I think it's clear, but still: All living and not-living being, countries and Gods invented by Tamora Pierce belong to her.
Apologies if I break some of the rules of fanfiction. This is my very first attempt with a fanfic. To say the truth, this is my first story since I did a quick "damsel-in-distress-saved-by-gorgeous-prince"-drabble – about 20 years ago, I think. So. I hope it somehow fits that prompt. Crits are more than welcome. Even if they're just pointing out mistakes in grammar, wording or the likes. English isn't my native language, and I'm eager to learn. Here we go.
Word-count: 300
Prompt 55 - pet names
Magic. It must be a mage. Perhaps a new one? With a yet to be identified kind of magic? One that reads your history as if it were an open book? They had all kinds of it. Lately, there's been so many new ones. Like that girl. "Animals just like me"-my ass! Her and the scarecrow-man scaring the students off, when they had so little time, so much to do.
Slap! His huge, callused palm makes contact with his forehead. A smacking sound, as if you open a bottle of Marenite wine. The red one, with that fine scent of cinnamon ... Concentrate! Where did you make the mistake? When, where did that man learn who you've been
Sweat starts pouring down his back, between the shoulder-blades, soaks the sensible woollen tunic, leaves patches on his leather belt.
"Uh, Sir, are you alright? That hurts, you know?" Looking down, he realises that he's crushing the merchant's hand as if it were one of those mint leaves he was about to purchase. From a man who calls his customers all sort of pet names. Slowly, breathing deeply, he forces a smile on his face, then apologies with an unintelligent mumble about the sudden wave of heat in Corus, and him feeling a bit sick. The sweat gives his lie credibility. He buys the mint leaves, then hurries away, nearly running.
A fortnight later, at the noon bell, the merchant's stand is being searched, and counterfeited money is found. The amount is large enough to send the owner to the mines, up North, near the Scanran border.
My magic. Useful to be friend with the Provost's Guard, eh? Never again. Nobody shall ever call me that again. Mage or Merchant. Neither of them. I'm no longer Brownie, the slave. I'm Sarge Ogunsanwo.