The Plight of Two Creatives.
Idle tapping fills the air in the room from a small corner. A blank screen, no words appear onto the screen as cursor blinks. The source of the tapping, a figure. They're situated, hunched over in posture. Eyes seem like they are shifting from one monitor to the next.
The figure's glances halt, as their tapping turns into clicking. At which words appear onto the screen as if something clicked into place with a train of thought. Stopping for a moment's breath before giving a glance towards a corner, that acts as shelf. A tablet, without a screen yet nonetheless - a tablet.
"I want to do more than writing and chewing on my own imagination..." Their quiet grumbling thoughts wafer, before resuming. "Yet, I'll stick to writing until my head comes ablaze with creative sparks and the brilliant motivation gets me back into drawing. Hopefully... I crave to put pen to digital canvas, and product my beloved."
The time flies as clicking of the keyboard fills the air. The typing dies down and their words seem to be coming to a close. The sparse glances from before are long gone as the pages seem to be needling and threading together. Sewing together, sewing to life - a tale, only the writer's eyes can cite and readers will experience. As the words fill this digital notebook, literary words and descriptors that are at best, novelty. They flash a gentle smile, as their thoughts seem to whisper, "Soon."
Dragon’s Modern Meeting
The sound of clicking fills the hallway as two figures walk nearly in-sync with each other.
“Cynthia, what’s after this?” One of the two, a handsome gentleman, questions. The other figure, being a youthful woman next to him, looks up at him without blinking.
“You have a molten spa, sir,” She responds without missing a beat.
“Seriously, Cyan? No jokes or witty remarks…?” He prods at Cynthia, playfully flicking her pointed ear.
She shoots him an unamused look while rubbing the ear’s stinging sensation. “Really, sir? Acting like we are a fledgling? Aren’t we too old for that?”
“Yes and no. Cut it out with formalities and I won’t act like that. You have known me for far too long to call me sir.”
Cynthia sighs. “Fine, Theodore. Happy?”
“Yes, yes, I am. Finally, having the Cynthia I used to crack jokes with. The Cynthia I do appreciate to hear from time to time!” Theodore happily buzzes, pulling Cynthia into a side hug.
“Theodore…” she grits through her teeth, ever-so slightly tightening her grip on the documents she was holding.
“Cyan, take your own advice and chill out. You have been busting your ass helping me get ready for this meeting,” he says while giving her a pat on the back before grabbing some of the documents from her.
“Now, you have done more than my actual secretary would do. I want you to do me this favor for me…” he lectures, before pausing and placing the keys into her hands while taking the last of the papers away from her.
“But-!” Cynthia chimes in before Theodore silences her.
“No buts, or another thing on the matter. You go do human chimera things, which would be anything until this meeting is over!” he instructs, as they stop at the intersection of the next hallway.
“There is money wired to your account if you want anything, but knowing you by now…” he trails, shrugging on the matter.
“Fine, but if you need anything, and I mean anything, I want you, mister maestro, to call me ASAP!” she agrees reluctantly before turning on her heels and heading toward the nearest elevator.
Before being out of earshot of Theodore, she shouts, “If you don’t and I hear about it, your father isn’t going to be the only one chewing you out! You know I’ll be faster about the issue than those Mach-five vehicles you ogle over, and that’s a promise, Theodore! Also, remember to play nice!” she ends with an “I’m watching you” gesture, a thumbs-up, a smile, and a laugh.
Theodore gulps and waves her off until she’s out of sight before turning around and making his way down the hallway.
“That girl… She cares, but she’s scary… She’s the pure embodiment of scary, when she wants to be.” he mutters as he comes to a stop at a set of double doors, shifts the documents underneath his being, and uses his one free arm to open one of the doors. He slips inside the room. The room is decently packed with fancy-dressed men and women talking among themselves.
Setting his documents down at a spot at the large rounded conference table reserved for himself, he shuffles the papers near the neatly written lettering that is clearly typed.
“’Ey, Theodore!” a voice greets him, lightly patting him on the back. Theodore shifts his eyes away from the person.
“Hello, Genos,” Theodore greets, looking far from happy to see him.
“Where’s your shadow?” Genos teases with a smirk on his face, glancing over and around Theodore.
“Busy,” Theodore answers with a clipped tone.
“She’s busier than your actual secretary. Geez… Anymore help from her and she really should consider a career change from designer to personal wi-- secretary.”
Theodore’s eyebrow and knuckles twitch, as the clown next to him chuckles at his own joke.
“Honestly, Genos. Did you come over here to rub it in, or be an arrogant ass over the fact of having a wife?” Theodore mutters while seething out each word, along with a low crackle and small amounts of steam leaving his nose.
Genos coughs away the last of his amusement.
“So, you have heard about that…?”
Theodore looks at Genos, before quietly muttering, “Of course.”
“This meeting is probably about the premise of that and the future of us. Especially, you Theodore,” a gentleman with a formal suite on and his hair styled into a ponytail decorated with a cherry blossom clip and unnatural snowy color says.
Theodore releases a huff of steam and nods toward the man.
“’Ey, Flower Shop!” Genos greets.
Implanted Downfall
In a sparely empty corridor, a girl and an elder woman seem to look unblinkingly at each other and the connection between each other seems to be underlining boiling tension, which is ready to burst forth. The girl has a look that was sober and evidence of something tragic and the woman looking like an older version of the girl with some differences looking indifferent and a posture that screams confidence. The girl furrow her eyebrows and swallowed, “Why?”
The woman spoke in irritation and mild stuttered, “Why!? She’s MY mother and you are MY daughter, I should have the RIGHT to get the remaining money from funeral and the will!”
The daughter shook her head and looked at grief-stricken, “You HAVE a problem and this remaining money won't do you any good… You’ll spend it and then be in a foul mood for the next while…”
The mother grabbed her daughter’s dress, balling it in with her fist. The daughter remain stoic while keeping eye contact with her mother, “No!”
The daughter mumbled underneath her breathe, “Violence won't change it and the only thing that that’ll be achieved is what I knew to be true…”
Her mother glared at her for some time before releasing her without a word and walks away and as the mother walks away – the daughter stayed, mumbling,
“She was always greedy for what she wants…”
A Sweet Treat
Lust is a sweet treat,
It is hard to forget...
Yet it is not (always) the right treat,
It can leave a bitter taste,
It can leave something to be desired...
Careful to not eat too much,
Sweets are often a glutton for punishment...
Until you meet something that is just right,
It is not longer a desire, but love - the sweetest treat to have,
To hold,
Cherish...