BluEndings
The One Called Blu
ZANE RIDDLE
SCENE:
[DOUBLE TAKE]
TIME:
Post-Arc 3
LOCATION:
Shady's Motel | Phoenix HQ, South District
PARTICIPANTS:
Hector, Zane
DOUBLE TAKE
Zane’s shades might as well have absorbed the tension in the room, with a varying simper just short of a snicker, but sobered by something other than goodwill or reason. It wasn’t impatience in his step, nor consideration, even if the words that bumbled out were abruptly sympathetic.
“I don’t like seeing you like this.” His knuckles coaxed. “It doesn’t suit you. Not as a phoenix, or a person.”
“No two ways about it—my whimpering off has got nothing to do with that yapping of yours. Think of it more like… an investment.” He tossed a mauve handkerchief onto the bed. “I’ll play the faithful knight to you and the others, but make no mistake: I don’t finger grapes into the mouths of a hobbling aristocracy.”
“If any of the shit you’re flapping is true, then this sort of prostration won’t happen again. Not for you, the so-called ‘Phoenix elite,’ and definitely not for a Scarlet King.” His taut glare rent a miniscule crack across his eyewear. “Cause if I catch another whiff of anything this pitiable, forget about unruly.”
The slack, coltish edge to his voice fell deeper and deeper into memory, replaced by something unrecognizable. This wasn’t the usual playful arrogance or frustrated resolve that had accompanied the troublesome phoenix of old. Whatever pit had been climbed, or hell risen, the propensity being displayed was a firm reminder that the person standing in this room might as well have been a stranger.
“I’ll prise the wings off each and every staunch bird, and knead their stubs inwards till their innards spill out their arse.”
His exit from the room allowed for one last clarification.
“If I could pull that off, then things really would be hopeless.”
“The Phoenixes I know aren't that weak.”
“I don’t like seeing you like this.” His knuckles coaxed. “It doesn’t suit you. Not as a phoenix, or a person.”
“No two ways about it—my whimpering off has got nothing to do with that yapping of yours. Think of it more like… an investment.” He tossed a mauve handkerchief onto the bed. “I’ll play the faithful knight to you and the others, but make no mistake: I don’t finger grapes into the mouths of a hobbling aristocracy.”
“If any of the shit you’re flapping is true, then this sort of prostration won’t happen again. Not for you, the so-called ‘Phoenix elite,’ and definitely not for a Scarlet King.” His taut glare rent a miniscule crack across his eyewear. “Cause if I catch another whiff of anything this pitiable, forget about unruly.”
The slack, coltish edge to his voice fell deeper and deeper into memory, replaced by something unrecognizable. This wasn’t the usual playful arrogance or frustrated resolve that had accompanied the troublesome phoenix of old. Whatever pit had been climbed, or hell risen, the propensity being displayed was a firm reminder that the person standing in this room might as well have been a stranger.
“I’ll prise the wings off each and every staunch bird, and knead their stubs inwards till their innards spill out their arse.”
His exit from the room allowed for one last clarification.
“If I could pull that off, then things really would be hopeless.”
“The Phoenixes I know aren't that weak.”
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