WAR | Timothée Chalamet

6 | Arthur Twist

Y/N

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I must have fallen asleep on the journey here.

My eyes fluttered open, welcomed by the same dark view. My skin was sweating under the humidity of the straw bag, and my head was banging with exhaustion. The rope was still scratching at my wrists, yet I awoke to find myself in a chair.

"Fifty pounds?" I heard a man scoff. His voice sounded like the one from the thin man I met a few hours ago. "Bringing her here took a lot more effort than fifty pounds."

"Fifty pounds is what we agreed upon."

I heard the thin man laugh threateningly, "I could always take business to the Frey."

A pause.

"Sixty pounds," the unfamiliar voice said, "that's it."

"Eighty pounds."

"Seventy, and that's final."

There was an exchange of money, followed by the slamming of a door. My heart beat fast as I heard footsteps approach where I was sitting, before coming to a stop in front of me. Holding my breath, I tried not to let them know I was awake. They circled the chair for a few moments, before whipping the bag off of my head.

My eyes stung at the bright lights around me, black sunspots appearing around my pupils.

"It's fine," the voice said, "they've left."

I blinked, waiting to come back to my senses. I was sitting in a kitchen of some sort, stew boiling over on a stove beside me. There was a beat up wooden table to my right, and an assortment of meat hanging above me on a string.

"Where am I?" I croaked out, my voice worn from yelling, "who are you?"

I felt someone tug at the ropes, letting my wrists go. Walking in front of me, I noticed that it was a man, a sympathetic look on his face. He had brown eyes, and brown hair, his nose a little crooked on the bridge.

"Arthur Twist," he said, "no one of importance."

"Then why did I hear you paying someone to kidnap me?"

"I wasn't the one paying," he shrugged, "but that's besides the point. You must be hungry, aren't you?"

Embarrassingly, my stomach growled at the implication of food. I hadn't eaten since this morning, and by the looks out the window, it was almost evening. I rubbed the red marks on my arms, swollen from being tied for hours. Arthur slid behind the table, slapping a loaf of bread in front of him.

"I'll make you a sandwich," he offered, "I'm sorry you had to be taken like that."

"I thought you weren't the one paying," I scoffed, tilting my head, "why am I here?"

"I don't know why, I just follow the orders given to me," he nodded, "I'm a cook not a diplomat."

"Am I in Valor?"

"Yes," he said, "and I'm afraid you won't be able to leave here until instructed."

"I have a family, you realize? If anyone from Frey finds out your people captured me, another war will break out."

"Another war would mean nothing," Arthur sighed, "it's second nature by now."

He grabbed a knife and dipped it into a jar of some yellow sauce. I wasn't sure what it was, but I had never seen anything like it in Lourdes. Standing up, I began to move around the kitchen, observing everything I could.