on a roll and hoping to keep it that way
Vanilla Malt Custard #22. you are a victim of the rules you live by
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1240's
Word Count : ~600
I've been looking at my summer list and while I thought a lot of these prompts fit particular mortal characters and canon situations, a LOT of them fit with gods or backstories just as well, which is going to make this easier (I hope)
“You know,” Roul said to the empty air as soon as the door to his room had shut behind him. “This would be a lot easier if one of you were in his head.”
He had just spent two grueling hours with the boy in question, trying to coax even the tiniest spark from the most badly scrawled sets of lines he’d ever seen.
What a brilliant grasp of the obvious you have. The reply resounded in his head as he kicked off his chalk-spattered shoes and dropped to the floor to search the space beneath his bed for a cleaner pair.
“Well, it clearly didn’t occur to any of you,” said Roul, coming up empty. “I mean, really, the boy can barely tell a water form from an air form.” He pulled a neatly pressed jacket from the closet, kicking the clutter below in hopes of uncovering the missing shoes. “And this is what you pin your existence on?”
You underestimate him, she snapped. She did that a lot more often since the boys had shown up. There was a difference in her presence when they were around that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, as if she were only barely holding herself back from pushing through him to reach them.
“Touchy. Touchy,” he said as casually as he could, brushing his thoughts aside, hoping he did so before she noticed them. He laid the jacket on the bed. “All I’m saying is a little whisper in the kid’s ear wouldn’t hurt.”
You know it doesn’t work that way. And your shoes are behind the dresser.
“I’ve never understood that.” He opened a drawer, took out a fresh shirt, and reached behind the dresser without bothering to look. Both shoes and shirt joined the jacket on the bed. “You’re gods, aren’t you?”
Even gods have rules.
“And just who gets to make these rules?” he asked, settling beside the collection of clothes as he began to undress.
As it was, it must be.
“You know I hate it when you get cryptic with me.” He tossed his shirt on top of his shoes. “Speaking of cryptic," he continued as he pulled the clean one over his head, "Godslayer? That’s all I get to call him?”
My rules are your rules, and sometimes I wish you would just be a good little puppet and obey them without questioning everything.
“It’s not even in the books. I know, I wrote enough of them.” He found himself gesturing at his nonexistent audience with a shoe. Even after three hundred years of such behavior, it still occurred to him now and then that he must look an utter fool during these conversations. He hastily slid the shoe onto a foot. “What’s it even supposed to mean? It sounds to me like he’s meant to stick a knife in one of you. Talk about confusing the poor kid.”
I have my reasons for leaving him from the books.
“He thinks it’s a joke.” Roul shrugged into the jacket. “Not a particularly funny one, either.”
Good. It’s working, then.
Roul sighed. Sometimes he swore he was talking to a wall. A wall that had all the answers written in disappearing ink on its invisible stones and was only too happy to remind you that you couldn't read a word of them. “Someday you’ll have to explain these things to me.”
We’ll see. For now, maybe you should go work on teaching our little princess the difference between a fire sigil and his left foot.
“I think I’ll leave that to Sethan. Two birds with one stone and all that.” He carefully straightened his collar. “Tonight I have a date.”
At the first sound that followed, he loudly shushed her. “Do not tell me how it’s going to go.”
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1240's
Word Count : ~600
I've been looking at my summer list and while I thought a lot of these prompts fit particular mortal characters and canon situations, a LOT of them fit with gods or backstories just as well, which is going to make this easier (I hope)
“You know,” Roul said to the empty air as soon as the door to his room had shut behind him. “This would be a lot easier if one of you were in his head.”
He had just spent two grueling hours with the boy in question, trying to coax even the tiniest spark from the most badly scrawled sets of lines he’d ever seen.
What a brilliant grasp of the obvious you have. The reply resounded in his head as he kicked off his chalk-spattered shoes and dropped to the floor to search the space beneath his bed for a cleaner pair.
“Well, it clearly didn’t occur to any of you,” said Roul, coming up empty. “I mean, really, the boy can barely tell a water form from an air form.” He pulled a neatly pressed jacket from the closet, kicking the clutter below in hopes of uncovering the missing shoes. “And this is what you pin your existence on?”
You underestimate him, she snapped. She did that a lot more often since the boys had shown up. There was a difference in her presence when they were around that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, as if she were only barely holding herself back from pushing through him to reach them.
“Touchy. Touchy,” he said as casually as he could, brushing his thoughts aside, hoping he did so before she noticed them. He laid the jacket on the bed. “All I’m saying is a little whisper in the kid’s ear wouldn’t hurt.”
You know it doesn’t work that way. And your shoes are behind the dresser.
“I’ve never understood that.” He opened a drawer, took out a fresh shirt, and reached behind the dresser without bothering to look. Both shoes and shirt joined the jacket on the bed. “You’re gods, aren’t you?”
Even gods have rules.
“And just who gets to make these rules?” he asked, settling beside the collection of clothes as he began to undress.
As it was, it must be.
“You know I hate it when you get cryptic with me.” He tossed his shirt on top of his shoes. “Speaking of cryptic," he continued as he pulled the clean one over his head, "Godslayer? That’s all I get to call him?”
My rules are your rules, and sometimes I wish you would just be a good little puppet and obey them without questioning everything.
“It’s not even in the books. I know, I wrote enough of them.” He found himself gesturing at his nonexistent audience with a shoe. Even after three hundred years of such behavior, it still occurred to him now and then that he must look an utter fool during these conversations. He hastily slid the shoe onto a foot. “What’s it even supposed to mean? It sounds to me like he’s meant to stick a knife in one of you. Talk about confusing the poor kid.”
I have my reasons for leaving him from the books.
“He thinks it’s a joke.” Roul shrugged into the jacket. “Not a particularly funny one, either.”
Good. It’s working, then.
Roul sighed. Sometimes he swore he was talking to a wall. A wall that had all the answers written in disappearing ink on its invisible stones and was only too happy to remind you that you couldn't read a word of them. “Someday you’ll have to explain these things to me.”
We’ll see. For now, maybe you should go work on teaching our little princess the difference between a fire sigil and his left foot.
“I think I’ll leave that to Sethan. Two birds with one stone and all that.” He carefully straightened his collar. “Tonight I have a date.”
At the first sound that followed, he loudly shushed her. “Do not tell me how it’s going to go.”