#entertainordie — Public Fediverse posts

#Writever 10.3 — Vengeance

I drummed my fingers on the table beside her open grimoires. Not facing the bully, I turned my eyes toward the blonde, taking in her arrogant smile. She'd gotten me to do what she wanted. She held her wand steady, and the tip glowed like hot iron. "And that's all I need to do? I can't believe you're helping me like this after all we've been through..."

The bucket-full of water and me being hit by said bucket falling off the shelf above the door. The vanishing ink pen I used on a test. The worms in my box lunch. Other things. But I was also a T.A. Some responsibilities where inescapable.

I did volunteer to help Jill.

I wanted to laugh at the "we" in that last sentence, but sighed instead. She was predictable. Very predictable. "The mnemonic, the equations, the visualization. Spot on. It balances and your wand indicates that."

"So all I have to do is say what I want to conjure?"

Predictable. I didn't grin. Instead I switched to French, hopeful. "/Tu m'emmerdes avec tes questions!/"†

She blinked. "Merde? Isn't that French for—"

With magic you really need to be specific about where to target a spell affect and what you're asking for. She'd been specific about neither.

Where your wand is pointing is the default. Her's pointed above her head.

The spell understood what she wanted enough that the closest source proved to be the horse stables. I could see it out the dorm room window. The spell mucked every stall.

A load of small round spheres crashed down around her, bouncing off her head and bounding around the room. I squealed reflexively and jumped away.

I doubled over leaning against the door, laughing despite the smell. For her part, the bully sat stunned. Her expression wanted to be a smile. She had succeeded, after all. She also knew she'd been made the fool.

Exiting out the door was the better part of valor. I grabbed the nob.

"/Amélie/," came a growl.

=-=-=-=-=
† "You're so annoying with your questions!" Literally: "You're shitting on me with your questions."

#EntertainOrDie
#BoostingIsSharing
#CommentingIsCool

#microfiction #minifiction #fiction #fantasy #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #shortfiction #shortstory #RSstory #shortstories

#WritingWonders 8.11 — MC POV: If you had to give your closest friend one piece of advice, what would it be? Why?

#Minifiction, 850 words: To Spar or not to Spar

Bolt groused, "He said, 'Take off the armor and fight me.' I— I don't want to do that."

The day angel looked away, her wings clasped tightly behind her, embarrassed her trainer had sent her to me. In our last encounter, despite my injuries, I'd broken his clavicle and a leg bone, giving him a concussion. It had been his sister who'd broken his nose. I thought him easy and Bolt knew it.

The ground cover outside our host's ivory tower was leafy and soft—perfect for teaching—so I asked, "Wanna spar with me wearing the armor?"

Her blue eyes met mine in shock. "I might hurt you."

Bolt wore a fereter, a portable reliquary. Few people ever saw a relic, let alone a collection. A hundred adhered to her skin. That our "Immortal Ruler" had lent her a miraculous object was a significant bribe—for Bolt and for me.

Bolt had nearly killed Her. The first person in half a century. /Before being lent the armor./

I huffed. "If you hurt me, I'll have learnt something about myself. Put me on the ground and I'll let you train with the armor for a week before trying without." I raised a hand. "I put you on the ground, I keep the armor for the week and you train without it."

Bolt spat. "Or I quit."

"And give back the armor?"

The woman pursed her lips. The fereter made her faster and amazingly agile, besides being, well, /armor/. No way she'd relinquish it.

I stretched out a fist. She shook her head and bumped it. "You are evil."

"I'd warned you. Then you went and saved my life," in a fight against our "Immortal Ruler." She had burn scars to prove it. My new friend and personal guard (in training) inhaled deeply.

I added, "I'm going all out. You'd better, also."

The day angel gulped, then streaked skyward.

The armor manipulated gravity, like her wings, just better. I'd watched the woman fly, with and without the armor. I visualized her gravity field by how she vectored through the air and twisted her wings, the same way I visualized my miracles. She banked over some trees, pushing then rustling the branches, inadvertently demonstrating what was gravity and what was lift. I'd been a prizefighter; I'd won the championship against a day angel at 7-3 odds against me.

She predictably dove in a stoop. Since armor fields protected the leading edge of her wings, she came at me outstretched. It might have surprised another opponent. She was right-handed, so I dodged left. Guessing wrong, she banked away, missing me. Bolt knew I'd won that championship by a similar guess. I'd crouched deeply where I'd leapt, just in case. Gravity pushed and pulled me from my face to my feet as I stood. The ground cover flattened and bounced back under her.

I mentally revised my models of how she flew.

A heartbeat later, she accelerated like a lit firework on a string in a sudden bank. After the burst, she didn't try to barrel into me but instead used the armor to rotate her lower body so she shot feet-first. A feint. Her wings were out as if braking, but she used the armor to negate the effect.

I ducked, rotating away, then leapt. I caught her legs as she swerved, using her momentum to lift me while using a transform of /Levitate/ to grip her in my own gravity field, which I then doubled. She face planted into the lawn. I landed on top, pinning her despite the armor levitating me a hand-length above the arm I twisted into an elbow lock—and the hips and wing tips I sat on. In a regulation fight, she'd have squirmed free.

I'd put her on the ground. I'd won.

Bolt beat the ground with a fist. Divots flew, leaving a crater.

"Don't be that way."

She nodded as we stood, reaching back. The rope of scaly black bones let go. The fereter dropped to the ground, coiling eerily like a cobra. Bolt sighed.

I asked, "You learned something about yourself, right?

"I'm a bad fighter."

"Um... no. Had I had to win by a K.O. or by pinning you for a count, you'd have worn me out and won on points. Your moves were good, but you relied on the armor—not this:" I tapped my temple. "/You/ nearly killed /Her/. No armor, yet. Brains: that's how you helped me win that fight. Now we hone your craft, naked."

She nodded.

"Fighting an opponent who's better than you is a gift, even if you lose. I treasure such gifts." I levitated the armor to her. She blinked as she took it. "You'll know when to wear it."

"My stars!" Her eyes misted up. "I— I learned something about myself, didn't I? You always say that when things go unexpectedly."

"Exactly." I stepped behind her, then hugged her around the waist, chin on her shoulder. "I love it when people listen to my advice, especially my friends."

[Author retains copyright]

#BoostingIsSharing
#CommentingIsCool
#EntertainOrDie

#fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon