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Post by Thorn on Oct 16, 2019 1:58:07 GMT -5
For '15: Scream', I didn't actually write anything, but coincidentally I'd already done some stupid EuroAtlantis worldbuilding about screaming shellfish earlier that day. And I tried to focus on something else for today's prompt, I really did. But on game day my brain does not want to focus elsewhere!!!! For tomorrow though I'm sure I can write Ursh, Zazz or Percy again or something. The prompt looks wonderful for so many charries! For Day 16. Wild, I wrote something...not very wild. But I guess this kid is angry and like, sometimes people say you're wild when you're angry. Usually angrier than this but...whatever! Or maybe the tree people are wild. Or uhhhhh maybe Solstriana has really wild hair! (EuroAtlantis NPCs again: one the party only met today & one they've yet to meet.) “Little lord, what are you doing outside in the snow?”
Rynn continued frowning at their knees. “I’m angry at my father.”
The answer begged another question, but Solstriana wasn’t going to take the bait. She waited and, sure enough, after a few moments Rynn stamped their foot and shook their head viciously.
“He doesn’t trust me!”
“He trusts you well enough. But you are nine years old.”
“No, he doesn’t! He won’t take me anywhere. I just have to stay here. I want to go and see the tree people. Did you know there are tree people? There are, he told me, and he’s going to see them without me.”
“He took you to the temple.”
“When I was eight. Now I’m nine and he doesn’t trust me.”
Solstriana knew better than to argue against a child’s logic. She sat cross-legged on the ground in front of them, ignoring the curious looks from passers-by, who surely recognised Rynn if not Solstriana herself.
“So why be angry outside?” she asked. “Why not stay in your room where it’s warm?”
Rynn gripped the small box in their lap. “Was thinking of running away.”
“Where would you go?”
“Dunno,” they sniffed. “Somewhere warm and nice.”
But Solstriana recognised that box. “You shouldn’t play favourites, Rynn. You’re much too young for that.”
“I’m not,” they huffed. “Not playing favourites.”
“And why here? Why not the nice little park?” she nodded at the space across the way. Laughter and flickering lights accompanied the sight of young mages practicing their first cantrips.
“I don’t know.”
“Rynn, it’s alright. Let’s go inside.”
They sighed and tucked the little box under one arm, getting to their feet.
“Okay. I want him to help me with the candles, though.”
“I am certain he will help you with the candles,” she assured them.
Then Rynn was back inside and Solstriana set off down the road, scarf wrapped tightly against the chill, wondering why on earth people chose to ever have children at all. |
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Post by Thorn on Oct 17, 2019 5:06:38 GMT -5
Didn't get a lot done today so just wrote a quick snippet with Gulgg and Ursh for 17. Safety. Probs not actually canon but was nice to play with the theme. Ursh would look very sweet with a nice floral braid, but they usually just have a ponytail. “What makes you feel safe?”
Ursh shrugged. “I dunno. Dead demons?”
Gulgg had been braiding their hair, but she hesitated and frowned at this.
“Okay. That was not the first answer I expected.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I dunno, that I make you feel safe?”
They turned to stare at her in disbelief, totally wrecking her progress.
“I thought that was a given. But demons make people feel unsafe so dead demons make those people feel more safe as they die, right? Whereas you already make me feel safe, and if you died-”
They shut their mouth as their brain finally caught up to it. Gulgg snorted.
“Idiot.”
“Yeah,” they sighed. “I didn’t think that through.”
“Clearly not.” |
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Post by Moni on Oct 17, 2019 23:13:27 GMT -5
16. Wild i've stopped pretending i actually care about the timing of these Hatar was incredibly bored.
Khamet told him that no, he couldn't tag along on the ship and that no, disguising themselves as a really strange centaur wouldn't work. Eventually they would want do different things. Also, it would be exceedingly hard for Khamet to sleep while also riding a horse.
So here he was, stuck in a city full of wood elves and other assorted humanoids. For the first thirty minutes he paced back and forth, then he decided to visit the market. Whoever thought it strange that a horse would waltz alone on the city streets received the worst horse stink-eye imaginable.
The market had many things that Hatar couldn't use; however, there was a fruit seller who had a bucket of apples. He didn't need to eat food, of course, but he quite liked their taste.
He could get away with it, of course. Nobody expected a horse to understand the concept of currency. But Hatar knew it was stealing, and he was a horse of honor! Thus, he elected instead to stare at the apple-seller until she was guilted into handing him an apple.
The authorities were eventually notified of this rogue horse, but they couldn't do anything about him, largely because he kept kicking them into the dirt when confronted. |
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Post by Thorn on Oct 18, 2019 1:02:58 GMT -5
18. ChildhoodDylan Dalacasilterxaph, who could probably not even pronounce that surname at this stage. Ft. Anwen. Thanks Moni for Anwen, and for suggesting Dylan for 'childhood' because I had no idea who to write! Anwen would never find him.
It was the perfect plan. He hid under the bed so often that surely she wouldn’t think he would hide there again, right? Because it was way too obvious a hiding place. This plan was perfect, brilliant and foolproof.
He chewed on a sweet and waited for the sound of her footsteps. Hearing nothing, he examined the final two sweets thoughtfully. Which one looked better? They were Anwen’s, technically, but she’d stolen a cookie one time when he was three, so it evened out.
Green was his favourite colour, so he ate the green one and shoved the other into his pocket and sighed.
What was taking her so long? There were only so many rooms in the house. She wasn’t usually this bad at the game, and anyway, she’d promised she would let him try out her bike later. And he was bored of lying under the bed. It was dusty here and that tickled his nose and he hated it. And the green sweet wasn’t as good as the purple one had been, which was disappointing, because it looked a lot nicer but also the only one left was yellow, and the yellow ones were always awful.
He flicked the wrapper out into the open. When there was no movement- no aha! from a sneakily hidden Anwen- he sighed melodramatically and slid out of hiding and into the sun.
His first reaction was to screw his eyes shut, because owwww, but then when he finally opened them a crack there she was: sitting on the bed eating his chocolate.
“Hey!” he yelled. “That’s mine you dummy.”
She shrugged. “Eh. It’s better than what I got.”
“I know that!” lying on his back, he continued glaring. “How did you get up there?”
“Magic,” she wriggled her fingers.
“Not funny.”
She pointed at the open window behind her. “I climbed in the window, stupid.” (Dylan and Anwen are half-drow siblings. Anwen is the elder, Dylan the younger.)
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Post by Moni on Oct 18, 2019 1:17:21 GMT -5
18. childhood you know what have some edgechild. back then... he was a nerd
"Look, dad!" exclaimed Cepith happily, holding up a piece of parchment. "I did it!"
His father turned around slowly and lethargically pretended to examine its contents. It had not a single space that wasn't filled out with mathematical problems and their solutions. Some of them, at least, seemed to be correct. He sighed and forced some cheer into his voice.
"Good job," he said with a slight smile. His ex-wife was much better than him at being interested in the inanities of children, least of all something as cursed as mathematics. Why couldn't he be a normal boy? he thought. He should have been getting into fights, at least, or something important that required his attention.
Cepith delightedly clapped. "You really think so?"
"Yes. Why don't you go fetch me something from outside, to celebrate your good job? Whatever strikes your fancy."
"Yeah," replied Cepith, his voice deflating. "Do you want a shell? A rock? A--?"
"--Anything will do, just get it."
Cepith did not, in fact, like to go fetch something from outside. But he left his father to his tranquility, as he always did.
The date palms lazily hung over the dirt roads. Tiny sparrows flew about, doing gods-knew-what. The village cat sauntered by. He picked at one of the palm trunks, squinting at the dozens of inlaid, overlapping shapes that made it up. What an interesting pattern, he thought, and idly wondered how it could be described.
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Post by Blueysicle on Oct 18, 2019 23:06:46 GMT -5
Guess I got hit with a bit of burnout. I'll get around to doing the previous three prompts some other time. Later. Eventually. Maybe. :T This one I was able to push through my burnout more or less because I've had this conversation between Wingen and Flicker about their respective aging curses in my head for quite a while now. So I figured that this prompt would be a good time to finally write it out.
Day 18: Childhood On occasion, when it came time to settle down and sleep, Wingen would suddenly find himself devoid of tiredness. If he was lucky, he might get in a little bit of sleep before he had to get up. But more often than not, weariness would only begin to hit him when he needed to be awake.
It was one of those times, as Wingen's attempts to close his eyes and relax were for naught. Sometimes, all it took was one wayward thought to keep sleep away from him. The silence and darkness in the apartment only provided fuel for his musing. For however many hours, Wingen stared upwards at a ceiling that he could only vaguely see due to a soft, green glow.
He looked across the room to the source of the light on the other couch. Flicker was such a light sleeper that it was sometimes difficult to tell whether he was deep asleep or just lightly dozing. But after watching his brother for a moment, Wingen saw Flicker's eyes open briefly after shifting his position.
Wingen opened his mouth, but hesitated to speak at first. After a few seconds to make up his mind, he whispered as quietly as he could manage, “Hey, Flicker?”
Though Wingen thought his voice might have been too soft, Flicker picked it up anyways. “Yeah?”
In spite of how half of him was telling him it was better to keep his thoughts to himself, Wingen knew there was no backing out of it now. He diverted eye contact as he mumbled, “Um... I know this is out of nowhere, but... Can I ask you a really weird question?”
When Wingen glanced to see Flicker's reaction, he seemed a little taken aback. Nevertheless, he replied, “Okay...”
Wingen took a quick breath, then allowed the words to flow out of his mouth, “When you think of yourself, how old are you?”
He thought that releasing his question without any further delay would make things easier, but it did anything but. Flicker's sole response was to furrow his brows and look back at Wingen with a puzzled expression.
“I-I mean... I know you were born five years ago. But it's never been that simple for either you or me. I was just wondering, do you see yourself as a kid, or an adult?” Wingen elaborated.
Flicker blinked, and the confusion vanished from his eyes. For the moment, he was without a reply. But now that the question was cleared up, Wingen allowed him the time and silence to come up with an answer.
However, as the seconds passed, the sense of bewilderment returned to Flicker's face. He shuffled his position once again. His eyes drifted to various spots in the room. And what was once a neutral expression slowly morphed into a troubled frown.
“I... I don't... I don't know...” Flicker stammered. “I don't really know... what I am...”
The shape of Wingen's mouth copied Flicker's. He looked down to the floor. Wingen wasn't about to pry if Flicker wasn't willing to delve any further, but he could only imagine how difficult it was for him to come to that conclusion. That kind of uncertainty could burn someone up far, far more than any concrete answer.
“How about you?”
Wingen gave a small gasp in surprise and lifted his head. But he quickly realized that he had no right to be taken off guard by Flicker turning the question back to him. It was only fair that he responded too. He rolled onto his back, folded his hands together, and returned his gaze to the ceiling.
“I'm not an adult, I know that much,” Wingen sighed deeply. “Sometimes, I used to try to say to myself, 'I'm way too old to be a kid. I've been alive for a few decades, so that makes me an adult. And I've gotta start acting my age.'
“But that never lasted long. I'd try as hard as I could to act like an adult, but I had no idea how. It never felt real; more like I was trying to live a big lie. No matter what, I just... couldn't force myself to grow up.”
Wingen turned his head to see Flicker listening intently, if a bit dismayed. The last thing Wingen wanted to do was spread his own distress to Flicker. It was better if he wrapped it up at that point. “So... I guess that makes me still a kid.”
Without even much in the way of body language, the brothers silently agreed to end the conversation there and said nothing more. Flicker lowered his head firmly onto his pillow and fell asleep a sort time later.
I'm just...
Meanwhile, Wingen's sight was still aimed upwards. The more he thought about his closing statement, the more he began to feel the building pressure in his eyes and the choking feeling in his throat. It wasn't the first time. It probably wouldn't be the last. But every now and then, Wingen would feel the full weight of each individual year of his life press down on him.
I'm just so tired of being one...
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Post by Thorn on Oct 19, 2019 1:09:21 GMT -5
19. CleanUsed Gale for this one. Do I have OCs outside D&D? Allegedly. (EuroAtlantis NPC, Gale is an air genasi but only really considers that a qualifier to explain his abilities- he considers himself a wood elf. Cordelia is a half-elf (sea elf/human). Sky is an aarakocra. Ahhh. I think that's everyone.) “Do aarakocra moult?”
Cordelia looked up from her sandwich. “Hmmm?”
Gale shuffled awkwardly. “I am wondering. If aarakocra shed their feathers and stuff. In a big way, occasionally.”
“Yeah, I think that’s normal.”
“Huh,” he bit his lip.
“What’s wrong?”
Gale squinted at the Windblessed, moored some way along the wharf.
“So I went to check on the ship, and there were quite a few feathers, so I think it may have been counterproductive leaving Sky alone to clean it.”
She sighed. “Maybe. Yeah. Did you speak with him?”
“Couldn’t find him. I mean, that sure teaches me for leaving because I wanted to get fish 'n' chips before they closed, right?”
“Flagrant abuse of power,” Cordelia teased, as she picked lettuce out of her sandwich. “You should be ashamed.”
“Thanks.”
“So? What now?”
He shrugged. “I guess I’ll go back and...sweep up the feathers?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“If you see anyone who may like to uh, inspect the ship, in the meantime, please make some highly entertaining excuse on my behalf, okay?”
“I’ll be sure to make it a super embarrassing one.”
He rolled his eyes. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you.”
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Post by Gelquie on Oct 19, 2019 2:38:22 GMT -5
Oops. OCtober Day 18 - Childhood - Espin"I'll put it simply, Mrs. Espin," the teacher said, folding her hands on the table. "Your child isn't a good fit for this class."
"What?" Mrs. Espin stared incredulously. "You can't just say something like that and not back it up. You'd better tell me why."
"I'm getting to that," the teacher said with firm patience. "First off, Espin and the other kids just aren't meshing well. I'm sure your husband will see this first-hand."
Mrs. Espin gave a brief, quick sigh before turning around, looking towards another side of the room where Mr. Espin was looking over his son, Eugene. He looked to be drawing something, and he had some blocks with him. He was doing this for some time, with his father giving compliments on how "wow, that looks wonderful!".
Then suddenly, Eugene stopped and got up, trodding over to another child who was doing a drawing of her own, something involving a sun and flowers. Eugene went and picked up a bunch of colored pencils.
The young girl cried out. "Hey, I'm using those!"
"No, you're using the ones in your hand," Eugene pointed out. "You weren't using these."
"I was gonna! I need that for the grass!"
"I'll give it back when I'm done."
"Hey, you can't just take things! Mrs. Smith said so!"
"Look, I need it more."
"Nuh-uh! Give it back!"
The two children proceeded to squabble. Or rather, the girl tried to pick a fight, while Eugene tried to brush her off. It was then that Mr. Espin stepped in.
"Alright alright, hey, wait a minute! Excuse me, miss, were you going to use the pencils right away?"
"N-no," the girl said. "But they're mine, and he just took them! What if I was gonna!"
"Hm. Well, I'm sure he means to give them back. Eugene, could you think about asking to borrow the pencils first?"
"Sure," Eugene said. "But look, look what I'm making."
Eugene pulled the two of them over and showed off his drawing. It was then that it revealed that what the blocks were for. He was building a little blueprint of a little ship, to be made out of the multicolored blocks in front of him.
"I need the green ones so I know where they are," Eugene said. "It has to be just right."
Both of them stared for some time. It... was actually really impressive looking. Certainly more than expected for his age.
"That's very clever, Eugene," Mr. Espin said.
The girl blinked. "Couldn't you just get other colored pencils from the bucket?!"
"I didn't want to forget the colors, and I saw yours," Espin said.
"Get it from the bucket yourself!"
"Come on, I'll give it back. I promise."
Mrs. Espin, upon witnessing this scene with Mrs. Smith, finally turned around. "Okay, sure, they aren't meshing well. But isn't it important that the kids go through conflict, so they know to deal with it later?"
"It has to be constructive, and your son is not being constructive," Mrs. Smith said. "Though yes, he's very intelligent, and that's another reason he's not a good fit in this class. I don't think he's getting much out of this place."
"He's certainly very resourceful…"
"Most kindergartners don't build model-sized ships intricately planned out of building blocks and then argue with the other kids on numbers or be able to count as high as he does." Mrs. Smith stopped and sighed. "I don't know where to begin. There's two things I want to tell you."
"Fine, just say it."
Mrs. Smith sighed. "You remember the assessments we gave the kids? Your son's not just resourceful. He's gifted."
Mrs. Espin's eyes went wide. And then she laughed a bit. "Ah! I didn't know. I knew he was fast for his age, but... I guess I haven't had any other kids to compare to. Especially between him and work."
"Clearly, because the other thing is that you really need to teach him manners," Mrs. Smith sighed. "He can't just go around taking other peoples' things when he wants them without asking."
"Hm, well, if we put him in a gifted class, maybe he'll do both," Mrs. Espin suggested. "If he's more challenged, he might do better at learning responsibility."
"Yes, he should be in a gifted class, and I'm going to arrange to transfer him there. But please, Mrs. Espin, teach him manners too!"
"Alright, yes, we'll teach him manners," Mrs. Espin said. "He'd probably fit in with the kids better that way."
"...Yes, I agree," Mrs. Smith sighed, thoroughly done with this conversation. "Let's sort out the paperwork here, and then you can take him back home for the day." Post-fic notes: I make no claims to knowing what gifted kids are like first-hand, or what entirely they're capable of. I hope I'm accurate, but if not, well consider this a draft to get me back into writing!
(Dunno how happy I am with this one. I might re-draft this later. I do feel like Espin did learn some manners... at least on the surface.) |
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Post by Moni on Oct 19, 2019 14:26:54 GMT -5
day 19: clean! thank thorn for giving me this ideaaaa He was rescued.
The little mouse sniffed at the little piece of cheese in the cage. At first, it was hard to ignore the gargantuan, bearded human face examining it, but after a little while it grew comfortable with this face. It belonged to the same body that also owned the hands that had wrenched it from the cat's paws.
"Hello, little mouse," its lips moved to enunciate, a deep and pleasant voice.
The mouse did not quite understand what this vocalization meant, but it started chewing on the cheese. A decently-sized exercise wheel was dropped from above, and a water bowl, and a few soft... things... that would be best to investigate later.
Khamet cared very much about the cleanliness of the cage. The mouse had likely spent its entire life living on edge of streets and houses, none of which were particularly tidy. But everything deserved a taste of the good life, especially this cute little critter.
Now if only he could manage to clean his own room, he thought. But that could be done later; he already did a good thing today, and tomorrow was the perfect time for it!
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Post by Gelquie on Oct 19, 2019 16:20:33 GMT -5
OCtober Day 19 - Clean - Elin"Mooom, I'm not that dirty," the young seven-year-old Elin complained.
"I can smell you from the house, Elin," Petra replied patiently. "Besides, you're utterly covered."
Elin pouted, but knew it to be true. Her being covered in dirt wasn't unusual, not for the life of a farmer, even if she was the child of ones and thus just helped with chores. But given how they spaced out their cleaning, Elin looked more than ready for said cleaning. The cleanest thing about her were her hands and face; after all; they all still had to eat in those times, and they weren't about to make themselves sick by skipping this.
"C'mon Elin, it's time."
"I'm just gonna get dirty again."
"I know you feel better after one."
"But it's so cold!" Elin complained. "And the lye hurts."
"Not if you use a little of it," Petra pointed out.
Elin pouted, but she knew she had lost. It was time to clean up.
Petra took a small basin and filled it with only just enough water, before taking it to a more private area outside the house. Elin was provided with a cloth and a small bit of lye solution, and told to scrub her body. And then to save the water for later, for she wasn't the only one set to bathe that day.
Elin did it, but she didn't enjoy it one bit. Though she did her best to heed her mother's word and not use too much lye, which helped, the water was still cold. Still, the effects were immediate; she could see on the cloth how the week's worth of grime had accumulated on her. And in spite of her protestations, as time went on, she did start to feel better for it.
Still, she did feel better when she had finally finished. And though she didn't notice before, she felt she now smelled better. Probably not great; they never smelled great, and they weren't so rich to afford sage so often. But the ash helped a bit. At least that was easy to come by.
She was just glad she didn't have to bathe like Aunt Clare did. She had to have a bigger basin, and had to wash so much more due to her job as a butcher. She couldn't imagine doing that. That had to be even more uncomfortable.
Still, taking a chance to step into the lake in Medieville was a nice, quick way to clean up. She was never much of a swimmer, but it was still a nice feeling. Maybe if she ever went to Medieville, she'd do that again.
That probably wouldn't be for a while though. Still, she hadn't seen Aunt Clare for a while. Maybe she should bug her dad to do another visit. If they could afford to; it was a long ways away for either of them.
In any case, Elin let her mother know she was done, and she was given the okay, before going to round up the next child who had gone more than a week without a bath and was starting to smell like it. Notes:So, it's actually a misconception that Medieval peasants were filthy. Perhaps not as clean as modern standards, but they did keep up hygiene. I wanted to explore that here. I'm not a Medieval history expert, so I apologize for any inaccuracies. I did my best to read up on it though, as well as remember what I learned from Ren Faire education stations.
Lye is an ancient soap solution made of primary ash, water, and some other things. It can actually be quite caustic. But it was a common way to make soap. I believe there were soapmakers who could make better, more sophisticated soaps; the Ryers can't afford this.
I wanted to include a segement on teeth care, but I couldn't fit it in. Research tells me that they would rub their teeth with woolen cloth, perhaps soaked in a water and ash solution (not quite like lye). Either that or brushing with a twig. Perhaps not as often as recommended in modern days, but it did seem to be a thing.
I almost included a public bath, but the town of Wickerham is kinda small, and I imagine they were poor enough that they just used basins as described. I imagine Medieville has one or more public baths, though. Clare has one that's more on hand because of her job. But it's not a full immersion bath.
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Post by Thorn on Oct 20, 2019 1:07:40 GMT -5
Day 20: RivalsI have another but it's a bit spoilery in places for my EuroAtlantis crew. So wrote a silly werewolf piece to share too! “You could not,” the larger werewolf growled at the smaller. “You could not possibly jump so far!”
“You underestimate me,” the smaller shouted down to it. “I will make this jump! I will prove myself superior!”
“You will fall and break your neck.”
“You did not! You fell and you are just fine.”
“Because I am stronger. I have grown accustomed to this form, I have been travelling between for- wait how did you actually do that??!??”
The smaller wolf smirked down at it. “I am truly the stronger.”
“I hate you.”
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Post by Moni on Oct 21, 2019 2:02:38 GMT -5
you know what day 20: rivals yes i'm late but i don't caaaare have a bird Bird was very nice, but unbeknownst to many, he had a dark side!
Indeed, a dark side! A competitive side!
He discovered this when he was on his daily trek to deliver some birdseed to the orphanage and chirp to the children--they liked the chirping--when all of a sudden, some woman came in and donated a whole lot of fresh fruits and vegetables for them. Served all pre-cut in floral patterns on a tray, too. With cheese. She probably grew an entire jungle with the amount she brought.
And while the bird was very happy indeed that the children got a good amount of food, he also, for the very first time, noticed that they seemed to like this other food moreso than the birdseed. And he decided that this would not do.
So he decided to fly in a few grapes--painstakingly, one by one, into the orphanage. By the end of the day, he'd managed to donate 14 whole grapes. 14 grapes was less than the amount of food the old woman brought in, of course, but the bird decided that if he worked hard and donated 14 grapes every day, he would catch up to her record.
He would not be defeated! |
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Post by Thorn on Oct 21, 2019 5:10:19 GMT -5
I decided to write an AU piece where Zazz and Kiortel meet again as adults, because why not. Day 21, Trick. Lil' magic trick, guys! One I'm so excited to use in-game. It was somewhat uncomfortable, Zazz reflected, to be seated here with the friend he hadn’t seen in years; who he’d parted from on such poor terms, and who was still as frustratingly hot as ever. What was he doing with his hair? He still lived underground, for crying out loud. But he didn’t even smell of dirt or mold.
Moments passed. Kiortel coughed awkwardly and examined his hands. Zazz did the only thing he could conceive of to break the tension.
“I learned a cool trick.”
Kiortel folded his hands into his sleeves. “Okay. Show me.”
Zazz hurriedly stood, took five paces back. He let one hand fall to his side and, as he did so, mist swirled and condensed into the form of a short, thin blade.
He held it up. “See?”
“Very impressive.”
The blade exploded into rainbow flame. Kiortel visibly recoiled, but then the light dimmed and it was a rainbow within a shimmering waterfall. Zazz grinned and held it at arm’s length, letting the colours catch the light.
“It’s my favourite.”
“That’s very nice, Kaztae.”
“So I’ve improved, right?”
Kiortel sighed and rolled his eyes.
“It’s been fifty years, I should certainly hope so.”
He gestured and a flame sprang into his open palm. “So. Do you want to set things on fire?”
Zazz grinned. “Yes please! There were some annoyingly fancy tapestries down the hall.”
“Excellent. Let’s go commit some arson then” they are not usually arsonists, I just needed a quick way to finish this up. |
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Post by Thorn on Oct 22, 2019 4:25:46 GMT -5
22. Heist
One time Zazz stole his father's notes and started hanging out with hoomins and now everyone hates him. About three minutes after this he killed one of his colleagues, wow such drama, many surprise. Kaztae almost turned back when he was halfway up the stairs. He actually did turn back when he got to the old ugly tapestry his colleagues so adored, but then he spun again, steeled himself, and darted to the little room at the end of the hall.
He could collect them and be gone before anyone knew. His father wouldn’t really care, right? He presumably knew all that stuff anyway so, like, it wouldn’t really be hurting him if Kaztae kinda-maybe-sorta traded his notes to the surface for safe passage.
(They were called Arcadia. They had horses there. He was actually going to meet a horse!)
Kaztae steeled himself, took the stolen key, and turned it in the lock. It clicked. It opened. He knew there was usually a magical alarm as well, but he’d distracted his father the last time he left, so. It hadn’t been conjured. Kaztae was actually pretty proud of himself for managing that, even if it meant he wouldn’t get a chance to prove he could disable the alarm on his own. There were things like that on the surface too- he would get his chance. He just had to be patient.
He focussed on his plan as he closed the door carefully behind him. He would meet them three kilometres down the western main tunnel. Kaztae would probably have to kick a few spiders and giant centipedes along the way but, as far as tunnels went, that one wasn’t so bad. Except for the humans at the end of it. And these were humans who were going to help him, so, just a danger to everyone besides him really!
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Post by Moni on Oct 23, 2019 0:06:23 GMT -5
i only exclusively write animal protagonists now, if you don't like it you're not my friend have a Cat (TM) day 22 i guess: heist The metaphorical crown jewel lay atop the top rack of the pantry. It glittered dully in what little light reached it, surrounded by lesser riches like biscuits and dried wheat. Worthy spoils, thought Nee, but not as worthy as the pickled herring wrapped so perfectly in that jar.
She could just smell the fishiness.
The best part was that Raia would never suspect fishy behavior in these parts, because it was already plenty fishy in the pantry. Of course, the orange tabby knew this wasn't the case; Raia fully expected Nee to try swiping the fish, and she knew that Nee couldn't do it.
Nee had swiped many things from the pantry in multiple attempts to get her paws on that herring, things that mice would envy. A smarter cat, perhaps, would have cut her losses and simply set a trap to lure unsuspecting prey, but Nee had more dignity than that. She knew she deserved the best, and the best was the pickled herring.
It was time to hatch a better plan... |
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