Pot and Kettle

[Kingsdaughter613 she/her]

I don’t think I’m allowed to post this in the fan creations section yet (if I’m wrong, let me know) so I’m posting it here. And yes, I would like feedback. (I forgot you need to say that now.)

 

The Queen’s Wit lounges at the the far end of the table, his dark hair framing his sharp, pale features and unnaturally blue eyes. On his lap is a lute, which he plucks with a languid hand. The other rests on the arm of his chair, beside his Spren, Design.

He has many names, this Wit, acquired over his long years. Midius, Hoid, Cephandrius, Topaz, Dust, Wit, among many others, including the one coined by the man at the table’s other end: Drifter.

 

The Survivor’s chair is tilted back, his feet resting on the table, the edges of his mist cloak just brushing the floor. He holds a pastry in one scarred hand and the other bent behind his head. Blond hair falls about his face, half obscuring the spike impaling his right eye. The other is focused on his opponent, it’s sharpness belying his relaxed demeanor.

The Survivor counts barely above three centuries to his life, yet he has begun to acquire as many titles as the Wit has names. Survivor, Sovereign, Lord of the Mists, Lord of Scars, Thaidakar.

 

The last being the source of the present dispute.

 

The third member of the party, there to mediate, clears his throat. Frost’s appearance is that of a wizened old man. Appearances, of course, are entirely deceptive, for Frost is not a man. “We may begin,” he says now. “Who will speak first?”

 

The Survivor takes a bite from his pastry, chewing loudly. He smirks as he lightly inclines his head to his opponent.

 

The Wit refuses to be baited, plucking out a discordant, yet somehow harmonious, rhythm as he begins to speak. “Lord of Scars,” he says, his tone wry, “unless you want me coming over to slap you around - again - I‘d advise you to do the Cosmere a favor and stick to meddling on your own world. I’m certain they’ll be happy to worship you for it.”

 

The Survivor swallows, and smirks, a dangerous gleam in his hazel eye. “Tell me Drifter: ever considered taking your own advice? Because from where I’m sitting, it’s just the ash-pot calling the kettle black.”

 

”If I may,” Frost interrupts, knowing too well where this will likely lead, “perhaps neither of you should be interfering at all.”

For the first - and last - time in the history of the Cosmere, Hoid and Kelsier found themselves in complete agreement. The Dragon was obviously insane.

 

Hoid has no moral ground to tell ANYONE in the Cosmere not to interfere, even if other people (cough...Kell...cough) shouldn’t be.

Edited November 25, 2020 by Kingsdaughter613

[+Czernobog]

That was sublime. Thanks for sharing it!

[Kingsdaughter613 she/her]

On 11/27/2020 at 6:18 PM, Czernobog said:

That was sublime. Thanks for sharing it!

Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed!