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officialleehadan · 6 years

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The Regency

Brandon followed Razz through the hotel until they came to the presidential suit. The magnificent hotel housed celebrities and politicians, and anyone rich enough to pay for truly staggering luxury.

“Pretty posh,” he commented uncomfortably. The only people in suits in this hotel were staff, and bodyguards. They stuck out like a sore thumb. “Is there a reason they insisted on this hotel?”

“Have you ever tried to put a touchy group of off-duty expensive mercenaries into something sub-par?” Razz sked with a wry chuckle that was a little too knowing.. “Blaec is not okay with having anybody higher up than him. Not Happy on a dragon is also Not Subtle.”

“I’ll remember that,” Brandon said for lack of anything better. It didn’t take much imagination to realize just how much trouble an angry dragon could be.

Razz swiped his keycard through the lock and pushed open the door before stopping Brandon with a hand on his shoulder. Brandon froze, used to senior agents and the kind of caution they lived by when they were working with dangerous contacts. If half of the stories Razz told him about this group were true, these were the most dangerous people on the playing field.

“Where’s Xaenxa?” Razz called into the room, voice cheerful and eyes wary as he peered into the suit. He didn’t step through the door. “Anyone got eyes-on?”

“Living room.” answered the sweet female voice that Brandon remembered from the desert. Evelene Petros. “I have eyes-on. Come in.”

“Spoil my fun,” pouted another woman, voice husky and rich with seduction. Brandon could hear the edge of good humor under her whine and wondered what it was all about. Razz certainly wasn’t taking any chances.

Two women were seated across from each other and couldn’t be more different.

Evalene lounged under the window with her bare feet tucked under her. She wore a yellow dress that fell demurely to her calves and a white sweater wrapped around her shoulders against the chill of the air conditioning.

“Hello Razz,” she greeted them cheerfully when they walked in. She was in the process of getting her long hair under control, with limited success. “Did you have any difficulty with the traffic?”

“None at all,” Razz told her cheerfully. “Where’s your meaner half?”

“In the shower. If I hadn’t known you were on your way I might have joined him.”

“Sunshine over there thought I might do something dreadful if I was left unsupervised,” the other woman purred, tossing her silver-white hair back over her shoulder. She was draped languidly across the counter, cheerfully disregarding the dozen chairs and couches nearby. Her silver dress was made of something silky and came halfway down her thighs, just a breath above scandalous. Towering stiletto heels matched the dress exactly and looked like liquid metal. “What the world comes to, that a companion is so distrustful.”

Razz had briefed him, but his explanation fell short of the sight of a half-naked dark elf smiling at him with promise in her eyes. She didn’t bother to introduce herself, but she didn’t have to. This was Xaenxele Draugr. Notorious assassin and sniper, and renowned loose canon. The Agency had a file on her that filled four cabinets.

“You can’t be trusted not to kill them, Xaenxa.”

The speaker was a broad-shouldered man with white-blonde hair that hung in his eyes. His voice carried a trace of his native Russia.

“Hello Rhys.” Razz waved. “Brandon, this is Rhys Titov.”

Before Brandon could do more than proffer his hand to the newcomer, Xaenxa whipped a pistol off the counter beside her and shot the man between the eyes. Blood sprayed across the wall behind him, and he was dead before he hit the floor.

“Holy shit!”

“Don’t.” Razz said sharply, and blocked Brandon’s reflexive grab for his own weapon. He held Brandon’s wrist tightly to keep him from pulling away. “I told you this team was unusual.”

“This is a little more than unusual!”

“Xaenxa is allowed to kill Rhys when she feels like it. He doesn’t mind.”

“Who ‘doesn’t mind’ being murdered!?”

Half of the back of Rhys’ head was missing and some part of Brandon’s mind was wondering what the hell kind of gun the dark elf had. It was a hand-canon and a half, and she managed it like it was maid of air.

“Rhys is complicated,” Razz told him, and kept a cautionary hand around Brandon’s wrist. “Look. It’s already starting.”

Brandon did not want to look at the body on the floor. It wasn’t the first time he had seen someone shot, but it was never nice. When he forced his eyes down, his mouth dropped open.

Fire sparked along Rhys’ fingertips, and in his hair, crackling softly. In moments, it was a towering inferno that consumed even the blood-spots on the wall.

In seconds the body had vanished, and all that remained was a ball of flame hovering just above the floor. Somehow the blaze didn’t seem to be touching the wood floor, even though Brandon could feel the heat from it on his face.

Another moment, and the fire was gone, leaving Rhys as whole as he was when he walked in the room.

“I do not care how funny you think it is to shoot me,” he grumbled uncomfortably as he climbed to his feet. “It gets boring. Think of a more interesting way to go about it, da?”

Xaenxa was giggling with a slightly maniacal expression across her beautiful face. Her silver-painted lips curled at the edges and looked like nothing so much as a trap

“I won’t shoot you next time. I promise.”

“You just had to shoot me in front of the new guy, eh?”

“Better that he see it now than be startled later.”

“What the hell?” Brandon said, now officially sure he was out of his depth as he conveniently forgot the sight of a dragon rising out of the sand only a week earlier. “No, really. What the hell?”

“I am firebird,” Rhys said and shrugged, and took a seat with no indication of discomfort. Even his clothing was undamaged from the sudden shooting and the blaze immediately after. “Xaenxa would like to sacrifice me to her goddess, but she has to figure out how to kill me permanently first. Until then, I remain immune to Death’s stabby ways.”

“Don’t blaspheme,” The dark elf scolded. She balled up a napkin and threw it at him and he laughed at her “She is always listening, and even you will answer to Her someday.”

“I do not worship her,” he protested as he rolled his eyes. “Unless you manage to sacrifice me, I will not meet Her, will I?”

“I am going to leave something toxic in your bed.”

“Again? I’m terrified. You know, you sleep there too.”

“I do not mind toxic things.”

“Is this normal?” Brandon asked tentatively, feeling rather abruptly unequal to this particular task. He was human. What could he do about these people who were so clearly not? “How much of this should I be worried about?”

“As normal as their twisted little love story gets.”

The new arrival came in through the front door, and raised a hand in greeting. At first glance, he seemed more ordinary than any of the others. His red hair was tied in a tail of small braids that ended in metal beads and his beard was trimmed neatly. He was heavily muscled, but when he stood he barely came to Brandon’s chin. “Thori Jorensson. You’d be Brandon, aye? Blaec told me about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Brandon said weakly, trying not to listen to the argument the two were having. Something about experimental poisons. He did not want to know.”

“Don’t pay any attention to them. They’re always like this.” Thori said casually as he took a chair well out of Xaenxa’s reach. “Blaec will shut them up as soon as he gets here.”

“So, uh, she’s a dark elf, he’s a phoenix-“

“Firebird. phoenixes are Asian and they’re something different.” Razz corrected.

“Right, firebird.” Brandon accepted with a shaky nod. “But what about you?”

“I’m a half-dwarf.” Thori said easily, and now that Brandon looked, it was obvious. “And you’ve met Evalene and Blaec already.”

“He has, though he hasn’t seen my mate in his human form, nor me with my fins.” Evalene said as she shifted on her couch. She largely ignored the other two, and shoved a ling pin through her hair to keep it off her neck. “Speak of the devil. Hello my love.”

Brandon turned, not sure what to expect. The last time he had seen the dragon, Blaec had a hundred-yard wingspan. Whatever was in his mind, the tall, tawny-skinned Goth that strode through the door was not it.

Brandon had no idea how the dragon had gotten leather pants on over wet skin, but he had managed somehow. Paired with a black tee shirt with a leather vest over, he looked like he belonged in a smoke-filled nightclub. His thick black hair was loose, wet, and steamed slightly as it dried. Subject to the dragon’s too-hot skin, no doubt.

The only thing recognizable from that terrifying day out in the desert was the dragon’s eyes. Still yellow-gold and slitted. Those dangerous eyes softened at the sight of his wife and he accepted a kiss from her with a small smile.

“I see you’ve survived introductions,” Blaec said with a smirk that showed a flash of fang. “Did Xaenxa try to knife you yet?”

Xaenxa drifted over and wrapped her arms around the dragon’s shoulders intimately. Brandon had a moment of stunned amazement at her boldness.

“You told me I wasn’t allowed,” She reminded him, backing away when he rumbled lowly at her. Clearly she understood when she was outclassed and didn’t care to try her luck any farther.

“You’ve killed against my word often enough,” he commented as he pulled his wife close possessively. “But leave this one alone. We don’t enjoy breaking you out of wherever they try to lock you up.”

“Or cleaning up the wreckage you invariably create before we get there.”

Rhys came over. He didn’t protest when the black-skinned elf sidled up to him and smiled sweetly enough to set Brandon’s teeth on edge.

He wasn’t sure how the firebird put up with his murderous teammate. Being killed all the time couldn’t be enjoyable. Still, if she was busy with him, the others were probably safe from her. Rhys did seem to be fairly blasé about Xaenxa and her plot to sacrifice him.

“I enjoy carnage.” The beautiful dark elf murmured gleefully. It took all of Brandon’s control not to take a step back from her. Razz seemed unconcerned, and Brandon wasn’t quite sure what that meant for him. Maybe he was just used to it.

“We know.” Rhys muttered. “I still haven’t gotten the blood out of my suit.”

“I only stabbed you a small bit.”

“Enough.”

Blaec again proved his position as the leader of the motley crew by silencing them all with a firm command. “We have a job to do. Sit and listen.”

With only a few comments, the difficult mercenaries settled themselves around the room. Blaec took over his wife’s couch, and didn’t complain when she sat comfortably in his lap.

When the others were settled, Razz stood and pulled a stack of folders out of his briefcase.

“You all know about my position with the US government and the International Magical Defense Alliance.” Razz started as he passed out the folders. Brandon already had his own, and the huge,printout map of the attacks. “And while I’ve made my opinion about calling you five in known, sometimes we do need you.”

“So who do you need killed?” Xaenxele asked curiously. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and into the cluster of silver pearls in her hair. Brandon tried not to think too hard about it when the pearls skittered over her fingers and kept the fine strands in place. “You rarely call us unless the situation is dire indeed.”

“We’re not sure if we need someone dead, but there’s a good chance we do,” he spoke up, mostly addressing Blaec. “That’s part of why I’m here. I’m your official liaison with the IMDA.”

Razz was still snickering at him for it. He was junior agent. He wasn’t supposed to be running anything. He was supposed to be driving a desk and looking for patterns in information.

“We do not need a liaison.” Blaec growled. His gaze fixed on Brandon, who really would have preferred to sink though the floor rather than meet the dragon’s eyes.

“Yeah, you do.” Razz told him firmly. If he was intimidated by the dragon’s stare, he didn’t show it. “Brandon is also in charge of getting you any and all the gear you need for this Op.”

Brandon passed folders of equipment around to the group. It took more courage than he liked to get within Xaenxa’s kill-range, but she was curled, catlike, in Rhys’ lap, and hopefully wasn’t going to stab him without warning. “Let me know what you think you’ll need. Razz and I authorize any requests you have.”

“I’ll decide what’s reasonable after this meeting.” Razz said, eyes on Rhys, who smiled unrepentantly, and Thori, who Brandon hadn’t expected to be wearing the grin he was. “Thori, you’re not getting a tank, and I’m limiting you to one crate of grenades.”

Thori just laughed. “Are you sure? We needed them last time.”

“Our sources tell us that there has been some major magical power coalescing on the Canadian-US border.,” Razz continued pointedly as if he hadn’t interrupted himself. “We’re not sure what is causing it, but the result is an influx of undead.”

“By ‘influx’ I’m assuming you mean more than the normal ghouls and zombies,” Evalene murmured thoughtfully, and trailed her fingers over the pulse in her husband’s wrist.

“Much more.”

He could handle zombies. Undead weren’t usually a concern unless they gathered into a Hoard, and then they became a possible apocalypse if they weren’t contained. “We’ve had nearly a hundred more in the last two months than we’re supposed to have this time of year. When All-Hallows comes- we’re already swamped. A surge would completely overwhelm anything we could possibly keep hidden.”

Even Xaenxa looked alarmed by that news and Brandon realized that most of this team had probably lived through the last great Hoard that carved a bloody path through South America. Some of them might even have been there for the one in Russia two centuries earlier.

“Someone is raising them,” Rhys said after examining the map carefully. “A few here and there rise by themselves, and the vampires take care of their own, but true undead have to be raised to appear in numbers.

“Evalene and I were on the line against the Hoard in Russia, and in Brazil,” Blaec said grimly, sharing a nod with Rhys, who had been there too. “I had to take my true form in Russia. You humans managed the one in Brazil well enough without me.”

“I fought in Brazil,” Razz nodded, although Brandon hadn’t known about that. “Our only saving grace was that we caught the Hoard in the jungle before it could hit any of the large cities.”

“Russia was bad,” Rhys offered, eyes dark with memories. “We barely stopped them. If that happens on the border between Canada and the States, the body-count will go higher than ever before.”

“Give me a few minutes to make some calls,” Xaenxa murmured, already texting furiously on her phone. Brandon was surprised she even cared. He thought she would have encouraged the wonton destruction. He opened his mouth to ask, and stumbled over the words.

It didn’t seem wise to offend a volatile dark elf, and he wasn’t like Rhys. If he got shot, he would die.

“Her Mistress is the Queen of the Dead. It is terrible insult to Her to take what belongs to Her,” Rhys answered Brandon’s unspoken question. Xaenxa looked up. Her blue eyes were burning with fury.

“Raising the dead is forbidden by my Goddess without divine permission,” she hissed furiously, and curled her fingers around her giant gun. “The dead are Hers. Raising without her explicit permission is the darkest of blasphemies.”

Unexpectedly moral for a dark elf, but Brandon was glad she was on their side.

“It will be more than one necromancer. Probably a cult,” Thori said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair and fingering his beard-beads. “Unless there’s a god involved, anyway. No necromancer can summon so many alone.”

“We will have to kill the core group at least,” Blaec thought out loud. “And we’ll have to find where they’re getting so many bodies.”

“They’re importing, and they’re digging up the native burial grounds,” Xaenxele cut in, never looking up from her phone, which chimed with replies every few moments. “Only way to get so many bodies so fast without killing them yourself or a convenient plague. None of my contacts have heard about a new necromancer cult, but none of them have looked for one either.”

“Time to start looking,” Rhys said quietly. “I’ll call around when we’re done. None of my contacts text.”

“Part of the ‘anything’ you can have from us is any information we might have that you want for this operation,” Brandon told them quickly. “Just tell us what to look for and we’ll give you everything we have on it.”

“They’ll need power on top of the bodies. Murder sites will have energy they can use that no self-respecting magicker would touch,” Rhys said, glancing at Blaec and getting a nod back from the dragon. “Most magic users can’t even see it, and many that do avoid it, which narrows the list of possible culprits considerably.”

Razz was taking careful notes.

“Bodies, power, and a base of operations. How many Necros are we talking here?” he asked, writing as fast as he could in his usual illegible scrawl.

“A minimum of seven fully trained. More likely we’re dealing with a group of eleven or thirteen and all of their apprentices,” Blaec muttered, eyes distant as he did calculations in his head. “They like prime numbers.”

“In Brazil there were thirteen,” Evalene contributed. “In Russia, twenty-seven. They were building on the Cholera epidemic there. It was a perfect breeding ground for the Hoard and their cult-leader was a full-blood demon. Demons complicate things.”

The Russia hoard swept through in autumn of 1861, when the undead lasted longest outside. Records in the eighteen-hundreds weren’t great, and the Hoard was defeated before spring the next year. Now Brandon knew why there had been huge swaths of burned and blasted ground mentioned in the records.

Dragonfire left lasting scars.

There was another try to create a Hoard during World War Two, but the Alliance had managed to keep the Necromancer cults distracted enough to derail the attempt. Fortunately, Necromancers tended to be insane and were prone to killing each other off more often than they worked together.

“I’m surprised they’re building a Hoard on this border,” Thori said, leaning back in his chair. “I have kin in that part of Ontario. It’s plenty big enough to hide whatever you like, but there aren’t the body cashes that you can find in Europe. Even down South in the States there are more.”

Xaenxa looked through her packet and came up with a copy of Brandon’s map. “They’re raising skeletons, not fresh bodies. Easier to import, and harder to kill.”

“The Russian hoard was zombies.” Rhys said, and furrowed his brow as he tried to remember. “So was Brazil.”

“So was Bulgaria. Egypt was skeletons.” Blaec said, a distant look in his eyes that spoke of many, many ages long past. “But there are few records of Bulgaria and none of Egypt. The fire in Alexandria saw to that.”

Brandon didn’t know there even had been a Hoard in Bulgaria, and couldn’t quite keep his mouth under control.

“Bulgaria?”

“The remnants of the Impaler’s namesake battle. One of his foes raised twenty-thousand dead Turks in a single night. The vampire covens handled it, but it was one of the greatest battles in their history,” Blaec supplied, surprisingly willing to give a brief history lesson. “We were in China at the time, but a friend of ours was there.”

“I was in the Congo at the time.” Rhys offered wryly as Xaenxa wiggled in his lap and continued texting furiously. “The magic there is old, and less refined. The witch-doctors don’t like to work together. Egypt is scary. Egypt has mummies.”

“Mummies are a different matter entirely.” Blaec grumbled, and gave a shrug that was remarkably reminiscent of wings. “That magic is nearly as old as I am, and powerful. Fortunately the Pharaohs cannot leave their tombs for long lest their power fade back to sand.”

“Thank everything Holy for that.” Razz said with real fervor. “I think you and Rhys the only people I know who can kill a mummy when one turns into a problem.”

“I didn’t know mummies were real.” Brandon said hesitantly. It seemed like today was the day to turn his world upside down and give it a good shake. He was staring to feel very young, compared to the others here.

“Real, and deadly.” Thori told him frankly. “They guard their tombs. Those big stone sarcophagi they’re buried in? Those aren’t to keep people out, they’re to keep the mummy in. The more ornate the tomb, the stronger the mummy.”

“When a mummy rises, it is always because the tomb has been disturbed.” Evalene said sadly. If she was as old as Brandon thought, she might even have known a few of those ancient kings before they died. “The older the mummy, the harder it is to kill. They’re intelligent, incredibly strong, and they have a great deal of magic.”

“Smart undead?” Brandon felt a curl of terror in his heart at the thought. The only saving grace with zombies and skeletons was that they weren’t that smart. “Smart undead with magic?”

He would be having nightmares about that.

“Very much so. They are the kings of old, and they have had a long time to learn their way around the world.” Xaenxa told him. She seemed less bothered by the mummies than she was by the necromancers, and he wondered why. Maybe it was a religious thing. “When they rise, it is best to stay away from them, or entomb them once more if you can. Nothing else will stop them save death.”

“Usually it takes burning one to powdery ash to kill it.” Rhys explained. He held out a hand and let flames play across his fingers. “Blaec can kill them because he’s actually harder to kill than they are, and I can do it because I can’t die. A human would be better off with military-grade saturation bombing.”

“I ate one once. They don’t taste like much.” Blaec commented wryly with a smile that hinted at a much, much longer story. His wife rolled her eyes.

“He complained about it for months.” She told them with a rueful smile and a kiss to her husband’s cheek. He snickered into her golden hair. “Speaking of food, I admit, I’m getting hungry.”

“Oh let’s go out.” Xaenxa purred, draping her arms over Rhys. “I promise, I’ll be so very very good. I will not stab a single person.”

“You will not harm, nor kill, any living human on this night,” Blaec corrected her, and held her gaze until she huffed and dropped her eyes to the floor. “Come. It has been long since we were in Los Angeles, but I still remember my way around.”

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clenastia · 3 years

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Discord Prompt #3! Write an all-dialogue story, but with only one character speaking! The other character’s questions should be inferred from your character’s answers!

...this fuckin sucked.

Did not like.

There was also a random generator to decide our character’s race/sexuality/etc and I got Israeli/lesbian and I’m like. Thanks. Thanks a lot. Everything I know about Israel I know from bible study as a child, so it’s like, 2000 years out of date and functionally useless.

And I really did NOT want to spend ages googling for this prompt to try and learn the quick and dirty of a whole different culture.

So I just-

Tried to dodge most of the questions lol.

Apparently we’ll be using these characters in next week’s prompt too, so THAT’LL be fun. Hopefully I’ll be more in the mood to actually look up stuff by then.

“Oh you don’t have to worry about that - my parents may have followed their God, but I don’t really care. But I don’t like meat anyway- yes, a salad will do.”

…

“Right, I suppose we have to get started then? I’m Beyle De Vitis, but please, call me Berry-

“What? Oh, that. Well my father, may he rest in peace, had to move to England for work, and then ended up having to stay longer than expected, so we moved out with him for a couple years - the other kids kept mispronouncing my name, and eventually it just stuck. I really don’t mind though, I’ve always found it rather cute.”

“Anyway, where were we? I think I was introducing myself: I was born in April of 1996, in Israel. I- yeah, I think that’s Taurus, but I’ve never been much for those astrology things - yeah, the 21st.”

*sigh*

“Right. My family was pretty well-off, I think. My dad wasn’t home much when I was younger, his job only settled down later on, sometimes we’d travel with him, though most of the time we couldn’t. Mom didn’t work, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t busy! School and all, you know. And she loved to volunteer, so there were always places to be…

“I guess that’s how I fell in love with languages though. Especially when I was really little, when we went with my dad and I heard all those people speaking so many different languages, I just wanted to know them all. And I’ve finally got my degree!”

“No, I don’t really- it’s- I do freelance work, mostly. Just not good at sticking to any one job, y’know? I get too antsy, always want to move on to new things.”

“My family? I visit occasionally. My younger brothers still live at home- yeah, the twins. I think they don’t want to leave Mom alone, especially now that Dad’s gone, but I just couldn’t stay, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess you do. Heh, who’d have thought. Nah, I don’t have anyone in my life. Not too good at, how should I put it, going steady? My last girlfriend broke up with me after- I wouldn’t call it cheating, really, it’s not like I had sex with Myra, but I guess it’s true I wanted to. I’ve given up on the whole relationship thing. I guess it sounds bad, but I just get bored with people, you know?”

“Heh. Guess not.”

“Why are- are you reading a sheet? Why are you asking about my appearance, you’re literally looking at me. Should I become some dramatic heroine in a story, ranting about how plain I am while every reader in the world face-palms at my self-deprecating behaviour?

“Yeah I thought so.”

“The scar? Oh, it doesn’t really have any dramatic story. I got into my dad’s fishing supplies once, and tried to use it unsupervised - got the fishhook caught right in my eyebrow, honestly I’m lucky it didn’t go through my eye. I panicked and ripped it out, so the damage was pretty bad and it left a mark. Hurt like a bitch too, I couldn’t even look at a fishing pole without freaking out over it for years.”

“Stuff I like to do? Learn languages, obviously! I speak six fluently, and a few more casually. No, I never got my IQ tested. I don’t really need to? I just like learning languages, and lucky for me there’s all sorts of jobs for that! I’m thinking of brushing up my Hindu next, maybe Greek after that.

“Well I already speak English, I don’t really need any other European languages. You can get through pretty much all of Europe with a bit of English, and I know passing phrases if I need one. After Greek I think I want to learn a couple Chinese dialects. China’s very big, and it’d be a blast to just spend a year or two in the country, learning all the different language variations and exploring, don’t you think?”

“Well, I guess I just think it’s fascinating, dialects. The way a single language can change into so many different forms - I know Europe’s a bit like that, with Latin, and all, though it’s a bit more drastic over there. I’m sure one day I’ll learn all those languages too - it may be a bit unrealistic, learning every single language, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try! My child’s self would never forgive me otherwise.”

“Politics? Well- I don’t really like discussing it. As a translator, my job is to try and understand, right? You can’t just translate words, you have to sometimes translate cultures, make sure the people you’re translating for understand where others are coming from- it makes it kind of hard, expressing your own political views. I always have to try and look at it from a cultural perspective and- ugh. I don’t really know what I’m saying here. But I guess I can try to answer the easy stuff.”

“Well- I mean, I don’t like people dying? I guess that’s an obvious thing to say, but I mean- stuff like the death penalty, stuff like that. Ugh. You know what, let’s just change the subject.”

“What do you mean you’re out of questions? You seriously were going down a list! Come on, can’t you do a bit better?”

“Look, if your entire list revolves around someone describing themselves and their political views, you have to admit, it’s a pretty bad list. No one wants to feel like an idiot going on about their appearance, or kicking up arguments with their politics - well. I mean, I guess some people do, but I’m certainly not one of them.”

“Ah. Was that a bit rude? Sorry. I mean, it’s still a bad list but I’m sure you did your best. Oh- ugh. Here, I’ll- y’know, just to cheer you up. Don’t look so despondent.”

“My favorite color’s blue. But like, dark blue- I know these questions aren’t on your list, but they’re better than the ones on your list, admit it! My favorite planet is Neptune-

“Well- you know, those pictures in like, some of those old textbooks? I just thought Neptune was cute. It’s- oh stop laughing at me!

“ANYWAY. My favorite food’s stir-fry- obviously I mean vegetable stir-fry, didn’t we already talk about the meat thing?”

“Favorite animal? See, you don’t need a list, just make stuff up, that’s the spirit! I don’t really have a favorite animal, but if I had to pick, maybe a panda. They just look so cuddly!”

“My favorite book is All. The. Books.”

“Please. I translate for a living. Give me anything with words on it, I promise you I’m in love. What- no. We’re not talking about Twilight. Ugh, look- English isn’t even my third language, and I read those books when I was still learning. I would like to continue to pretend that I only thought it was bad due to my own poor understanding of the language, because-

“Look, I know there are worse books out there but-

“Ugh. I’m just not much for vampire stories even on a good day. Not really my style, you know?”

“Well, Tolkien, obviously. He invented his own languages for those books - I am absolutely fluent in Sindarin.”

“Klingon? Eh, a little. American television’s always been a little strange to me, but maybe one day I’ll sit down and give it a proper study.”

“Huh. Yeah, sorry, that’s my brother- I have to take this-

“Sorry! Thanks for the interview! Uh- and sorry for making fun of your questions!”

*door slams*

#clena's original ficlets #discord writing prompts #lazy author is lazy #also too lazy to fix my italics that tumblr has eaten again #never again pls

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