Me, Nudging My Brain With A Stick: Write.

Me, nudging my brain with a stick: Write.

“you talk like a smart/pretentious person” actually I just forget simple words constantly and am forced to rummage through my brain for the nearest synonym, which is usually twice as long and needlessly specific

April Prompts Day 5 - sunlit

Featuring Zach and a mention of Ethan, his cousin and childhood friend

Rolling over, Zach sighed and gazed forlornly into the emerald leaves. He fiddled with the twine knot that secured the ladder to the treehouse. The treehouse he and his cousin made. His cousin, Ethan. His best friend of many summers. He remembered breakfast. Homemade waffles, with thick, sweet, maple syrup that cascaded down the ridges like the streams they played in when they were younger. Fresh fruit on the side that stained their lips red. Was- was that a seed? Stuck in his teeth? That was the worst. The only thing worse was that Ethan had left him. He huffed again, sadness tinging the breath. Sadness and syrup from earlier that day. Syrup and sugary waffles. He lifted his wrist to his face, his hand drooping as he checked the time. It would be hours until Ethan returned from his dentist appointment. His arm flopped pathetically to his side. Bathing in the dappled sunlight in the treehouse, a thought flitted across his mind. He barely tilted his head, using as little energy as possible, and checked the time again. Seven, no, eight minutes since he’d left. Ethan had been gone. For Eight. Minutes. What was he going to do for hours?

    He surveyed the sunlit yard; a rusted goal sat on the corner of the lawn, a beam was pushed against the house, and a rumpled net concealed a container full of various balls. Heaving himself up, he leaned against the side of the treehouse, the wood worn smooth with time. A tire swing swayed gently in the breeze. Almost shiny branches stretched enticingly upwards. He let out a whoosh of air. It just wasn’t the same alone. He popped up and slid between the lateral fence posts. Grabbing the rope that secured the tire swing, he slid down, calluses disguising the rope burn. Bouncing briefly on the balls of his feet, he began a chasse forward, picking up the pace, his steps getting higher and higher until he let the momentum guide him into a side flip, landing him in front of the beam. He paused, catching his balance again, arms in front from a premature preparation to fall. Satisfied with his steadiness, he took a step forward and immediately stumble, his toe getting caught in a grass clump After brushing himself off, he grabbed the beam. Grunting and grumbling about how much easier it would be if Ethan was here, he dragged the beam towards the middle of the lawn, inch by inch, centimetre by centimetre.

    He stood with his heels together, his shins pressed against the edge of the beam, and his arms up in a y-shape; the traditional starting position. Inhaling sharply, he tilted forward quickly, wrapping his hands around the bar and flipping upside down. His legs wavered in midair, and his bare feet were pointed. Still following the momentum, he kept tilting and landed upright, now on the beam. He should have gotten his foot wraps. He readied himself, bending his knees and holding out his arms. Exhaling sharply, he sprung. His heart lept with him. The sky careened over him, grey wispy clouds blurring by. Maybe the rest of the morning wouldn’t be that long. He landed with a quiet thud, in the finishing position once more.

Reblog if it’s okay to befriend you, ask questions, ask for advice, rant, vent, let something off your chest, or just have a nice chat.

OC Interview Questions

Send me a number and a character (or multiple!) and they’ll answer the question themselves!

Who makes up your family?  How close are you to them?

Who is your best friend?  Tell us about them!

What is your favorite childhood memory?

What is your least favorite childhood memory?

What is your favorite thing to do in your free time?

What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do?

Who do you look up to?

What do you think had the biggest impact on you growing up?

Are you a spiritual person?  If yes, what do you practice?

Where were you born?  Where did you grow up?  Where do you live now?

What is your favorite type of media (TV, movie, books, etc)?  Name some specific favorites (which shows, movies, books, etc do you like)!

If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be? (on vacation or permanently!)

You’re given an unlimited budget to build anything you want!  What do you build and where do you build it?

What are your favorite music genres?

Do you play any instruments?  Which ones?  How long have you been playing?

Describe your perfect day.

What makes you laugh?

What’s the best way to cheer you up?

What makes you sad?

Describe your biggest pet peeve.

Describe your ideal partner.

What’s the easiest way to flirt with you?

Have you ever had a crush on someone?  Do you have a crush now?

What would you consider your main love language?

Freebie!  Come up with your own question for the character to answer!

"what do people do to relax?" I wonder the same thing

And I love the meaning you've given all the names! It's an super cool concept and adds such an interesting layer of depth to everything

The most poorly conducted ball invitation in recorded history

TW/CW: brief mentions of death and murder, a very brief mention of suicide

A/N: This is my first official AToDaC content! It might actually make it into the book, but it makes enough sense on its own to be considered a short story.

Word count: 997

I woke up early that day. It was the day when the family council, including Kal’akum, you know, grandma Kal’akum, the matriarch of a powerful assassin family Kal’akum, I’m-pretty-sure-she-doesn’t-like-me Kal’akum, was going to decide whether I passed my exam. Nothing to worry about, obviously.

I touched my cheek. The wound didn’t hurt unless I touched it or moved my face muscles, which meant it hurt most of the time. You try going about your day without moving your face.

But I did murder the guy, right? And I didn’t kill or injure anyone else, even though he had bodyguards. And I didn’t die myself. That qualifies as a successful assassination, right? Right?

I got out of bed and got dressed. I still wore my apprentice clothing - black with silver lining and no jewelry - but today, I put on the festive variety, with longer, wider sleeves, and just a little red on the inner robe. Dress to celebrate, hope to celebrate.

I had breakfast. Everything tasted like mush, but I forced myself to eat.

So, so much time to kill before the evening.

What do people do to relax? I paced back and forth, trying to tire myself out of panicking. I can’t say that worked wonders.

The garden. Yeah, that's it. Birds chirping, sunlight, fresh air, a calm environment.

I went outside. The noise of the city filled the garden, drowning it in tigerhorse claw clatter, the noise from the marketplace, and the farther, yet still audible noise of the port. I wondered how I could ever think of the garden as quiet. All the colors were bright and screaming, from the blood-red flowers to the venom-green leaves.

Concentrate. You know there has to be something good here.

Umheta was out here, painting. She was working on a small painting in greys and browns, which had something to do with birds, or trees, maybe. Umheta’s a good painter, but she was going for more emotion than accuracy, plus it was in its early stages.

I found that after watching her for a while, I could breathe like a normal person, and the garden didn’t seem as hostile as it did earlier. I signed her a thank you, but I think she was too concentrated on her work to notice.

Pulling me from my hard-earned tranquility, a noise caught my attention. A set of claw clatters separated from the buzz of the city, approaching our gate.

Could it be the council? No, of course not. They wouldn’t conduct the meeting here.

Maybe another commission? If I could get a commission before the council’s meeting, it would make things so much better!

I tried to maintain some facade of serenity, watching my sister’s brush add new strokes. The guard asked the newcomer a few questions, he answered, and the gates opened.

“Hetava Armanil with a visit to Milnur Shikimalut” the guard called out.

I should have probably walked over. I should have followed any of the proper introduction etiquettes. That thought occurred to me when I was already halfway over to the man on the tigerhorse.

“Who is it?” I demanded, practically grabbing him

“It’s… me. A-Armanil?” he mumbled. His tigerhorse took a few steps back, visibly frightened.

I knew the guy. He was family to my first kill. A cousin, I think. I had to visit all the close relatives to find out if anyone wanted him dead enough to be willing to help. And how could I forget him - the height and size of a moose-bear, he was ready to apologize for anything, even existing, and had all the elegance of a boulder. I didn’t picture him as the type to hire an assassin, but it didn’t matter. I would take a commission from a tree if it would offer me one.

“I know it’s you. But who’s the unlucky fellow?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who are you ordering?”

“...You?”

I took a few steps back. Commissioning the assassin wasn’t unheard of, but I only killed one guy so far, and very politely, might I add. It wasn’t enough to warrant a suicide request.

“Are you sure?” I double-checked “Are you really that upset about your cousin?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you commissioning me?”

“I’m not commissioning you”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m here to invite you to a ball” he blurted out, his face turning red.

...Oh. OH.

“So… when is it?” I tried to continue the conversation in a nonchalant way.

“This evening? At seven?”

“Aren’t those things normally planned in advance?”

“Yes. Yes, they are.”

“Oh”

An awkward silence.

“So… should I put on something special? A wig, maybe?”

“Sorry?” the poor guy clearly didn’t plan this out

“I imagine it’s a warrior-only ball. Everyone will have long hair. How do you propose to get me in?”

He looked at my “a la porcupine” haircut.

“No, I don’t think that would be necessary. Your hair looks wonderful the way it is” he said, and immediately stopped, even redder than before

“Okay. Where is it?”

“At the Hetava mansion. You know the place?”

“Yes,” I said, my hand involuntarily reaching to my cheek

Awkward silences seemed to consider our conversation a nice resting place, settling in it any chance they got.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I understand that you have… negative associations to the place”

“No, it’s okay” I squeezed out a painful smile “I’ll be there”

He looked at me, probably trying to understand if I was smiling or baring my teeth, smiled back, muttered a quiet “thank you” and turned the tigerhorse to leave.

I watched Mount Awkwardness as he hit a branch of a nearby tree, apologized to it, and finally made it through the gate, which the guard closed with as much thoroughness as always. I don’t know how she does it. Years of practice, probably.

“Will this event interfere with the family council?” she asked

Oh, right, the family council still a thing.

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