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!