Post by Sunday on Jun 19, 2019 10:56:10 GMT
A couple of hours after the finale of the Amaranthine Games, Sunday wanders through the Ettin’s main doors, held open against the muggy air of late evening. Coll spots her meandering towards him and starts to reach for a mug to pour her usual; but Sunday flash-steps to the bar - unusually empty due to the finale of the games - and says “Wine, please, Coll, if you don’t mind.”
Coll nods and reaches for a wine glass.
“No, a tankard is fine.” Sunday smiles at him, laying some coin on the bar. “Could you bring some food over, too. Something light. No flesh.”
Accepting the large drink with a bow, she glances around the bar before making a bee-line for a table set in the corner, occupied by a single figure facing the common room, sword and shield at their side.
Sunday flops down on the bench beside them, plonking her wine down on the table with a thud. The figure continues to read a slim book.
Sunday sits there for a few moments, swinging her feet back and forth in the empty air above the common-room floor. She takes several sips of her drink and looks around at the other patrons, nodding to those she recognises.
“So, yer, didn’t end how I thought it would today. Huge constructs smashing away at each other. One for each of the remaining contestants in the games. Weird way for the games to end. Way more Mechanus than Feywild. Maybe Jack was starting to get to them after all. ”
“We had an hour to build what people were calling a mech. We focused on making ours as true to Titania as possible: dangerous, mobile, beautiful. Maybe that’s why we won. Maybe the others lost contact with why they were competing. Anyway, we all climbed inside and piloted the mech. It felt very alien to me; a lifeless being responding to orders. I didn’t like it. I snapped at my teammates quite a lot. I need to make it up to them. But we won. We stayed out of the fight - weird, I know - and let the others take each other on. We flew around staying safe and taking potshots. Wouldn’t have occured to me. Clever people.”
Coll brings over a platter with fruits, cheese, and a little bread in one hand and a bottle of green wine in the other. He leaves both and returns to behind the bar.
“Thanks!” Sunday shouts after him, her rose-bud-tipped tail whipping forward to grab an apple. Sunday takes a massive bite, eating half of it in one go.
“Thnnn, wuh hunnnd oop.” Sunday coughs, choking on the core, “Sorry. Best bit of the apple that. Always hope it will grow into a tree!”
She brushes crumbs off her armour before reaching for her wine tankard. Sunday stops and looks down at her hands. Wild flowers are slowly sprouting and shrinking from her palms.
“Anyway, then we ended up in some awesome duel with one of Sarastra’s mechs. Point blanking shooting at each other. Luckily, we managed to gun them down before they took us out. Two other mechs survived as the time ran out, but we had scored the most so we won and they brought out the presentation stand.”
Sunday suddenly clenches her fists: the flowers are instantly shredded by hundreds of thorns and briars and brambles erupting from the exposed skin on her hands and forearms. Scraps of brightly coloured leaf and petal and stem float towards the ground, fading from view before they can hit the floor.
The figure next to her turns a page and doesn’t look up.
Sunday continues. Her voice is quieter now.
“She didn’t ask me if I wanted to be her champion. She knows I don’t like being controlled. She knows my history. I spent months talking to her about it after Corellon sent me to train with her. She knows I don’t like representing others or doing their bidding without being asked. I can’t FUCKING ABIDE that.” On the almost-shouted ‘fucking abide’, the spines and spikes shoot up six inches and start to emerge from the rest of her visible skin: her lower legs and feet; her neck; her upper arms. Her face.
Sunday breathes in deeply for a few seconds...five…..six…..seven... and then exhales just as slowly...five…..six…..seven… The smell of freshly cut grass fills the immediate air. Sunday releases her grip and lays her hands flat on her knees, palms down. The barbs retract.
“It sort of just came to me as I was walking towards Titania and the platform. Why was I accepting this honour, if it even is that. I’d taken part so far because I was having fun and had met loads of new people to play with. Why wasn’t that enough? Why do people keep wanting things from me? Why did I need to ascend - whatever that means. I was involved because I was worried about the presence of Jack in this plane - Mechanus is everything I stand against: control, lifelessness, monotony. Give me life! give me joy! Give me music!” Each of these last three sentences is punctuated by Sunday vanishing from view and appearing ten feet away and then again in another place and then again. Sunday reappears in her original seat, as Coll looks over from the bar - eyebrow raised.
Sunday lifts a delicate hand. “Sorry, Coll,” she calls “Didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“Takes more than that to alarm me.” Colls mutters to himself as he resumes counting the bottles behind the bar.
“I was just happy Jack didn’t win,” Sunday continues, “But then I thought, why do any of the others have to win. Why does anyone have to win. I’ve seen too many losses. Eugh. So maudlin. Cheer up, Sunday!” She pours some more wine from the bottle into her tankard, plucks a small herb growing on her armour and drops it into the liquid. A pleasant aromatic wafts up from the cup. She takes a sip.
“I originally went to the Fey to get away from all that. Not that the games were bad or evil. At least not that I know of. But it was such fun while it lasted, I didn’t want it to end. So when she offered the crown to me, I just told her ‘Nah, you’re ok. Thanks for letting me play though, it was fun.’ It was soooooo funny to see the look on Titania’s face; and everyone else’s. Absolutely no-one was expecting that at all! Well, that’s two out of four of the Fey courts I’ve pissed off. That should create some more fun sometime soon.”
Sunday goes back to swinging her feet and looking around the bar, which is starting to fill up now.
“Talking of fun, I’m going to run a few errands then head to the Mirror. Then find a new place to stay. Don’t really feel fair bringing down any consequences on Daring’s head.”
Sunday drains her drink and pockets some of the remaining food. She picks up the empty mug and bottle, balancing the half-eaten platter on her head, and heads towards the bar.
“Thanks for the chat!” she calls over her shoulder.
Darius finally looks up from his book at the retreating figure of Sunday.
“Hmm, what? Who the Hells was that?”
Coll nods and reaches for a wine glass.
“No, a tankard is fine.” Sunday smiles at him, laying some coin on the bar. “Could you bring some food over, too. Something light. No flesh.”
Accepting the large drink with a bow, she glances around the bar before making a bee-line for a table set in the corner, occupied by a single figure facing the common room, sword and shield at their side.
Sunday flops down on the bench beside them, plonking her wine down on the table with a thud. The figure continues to read a slim book.
Sunday sits there for a few moments, swinging her feet back and forth in the empty air above the common-room floor. She takes several sips of her drink and looks around at the other patrons, nodding to those she recognises.
“So, yer, didn’t end how I thought it would today. Huge constructs smashing away at each other. One for each of the remaining contestants in the games. Weird way for the games to end. Way more Mechanus than Feywild. Maybe Jack was starting to get to them after all. ”
“We had an hour to build what people were calling a mech. We focused on making ours as true to Titania as possible: dangerous, mobile, beautiful. Maybe that’s why we won. Maybe the others lost contact with why they were competing. Anyway, we all climbed inside and piloted the mech. It felt very alien to me; a lifeless being responding to orders. I didn’t like it. I snapped at my teammates quite a lot. I need to make it up to them. But we won. We stayed out of the fight - weird, I know - and let the others take each other on. We flew around staying safe and taking potshots. Wouldn’t have occured to me. Clever people.”
Coll brings over a platter with fruits, cheese, and a little bread in one hand and a bottle of green wine in the other. He leaves both and returns to behind the bar.
“Thanks!” Sunday shouts after him, her rose-bud-tipped tail whipping forward to grab an apple. Sunday takes a massive bite, eating half of it in one go.
“Thnnn, wuh hunnnd oop.” Sunday coughs, choking on the core, “Sorry. Best bit of the apple that. Always hope it will grow into a tree!”
She brushes crumbs off her armour before reaching for her wine tankard. Sunday stops and looks down at her hands. Wild flowers are slowly sprouting and shrinking from her palms.
“Anyway, then we ended up in some awesome duel with one of Sarastra’s mechs. Point blanking shooting at each other. Luckily, we managed to gun them down before they took us out. Two other mechs survived as the time ran out, but we had scored the most so we won and they brought out the presentation stand.”
Sunday suddenly clenches her fists: the flowers are instantly shredded by hundreds of thorns and briars and brambles erupting from the exposed skin on her hands and forearms. Scraps of brightly coloured leaf and petal and stem float towards the ground, fading from view before they can hit the floor.
The figure next to her turns a page and doesn’t look up.
Sunday continues. Her voice is quieter now.
“She didn’t ask me if I wanted to be her champion. She knows I don’t like being controlled. She knows my history. I spent months talking to her about it after Corellon sent me to train with her. She knows I don’t like representing others or doing their bidding without being asked. I can’t FUCKING ABIDE that.” On the almost-shouted ‘fucking abide’, the spines and spikes shoot up six inches and start to emerge from the rest of her visible skin: her lower legs and feet; her neck; her upper arms. Her face.
Sunday breathes in deeply for a few seconds...five…..six…..seven... and then exhales just as slowly...five…..six…..seven… The smell of freshly cut grass fills the immediate air. Sunday releases her grip and lays her hands flat on her knees, palms down. The barbs retract.
“It sort of just came to me as I was walking towards Titania and the platform. Why was I accepting this honour, if it even is that. I’d taken part so far because I was having fun and had met loads of new people to play with. Why wasn’t that enough? Why do people keep wanting things from me? Why did I need to ascend - whatever that means. I was involved because I was worried about the presence of Jack in this plane - Mechanus is everything I stand against: control, lifelessness, monotony. Give me life! give me joy! Give me music!” Each of these last three sentences is punctuated by Sunday vanishing from view and appearing ten feet away and then again in another place and then again. Sunday reappears in her original seat, as Coll looks over from the bar - eyebrow raised.
Sunday lifts a delicate hand. “Sorry, Coll,” she calls “Didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“Takes more than that to alarm me.” Colls mutters to himself as he resumes counting the bottles behind the bar.
“I was just happy Jack didn’t win,” Sunday continues, “But then I thought, why do any of the others have to win. Why does anyone have to win. I’ve seen too many losses. Eugh. So maudlin. Cheer up, Sunday!” She pours some more wine from the bottle into her tankard, plucks a small herb growing on her armour and drops it into the liquid. A pleasant aromatic wafts up from the cup. She takes a sip.
“I originally went to the Fey to get away from all that. Not that the games were bad or evil. At least not that I know of. But it was such fun while it lasted, I didn’t want it to end. So when she offered the crown to me, I just told her ‘Nah, you’re ok. Thanks for letting me play though, it was fun.’ It was soooooo funny to see the look on Titania’s face; and everyone else’s. Absolutely no-one was expecting that at all! Well, that’s two out of four of the Fey courts I’ve pissed off. That should create some more fun sometime soon.”
Sunday goes back to swinging her feet and looking around the bar, which is starting to fill up now.
“Talking of fun, I’m going to run a few errands then head to the Mirror. Then find a new place to stay. Don’t really feel fair bringing down any consequences on Daring’s head.”
Sunday drains her drink and pockets some of the remaining food. She picks up the empty mug and bottle, balancing the half-eaten platter on her head, and heads towards the bar.
“Thanks for the chat!” she calls over her shoulder.
Darius finally looks up from his book at the retreating figure of Sunday.
“Hmm, what? Who the Hells was that?”
