TotW 255: Talented - VOTE THREAD!
TotW 255: Talented
You have ONE vote.
Submission 1 A tortured soul. -
I look up at myself in the mirror, cracks running across it’s surface like spiderwebs, raking fingers through my damp hair, trying to calm down by splashing my face and neck a little in the cramped bathroom at the Indigo, a little jazz club owned by a friend of a friend.
Quickly I try and straighten up my ragged appearance for that goddess in the front room, a vision of perfection visited upon the earth, swaying melodically to the notes of a jazz band, saxophone, trumpet, bass guitar intertwining to create a haunting tune that has completely captivated me and stolen my soul.
Temporarily satisfied that I do not appear to have been given a makeover by Helen Keller I step back into the club.
Instantly my eyes are drawn back towards the Aphrodite of the club, jealous of the glass that she casually sips from, gently pressing perfect heart shaped lips to the rim.
Cursing my poetic nature for not being more outgoing and confident, like a barbarian or warrior-king of old. Or…. Or like that brawny fellow who’s going up to here now! A hand on the small of her back, whispering something in her ear with a mischievous grin. Oh that laugh! Like the clearest note of a chime fashioned by immortal hands. How I wish to be the one to have made her laugh so. I am tormented by the very thought of another man breathing the same perfect air as her perfect lungs. I must leave before doing something rash.
Trying to listen to the small voice in the back of my mind that is telling me what a horrible idea this is seems as colossal an effort as Atlas holding the earth aloft, the overwhelming majority of my being screams that she must be mine and the meathead from before needs to be taken from the picture.
To this end I hold a small .45 caliber revolver clenched within my fist, knuckles turning white, crouched behind a dumpster ,my eyes boring holes through the exit of the club, daring the presumptuous fool to walk out with my goddess.
Then the chimes sound again and my head whips to the window I have been purveying the club from and I cannot take it anymore, I storm into the club..
Aim the gun…
And the whole world turns red as all is swallowed by the sound of gunshots ringing through the night.
Submission 2
Rendezvous
Elizabeth wiped a line of sweat from her brow as she loosened up her flight suit. Two days system patrol within her tight coffin like cockpit necessitated a brief well earned celebration in the flight atrium bar, and then a good nine hours of sleep.
“Evening Morgan.” She said, sliding into her signature, and thankfully unoccupied, bar stool. The barkeep examined her with mild concern.
“Don’t think anyone could like a face like yours, Lizzy.”
“Blow it out your airlock beerhead, get me the usual.” Elizabeth shot back, fully aware that her tormented appearance would engender little jealousy from her peers. Fighter Jockeys always were received thus after literal days of being starbound.
After an entirely average looking beer slid across the antiquated anachronistic hardglass of the bar, Elizabeth looked around, relaxing. The crew of the Vigilant relaxed here, chatting in small clusters as the night crowd began to stream in with the shift change. Right on cue, the sultry tones of a timeless saxophone began to literally jazz up the atmosphere. Barring the high tech P.D.A’s in crewmen's hands the scene could be one from centuries earlier, perhaps in a southern American blues club.
Next to her, a familiar ape like man slammed into his seat, like a sack of potatoes, or neutrino-bricks.
“’Ey Liz. Bad one? OPS is running you jocks so hard I bet you left part of your ass in the cockpit.”
“Gunny. How is ship security treating you?”
A hulking man was chomping at a (possibly contraband) cigar as he lounged against the bar, his Marine fatigues slightly sweat stained from what might have also been a hard shift. He reeked of alcohol and aftershave, but something about the –barely- regulation scruff and his sturdy jawline seemed reassuring. His vacant eyes mislead many a would be opponent to underestimating the seemingly simple man.
“Actually I drew the short straw. ‘Am on contraband duty.”
Elizabeth snorted. “You mean policing or smuggling some in?”
The marine exhaled a smoke ring and wordlessly passed the half spent cigar, which Elizabeth accepted.
“Nah. We have to scrub a dozen or more freighters for drugs inbound for Io. Means somebody got busted.”
“Maybe that’s why they have us flying so far. Pirate base? Smuggling hideout? Guess I know the answer now. Cheers."
“Pay me back with a beer.” Gunny replied leaning forward again
“Wait, I love this bit.”
She turned her attention from his hard face and looked at the band.
“Ive been reading…”
“That’s a first.”
Gunny grunted.
“They say people used to come to places like this just for the music. Even though its just part of the bar theme, I cant shake that I get why…”
“Well…” the pilot began, tugging her counterpart’s face with a finger.
“I got about two hours in me before I’m going to pass out. Care to make em memorable, bulldog?”
The grunt stifled a laugh.
“Hell, I thought you’d never ask.”
Submission 3
Dynak Saxophone was tormented by the unavoidable decision. Several days ago, he received word: the regional governor of Eastmark, Dynak Konegg, was in revolt. Several neighboring dynaks had already declared their support for the rebellious Konegg, and it was certain his support would spread across the entire Kingdom of Regia. Ever since, Saxophone spent most of his time in his palace’s war room. Servants ran everywhere to provide him with maps, letters, and other documents, which he would swim through to discover a route through this new civil war, which would neither lead to losing his title or life.
Saxophone could not play neutral; he would face expulsion from his office. His region’s wealth was meager, which showed in the modest appearance of his palace. The only gold, silver, and jewels within the palace were acquired from those Dynak Saxophone vanquished in the recent civil wars. Yet, King Arodan was still in a sort of transition period, having usurped power the year before from King Gonitz, the same year Gonitz took the throne from King Onmar II which ended the Rahnoth Dynasty. Arodan was still replacing dynaks whose power (or ancestral power) dated back to before the century long Rahnoth Dynasty, with loyal and dependable followers. Regardless of who won, his lack of faith would disturb the victor, who would replace Saxophone with a patriot.
Bam bam, a knock at the door, waking the dynak from his search, “What is it?” he said not betraying his surprise.
“A message from the Turon dynak, milord.” the man outside the war room responded.
“Speak!”
“The dynak demands to know where we stand. He states that he, along with the other dynaks to our south, have declared for Dynak Konegg. He condemns the abuse of centralized power from the capital, Regia, which will no longer be tolerated.” the man communicated.
“Thank you. You may leave,” Saxophone heard the man’s footsteps growing fainter. The dynak contemplated his next move. The dynaks to his south were always independent minded. They were jealous of the rights they garnered under the Rahnoth Dynasty. Perhaps they believed a king from the provinces would guarantee their autonomy unlike a king from the capital lands like Arodan.
His thoughts connected the news he received today with what he learned yesterday, three dynaks from neighboring provinces had declared for Arodan, so given the dynaks to the south were for Konegg, meant that whoever Saxophone declared for, he would have nearby allies. He thought about this for a moment, and exclaimed, “I have it!” as he swiftly turned around and dove back into his maps and documents. Minutes later, he pulled out a map of the southwest quadrant of the kingdom. Smirking, he traced his finger along the mountain range which separated Konegg’s main group of supporters and the dynaks which ruled directly to Saxophone’s south. He then traced a circle around the Regian lands north of these two groups of Konegg’s supporters. Looking at the imaginary circle, his smirk turned horror.
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