A/N: In which I refuse to acknowledge Hilda/Hilbert as proper names. Because seriously—what the fuck, Nintendo?
Characters: White & N
Genre: Angst/alternate universe
Summary: In a different reality, White is the one who wants to rule the world.
After the final battle, he finds her inside the desert relics.
"Are you disappointed?"
White shuffles her legs and lets her heels drag across the sand. It's hot inside the ruins; she's buying time because she doesn't know what to say. Outside, Black is waiting, impatient, a small host of nervousness and thrill while he fights against White's personal guards.
"Why should I be disappointed?" she finally asks back. Her voice is small, meek, completely different from the confident young woman she needs to be. The relics are empty, but there are no poetic echoes, no beautiful or tragic noises. The stifling silence, however, is incredibly loud.
He doesn't want to say it. Despite his social awkwardness, N understands the basics, and it's declared as incredibly impolite to point out that her father has been using her and manipulating her just so he can wreak havoc and destruction across the land. He wishes it would be Black in here instead; Black and White share more than odd names. They complement each other better than N and White ever would, and it's strange how they can stare at each other and understand.
"We can help you," he says instead, trying to drive away from the pit they're reaching at. To her, words are deadlier than any poison. "Me and Black, we can help." He treads lightly, both in speech and in the sand. She's on the other side of a sandpit, black stilettos digging painfully into yellow, the ceremonial dress wrapped inside her tightened fist. She would look like a superstar, if not for the despair smudged in her eyes.
White turns away from him, sharp and edgy like sour poison: "I don't need any help." He begs to differ, but he isn't brazen and appropriately crass like Black, so he just watches her leave.