Curved Ball
For those uninitiated or lucky, the ritualistic ball right after a whole three days of diplomatic meetings between the Empire of United Dragons and the Federation of Yakshas sounds like it will be a blast. But to be honest, it is nowhere near the gala of prestige and luxury as it first sounded. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be hiding here, in this small tea room annexed by the dancing hall. It is a shame that I, Ellison Storm-muncher Von Tsaoko, the first human commoner to be in the presence of two immortal realms, cannot appreciate the occasion and the festivities. The drink and the sofas are nice though.
All in all, it was just old Yakshas in slim human forms discussing tariffs, trade deals and border security with old dragons in similar human forms. The conversations permeated to the ball itself, even overshadowing juicy gossip of which dragon had slept with which Yaksha while the meetings were still going on. What a waste of the nice dress and all the makeup I have on.
“Not feeling the music?” Xeniphil’s voice comes from behind.
I turn back. His black, spikey and shiny hair looks even better than usual. His black shirt is laced with gold threads, threads that form meticulous patterns that remind me of my grandmother’s best quilt. He still keeps his shirt unbuttoned, leaving his deep male cleavage and tanned, chiseled abs in plain sight. He’s grinning, right hand holding a wine glass while his left hand is behind his back.
“No.” I shake my head, but my body is getting warm. His abs are just - distracting, too distracting for an almost five century old dragon. “Politics is really not my thing.”
“Well, at least I hope you’ve enjoyed the food.” Xeniphil chuckles: “I demanded my father put on something more suitable for mortal taste - like, food from that place with that shiny golden arch - ”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave my hands, trying my best to not think of carbs or soda, since I’m actually starving: “But - you know. Hamburgers and fries are not really - not really ‘feast’ material. You know - ”
“I thought you’re a rebel.” He snickers: “But it matters not. I have something for you.” He pulls his left hand from behind and shows me what he was hiding. A round, brown thingy. An unpeeled potato.
“Where’d you get that?” I am surprised because such a lowly, humanly thing was never seen or even heard of in the realm of the immortals.
“Grower’s market.” He plays with the potato with his agile, slender fingers: “This is what you call ‘vodka’ in your world, right?”
“Not yet - ” I shake my head: “You need to clean it, prepare it and then let it ferment. It takes some time before that turns into actual alcohol - ”
“Clean and prepare it, like this?” Xeniphile pulls his shirt to the side and rubs the potato against his shiny, almost glowing abs.
My heart races, almost jumping out of my throat. Thin potato skin falls onto the ground following his rubbing motion. I’ve always known his abs are clean and sharp, yet only now do I know how much so - the potato skin barely has any meat from the potato on it.
“Hey, you’re here! ” Brad comes into the tea room, in his signature comfortable loose robe woven with soft but sturdy metal fabric: “I grabbed you some hot fuck sundae!”
“Hot fudge. Hot FUDGE!” I scratch my forehead at this cheery but clueless Yaksha boy. He’s always bringing me things I’ve told him I like. Some might even say we’re best friends.
“Alright, hot budge!” Brad’s smile is as warm as the sun during noon. But it disappears when he lays eyes on Xeniphil: “What’s he doing here?”
“Careful there Yaksha boy. ” Xeniphil almost growls as he speaks: “I am having a pleasant conversation with Ellison about vodka. Get lost before I twist your horns into a pair of earrings for her.”
“That’s not very nice.” Brad frowns at the young, edgy dragon but smiles at me: “But - do you want to, Ellison? I can grow the horns back in just a few decades. Do you want some Yaksha horn earrings? I know some capable smiths who can make the best - ”
“It’s okay, Brad.” I stop him, because horn earrings sound really good but a necklace will be way better: “Thank you, I - ”
“So - sundae?” Brad raises the iridescent crystal glass with the sundae inside. Before I can grab it, Xeniphil snatches it from his hand while swallowing the now peeled potato. Brad immediately protests: “Hey! That’s very rude!”
“Ellison doesn’t want this kind of soft, mushy drink!” Xeniphil scoffs as his stomach growls from the potato. A pleasant ringing sound indicating the use of time magic follows. “She wants vodka, like a proper lady!” He then sucks the hot fudge sundae completely from the glass, and vomits clear, alcoholic-smelling liquid into it. “Here, Ellison - dragon brewed vodka, using my impeccable time magic.”
“Uh - ” I hesitate. The drink does smell good, and I wouldn’t mind sucking it off Xeniphil’s mouth and tongue. But with a glass as the intermediary it just feels - off.
“On guard! On guard!” Deafening alerts blared through the entire place: “It’s the Fae! We are under attack from the Fae realm!”
“Stay here.” Xeniphil throws the glass away: “I’ll be back once we secure safe passage outta here.”
“I will escort you out once our ships are ready.” Brad’s hair is wet with newly brewed vodka, while shards of broken glass are sliding off his blonde hair: “Stay here, Ellison. I’ll come back for you!”
The boys leave. But I have no intention to just stay behind. I, Ellison the first ever human mage warrior gunslinger, am no damsel that needs protection.
Plus, I have a feeling that my presence is necessary for the conflict to not escalate. Because, simply, as I just found out recently, I am also half Fae.
(this is a satirical piece submitted to the annual cringe stream! Watch it read out loud:
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