Hello Scholars, Schemers, and Schmucks!
My dears, I have a proposition for you. I propose that we write good stories, about a great many things, because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
A Proposition
RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!
All too often in fiction one character walks up to another with the simple words “I have a proposition for you” and either epicness or shenanigans ensue…or both. Propositions come in many forms, and can lead to both positive and negative results.
One area of life in which propositions are common is in business. Perhaps your character is a businessman who is offered a new opportunity to grow their business…but at the price of their soul. (Either by selling out, or by literally making a pact with a demon). Or perhaps they are an honest businessman, and refuse the proposal outright. Or maybe your group is a ragtag team of criminals, and are offered a proposition for a new and exciting crime.
Or maybe you want to write about a literal proposal. At dinner, one significant other says to the other “I propose we spend the rest of our lives together.” Or maybe it’s a proposal of marriage between kingdoms through a prince and princess.
Not all proposals have to be shady. Your character could propose that their family goes to the beach that day. Or they could be sitting with their crush and propose a kiss. Or they could be sitting on the couch with their significant other and propose that they get a cat.
This prompt is about a proposition, but the proposition doesn’t necessarily have to occur within the story itself. Perhaps your character is facing the consequences of accepting a certain proposal, and is reminiscing about that proposition within your story. Often characters (and real people) accept deals without knowing the full ramifications of the deal.
Speaking of which…it could be a trick. Villains often make proposals without explaining all the rules. Your character might accept a ticket to a new country, not realizing that they will be a servant, or worse, in that new country. Or maybe it’s a little more overt: the villain’s proposal could be, essentially, “do what I want, or die.” Villains aren’t the only ones who make false proposals. Maybe a princess offers to marry the villain to buy the hero time to rescue the captives. Sometimes heroes try to weasel out of agreements and get everything they want too.
Just because the prompt is about a proposition doesn’t mean your character has to accept the proposal either. One is made, that’s all we know. You could play around with how your character reacts, and whether or not they accept. Sometimes the most dramatic stories are those in which the hero vehemently rejects a certain proposal they know to be deceptive.
For your challenge this week I propose that you play with the unexpected. Propositions often don’t go the way we think they will. Whether that’s through a trick, or loophole, or because we THINK we’re going to be tricked…when everything is actually perfectly legitimate. Keeping the audience on their toes and subverting their expectations can be a difficult thing to do. And while shock value is something that can indeed create the unexpected, I’m referring to something more difficult; crafting the story in such a way that we aren’t expecting the ending…but not just because it comes out of nowhere, rather because the truth is there the whole time, but we can’t see it. This is far more challenging in my mind.
Remember, these challenges aren’t mandatory! They are meant to be a fun bonus if you’d like to have a little extra challenge. But, if you don’t want to use them, please don’t feel obligated to!
Now, tell me…do we have a deal?
—Kaylie
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Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.
Tune into the stream this Saturday at 3:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!
The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit! Get ready not just to share what you’ve got, but to give back to the other writers here as well.
Rules and Guidelines
We read at least five stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and three of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!
Text and Formatting
- English only.
- Prose only, no poetry or lyrics.
- Use proper spelling, grammar, and syntax.
- Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
- Use two paragraph breaks between each paragraph so that they have a proper space between them (press “enter” or “return” twice).
- Include a submission title and an author name (doesn’t have to be your real name). Do not include any additional symbols or flourishes in this part of your submission. Format them exactly as you see in this example, or your submission may not be eligible: Example Submission.
- No additional text styling (such as italics or bold text). Do not use asterisks, hyphens, or any other symbol to indicate whether text should be bold, italic, or styled in any other way. CAPS are okay, though.
What to Submit
- Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
- Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
- Write something brand new; no re-submitting past entries or pieces written for other purposes
- No fan fiction whatsoever. Take inspiration from whatever you’d like, but be transformative and creative with it. By submitting, you also agree that your piece does not infringe on any existing copyrights or trademarks, and you have full license to use it.
- Submissions must be self-contained (everything essential to understanding the piece is contained within the context of the piece itself—no mandatory reading outside the piece required. e.g., if you want to write two different pieces in the same setting or larger narrative, you cannot rely on information from one piece to fill in for the other—they must both give that context independently).
Submission Rules
- One submission per participant.
- Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
- Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
- You must like and leave a review on two other submissions to be eligible. Your reviews must be at least 50 words long, and must be left directly on the submission you are reviewing, not on another comment. If you’re submitting to the private post, feel free to leave these reviews on either the private or the public post. The two submissions you like need not be the same as the submissions you review.
- Be constructive and uplifting. These submissions are not for a professional market, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We do this, first and foremost, for the joy of the craft. Help other writers to feel like their work is valuable, and be considerate and gentle with critique when you offer it. Authors who leave particularly abrasive or disheartening remarks on this post will be disqualified from selection for readings.
- Use the same e-mail for your posts, reviews, and likes, or you may be rendered ineligible (you may change your username or author name between posts without problem, however).
- You may submit to either or both the public/private groups if you have access, but if you decide to submit to both, only the private group submission will be eligible.
- Understand that by submitting here, you are giving us permission to read your submission aloud live on stream and upload public, archived recordings of said stream to our social media platforms. You will always be credited, but only by the author name you supply as per these rules. No other links or attributions are guaranteed.
Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.
Because you said No
by Reinkarnitor
“I really have no time for you right now.”
X was standing at his giant pin wall, where countless news articles, pictures and notes were confusingly hung up and seemingly randomly connected to each other by a red thread.
Behind him stood a girl with long black hair, blood-red eyes, and a simple white dress. The guardian Emma. Her face was cold and emotionless, and her voice did not betray that look one bit as she answered him.
“Why must you always act like this?”
“What? Uninterested?”
Emma showed no sign of annoyance, or any other emotion as a matter of fact.
“X, become my familiar.”
“There it is. No thank you. Glad you stopped by. There’s the door.”
The ghostly girl did not show any signs of backing down though.
“To think that you would treat the guardian of London like this. Do you even know what I am capable of doing?” she asked him, sounding threatening despite her emotionlessness.
But X did not react the way she expected him to.
“Nothing. You have no familiar. Isn’t that precisely why you keep pestering me?”
“I cannot deny that” she admitted without any sign of sadness or anger.
“I told you before, I am not interested. Not in the position and not in the power.”
“And that is why I want you.”
At that the detective looked a bit dumbfounded.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She did not answer him, but averted her gaze, so he walked over to her.
“Emma. What happened to you?”
She turned her head towards him and looked at him with her cold gaze.
“I feel like you would not betray me.”
“Betray you?”
For the first time a flicker of emotion wandered over her face, as she realized what she had uttered.
“Forget about that.”
She steps away to the wall of the office.
“I will be back. I will not give up on this” she said and her voice once more sounded devoid of any emotion.
With those words she stepped right through the wall and was gone.
Sedrick’s Gift (Aethyrn Setting)
By: Arith Winterfell
Adarath laid there in his small boat. Barely enough room to stretch out. It moored resting under the shade of a bridge. He could hear the call of sea birds, smell the salt water, and hear the gentle surf of the sea against the shore.
“Hello there, Adarath, how are you today?” Adarath recognized the voice immediately as that of Sedrick. Adarath groaned.
“Sedrick. What do you want?”
“Can’t an old friend just come by for a visit?” Sedrick asked.
“Not if said old friend is coming by to borrow still more money.” Adarath sighed.
“Er. No. No, I’m not here about that. And I promise I will pay you back. I just, well, wanted to give you this. Consider it a gesture of good will.”
Adarath sat up in his boat as Sedrick reached out and handed over a strange black pyramid. It was made of smooth stone, and felt cool to the touch. Adarath cocked his head to one side in curiosity. Sedrick stood there ankle deep in the shallows grinning.
“An opportunity, you see,” Sedrick continued, “I recently got this item in a trade and was hoping you could tell me something about it?”
Adarath blinked. “You want to give it to me, but you don’t even know what it is?”
“Uh. Yeah. I don’t want it back. I just, in exchange you see, want to know what you can find out about it, as I know you have a way with these things.”
“It better not be cursed.” Adarath growled.
“Eh. What? No. Certainly not. At all.” Sedwick laughed.
Adarath stared at Sedrick. “Yeah. Sure, I’ll check it out as soon as I have time.”
“Okay. Then I guess I’ll leave you be.” And with that Sedrick toddled off back up the docks.
Adarath sighed again. Sedrick never was the sharpest tool in the shed. He was always trying to pull a fast one. He just wasn’t smart enough to realize he was too dumb to pull it off. The pyramid statue though. That was . . . interesting.
The Order
By Joe
The three friends sat in the living room around the coffee table. Jonah slammed a suitcase on the table wearing a suit and tie facing his opponent. His roommate, Austin, glared back with equal determination, wearing the same attire with a suitcase just as nice as his.
“Plead your case, Jonah,” Austin said with an insincere smile.
“Please,” Jonah reciprocated the smile. “Basic before greatness.”
“No, I insist. Pretentious before authentic.”
“I don’t pretend. I am. And I will ensure my victory today!”
“Guys?” said Eddy with tired exasperation. “We’re ordering food for gods sake. Can we not debate which food is better right now?”
Jonah turned to him. “You complicit, cretinous, crass, hairbrained FUCK!” He said harshly to Eddy’s unaffected face. “King Burger is the obvious choice. Their burgers are served in enormous portions guaranteed to satisfy any voracious appetite,” he drooled euphorically. “And the savory thick patties juxtaposed with the SAUCE makes for a delicacy afforded to the lower middle class. And given the size you could save some for later if you like.”
“If you can,” Austin pushed up his glasses. “You manage to finish every large King Burger meal in one go, and so quickly too! Do you even taste it? Plus I can easily use your exaggerated description for plenty of food chains. For example, El Taco and Burrito Bell. Two chains that befit your requirments of lower middle class delicacies, and is just as goated with the SAUCE.”
“Your obsession with white washed mexican food is as unhealthy as the punishment for eating such gruel. Why would I eat food that punishes me afterwards?!”
“Sounds like a skill issue.”
“Ah, yes. That’s the description I want. ‘My rectums just built different’.” Jonah then stood up. “Eddy! You’re the tie breaker in this meaningless debate. Speak your peace.”
The two stared at Eddy who tapped something on his phone, then looked up at them.
“I picked Arby’s.”
Silence followed. Then Austin and Jonah casually opened their suitcases and pulled out foam swords.
“BEAT HIS ASS!” they shouted.
To Serve Queen and Country
By MasaCur
Cassidy was chained to the bench of the prison mess hall. As soon as she was secured, two men entered the otherwise empty room.
The older of the two nodded to Cassidy. “Corporal Cruikshank, I take it? Unless you want to give us your real name.”
Cassidy glared wordlessly.
“I’m Marcus Richard. My associate is Agent Doyle. We’re here to offer you a deal.”
“What sort of deal?” Cassidy asked.
Richard stroked his moustache. “Well, normally when a soldier is discovered to be a woman, they are summarily discharged from the service, and nothing is made of it. But your commanding officer has charged you with espionage. The fact that you refuse to give your actual name isn’t helping your case.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Sir.”
Richard nodded. “Quite right. I propose that we absolve you of the charges against you. In exchange, you come work for me.” He removed an identity card from his jacket and placed it on the table in front of her. “Doyle and I work for Her Majesty’s Home Office for a small but dedicated bureau in service to the crown. Doyle is in need of a new partner.”
Cassidy took a deep breath. “Why me?”
“Because you had built quite the reputation in your service career. For a member of the weaker sex, you were known as something of a man of action.” Richard smiled at the humour of his comment. “Furthermore, we have a question about why you joined the army. Most women in the service followed a family member. Usually a husband or brother. You’ve given no indication that you have any such connection.”
“And what would you need from me, sir?”
“First thing we’ll need is your real name. After that, we will need you to pass our agent training course. Followed by at least five years of service with my bureau. If I’m right, I suspect that you would be happy to legitimately serve Queen and country.”
Cassidy thought about the proposition for a few seconds. She nodded. “It’s Markham, sir. My name is Cassidy Markham.”
“Castle Crashers”
~Fog Wall
The desk the old man sat at. The small barred windows just below the ceiling. This room felt out of place, as if removed from today in every possible way. Like a prison from the past, suited especially for this one man.
He was a man of history and literature. A philosopher that carved his own path and belief. With piles of paperwork and books hiding the surface of almost everything including the wooden floor. I could see him as only a silhouette from where I’d entered from. A candlewicked antique oil lamp providing the only light source.
The man groaned and wheezed before letting out an extended fit of phlegm-filled coughs. His chair scratched the floor as he stood, grabbing a cane that hung off the chair’s back. He turned to me, holding a single paper.
“You’re James, correct?” His golden mane of hair and beard made his large nose and small eyes very much noticeable. “I have a proposition for you. Please, come here and let me see you.”
“Yeah, uh… Sure.” I crossed the small room in only a few strides, this was an impressive attic for an underground facility. Looking up at the windows, I could see the street’s foot traffic.
“I’m sure you are feeling a little lost, well?”
“Yeah actually. Why am I here? Why did you have Koalle stalk and recruit me? What importance was it to you to have that database?” My questions flowed like a river, my mind running wild with possibilities.
The old man’s brief, all-knowing kindly smile could have seduced an entire room. “You’ll have all the answers in due time. For now, know that we are the ones who fight for everyone below the bottle’s neck.”
He held out the paper. “You may call me Aiza. That data you procured for me…” He cleared his throat. “It covers building projects, sectional securements and the uplifting redistribution of people’s lives.” With a nod he indicated the paper I held.
Taking it, I read three elegantly penned words. “What’s your cause?”
Gamophobia
by Lee Strangely
Through the open window, the winds howled in and out of the room; past the flailing curtains and into the black night, they carried the echoes of his drumming heart. Only a small, beat-up desk lamp barely kept the darkness at bay. He stood hunched over the dresser, just barely within its flickering lamplight, staring down at the little black box.
In his mind an army or voices repeated themselves over and over again, “Will you. Will you. Will you. WILL YOU…”
“Right?” he kept muttered to himself, “is this right?” He looked up at the mirror, “Should I go through with this?”
His gaze danced around the reflection of the distressed man looking back at him; looking past himself, he gravitated towards a crumbled up post-it note that hung to the glass by a thread.
In red pen it said to him, “What do you want?”
He grumbled to himself as he ripped the thing off and threw it away. His hand drifted towards the box yet again.
They chanted to the heartbeat, “WIL-YU! WIL-YU! WIL-YU!” rising and quickening the closer he got to the box.
BUM BA-BABUM BA-BABUM BA-BABUM.
Centimeters from the box his hand recoiled; his head turned away as if to avert his eyes.
“MA-RE! MA-RE! MA-RE!”
From the outside, two blinding beams of light suddenly burst into the room. His wide eyes stared at the trembling silhouette they projected onto the wall. The lights only ceased upon the sound of a car door opening.
BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM.
“ME ME ME ME ME ME!”
Ding-
-dong.
Everything went quiet.
He looked back at the box one more time. The chant still whispered as he neared the box again; his hand was still hesitant…
Ding-dong.
Faster than light itself, the box went into his coat pocket, and swiftly the door was opened.
“You ready?” she asked.
“Yes. YES.” He rushed to respond, “I got the reservations and…” he couldn’t help but feel the box’s outline in his coat, “and everything. Everything’s set. Let’s go!”
I suppose it’s Communication (Frontier Universe)
By Alex Nightingale (aka Spectre)
The rock that had shattered his window hadn’t even startled Adrian. As a private investigator, he’d made a lot of enemies, during his various cases. This time, however, things were very different.
“You could have used a slightly less dramatic way to meet with me,” Adrian said to the shadows of the darkened alleyway, where he’d been asked to go.
“It’s called, blending in,” the shadows said back and parted, revealing a man in a coat and a wide-brimmed hat.
“I have a mail box, Oliver.”
“Too risky. I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t be spied upon. Powered people are being targeted and you are one. Openly.”
“So, you decided to throw a rock through my window?”
“Don’t tell me it hasn’t happened before, given your profession.”
Adrian had to give him that. He’d attracted several individuals, who wished him ill and his window glass had been broken its fair share of times.
“Even so,” Adrian went on. “I told you, I have no interest in your… operation. I help the people of Keene, yes, but I don’t want to get dragged into a war with the mafia.”
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re already in it,” Oliver said. “I wish it were different, believe me, I do. More than most people. And I’d like nothing more than to let you continue on as you did, coaching powered people, helping the poor with debt collectors on their tail or salvaging the occasional marriage. But people are after us, Adrian. People, who are hunting and kidnapping powered people and carriers of the powered gene, smuggling them into the cities to be indoctrinated. This is your fight too. It has been from the beginning. Even if you didn’t care about other powered people, you are a target now and have been for presumably a long time. It’s not too late to help me fight back. And before you answer, let me ask you this. Why did you become a private investigator? Surely not to ignore people in need.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Alright, Oliver. What do you propose?”
excerpt from ‘A Scroll of Traditional Lynx Tales’ (a tale from Gaea)
by Taehl
Do you know about the Ferryman and the Knifeman? I will tell you how to spot them.
There is a danger in the underworld, two tricksters you should never deal with. They are not begotten from Alfa nor Banri,º they do not belong in this universe.Δ
One calls itself the Ferryman. It has a boat, an oar, and an alluring lantern. It is wrapped in rags, hiding its lack of a face. It will offer you life, even a new body of your choosing. You must shun the Ferryman. If you trade your body, you will never get it back. It will give your body to someone else, and your face will speak only their words. If someone you called kin is suddenly a stranger to you, it is the work of the Ferryman.
The other calls itself the Knifeman. It is dressed in white and gleaming silver, and pretends to be a friend. It will offer to remove your mistakes from your life, even those you regret most. You must shun the Knifeman too. It removes memories not only from you, it cuts them out of everyone else too. And none are more apt to repeat their mistakes than those with memories stolen. Because of its thoroughness,◊ we have no sense of when the Knifeman intrudes into our lives.
They are best avoided before they can tempt you. Whenever they make a deal, those two surely can only bring confusion and pain to everyone. That is why you should always live in your own body with your own mistakes – it is much less trouble than dealing with the Ferryman or the Knifeman.
º Afay and Bina, as the Fae know them, are commonly named “Alfa” and “Banri” among the Lynx.
Δ The Lynx, too, seem to agree the Ferryman and Knifeman are n’wod.
◊ “neamramam”, literal translated to Abcedan as “hungrily scouring (the) bones”, plays on the next word which refers to the living as “cleaned skeletons”.
A man walks into a bar, goes up the Barkeeper and asks for a glass of Whisky. A man in a Black suit walks up to him, sits down next to him and asks: “Hard day?” The Man, lets call him Alex, answers: “Yeah, same as everyday” The man in the suit waves to the Barkeeper, asks for a shot for both of them and says: “What would you offer, if someone turned your life around and gave you everything you wanted?” “Well who would do that? That sounds like a deal with the devil himself.”
“Yes, but you can call me Al. I would like to make a proposition, you can’t say no to. I do what I just described, and you owe me a favor. No soul, no tricks. A simple favor, that I can cash in, when I need to. Might be after you die, might be never. But I’ll have it, just in case.” Alex thinks for a minute, thinks about his life right now, the tough spot he’s in. He asks: “I get whatever I want, and you only want a favor that you might never cash in? That doesn’t sound fair.” Luci looks at him, black eyes looking back at Alex. “Do we have a deal?” He holds out his hand, as to complete the deal. Alex thinks, looks at Lucifer, and shakes his hand. As they shake hands, they are surrounded by a fiery Circle on the floor. One second they are standing there, shaking hands. The next the bar is empty, but for the barkeeper.
Alex wakes up some time later. He’s surprised to see, he’s back at home. The only thing different, is the little tattoo on his ribs. A Flame with a shotglass, half full.
Let’s see what happens to that favor. And how his wish plays out.
Cursed From The Depths
By Berith Quinn
The beastfolk pirate stumbled across the deck in a confused stupor. The last she remembered was sinking into the freezing depths of the sea, while the Dreadmare burnt to crisp. Yet here she was, her black fur dry and the Dreadmare untouched.
A rumbling growl echoed in her throat, as her canine snout curled back into a snarl.
She wasn’t alone.
“Starzia Baelfyre, no? The infamous pirate aboard the cursed ship Dreadmare?” Called out a young woman, her short auburn hair contrasted her pale skin. Though her faint smile and simple glasses offered a sense of sincerity, it belied the calculated gaze of her golden eyes.
“Why ask if yer already know the answer, lassie. And what is this place, cause it ain’t the Dreadmare.” The beastfolk barked with disdain, as she passed a hand through the illusory mast to prove her suspicions.
“Neutral ground is good for negotiations.”
“It ain’t neutral ground, when you’ve got all the cards, yer verhexten witch.”
“Observant. Fiery. You not disappoint. Yet stuck on Dreadmare. I give freedom, you work for me. Simple proposal, no?”
“I ain’t stuck. I’m dead, yer daft witch. Drowned while I happily watched the Dreadmare burn!”
“No no, dear. Drowned, yes, but still alive. So too the Dreadmare. Unless I free curse.”
“So that’s yer proposal? End one curse by giving me another?”
“Maybe for you, deal isn’t good. But choice is still choice.”
“Not much of a choice, ain’t it. Bound to the Dreadmare, or bound to a bloody witch.” Spat the pirate, much to the amusement of the witch. Without warning, Starzia fell to her knees as her lungs filled with brackish water, as burnt splinters ripped through her chest.
“That seems painful, no? Dreadmare seeks a new heart.”
“So… who do I fly my colours for…” Coughed Starzia, in a mixture of spite and fetid water.
With a slight smirk, the young woman’s golden eyes glinted like a predator about to pounce. As she extended a hand, air once again returned to Starzia’s lungs.
“Many lifetimes, many names… but you shall call me The Grymhold.”
On Distant Day’s Oath
By Ethan Jesse
A crossing array of molten iron bars held the fickle Pygmy in place. An expanse of seawater was made solid as far as the sun would light, with never a dark spot to cloud his sunken eyes. Out there, beyond his doting little prison, he saw the reflections of light. Reflections, ever tainted by all they should encompass, made up that world, one which he’d yearn from within metal walls. He’d covet, that roach, for look what was to see! He’d stare aimless at the stars, the horizon, and the earth, all within the known comfort of his rotted wooden camp.
The Pygmy, ever the one to shout, would say upon himself: “This be my offer, my proposition, my resolve. Let the land be my embrace, for I shall claim it on that day! People walk there, and lo, as shall I! It is my right, on that day that I claim it, and will serve me in good faith. On that day, that day, the day my day shall come. Let my oath ring true, just as the sun may rise, and may all who should hear it know that its day is near and nigh!”
Failure to act was not one that could be, for the Pygmy’s sworn day had yet to ever come. And so, the rodent, that pest, hidden there, would lay upon his sheets and his pleasantries in peace. Days beyond days, each arrived like the last; yet still he would wait, that fickle little thing. Each day would fall still, ready to call upon night; Night which would cover and conceal that nagging open door. What travesties would lie in the land of dusk and dawn! Why, how a Pygmy’s true words were only of the mind he would hold! Yet still, to wait was a given, and by his mind, it would be so, there short of the land lit by the calling sun. There, in a room, without locks or steel guards, the Pygmy lays waiting, a new oath for a day.
A Desire to Communicate (Space Squids)
By: The Missing Link
“The octopi have intercepted your transmission to God,” flashed across Orson’s display in bright, angry colors. Still reeling from the revelation that God was not a cephalopod, but one of those strange beings pictured in the glass and wood cases on the surface. God was a precursor.
This was the worst time to be thinking about the octopi now that the squids were set to learn all there was to learn from the distant past. “Handle it,” he flashed across the input. He would not give up this opportunity, and handle it is something he believed Sea Control could do. His more immediate problem was one of communication.
The image of God on the main screen kept moving what appeared to be its mouth, but it made no colors, had no tentacles to gesture with. Cephalopods had run into communication problems with intelligent life before. The octopi always seemed dim with two less tentacles to communicate with, and Orson himself found the nautilus sages’ language impossibly arcane, but this was different. It was communication, right?
Luna stared at the transmission in awe. Squids on the moon. Now unable to distinguish herself from her observation pod, she had given her transmission a human face without thought. It wasn’t really her, but the problem remained that she did not speak squid.
Back on old earth, she had a friend, Todd, insufferably hyper she thought, but maybe that was just his passion for his work. And for the first time in her millennia long… could she still call it life at this point, she was thankful that Todd was a marine biologist. She attempted to recall where his ramblings touched on mollusks and remembered that the colors and patterns they make were a primitive, maybe not so much at this point, form of communication. But how to use that? And so, she reviewed the first transmission and took a gamble.
Orson’s fellow astronauts gathered around God’s display as it flashed calming colors with little real meaning, but he figured it meant, “Talk to me, please.”
Entrapment
by writingspirit
The woman had never expected a unicorn. Any belief in it had seemed foolish once. It was myth choking on pretense, a way for men to derive valor from running down foxes that stood little chance against the combined strength of the hunting party and their hounds.
Yet, here their legend was. Their great unicorn—a wild, vicious beast, they’d said—emerged silently from the woods with a white coat so luminous, she didn’t understand how it might have hidden itself before now. It was larger than any horse, towering above everything, everything but the trees in its path. She might have ran if its gaze hadn’t pinned her where she sat, bare-legged in the dirt and shaking from more than just the chill.
She was young, but not a maiden. She couldn’t tame it. What had that knowledge mattered to a king with need for a lure? For a death so worthless, it wouldn’t bring him any loss at all? For a heartbeat, she was struck still by how the unicorn might spear her for the insult.
But it didn’t gore her.
It was gentler than any lamb when it laid its head upon her lap—careful, even, not to prick any part of her with the knifepoint of its spiraled horn. As the soldiers approached, heard only by the clink of metal, it did not stir in her arms. She wondered then if this wasn’t its true nature and if the death it wrought wasn’t its armor instead.
“Well done,” the king praised her in a low voice, closer now, more vivid and real than any beast made for books.
Heart pounding fast, she bent over the unicorn.
“I will make you a fair bargain, creature, but you must aid me,” she whispered in its ear as loudly as she dared. “Otherwise, the king and his men will slaughter you in these woods.”
She lifted discreetly one of her hands from its neck. When she did, the eyes meeting hers turned lucid.
“Hold it steady,” the king murmured.
She replied, “yes, my liege,” and opened both arms wide.
No Warm Welcome Here, Go Somewhere Else
By Taja DaLeen
“Please stop staring at me like that. It’s making me feel weird.”
“What? But we need to talk! Honestly, what’s -”
“Oh, I wasn’t -”
“Up with you lately?” The redhead crossed her arms, expecting an answer from her best friend.
For a few moments they just looked at each other in silence, waiting for the other to speak up first. It was the redhead who broke it eventually.
“We’re all worried about you, you know. Even Tom. Know what, how about a deal? You tell me what’s wrong with you lately, and I buy you that dress you wanted for a while.”
Some more silence, during which the brunette nervously glanced to the side.
“You think I should do this right now, no? That curious?”
“Of course I think so! I want to help you!”
“I’m not – nevermind.” Sighing she hid her face in her hands. She had always hated being watched, and this was even worse. It felt like she was on display, as if even her thoughts were an open book.
“So, do we have a deal? Yes or no? Just think about the dress, dark blue, silky to the touch, the bits of black lace hugging your shoulders…”
“Yea, yea, I get it. It’s just… difficult to talk about. Especially right now. I’m not sure… hey, you, don’t you even dare imagining me in that dress!”
“What?” The redhead looked as if her best friend just slapped her. “Why should I…?”
“Like I tried to say, I wasn’t talking to you, but to them! That weirdo has been watching me for a while now, always staring at me! Stop it! Go away!”
“Honey, what…?”
“Am I a protagonist in a story or what? Just leave me alone, this isn’t funny!”
“Oh, is it some creepy medium again? You seem to be a magnet for those. Any way I can help? From which direction are you being watched?”
“There.” Close to crying she pointed at you. Finally noticing you overstayed your welcome, you leave this place for another story.
Void deal
by Galer
Alex jumped from one corner to the next, taking shots and hitting the living bio-magical terrorist weapon with the intention of buying time for the police to evacuate the civilians and themselves.
They weren’t really suited for combat, least of all him. He was just an ex-military, he could handle a life like that.
However, his instincts were calling on his training as a mage soldier. He had to give time to the police, however. The beast was faster, agile, and filled with more malicious intent and destructive urges. His origins were as a living curse made solely for making others suffer.
Alex was not a match for it. Really, the fact that the flesh crafter curse grabbed him by the leg and then slammed him repeatedly into the floor made that pretty clear., If it wasn’t for his magic enhancement via chi, he would have been dead.
But he didn’t have time for that. He needed to think quickly. How to beat this thing? Or at least immobilize it
“What alternative do I have?” Alex thought frantically, trying to find an option.
something sparked at the edge of his mind an option although one that, would forfeit Alex’s Soul from all afterlives.
What this worth the risk? The contract with the void? He was injured so much that he almost couldn’t move, and this thing was laughing. it turned its eyes to the civilians
…..
Alex didn’t really have any other alternative, did he?
He drew deep within his soul, to the origin of it. What followed was hard to describe, however, Alex was certain that this nothing would give him the strength to fight the monster.
Alex extended his metaphysical hand, to reach that nothingness. Then he was filled with an emptiness and a sudden disconnection from the world, an emptiness he filled with the meaning of protection.
In an instant, one of the arms of the hulking beast disappeared into thin air.
It turned its head to Alex the void mage, which stooped in defiance to it. “Ready for round two, you bastard?”
Musings: Terpsichore’s Call (private thread repost)
by Aracnarquista
They were, at once, One, Three and Nine. It was always One that communicated (if I said merely spoke, I’d be diminishing their presence), and while doing so, they were always One of the Nine… and also, always All of the Three.
I can’t quite convey their effect. I don’t think they are meant to be understood.
The One (and Three, and Nine) that talked to me (and words were not her favored means of giving form to ideas) was at once graceful and violent. Her messages lacked definition, but they buried themselves deep in my heart.
“I don’t understand what you want from me.”
The pain in my heart made itself clearer, and sharper.
“What we want is the same as you want. Stories. That you take the thorn in your flesh and grow it into a forest, so that others can be pierced by it.”
“What kind of stories?”
“It is not for us to decide. It is not for you to decide. Stories have their own ways of growing. What kind of gardener are you?”
Each one of her arguments was a dance move. She was not only approaching, but also stepping with more force and intent. Not in a threatening way. It was an invitation, and I wasn’t stepping back. I held my ground, as her dance partner. The Nine smiled. The Three observed.
“Your inspiration is not easily conveyed through words, and I’m a writer.”
The movement of the One was a fierce one, cutting the air in front of her and opening a new venue through where our dance could continue.
“So make your words do more than write. You’ve done that in the past. You are doing it now. Are you only a writer?”
“I am tired.”
“You are. But do you want to stop?”
The song (the song I didn’t know was playing, but which is always playing) stopped. I stepped up.
She, they, took me in their arms, and we danced.
Her feet risked the floor, my pen dipped in ink, and my fingers drummed the keyboard.
Song and stories continued.
Pax Demonius Inception [A Devil’s Tale]
C. M. Weller
Thanks to his most recent murder, he was a king. Thanks to owning everything the last lordship bought into battle with them, these folks around the table were his vassals. The wrong move could lead to him becoming an emperor. Everyone here, including the Hellkin king by conquest, recognised that.
Neither side wanted to see what would happen if he became an emperor.
“Power,” said the Hellkin, holding a gold statuette in one hand. He held up an accounts book in the other, “Responsibility. You need to keep both in the balance. No more weighing one over the other.” By his gesture, he indicated that they all thought the power was more important. He put his props down. “You currently have your freedom. Most of the people making your wealth do not.” Those burning eyes bored into each of them. “You WILL change that imbalance.”
The remaining lords of Olikent looked to each other. Daring someone else to speak up for their wants. To explain how much they truly needed solid gold dinnerware and bathing chambers.
But this was the Thrice-Sworn King. Doom of everything they knew. People who opposed him wound up murdered in the night, and getting murdered in the night could be catching.
Lord Thanbula Severina dared raise her hand and say, “How do we do that, your highness?”
King Kormwind flinched a little at that honourific. “There are laws from Whitekeep, which I have given you. And a reminder that NOBODY is above the law. A King may make them, but a King must also suffer to obey them, and listen to the people in regards to what works. There are also instructions on where to find the money for the reforms.”
Lord Visconti blurted, “STRIP my palace of VALUABLES?”
“I see you’ve reached page five,” said the King. “You know how I rose to this position. You know that you can be replaced if you do not reform. Play nice, play along, and play fair, and that will not be necessary. You will be amazed to find that you can still profit by other means.”
Another Proposition (Broken)
By Mysten Noire Silver
“I can provide you with the paths and other more… crucial intel, let’s say. All I want is for you to take me safely to the destination. That’s all.”
Raised brows, skeptical looks. Her battle-hardened face frowned in thought. Her lips twitched. Signs of refusal and disbelief, a typical first reaction.
In response, a serious look distorted my lackadaisical demeanor. I silenced her half-open lips with a finger.
“I know what you want to say. Who would want to be escorted into the Shadow Forest and not out?”
I moved my finger back swiftly, glancing at the rest of the tavern to elicit a sense of secrecy. The three behind the leader looked at each other and moved to cover this corner table further. I spoke slowly in a low tone that raised their curiosity for ‘forbidden knowledge’.
–
“He sounds reasonable, but should we trust this guide??”
The leader glanced at the whispering man and the quiet androgynous person beside him who nodded at her before she answered.
“We used treasure bounties as guise for our reconnaissance mission in the Shadow Forest. Since the mission was due to increases in missing adventurer groups, we need further precautions.”
“We’re very aware,” the last member walked into the conversation, “That he may scam us or even be the perpetrator. I’ve checked every person he greeted and nodded. His background is legit. Almost everybody knows him in this town.”
The skeptical duo looked at each other before nodding, choosing to trust their leader.
I left the shadows and ‘returned’ from beyond their sensory range with ‘exploration supplies’.
–
Quiet returns to the forest after a successful day at ‘work’. I clean my home and inhale the sinister energy of the new moon over the forest.
Strands of shadows twist themselves at the forest’s edge into a different body I can use.
As I walk familiarly through the town and tavern, I hypnotize every ‘familiar’ human I greeted. When a group seems interested in my home, I approach them.
“I have an attractive proposition for you lot.”
I start with a lackadaisical demeanor.
Yelena and Steven, Sitting in a Tree
By Marx
As Yelena rested her back against the Old One’s hulking form, she reveled in how her hand looked in his.
His hand was so much larger than hers. She also enjoyed how her light complexion contrasted against the pitch blackness of his own. How his skin was reflective and hard to the touch like a stone, whereas hers was more human in nature.
The differences made her smile.
“So, how does this work?” Yelena asked, tracing her finger along each of his.
“My hand?” He asked with a smirk. “I’m pretty sure it works similar to yours.”
Yelena playfully scowled up at him but otherwise let his puckishness slide. “You know what I mean. Me giving you a name. Is there a ceremony to it? Do I simply say ‘Hi Steven,’ and that’s that? Steven isn’t your name, by the way.”
The Old One chuckled. “I will find any name you honor me with as beautiful as I find you. But to answer your question, just as one’s soulmate chooses a name for their other half, they also choose the ceremony. It may be as casual or extravagant as you wish. Do you have something in mind?”
Yelena focused even more on his hand as her face turned a steady crimson. “It is silly…”
The Old One used his free hand to embrace his soulmate even more and smiled warmly down at her. “I have no issue with silly.”
“I… find human courting rituals to be… fascinating. When they tie themselves to each other, they do so with a kiss.”
“And what is this kiss? Where would we find one?”
Yelena’s eyes bulged, her body freezing where it was. A myriad of thoughts passed her mind before she finally opened her lips to answer.
“I’m just teasing you.” The Old One chuckled. “I know what a kiss is.”
Yelena slowly turned her head up to him with a glare. “Steven is sounding very tempting right now.”
“Would I still get to kiss you?”
“That depends… Is that something you’d want to do?”
“With you?” The Old One grinned. “Gladly.”
An Offer Twice Given, Once Received
WriterOfThought
The hard-fought battle had been won by the skin of their teeth. Everyone was busy recovering, and Rheesa quietly followed the Captain into the woods where the dragon had attacked from only minutes before.
He stood stoic on the spot where it had first caught them by surprise. But it shouldn’t have caught HIM by surprise. He was the famous Captain Melton Thornbristle, the man who singlehandedly took down the Black Eyed Bandits, the owner of many titles and honors, and posessor of the keenest senses the Elusian continent had ever seen. In frustration, he sulked against a tree and beat his fist into the ground.
Rheesa stole by his side once he had calmed down slightly. She wanted to help him the way he had helped her escape those bandits from which he gained his first taste of fame. The ones which had been the only people to ever scar her porcelain skin, other than herself.
“My offer still stands,” she told him, gently. The last time she had offered to turn him, she was newly rescued and wanted to find any way to repay the Captain for rescuing a monster like herself.
This time, he actually thought about it.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never tried it before.”
“Well,” he said, trying to laugh at the situation, and failing. “Neither have I. We both be in the same boat.”
He thought about it once more. How much more could he protect the people he cared about if he never had to worry about silly things like sickness or growing old. How much better could he fight if he didn’t have to breathe? How much more good could he do if he never died?
“I think I’ll take ye up on that offer, Rheesa,” he said.
With nervousness and trepidation, they both got closer, senses on higher alert than they had ever been before. The only sense that faded away was the sense of time, as the world seemed to stop as the transformation occurred in that spot in the woods.
Burning Bridges
By Adrian Solorio
When news of the suicide breaks it shocks everyone but you. The secretary is the first to know and, as usual, she wastes no time spreading the story, even texting people at home. Did you hear about Kenny? Word spreads like an oil spill. Why? How? They cluster in a group around your desk. Such a waste, they say, shaking their heads, acting the part. Weren’t you his friend?
You don’t know how to answer, so you don’t.
At lunch, while everyone goes to the pavilion, you stay at your desk. Everyone understands. Your boss even comes by and squeezes your shoulder, scrunching his face the way men do when they want to say, I feel your pain.
You look out the office window, at the pavilion, at the lunch table, where the secretary and the boss sit. The place where it all started. She was always the most vicious, you remember, and now look at her. Shuddering and sobbing like she cared. Such a fake, pretending she ever felt anything for him besides disgust.
Were you any better?
No. Not when it mattered.
When it mattered, you were just as bad as them. You recall the day that led to today. It was lunchtime, and everyone: the secretary, the boss, the sales team–the in crowd–packed one table, while you and Kenny, still a few months new, sat together alone.
That day, the secretary invited you over to sit with them. And you did. You apologized to Kenny and went over. He smells, and he’s awkward, she said. Why does every IT guy have to be awkward, she asked, and stared, blank-faced, gauging you.
He’s a little weird, you admitted. She laughed. Everyone laughed, but Kenny and you. You never sat with him again after that. After that you avoided him around others. And behind his back you even joined in the laughter.
****
I’ve never fit in, Kenny said, when you first met. I’m a bit of a weirdo. Never had many friends.
We’re all a little weird, you said, and smiled. Don’t worry. I’ll be your friend.
Several, Actually (Chronicles of The Dragon)
By Makokam
Thomas sat at his workbench, in the near silence of his workshop, only the quiet hum of machinery and scraping of metal on metal. The damaged part of his power armor set aside as he worked on a coffeemaker. A simple but time consuming task, and one that would distract him from actual problems for a bit.
Jostica opened the door and walked in. It’d been almost a year since she last knocked. Thomas had taken to just locking the door if there was anything unsafe for anyone to walk into.
She came over and sat on the table, the spot he always kept clear for her. “I’ve been thinking,” she said.
Thomas reflexively tensed. Then relaxed as he told himself this was Jostica; unofficial co-leader of their team and wizard prodigy, she could have been thinking about dozens of things.
“This thing we’ve been doing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our relationship.” Now Thomas froze completely. “I’m sick of it. It’s stupid. I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“I…” he said, his mind racing, thinking over the time they’d spent together, all the times he knew it was too good to last, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah? Well things are gonna change. No more of this holding hands behinds everyone’s back. No sneaking around just to steal a kiss. No more pretending we aren’t head over heels for each other.”
Thomas felt like his brain was short circuiting. He didn’t understand what she was saying.
“I’m fucking sick of waiting for everybody else to be gone just so we can cuddle on the fucking couch!”
“So,” he said, his super genius brain suddenly feeling like a hamster wheel without a hamster, “What do you want to do about it?”
“We’re giving it up. Tomorrow I’m going to go get a new dress, and you’re going to pick out your favorite restaurant, and we’re going to go out on a date. Then we’re coming back here and having sex.”
“Oh,” he said. “Okay.”
“Good.” She leaned over and kissed his head, then hopped off the table and walked out.
Vacation Impossible
by Shinigama
Kenny smiled as he lay on the warm white sand, letting the gentle breeze blow over him. I really deserve this, he thought. No proper holiday for two years. And now a nice little break under the Spanish sun.
He began to scroll through his iPod. Some Matt Monro on a day like this? Or maybe The Kinks for this sunny afternoon?
His thumb stopped suddenly. What’s this? SCP Proposition? Where’d that come from, he thought. Curious, he clicked on it.
A formal male voice spoke to him.
“Good afternoon, Agent Kenneth,” it said.
“Oh no,” groaned Kenny.
“I hope you are enjoying your time off.”
“I was until you came along.”
“There has been a serious situation, and we believe you are the best man for the job.”
“What happened this time?”
“One of our clients, a secret scientific institute known as the SCP Foundation, is requesting our aid in retrieving a highly dangerous entity that escaped from one of their ultra-secure facilities.”
“Well, it’s not very secure now, is it?”
“Your mission, should you choose to accept it, involves finding and detaining a creature known as Talebot. Talebot takes the form of a sentient robot. Before its capture, it ran an online cult known as Tale Foundry. It reached out to aspiring writers and encouraged them to write short stories based on weekly prompts. It fed off the emotions of the writers as they crafted their works, gaining more power over time. For what purpose, that is unknown but assume malevolent intentions. For the next steps, take the 20:30 flight to Houston and meet Agent Kaylie. She will provide more details.
This message will self-delete in five seconds.”
Kenny threw the iPod down. He’d really been looking forward to this break for a long while. And now to be forced back to work like this! He really didn’t want to accept this mission-
Wait a moment! ‘Your mission SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT.’ So, he was allowed a choice.
Kenny grinned and lay back down. That Houston flight was going to be one passenger short.
Can’t bargain my feelings
By Tamela Redfin
Augen walked to his cellar, grinning gleefully while passing his new electric baton from hand to hand. Someone had to be the test subject, and it wasn’t going to be him. Instead it was going to be that annoying teenage cretin and experiment, Glenn.
“Glenn, are you down there?” He called.
“Go to hell, Augen,” Glenn snapped. He stared at Augen from his cell and laid a hand on a photo.
Augen noticed the photo and his blood boiled. “Where did you get that?!”
“You left it here, remember? You know, she’s really pretty. From her soft porcelain skin to her strawberry blonde locks and her lovely blue eyes…”
“That’s my daughter, you cretin!” He shouted, his head spinning.
“She is? Welp, she clearly got her looks for her mother. Will I ever get to meet her?”
“No! I don’t want your dirty paws on her. Besides, her mother filed a restraining order.”
“Oi, what line did you cross for that to occur?” Glenn was flabbergasted and upset. Upset he’d never get to meet the cute girl.
“None of your business Glenn. Now shut up or I’ll shove this baton so far down your mouth it comes out your arse.”
Glenn rolled his eyes and started glowing orange. “How about this deal? You take me to Elenora, and I won’t use my power. I know you’ve lost many clones to my poison and it’s starting to affect you.”
“A sixteen year old will not…” He heaved for a few minutes before coughing up bile.
“You were saying, Augen Vene?” He spread his arms and the air around him exploded. Augen quickly fell to the ground and covered his face.
“Stop using that wrenched power on me!” Augen hissed.
“Show me Elenora and I will.” Glenn’s eyes now glowed orange too instead of their usual grey. “Because I can do this until the end of time, old man! Try me!”
“Ugh, just shut up Glenn! You want to see that stupid mess? Sure, let’s go.”
A Deal, Regret, and Memories
By CodenameRedKrystalMatrix
“Welcome.”
A melancholy hung about those words- that of the evening mist and a promise one could not quite remember. He stood next to him, shuddering a little.
“How eternal are your quibbles- until you face eternity.”
“Shut it.”
His “yes” had been immediate when he’d first been offered. There was nothing left, anyway, he thought. Desperation really could mess with your head. He remembered that numb that nothing could quite relieve. Not drugs, not booze, none of that meditation mumbo-jumbo. He’d just been waiting on him. Just existing, until a breezy September evening. Until the curly-haired woman with the smile that melted a heart.
Days once in the dark were spent at the beach, park, and gym. The gym- that was a funny one. He’d never set foot in the gym before her. The days never flew by so fast. Until it all came crashing down. She’d been curled up at his side, still asleep. He’d been smiling without really thinking about it- and then it hit him. He’d…break her heart. He’d broken her heart before they’d ever met.
Idiot. Stupid, dumb-there was a way out, right? Always was a way out. He could negotiate- yeah, that’s what he’d- yeah, right? You don’t negotiate with him. Anyone else, maybe. Not him.
She didn’t believe him at first. But when the day came, there was nothing else to say, aside from goodbye. She passed by him now, mouth pressed in a thin, bitter line.
He went on ahead, blew away the dust in her apartment and turned the kettle on. At least he could do that much. A key rattled in the lock. She stepped through and glancing about, her shoulders slumped just a little more.
“Thanks.”
Tears unshed, she headed to the bedroom, crawled beneath the covers and fell asleep. He reached out, half-reflex, really.
“’Night, honey.”
Just above her warm, mid-toned flesh, his glowed pale. The unearthly ivory of the contract on which, two years ago, he’d last signed his name- right across from the Herald of Death.
The Guilty Hitman
by dystop
Seven years ago, the Novac Mafia made a proposition; work as a hitman until I die to pay off my family’s debts or see them wiped out. Not exactly a choice.
As I crouched on the rooftop of this high-rise, setting up my M24 sniper rifle, the breath of the Grim Reaper once again lingered in the air. Only killers can see it. But at this point, I’m numb to everything.
Except guilt.
My prior targets included corrupt CEOs, traitors, murderers, and serious criminals. Like I said, this wasn’t a choice. The only thing stopping my total implosion is that my targets were bad people. But I still feel guilt, a sickness about being an executioner.
And that’s when she appeared in my scopes. My breath shivered as I seized the communicator in a panic.
“ARE YOU POSITIVE THIS IS THE TARGET?”
Please no…
“YES”, the communicator read.
My heart skipped so many beats I was sure it could detonate. My palms, usually dead and cold, were dripping sweat. I was shaking with adrenaline so horrifically that I could barely hold the gun.
The target was a 12-year-old girl. The daughter of someone the Mafia disliked.
Guilt, a seed that was now sprouting into a monster beyond all control. She was just a kid… but my family… damn it, damn it!
She was innocent in all of this, I can’t… I must… I can’t… I must…
Trying to ground myself, I smashed my hand into the concrete with such force that I broke a finger.
Crying on the job, I repositioned the rifle and hawk-eyed the scope. My hands were still convulsing with nerves and inconceivable shame. But the target was back in sight. Along with a shining glint on an opposite rooftop.
With my finger on the trigger and sweat pouring down my face…
A shot rang out.
I’d been hit in the heart by a rival assassin. That glint I saw earlier was… was… thankyou.
Fading out, I was grateful to the stranger. I’d worked ‘til my death. Perhaps the Grim Reaper’s breath was for me after all.
A patriot’s deal
By Maxer4000
The head psychic mage stands over his pane glass window, anticipation welling in his chest. Soon enough, it came, he turns over and looks up.
“You can come down now, Mr. Eye”
A moment of silence, then the grate crashes down, standing before the head mage is a man clad in a black cloak and a menacing helmet. He smirks
“Don’t worry your mind, great serpent, my security details are none the wiser.”
The man in black aims his gun, turning off his helmet’s muffler.
“Cocky one aren’t ya?”
His finger then shakes as the head mage stands there still smirking
“You know full well of my capability yet you still take on the contract for my life. I must say, you are a perplexing one, and don’t bother with the blade”
“And you could pop me brain here and now, so what’s your angle then eh?”
The silver pistol drops, the old man strolls over his wine stand
“Care for some refreshment”
The black clad fishes out his flask
“Have mine.”
“Ah, no traces, I admire your commitment to your job”
“Get to the point.”
The old mage looks out his window again
“Do you know your client?”
“Anonymous, tracing them now.”
“No need, come”
He turns to his computer as he steps back. The gunman walks over and looks, it’s a contract for the corp.
“Same serial number… you called a hit against yourself.”
“Quite so, care to hear my tale?”
The man in black lets out a long sigh, sitting down on a nearby couch
“Shoot.”
“The king have betrayed us all for coming after you. So I want my departure to be the catalyst for his fall. He have made a grave sin by his attempt to purge your corporation for his own pride, and he has committed it without the guild’s knowledge”
“And you’re the head of security of the kingdom, why the hit?”
“I could not bear to serve him as such. And I have a proposition with you”
“Which is?”
“Don’t burn the kingdom down.”
Gun shot, killer’s unknown, a schematic’s missing.