Luncheon
|DWC February 2026, Day 3, Pompous/Blur|
@daily-writing-challenge
Razenagos tugged at the frills on her collar and frowned. The dracthyr passed her clawed hands over her visage, clad in formalwear. "Setre, are you sure...?" "Yes, Raz, dear. We must make good impressions. They may join our clutch, you know." Setre wore parade armor and formal dress. Greens, bronzes, and earth tones. Her namesake sword, extinguished, but at the ready. The Green Knight of the Flame Blade cut an imposing figure and her tone left no argument. More or less, she was Razena's mother, some of her only family.
Razenagos grumbled and smoothed her clothes over again. ------ The banquet laid out left nothing to be desired. Whole roasted poultry, stuffed with breading and vegetables. Fine dining arrangements, with pristine dishware and shining silverware spread before Razenagos. The meal passed quickly. Plate after plate, course after course, polite chewing, quiet sipping. Small talk faded away, formal and ceremonious greetings and exchanges washed over her and drained away. She found herself adrift. Her focus, in and out, a staccato rhythm. She hummed to herself. The conversation caught up to her ears. "Yes, I think she is lovely. We would be happy to bring her into our family." Setre and Raz both looked over in unison. Setre spoke first. "That was not what was discussed." Tensions rose. "I thought we would join families." The man rose from his seat, shadowed in this bleak recollection, nondescript, as important as the backdrop behind him. "You dracthyr do not understand how this works. I will not give up my lineage to intermingle with your family. Your daughter will marry into mine. She will make a lovely wife." Razenagos shot up from her seat, heat rising. "I can't! I..." Memories floated through. "...am spoken for. I promised." She stared down at the floor and her feet. She felt eyes on her. She burned up from the unseen stares. The shadow spoke. "A pity, but now you're promised to me." A snarl as he lunged forward. Setre jumped to her feet and drew her blade. Razengos moved faster. A clawed hand smacked the man away. "No, I think not. Nobility surely didn't give you any real strength. I pledged myself to another, and... she is expecting me soon. Goodbye." The dracthyr's tail swiped the man and knocked him further back as she turned and stormed out. A withering glare fell on her older sister, Setre.