Ink & Ashes // Arcane Fanfiction Viktor x Reader

11

It wasn't until two days later, on the day you and Viktor were supposed to meet, that you realised neither of you had agreed upon a time. He had said midday, but the phrase was very broad. What was the middle of the day for a man that probably never slept?

You settled for arriving at twelve. When you reached the little nook on the edge of the wall, you found yourself alone. Had he come early and already left, thinking you had forgotten? Were you early, and he wouldn't be here for the next two hours?

It turned out the latter was the more correct of your worried theories. After half an hour of impatient fidgeting (you hadn't brought your sketchbook - partially because you had forgotten, and partially because you were scared to lose it again), your ears pricked at the familiar sound of a walking stick against stone.

"Hello," you greeted as Viktor came to sit on the ledge opposite you, setting his cane beside him.

"My apologies for being late," he said. "I was held behind at a meeting. I hope you haven't been waiting long?"

"No," you lied politely, hoping you didn't look as windswept as you felt. "Just a few minutes."

"Good. Cold, isn't it?" he remarked as he unpacked his things from various pockets in his clothing. A notepad from his trousers. A pen from his lapel. An official-looking sheet with an official-looking seal at the top from the inside of his waistcoat.

"Very," you agreed.

Your hands, though stuffed firmly into your pockets, were numb and icy. In a matter of weeks the weather had gone from balmy to baltic, as if nature had completely forgotten about autumn and jumped straight into winter.

"If you could just sign your name here," Viktor said, passing you the pen

"Okay. Can I start with the questions?"

"Sure."

The questions were simple and predictable - and a bit obvious. Though they started off relatively basic, they quickly grew somewhat ridiculous. You were surprised that the Academy required such stupidly specific knowledge to authorise projects.

After a while you grew bored of confirming the obvious; that no, you hadn't noticed a concerning amount of hair loss since your teleportation-incident; yes, you were pretty sure all your limbs were intact and operational.

"Have you experienced loss of or severely altered speech?" Viktor read out from the sheet.

Question thirty-eight, you counted. Or thirty-nine? You were getting tired.

"Yes," you replied flatly.

He gave you an odd look. "Really?"

You blinked slowly. "If I did, do you think I'd be able to answer?"

"Fair point." He frowned at the paper, eyes shifting rapidly as they skimmed across the words. "I've never had to fill out one of these forms before. I didn't realise these questions were so..."

"Unnecessarily eccentric?"

"I was going to say specific, but yes," he said, squinting at the paper. "Do you want me to answer the rest assuming you're okay?"

"If you don't mind, please."

As he scribbled and ticked and crossed at the rest of the sheet, you averted your gaze to the view. In a matter of only fifteen minutes or so, a foreboding line of dense cloud had gathered on the horizon. It was the sort that seemed to absorb the sunlight itself. The sort that promised rain.

The world had reached its stage in the year in which everything, no matter its vibrant, had a miserable undertone of grey. Perhaps it was your eyes, or the smoke sputtered from the many chimneys that dotted the rooftops, but even the gentle creams and porcelain shades of the houses seemed duller and closer to tones of ash.