Chapter Text
Stil has seen a lot of weird things over the past decade, but he’ll easily admit that this takes the cake. Without a doubt. But maybe he’s personally biased.
“I’m awfully sorry,” apologizes the Not-Evariste, for what must be the fifth time. Stil should really stop calling him that in his head. “I didn’t mean to cause this much trouble.”
“Stop apologizing,” chides the Not-Angelique, with an affectionately reproachful look. “I’ve told you time and time again that any mistake a student makes is a reflection upon their teacher. All you’re doing is making me look bad.”
“Sorry, Master. Wait no, I mean-“
To be quite frank, he’s kind of getting a headache. Even though Stil logically knows these are not his pseudo-parents, there’s something so fundamentally jarring about seeing them like this, a playfully teasing Angelique and a hesitant, insecure Evariste. He can’t even remember the last time he’s seen his Angelique with anything other than a perpetual air of tiredness.
He wonders if his counterpart is still their joint-child in that world, if he’s even married to Gemma. Or maybe it’s Gemma who would be their daughter?
(…his headache is getting worse. Maybe it’s time to stop overthinking.)
“We’ll send a message to Angelique—our Angelique I mean—whenever she surfaces again,” Severin is saying, clearly unruffled by the visitors from a parallel world standing before him. Then again, he didn’t know Evariste prior to this, so he’s probably not nearly as perturbed as Stil. Lucky for him.“She’s gone off the map for the past few months in Mullberg, but she seemed perfectly fine during her last check-in via mirror.”
“Of course she is. She’s me.” The Not-Angelique’s eyes briefly flash blindingly quicksilver, and a wisp of spine-tingling power brushes past Stil, making the crossbow at the back of the room briefly rattle.
Ah. And there’s one of the most jarring differences right there, because Stil has never seen his Angelique display the kind of casual confidence—dare he say cockiness?—that this version is doing.
Even Severin blinks twice. “Right. My apologies, Lady Enchantress.”
“I assume Emerys-I mean Themerysaldi— is the elf king here?” Not-Angelique inquires, the implied too hovering unspoken in the air. At Severin’s nod, she continues. “It’s good to hear my counterpart is also close to him. Send a message to him as well.”
“Of course, Lady Enchantress.” If Severin feels any sign of disgruntlement at being ordered around like a common foot soldier, he doesn’t show it. “Although I hear he’s been busy celebrating his recent nuptials.”
“Emerys got married?!”
Stil stifles a snigger at Not-Angelique’s squawk of surprise, nearly missing Not-Evariste’s quiet ‘congratulations.’ This might be the most bizarre thing he’s ever seen, but it’s also quite entertaining.
It makes him miss his own Angel and Evar all the more.
“A few months ago, yes,” he cuts in. While he usually doesn’t mind being the center of attention (stop smirking, Gemma), it’s a little disconcerting having both of their gazes, eerily-familiar-but-not, focus on him. “From what you—my Angelique, I mean—said in our letters, she’s quite the woman.”
“Married.” Not-Angelique repeats once more, still in apparent disbelief. He sees Not-Evariste hiding a smile, and well, isn’t that familiar. “Next you’ll tell me that you’ve also gone and gotten married, Stil.”
“Well...you see...”
There’s a beat of silence in which Severin coughs awkwardly and Stil tries not to nervously fiddle with his wedding band.
“WHAT.”
“Congratulations again,” says Not-Evariste. He seems to have marginally relaxed, thankfully, and Stil can see a glimmer of the charm that his Evariste normally possessed, “I do apologize for my master. I don’t know what she’s like in your world, but Angel’s not exactly the biggest fan of romance in general.”
At that, Stil finally cracks a smile. “Believe me, I know.”