Of Travesties and Artists
Word Count: 500
"What in the Lord's name is this grotesque travesty?" Urokai exclaimed, voice carrying a haughty nuance and scarlet gaze wide in bewildered disdain. The majority of clan leaders had been gathered in the chamber where the family portraits were traditionally displayed and were currently staring at the indisputably ugliest painting ever made in the history of mankind.
"Who could have possibly dared to commit such an atrocious act?" Roctis wondered aloud, rubbing his chin in contemplation.
"We must find the perpetrator before the Lord lays eyes on this horrid monstrosity," Ragar proposed in a bland, almost vapid, tone. His expression was hidden beneath they grey mask he wore, but all could see the slight tightness around his eyes that betrayed his perturbed disposition.
"Agreed. I do wonder, however. What do you think it is?" Gejutel nodded curtly, tilting his neck to the side as he examined the terrible painting.
"It is a… poor excuse of a monster?" Zarga guessed, though uncertain of his assumption.
"I suppose – I am guessing the crimson misshaped circles are eyes and the black straw-like mass is hair?" Urokai supplied upon closer inspection, eyes narrow and discerning.
"It does seem slightly anthropomorphic now that you mention it," Roctis agreed, furrowed lines marring the expanse of his forehead but, before anyone could comment further, a booming voice echoed within the large chamber. They all turned to watch in horrified fascination as the Lord made one of his usually flashy entrances while cursing his bad timing. There was no plausible way of hiding this now.
"How delightful of you to visit all at once! To what do I owe this rare pleasure?" the Lord inquired, eyes alight in pure joy and lips curved in a radiant smile.
"We were informed of a unique addition to the collection of family portraits, so we came to witness for ourselves if the rumors were true," Roctis answered in the most diplomatic manner he could master under the circumstances.
"I do not know who the 'artist' is, but I assure you he will be dealt with the utmost –" Gejutel started to add with firm resolution coating his stern timbre, yet he was not given the chance to conclude his proclamation.
"Of course you don't – it was I!" the Lord announced with tangible exuberance, shocking them with his sudden revelation.
"– praise," Gejutel hurried to finish his sentence, attempting to salvage the near blunder he made.
"It – it is an exquisite work of art," Urokai chirped, the muscles in his face twitching as he forced an awkward smile.
"Indeed. I am very proud of it myself!" the Lord laughed merrily, gazing at said painting with adoration.
"If I may ask, Lord… what is it exactly?" Ragar dared to ask the question they had all been secretly dying to know.
"You cannot tell? Raizel, of course!" the Lord revealed in a tone that implied it should have been obvious, and a collective thought passed through everyone's mind.
Raizel-nim must never know of this.
Of Verses and Flagrancy
Word Count: 250
"Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine; or leave a kiss within the cup, and I'll not ask for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise, doth ask a drink divine –"
The Noblesse stared in statuesque quietness at the redheaded noble paying him a late night visit beneath the large window Raizel usually frequented. His passive expression remained unchanged as always, yet there was strange rigidness in his graceful posture, courtesy of the other noble's display. Urokai's animated singing had shattered the peacefulness and serenity the Noblesse was used to in a most peculiar manner. Frankenstein wasted no time in rectifying this anomaly in his master's routine by dowsing the impertinent noble in a generous amount of cold water.
"How dare you treat me as such, human servant!?" Urokai all but screamed in wrathful disbelief, completely soaked through.
"I could ask you the same question. How dare you intrude upon our home and sing such flagrant verses? Have you no shame, Urokai? Be glad it was merely water, you love-struck fool!" Frankenstein returned with seething vice, his pale features distorted into a mask of uncontrolled rage.
"I see – you are jealous of my passionate nature and my incomparable skill in singing with such emotion!" Urokai taunted with wicked glee, teeth chattering and body shivering slightly.
"Please – that was pathetic! Be gone, you unrepentant pervert!" Frankenstein finally lost it after the insulting remark, climbing through the window to physically chase him away.
Of Negligence and Despondency
Word Count: 200
"First Raizel and now you! Why was I not informed of your birthday, Frankenstein? I would have visited sooner had I known!" the Lord complained with a sullen, almost pouting, tone, lightly chastising the blond human for his negligence.
That was precisely the reason, you old lunatic, Frankenstein mused without regretting his action, yet he bowed his head in mute apology nonetheless.
"Well, no matter. I will be better prepared next year," the Lord promised, smiling warmly at the flabbergasted human.
"You do not have to go to such trouble, my Lord. Your sentiment is enough," Frankenstein hurried to assure him, dreading what awaited him in his next birthday.
"Nonsense – I insist!"
"Since it was such short notice I could not prepare an adequate gift, but fear not! I brought you a present I think you will enjoy. Look outside the window!" the Lord exclaimed with eager fervency, feeling quite pleased himself.
"You really shouldn't hav-" the blond scientist began to say, but his words failed him at the sight that greeted him. A muster of peacocks paraded through the previously neat garden, stomping everything in their path.
"Are they not lovely?" the Lord commented, ignoring the other man's despondency.
A/N: "Drink to Me Only With Thine Eyes" is a popular old English song, the lyrics of which are Ben Jonson's 1616 poem "Song. To Celia."