RWBY: A Lord's Tale

Chapter 2: Critical Hits and Cold Soda

There was a kind of peace in the low hum of twenty gaming PCs and the occasional slurp of instant ramen.

Quin leaned back in his chair, feet propped against the leg of the desk, Mordred now sitting smugly atop the tower beside him like some kind of foam mascot. The screen in front of him lit up with the post-match screen: 5th Place. Not a total disaster, but still a loss.

"Alright," he muttered, cracking open a lukewarm soda. "New rule. No more Cypher comps. I'm cursed."

Kaelen, two seats down and deep in a ranked Overwatch queue, didn't look up. "You said that yesterday about Golden Ox."

"I lied. Today's different. Today I have a plan." Quin clicked into his notes app, jotting down something that looked suspiciously like the exact comp he'd just failed with. "It's the execution that's the issue. Not the idea."

Kaelen snorted under his breath. "Yeah, sure. Maybe your execution should start with getting more than four hours of sleep."

Quin didn't answer right away. His eyes drifted to the café window, where the late afternoon light was starting to fade into that mellow orange glow that always made everything feel a little softer. A few middle schoolers ran past outside, laughing. Somewhere behind him, Chris's keyboard clicked away.

"It's not that bad," Quin said finally, cracking his knuckles. "Besides… If life had patch notes, sleep would've been nerfed by now."

"You're already nerfed." Kaelen instantly snapped back, his fingers clicking furiously on the head of a Mauga… the brutish tank refusing to die to his revolver shots.

Quin let the jab hang there, then nodded solemnly. "Fair. But I'm the kind of nerf that's still busted if you know how to build around it."

"Too bad you don't."

The kill feed confirmed Kaelen's frustrations

Eliminated by (Mauga) cheetoduster420

And with that, he groaned, yanking off his headset with the kind of energy that every gamer knew by heart… rage.

"Maybe you should try Cypher." Quin grinned.

Kaelen turned just enough to throw him a look.

Chris, from behind the counter, called out without looking up from his laptop, "No brawling unless it's in-game, boys. I just cleaned the floor."

"Love you too, Chris," Quin called back automatically.

"Get higher than fourth and I'll consider."

Quin chuckled, leaning back again in his chair, eyes drifting lazily to the screen- then past it, just for a second.

Outside, the sky had shifted. That golden hour glow had faded into dusky gray, and for a reason he couldn't quite name, something about it felt… still. Too still.

He blinked. Then shook it off.

Back to the build. Back to the game.

He'd finish this comp. He was close.

This time, maybe it'd finally click.

…

Eventually, he did manage a third place-

But let's be honest, it was nothing short of divine intervention.

He'd been angling for a Zed carry all game, desperately clawing together items and praying the carousel would stop screwing him, when the game had practically gifted him 6 dravens. Back to back. As if the game had grown tired of watching him flail and handed him a pity win.

"Third," Quin muttered, slumped in his chair like a guy who'd just barely outrun a bear. "Pure skill, clearly."

Kaelen leaned over just enough to squint at the screen. "You didn't even have Draven items."

"I improvised. It's called adaptability."

"You shoved a Giant Slayer and an Adaptive Helm on him and hoped for the best."

"And it worked."

Kaelen just shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're like a cockroach with bad RNG. Impossible to kill, even harder to watch."

Quin raised his cola in a mock toast. "To my enduring mediocrity."

Outside, the sky had deepened into that soft, moody blue of early evening. Streetlamps blinked to life. The world was shifting- quietly, patiently -toward something else.

But inside the café, everything still felt safe. Warm monitors, snack wrappers, the low hum of machines and friendships forged over lag spikes.

Quin let his chair tip back on two legs, phone loose in his hand as the victory screen dimmed. His thumb brushed the lock button, lighting up the display- the lockscreen of Lancelot appearing, and on it.

[3 missed messages.]

He blinked at them, jaw working slightly as he chewed on the corner of his nail.

They weren't from anyone urgent. At least, not technically urgent.

[Mum]: Hey, did you eat yet? Text me when you're heading home.

Another from an unknown number- probably one of those group projects that never died even after the grade was posted.

And the last, a tiny red exclamation bubble from Kaelen's alt Discord account:

[kae2.exe]: bring back snacks or ur banned

Quin snorted, tapping through the messages without really reading them. He'd ignored them earlier- figured they weren't important, figured he could always answer later. But if he didn't at least pretend to acknowledge them, he'd just be adding another page to the ever-growing epic saga that was The List of Lectures.

He typed a lazy "on my way soon" to his mom and locked the screen again.

The phone sat quiet in his hand after that. No buzz. No alerts. Just… stillness.

He stared at the dark screen for a moment longer, thumb hovering.

Then, almost on reflex, he hit the button again- just to check.

77%.

Huh. Lucky number.

Quin smiled faintly, letting the screen go dark as he slipped his phone back into his pocket before settling back into his chair. After hours hunched over the keyboard, his muscles protested in quiet rebellion. He slowly stood up, reaching his arms overhead and arching backward, feeling a satisfying crack as his spine stretched and joints popped in release.

"Ahh, now that's a good stretch- hey, don't judge," he muttered, glancing down at Mordred, who sat perched on the desk, her embroidered smirk somehow unmistakably disapproving. Quin chuckled softly, ruffling the plushie's fabric hair. "I know, I know- posture's a mess. I'm working on it."

With a last shake of his shoulders, he slid back into the chair, fingers cracking as they flexed. The glow of the monitors welcomed him back, and for a little while longer, he was ready to dive back into the game.

The rest of Quin's games blurred into a repetitive cycle—attempts at new comps, desperate pivots, and the steady drip of losses that felt more like routine than setback. Each defeat chipped away at his patience, but still, he kept playing, chasing that elusive win that seemed just out of reach.

The café's warm glow dimmed as evening deepened outside, and the steady murmur of gamers began to thin. Chairs scraped as players packed up, bidding quiet goodbyes to the small refuge that had carried them through another day.

Quin finally leaned back, exhaustion settling into his bones. The clock above the counter ticked steadily toward closing time. He glanced at the fading light outside and sighed, realizing it was probably time to call it a night.

With a slow stretch and a final glance at the darkened screens, Quin stood and grabbed his jacket. It was time to go home… and for that, he needed some road snacks or that long drive with his parents would be downright dreadful.

He headed toward the counter where a modest array of chips, candy bars, and sodas awaited. His fingers brushed over familiar brands as he selected a couple of bags- some trail mix and a bag of chips- as well as some water to wash them down.

Just as he reached for his wallet, Kaelen sidled up behind him with a sly grin, swiftly snaking a small bag of trail mix from his pile. Quin caught the move and gave him a glare.

Kaelen shrugged, munching by the handful. "You were too slow."

Quin laughed, shaking his head as he paid and grabbed the snacks. With the evening air waiting just outside, he slipped his hands into his pockets, snacks in tow, and stepped out into the cooling night… before running back in, and snatching a certain plushy by the arm before cooly walking back out

1371 Words