is narrator x contrarian ok?
Yes but I couldn't put my idea of em to paper...so have the first fic of this series!
[Read under the cut
Note: this fic depicts an ambiguous post-construct au where Narrator is also there]
It's the same thing every day. Wake up, eat his meals, write his book to give to the publishers, do some menial chores around his house with a roommate until nighttime comes. All things considered, the avian half-human considered himself to be quite luck to be where he was. After all, the alternative was death by two gods.
No use crying over spilled milk, he supposed. It's been years since that little scheme. Since the Long Quiet and Shifting Mound walked away to parts unknown, leaving the pieces of them to pick up themselves and make something of this life. Very early, he was singled out, casted away, with hopes that he'd die. Instead, he found a town and had settled nicely. He could claim amnesia, and rebuild life, like he hadn't committed several books worth of atrocities against nature and his original self.
Unfortunately, the others found the city too. Scattered about here and there, they recognized him, he recognized them. And they stayed out of each other's way. None directly tried to hurt him, but their animosity could be felt the moment gaze meet. He was content with that. He was no longer their Narrator, he was simply a writer trying to meet ends meet. It was for the best they never crossed paths again.
With one exception.
"Oh NAAAARRY!!" The door to his room opened, lock once again broken from the sheer force. Pink hair tied like pigtails poked through his now open doorway, followed by a white comedy mask, for once absent of the gaudy and saturated paint strokes.
The voice once known as Contrarian was his roommate.
She was last to find out he had lived here (apparently the others were none too fond of mentioning him) and made arrangements to move in, not a week later. Claiming to keep an eye on him, the one now "Connie" has dedicated to doing everything he said she couldn't do. Breaking down the door was merely one in a long list of other micro-aggrsssions, like putting his mugs outside after a storm, or replacing his shaving cream with whipped cream, or doodling on the backs of his paper drafts.
That's not to say she's entirely a mess. She pays her half of rent, does her part of chores, has an active social life, and can have adult conversations with (their general grievance about modern politics was awfully insightful, barring her comments about defenestration). No, she at least saved her antics when there is nothing important going on, which is unfortunately in the mornings.
Whatever, he had grown used to her antics, months ago. He won't give this woman the satisfaction of seeing him crack and buckle, so the half-bird sat up in bed, yawning.
"What now...?" Narrator groaned, half asleep still.
"Awww, not gonna yell at me for calling you "Narry", Narry?" She tilted her masked face, skipping with practiced ease to his bed side, hands behind her back that was definitely hiding something.
"It's too early, Connie...and you don't see me calling you "contrarian", now am I?" He retorted "now, is breaking my door your only agenda for this morning? Or do you want to subject me to something else?"
She gasped dramatically, almost appalled. He could imagine her frowning face underneath the blank mask.
"Really?! You think me so predictable? Am I growing soft?!" She asked, sounding far too dramatic to actually be upset.
"Yes" he stated bluntly, grabbing his glasses from the nightstand (after checking there was no glue on them)
"Ugh! I need to step up my gain then!" She shakes her head, almost smacking his face with her pigtails. "But I AM going to subject you something today! Close your eyes!"
Now comes the hard part: does he do this to get her prank over with? Or does he have the dignity to not entertain her? He already has to replace the lock on the door.
Checking the wall clock, it's 7 in the morning. Too early for any defiance. So with a heavy sigh, the former Narrator closed his eyes.
With an omnious giggle, Connie dashed around the room, moving things in his room, unseen by its occupant. His bedsheets get tossed aside and something was placed on his lap. He then hear the crackle of...fireworks??
"And open em!" She whispered, sounding like she's suppressing a giggle.
When he opened him, his room was dark, the blackout curtains blocking out the sunshine on a good morning. His lights were turned off, which meant his eyes were drawn to the sparklers crackling away in his lap. Seven of them were stuck inside a small cake, decorated with light cream buttercream with a fondant open book on top. The pages read "Happy birthday"
"Happy 7 years out of the cabin, Narry!" She was on his bed, looking at him before pulling a party popper. A glitter party popper. They better be edible, because they now covered the cake.
This...was a first. Connie never gave him a gift. She had thrown cream pies in his face, mimicking old cartoons, but she only ever did it once. A soft part thought it was because he said he didn't like it, but maybe she was saving it for today.
"You...kept track of the day?" He asked, flicking away confetti from his lens.
"Well, not me! But Hunted's really good with dates and stuff, and Skeptic called to remind me to come to the reunion tonight, but since your ass is still banned, I got you a cake so you don't feel too left out!" She explained in one breath, before sharply inhaling.
"You...all remember the day? And celebrate it?"
"Uhh duh! It's our first day being free! And if you think about it, it's technically also our birthday! Since time means nothing in forever and yadda yadda!"
He...didn't know what to say, just flickering between the cake and Connie's face. She looked she was expecting him to do something.
"What? Do you want me to just eat it?" He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Isn't that what food is for? I thought you were smart?" She answered back, leaning closer "come on, it's technically your birthday too, if you think about it hard..."
"I don't..." don't what? Don't have a birthday? Don't want to celebrate a birthday? Don't want her to be here?
That question lingered bitterly. And so to get rid of it, he lifted up the plate. It was small enough that cutting it wasn't needed. It was a portion just for him, no sharing needed. Though judging from the look, he'd take a few bites before letting her eat the rest.
"You know, birthday cakes typically have candles, instead of sparklers" he said, removing said sparklers from the cake.
"Aww, but sparklers are so fun!" She replied, leaning closer, as if to gauge his reaction to her gift.
Taking a bite out of the side, because he wasn't a fan of fondant, it tasted sweet, but also earthy, like green tea or Earl grey. The buttercream tasted like plain vanilla but he could see specks of vanilla bean, so it was still good. Overall, a plain but sweet cake. He let it lingered in his mouth, before swallowing
"It's alright" he took another bite
"Yay!" In a surprising turn of events, she hugged him, nearly making him drop the plate. His protests are ignored, as he was overwhelmed with shock instead.
"Why...are you hugging me?"
"Isn't it obvious? I like ya!" She replied, squeezing him tightly.
"I thought you hated me..." he replied, muffled by her porcelain cheek in his face.
"Eh, that's Years ago! You ain't the grumpy guy that forced us to slay some lady anymore! So how can I be mad!?" With that, Connie let Narry go, ruffling his head while she's at it "anyway, enjoy your cake! I gotta go see the flock!"
She turned to skip out of the room, humming "happy birthday" under her breath.
"Wait, what about the cake?!" He replied, holding out a hand
"It's yours, eat it, throw it out the window, whatever!"
With that, she's gone.
Narrator checked the clock. 7:20. All of that took 20 minutes.
Looking down at his cake turned breakfast...he shrugged and ate. He could be sophiscated and get up to the kitchen. But after all of that...he was going to stay here a little longer.
Could he considered this to be a prank? A reminder of his past with her? Or was she genuine in her desire to celebrate?
Whatever her reasons, he supposed he will never truly know.
[END]
