Nimona Oneshots - Tales of Two Knights and their Daughter

Wooden Table

Background: Ambrosius is waiting for Ballister at the cafe when he has a little chat with an old lady.

 His hand tapped on the old wooden table. He liked it. He likes the cracks and crevices, He liked the darkened shine of its glossy surface. It was battered and rough, nothing like the fancy gleaming tables of The Institute. But he liked that. Maybe one day he could settle down and have a battered old table. Maybe, if he wasn't the descendant of Gloreth. He could live in a cozy house. But alas, he was destined for a life of polish and posh.

The cloak he wore gave off little heat in the cold bar. He felt out of his skin, having left his shiny gold armor in his room. His sweatshirt he wore was old, but he kept it still for it was the only thing that linked his current self to his life back then.

Before I cut off Ballister's arm.

Before I betrayed him.

There was a shuffle beside him. He looked up, overjoyed that Ballister had indeed come to talk. But alas, it was a waitress. His eyes turned down with his head and he crapped himself ever close to the corner of his bench, pressing his body against the wall and leaning his head onto it with a sigh.

"You waiting for someone boy?"

Ambrosius flinched, lunging up to look at the speaker. It was a grizzled old lady, with hair like wire-y coils and glasses like dew drops. She was hunched over from age, her face with its own deep wrinkles and stories.

"Umm, yes. My friend. We got into... a fight."

"Ahh, a lover's quarrel."

"W-What?"

The woman shook her head gravely. "I see it all the time. Oh, they all denied it."

Ambrosius turned away. "I don't think he likes me in that way- at least... not anymore."

The woman studied him for a minute. Ambrosius looked over at her and then back down at the table, too afraid to hear her response. "You'd be surprised. There was a fellow that came here not too long ago. He told me the same thing. Said his 'friend' could never love him back. Said that there was some misunderstanding, something about duty over love." She said with a wave.

He chose The Director, his people, and his purpose over Ballister.

Ambrosius looked up, surprised. "He did?"

"Mhm," the woman nodded, "All gloomy. He was so sad and kept starin' at his arm like it was gonna jump out and kill him!"

"What- What did he look like?"

The woman huffed, "Now he was wearing a cloak like you are, and my eyesight is not as keen as it used to be but I remember he had black hair, brown eyes, pale skin, and a weird scar over his eye-"

Ambrosius's heart dropped. He couldn't feel it. He couldn't hear his breath or see the lights. It was like the world, his world had shut down.

Ballister had been here, alone and cold and sad.

And it was all Ambrosius's fault.

"-and he told me about his man so to speak." The ancient woman continued. "Said he's a golden boy and all. Comes from a posh family and they could never be together. Now when I heard that I about hit him upside the head! Ridiculous talk I tell you-"

"Hey, Ambrosius! Golden Boy!" Yelled a much younger Ballister. "Come here!"

"I-" He wanted to stand up, to do or say something but his knees were weak. He couldn't move.

"Oh! Would you look at that! My food is ready! It's been a lovely chat young man, I hope you resolve any issues you're having!" The lady waddled off with a wave, leaving Ambrosius in a state of- he couldn't quite tell.

Was it panic? Yes.

Was it anger? At himself.

Was it numbness? Of course.

He was trained to be a knight after all, not so much focusing on his emotions.

He crossed his arms and laid his head down, using his cruel, destructive arms to shield his ears and cover his eyes.

So of course, he missed the footsteps stopping at his table.

He missed the man sliding into the seat across from him.

Ambrosius didn't know when, but he started to cry. He let the tears run streaks down his face and away from the bags that clung below his eyes. He let the other person, whoever they were, run their hands through his oily hair. He let their boot tap on his own boot which had been covered in dust from running around the city.

He was sinking and there was no way he could swim up and-

"Breath Ambrosius."

He couldn't breathe.

"Focus on me, can you hear me?"

He could just barely nod.

"Good, just listen to my voice." The stranger, a man chimed in a small part of him, and he let out a shaky breath. "I met a kid, she's kinda like you. She likes to draw, and abbirt very gruesome things. She's allergic to olives like you are. She's bold like you too, and very bad at monopoly. You always said it takes skill to play that game, yet both of you are some of the smartest people I know. Sometimes I think I'm just lucky."

Ambrosius's mind was muddled and tired, but he could feel the calluses on the man's palm and the way his voice cracked like an old wooden table under too much pressure.

"Her name is Nimona. I think that's a pretty name. She's back at home right now, I left her asleep on the TV. I think I might adopt her, she has no family. She reminds me of myself in that way, before I met you. I was- lost. Confused. Tired and- and hungry. And yet, even then, you welcomed me with open arms. Kindness no one has ever shown a freak like me."

"You're not a freak," Ambrosius mumbled. He swiped away his tears and looked up. "Bal?"

"Hey, Am."