Character Anger Management

When I saw the prompt on Timony's blog, I immeadiately thought of Auburn, one of my characters :)

Auburn lifted her head from the table, mouth hanging slightly ajar as she stared at the odd man. So he was going to teach her how to resist the urge to threaten the other characters.

“Welcome to the Character Anger Management class of 2012. I’m Bert, your instructor. I’ve written many stories with placid characters and with my help you too can become calm and collected.”

It was her writer’s fault. She’d talked about how people made a resolution for every New Year. Hers could be to tone down the anger, since the other characters were afraid of her. No one had outright complained, though, likely because they were too scared to do that.

Auburn’s eyes wandered up and down his odd attire. “What the hell are you wearing? I’ve seen my writer in weird clothes, but…”

Bert frowned. “They’re called jeans. And where’d you learn the word ‘hell’? Aren’t you from a fantasy world?”

“My writer uses the word all the time. Oh, and ‘for the love of all that is good’ and ‘perkele’, although I don’t know what that means.” Her brow creased as she sought other words her writer used to describe her and other unruly characters. “Well, too many to list.”

“Uh, huh... Well, let’s get to know each other, shall we?” He nodded to a thing of muscle and horns. ”You can start.”

“You annoy me, I rip tongue out!” The ogre lifted a club above his head.

“If anyone annoys me, I will rip their tongue out, clean the window with it and insert it in their—” She fell quiet. Everyone stared at her. Even the ogre was giving her a wary glance. Didn’t they recognize creative threating when they heard it? “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The instructor’s mouth hung open, his pen dropped to the floor and rolled to the far end of the room. Silence fell again.

“Overkill.” The ogre muttered.

“Ahem, we’re trying to learn not to use such language.” He walked over to pick up the pen.

Auburn shrugged. “Well, I haven’t learned yet.”

“I see…” Bert gnawed the end of the pen. “Moving on, we’ll now discuss what pushes our buttons.”

“When people interrupt or try outdo me!” The ogre growled.

“Don’t blame others if you can’t come up with better threats than ‘rip’ or ‘tear’.” Auburn snorted as she brushed a curl of hair of her face. The corners of her mouth began to tug upwards, next to the ogre sat a rather handsome pale young man with dark hair. “Hello there.”

The man smiled revealing sharp fangs.

“Look at me when talking to me!” The ogre stood up, his club lifted high.

“No longing gazes here. I’m sure your writers have plans for you—” Bert’s word and possibly life was cut short by the ogre’s club.

“You interrupt me!”

“My writer was paying for this!” Auburn pulled her dress over her head as she changed. Coppery fur covered her body and fingers sharpened into claws as a shriek of fury escaped her maw.

She dodged the ogre’s clumsy swing easily. Her jump landed her atop the beast’s head, her claws scratched futilely the thick skin. The eyes would be vulnerable.

“Stop it!” She heard Bert shout, but it was too late. The rush of battle sang in her blood, nothing could stop her.

“Why is my character bound like Hannibal Lecter?” Emilia’s mouth gaped as Auburn was rolled in. The shapeshifter rolled her eyes. “I know she has a foul mouth, but a muzzle?”

“Your character started a fight with an ogre and almost killed the poor monster. Then she tried to… passionately kiss a vampire. When he tried to bite her, she knocked his teeth out. You’re lucky they have surgery for that nowadays and that the ogre lives,” he drew a deep breath,” otherwise you’d be in deep trouble, missy. Goodbye!”

“Sorry Auburn, I had a chat with my boyfriend and turns out you’re his favourite character.” She pushed her smudgy glasses back up her nose. “It got me thinking, maybe other people will like you too, and if you did tone down your temper you wouldn’t be you anymore.”

“Mmh.”

“I’ll let you go when we’re back in Verannia.” She gnawed her lower lip for a moment before adding, “I don’t want you attacking any characters on the way there.”

“Mmh!” Auburn’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“And please don’t attack me when I release you?”

“Mmmh…”

“Thank you, Auburn.” Emilia grabbed the handles and began rolling her back into the story.

Nightgale Blog Challenge: Hemlock

Glitterlady has challenged us to write four stories on the subject of immortality. This is my first entry to the challenge.

When I look in the mirror I do not see my face, but a mask moulded by life and set upon my true visage. I wish the mirror was just playing a cruel joke on me, but I know it shows what others see. I lift a cloth to cover the mirror, but the peace it brings will only last for a moment.

The drawer slides open easily. Inside it in a brown bag is my escape: a phial, so small as to seem innocent. Poison is a woman’s choice; it preserves what’s left of beauty, while other means of death would maim it.

I’ll be found next to my mirror, dressed in my finest, my hair brushed, my makeup hiding the little time-carved marks on my skin. They will remember me as I am now, beautiful. Old age will never tarnish memories of me.

The stopper frees a sharp smell that wafts through the air. I lift the phial to my lips and swallow the foul liquid.

Immortality may come with a price, but I will gladly pay it in full.

I will never grow old.

#DivineHell Extra

Cerberus ran along the empty streets, dodging packs of party goers and the odd passed out person. The huge hellhound stopped to sniff the air, he was near. The right head turned to go right, the left wanted to go left, and the middle wanted to go straight ahead.

After minutes of growling, biting and snarling, Cerberus raced onwards. Petty squabbling would have to wait. The grey asphalt flew beneath the hellhound as it closed in on the target.

A tall form, wrapped in a black cloak turned to face the hound. Cerberus stopped before him, scaly tail wagging.

“What is it lad… lads?” The Grim Reaper knelt down before the hound. “Did little Timmy fall into a well again?”

The middle and left head growled while the right head slapped its paw into its forehead.

“Come to think of it, Timmy never did fall into a well.” Grim patted the middle head of the hellhound. “What is it lads, tell me.”

Cerberus lifted its paws to the side of its head, forming makeshift horns.

“Lucifer, something’s up with him. Is he in trouble again?”

The three heads nodded up and down in unison. The hound stopped to think for a moment, then drew its legs against itself and laid down on the pavement.

“Lucifer is dead?” The bony jaw dropped.

“Arf!” The three heads bared their teeth.

Grim’s bony hand jammed his jaw back up. “Not dead, I take it. Hell would be in an uproar without its leader… bound?”

“Woof!” The scaly tail thumped up and down, sending up a puff of dust.

“Bound, probably in a confined place like a closet. But why?” Grim fell silent for a moment. He lifted a finger up towards the dark sky. “Did God try to order Lucifer to be kinder to the damned?”

“Woof!”

“Reapers are neutral, we don’t mess with God or Lucifer.” The black hood fell off as Grim shook his head. He lifted his hands up in protest. “It’s their issue, find someone else.”

Cerberus pointed at itself, lifted his paws into horns again, then patted the pavement. The hellhound’s faces looked around confused, one head barked at the other as if asking for direction. The shoulders of the hound lifted up, then down.

“Minion of the devil, up here, lost and confused… Edwin?” His jaw dropped to the ground this time. Grim picked it up, brushed the dust of and jammed it back. “The young sod’s got himself mixed up in all of this? He can’t even make his way through hell, what’s he doing down there?”

Cerberus merely shrugged. Three pairs of ears lifted up and three pairs of eyes lit up. “Woof?”

“I rather like that bloke, shame if something’s happened to him.” Grim lifted his hand to his brow and shook his head. “I’m going to make a dog’s dinner out of this, but I have to do something.”

“Woof?”

“No, not food. It means I’m likely going to make things worse by intervening. Follow me, I know what to do.”

On the corner of a street populated by young party goers a young woman stood on a wooden box, waving her hands and shouting: “You’re all going to hell in a handbasket—” The street prophet fell silent as a cold blade touched her throat.

“God, I’ve got a scythe on your favourite prophet’s throat!” The Grim Reaper gritted the teeth he still had. HQ would be furious again. “Call off the oddball angel and let Lucifer do his job. I’m sure you’ve made your point.”

“I’m a favourite?” The prophet’s face brightened. “Woo hoo!”

Clad in an orange and red outfit, the angel Rowan appeared out of thin air. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists!”

One of the party goers turned his head towards the scene, but saw only the street preacher standing silent, her head oddly bent back.

“Do I get a say in this?” The street preacher looked up at The Reaper’s skeletal face. The hollow eye sockets revealed nothing of his intent.

If Grim had had flesh and muscles to move them he would have frowned. “I recall that you hijacked Hell.”

“Lucifer didn’t follow orders!” Wings unfurled behind Rowan, filling the air with a warm light.

“You can’t order a fallen angel, especially the Devil.” The Grim Reaper waved his free arm in the air. “You coerce and threaten, but you don’t hit him over the head with a holy book and shove him in a closet. That’s just wrong, man… angel.”

Rowan crossed his arms and lifted his wings higher in attempt of intimidation.

Grim stood still; he’d seen angels before while taking souls to heaven. “If Lucifer agrees to give the damned a break every century, will you leave?”

Rowan looked up, then nodded. “Upstairs agrees.” He snorted. “If the old goat bottom agrees, all’s fine.”

“Blimey, God agrees?” The scythe fell from the street preacher’s throat. Grim took a step back. “You deal with Lucifer. I have a football riot to attend to.”

The closet door opened, the sudden flash of light assaulting Edwin and Lucifer’s eyes. Rowan stepped into the opening, his arms crossed across his chest. “If you allow the damned a holiday once every decade—”

“Hundred years.” Lucifer spat the words.

“Alrighty, every hundred years, I’ll leave and not come back unless ordered to.” The angel cocked his head and lifted his brow, waiting for an answer.

“If you ever show your face here again, I will have the demons chop off your wings and use them to clean the soot of the walls,” Lucifer’s dark eyes glittered as he imagined the scene, “and play basketball with that pretty little head of yours.”

“Fine.” Rowan pulled out a small knife and sliced through the ropes binding Edwin. He gave the youngster a dark look. “Shove me against a wall again and you will have no business knocking on heaven’s door.”

“I work for him.” Edwin glanced at the fuming Lucifer. “I think I lost the chance for eternal life in the clouds when I signed.”

“Ever heard of repenting? God forgives.” Rowan placed the knife in Edwin’s hand. “I’m off.”

Edwin cut Lucifer’s ropes and got up to leave, when the Boss’s cold voice made him turn around. “Edwin, what were you doing down here?”

“Oh, nothing, just stopping by.” He swallowed hard; now was not the time to point out the fact that he didn’t get paid enough.

“I doubt that.” The Devil flexed his sore arms, clawed fingers extended towards the roof. “Now, Edwin I have a job for you. Find a way to make that angel pay for what he did.”

All colour fled Edwin’s face and his jaw dropped. He’d do it, it was his job and Lucifer had gotten him out of the Loony Bin. Even Hell was better than that.

#DivineHell: Treachery

We've reached the end. Hope you enjoyed the five circles of Hell. Ya’ll come back now, y’hear?

“Lucifer is in his office. I wouldn’t disturb him I were you.” Rowan shot Edwin an annoyed glance.

“Oh god, shut up.” Edwin’s fingers curled around the doorknob, shaped like a demons head.

“Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain!” The Tour Guide bellowed in anger.

“What?“ As he turned around, a thick book with a cross embedded on the cover smashed into his face.

Something moved in the darkness of the closet. “Sir?”

“God demanded that the damned have a day off once in a while. I disagreed. Rowan shows up, then I wake here.” Lucifer shifted into a more comfortable position. “Now that he’s ruined my life’s work he’s posing as a bloody Tour Guide! It was supposed to be damnation without relief!”

“I though you and God had an agreement. How do we—“ A sharp glance from the Devil silenced Edwin.

“We wait until Cerberus finds help.”

#DivineHell: Violence

Welcome to the Seventh Circle. There's no turning back now :)

“Listen to me!” Edwin’s pale face had reddened from the shouting. “I am not one of the damned!”

Rowan’s brow furrowed, lines appearing on his forehead. “Well, what are you then?”

“An above ground employee.” He buried his face in his hands. “Now, please take me to Lucifer. I have a message for him.”

“You’re lying to get out of your punishment.” Rowan flung an accusing finger at Edwin, who returned it with a flat stare.

“You - asked for this.” Fear was written clearly on Rowan’s face as he hit the wall. Edwin’s free hand was drawn back, fingers in a tight fist.

Eyes wide Rowan uttered: “You wouldn’t dare.”

Leisurely Edwin’s fingers curled around The Tour Guide’s throat. “I work part-time for the Devil.”

Rowan looked down, then up. This was not what he had signed up for. “Alright! I’ll take you to Lucifer!”

#DivineHell: Fraud

DivineHell challenge continues. Congratulations for making it this far down :)

The Tour Guide waved his hand in greeting. “Ah, hello Edwin, did you find your level?”

“I'm not—” Edwin sighed wearily. “What’s happened to the punishments of the damned?”

“The Boss decided the damned needed a little break.” The smile on Rowan’s round face was innocent.

“What?” Edwin’s jaw dropped. Slowly an expression of realisation crept across his face. “You don’t work here, do you?”

“Of course I work for the devil.” Behind his back Rowan crossed his fingers. “You calling me a fraud?”

Edwin crossed his arms across his chest. “Well, what’s the devil’s favourite song?”

Rowan’s face went utterly blank. “March of Mephisto?”

“Yes, you’re right…” Edwin said. No, he thought. What the hell was going on? Lucifer loved “Fire” by Arthur Brown. He always started the day by shouting “I am the god of hellfire!”, everyone knew that. He would get to the bottom of this, one way or another.