, though not necessarily at the same time.

“That sounds like a personal problem.” Lily lost interest, and began carving an X into the wood of the table with a pocket knife. “Just talk to him, duh. No need to fret over a stupid little spoon.”

“That’s a stupid idea and you know it. He said himself that he doesn’t care about me.” Connor groaned, following Callisto’s lead by resting his head on the table. It felt

“I can’t believe you just called a fortune teller stupid.” Ark chuckled. “And, more importantly, kinda sounds like you have a crush, dude.”

He looked up, affronted by the very notion. “A crush. On the guy that called me a prick. Are you serious?”

“You’re the one getting all defensive.” Ark shrugged. “But, nah, I’m joking. You’re too edgy for that.”

A strangled noise narrowly escaped the confines of Connor’s vocal cords.

“Also,” Valdis piped up, following their example, “if someone called you that, they’ve got guts. Your ego probably wouldn't survive being around them. No offense!” (As if those two words, tacked on at the end, could soften the blow.)

Lily twittered. “Nice one, Val!” They both smiled the exact same grin at each other before returning to their respective tasks.

“Hey, Dude! Connor needs advice about a crush!” The shit eating grin Ark flashed him, paired with a wink, was one that made Connor want to grind him up in a blender.

“Really?!?” The sheer excitement exuding from Dude’s every pore was enough to blind someone. Connor flinched away, unprepared for a direct blast.

“He’s lying-"

“You should get them flowers!!!” Dude gushed, waving his hands. “They’re pretty, and you can communicate so many lovely messages with a single rose alone!”

“Did you not hear me-” Connor snarled, but the look on Ark’s face as he stabbed his fork into his fish gave him pause.

“... Sorry. But I’m not interested in anyone. I just want to return this to… Oswald Wellington, I think.”

“Ah, I see.” Dude scratched his chin. “Well, I think the best thing, in that case, is just to approach him and give it back. Say you’re sorry, too.”

“For what?”

“For being a p r i c k, of course!” Dude beamed, having spelt out all of the letters in record time.

Lily instantly choked on her own spit. Val stabbed a hole in her paper. Even Callisto shifted in her sleep, disturbed by the sudden change in the universe.

Only Ark found the strength to laugh. “Ahaha, he called you a prick.”

(... Hey, he was nothing if not childish.)

“Ark. I did not, and you know it.” Dude narrowed his eyes, inviting him to refute this.

“You spelt it though.” Lily muttered under her breath, politely coughing to hide it.

Connor groaned. “You all are assholes.”

“Connor.”

“And you’re a dumbass. So? No need to point out the obvious.”

“Ark!”

“How long did that take your shitty brain cells to come up? You must practice. No wonder! It sounds so rehearsed.”

“Connor Tully, can you please refrain-”

“Faster than yours, that’s for sure. After all, I have way more than two!”

Connor clutched the spoon tightly. He gritted his teeth. It was clear that what he was about to say next was something that came only after gathering all of his strength. “Whatever. You’re not worth it. See you.” He stood, still shaking, and left.

Promptly, Val tore up her paper, and Lily put away her card deck, disappointed. “Damn, I thought there was going to be a fight.”

“Yes, I wanted to place bets.” Valdis sighed, and stared at the scraps, as though they were personally responsible for her misfortune.

The gears in Ark’s head began to turn. “Hey, Lily, do you think we can get Connor to fight us if we pour water on his head and call him a gremlin?”

Lily’s eyes glittered with dark amusement. “You’re a man after my own heart, you. Let’s do it!”

The two ran off before Dude could protest. Valdis pulled out another piece of paper, and began writing down the new odds.

Callisto woke up then, and gave the two of them a tired look. “What did I miss?”

Dude gave her a haunted look before resting his head in his hands. “Everything.” He said, defeated. “Everything and nothing at all.”

“Mmmm. Yeah. Sounds boring.” She yawned, before laying her head down and going back to sleep.

And, though later he’d deny it, he joined her soon after in the realm of dreams.