FICTION: iconic conetl, one hit ko

[xihe]

 

ICONIC CONETL | 10 SWEEPS / 23 YEARS OLD

nott terminal, near-alternian space

g. a fistfight. 

He falls like a tree, and behind you, Ullane boos.

“Went too quick,” she says, peering out from behind her cellphone. Her ears twitch back once, twice, disapproval practically carved into the lines of the poor dears face. “Terrible form.”

Bending down to pick up your cardigan, you offer her your toothiest grin. “Are you a critic now, dear?” The oliveblood’s on the floor, clutching his jaw, but for all that his eyes are shifting sunset red, you don’t think he’s getting back up. Not with the way he’s keening. “I didn’t know I was being graded.”

“Not being graded. Simply matter of practicality.” She takes a step back as you straighten up. As she should, for all that she’s just a smidge taller. This isn’t your office! This is hers, and that means you don’t have to obey. You could cull everyone in here. Paint the halls up like a pupa’s first Carnival, and so long as she got out without nary a speck of paint on her hide, Queenpin wouldn’t have a single thing to say.

But that’d be boring. And you’d only hit him in the first place to make up for the black mottling the end of your cardigan. You click your tongue, fingers worrying at the yarn. “Then stow the commentary, darling,” you suggest. “I mean, gosh, it’s not like I was giving a presentation. It’s just a little demonstration on good manners, common courtesy, how not to act like a wriggler who’s never heard of basic fucking footwork -”

A cool hand wraps around your ankle. You have just enough time to look down and make eye contact with the furious stare of Ullane’s coworker, before the ground tilts - and then comes rushing up to meet you.