Work Text:
It took him around a day to return to Chromia, and for the entire journey back he was panicking. For the first time in his life, somebody knew. Someone not only figured him out, but decided to use that against him. He remembered the looks Sausage had given him, his skin prickling at the recollection. His hands took a fistful of the fabric of his trousers with a white-knuckle grip, refusing to let go for a good while.
He couldn't go back there. Was that Sausage's plan, to send him back to them, along with his people? He'd be offered a high price for Scott's head alone, the entirety of Chromia would make Sanctuary the wealthiest empire by miles.
His crime hadn't even been that serious. He was only curious about the strange creatures that wandered into his home. He never wanted-
Scott forced his hands to unclench and leaned back, his head falling against the upholstery. His advisers gave him strange looks from where they sat in the carriage, but they said nothing.
After a while, the silence became unbearable. "What is it?" He snapped. They all looked away, either at their laps, the roof, or out the window. Not one made eye contact with him, nor provided him with an answer. "It must be something. Tell me."
One - a woman with short white hair and electric yellow eyes - spoke up. "You simply seemed stressed, sir. If I may, can I ask why?"
He sighed, casting his gaze down to his shoes. He couldn't tell her. They'd all start panicking and the situation would only get worse. They'd tell everyone, implement security protocols and probably evacuate everyone from the area. Then he'd have to establish a new empire somewhere else, and that was always a hassle because of differences in his people. Some needed the sun, some preferred colder environments, some liked it damp whilst others preferred drier climates. It was too much fuss.
And relocating would only make them vulnerable to attack. Especially now.
"It's nothing, Topaz. Don't worry." He gave her a firm glare, and she begrudgingly accepted his answer.
When he returned to Chromia, his people gave him a wide berth. They bowed their heads in respect and he did the same in return. The walk back to his manor was silent, broken only by footfalls and breathing. He was in half a mind to tell people to breathe quieter for the gods' sakes but caught himself before the words slipped over his tongue.
He stormed straight into the kitchen, and the staff instantly evacuated out. Scott grabbed a bottle of gin from a cupboard, along with some ingredients. He rolled up his sleeves.
"Dumb rulers," he grumbled, grabbing a pot, tray and baking paper and depositing butter into the pot. "Who do they think they are? Supreme leaders of the universe or some shit? They don't do anything to warrant the respect they're given." Scott retrieved a wooden spoon and aggressively hit it against the butter. He paused, then stirred. Adding the sugar, he continued to talk. "If I could wring their necks, I fucking would. Especially that no-good blackmailing bitch."
After a while, Scott proceeded to add in flour, water and chocolate chips. Food dye was also added at some point, because what was the point of being the Colour Kingdom without colour in his life? He mixed them all together until the dough was formed.
He took chunks of the dough and rolled them into small balls, first putting the baking paper on the tray then placing the dough on top. When he had no dough left, Scott put the tray into the furnace.
Whilst it was baking, he leaned against the counter. Scott reached for the bottle of gin, cracking it open and staring at it. Was he really doing this? Oh, fuck it. He may as well.
Lifting it to his lips, Scott chugged the bottle. He had to put it down a few times to breathe, hacking and wheezing, then went back in immediately after.
"You're drinking yourself to death," a voice giggled. "I wonder how much it'll take this time. Another gulp? Another bottle? Go on! You're made of strong stuff, you'll manage it. Do it." He shuddered, the bottle slipping from his hand and smashing on the ground. The remainder of the gin spilled across the floor. Scott groaned and went to look for a mop.
Damn it all. Damn the people who cast him out. Damn the ones who stood by in his pain. Damn the fae that did nothing or did the worst possible thing to all of his people. Damn those that were the reason Chromia had to be created in the first place.
(And damn everyone that hurt Jimmy, and forced him into this war in the first place.)
Scott retrieved a mop and set to work cleaning up his mess. Each act was rhythmic, and slowly his nerves oozed out of his body and he lost himself in the act of cleaning. Less things to go wrong during such a simple thing. Less people to hurt by accident.
And less collateral damage to leave behind.
---
About three days later, three letters were sent to him, all at different times and dates.
The first letter came from Jimmy, the day after Scott returned to Chromia. He had been in his study with two advisers, plotting out potential new locations and figuring out new identities for the place they would become. None of the names appealed to him that much, nor did the proposed locations. It would be harder to build out in the swamp without a different architectural style. The mesa would most likely become a wasteland during and after the oncoming war. The desert was a no-go since it was too dry. The sea was (obviously) unavailable. The mountains and tundra were too isolated and barren for them to survive out there long.
Ultimately, it had been a rather fruitless three hours. Time wasted on stupidity when he could have been planning his next move. Scott sent out his advisers and pulled out his journal to jot down some ideas.
The problem with Sausage would need to be abolished as soon as possible. He couldn't afford to leave that variable untouched for too long, lest Sausage start to suspect anything. He needed to get his spies to update him soon; Scott began drafting some notes to hand out to his people.
A knock on his door disrupted him.
"What is it?" He called out.
Aphid stepped inside, brandishing an envelope with a wax seal. "For you, sir." Placing the envelope down on his desk, Aphid left the study.
The seal was from Tumble Town. Scott picked it up, grabbing a small knife to cut the seal. Instantly, he was bombarded by a musky, old smell, as if the paper hadn't been used in years. He coughed into his arm, then held the letter up to his face.
King Scott of Chromia,
I hope this reaches you in... well, adequate times, I suppose. Could you update me on your spies? I have an idea I'd like to test, but I need to check for whether Stratos is too close to Chromia for what I have in mind.
-Jimmy, Sheriff of Tumble Town
"You sly devil," Scott muttered, smiling softly. If Jimmy was thinking about doing what Scott thought he was thinking of doing, then it should be no problem at all. Personally, if they could get it high enough, he'd like to see those floating structures gone. They obstructed the sky too much for his liking. Rather hideous as well. White, in the sky ? With the sun? Did Joel want everyone in Stratos to go blind by looking up?
He grabbed an envelope, some parchment, his wax seal and a quill. Scott scrawled a response, then slid the letter into the envelope and sealed it shut.
Aphid came in later, and Scott gave him strict instructions to deliver it to Tumble Town. "And don't get spotted," he added. "I don't want anyone getting suspicious of where we stand in this war." Ever the obedient fae, Aphid tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his waistcoat (Scott didn't know it had pockets, but all the better for hiding things, he supposed) and scurried away.
---
The second letter arrived later that same day, around the time he'd gone off to grab a bite to eat. He was in the kitchen, the plate of his cookies from the day before laying on the counter as he bit into them. To anyone outside of Chromia, the cookies would be considered too bright to look at, let alone eat. To someone like Scott, it looked like home. It tasted just like it, too.
A fae whose name he couldn't place interrupted him. Coiffed silver curls framing a bronze face, she stormed inside and thrust the letter towards him, then left just as quickly.
He was left staring, dumbfounded, at where she had entered for a while before his senses kicked in and he got to work opening the letter.
King Scott,
There shall be a meeting in a week's time to discuss plans moving forward in this war. It is highly recommended that you attend in order to see who else will be joining us in our attack, as well as to share the information your spies have obtained thus far. It shall take place in the Goblands mid-afternoon. We await your presence here.
-fWhip
Scott snatched up a cookie and bit into it with more force than necessary. It didn’t taste as it should. As if soured by his mood, the cookie adopted a bitter aftertaste.
He hadn't heard anything back from his spies after the disaster that was the equinox ball. They'd kept tight-lipped about everything. Even though no one else could decipher the notes, they were still frighteningly scarce in what they could tell him. There was nothing to feed back to Lizzie and Joel. No news to share with fWhip. Nothing. He may as well not go at all.
That wasn't an option though, was it? Not if he wanted to maintain this charade. Not if he wanted Sausage to stay quiet.
He held the cookie in his mouth, balancing the plate with the letter as he went into his study and sat down at his desk. He gasped for air when he took the cookie from his mouth, then reached for parchment and a quill. Scott took another bite. Not as bitter, but still not very pleasant.
Finishing off the letter, Scott tucked it into an envelope. He hesitated before dropping three cookies in there and sealing the envelope shut. No one came to collect it immediately, so it resided in his pocket until he came into contact with the staff.
He hoped fWhip hated the cookies.
---
The final letter arrived just as he was headed to his chambers to rest. Scott had been intercepted on his way there, halted in the corridor by the same Fae that gave him fWhip's letter.
"Showed up just now," she stated.
Scott fished out his response to fWhip's letter and handed it to her. "Take this to fWhip."
She nodded, exchanging the letters and disappearing elsewhere.
He didn't touch it until he was in the privacy of his room, perched on the foot of his bed. For the first time in a while, Scott let his glamour dissipate. His wings stretched out to their full length, flapping a little, then folding against his back. He let out a relieved breath.
The envelope bore no recognisable seal. Instead it had been shut with a purple powder a shade away from black. It gave way easily, even without his knife.
We're coming soon, poppy flower. Did you miss us?
Scott dropped the letter as if it had burned him. He cradled his hands to his chest, then noted the strange rim of the parchment.
Silver.
Those fuckers tried to poison him.
He let out an angered scream and leapt up, kicking the foot of the bed and throwing the pillows and duvet onto the floor. Scott dug his sharp nails into the mattress and felt it break apart under his touch. He reared his head back and screamed.
Those sons of bitches not only had the audacity to taunt him with a letter, but tried to poison him with it, too?
"I'm gonna kill them," he said to himself. "I'm gonna fucking kill them."
Scott slammed the door to his chambers open. He walked through the halls, his shoulders shaking and fists clenched so tight he could feel blood start to pour, coating his fingernails.
One particularly senseless servant blocked his path. "Are you alright, sir?" they asked. A seemingly innocent question.
"Are you alright?" A voice said mockingly, a hand firmly gripping his hair as it dunked his head into water. Scott screamed, the water rushing past his lips and surging down his throat, burning as it went down. His head was yanked up and he spluttered, water dribbling over his lips as he panted heavily. "C'mon, Poppy, I thought you liked this kind of stuff!"
He couldn't speak. His head was pulled down again and his thoughts turned to mush, aside from the few screaming at him to not breathe in. Survive, move on, don't breathe in, it's just water.
"Pathetic," A different voice spat. "What, can't handle it? You brought this on yourself." A Second hand gripped his hair, gently carding through the strands and then tugging harshly. Scott's mouth opened to cry out and another rush of water burst into his mouth. He writhed against the ropes binding his body.
"I want a turn!" Someone groaned petulantly. Scott could picture the annoying pout on their stupid face and felt his blood boil. His face flushed, a mixture of humiliation, pain and anger swirling beneath his skin.
Scott yelled, slamming his fist into the wall next to him. There was a sickening crack that filled the air. Haltingly, he retracted his fist. His knuckles were bloody, and there were numerous cuts on his palm from his nails. He glared at the servant and they immediately jumped out of his way.
By the time he made it to the meeting room, his advisers were all assembled with quaking knees and nervous glances exchanged amongst them.
He inhaled, then exhaled, then repeated this three more times. "I received a letter." He showed them the offending object, ensuring they could see the silver coating plainly. "They found us."
The meeting room descended into panic instantly. His advisers began sweating as if they were trapped in the desert, some nervously pulling at their hair, others loudly bemoaning about the issue. Two of them stood there in stunned silence, unable to even breathe.
Frankly, he couldn't blame them. Sausage ratted him out faster than he thought he would. Scott figured he might have at least a few days to try and prevent this from happening. A few quick tricks to get Sausage to believe Scott was firmly on their side. It probably would've worked, too.
Maybe Sausage had been bluffing all along? He could have just been trying to scare Scott, and they just so happened to discover where he was.
That didn't even sound believable to himself.
"Everyone." No one seemed to hear him over the noise. Scott's wings spread out again to their full size, and he cleared his throat. "Silence." Their mouths shut tight, eyes shifting to him. Scott rolled each shoulder individually, stretched his back and clicked his neck. A series of pops and clicks filled the ensuing quiet. "We have numbers. We have allies and resources. We have enough to fend them off. For now, at least. We have no plan, no agreement on where to go, and too many issues to worry about at the moment to just leave. Until this war passes, we need to stay."
"Why?" One of his advisers snapped. "Why should we risk our people's safety? Their business is their business. We don't even need to get involved."
"I made a deal."
That same adviser rolled his eyes. "Of course you did. Of course, when we need to leave the most, you tell us you made a fucking deal."
Scott crossed the room to leer over that adviser. A shadow fell over them, his eyes casting a haunting glow on their face. It highlighted their sunken eyes and pale lips, the hollow cheeks and stubble on their chin. The gash on the side of their forehead seemed fresher. "Do you have a problem with that, Flix?"
He watched their eyes, the myriad of emotions flickering within them. The adviser bowed their head reluctantly. "No."
"No, who?" He pressed.
"...No, sir."
Scott turned to address the others. "I want everyone in Chromia to be trained. Self-defence, survival, combat. Teach them what they'll need to know on the battlefield." He quickly left the meeting room and rushed to his chambers.
He only hoped he'd have time to see things through before they arrived.