#618 words

[asheewrites]

Talking coffee shop

Livia took a sip of coffee and checked the last bit of code to bridge the time. Laptop and a beverage of choice always serve a good distraction if she needed to meet in a café. And really, meeting an angel should happen on neutral territory.

However querulous the theme of the meeting was.

Crossing her legs – a very strange habit, actually – she looked for her conversation partner. And, fitting for her status, she did almost run into the café a minute before it was time. Backpack slung over her shoulder, hair a disarranged mess, boots rudimentarily cleaned on the mat, cargo pants slightly grazing the floor while doing so.

‘Don’t worry, be happy’ is probably the best kind of motto she could have chosen for her shirt. Legibility was not a problem, the shirt was a bit under tension.

Livia tilted her head, raising a menu to get her attention.

Zeeta looked around frantically for a few more seconds before she did indeed spot her and a wide, relieved smile spread on her face. The hand mussing up her hair even more wasn’t far off.

Livia stood to shake her hand, to which Zeeta responded with a bit of surprise and a lot of enthusiasm. A fascinating bundle of nerves.

“Hello Livia! Thanks for meeting me!” It felt like she wanted to add more exclamation marks to the sentence.

“Of course, Zeeta,”she sat down again, refolding her legs and handing the menu to her, “So… what can I do for you?”

“Ah…” She glanced at the menu and flipped through it for a few seconds before she shook her head: “… I… well, I almost didn’t recognize you. Since you wore… a lot less last time I saw you. Stripes work well for you. All that black and white. All sleek and stuff!”

“…” With a raised eyebrow, Livia shielded them from any curious ears. It was a bit private, after all. “… thank you. I suppose that is something you want to…talk about? The times I wore ‘less clothes’?”

Zeeta nodded to her menu, tapping on the cappuccino and said: “Yes! Yes, certainly! I mean… I did want to know how this whole thing… happened. And what made you call my boyfriend. And… all of  this, really. And what can be done with this… and what you can do… and… well, really, just… I gotta talk with someone who knew Aidan before? Cause… he’s not really okay with what happened down there? I think? And…  wanna know? And him not being unhappy about talking about it…”

Livia nodded to herself, apparently, the direct approach the young woman had during last time’s nightly activities was not a fluke: “So… you don’t have questions about what actually happened?”

“Oh, no! … yes? I mean… I’ll ask things about that, too! But… I wanna ask about the other stuff, first!” She nodded to the server to bring the overly sugary cappuccino of her dreams.

“… we… wanted to talk about different kinds of sex positions and how they could be achieved, for more fun for the both of you. Right?” That was what she had signed up for, was it not?

“I wanted to taaaaalk… I love my boyfriend, but I wanna hear from someone else. And Aidan said I can ask you anything!” Zeeta still wore this wide, open smile.

“… I see. I’ll see what I can do for you,” she sipped her coffee, “… and since your coffee has arrived, well… what’s your first question?”

After thanking the waiter, she took a milk-beard-leaving sip of cappuccino and asked: “Well, why DID you ask specifically Aidan? As far as I know, you haven’t met him in ages!”

[justasuicidecase]

SMPtober; Legend

The stadium filled with the roaring of the bloodthirsty crowd above him. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, out of the anticipation of fighting and the mid-noon sun that glared down at him and the savages he aimed to appease. He found the weight of his broadsword comforting; It was the only thing anchoring to reality. The cheers continued as Dave looked down at the newly polished sword. They forced a peasant to clean his sword—a sword that most likely killed their friends and family. He pushed down the disgust he felt towards what he had become, instead channelling it into a rage for the upcoming match.

Boos and the clacking of chains fuelled his hatred. With eyes full of malice, he glared down at the prisoner a few metres across the sand from him. The boy—cheekbones jutted out from need of nutrition, eyes now darker with lack of sleep—nervously glanced the champion up and down as the guard undid his chains.

It would be an easy match for the warrior.

A cloaked announcer emerged from one of the dark tunnels leading to the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready for this bloody match prepared for you this fine afternoon?” His booming voice reached the audience who roared in anticipation. He praised their excitement and introduced the match. “Our first competitor, the king’s own champion, a legend among men: Technoblade!” Upon hearing his given name, Dave forced a look of pride as he raised his sword into the air; He swallowed back his disgust at the praise.

“His competitor—a traitor of the crown!” Insults emerged from the crowd’s lips, the boy ducked his head in shame. The announcer pretended not to notice as he said to the two, “Let’s have a fair, blood-filled fight, boys!” With that, he retreated to the safety of the tunnels.

Trumpets signified the beginning of the match. Techno strengthened the grip on his sword as he carefully creeped towards the challenger. Realising the match had begun, the prisoner copied his form—short knife in his hand with a white-knuckled grip. The fighters had a moment of tense peace as they sized the other. Without hesitation, Techno dived forward.

With carefully planned precision, the sword cut through the boy’s sleeve and into his flesh. Blood dyed the dirty shirt a deep red within a moment’s notice. The captive leaped back as he grabbed his arm with a quiet shout.

Techno lightly cut the boy, he jumped back, and the crowd roared in victory—this was the next hour of the match.

As the crowd was praising the sadistic game, the king caught Techno’s eye. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the king trace his throat—he’d grown bored with this match.

With a slight nod of his head, he aimed his next attack. The sickening sound of sharp metal penetrating the boy’s throat clogged his ears. He swiftly ripped his sword back, fresh blood coated its surface. The liquid shot out of the wound before he tried to stop it with both hands. Blood seeped through his fingers; His eyes began to glaze over like that of the dead. The savages above screamed as they watched the young boy bleed out onto the sand below.

Dave shook his head, trying to stop the image from searing into his memory like the others seem to do. He turned to face the satisfied king. The old man waved his hand, signalling him to leave the arena and wash up for dinner later. The darkness of the tunnel engulfed the man as he escaped the horrific scene.