Young Writers Society

The year is 1867; the place, Paris, France. The prince is the soon-to-be draconian member of a royal family, Prince Nendros Axel Xenon, a rather good-looking and even-tempered fellow who could use a friend or two, for at the moment he has a grand total of zero. The thief is a considerably less personable, a pickpocket and mercenary who's scrappier than a street rat and wilier than a fox.

It's not the match either of them expected nor even wished for, but it's the one that fate bestowed upon them and that neither one can say no to.



Candlelight flickered in the dim tavern, petite spires of smoke twisting towards the ceiling. It was a place that could only be described as dingy: from its creaking oaken floorboards to its uneven stools, it was the absolute image of a dive bar. Downtown Paris wasn't the worst place to be, in a dingy bar or otherwise, and it was certainly better than Berlin or Italy, but that didn't mean Engel liked it. Quite the opposite, in fact; he found it wholly distasteful and largely unentertaining.

He was there for a single, exceedingly simple, reason: it offered alcohol. The young man sat in the far corner of the pub with a large mug of beer cradled in his fingers. The look in his icy eyes was one filled with defiance to hide the truth of his shattered heart and haunted mind, and the way he scanned the room all but dared any man to pick a fight. The numerous scars on his face and arms told the tale of many such circumstances despite his relatively short, skinny stature--the boy was every bit as scrappy as he was scrawny.

He sighed, staring into the murky liquid of his beverage before tipping his head back and chugging half of it in a single go in some hope of it drowning what was left of his heart in liberal amounts of alcohol. No sooner had the mug hit the table, however, than he caught a flicker of color out of the corner of his eye and turned to see a strange man dressed all in blue, like some sort of rich merchant, but the style was horrendously outdated.

Engel blinked in surprise, looking the young man over. Had he even been there a moment ago...?!

He had never liked his family's social events. When Az was there, he had tolerated them - they had made for a great story afterwards, and she always had such a bright-eyed look to her eyes when they schemed of how she would fit when she was someday his knight. But without her enthusiasm and plethora of ideas, the many balls and parties had lost their appeal.

He maybe have been the prince - and therefore the heir to the throne - but he wasn't the one they wanted to see. It was his parents who piqued interest; they held the alliances and were the adults. He was just barely one at the age of nineteen.

So when he had been thoroughly forgotten, Nen slipped into the nearby hallway and made a beeline for the library. Leaving the premise was impossible right now, but he could retreat to his sanctuary among the shelves.

He was just opening the door when the world around suddenly shifted, jerking him from the familiar castle to a place that looked completely new. It was like the tavern he and Az had once regularly snuck into, but the architecture and clothing were all wrong. Even the noises and smells were off - he couldn't exactly place how, but he just knew.

He could feel people's gazes on him. Bile rose in his throat, and color rose to his cheeks. He looked around the room - searching for some sort of exit - but then he caught the gaze of man sitting at a table only a short distance away.

He wasn't terrifying in terms of his muscles, but his scars suggested some kind of experience with battle. Nen moved a shaking hand to the sword that hung uselessly at his side. He knew how to use it, but it wasn’t like he could muster the courage to - he couldn't even stand the site.

He took a deep, unsteady breath.

"Hello?" he called out, voice wavering near the end.

The vast majority of the people within the tavern turned around, assuming he was some hallucination brought on by alcohol or absinthe, but Engel wasn't quite so keen on that assumption. He wasn't as drunk as he'd hoped to be by now--and he wasn't really sure why, but his tolerance seemed to have been vastly improved somehow, just like his healing ability and his senses--and he certainly wasn't drunk enough to be seeing things.

So, instead of dismissing the strangely-dressed, very confused fellow, he looked the man over and answered him. "Hallo," he replied, gesturing to a stool next to him for the bizarre figure to join him.

He stared at the stool for a moment, trying to resist the incredibly strong urge to dart off towards the exit. It was difficult, but he finally convinced himself to do as requested.

Each footstep felt forced and unnatural; this wasn’t how he had wanted his evening to go. His mind traveled back to the library he had been about to enter - why couldn’t he have just stayed there?

And where was he?

He sat down on the stool, his posture stiff as one hand rested on his lap and the other remained on his sword.

"You got a name?" Engel asked, peering at him over his mug. He'd half a mind to leave the strange man grasping at straws but in all honesty a part of him just wanted a distraction, even if it came in an odd form with an odd person at an odd time. He wasn't afraid of potential danger despite the sword. He just wanted to forget, and right now, alcohol wasn't doing the trick.

He nervously stared at the boy - he couldn't have been older than him - sitting across the table before mustering a nod. He didn't know how this boy hadn’t recognized him yet, but he guessed some of that could be blamed on the way he had arrived.

"I'm Prince Nendros," he finally said, his voice quiet and hesitant. "Nendros Exel Xenon. But, um..."

He shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

"You don't have to, you know..."

Prince? He snorted in laughter. France had a president now, and even though it was its first, it didn't leave room for "princes." Even if it did, he'd recognize the name of one, he was sure.

"Prince, huh?" he asked, looking the other boy over. He certainly wasn't getting any more normal. "Well, Prince Nendros whatever whatever, what the hell is 'royalty' like you doin' in a shitty ass dive like this?"

He blinked.

Two startling things occurred to him: the boy didn't recognize his name, and didn't even believe that he was a prince. That did explain the rudeness - most people were incredibly formal around royalty - but he couldn't help but feel a jolt of relief when he realized this boy wasn't intimidated by him.

"I don't know," he replied. "I was about to walk into the library when I suddenly found myself standing in here."

He glanced around.

"...And this place isn't bad," he said. "It's a little...out of order, but it's...nice."

A...library? He could read? The surprise at that particular fact was paled in comparison to the incredulous look on the tipsy German boy's face when Nendros informed him he'd somehow appeared. That simply wasn't possible.

"You sure you didn't have somethin' t' drink before you came?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"I didn't," he assured the boy. He had, technically, but it was only a little sip. The question being asked was really if he was drunk or not, and he most definitely wasn't.

He let out a sigh, nervously running his fingers through his black hair as he rested his elbows on the table. "I know that things like this aren't really supposed to happen anymore, but I must have upset a wizard or...something. And whoever I upset must have sent me here for a reason, but I don't know what that reason even is..."

He raised his head.

"Not that you would care," he realized, a hopeless tone seeping into his voice. He glanced down at what he had on him. Formal wear and a sword he could barely use. Great. People were bound to give him wide berth even if they didn't know who he was, and he really didn't want to think about what they'd do if they did.

He got to his feet.

"I'm just going to go now," he awkwardly said, scanning the room for the door. When he found it, he immediately started heading towards it. "It was nice talking to you, even though you never told me your name."

"Hey, wait," Engel protested. He wasn't sure who this guy was, or what he wanted, or where he was from, or what he'd been drinking, but he was better company than most and he was unlikely to be a danger. Besides, if worst came to worst, he was bound to have some money on him if his silk clothes and sword were anything to judge by. "Where you even gonna go? I bet ya won't last the night without gettin' robbed w' clothes like that, 'n I bet you don't know how to use that sword right. You don't look like a swordsmen. Not enough scars. Anyways, yer better off w' me even if I am a wee bit tipsy than alone--people won't bother ya so much, 'n if they do..." his voice trailed off and he flashed a wolfish smile, his eyes glinting with a roguish charm that had surely gotten him his way with the ladies countless times in the past.

He faltered at the door.

The boy was voicing the concerns he had already been thinking, and was offering the perfect solution - by sticking with him, he could navigate wherever he was, and probably find a way back to the kingdom. Something told him he was outside of it; if he was in it, the boy would have recognized his name the moment he started to say it.

"You would help me?" Nen asked.

(He tried to ignore how his heart melted at the combination of the smile and the glint in his eyes.)

He shrugged. "I won't kill ya, 'n I don' like people not takin' me seriously. If I'm w' you 'n someone messes with ya, that's a sign of disrespect t' me, too. 'sides, ain't like I've got anythin' better to be doin'. Name's Engel, by the way."

The boy extended his hand with a small smile.

"I like your name," he said, removing his hand from the hilt of his sword and shaking Engel's name. He had never heard the name before, but it had a nice ring to it.

Suddenly overcome by the urge to treat this like an actual friendship - and slightly motivated by what he was quickly realizing was a crush - he said, "You can call me Nen, if you want."

There was a pause.

"...That's what my friends call me," he said, even though it had been a very, very long time since he had called someone a friend.

He withdrew his hand and looked around the tavern.

"So what are we going to do now?" he asked.

"Well, first, I'm going to finish my drink," he replied. "Then I'm going to find my fox, because she probably wandered off. After that..." Engel shrugged. "Maybe someone will pick a fight or something and we'll get to have some fun." The boy grinned a little wolfishly at the thought, raising his mug and taking a long swig.