Chapter one: A Specs, a Booky, a Contacts, and a Campfire
It was late afternoon in Ylisse, and the sun was quickly making its way below the mountains, the sky illuminated a bright orange, and the clouds golden in the last of the day's light. Below the heavens' skies, an armed militia made camp for the evening, another hard day of training behind them. They designated duties amongst themselves - who was to cook, who would handle the equipment, who was responsible for laundry, who to father firewood, and so on and so forth - and they set about their signed tasks with the last of their vigor, each man and woman worn down from the exercise they had received not more than a few hours ago.
These were the Shepherds, the finest of Ylisse's good Samaritans, led by the country's own cherished prince, Chrom. Their duties were simple: protect Ylisse and her people from those who would seek to do them harm. Almost like a military, but everybody was a volunteer in the effort, rather than a drafted soldier.
...And unbeknownst to them, only a few feet away, was the trio of idiots this story is forced to recognize as the main protagonists, because their namesake is in the title.
Guess, uh... guess I have to talk about them now, huh? Uh, sure, yeah, okay. I'll just get right on that...
*ahem* Narrative voice, narrative voice...
They were all three men. Two wore glasses, while the third did not. That one wore contact lenses that turned his eyes green (they were actually blue, the lenses were yellow). He was also the only blondie in the otherwise brunette group, hair framing his face and kept out of his eyes, and he wore green, black and brown to his comrades' white, grey and blue. Where they also carried swords, he was the only one who chose a bow and daggers add his weapons of choice. And while his allies were calm and otherwise untroubled, he looked about cautiously every few seconds, as though he were struck by paranoia.
This was Contacts, the resident thief of the group. Though his skills in stealth, acrobatics and archery were nigh-peerless except for the best, his preferred occupation was reproachable, and he had the worst feeling that some form of authorities were closing on on him. (Which, in reality, they weren't - not on purpose, anyhow.)
To his left, trying to light a fire, was Specs, resident ex-mercenary and de facto leader of the group known as the Specs and Co. - for obvious reasons. His name was only the first thing about the group that one would see, after all. Specs was the longer-haired of the two brunettes, cropped professionally at the shoulder blades in the back while his bangs hung freely over his forehead, stopping just short of his eyebrows. He wore large, rectangular glasses, and one of the the aforementioned blue, grey and white outfits - specifically, he had none of the white, but wore a blue hauberk jazerant, tucked into grey trousers and covered by a thick, "Roman silver"-grey leather jerkin. His right shoulder was covered by a leather pauldron that strapped around his waist firmly. The trouser legs were tucked into leather boots, which were covered by heavy leather greaves. About his waist was a beautifully crafted, jewel-encrusted hand-and-a-half sword, known as his "Kewl Sward," a joking term that became an affectionate title.
This was not Specs' usual attire - he had brought it with him from his personal armory. Along with swords, Specs fancied himself an armor collector.
Sitting across from Specs, on Contacts' right, was Book Specs, the other brunette - his cropped shorter than both Specs and Contacts, not a buzz cut but also not the veritable hippie hair Specs had, though his bangs were still somewhat long in the front. Those were brushed neatly away from his eyes, giving him a sophisticated look. Adding to that look were the small, circular book-reading spectacles he wore. Book Specs wore a grey, long-sleeved tunic and a white, long-tailed tabard over it. A steel cuirass and faulds were worn over that. The tunic was tucked into silver-colored trousers, trouser legs tucked into heavy leather boots, and a blue longcoat with white, fur-trimmed shoulder cape was worn over it all. Though he wore a sword about his waist, Book Specs' preferred weapons were the long, ornately-designed staff in his right hand, and the powerful magic tome he carried under his left arm.
It went without saying that Book Specs was the mage of the group (former Archwizard, to be exact).
At first glance, the three appeared to be imposing warriors in their own right - and, to be fair, they were. However, they became far less imposing once one heard them speak...
"Why do I feel like someone just very lovingly described your guys' clothes, and I was the only one left vague?" Contacts asked, apparently aware of the narrator's actions. (Shit!)
"I didn't hear anything," Specs said, focusing intently on his flint and steel.
"Eh, could just be me hearing things again. Now, let's change the subject here, why are we building this fire again? Booky is right here, he can just throw a fireball at the pit for us." Contacts gestured at Book Specs for emphasis.
"Because it's good practice, knowing how to light a fire manually," Specs replied, striking the flint.
"...Don't you think you're doing that backwards?" Contacts asked, noticing that Specs was firing off sparks on himself.
"Ha! Please, this isn't my first time lighting a campfire! Of course I'm not doing it back-" Specs said, before accidentally setting himself on fire with the sparks.
The ex-mercenary's eyes shot open, and with a frightful yelp, he threw himself to the ground, quickly extinguishing the small flame before it did any real damage.
"...Okay, maybe I was doing it backwards," Specs conceded.
Book Specs shook his head disdainfully.
"No but really, Booky is right here, why don't we just let him do it?" Contacts suggested.
"No!" Specs declared stubbornly.
"Why the hell not?" Contacts demanded.
"Because I never had any mage lighting campfires fire me when I was a mercenary, damn it, and like I said, it's good practice!" Specs snapped.
"Yeah, neither did I; and I've had to camp out before when scouting jobs or avoiding the fuzz. Thieves aren't strictly city scum, you know," Contacts noted. "But that said, we now both have a readily available resource, why not let him do some fancy magic shit and make this easier on us?"
Book Specs' glasses clicked quietly against his nose as he adjusted them once.
"Oh come the fuck on! Now you're taking his side?!" Contacts exclaimed in annoyance.
Book Specs grimaced at Contacts and adjusted his glasses again.
"What do you mean you wouldn't do it even if we asked?!" Contacts demanded. There was no ready explanation as to how he and Specs were able to discern Book Specs' thoughts from his glasses-adjusting, but they both were quite proficient at it.
"Hey, magic is stressful to use, he probably doesn't want to wear himself out," Specs said.
Book Specs raised an eyebrow humorously and adjusted his glasses again.
"Oh, fireballs aren't that stressful? Well, then he probably just doesn't feel like it," Specs said, rectifying his statement.
And then he lit himself on fire again.
Contacts pinched the bridge of his nose and Booky hung his head as Specs again threw himself wildly to the ground, once more extinguishing the flame before it spread.
"You are so fucking depressing," Contacts groaned.
"Holy crap! I could have died!" Specs exclaimed.
"Yeah, and I would have let you die," Contacts scoffed.
"What?! How could you say that? I thought we were friends!" Specs gasped.
"In what damn universe have I ever once implied that we're friends?!" Contacts barked. (This was why the narrator was referring to them by every other word he could think of.)
"But we go on adventures together!" Specs said.
"So what? That's because my weak-ass little thief arms can't do a lot of the heavy lifting my jobs usually require! You're a means to an end!" Contacts shot back.
"But we shared mood rings!" Specs tried again.
"That... was probably because we were all drunk, because I honestly don't remember that. Although, it would go a long ways towards explaining why I wear this cheap-ass little mood ring all the time," Contacts remarked, looking at the red-colored ring on his left hand that was slowly turning green in the brief moment of calmness. "But the point is, we're not friends, never were friends, and will never be friends. Got me?"
Specs stared blankly at Contacts for a moment, but then said cheerfully, "Aw, I know you don't mean that."
"...Oh my God. I could not have possibly made the message anymore clear, and he still doesn't get it," Contacts said to Book Specs.
I've been trying to get the same message across about our relationship for years, now, Book Specs thought. If I haven't been successful, what the hell made him think that he'd have any better luck?
A bush nearby rustled, and set Contacts on edge.
"Someone's coming! The fuckin' cops found me! Shit!" Contacts continued whispering to himself as he quickly scaled the tree just over the small campsite.
Contrary to his claims, out of the bushes came none other than Lissa, Chrom's younger sister, who had been set to wood-gathering duty with Maribelle. The two chatted amongst themselves, but stopped short as they spotted Specs and Book Specs, who looked quietly back at them.
"Well, hi there! Didn't expect to see two lovely ladies out here in the-"
Specs accidentally struck the flint again while speaking and set himself ablaze a third time, startling Lissa and Maribelle. Book Specs slapped his forehead.
"WHY?!" Specs cried out as he once more threw himself to the ground.
"Ohmigosh! Are you alright?!" Lissa asked worriedly add she knelt by Specs and began checking him over.
"He's fine, he's pulled that shit three times now," Contacts said from his perch in the tree. "And don't mind me, I just felt like it was good tree-climbing weather."
"...Climbing trees? Really?" Maribelle sneered. "And at nightfall, no less. You're apt to fall and break your lowborn skull!"
"Hey, who you calling lowborn, bitch?!" Contacts snapped.
"I beg your pardon?!" Maribelle shouted back.
Book Specs adjusted his glasses.
"Yeah! What the mage said!" Contacts agreed.
"...But he didn't say anything," Lissa said.
"Actually, he kind of did. He said something to the effect of, 'let's everybody just calm down before we all start killing each other.' Not nearly as polite, mind," Specs explained. "Also, I'm good, don't worry. Thank goodness I thought to bring a jerkin!"
"What, and he couldn't have the decency to say it aloud?" Maribelle asked indignantly.
"Book Specs is of the mind that speaking to people is nothing but a waste of his voice because he considers us all beneath him," Specs explained again.
Maribelle's face lit up in offense as she turned her glare on Book Specs, who smirked back at her unflinchingly.
"Well, that's rude," Lissa muttered, frowning at Book Specs.
"Shit, we just met these girls, and we're already pissing them off! That must be a record or something," Contacts remarked to Specs down below.
"Well, pissing one of them off, at least," Specs clarified. "The other one seems mildly annoyed at worst."
"Yeah, that's what I meant," Contacts replied.
"...So, are you gonna come down from there?" Lissa asked, looking up at Contacts.
"Yeah, this tree branch isn't all that comfortable, honestly," the thief replied, swinging down from the branch and dropping to the ground.
A swift smack about the head from behind sent him off balance as Maribelle launched a surprise attack with her parasol.
"That is for insulting me, you cur!" Maribelle declared.
"Yeah, well I'm not apologizing. Especially not after that!" Contacts fired back.
The two glared viciously at each other, until Book Specs wandered over to Contacts and brutally dropped his staff onto the thief's skull.
"Gack!" Was all Contacts could manage as his knees buckled under him.
Book Specs then turned to a shocked Maribelle and raised his staff for another round.
"N-now, see here, you-!" Maribelle said defensively.
Book Specs cut her off with a much gentler, but no less point-making bonk.
"Oh!" Maribelle yelped.
"That's the nice part about Booky: he just wants everybody to get along!" Specs said happily.
Book Specs sighed and adjusted his glasses.
"He just wants everybody to shut the hell up!" Specs corrected, still smiling. "Which is kinda like wanting everybody to get along, I guess."
"So... who are you guys? And why are you out here? Like, you know we're camped out not far from here, don't you?" Lissa asked.
"Oh! Well, I'm Specs, the staff-guy is Booky-"
"Book Specs," Contacts groaned in clarification.
"-and the guy who just got his ass kicked is Contacts!" Specs finished.
"Pleasure to meet you, or it will be when my head stops hurting and my legs work again," Contacts coughed.
"I'm Lissa," Lissa said, shaking Specs' hand, "and this is Maribelle! She's my best friend."
"And quite unimpressed with Mr. Book Specs' little display of brutishness," Maribelle grumbled, rubbing her sore head.
"The hell you even complaining about, at least he didn't knock out your ability to stand up straight!" Contacts griped, sitting up gingerly so as to not aggravate his migraine.
"Well, Booky can come off a little bit... harsh at times, yeah," Specs said, gently rubbing dozens of similar bruises under his hair. "...But once you get to know him, he's actually a really cool guy!"
Book Specs adjusted his glasses with an appreciative expression at this comment.
The bushes rustled again, much louder this time, and the sounds of metal making contact with dirt repeatedly could be heard faintly, along with the din of a conversation. Whoever the newcomers were now, Specs was fairly certain they were heavily armored.
And Contacts was certain that he was legitimately doomed this time.
"-'s firewood all over the place, they should have come back by now. I mean, how hard is it to grab a bundle of friggin' sticks?" a gruff female voice wondered.
"I would like to believe that they simply got lost, myself, but in truth fear that they have run across danger. Be ready for a fight when we find them... if we find them," a stern male voice chimed in.
"Hey, I'm not the only one who sees something moving over there, am I?" The lady of the duo suddenly asked, clearly on alert.
About that moment, the owners of the two voices - Frederick and Sully - emerged from the brush into the opening of the small campsite, weapons ready just in case. When they saw Maribelle and Lissa standing calmly with the three Co. members, they relaxed somewhat.
Contacts, however...
"Oh shit! The fuzz found me for real this time!" The thief cried as he scrambled to his feet and back up the tree. He pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow defensively, shouting, "YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE, COPPAS!"
"...Really?" Specs asked to the thief in the tree, chuckling.
"I j- you- shut the fuck up! It sounded better in my head!" Contacts snapped.
"What's going on, here?" Frederick demanded, glaring at Specs.
"Well, hi there! Your lady-friends popped out of the bushes right into our little camp by mistake, I lit myself on fire by accident and scared Lissa, Maribelle argued a little bit, and we've just kinda been screwing around since then," Specs explained. "I'm Specs, that's Booky, and the guy who just fucked off up a tree is Contacts. He's a little bit jumpy, don't mind that."
...A little bit. That's an understatement.
Oh, shit, I'm still narrating. Uh...
*ahem*
"Is that all?" Sully asked rhetorically, the faintest smirk coming across her face.
"Miladies, are either of you hurt?" Frederick asked.
"Well, Maribelle got bonked on the head because she and Contacts wouldn't stop arguing and it was bothering Booky, but that's about the worst of it," Specs reported.
"Yes, but it was still painful," Maribelle added.
"So why's your buddy in the tree there freaking out so bad?" Sully asked, nodding at Contacts.
"Well, you see, he's a thief, and-" Specs replied.
"DON'T TELL HER THAT, YOU SHITWAD!" Contacts bellowed. "People knowing about me being a thief is the exact reason that I'm paranoid!"
"Wait, you're a thief?!" Maribelle exclaimed, her face paling at the realization.
"Could have fooled me, he sure didn't seem the part," Lissa remarked.
"Why the hell do you think I fucked off up a tree in the first place?! Of course I'm a thief!" Contacts exclaimed.
Sully chuckled at the screaming thief. "Well, your secret's out now, pal."
"Indeed. And knowing that you've been consorting with the princess of Ylisse and a fellow noblewoman, I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us," Frederick added, his face becoming stone-like.
"Nuh-uh! You'll have to get me fi-!" Contacts objected.
Sully, in the same second, brought her spear back over her shoulder and borked l hurled it at the tree branch where Contacts was sitting, startling him out of the tree and onto his back.
"Hey, no fair! Nobody said anything about spear-chucking!" Contacts complained.
"Oh, my bad. We can throw our spears. There, now you've been told," Sully replied sarcastically, grabbing Contacts by the arm and forcefully dragging him to his feet.
"...So, are Booky and I also under arrest, or...?" Specs inquired.
"You two are allies with this thief. I'd be foolish to let you leave," Frederick replied.
"Well, I guess that's fair," Specs decided, tossing his sword to the ground and surrendering. Booky followed suit quietly.
"Ugh. Why do all our adventures start with us getting in trouble with the law?" Contacts asked.
"Probably because you immediately steal something of great value. Or in this case, because you're bad at keeping a secret," Specs replied.
"I'M bad at keeping a secret?!" Contacts shouted.
The trio was taken away from their small camp, still arguing amongst themselves.
And in all that time, nobody lit that campfire.
Tragic.