My Gremlin Brain Is Telling Me To Post Something Original

My gremlin brain is telling me to post something original

So i will tell you that i have finished a chunk of my homework and I’m working on day 6. And day 6 will be taken on a darker turn than the others

gentle reminder to all new writeblrs: you’re welcome everywhere on this site. you’re appreciated. if no one else tells you today, i will—your projects are important and i’m proud of you for putting yourself out there! don’t worry about getting a large amount of followers or having been here for ages. you’re just as much of a writer as everyone else 💚

"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.

AToDaC taglist: @wannabeauthorzofija @write-your-own-stories @47crayons @opes-magnas

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Though they look absolutely spectacular and very cool, they don't seem to be using their collective braincell based on your comment

[ID: The top photo shows a man with brown skin, dark curly, windswept hair, and an unbuttoned waistcoat playing the lute. The lute is engraved with a leaf motif. His veins and eyes are glowing white. White energy trails like mist out of his eyes. The bottom photo is a close-up from the shoulders up of the same drawing. end ID]

Emry and Aspen, whatcha doin there, babes? Thinking about the consequences of your actions in book 2? No? Alright, you do you.

TSS Taglist: @crystallized-ink, @little-boats-on-a-lake, @semblanche, @theramwrites, @wordsbycreed, @pretend-im-normal, @mel-writes-with-her-dragons, @wildswrites, @ladywithalamp, @ettawritesnstudies, @mj-comics, @cecilsstorycorner, @write-your-own-stories, @chayscribbles, @storytracks, @lightningmastertrilogy, @magic-is-something-we-create, @authortango, @thegoldenseries, @lunewell, @vellichor-virgo, @writeblrfantasy, @blindthewind, @weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables, @bronwennjames

It’s that time of year again.

Bonus:

“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