Work Text:
The war room is dimly lit by tallow candles, low and soft the smell of candlesmoke wreathed across rough parchments lined and dotted with measurements and pins. Atop it is your weapon, Breidablik, and all around you are the nobles of Askr. You are about to get a talking to the likes of which you’re still not entirely used to.
Anna leans on the table with a brow furrowed. She studies the weapon and the map below it with the calculus of a commander, slow and even breaths leaning into a sigh.
“Summoner, I’ve brought you here to speak of your skill in battle.”
You swallow, however unconsciously, but the sensation of simply standing before an actual flesh-and-blood tactician is nothing short of unnerving - and this time she’s mentioning your blatantly lacklustre combat skills. She’s tense, she trains a red eye on you.
“It's more about security, really.” Alfonse juts in. “You’re fine in battle, you’ve really improved, but we can't afford for Breidablik to get into the hands of the enemy.”
“They can’t use it though.” Sharena questioned, her quirked brow lit by the flickering candlelight.
“If we don’t have it, we can’t summon.” Anna added. “That’s a problem of man-power, among other things.”
She shakes her head of the thought, Alfonse speaks up before the depression can set in.
“We’re not saying that you’re incapable, even if you were a master of that… thing, it's too risky to take it out of Askr.” Alfonse puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes it. “So… we got you something else.”
You perk up a little at this, your possessions in this world were few and far between, so gifts had an entirely new weight to them. Sharena pulled something oblong and light out of a crate of parchment, bundled in cloth but you knew its content.
She lays it on the wartable with a smile, unfurling the cloth one corner at a time to reveal a sheathed sword with a real wooden scabbard.
You must’ve smiled, since a light chuckle swings around the table.
“Um… thank you, wow.” You say, pulling the weapon into your hands “I… never thought I’d have one of these, much less use it.”
Bwugh. Is that how you talk now? You suppose it's how you’re acclimatizing to all this.
Still, you unclasp its fasten to draw the blade an inch, finding yourself stunned by its colour. Copper. Pure absolute copper, glossy and rich it’d undoubtedly be worth a fortune back home.
“Whoa.” You murmur, drawing the blade out further.
The grip is black leather, balanced by a steel pommel - round and blunt, not like some of the more advanced weapons lying about, but it’s probably for your own good. You hold this blade in both hands. The weight of it on your palms, the scrape of its wicked edge on your skin, the way the amber light slipped across its smooth liver surface like the hide of a cavalier’s horse made it seem alive. Comfortingly so. A fitting partner.
It was beautiful.
“It’s nothing much, really, but… judging how you’re looking at it, it's something special to you.” Alfonse says.
“All legendary heroes have a special weapon, right?” Sharena chirrups, “So what do you say? What’s it called?”
You pause.
… Most cool names are commonplace here. It’s fantasy, right? You figure that the goal of any fantasy thing is to sound exotic, at least from the standpoint of your previous world. Anything good you think of might just be the ‘gerald’ of names here. It doesn’t help that even humble names like panne and frederick, or even horrible names like geese, lot, and berdo were knowingly taken.
You study the blade in your hands and realize that there’s but one other method that one could use to name things. It wasn’t oft used, nor was it commonplace to be on the other end of its use. Despite it all, you look Alfonse dead in the eye.
“Sprite Pepsi.” You reply.
“Sprite… Pepsi?” Alfonse echoes, confused. The nobles glance at one another, wide-eyed.
Sharena looks awestruck. “Wow… is that a word from your world? Is it a spell? Or a God? What does it mean?”
They are at the edges of their seats, eager to hear of the strange plane you hail from. Even Anna of all people seemed to be amused by this.
“It’s the name of two elixirs from my world, one dark and one light.” You explain. “Often found close to one another, but never mixed”
“What happens if you mix them?” Anna asks.
You frown at the thought.
“Bad things.” You reply. “I used to drink them quite a bit back where I’m from.”
To be fair, after unexpectedly going months without your favourite snacks, you’ve been thinking of them quite a bit. Nothing could really hit that sweet tooth as good as a cold, refreshing pepsi.
The table falls into contemplative silence, you sheathing your new blade again - thoughts clouded by the allure of pepsi past. Perhaps they were being a little too contemplative, though. Did they pick up on the pepsi reminiscing? It was a tad grim in here.
“Still, um… thank you for such a beautiful weapon.” You say, holding it close. “I’m just as terrible with them as you remember though, so…”
Alfonse’ face lights up with a real smile, his navy eyes glittering as he nudges your shoulder.
“We’ll get you in shape in no time.” He says. “I’ll get you someone to spar with. In fact, I think a sword class is starting soon in the training yard.”
“I’ll um, I’ll make you proud?” You reply with a laugh, much to Anna’s delight.
“Then it’s settled. You can use Breidablik around the castle and in training, but when in the field you’ll use Sprite Bepsee.” Anna states.
“Sprite Pepsi.” You correct, walking to the door and trying to clip the scabbard to your belt. It always looked so easy in the movies, but there’s like three of the damn straps and belt loops are apparently non-existent here.
Once you’re off to the training yard, the sound of your boots clapping on the stone flooring fading from earshot, a company of cackles breaks out among the royals.
“How do we tell them that it’s just a cheap training weapon?” Anna says. “They were really flattered, I think I actually feel bad…”
“I hope they aren’t too upset, everybody has one…” Alfonse hums.
“Still, It's interesting to learn more about the world they’re from. I wonder if this ‘pepsi’ ever got into the wrong hands… Their history must be so rich!” Sharena mused, leaning on the table. “I mean, it's a bit like naming a blade Naga Grima, right? Kind of weird.”
“They lost everything coming over here, at least let them hang onto their fairytales.” Anna returns.
They chattered about this turn of events as you reached the courtyard and promptly had your heart broken. It didn’t last long, though - hearing people mutter ‘sprite pepsi’ in the same hushed tones as very real and very vengeful gods was a gift that never stopped giving.
It was pretty radical to learn that basically every brand and turn of phrase from your world was the equivalent of sophisticated elven gibberish... perhaps the culture shock was something that could go both ways.