Talentless

Nobility

           I first saw him through the window, the soft morning light tinting his dark hair golden, each strand so lustrous it seemed to glow from within, bouncing ever so slightly as it touched his back. Features soft as a girl's, intricate as a labyrinth. His eyes, too. Piercing blue, but with just a slight hue of green to match his outfit, sparkling in the sunlight like diamonds. 

          His jerkin, the rarest of the deep greens, peaceful like a forest but deadly as venom. The gold bits weren't randomly sewn in like some cheap vendors in Mysterium. They were expensive, smooth plates that covered his upper torso like armor. Maybe it even was armor...

          There was something about his stride, too. Each step carefully placed, not cocky, but it drew everyone's attention, even gathering its own light. This one isn't to be messed with, it seemed to say. 

          Kneel. 

          His cape fluttered ever so slightly, trailing behind him as he made his way over. I nearly blushed.

          Semele wasn't impressed, though, and anyone Semele frowned upon was immediately suspicious. She gave him a slight bow (no kneeling, however) and offered him jasmine tea, which he politely declined---seriously, who the Bronte declines Semele's tea?!---but secretly hid a crazy smirk behind her back. She drew herself a chair and sat right across from Mr. Greenbean, drinking her tea in three neat gulps. The height difference was astronomical, but the effect was all the same.

          "Noble elf," she began. "Wise and regal until you realize the world outside your imaginary lands has long since crumbled." Ah, yes. The standard Semele procedure for rude guests: sit them down for a nice cup of tea and intense politics. But Goldy-Whoever-He-Was came ready.

          "You speak of nonsense. There is no war in the Lost Cities." I should call for Glauce, I thought. Or I could stand here and speculate. I stared at Tall, Gold, and Pretty Alright, who flashed me a smile. Dang it.

          "And if enemies attack and your illusions fail? You have no defense." I considered sitting down. But then, I realized, I would be in range of Semele's overwhelming sass. Anyone like me would disintegrate immediately. Blue Eyes must be a god, then. God of being fabulous, probably. I stared at his hair, my fingers combing my buzz cut. This man used as many brands of conditioner as I did hair dyes. Which was, by the way, a lot.

           "The Council has powerful allies," Tall Boots said, reaching for a glass of lushberry juice. "We have an army."

            Semele grinned. "We have a---"

           "Enough bickering, you two." Glauce strode down the stairs in her jewel-encrusted cape, Jacen following at her heels. She fixed her intricate updo and sat down at the highest chair in the living room, glaring at me with ice blue eyes. Enjoy this while you can, it seemed to say. I thought about the dagger, coated with black liquid. Her fingers smelling of blood. Was being out of bed the first offense? How many until punishment? "Anadil, dear, why didn't you warn us of the guests? Go ahead and introduce yourself." I nearly groaned, but Semele wouldn't like it. She taught me the gnomish way to show respect herself. I stood up and gave a slight bow, my hands clasped behind my back.

          "Anadil Achilleia Vacker, at your service." Glauce grimaced. If she wanted me to know the elvin way of doing things, she shouldn't have made my mother a gnome. Meanwhile, Goldy didn't seem to mind it. He stood up, tried to replicate the bow.

          "Errol Loki Forkle, though the Guild won't let me tell you my real name." He flashed a smirk at me, and I was tempted to throw the nearest sharp object at him. I mumbled a word I wasn't supposed to say. Even eight years later, I'm surprised my nine year old self knew what that word was. In the Forbidden Cities, I would've gotten my mouth washed with soap until my breath smelled so sweet I'd faint instantly. Anyways, I decided to stick to the actual conversation.