#writersyoga

The rattling sound echoed inside an arm sized copper tube. It wasn’t long until one of the radius clattered on the floor. Stopping, she set the rest aside with other bones in the shelf away from those in the barrel. Even though the interior of the barrel covered with a good amount of absorbing material, she could still hear them rattling about. She would need to move them into the acoustic room. More work for her.

She gave her attention back to the silent radius and jotted its measurements down on the liquid parchment. Her writing rippled and dissipated. She used her pinky to swirl the seemingly blank parchment. Then the radius’ turn. She made sure to twirl it fast by the parchment’s surface. When it’s finished, she stood up, brushed her apron with the radius, and walked into the covering. As she taking a long slide for the long corridor, she spun the radius and saw the last time warm blood still circulated it. She smacked her mouth, curled her lips, and cracked her neck.

She arrived at the upper terrace and pulled out the radius to tap it with a delicate mallet. It echoed, “Throomple Von Boottom.”

A man with hairs worn as fringes around his baldness, puffed his chest, and walked underneath her. He hollared, “Throomple Von Votoom.”

She rolled her eyes and motioned him to follow her from below. Rubbing her eyes, she spun the radius again and started to count. She gave up by the time it reached hundreds and blew out a loud breath. She leaned against one of the pillar and kept spinning. Finally, his or the lack of his hair appeared.

“Missy, you should read a person’s name properly.”

She turned around and moved away.

“Hey, miss! I don’t like waring too much flowing garments like this. Is there anything—”

She waved her hand while continued on.

“EXCUSE ME,” he shrieked, “my garment just ripped. I know my muscle especially some specific region are to be admired, but we should be acquainted first,  sweetie.”

She groaned and snapped her fingers.

“Argh, what the?!” He sounded muffled. “Missy! What kind…of service is this. You don’t drown…your customer in…cloth…I can’t—”

She smirked and blew out a breath.

“Ah. A little more like it. Hey! Young lady, excuse me! I need to speak to your manager and tell him how awful of a—”

She threw the radius into the air and it zoomed for a smaller door. Instead of the radius breaking, the door shattered to pieces to give way for her and him to pass.

“WHAT?”

She could hear his steps squeaked into a halt, but it mattered not. She pulled the radius from a shattered piece and whipped it back.

“What! What are you?! LET ME GO. HELP!”

She dragged him with the radius with ease and chuckled at the sound of his fingers scratched against the floor. The room welcomed them with a blinding paleness.

“Argh! My eyes! I will sue you guys for treatment!”

She whipped the radius forward and he flew on the air to land on a cozy sofa.

“Urgh! You will have to pay me for inconvinie…ooh—” He caressed the sofa. “I will start with this beauty over here.”

She rolled her eyes and sat on a marble seat.

“Now tell me little miss. Where’s the owner of this establishment? They would know how to treat customer, especially me better. Unlike you—”

She threw the radius at him. His eyes widened, his arms opened up from the folded position before. The radius fumbled on his hands.

“Eugh, what is…Bone?!” He flicked his hand about but the radius was glued to him. Frustrated, he tried to break the radius on his knee. A crack appeared at the 3/4th spot then a booming sound pushed him back into the sofa.

It was his own voice. “Throomple Von Boottom.”

Not getting the clue, he tried to correct it. “Throomple Von Votoom, Throomp—” but he stopped. His eyes stared at what seemed to be only air.

She smiled and tapped a minuscule floating dust and watched what he saw.

They saw him fastening his sleeves’ buttons with a relaxed face. “Maar, what are you doing standing there?”

They heard a female voice in their head. Must be Maar’s, who was approaching him with a slight turn in her stomach. “M..Mr. Votom.”

They saw him glared. “Votoom! Maar, this is not your first convention,” he barked. “So what are you so nervous about that you forgo sleeping?”

“What, sir?”

“Your eyes. Although not red but it’s glassy. Your makeup is on point but your eyes are a little swollen.”

“I’m sorry, Mr—”

“You would be if you have to take time off for doctor. This is an opportunity of your lifetime. Your resume will glimmered that only the insane would refuse to hire you. Do you know what it meant to work for me?” He leaned to her with judging eyes.

“An opportunity of a lifetime, Sir.”

He leaned back with disgusted face. “Don’t copy my words.” The vision started to shake but he didn’t stop. “What is wrong with you? Haven’t you learn a thing? You need to think by yourself. You can’t let anyone else make your decision and the way you think! You need to be your own person, Maar. Not some carbon copy of somebody else. You know why I hired you?”

The vision blurred a little bit but Maar’s chest was beating with an unrecognizable determination. “You didn’t hire me, Mr. Votoom. I hired myself with all my qualifications.”

There’s a slight smirk on his face. “Well then, show it to me.”

“Yes, Sir. This is the agenda for today—”

All of a sudden, everything towered above them. They felt as if they were being pushed and dragged around but then it stopped.

She blinked and heard him. “WHAT IS THAT? What kind of sorcery, or witchcraft or cult is this! I—”

She tapped another piece of dust to silence him. She sighed and leaned back on the marble seat as she watched his blank face. The color of his face drained with each passing minute. His mouth moved without sound. She could make out of it of course but she didn’t want to watch every drip of drool coming out of it. She closed her eyes and took a nap.

It was a long and satisfying nap. One that would go on her record book. After what seemed like a millennium, she hadn’t have a bone cracking nap like this before. The last time she had it involved a guillotine and several heavy suffocating torso girdle. After that she never stay up to watch or she was too busy making sure the soul was somewhat sedated after a very quick session.

He emitted an unintelligible mutter like he was just finished quaffing. His moved around restlessly. He laughed chuckled a lot. “Whoa, that was som…somethin, wasn’t it!” He couldn’t control his volume.

She approached and pulled him up. He’s more manageable, in a way. She knew exactly what he wanted to say despite his slurring.

“My favorite was that…blbb…that flying. Imma biiiird. I…think. I pooped on him. Me. Him. Who?”

She rolled her eyes and curled her lips. She should’ve let him quaff for another hundred viewing. That would anesthetized him completely then maybe the radius in her hand wouldn’t chatter and rattle so much.

View here in the source

The truth is, he didn’t do it on purpose. Most of the time, his image of a persistent gadfly was noticed by everyone else except him. He sincerely thought that by all his criticism, he helped his friends to improve and be less stupid. 

« I have no one left beside you. » Sheldon admitted, his voice cracking at the reality of his words.

Note: A quick drabble,one with pretty vacant,and some ideas of the conflicts between the berserkers and the hunters on the Ishak areas (well I am obsessed with that idea of berserkers not being the traditional type) ,prompts from writersyoga and awritingpromptaday

Note: A small word drabble from writersyoga,well I mistook this word for an another-so anyway I am going to Kathryn’s childhood-almost like Secret Garden thing..I hope you enjoy it :)

portmanteaua-large trunk or suitcase, typically made of stiff leather and opening into two equal parts.• [ as modifier ] consisting of or combining two or more separable aspects or qualities: a portmanteau movie composed of excerpts from his most famous films.

I recall going inside of Jene’s house,as he always hobble in his crutches to his grandfather’s room,telling all of the stories,of his grandfather’s adventures-in the times of the war,where he hid in the snows-springing to unsuspecting enemy lines and how the local react to this speeches made the generals that are translated badly  

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"Drink," stated Ariane Benoit. Feng's mechanical right hand clasped around the comparatively delicate glass tumbler, filled to the brim with vodka. In one swift move, the elder mercenary lifted the glass to his lips and downed the clear liquid, before planting it upside down at the peak of a stack of similar glasses, finishing a triangle that was three wide at the base.

"Three of clubs," he said. In silence, Ariane lifted the pistol sitting on the table with her right hand, pointed it off to Feng's left, and without so much as looking, pulled the trigger. Once the echo of the gun had died, Feng turned his head to look at where Ariane had been aiming. A wooden board, with a full deck of cards glued to it had been set up against the far wall. Roughly fourteen of the cards had bullet holes through them. Scanning over the board, he found that Ariane's bullet had indeed pierced the three of clubs card, and he turned back to face his technical employer.

"Drink, Benoit,"

"Challenge," replied Ariane. Feng simply jerked his head sideways, and Ariane turned to check. When she turned back, her mouth was turned up in a self-satisfied smirk, and she marked down a six-point increase for herself.

"Come on Feng, it's like you aren't even trying. Suicide King."

Feng picked up his own weapon in his right hand, leveled it out to his right at a similar board to Ariane's and fired, using only his peripheral vision and memory to take aim at the nominated card. Once more, the two waited until the echoes of the gunshot had died out, and Ariane adjusted her glasses as she looked over at Feng's board.

"Drink," she said, turning to face her companion.

"Challenge," growled Feng, and without even waiting for Ariane's confirmation, turned to check. Sure enough, there was a fresh, and faintly smoking, hole through the King of Hearts. Ariane Benoit cursed as Feng marked a 26 point increase in his score.