Persuasion
by Cooking Spray
A Zelgadis drabble, sort of. Plotless and pointless introspection upon a pink ward bracelet that only takes a couple of minutes to read.
Cool water met parched lips, a stray drop never betraying the drinker by slipping with indignity down his stone chin. Even in thirst, the impeccable manners that had been instilled in him since childhood remained. Not that there was any use in preserving them in his current barren location, as there was no one around to impress save for the occasional scorpion or wild dog. And in fact, our angsty stone man was feeling just as unrefined as the primitive creatures he saw crawling around him, the only company that had been around for countless nights and days.
Not that Zelgadis Greywords minded the solitude. What most contributed to his mental dysfunction was the horrible monotony he was suffering; every day, the same sand dunes, the same harsh sun, endless sky, ruthless winds. . . His conviction towards finding his cure had given ignorance to any discomfort or complaint at first, but after the days had began to go by with no visible progress, he'd no longer been able to blockade these thoughts. This exploit had the same bitter taste of irony as all the last; a promising lead at first, a flicker of hope, countless time spent meandering around. . . and then, nothing. He always returned empty-handed.
Zelgadis knew he was sinking into depression, and that it would only make his feet heavier when it came time to get on the move again. So instead, he channeled his negativity where it was healthy, rather than letting it fester for all eternity. At this point in time, the target happened to be the old mage who had told him of this so-called "desert palace" full of mystical artifacts. The rotund little man had talked at length about the underground tomb concealed in the sand, but the chimera had yet to encounter it. He resented himself for being so gullible, but nowadays, he followed anything that looked the least bit beneficial to his cause, feverish in his determination. Perhaps he'd already passed the opening to the vault days before, but hadn't felt anything through the huge hunk of rock he called a body. That would just be his luck, wouldn't it? The answers he needed had probably resided there, too. . .
Absentmindedly, he rotated his canteen with his fingertips, listening for the steady slosh of the water. It was rhythmic, and he could count on it for as long as his hands repeated the pattern. But the sound would fail sooner or later, because unlike the tides he was mimicking, Zelgadis was unreliable. Ceasing the movement and feeling even worse, he focused his eyes on the bracelet that was wrapped around the nose. Amelia's bracelet . . . it seemed ridiculously cheery all the way out in the middle of nowhere. Kind of like the princess herself, forever optimistic no matter the circumstances. He couldn't think of why she'd been so insistent on giving the damned thing to him. "Here, I want you to remember me! Now, wherever you go, you can look at this to cheer you up!" He gave a short, dry chuckle as he remembered the sentiment. What she didn't understand was that no amount of pink-cloth ward bracelets, even with memories tied to them, could make this predicament less miserable. . .
He sat up and dusted himself off, begrudgingly deciding it was time to move onward again. So maybe the bracelet hadn't improved his mood much. . .
But it did get him back on his feet and ready to continue.