Twelfth Perigee's Eve - Equius

EQUIUS

Wish list:
D--> Any scrap metal you can come up with
D--> A better micro-solder gun
D--> Some new tools, any sort
D--> A bow I can't break

Time: 7:30 AM

Equius stepped out the door of his hive and stumbled over something buried in the two inches of snow that had accumulated on the doorstep. He'd already opened his packages; they had all contained tools. He'd messaged Nepeta 'Happy Perigee's Eve,' but she wasn't up yet.

He'd met his twelve gifts with a flood of mixed emotions. He was glad his friends – if he could even call them that – had cared enough to get him things, but he didn't think he deserved them. Ever since he'd let Nepeta down, he'd wondered every day why he had been resurrected. How worthless was he, that he couldn't even save his moirail from a half-insane thirteen-year-old clown?

He didn't know who the strongest one was anymore, but it certainly wasn't him.

Yet here he was, going outside to get a real behemoth leaving since no one had a lusus do to it for them anymore. Nepeta's request. It was a little late, but she'd appreciate it all the same. And then he fell over that stick.

He snatched it up angrily and was about to snap it in half, when he heard a soft, distinctive twang and saw that it wasn't just a stick. It was a bow.

And what a bow!

The thing he was holding was a longbow, almost taller than him. The smooth black wood curved into a perfect arc, turning up at the ends slightly, like a mischievous smile. The sides were elegantly inlaid with pearly stones cut into the shapes of majestic musclebeasts, intricately entwined vines, and flora and fauna from all over the planet. The string was a dull silver wire, gleaming softly at him. It was possibly the most beautiful object he had ever seen.

He guessed it had been learning up against the side of the hive but had then fallen over, which is why he had tripped over it. It didn't seem any the worse for wear for having been outside in the biting cold for a little while.

There was a note attached to it. He quickly snapped the string and read the small square of blue paper.

"Heeeeeeeey Equius,
Guess who this 8elonged to? Darkleeeeeeeer!!!!!!!! I never paid you 8ack for the ro8ot 8ody for Aradia, so consider our de8t to 8e null and void. Don't ever talk to me a8out it. There weren't any arrows with this thing anyway. Happy Perigee's Eve!
~Vriska ;;;;)"

Thanks, Vriska, another thing to break. Way to raise his self-esteem. Equius dropped the note into the snow.

He tentatively drew the string back a fraction of an inch, with all the force he'd use to screw in a particularly delicate metal plate or to pick Nepeta up. Then he let it go.

The bow let out another soft twang and the string snapped back into place. There was no sound of cracking and splintering wood, so he examined the bow again. It didn't look damaged in the slightest.

Equius stared at the thing he held in his hands, then pawed through the snow at his feat to re-read the note again. In a mess of scribbled loops – the eight Es – he found his ancestor's name.

Was it really possible that this was Darkleer's? Precious artefacts did seem to find their way into Vriska's hands remarkably easily. With growing hope, he decided to test it one more time. Not by dry-firing again – if this object was truly as precious as it seemed, he couldn't risk damaging it in a way as stupid as that. He pulled an arrow out of his sylladex. Not a very well crafted weapon, but it would certainly do the trick for this. Fitting it to the string, he picked the trunk of a nearby tree as a target.

He lifted the bow into place. He didn't want to break it, but he wanted to fire it so badly. He thought of the hundreds of bows he'd had before this one, the ones that had cracked and splintered and exploded apart in his hands.

Drawing back the string as far as it would go, he let the arrow fly. There was no crack, no snap, no explosion. All he heard was the soft twang. And a whump, as the arrow hit the tree and embedded itself up to the fletching.

The bow was completely undamaged.

Equius simply stared.

It was his, the bow was Darkleer's. There was no question of it. And he, Equius Zahhak, the world's worst archer, had just shot a bow and hit the target.

What a feeling.

He might have stood there forever with his mouth open had a little pile of snow not fallen off the roof and landed on his head. He realized that he was cold and had to get moving to warm up. And – oops – it was almost 8:00 and he had to go hunting.

Hunting?

He looked at the bow.

And smiled.