Smoke and Mirrors...
I was bored. It was 2:30am. This was the result. Reader disgression is advised.
(I was bored. It was 2:30am. This was the result. Reader disgression is advised)
...that's all it was. Just smoke and mirrors as Kyran ran through the smoldering remains of the mirror factory. Fash really had it out for him this time. Not, mind you, that she was ever NOT out for blood, but usually she was content to leave a deep scratch or two in their games of cat and mouse. Not this time though. Good heavens, not this time. He ducked behind a metal I-beam to catch his breath. Sparks flew as a dagger struck metal just next to his ear then clattered to the floor. He looked down where it landed next to his feet. It was HIS dagger.
"What the hell is WRONG with you?!?" he exclaimed. "Do you have ANY earthly idea how long it took me to make that?"
Technically, it only took him a week or so. In reality though it took him the better part of 3 years...working on it only a couple random and disjointed days each year as he found it whilst cleaning out the garage, put in a few heart-felt hours making the railroad spike (which it originally was) into a sharpened thing of beauty, then promptly forgot about it again, losing it to the cluttered mess that was his home.
A sharp pair of eyes almost seemed to glow as they stared down at him from a support rail above him across the smoking corridor. "I don't care if it took you a lifetime to make that one," hissed the reply. "You never sent my photo album." The shadowy image spat. "...and I NEVER liked your fudge."
Ironically, or hypocritically, whichever the reader may prefer, Kyran stomped the base of his knife's handle. With a ringing tone not unlike the kind that randomly occurs in one's ears when they wish it wouldn't, the knife flipped into the air and landed softly in his hand, still resonating in his fist in such a way that it made his wrist ache slightly. He then, ironically, or hypocritically, whichever the reader chose to not use last time, threw it at Fash with such a force that it left rings and vortices and all sorts of disturbances in the smoke behind it that'd take a crew of CG artists over a month to capture on the big screen. Instead of the satisfying scream he hoped for, his ears were instead blessed with the shattering of glass, and his eyes assaulted with the warm flicker of a thousand pieces of mirror falling to the floor and reflecting the burning embers that lay all over the wreckage of the once proud factory.
All too late he realized She was behind him. He turned. In what he hoped would be a surprise move he savagely attacked, striking her fist with his face. The gamble didn't pay off. He was sent tumbling back struggling to keep his balance as his boots slid across ash and charred rubble. Whoever said it was fair for girls to hit so hard had obviously never been struck by one.
"You were actually going to kill me!" Fash screamed at him.
"No! No..you've got it wrong," Kyran bullshitted as he searched for a mental shovel to dig himself out of his own grave with. "It's just that..uhm...that mirror was distorted from the heat and wasn't doing your reflection justice!"
Fash's features softened. Her shoulders relaxed, she shifted her weight and let a hip slide. In that moment, surrounded by dust and smoke, gently lit by the glowing remains of a thousand gas furnaces, she looked quite warm and delicate.
"Really?" she wistfully cooed.
"No...I don't suppose that really was the reason," Kyran admitted. He'd seen her like this before. He knew she wasn't buying it.
"I didn't think so," said Fash. "You always could tell the sweetest of lies though."
She threw a furby at him. His eyes widened in horror as it soared through the air. Its eyes widened too as it saw him. Dinner was soon to be in its grasp!
Fash's cloak tickled the ground and stirred up minor dust clouds as she casually strolled from the former manufacturing facility, Kyran's screams echoing in her ears as the Furby went to work. She nimbly flipped his knife between her fingers and caressed the handle. Such a nice knife...she felt it best to appreciate it while she could. Despite his absolute phobia of furbies, and despite their mercilessly cruel nature, it'd only be a matter of time before he got the best of it, and then...
...well...Kyran would want his knife back.
(I was bored. It was 2:30am. This was the result. Reader disgression is advised)
...that's all it was. Just smoke and mirrors as Kyran ran through the smoldering remains of the mirror factory. Fash really had it out for him this time. Not, mind you, that she was ever NOT out for blood, but usually she was content to leave a deep scratch or two in their games of cat and mouse. Not this time though. Good heavens, not this time. He ducked behind a metal I-beam to catch his breath. Sparks flew as a dagger struck metal just next to his ear then clattered to the floor. He looked down where it landed next to his feet. It was HIS dagger.
"What the hell is WRONG with you?!?" he exclaimed. "Do you have ANY earthly idea how long it took me to make that?"
Technically, it only took him a week or so. In reality though it took him the better part of 3 years...working on it only a couple random and disjointed days each year as he found it whilst cleaning out the garage, put in a few heart-felt hours making the railroad spike (which it originally was) into a sharpened thing of beauty, then promptly forgot about it again, losing it to the cluttered mess that was his home.
A sharp pair of eyes almost seemed to glow as they stared down at him from a support rail above him across the smoking corridor. "I don't care if it took you a lifetime to make that one," hissed the reply. "You never sent my photo album." The shadowy image spat. "...and I NEVER liked your fudge."
Ironically, or hypocritically, whichever the reader may prefer, Kyran stomped the base of his knife's handle. With a ringing tone not unlike the kind that randomly occurs in one's ears when they wish it wouldn't, the knife flipped into the air and landed softly in his hand, still resonating in his fist in such a way that it made his wrist ache slightly. He then, ironically, or hypocritically, whichever the reader chose to not use last time, threw it at Fash with such a force that it left rings and vortices and all sorts of disturbances in the smoke behind it that'd take a crew of CG artists over a month to capture on the big screen. Instead of the satisfying scream he hoped for, his ears were instead blessed with the shattering of glass, and his eyes assaulted with the warm flicker of a thousand pieces of mirror falling to the floor and reflecting the burning embers that lay all over the wreckage of the once proud factory.
All too late he realized She was behind him. He turned. In what he hoped would be a surprise move he savagely attacked, striking her fist with his face. The gamble didn't pay off. He was sent tumbling back struggling to keep his balance as his boots slid across ash and charred rubble. Whoever said it was fair for girls to hit so hard had obviously never been struck by one.
"You were actually going to kill me!" Fash screamed at him.
"No! No..you've got it wrong," Kyran bullshitted as he searched for a mental shovel to dig himself out of his own grave with. "It's just that..uhm...that mirror was distorted from the heat and wasn't doing your reflection justice!"
Fash's features softened. Her shoulders relaxed, she shifted her weight and let a hip slide. In that moment, surrounded by dust and smoke, gently lit by the glowing remains of a thousand gas furnaces, she looked quite warm and delicate.
"Really?" she wistfully cooed.
"No...I don't suppose that really was the reason," Kyran admitted. He'd seen her like this before. He knew she wasn't buying it.
"I didn't think so," said Fash. "You always could tell the sweetest of lies though."
She threw a furby at him. His eyes widened in horror as it soared through the air. Its eyes widened too as it saw him. Dinner was soon to be in its grasp!
Fash's cloak tickled the ground and stirred up minor dust clouds as she casually strolled from the former manufacturing facility, Kyran's screams echoing in her ears as the Furby went to work. She nimbly flipped his knife between her fingers and caressed the handle. Such a nice knife...she felt it best to appreciate it while she could. Despite his absolute phobia of furbies, and despite their mercilessly cruel nature, it'd only be a matter of time before he got the best of it, and then...
...well...Kyran would want his knife back.