Creative Challenge: Post 9

It had to be done.

“Nooo! Nooooo!” Arietta cried pitifully. It broke his heart, but it had to come out.

“Just hold still. I’ll do it quickly!” he said. It hurt him almost as much as it hurt her, but delaying it any longer would only make it worse.

“Nooo! Nooo, Papa, Nooo! Don’t!!”

Her little fingers covered her mouth, protecting her wiggly tooth, and the shiny adult one growing in under it crookedly.

It had to be done!

“Just…” he paused, then smiled. “Did I ever tell you the story of the Black and White Princess?”

Her eyes went wide, as they always did at the prospect of a story. Her hands stayed en guard, but she opened up a little bit.

“No. I don’t remember that one,” she said timidly. She crawled up on his knee, and sat watchfully, in case he tried to do something.

“Well...Long ago, there was the land of the Black, and the land of the White. The two got along together very well, until a prince from the White fell in love with a princess from the Black. The princess, however, did not love him back, and the two countries went to war for many years.

“One day, many generations later, the young Princess of the land of White, named Arianna-”

“That’s almost like my name!”

“Yes, so it is!” He laughed. “Well, one day, Arianna decided that enough was enough! She went on a secret journey, slipping away in the night, to cross the boarder and head to the land of the Black, to try and gain an audience with the King. However, she ran into someone on the way-”

“A witch?”

“No…”

“A monster?” Her hands came away from her face, eyes shining with wonder.

“No. It was the princess of the Black!” A little gasp escaped her mouth. “She had been doing the exact same thing: going to the other side to convince the kings to stop the wars.”

“They were very brave.”

“Yes. But the Black princess realized that, if they both disappeared, their fathers would think they had been kidnapped. So, they decided to switch, and pretend to be the other, so no alarm would be raised, and at the same time, tomorrow evening, tell each king what they had done. The princesses were both very beautiful and similar in appearance, except…”

“Except what?”

“Except that the princess of the land of Black had a tooth missing, just like your wiggly one. It had fallen out the night before.”

“But then they’d know! They’d see as soon as she smiled!” Arietta said in horror.

“They would! So the White princess had to be very brave. Her tooth was also wiggly, so the Black princess took her fingers like this…” he carefully inserted his fingers into Arietta’s mouth, who waited, unresisting, to hear the rest of the story, “…and pulled hard-” He pulled with a sharp tug. The tooth came without much resistance, and it took Arietta a moment to realize what had happened. Her tongue flicked to it immediately, and she stared at her father in awe.

“And then they matched!” he continued, not missing a beat, setting the tooth on a table. “So they switched places for one day, and then, when the time was right, told both the kings their plans. And the kings saw that, if their daughters and people were so concerned about the war, that it should be stopped. And they did! The princesses returned to their castles, but remained fast friends for the rest of their lives.”

Arietta’s face showed that she barely remembered the tooth. So pleased was she by the story that she clapped, and only realized that she was supposed to be upset once she caught a glimpse of the tooth on the table. She slid off his knee and went to go look at it.

“Thank you, Papa,” she said quietly. She smiled at him, now with one less tooth.

Creative Challenge: Post 8

Carol enjoyed playing practical jokes. It annoyed him, sure, but she was the damned cutest thing, and he wasn't going to let that stop him from flirting with her.

The first one had been hilarious, to be sure. She had hidden in the cubicles till after everyone else had gone home, then planted piles of, well...She was a dirtier girl than you might have expected, and the boss was none too please about having to get his carpet steam cleaned the next day. Nobody had expected her as the culprit; she confided to Rick secretly one day, bent over in his cubicle. Her little pink mouth had been so close to his ear, he had to stop himself from shivering and imagining what those lips might feel like on his, well…

He was a dirtier guy than you might have expected, too.

Some of the jokes were a little less than funny, though. She had planted a very convincing prosthetic of a bloody severed limb (head, foot, hand, etc) into everyone’s filing cabinets. Most thought it was a laugh, but Judy had freaked at hers, having come in late and missed the big joke. She fainted, knocked her head on her desk, and had to get seven stitches. After that, the company executive had sent out letters detailing that anyone found setting up, or having initiated, a joke in this manner would be suspended at the very least.

So the jokes were tamer after that. Desktops changed to immediately frightening images that turned out to be cheesy on further inspections, people’s memos switched around, things like that. A few more warnings got sent out, but no more serious threats. Rick thought these were cute, and she probably only did it because she was exceptionally smart and very bored; he could sympathize. But getting his memos tucked into other people’s boxes so he got things handed in late got irritating after a while. His solution was to flirt her into submission, take her home, have a great time, and then politely ask her to stop fucking with him.

But not literally. That part was okay.

So, one day, at the proverbial water cooler in their office (they had celebrated the purchase of an expresso machine), when no one else was around, he swooped in.

“Hey, Carol?”

“Hm?” she asked, smiling innocently. That’s one thing he loved about her; that cutesy, innocent smile that convinced you she could have done absolutely no wrong.

“I was wondering…” he leaned in closer, lightly touching her arm. “What would you say to you an I skippin’ out of this joint at 5 and gettin’ dinner together?”

“Like, on a date?” she asked, giggling. He returned her giggle with a chuckle of his own.

“Yeah, yeah, like a date,” he said. She turned to him, and, rather unexpectedly, started brushing her fingertips down his arms, so gentle it almost tickled. He glanced around; no one was paying any attention to them.

“I think I’d like that,” she said, caressing him. He felt giddy as her hands ran down the back of his neck, under his ponytail, down his…

Ponytail. Suddenly his head felt a lot lighter, and he was fairly certain it had nothing to do with his giddiness.

“But not looking like that of course,” she said, giggling, and withdrawing her hand to show a thick wad, several inches long, of his beautiful, shiny brown hair.

His mouth fell open. Now people were looking, and laughing. He felt his face redden as she leaned in; he wasn’t sure if it was with embarrassment or anger.

“Keep off, player, or next time I’ll cut off something that won’t grow back.”

She giggled venomously, and left him standing there. Carol did love playing practical jokes.

Creative Challenge: Post 7

He didn’t look anything like she expected. Somehow, she expected the deadliest man on Earth to be a little more...buff? But this skinny twenty-something in front of her was gangly, raggedy, and scruffy, like a tramp or a beaten street dog.

Or a lizard, she supposed. The rumor of his animal hybridity was something she hadn’t really believed in, and yet somehow, despite it being unimaginably true, that also turned out to be a disappointment. She had expected great wings, or fangs that went to his chin, or for his body to be completely covered in scales or hair. Instead, he looked like had jaundice, with yellow eyes and paler skin than she would have expected on someone from south of Mexico. His tail was kind of impressive, a big, snaky scaly thing coming out of his ass, but looked more like a hinderance than anything helpful.

“So?” he repeated. She shook her head to clear it, and put on her most convincing fake smile.

“So, Mr, uh…”

“Sal. Just Sal,” he said, lighting a cigarette. She coughed politely to try and get him to put it out (she never much liked smoke), but he just looked at her and puffed it anyway. Frowning, she shuffled her papers and glanced at them again.

“Well, Sal…” she paused. “I’m sorry, but you really don’t look like you-”

She felt the bullet race past her ear and hit the brick behind her. The little click and puff sound that had accompanied its exit from the barrel had been barely audible over the traffic of the street behind them. She felt herself utter a little involuntary scream and drop her papers; she hadn’t even seen him draw the weapon.

She watched as he fitted the cigarette lightly between his teeth and pick up the papers; the gun was gone again, holstered inside his long jacket. He rifled through them, raising his hand to his mouth to draw the toxic stick away, exhale, and replace it.

“Five million,” he said quietly. She blinked. “And I want a private plane, hotel room booked and paid for, and hooker money.”

“Sal, you can’t possib-”

“I do,” he said, thrusting the papers back into her arms; she quaked. “I do possibly mean it. I want five million dollars, a couple of good French whores, and I’ll get your double-trouble pair tagged out two days after I land. I want a return plane exactly eighteen hours I land the shots. You can feel free to bug me, GPS me, put cameras in my room, whatever to make sure I’m on track, but no surveillance.” He exhaled smoke again; she coughed.

“Nothing upfront?”

“Just the whores. I trust you.” He cocked an evil smile, and she noticed the shift in him: his leaned musculature that she had taken for lankiness, his hardened face, the yellow eyes that only held control, and bemusement.

They had planned to have him killed in an ‘accident’ after the assassination to keep him quiet. Clearly, this was impossible, and unnecessary; he had no interest in secrets. Just killing, and his money.

Creative Challenge: Post 6

This wasn’t where he wanted to be. His legs were really tired, and his feet hurt bad, and his sister was just acting so perfect, he wanted to pull her hair. Her tail was still, her ears flattened, and she walked diligently forward, holding their father’s hand.

“Why do we gotta walk so far to see nothing?” Taro asked unhappily, hopping on one foot as he tried to get a rock out from between his toes.

“You know why,” replied his father shortly. Arietta shot him a mean look, then turned back straight ahead. Grumpy, Taro continued onward.

“But I don’t get it. I don’t even remember-” he started to complain a few minutes later, and Ronin stopped. Taro stopped talking, and looked at him.

“I do. And you owe her this much,” he said in a low growl. The threat was real, he knew, so he stayed quiet until they got there.

It was outside a little house that he knew was theirs (not that they lived in it). The garden was gross, weeds everywhere, and bugs swarming around tomato plants long gone unpicked. Arietta recoiled from this a bit, and Taro sneered at her.

They moved around to the back of the house and out a little way, to the edge of the forest. Arietta knelt quietly by the pile of rocks that marked the empty grave of their missing mother, and their father followed. Taro took one look at the rocks, rolled his eyes, and headed off into the forest.

“Where do you think-” Arietta called after him, but Taro waved a hand to stop her.

“I wanna be by myself. I won’t go far,” he said. He expected his father to call after him too, but surprisingly, he stayed silent. Instead, the beating of wings followed him, and Kietaro was at his side. He landed, and walked like a dog next to him, eyeing him.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” he said reproachfully, but Kie just snorted and shook his head.

“You’re six, what are you going to do if a boar or outlaw comes for your hide, hm?” he asked.

“I’ll gut ‘em!” he said, and drew his little knife, slashing wildly at the trees. Kie just snorted again.

“Put it away, before you hurt me or something,” he said. Taro obeyed, but only because he wanted to.

“So, why do we gotta do this every year, anyway? She’s probably dead,” he asked, kicking a stone.

“It’s what people do when someone they love dies,” Kie said, perching on a rock in a sunbeam peaking through the canopy. “Sit down. This is far enough.”

“Yeah,” he said, flopping on the ground. He picked up a stick and drew circles in the dirt with it. “But I don’t even remember her, what she looked like, or anything. I woulda wanted to stay with Mai and Lycan and them. It’s more fun there. Aioru was gonna teach me how to do that Mi-whatsit dance thing with my knife.” He sighed heavily. “Father just gets so mopey this time of year, and it makes Arietta sad.” And me, he thought, but he didn’t say it. When his father got depressed, he didn’t like to tell stories, or play with them; instead, he liked sinking in dark corners with his thoughts, eating little and drinking too much.

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t handle it well. He really liked your mother,” Kietaro said.

“Tell me something about her,” he said. He was bored, and wanted a good reason why she was so great. Maybe Kie would tell him something other than ‘she was beautiful, kind, and loved you very much.’

“She…” he uncurled his head to look up in thought. “She was pretty, with all her cattyness, and stronger than she looked. She had a voice that would beat Ronin into submission with just a few words.”

“But he’s so tough! Was it like, magic words?”

“Nope, just threats. But she carried through on them. I remember once…Ah, but you’re a little small for that joke. Let me think.” He paused again, Taro blinking. “When they met, your father was stone drunk in the middle of a temple. She came in seeking help, and he tried to shoo her away. He gave in from her shouting and because she was pretty, and did the favor she wanted from him.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, to go slay this big evil bad guy that had done her some wrong,” he said. “She had gotten into some pretty serious stuff. But, your dad realized it would take a long time to track this guy down.”

“So he left?”

“No...He stayed. She was a fiery woman, and he liked that. She knew what she wanted, and she could fight for it if she had to. She wasn’t one to sit down and let things happen.”

“She sounds like a great warrior,” he said. Why had this never been mentioned?

“She liked peace more. After a while, they gave up on their great chase, and settled down. By then, your dad loved her very much, and they wanted to be together permanently. I was fine with this, cause your mom had a smokin’ hot dragon companion, which I-”

“Really? Both of them gave up? What wimps!”

“No, no. They realized it wasn’t important: vengeance was just taking over their lives. It was your mother that convinced your dad that the fight wasn’t important anymore. Besides, they could go kill him later, once they felt like it. But they wanted to have you, so they did.” He paused. “Then one day she vanished.”

Taro sat in silence for a while, pondering this. His mother before now had been faceless, just some maiden Finan who his dad had been taken with, not a proud warrior who had decided that making his sister and him was more important than fighting. He felt guilty that he hadn’t cared.

He stood up and bolted back the way he came. Kie followed him swiftly on foot, shifting to something more apt to running through the underbrush. He broke out of the forest to find that his father and sister had gone inside. He knelt, alone, at the pile of rocks with his eyes closed. He heard shuffling behind him a few minutes later, and peeked to see his father with a smile on his face kneeling next to him, curling his tail around his own.

“Sorry,” Taro said. Ronin nodded. “I didn’t know how brave she was.”

“I’m sorry too,” his father said, looking up at him. Taro shifted and looked back. “For being a bad father recently. And you’re right,” he said suddenly. His face showed signs of sadness, but the smile broke it. He ruffled Taro’s hair. “We don’t have to walk so far for nothing anymore. The place doesn’t matter. Just...think about her sometimes, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. Together, they got up and went back into the house, the stars shining above their heads. Taro looked up, and wondered if his mother still saw the same sky.

Creative Challenge: Post 5

The old woman looked at him and smiled. The disease had not been kind to her; her features were thing and pale, but still she smiled at the little boy who stood by her bedside, one frail hand stroking his thin teal hair. He sniffed, but did not look away from his aged grandmother on her deathbed. In the corner, his older brother Grey sat quietly watching the scene, a ghostly chaperone that tried to remain as removed from the situation as possible.

“Sorranaya,” she whispered; death was on her breath, and the little boy tried not to flinch from the smell. The disease had hurt her on the inside, Grey had explained. The woman’s smiling mouth parted again; half her teeth were missing, and her tongue slid around like a grayish-pink slug, slow and wet in the dark pink of her mouth. “Are you afraid?”

“Yes, Granny,” the little boy answered. He heard Grey shift uncomfortably behind him. “Yes, I am.”

“But not of poor old me?” she asked, hopefully. He shook his head, and then laid on the bed next to her, where she continued to stroke his hair gently.

“That’s right, I didn’t think so,” she chortled. The sound rattled in her lungs, and she sucked in a breath that might have been wind rustling through reeds. It almost tickled the ears. “Have you been keeping up with your studies? Do you have any more pictures to show me?”

“Yes, Granny,” said the boy, and he turned to fetch the drawing he’d made for her. Once retrieved from his bag, he turned back and handed it to her. Grey leaned in curiously to get a better look, but it was too far to see clearly.

“It’s a map of the land of the Ritophs,” he said, barely audibly, in her ear. She smiled affectionately, her chest rising and falling less and less distinguishably. He pressed on, “Where all great elementals go once their free of their bodies, and their energy is released back to the centre of Terrassia. Checkers told me.” He promised me, he thought.

The map was pretty, full of color like all children’s drawings, but it was also organized, ordered. Green hills ran through valleys and forests where happy wisps flew, and the elemental gods, represented so crudely and idealized, appeared all over the picture. Granny was in the centre, a wisp with long flowing white hair, and was playing with the boy’s favorite goddess, Arania of the skies.

“I think I’ll do just that,” she said, pointing at herself. “That looks rather nice, and not so hard to breathe in, being made of air. Do you think Arania is a nice lady?”

“The very nicest,” he said, smiling earnestly at her. “You two will be great friends.”

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then looked over his shoulder to nod at his brother. He heard Gray rise, and felt fingers on his shoulders gently prying him away. He lead him to the door, and he was no longer afraid for his grandmother, but happy instead.

“I’ll send you a breeze,” she chuckled. Then the door closed behind them, and Grey lead him home.

That was the last he heard from her in words, but two nights later, after she had finally passed, and he sat at the top of a tree in the courtyard, the little boy felt a tickling breeze stroke his hair as she had, and he smiled.

Creative Challenge: Post 4

I knew what I’d done as soon as the door closed.

My heart was beating fast, faster than was probably healthy. I took the stairs two at a time, tripped near the bottom, and landed in a heap of wings and limbs at the bottom. My robe was slipping from my shoulders, held on only by the button that joined the folds of fabric above my wings. My front was exposed; I hoped none of the inn’s patrons noticed me. The chains around my feet were heavy and constricting, and my bound hands made it difficult for me to right myself. I heard hearty guffaws from the men at a table to my right, and even the cry of scandal from a woman at the bar. The laughs cut short as one of the men noticed that my hands were bloody, and cried out, “He’s got a sword!”

Still struggling to get back on my feet, my bound wings flapped helplessly beside me. I finally used the wall to support myself, and held the sword that was as tall as I was in front of me, brandishing it. Some men were rising, drawing their own weapons, their ruddy faces alight with wonder of my exoticness, and adrenaline from the opportunity to gut me.

“Stay back!” I yelled. I was met with looks of confusion, and I realized I was speaking Draconan. I repeated myself in their language, and some edged off. The woman was screaming now; several had left the bar. Others had come inside to watch, attracted by the noise.

I was trapped. There were far too many of them. Even if I had the use of my hands and feet, I was weak, and had never been a good fighter. My weakness limited my magic; I could maybe spook them, blow a few down in a burst of wind, but that was it, and it would leave me more exhausted. I looked wildly about for an escape, but the door was ten feet away, the a throng of curious passerby pedestrians was concentrated there. My head was swimming; I realized again that my hands were slippery with blood, and my body ached from his usage. My tailed curled around my legs, the sharp, metallic point threatening those edging closer to me. My head swam; I felt myself growing faint.

“Step aside!” A voice suddenly called. The sea of people parted, and I saw my slaver standing there coldly, her copper hair glinting in the hearthlight, her red eyes glaring at me, flicking from my hands to my face. She moved towards me, and I readied myself again, but she slapped me hard, and I fell against the wall, losing my balance.

“Well, someone get upstairs to see if the gentleman’s still breathing!” she hollered, still facing me. My cheek stung, and I feebly tried to stab her, but she grabbed my wrist and hit it against the wall. I felt it sprain as she ripped the blade from my hand. People rushed past me to inspect the damage I’d done. The carried him down a few minutes later; Ryth pulled me from my corner and out of the way. The man was still breathing, of course; I’d never meant to harm him seriously. His head bled a little where the bowl had smashed and cut him, as they had cut my hands, but otherwise he was unharmed. They had covered him with a blanket for decency’s sake. Ryth looked down at me, seething.

“Is this how you treat paying customers?” She shrieked, and slapped me again.

“He was hurting me, ma’am,” I whimpered. “Bad.”

“I don’t give a balgath’s hide,” she said, so quietly that only he could hear. The venom in her voice was almost tastable. “And if you’d like to keep yours, you march right out to the caravan, and wait till I-”

“Excuse me,” said another voice, barely more audible than Ryth’s. She stopped, and turned.

“Yes, my lady?” she said, politely. I looked at the speaker. She was beautiful, with hair the color of candlelight and skin as white as wax, pale lips and gray-green eyes set above her high cheekbones. She wore a beaded gray gown, and sat alone in a corner of a room that I was unable to see from the stairwell. Horror rose in my chest; I knew her. I shook, and Ryth dug her nails so hard into my shoulder that it almost broke skin. I quieted, but continued to stare at the woman.

“I would like to be a…” she paused. The words flowed with unnatural smoothness from her mouth. “A paying customer.”

“Now?” my owner said, surprised. “After all this? Surely, you’d prefer a more-”

“No. I want him,” she said, nodding at me. Our eyes remained interlocked as Ryth shrugged and thrust me over to her. She caught me gently, never blinking, and stood, pulling my robe about me.

“He’s 30 cartys an hour,” she said. The woman nodded, and lead me quietly in front of her, up the stairs, and into an empty room. It took all my willpower not to scream as we ascended, and I felt the tears slide down my face as she locked the door quietly behind us.

I was tired. I was weak. I bowed my head in resignation. At least I would rest at last; hell wasn’t that bad, or so my Other Voice had told me. I might even go to the top, where the soulgrass was, and be consumed quickly by a terror there.

But, to my surprise, I felt the bindings falling away from my wings. I blinked and looked up in shock, and twitched them. They hadn’t opened for over a year, and they we stiff. They stretched, and knocked a bowl of the table. Retracting guiltily, I looked up into her face. Her eyes still gazed incessantly at me as she removed the bindings from my wrists, and then my ankles.

“But-” I said. The anger and fear was bubbling in my stomach, but the confusion overwhelmed it. “But I thought you were going to kill me?”

She said nothing. Something in her expression looked pained, almost angry, as if she was doing this against her better judgement. She went to touch my face, but I recoiled automatically. Her eyes lingered on me a moment longer. Then she went to the window, unfastened it, and opened it, letting the chill night air seep into the room. I stared at her, but all she did was turn and head to the door.

“Th…” I started to say, but couldn’t finish. This did not make up for the murders of everyone I ever knew. She paused at my syllable, as if to say something in response. Then she turned the lock, opened the door, and disappeared.

I ran to the window. I was starving and exhausted, but the tingling in my wings gave me strength enough to launch myself out. They beat furiously, almost having forgotten how to work, and took me up, up onto the rooftop of the next building. Even that small feat drained me, but I knew I had to get out.

“You can do this!” said the Other, so, taking his encouragement, I ran and leaped again, gliding between rooftops. I wondered how far I would have to go to be safe. And then, I didn’t care how far. I could never be far enough. I was free, and by the strangest fate. But I was free.

Creative Challenge: Post 3

It wasn’t as if anyone got hurt. Tomias always whined when he didn’t get his way; you’d think I’d beaten him bloody! If he didn’t stop crying, I would, too, to give him something to cry about!

“Kayla!” Mother cried, picking up my little brother and holding him to her chest. “Stop picking on him!”

“He started it!” I screamed, stomping out the door. “He spilled his juice all over my costume, and you know how gabilan berries stain!”

I slammed the door behind me, still wearing my once beautiful green dress, now with a giant purple stain all over the front. It dripped onto the ground, but I didn’t care. I needed to be out of that house, away from that screaming brat. Boo hoo, I broke his little toy horse and knight. I’d rather have broken him!

I stomped off so far, I was at the baker’s, so I stepped inside and took a pastry from the shelf. I devoured it, hungry from my rage, and batted my eyes when the owner came to collect his money. For a few whispered words and the promise of a ticket to see the show, he left me alone. Brooding, I looked out the window, and saw that it had begun to rain. My head sank miserably onto the table, my tongue poking out to pick up leftover crumbs. I lay there a while, until I was disturbed by someone sitting down across from me. I looked up and blinked.

“Can you not see this table is occupied?” I asked, angrily. She rolled her eyes and gestured around. Her skin was as dark as the stain on my dress, and her hair a deep violet. Her nails were painted bright pink, and she had laid a script on the table.

“All the other tables are full,” she said. “This was the only open chair left.”

I looked around. She was right; the rain had forced in many people off the streets, now enjoying treats and buns and hot kalah. I grumbled a bit in the back of my throat. She scoffed and left, clearly unimpressed by the show of dominance.

She left to go buy something to eat. My eyes turned to the paper she had left on the table. Curious, I picked it up, and started leafing through them. At first, I thought it looked stupid and cliche; a comedy and romance, with two Finans, two Canans, and a talking beetle named Twitterwig. As I read on, however, I found myself smiling, then chuckling, and at a few points laughing outright. It was original, and damn funny. I sped through it, my grin widening, until I realized the girl had come back, and had been staring for me for ‘Tals only know how long.

“You like it?” she said. She didn’t look angry; quite the opposite. She sat down, and to my surprise handed my a cup of kalah. I took it, handing back the papers.

“Well, I suppose it’s okay,” I said, trying to pass it off as nothing. She frowned. I shrugged. We sat in silence.

“Okay, fine. It was pretty funny. Who’s the writer?” I asked.

“Me,” she said. I gaped.

“You’re pulling my tail!” I said. “No way.”

“Yes. I’m part of Mendiah’s writing class.”

I leaned back in my chair, impressed. Mendiah was the Kard clan’s most coveted playwright around, and had taught all the best. He was ancient, and only took a handful of students a year. The play was good enough that I believed it. She looked proud, but not boastful. I leaned in closer.

“When’s this to be put on?” I asked. I was eager to see it. She frowned.

“I don’t have a cast, except for Twitterwig,” she said solemnly. “Everyone’s so busy with The Gandolian Daughter, nobody wants to pick this up. It’ll be next season before it’s put on, and by then my Mordellian will be gone.”

Instantly, I was guilty. I was in The Gandolian Daughter, as one of the protagonist’s sisters. I had wanted the lead, of course, but they gave it to Amaiya, as they always did. The frustrating thing was, I was better than her. Honestly better: Amaiya was the queen of sadness and tragedy for sure, but I was better at the humor, quip, and flair than she was, which the lead needed.

“What’s you’re name?” I asked. She blinked.

“Kyr’strayal, or Crystal,” she answered. “And you?”

“Kayla,” I replied; if she had used the trendy Human name form, then I wasn’t going to bother with my Draconian one at all. This was fate. I knew it. I would go home after this and kiss Tomias for driving me out of the house in anger to meet his girl; I’d kiss the rain for keeping me in, if I could. I took the papers gently from her hand; our fingers touched, and she blushed. I felt a little color in my cheeks as a reaction, but leafed through the papers again.

“I thinks this has great potential,” I said, in my most authoritative voice. “A lot of potential. And if it waits until next season, why, nobody will go to it. I hear the Council wants to put on The Merchant of Ventira after.”

“Really?” she said, looking downcast.

“But,” I said, holding up a finger. My smile spread. “I know a few of us in The Gandolian Daughter that are...none too happy about getting shafted to minor roles because of favoritism.”

She looked as if she were about to kiss me. Not that I’d have minded too much.

“Including me. So, why don’t we run this little show ourselves? Get me and my buddies and your Mordellian together, and put this on the night before the big hotshot show opens?”

This time she did kiss me, leaned right across the table and planted her dark lips on my rouged ones, sealing the deal. We Kard are nothing if not dramatic!

Creative Challenge: Post 2

The house dwarfed everything in the street. The houses around it could only be characterized as large; this one was positively giant. It was grand, with many spires and points reaching to the sky, a magnificent structure of stone, with windows and columns all over it. The closest he had seen was the Garmnara Tree of the elders, but this was much wider, at least sixty dragons wide, and twenty tall!

“Hey, mister!” said a young boy, his blonde hair cut close to his head. “You look lost.”

I was surprised I could speak his language; I had expected the people here to talk completely differently. True, he sounded different, but I suppose The Split had happened after the bases of our languages had already been formed.

“I am,” I said, distrustfully. Everyone here was an enemy. And yet, this boy looked harmless. He wandered over to me. My hand reached for my knife, but I was startled by a cry from a woman behind him.

“James! James, don’t wander off, talking to strangers!” said what had to be the boy’s mother, who ran up and pulled him back. “Especially rif-raf like this…” she looked up to see me gawking at her, unable to believe her impossibly poofy dress. It was pastel green, hideous, and made her hips look as though she could have bore a cockatrice egg. Easily.

But, he supposed he shouldn’t be judging. He must look equally strange to her, in his roughspun brown tunic and pants. Having not known what the climate would be, or what others would be wearing, he opted for as simple as possible, so as not to stand out. Clearly, he had gone too low; certain frou-frou members of this society would not even speak to him.

Being a trained actor, however, he decided to try his luck. Perhaps they had plays here, too.

“Oh, sorry to startle you, ban-tira,” he said. “I am actually just returning from an audition for a play, but have gotten lost. Could you tell me what this building is?”

For a moment, when he addressed her, she looked confused; he made a note to observe titles and pronouns on this side. Then she softened.

“Oh, of course, you must be doing a Shakespeare. Midsummer’s Night, perhaps?”

“Oh, you’re a smart one!” he replied. She beamed. “Yes, that precisely it.”

“I do love my plays!” she chortled. She turned to the building. “Yes, that’s St. Paul’s Cathedral, just completed a few years ago. Grand, isn’t it? I can’t believe you haven’t heard of it.”

“I’m from the country,” he said. “Coming to the city to see if I can get hired by a theatre house.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, nodding. “Well, I must be on my way. James? Come along!”

“Yes, mother,” he said, and trotted off after his mother.

He turned back to the cathedral. A place of religious worship. What a waste. The grand accomplishment of its architecture drained away, and he started seeing flaws everywhere: cracks in the stone, uneven layers of paint, places that had already started to chip and crumble. The wonder of this world had vanished in just a few short minutes; the women was pompous, the child restrained, and the grandest building he ever saw a waste of space and time. His loathing for this world was boundless, but he had to be careful. Brooding, he set off in no particular direction, looking for anyone to pick a fight with, anyone who recognized him as an agent in their war, or just a drunk. Someone to take out his frustration on, being stuck in this grand, pointless world.

Creative Challenge: Post 1

Today, I wanted to write lots. So I picked up a random first sentence generator and a random number generator. I challenged myself to write with whatever came up with whoever corresponded to the number on the list. Sweet.

Up first is Karimo.

The water looked deep and inviting. He shook his hair out from underneath his helm, putting it under his left arm, one hand still on his dragon’s neck, gazing down at the gorgeous mountain lake below them. They were so high up, all he could see was a break of blue in a see of dark green treetops, but he was desperately thirsty and could use a bath, and he knew his partner felt the same.

Eagerly, they moved down towards the lake, diving at too steep an angle. Karimo yelled and clung tightly to Trianna’s neck, but she was apparently more parched than he thought; she didn’t slow down, even at his persistent cries aloud and in his head. He felt his legs lifting from the saddle and going over his head, and finally his fingers slip. He was falling through the air.

I’m going to die, he thought miserably, panicked. I’m going to hit the ground and splatter-

But Trianna noticed it at the same time he did; there was a settlement outside the lake. From the corner of his eye he could see his dragon’s legs working the air,trying to stop, but instead she just plummeted, and made such a splash in the lake that the water rose ten feet easily and slapped down on the banks, hitting some of the huts hard.

But, he was still going to die. He closed his eyes and braced for impact. What he hit felt softer than ground, but the impact still broke his arm. He continued through whatever he had fallen into, onto another hard surface, and he howled in pain. As he opened his eyes, he realized he had fallen through a straw roof, into one of the homes.

He also realized there was a very angry woman stepping out of a bath, entirely naked, with eyes like gold and hair like spring grass, not to mention a spiny, scaled tail of deep emerald tipped with a lethal spike of silver, twitching wings that almost touched the ceiling and sides of the hut when extended, and an expression of rage that, if it could kill, would have left him wishing he was only in the lowest region of hell, and not where this woman wanted to send him.

Then the pain rushed back to him. He howled again, crushing his splintered left arm, knees curling up to his chest. He supposed this evoked at least a little sympathy in her; she ceased to actively want to kill him and simply dressed. Still, if he was going to die, at least he had seen the image of female perfection first!

He slowly became aware that there were cries of alarm and dismay outside, and then laughter. Clearly, they found Trianna amusing. Eventually, the woman whose bath he had accidentally invaded returned. She dragged him upright.

He cried out in pain, but she paid him no mind, and shoved him from the hut. People stared. Trianna had her head on the ground, level with him, her body on the bank now, still dripping.

She threw him to her fellows, two young dragon-men, who held him tightly. He winced, but held his tongue.

“Who are you, dragon-rider?” She spat at him. He blinked.

“Karimo. And you?”

“You are not in the position to ask questions,” she snapped. He recoiled. She was fierce, and that glare was back. She threw her hair back. It was only now he noticed she had a knife in her hand. Yet, when he glanced at Trianna, she was closed to him.

“Tri?” he asked. There was fear in his voice.

“Quiet,” she said, firmly, brandishing her weapon. He looked back at her. “Why are you here?”

“Please, I was just...We were flying farther than we have ever before, and…” he gulped, and looked around. “We haven’t been outside the compound of our mistress for a -”

“Can you not speak in the first person, or have you just lost your mind from the fall?” she asked. The dragon-kind around her barked laughs of approval.

“We...We are a we, miss,” he said, glancing at his dragon, who was still closed off. His arm hurt him badly; he began to sweat.

“No dragon needs a human to complete her,” she said. “And it seems you’ve flown too far on stolen wings from your precious little mistress, nestling. And caused a lot of damage here, particularly to my roof. You shall be made to repair it, and atone for your crimes.” A smile broke her face, and to his surprise, it was not cruel. “But your dragon is very fond of you, so we will be kind. She has explained the accident. You must still remain here until your repairs are completed, but you shall not be treated unkindly.” The hands that held him loosened, which was a relief, except that he realized he had been using their strength to hold him up. He slid down, and they had to catch him again. The dragonwoman frowned in concern.

“Take him to be tended, and then to the spare hut,” she commanded. He felt faint; the world was spinning.

I was only blocking you to joke! He heard his other half pander inside his head, panicked. Don’t die or anything!

He meant to comfort her, but the world swam black, and the last thing he saw was the worried face of his great black, rising in alarm.

A moment

Because I have a research essay due, I write everything but my essay.

This is unedited, just for Tea.

Learning to Ride

There was a moment, just a fraction of a second, that I thought I wouldn’t make it. A slipping sense of horror, of impending doom, of failure and ridicule that I just wouldn’t be able to handle, not here.

Then I was safely atop the massive blue beast. I swayed for a moment, then fell flat on my stomach, laying across the great horse’s neck, hugging it tightly.

“Not so bad, eh?” Raidon said, smoothing Cobolt’s hindquarters with the brush I had been using on him only minutes before.

“He’s huge,” I said, with emphasis, but the grin was already spreading across my face. This was way too cool to be aloud. A normal horse was around my height: Cobolt was at least a foot and a half taller at the shoulder, powerful, and fucking blue.

“He’s a big boy, alright. And I’m glad you’re taking this on. You never want to get caught in a situation where the only way to move is by horseback,” Raidon said, with a chuckle. I distinctly recall my mom saying something similar about learning to drive a standard, back in Tokyo. Somehow, this felt more likely.

“So what do I do?” I asked, easing myself up from Cobolt’s neck, stroking it like I would a cat. I turned to Raidon, who had moved back into my line of vision. I wish I had a saddle or reigns, but I guess he figured that if you started with the hardest first, everything else just got easier after that. I agreed, but the butterflies in my stomach would have liked me to have something to hold on to.

“Oh, I don’t know, just dig your heels in and don’t fall off,” he said with a shrug. My stomach sank further. How had this seemed a good idea? He was a princeling, and had probably been riding since he could stand, maybe even before. I looked wildly around to the others, who had gathered for the good show. Tori was smiling evilly, chirping a little laugh under her breath. I narrowed my eyes at her and turned my gaze beside her, to Ryu, hoping for some more sympathy. He was quietly stewing something undoubtably delicious in a pot, and avoided eye contact with me pointedly, his face turned down, trying to hide his smile. I chuffed and turned back to Raidon; I could hear Rena giggle-fitting behind me. Only Raidon looked concerned for my welfare atop a beast that could throw me in an instant, and trample my skull into the ground.

“Well, when I ride, I like to keep one hand on my weapon, and the other twisted up in his mane,” he suggested, circling around me. I entangled both my hands, just to be safe. “Then I sorta lean forward,” he acted it out, which looked pretty funny, with his legs spread out over nothing and his back and head cocked at a weird angle. Rena’s laughter intensified.

“Oh, would you like to be my horse, Rena?” He said, pulling her to him and making an obscene movement against her thigh. Ryu’s face descended further to the point that his hair was almost in the stew, and the blush creeped up his neck. I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, just let him go, see what happens. Stop being a mother hen!” Rena squealed, and, to my horror, she slapped Cobolt, and he jolted forward.

I barely held on. The yelping sound was definitely coming from me, and yet I was a little impressed with myself for not falling off instantly. I could hear shouts distantly behind me, and footsteps. I clung desperately, digging my heels into the horse’s sides. To my astonishment, he stopped, and was sent flying forward. I braced myself for impact, which was surprisingly soft, and sooner than I thought, and also accompanied by a distinct ‘oof’ sound that I did not think dirt made. When I opened my eyes, I was looking into the slightly pained, stubbly, but relieved face of my blue-haired companion, and realized, with some embarrassment, that I was being held in his powerful arms like a child, or worse, a new wife. I struggled, red-faced, and the laughter made me cringe and squirm harder. Raidon set me on my feet, also chuckling, and ruffled my hair affectionately.

“Well, pretty good, for a novice,” he said. “You didn’t fall off, and you figured out how to stop all by yourself.” A swell of pride rose in me, and the laughter faded from my ears, either because it dissipated, or I subconsciously ignored it. In that moment, I had felt a part of something, an inside joke between him and I. It was like having a brother, or a dad, or something like that. Just another thing that made this place so great.