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Fictober 2023 prompts #1
🕑 Added 2023-10-27 10:59:34 +0000 UTC# 1 “It’s not too late, let’s go.” - Rez
The majority of Mastravisch’s guards, while certainly not loyal, are dutiful. Whether out of dread or piety, those from the royal cavalry selected to secure the palace follow Mastravisch’s every desire as though they were holy.
The fear of suffering is as good a motivator as greed, perhaps even better. That’s why, when faced with Rez’s near-crazed fury, the last five guards standing refuse to clear your path.
With their heads concealed by elaborate silver helmets, you can’t see the dread in their eyes, but if your senses were as acute as that of a demon, you’d undoubtedly be able to smell it, especially when Rez moves. Or rather dashes.
[His/Her] wild personality and unruly mien notwithstanding, the way [he/she] dances across the makeshift battlefield is almost graceful. The carnage [he/she] leaves behind less so.
You remember - back during your active service - the soldiers who fought alongside Rez tended to take bets on how fast Rez could down the opponent. Five minutes, three. This time, it’s not even one.
As the guards fall into a heap of dented plates and torn limbs, momentarily inanimate, your brain idly wonders if any of them were Rez’s friends, back then. And if they were, did finding themselves on the opposite end of Rez’s wrath hurt? Or was it expected?
“We should run,” you whisper, when Rez continues to bash at [his/he] last opponent long after they fell unconscious. Anything further than that is a waste of [his/her] strength - it’s not like [he/she] can actually kill them. “Rez,” you repeat, though not any louder. Your throat is dry from weeks of dehydration and disuse. “Rez, we should—”
“Right,” Rez answers, belatedly. [His/Her] brow and mouth are creased in a feral grimace that hasn’t smoothed out even a bit since [he/she] returned from the frontier to find you detained in your chambers. “C’mon.”
At last, Rez turns back to you, wrapping [his/her] arms around your waist and hoisting you up. [He/She] knows if you had to walk by yourself, you wouldn’t get far. Your muscles are stiff from kneeling for a week straight; your lenient punishment for attempted treason.
Thankfully, Rez carried larger and heavier baggage than you, and so [he/she] doesn’t break a sweat sprinting down the stairs and onto the courtyard.
The wind lashes at your face as Rez laps across the garden. The gate is so, so close—
And yet, so, so far.
Though Mastravisch refused to allow the construction of a bell tower, despising even the smaller reminder of the day of [his/her] death, there are still many ways to call for reinforcements - a flare is particularly bright against the dark sky of the Overshadow. A single spot of light can be seen from miles away.
“Shit.”
“If you let me go, you can still—”
“Shut up.”
“Rez—”
“Shut up! It’s not too late, let’s go.”
“...Mastravisch will kill you for this.”
“Fucker can try.”
You wish you still had [his/her] confidence.
# 2 “Don’t worry, I got you.” - Jewel
The small, remote railway station is tidy, though it’s clear it hasn’t been renovated since it was first built fifty or so years ago, along with the entire town.
It’s far from rustic or quaint, however, the main station building looks more like a metro. It has no windows, just bright vertical lamps that blind you with the blue, intense light when you head inside.
The cold, aluminum walls hold no graffiti or other signs of juveniles playing around, just a few large yellowed maps plastered by the entrance. All are outdated. The glass casing around it has never been replaced.
The air smells slightly dank, with hints of watered-down detergent and antifungal spray. Nobody here bothers to deep clean the nooks and crannies, but you’ve been spared the stench of any lingering emotions.
It truly is a passing place. The passengers don’t stay long enough for their feelings to linger. Even now, there are just enough of them for the station to be busy, but not overcrowded. Amidst the comings and goings, you don’t draw any attention to yourselves.
“It’s not a tourist spot,” Jewel explains in a half-whisper as she leads you towards the ticket booth. “Just a stopover for students.”
Ah, you almost forgot. There are children, afflicted and non-afflicted, who spend their breaks at home— Or, at least, outside their schooling facility.
“Why the queue, then?” you ask, pointing at the row of seniors by the check-in counter. “It’s not a holiday, is it?”
“There’s a cemetery next stop.” Jewel huffs something between an irritated sigh and a snort. “Of course, they all have to go there during rush hour.”
“Well, the dead are busy, uh, people? Houses won’t haunt themselves.”
Jewel laughs, rolling her eyes when one of the elders sends a glare your way. “You can check the kiosk while I wait,” she says, pointing at the door leading outside. “There’s a vending machine, too.”
“Gotcha. Do you want something in particular?”
“Anything is fine.”
The playful smile with which Jewel sends you off is puzzling, but only until you reach the kiosk... with half of the assortment permanently out of stock.
The vending machine isn’t any better, and you give it a wide berth. It supposedly offers ‘hot beverages,’ but you don’t really want to check how often - if at all - the water tank gets refilled.
You stock on what you can, mainly fish-shaped crackers, cakes made from cheap artificial chocolate, and juice boxes. All three of them.
While you wait as the doddery machine eats your loose coins and spits your order one by one, your eyes wander across the landscape, finally landing on a sleek, sports car that looks at odds with the obscure surroundings.
The strange sight scrapes at your brain, but it’s only when you see the suit-clad passengers step out of the vehicle that your pulse is sent into overdrive.
The four-lane street is too much of a distance for any smell to reach your nose, but the memory of the pungent odor of death you’ve come to associate with the agents assaults your senses, chilling you to the bone with dread.
You barely escaped that one time, narrowly managing to lose your tail amidst the apartment complexes. If they catch you now—
The next thing you know, the plastic bag you were filling with snacks drops abandoned on the floor. Your feet carry you back to the station, where you frantically seek the hint of red hair—
Before the sight comes the smell - her 3-in-1 herbal body wash, a hint of lavender perfume. The familiarity of it forces your lungs to expand, and the clarity returns to you just as you barrel into her.
“Hey!” Jewel intercepts you mid-dash. Her hands placed in the crooks of your elbows are more of an anchor than a restraint. “They told us to wait for—”
Her expression changes instantly, though you can’t be sure whether it’s caused by your own, or by the way your body can’t seem to relax. Her eyes narrow, and her voice drops in volume.
“What’s wrong?”
“I saw them,” you gasp out, mindful of the ears and eyes around you. You keep your tone placid, but the dread makes it feel as though your barest breath echoes around the building like thunder. “I swear I saw them! I don’t know what to—”
“Don’t worry, I got you,” Jewel says, cutting all your excuses and explanations short. Now, safely inside, a part of you thinks you might have overreacted, running here without any evidence, but as always, Jewel takes your words seriously.
After a quick glance around the station, Jewel pulls you toward the second exit, and from there, it’s a short walk into an already waiting train.
“I lost our dinner,” you croak out, just now noticing that your hands are empty, save for a single juice box. “But I have juice.” Jewel snorts, but you find it hard to match her humor. “I’m sorry I freaked out like that—”
“It’s fine, really. Look, if they caught us...” she drifts off, biting her lip. “Better safe than sorry, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, finally letting yourself fall deeper into the seat. The train is a bit deserted, but you’ll take the privacy of— Wait. “That’s not our train, is it?”
“No,” Jewel shrugs, then explains more when you keep staring at her. “We’re taking a detour.”
“Oh. Good idea to buy extra tickets...” Jewel’s silence speaks volumes, and she doesn’t meet your eyes, instead turning to the side to watch the passing scenery. “We’re fare dodging, aren’t we?”
“They never check here anyway.”
“How rebellious. You’re worse than I.”
Though her body is twisted towards the window, you catch her grin. “Just trying to keep up.”
# 5 “You’re the smartest person I know.” - Alan and Reed
Despite what people might say, Reed doesn’t have to fill the silence every time. Like right now, for example. It’s been more than ten minutes, and he’s been keeping his thoughts to himself, while Alan glares at the screen of his phone as if daring it to brighten with the incoming message.
Feeling the slowly but surely thickening atmosphere, Colton left ‘for a cigarette break’ half an hour ago, and even the twins holed themselves somewhere out of Alan’s sight. If only Reed had the wits to flee when he still had the chance...
Another five minutes pass, and Reed’s will breaks.
“Snake’s not goin’ well today?”
“I do more than play,” comes Alan’s level reply. “Unlike someone I know.”
Reed huffs - inwardly, of course. He wouldn’t be caught dead sighing at Alan, of all people. “Maybe you should call first—”
“Really now,” Alan drawls, voice a perfect mimicry of surprise, though Reed knows better than to take it as genuine. “You’re the smartest person I know. Of course, I will follow your advice, seeing as your relationship is going so— Oh, wait.” Alan pauses strategically, though without bothering to gauge Reed’s reaction as he continues. “I almost forgot. There’s no relationship, is there.”
Reed winces, both at the truth of the jibe and the saccharine tone of the delivery. Alan so rarely opts for anything other than irony that the faux-cordiality hits that much harder.
“No need for sarcasm, I’m just givin’ advice.”
“I don’t remember asking.”
Biting his lips before he can say something about Alan’s age catching up to him - he doesn’t want to give Alan an excuse to start calling him ‘boy’ again - Reed doubles down on his nicest smile, the one paired up with a flutter of his eyelids. A winner, he’s been told.
“It was a freebie. For the bestest boss ever.”
“A fair price for the quality you provide,” Alan huffs, though this time with a smile. “It explains why you so rarely heed your own guidance.”
“No need to be this petty,” Reed grumbles, defeated.
“Then keep your mouth shut.”
Fine. Reed can do that. Naturally.
Comments
PDRRook
And I love writing them! :D
Meilleur Pyxis
Rez. 🥹🥹🥹🥺🥺. I really love Alan and Reed's dynamic. 👌✨
