It’s day twelve of #freewritemadness + #nanowrimo! We’re almost at the halfway mark, eek!
I’m pleased with my progress so far and I’m fairly confident that I will complete my 50,000 words on time! 🙂 Providing I find things to ramble about, at any rate. There are eighteen days to go, and I know exactly what I want to do on Day Thirty… now it’s weaving the remainder of this plot and getting there.
The ending that I thought of yesterday is still spinning circles around my mind. No, seriously; I am a sook. I just wrote that sentence just now and tears welled again. Anyway! The more I think about it, the more I approve of it. I have a bad habit of thinking up heart-wrenching endings to stories and then just never writing them. #freewritemadness will force it out of me!
I might end up back-tracking here and there and writing a few non-chronological chapters to bulk it up a bit. I wouldn’t mind one or two interactions with Quint before yesterday and today’s writing. Need to do something with those dragons that are talked about and never seen. Naturally there’s lovey dovey excess coming up soon. I’ll mark it with a big Cheesy Warning! Serenithyl and her gargoyles need to be dealt with. Not sure I have enough for eighteen more writings… but, we’ll see how I go. The prompts will guide me!!
The prompt for today was – tongue.
My wordcount for today is – 1764
And the overall count is – 23004
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DAY TWELVE WRITINGS
Quint was behind them. His red face was blotched with deep purple marks and his blue eyes looked as empty and bloodshot as a perpetually stoned surfer dude. He shook his head in mock sadness and made clicking noises with his tongue as he flipped an uncaring hand at the table.
“Eh, she didn’t last long; the last one held much more… juice.”
Katéa stared, dumbfounded. What the actual fuck was going on here? Was he really trying to plug electronic devices into pixies? Dear, God. This was so much worse than merely bathing in their dust in a horny haze, or sucking them dry and embarking upon a high to the moon and beyond. She had assumed that she and Draven would just waltz on in and free these little ladies from cages or something, but this… “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she screeched.
Quint furrowed his brow, further purpling the giant blotch in the centre of his forehead, and as her words at last registered he flared his upper lip, baring his teeth in that distinctive manner that stated, ‘what a stupid fucking question’. He looked her in the eye and slowly said, “What the fuck does it look like? I’m trying to get the fuck back to reality.”
“By mutilating pixies?”
“They have power!” he shouted. “The last one gave me three percent. I am so close to a fully charged battery, so fucking close. One more. Maybe two. And then I’m getting me the fuck outta here.”
Was he fucking serious? This was all some plot to get back to their world? Did he really think that he’d just turn on his phone and get whisked away by some magic phone powers? Draven seethed beside her, his rage radiating from him in thick, palpable waves. No wonder! She had only been here a week and she was ready to rampage; how horrible it must be to actually be born in this world, have delighted in the presence of these golden creatures since babyhood, only to have some callous dickhead from another world come and cold-heartedly murder them? In this despicable fashion no less. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Hey, dickhead! Don’cha know no-one returns from an encounter with the Min Min Lights? I was loved by thousands of followers all over the world —if I can throw my damned phone away and accept that I’m stuck here, why the hell can’t you?”
Quint stepped towards them, his face now entirely purple, and growled, “You can’t talk to me like that you dumb bitch, don’t you know who I am?”
Katéa crossed her arms and stood her ground. What kind of line was that, anyway —did he think he was some rich and famous muckety-muck? She snorted, “You could be Dame Edna Everage for all the fucks I give. Her hair matches your face.”
Did his face just increase in purple? Was that even possible? He started making that clicking noise with his tongue again. What a fucking mental case —what the hell did Nessie and the villagers see in him? Draven stepped in front of her and held his arm up into the air, revealing the armband that had jabbed into her during her first day in this realm. The red gems embedded in it were glowing bright, casting rays of red light into the room. The walls fell away, the floor disappeared, and the entire room vanished. Only they remained standing on what seemed to be thin air, along with the dead pixie, backpack, and the fallen electronics.
With an expert control she had no idea how he maintained, Draven’s voice was impossibly calm behind his anger. “You will remain bound in this void until the Master decides to handle you.” His jaw clenched, he sent her a brief nod, and she stepped toward him, hurriedly grasping his arm as Quint leapt forward. He did not try to attack them, but instead fumbled for his phone and pressed the power button. Oh, God —her ears!
An ear-splitting squeal reverberated about the emptiness, so shrill it pierced into her brain. It was like getting repeatedly stabbed in the mind with a giant shard of glass. Her hands flew to her ears but the electrical wail did not stop. Her ears were going to bleed —her brain was going to ooze out of them! Tears rolled down her cheeks. Suddenly, arms enveloped her. Draven murmured his incomprehensible words, a sense of urgency and pain woven within his tone, then hard stone appeared beneath their feet. Cool air embraced her as blissful silence replaced the deafening shriek. It was gone.
She stiffened and quickly turned to Draven, a wave of sympathy arising as the pain of the electronic wail and the pixie’s gross death echoed behind his eyes. A thin crack allowed only a teensy amount of light into the area —they were back in the crevice.
There was a minute of silence, the only sound her heart thrumming through her ears, and then Draven sighed. “I’ll take you back to Nessie; I need to speak with my father.” Before she could respond, he muttered his words once more, grasped her arm, and pulled her into the cold body-shaping air, appearing by the entrance to Nessie’s gardens.
Was this why he had a tendency to magically appear beside her? This was all happening so quickly. Bam, bam, bam. From the gardens, to Quint’s horrible pixie murder chamber, and back to the gardens again. Did all of that really just happen? The dead pixie, inelegantly thrown onto the table with a cord shoved up its arse flashed into her mind alongside a wave of dizziness. She clung to Draven’s arm, attempting to steady herself, and muttered, “I think… I think I need something to drink.”
“Aye. I think I’ll be joining you.” Draven rummaged through his pocket and handed her three coins, “Here’s enough for one or three, depending on ol’ Grizz’s mood.”
Right. Grissom. He suddenly seemed a lot less gruesome after what she had seen in Quint’s creepy room. Hopefully it was enough for three —she wanted to get absolutely plonked.
“Katéa,” Draven winced, “I’ll need to explain this. What was he trying to do?”
“I-I… I don’t know, exactly… I don’t understand how he hoped to achieve what he wanted. He was trying to go home.” The electronic wail reverberated about her head once more, though thankfully her imagination wasn’t as sharp as the real thing —that damned shriek was enough to wake the dead… or Serenithyl. Her eyes widened and she tightened her grip on Draven’s arm. “I think he woke up Serenithyl. With that horrible sound. Or maybe a frequency or something, emitted from his devices. I don’t know!”
Draven lowered his eyes. “Go have some mead,” he murmured quietly. “I’ll be there shortly,” and walked down the corridor, leaving her standing in Nessie’s corr-door, watching after him. She wanted to hug him, stroke his hair, take his despair away… maybe there would be something she could do later. Sighing, she entered the tavern. This was the first time since the day of her arrival she had dared step foot in here, and it felt as though she were in a dream as she stumbled into one of the chairs, no longer caring that bodily fluids had soured these seats. The pixies fluttered around the ceiling, as though they were unaware that their friends had been taken and used in the most horrendous of ways, as though nothing was wrong at all. How did she not notice them when she had first arrived? The ceiling was a mass of golden sparkles, glimmering bright in the candlelight.
“Hello, sweetie!” Tweetie T’rese sashayed towards her, twirling an auburn curl around her finger as she approached. Her perfume was as mind-numbingly overpowering as it was on that first day, but at least it masked her bodily odours and at least this time she wasn’t afflicted by the pixie dust —there would be no nausea today. “Fancy a drink, or something to eat?” she winked, leaning suggestively over the table.
“Was hoping for a mead or three,” Katéa swallowed.
“Ooooh, or three! That sounds fun!” She jiggled her boobs. “That’ll be three coins. Just drop ‘em in here,” she giggled. “Will give Grizzy some fun, too.”
Katéa hid her wince behind a small smile as she deposited the coins into T’rese’s abyssal cleavage. God, it was disgusting. Not the act of putting the coins in there, but the idea of that filthy man with the disgusting breath and rotting teeth drooling all over those boobs, diving into them to extract his coin, possibly jamming his head into them and licking at the sweat beading within. She shuddered as T’rese flounced away, caressing the shoulders of all in her path as she headed for the bar.
Laughter resounded all around her alongside happy, vibrant chatter, at odds with the sorrow she felt. Those little pixie creatures had died because of some twat from her world —some twat who was even more addicted to his electronics than she had been. Thank fuck she had thrown hers into the fire. She hated the thing more than ever.
T’rese returned with three large mugs of mead on a silver tray and placed them on the table. “Here you are, dear,” she smiled, a grin that widened as her eyes focused just above Katéa’s head. Strutting away, she blew a kiss as she headed for the next table.
Draven sat beside her and grabbed one of the mugs.
“That was quick.”
“Aye,” Draven downed half the mead before placing it back onto the table, and then yelled loud enough to be heard over the rowdy tavern-goers, “Glouweln’s Master will perform the first public flaying in fifty years! Tonight at moon-fall!” The drunken rabble released a cheer that vibrated the floors and the seat she sat upon, and only she heard as Draven muttered, “And I don’t care to be present.”
She moistened her lips and grabbed a mug for herself. It looked just as disgusting as the last time one of these drinks sat before her. It was a shitquid that had no business being a beverage, but it tasted better than it looked and she would drink until that poor pixie no longer tormented her thoughts.
Holding the mug between both hands, she slowly drained the entire sweet and syrupy contents in one lengthy gulp. This was going to be a long night.