Tevun-Krus #110 - Punk Wars 3

The Princess, the Cyborg, and the Matter of the Garden Gnome - by @jinnis

The Princess, the Cyborg, and the Matter of the Garden Gnome

(or how jinnis failed to write punk wars)

by jinnis

The princess was angry. Not that she had a viable reason to be, as the chairman's job she had been aiming for was above her qualifications. Still, she had wanted it. She wasn't a princess either, but that didn't make a difference in the greater frame of things, and she didn't want to spend her negative energy on technicalities. Instead, she stomped her foot. Unfortunately, she had forgotten she wore the diamond-studded four-inch heels that came with the steampunk outfit she had hired for the party.

By the lancet of pain shooting through her toes and ankle, she could tell it was a bad idea to stomp in this kind of footwear. She wobbled and tottered to the purple plush sofa, where she dropped in a rather un-princess-like heap and muttered a curse that would have made a tomato blush. There was no tomato present, of course, so she was safe. Or so she thought.

"This type of expression doesn't fit you, my dear." The voice of her visitor had a metallic quality. "Especially not in this gorgeous outfit.

She craned her neck, not just ready yet to brave her heels again. The cyborg stood by the open door of the patio. His face mask looked like a rusty Boba Fett rip-off and the man's arms ended in bulky weapons complete with flashing led lights.

"Wow. You went all out with the costume, Clive. Aren't these a bit on the heavy side?" She pointed at the body modifications.

"It's a competition, right? Your outfit isn't half-bad either." He stomped closer, his heavy boots clonking on the oaken floorboards.

The princess struggled out of the sofa's comfortable embrace and adjusted her goggles. "Shall we go then? Before you damage my floor for good."

"Always so dramatic. But yes. Do you have the invitations?"

The princess picked the gold-rimmed cards from the coffee table, slid them into the neckline of her corset, blinked her sparkly golden eyelids and blew him a kiss before she swayed out of the room.

The taxi ride took only ten minutes. "Okay, Livia, let's crash this party."

She blew him a kiss and braved the marble stairs leading to the closed double doors, where she pressed the bell. "Seems we're fashionably late."

A butler in formal livery opened the door and scrutinised them with a blank face. "How can I help you?"

"We're here for the party." She pulled the invitations from her corset with black and gold striped fake nails and held them out for the butler to study.

His brows raised perhaps two millimetres. "Ah, I see. If it pleases you to follow me." He turned, and they followed him across the vast entry hall. The thick crimson carpet swallowed the sound of their steps. The interiors a tasteful combination of marble, gilt, and red. Whoever their host was, he had money to spare.

Livia sent Clive a glance, but was met only by the dark eyes lit of his helmet while they climbed a broad flight of stairs to the first floor. Behind a set of beige double doors, classical music played. "An interesting choice of venue for a costume party."

The butler sent her a frown, but then just opened the door for them.

The princess took her partner's arm and entered the hall with swaying hips and a dazzling smile—and tottered to a stop after three paces. This wasn't a costume party. Rows of dinner tables stretched to the far end of the hall. White tablecloth and napkins, flickering candles and soft music from a classical quartet playing on a dais filled the room with an atmosphere of serene festivity.