Writerverse: Table of Doom - Sweets
Here's more I Prefer the Mind Control for writerverse's Table of Doom. I'm playing around with canon right now. Enjoy!
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“You look like you saw a ghost,” Preston mutters when I enter my dorm the next day. He’s got a bag of coffee beans in his hand. “Man, you better tell me what happened with Xan and why someone would want to kill him.”
“I’m getting to that,” I mutter. “See anything about the attack on the news?” I plop down on my bed and drop my stuff. If I think too hard about what happened, my brain might explode, and that would be be fucking messy. And awkward.
“Just something about a ‘deranged assailant’ in the botanical garden. Said the ‘investigation was ongoing,’” Preston says. He grabs a pumpkin out of a plastic container on his night table and plops down next to me, dropping the coffee beans on the bed. “You would think there would be more police stuff, wouldn’t you?”
I shrug. It is pretty fucking weird that the police haven’t followed up or anything. I guess Xan’s bodyguards are taking care of it or something? Maybe they don’t want the publicity? Xan might have made them keep it quiet on account of how he doesn’t want anyone to know who he is.
Preston takes a huge bite out of his muffin. “Needs more sugar,” he mutters. “I haven’t had a good muffin in forever. You know who has good muffins? That local diner place. They’ve got good waffles too.”
“Xan makes waffles,” I say. “They’re even better than the ones from that diner.” They’re tasty fucking waffles
“Really? So are waffles why someone tried to kill him?” he mutters, raising an eyebrow.
I laugh -- an almost belly laugh at the idea someone would kill Xan over his fucking waffles. Yeah, those cooking competition reality get intense, but as far as I know, nobody’s been murdered over any of them.
“Yes, waffles are totally why someone tried to kill the guy I’ve been sleeping with. If only! That would be relatively normal,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“Waffle murder would be normal?” Preston asks. “What would be weirder than murdering someone over their waffle recipe?” He takes another bit of his muffin.
“Murdering someone over a muffin?” I say.
“How would that be weirder?” He raises an eyebrow.
“I guess it fucking wouldn’t.” I frown, trying to think up a reason for killing someone that’s weirder than waffles that isn’t why someone actually tried to kill Xan. “Someone...whistles too loudly?”
Preston narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not saying someone tried to kill Xan over whistling, are you?”
I snort. “Of course not,” I say, shaking my head.
“So what actually happened?” he asks.
“Um...” I pause. The real reason is all kinds of “what the fuck,” so I’m, like, hesitant to even explain. “The mysterious assassin wannabe tried to kill him because of who he is.”
“And who is he? Some kind of interstellar banker guy who screwed millions out of their life savings?” Preston says. He takes another bite out of the apparently inadequately sweet muffin and just fucking stares at me.
I snort again because Xan is so not the type to screw millions out of their life savings. “He’s not a galactic banker,” I mutter.
Preston just keeps staring at me, urging me to get to the fucking point already. He finishes off his muffin, somehow making the act of eating a pastry a demand for answers.
“He’s a Prince of Zimara,” I say.
“W-what?” Preston chokes on his pumpkin muffin. “Are -- are you serious?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m fucking serious.”
“You’re messing with me,” he mutters. “Don’t mess with me when I’m not done chewing.”
“I just said I was serious,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
“How serious?”
“Seriously serious. More than seriously serious,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “You can call and ask him if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it. He doesn’t exactly like to talk about it”
Preston’s eyes widen. “Doesn’t like to talk about it? Why not? I would think being royalty is something to brag about.”
“He just wants to be normal, I guess. “Even if he’s rich enough that pretending to be normal is, like, impossible.” I uncross my arms. “You should see his fucking apartment. It’s ridiculous.”
“I still can’t believe this,” he mutters, shaking his head. He grabs a couple of coffee beans and munches on them. “I really can’t believe this.”
I bark out in fucking laughter because I can’t believe it either. So much of this makes no sense at all because what does an actual real live space Prince want with, um, me?
Preston turns to look at me. “You really think we could call Xan and verify his identity? Because otherwise I’m gonna think you’re lying. Because, really, what are the odds?”
“The odds are basically zero. Less than zero,” I say.
“...so, are you gonna call him or what?” he mutters, staring at me.
Looks like Preston won’t stop bugging me about this unless I give in and call Xan. He’s not gonna be happy about this, but I couldn’t just keep his real identity secret from my best friend. That’d be, like, a major betrayal of trust.
I grab my phone and dial Xan’s number. It rings a whole bunch of times, and I think it’s gonna go to fucking voicemail. It doesn’t. Xan picks up, causing my heart to leap into my throat. “Hello, Dylan?” he murmurs.
“Hey. It’s me, which you already knew because your fancy phone has caller ID. Um...how are you? You feeling okay?” I ask.
I stare up at the celing because this is fucking awkward, even though Xan can’t actually, you know, see me. “I, uh, kind of told my best friend Preston who you are. And he thinks I’m lying,” I say. That was smooth.
“You -- what?” Xan says.
“Sorry about that.” I wince. “It’s not the kind of thing I can just keep quiet about to everyone. But I haven’t told anyone else, and Preston will keep it a secret or I’ll make buttered toast out of his kidneys.”
Preston’s nose wrinkles. “Gross, I don’t think you can make toast out of kidneys,” he mutters.
“Um...if you don’t mind, could you...tell Preston you’re really a Prince? I can put the phone on speaker, but I totally understand if you don’t want to because, yeah, geez this conversation is random isn’t it?” I say.
“This Preston is your best friend?” Xan murmurs.
I nod, though he can’t fucking see me. “Yeah, he is.”
“Alright then, I’ll talk to him,” he says.
After that, I put the phone on speaker. My brain’s a little fuzzy on account of just how weird and random this all is.
“...hello, this is Dylan’s friend, Preston. Uh...should I call you Xan?” Preston says, his voice super hesitant.
“Xan is fine,” he says.
Preston just radiates awkward as he stares at the phone in my hand. “Are you -- are you really a...Prince? Or is Dylan making that up?” he says.
“He -- isn’t making that up,” Xan mutters.
My best friend makes an odd squeaking sound. In that silence that follows Xan’s statement, I can imagine he’s shifting uncomfortably on the other end of the line.
“R-really?” Preston says.
“Really,” Xan says.
The awkward gets thick enough it’s kinda hard to breathe. I get the feeling this is making Xan uncomfortable.
“Did you really make your own waffle recipe? Don’t you have an army of servants to make your food?” Preston mutters.
I smack my forehead -- that is not gonna make things any less awkward and weird.
“I like cooking,” Xan says. “And I do it on my own. I didn’t exactly bring an ‘army’ of servants with me to Earth.” He sounds proud, and I can imagine he’s fucking smiling at the thought of his waffles.
“Anyway, I have...homework to do, so I should let you go, Xan. It was nice talking to you, though. And I look forward to more waffles. As well as anything else you would like to cook,” I say. Hey, I have to do something to break up the awkward.
“Alright, I’ll see you later,” Xan murmurs. “We should hang out again sometime soon.”
“Uh, bye,” Preston mutters.
“Goodbye to both of you.” Xan hangs up and Preston gives me a funny look as I put my phone away.
“Since when do you do homework?” Preston mutters.
“Since...well, I should at least pretend to do it at some point, right?” I say, shrugging.
Pretending to do homework’s gonna be difficult, since the whole “Xan is fucking royalty” thing is more than a little much for my brain to handle.
But I will fucking handle it, since I don’t wanna stop seeing Xan. Even if his position is enough to make my brain explode.
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“You look like you saw a ghost,” Preston mutters when I enter my dorm the next day. He’s got a bag of coffee beans in his hand. “Man, you better tell me what happened with Xan and why someone would want to kill him.”
“I’m getting to that,” I mutter. “See anything about the attack on the news?” I plop down on my bed and drop my stuff. If I think too hard about what happened, my brain might explode, and that would be be fucking messy. And awkward.
“Just something about a ‘deranged assailant’ in the botanical garden. Said the ‘investigation was ongoing,’” Preston says. He grabs a pumpkin out of a plastic container on his night table and plops down next to me, dropping the coffee beans on the bed. “You would think there would be more police stuff, wouldn’t you?”
I shrug. It is pretty fucking weird that the police haven’t followed up or anything. I guess Xan’s bodyguards are taking care of it or something? Maybe they don’t want the publicity? Xan might have made them keep it quiet on account of how he doesn’t want anyone to know who he is.
Preston takes a huge bite out of his muffin. “Needs more sugar,” he mutters. “I haven’t had a good muffin in forever. You know who has good muffins? That local diner place. They’ve got good waffles too.”
“Xan makes waffles,” I say. “They’re even better than the ones from that diner.” They’re tasty fucking waffles
“Really? So are waffles why someone tried to kill him?” he mutters, raising an eyebrow.
I laugh -- an almost belly laugh at the idea someone would kill Xan over his fucking waffles. Yeah, those cooking competition reality get intense, but as far as I know, nobody’s been murdered over any of them.
“Yes, waffles are totally why someone tried to kill the guy I’ve been sleeping with. If only! That would be relatively normal,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“Waffle murder would be normal?” Preston asks. “What would be weirder than murdering someone over their waffle recipe?” He takes another bit of his muffin.
“Murdering someone over a muffin?” I say.
“How would that be weirder?” He raises an eyebrow.
“I guess it fucking wouldn’t.” I frown, trying to think up a reason for killing someone that’s weirder than waffles that isn’t why someone actually tried to kill Xan. “Someone...whistles too loudly?”
Preston narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not saying someone tried to kill Xan over whistling, are you?”
I snort. “Of course not,” I say, shaking my head.
“So what actually happened?” he asks.
“Um...” I pause. The real reason is all kinds of “what the fuck,” so I’m, like, hesitant to even explain. “The mysterious assassin wannabe tried to kill him because of who he is.”
“And who is he? Some kind of interstellar banker guy who screwed millions out of their life savings?” Preston says. He takes another bite out of the apparently inadequately sweet muffin and just fucking stares at me.
I snort again because Xan is so not the type to screw millions out of their life savings. “He’s not a galactic banker,” I mutter.
Preston just keeps staring at me, urging me to get to the fucking point already. He finishes off his muffin, somehow making the act of eating a pastry a demand for answers.
“He’s a Prince of Zimara,” I say.
“W-what?” Preston chokes on his pumpkin muffin. “Are -- are you serious?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m fucking serious.”
“You’re messing with me,” he mutters. “Don’t mess with me when I’m not done chewing.”
“I just said I was serious,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
“How serious?”
“Seriously serious. More than seriously serious,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “You can call and ask him if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it. He doesn’t exactly like to talk about it”
Preston’s eyes widen. “Doesn’t like to talk about it? Why not? I would think being royalty is something to brag about.”
“He just wants to be normal, I guess. “Even if he’s rich enough that pretending to be normal is, like, impossible.” I uncross my arms. “You should see his fucking apartment. It’s ridiculous.”
“I still can’t believe this,” he mutters, shaking his head. He grabs a couple of coffee beans and munches on them. “I really can’t believe this.”
I bark out in fucking laughter because I can’t believe it either. So much of this makes no sense at all because what does an actual real live space Prince want with, um, me?
Preston turns to look at me. “You really think we could call Xan and verify his identity? Because otherwise I’m gonna think you’re lying. Because, really, what are the odds?”
“The odds are basically zero. Less than zero,” I say.
“...so, are you gonna call him or what?” he mutters, staring at me.
Looks like Preston won’t stop bugging me about this unless I give in and call Xan. He’s not gonna be happy about this, but I couldn’t just keep his real identity secret from my best friend. That’d be, like, a major betrayal of trust.
I grab my phone and dial Xan’s number. It rings a whole bunch of times, and I think it’s gonna go to fucking voicemail. It doesn’t. Xan picks up, causing my heart to leap into my throat. “Hello, Dylan?” he murmurs.
“Hey. It’s me, which you already knew because your fancy phone has caller ID. Um...how are you? You feeling okay?” I ask.
I stare up at the celing because this is fucking awkward, even though Xan can’t actually, you know, see me. “I, uh, kind of told my best friend Preston who you are. And he thinks I’m lying,” I say. That was smooth.
“You -- what?” Xan says.
“Sorry about that.” I wince. “It’s not the kind of thing I can just keep quiet about to everyone. But I haven’t told anyone else, and Preston will keep it a secret or I’ll make buttered toast out of his kidneys.”
Preston’s nose wrinkles. “Gross, I don’t think you can make toast out of kidneys,” he mutters.
“Um...if you don’t mind, could you...tell Preston you’re really a Prince? I can put the phone on speaker, but I totally understand if you don’t want to because, yeah, geez this conversation is random isn’t it?” I say.
“This Preston is your best friend?” Xan murmurs.
I nod, though he can’t fucking see me. “Yeah, he is.”
“Alright then, I’ll talk to him,” he says.
After that, I put the phone on speaker. My brain’s a little fuzzy on account of just how weird and random this all is.
“...hello, this is Dylan’s friend, Preston. Uh...should I call you Xan?” Preston says, his voice super hesitant.
“Xan is fine,” he says.
Preston just radiates awkward as he stares at the phone in my hand. “Are you -- are you really a...Prince? Or is Dylan making that up?” he says.
“He -- isn’t making that up,” Xan mutters.
My best friend makes an odd squeaking sound. In that silence that follows Xan’s statement, I can imagine he’s shifting uncomfortably on the other end of the line.
“R-really?” Preston says.
“Really,” Xan says.
The awkward gets thick enough it’s kinda hard to breathe. I get the feeling this is making Xan uncomfortable.
“Did you really make your own waffle recipe? Don’t you have an army of servants to make your food?” Preston mutters.
I smack my forehead -- that is not gonna make things any less awkward and weird.
“I like cooking,” Xan says. “And I do it on my own. I didn’t exactly bring an ‘army’ of servants with me to Earth.” He sounds proud, and I can imagine he’s fucking smiling at the thought of his waffles.
“Anyway, I have...homework to do, so I should let you go, Xan. It was nice talking to you, though. And I look forward to more waffles. As well as anything else you would like to cook,” I say. Hey, I have to do something to break up the awkward.
“Alright, I’ll see you later,” Xan murmurs. “We should hang out again sometime soon.”
“Uh, bye,” Preston mutters.
“Goodbye to both of you.” Xan hangs up and Preston gives me a funny look as I put my phone away.
“Since when do you do homework?” Preston mutters.
“Since...well, I should at least pretend to do it at some point, right?” I say, shrugging.
Pretending to do homework’s gonna be difficult, since the whole “Xan is fucking royalty” thing is more than a little much for my brain to handle.
But I will fucking handle it, since I don’t wanna stop seeing Xan. Even if his position is enough to make my brain explode.