Chapter Text
That magicless potato came out of nowhere and caused quite a storm.
Perhaps potato is the wrong word.
Onion might fit better. Yes, the prefect is an onion.
Pulled from the ground the same way as a potato, to be sure. But an onion is much more versatile than a potato.
The first couple of weeks they were dirt covered and unremarkable. They appeared much like Epel in that regard. Not so... combatative, but seemingly wasting their own potential.
Rook had noticed something in the onion much earlier, and he is rarely wrong in his assessments of beauty. This is no exception.
This charming person is the same dirty prefect stumbling through the hallways?
Vil swipes through the photos of the prefect over and over. The dead eyed stare holding a can like a fish. Painting roses red and posing like they have blood on their hands. A blurry picture of them running off with a tart held above their head.
All at once they are a charming and well dressed person posing for the camera. Smiling wide and holding hands with a red faced Riddle. Happily playing croquet. Wearing the Heartslabyul dorm uniform with a heart drawn over their right eye. Helping Riddle fix his crown. Various pictures and videos depicting them learning the ridiculous rules. Borrowing the pajamas of the two potatoes that are always nearby. A sleeping prefect wrapped around an embarrassed Riddle. Makeup half done while sitting in Trey's lap. A fully dressed prefect slapping away the hands that fixed their hair.
And finally, the video of Silver carrying them up the stairs.
Nothing about them makes sense. A random non mage shows up looking raggedy and confused. They very quickly befriend several members of Heartslabyul. A few days after the rumors of Riddle overblotting die down, the housewarden has a very obvious crush on the prefect.
They went from a misplaced, but ordinary potato to an onion in a matter of weeks.
It's infuriating.
All this time, this effort put into Epel, just for a mundane person to do it better, faster, all by themself.
"Rook, what information do you have on the onion?" The fuming housewarden asks his hunter.
"Monsieur papillon has lived in the Land of Dawning for twenty years starting two weeks ago. There is little else, dèsolè, mon roi," Rook apologizes, yet looks giddy at such an elusive prey. "Comme c'est mystérieux. It reeks of meddling."
But who is meddling? Who benefits from this? The incompetent headmage? Perhaps. To cover up a mistake for the sake of his ego.
But why keep them around? Send them away with the dark mirror and wash your hands of it. And the monster? Put the poor thing down and move on.
It simply doesn't make sense.
"Pspspsps." Vil looks over to see the prefect halfway in a bush making a ridiculous noise.
"What are you doing?" the elegant housewarden asks. They jolt at the questioning and emerge from the bush.
They have to crane their neck to meet Vil's eye. "I saw one of the stay cats just now and wanted to pet her," they state. A stray cat?
"That's unwise, strays can have any number of diseases and parasites. Not even mentioning the risk of rabies." The prefect nods at each point.
"That's not a problem. I was already treated for rabies after I got in a fight with a raccoon, and now I'm all caught up on my vaccines. I'm actually hoping to get an animal handlers license so I can help immunize the local fauna," the prefect informs. They rummage around in their pockets for a second before taking out what looks like an uncooked piece of ravioli. "For now I try to spread these around wherever I see foxes and raccoons." They blink a few times. "This is an orally taken rabies vaccine for certain kinds of animals." They smile to themself and nod after the explanation.
The two students stare at each other in silence for a few moments. "You get back to that," Vil dismisses.
They nod once more before going back into the bush.
Somehow the prefect got themself a phone. The first post they make is with Idia and the robot he is often with. How?
Idia? The man most people have only interacted with through a floating tablet. How did this onion get into the bedroom of the most antisocial person on the entirety of Sage's Island?
"Rook."
"Oui, mon Roi?" the hunter inquires.
Vil sighs, "I don't know. Will you gather information for me? I can't help but wonder about the onion." They can act elegantly at a formal party to the standards of Riddle, and the same day dig around in the bushes looking for cats. They've befriended the extrovert Cater and the introvert Idia.
"I will do my best, Roi du Poison."
"What does le papillon de nuit do when no one else is around?" Rook perches on a tree branch with a clear view of his prey's kitchen. Their activity on Magicam suggests frequent late nights.
Doing what? That is what he is here to find out.
The prefect steps into view of the hunter. They shudder from head to toe and look around frantically before closing all of the curtains.
intéressant.
Perhaps a more... direct approach is more appropriate.
Knock knock knock~
The prefect opens the door after a few moments. "Uh, hello," they greet. "Do you need help?" That is an interesting follow up.
"Bonsoir~"
They slam the door in his face.
The shadow under the door goes back and forth a few times before stopping. The prefect opens the door again, slower this time. "Sorry, I got sca- uh you surprised me." Rook smiles at them. The prefect shudders. "Parlez-vous... uh... common?"
So his language quirks are not translated with magic. Very interesting.
"Oui. Forgive me, I was on a midnight stroll nearby and was curious why the prefect's lights were still on."
They open the door slightly more to lean on the doorframe. "I'm a bit of a night owl. Uh hibou de nuit?" It's cute how they are trying to speak like him. There is enough familiarity to say certain words and phrases, but not comfortably.
The prefect has been exposed often to the language of romance, but not to a degree to become fluent.
"Ah, a fellow creature of the night. Merveilleux!" Rook exclaims.
"Uh huh," they respond. "So, you're just taking a walk then?"
"Oui. Would you like to join me? To enjoy the night with such a beautiful companion- C'est magnifique!" the hunter exclaims.
The prefect furrows their brow. They tap their fingers against the doorframe. After a few more seconds of thought, they say, "Un moment, s'il vous plaît."
They close the door and seem to call someone. Rook listens closely against the door.
"So there's this guy with a blonde bob cut and a feathered hat at my door and he just invited me for a walk. Am I about to be murdered?" Ah. They are frightened. "Stop laughing. Fuck you, Ipad Kid!" Ipad Kid? Perhaps this is Roi de sa Chambre. "I'm serious. Ugh. Ok. It's kind of funny. Yeah, I'll keep my location on. No, Grim is asleep. I don't have a concealable weapon. Whatever. My funeral plans are in my notes app. Bye Astroboy."
Rook steps back once it seems like the prefect is coming to open the door again.
They emerge from the dilapidated manor and shrug on an oversized jacket. "Sorry, um... most people call me Moth, uh, what's your name?"
"I am Rook Hunt, le chasseur d'amour," he introduces himself with a bow.
"We can go on a walk if you still want to," Moth invites.
"I would be honored, Monsieur Papillon," Rook responds and offers his arm to his short companion. They squeeze his arm briefly before jolting and shaking their head. Oh?
The two are off.
The two make their way just past the mystery shop when Rook speaks up.
"You are staring at the sky. Transfixed by it's beauté?" The blonde asks.
The prefect hums before flicking his gaze to Rook briefly. "It's hard to see the stars where I'm from. Light pollution is a huge problem. So it's cool to see them so clearly."
"Monsieur papillon, where are you from?"
"Hm, it's more fun making people guess. The speculation is more satisfying than the answer," they chuckle. "Everyone has really interesting ideas about me. I just hope they don't get bored once they figure it out."
"There is more to a person than where they come from," Rook pauses, "you are not from the Land of Dawning."
"Hm, it's not fun if I just tell you, now is it?" They tease. The prefect releases his companion's arm.
Moth smiles wide at the hunter. And sings.
Sings a song about the night. About her velvet dress. The way she calls to creatures of the dark.
Oh, it is a beautiful song.
The way they sway to the beat only heard in that mysterious mind. Beauté!
Vil is in the middle of his morning skincare routine when Rook appears behind him. "Well, did you discover anything?"
"Oui. But I only have more questions," the hunter sighs dreamily. "They could feel my gaze."
Vil furrows his brow before remembering not to cause premature wrinkles. "What? I thought only certain beastmen could detect you, and that awful Leech."
"Oui, and now Monsieur Papillon. But do not fear, mon Roi. We took a walk and enjoyed the night together," he pauses for effect, "they are from a place you cannot see the stars."
"A city then. Did they mention anything else?" The housewarden asks.
"They know they are suspicious, and invite speculation. Because it is more fun than the truth. Comme c'est mystérieux."
That stumps Vil. The onion is purposely hiding the truth, for a game? Their own amusement?
"I frightened them, and they called Roi de sa Chambre. They sound close, but we know that from Magicam. He is Ipad Kid to them and Monsieur Marionette is Astroboy." Vil unlocks his phone to look up if they are references, but Rook puts a hand up to stop him. "These words, they have no meaning."
"So what am I to take from this? That we can't get any information about them? That we have to piece together whatever they graciously hand to us? Ridiculous," Vil huffs.
Rook rubs his chin in thought. "They sang to me." The taller blonde perks up. "It is a beautiful song. One I have not heard before."
"Did you look up the lyrics? Maybe it's local to their hometown. Even folk songs are often transcribed. You said they are failing music, they couldn't have written something that impresses you. It must exist somewhere."
"I can hear their voice so clearly, but I cannot repeat the words. I have tried to sing it aloud myself. They cannot be sung by my tongue," the hunter explains with a certain gravity. "It is like they refuse to be uttered by anyone other than Monsieur Papillon. I cannot even write them."
"You know that doesn't make any sense. I don't believe you would forget something like this so quickly. So why?" Vil asks while rubbing moisturizer into his skin. He chuckles darkly. "Why is this onion so mysterious?"
Rook sighs, "I wish to hunt them. Oh, but I frighten them so." He brings his hat down to rest over his heart. "They asked Roi de sa Chambre if I was going to kill them, and yet walked with me despite the fear! C'est magnifique! I wish to learn more. They are beautiful." He drops to the floor and rests his head against his queen's knee. "I wish to hear that song once more. Oh, Beautiful Vil! If you could have heard it!"
"I have to admit you have me curious." Vil brushes his hunter's bangs with his nails. "I sent you after the onion to learn their origins, and now we have more questions than answers and a song that cannot be sung."
"Now you understand the beauty of the hunt."
"Only because our quarry is so interesting, my hunter. Let us learn what makes them tick," the elegant man invites. "They want to play a game of truth and speculation? Against us? A foolish endeavor."
Vil cackles. His hunter enjoys seeing the fire lit because of the provocation. They will learn together what hides under each layer of onion.
Now, if only Epel would take his lessons seriously, they would have one less thing to worry about.