Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task Three - Suit Yourself [REN]

ACE OF SPADES - 3

What was it that did the best of such righteous citizens in?

Was it the confident stares and straight backs weaving between hunched lowlifes with a low self-esteem to match? Or could it have been the pretty smiles on young men and women flashing at the older, less genetically gifted of the lot? No, perhaps it was none of that. Maybe it was just a growing weight piling atop every head, hunched and smiling alike, one that would lower as the night went on until it was settling nice and easy upon thick heads of hair. They would hold it up as best as they could, as long as they could, all while radiating a relaxed air: nothing could go wrong.

But, like all anchors that have been falling for some time, not even the strongest arms can uphold the wreckage that results when it strikes rock bottom. The rules were the same for boulders, books, even spitballs projected from a high place - when something that's been falling for a long time finally strikes a mass, there is damage. Dents, chunks, cracked skulls, broken bones, they all come from the same thing.

In the case of the new inhabitants of Milena Seble, a cracked skull was far more likely than a mere dent in the woodwork. Terribly tacky woodwork, to specify.

If you can't carve a decent image, leave it blank. Ren tilted his head curiously at the doorframe, eyes digging into the small engravings that were marked into the side. His fingers traced curls and curves with the harshness of a critic, but the softness of a newborn child's rear end. He paused to recall just how many times he'd been told how brilliant his hands were before zeroing in on a cluster of carvings at the edge of the frame. He scoffed.

"And if you can't tell if your picture's of an angelic bear or a penis, it's time to pick a new career."

Only slightly disturbed by the images he came across, he turned around, thankful to zero in on an image much more pleasant to look at. While the others began to congregate around a green table in the center of the room, Ren made his way to a table piled high with beverages of every shape and size, eyes glued to the back of one particularly eye-catching redhead in the room.

His elbow squeezed its way to Milo's side, gently knocking at his rib like they were neighbours checking for entrance to the other's house. In this case, it was an entrance to conversation.

Milo glanced at him. Ren smiled his bright 'ole smile. "And we meet again!"

The door was swiftly slammed in Ren's face.

"You should be over playing Texas Grab 'Em or whatever it's called with the others," Milo said. His fingers stretched out over the edge of the table under Ren's stare, a few knuckles popping in the process, almost perplexing in a pointlessly metaphorical way. Milo was, in fact, perplexed; why else would he be eyeballing such an array of gifts at the very tips of his fingers?

Ren dug his tongue into the corner of his mouth, an old habit he'd rather go without, before swinging his hand forward and sweeping it over the rim of the table. Milo tensed, took a step to the side. A roll of the eyes accompanied Ren's thrust of a hand. "Well, we can't play with two players hanging on the sidelines, can we?" He tossed an obvious gaze at the dollars in his hand. "Plus I was thinking a drink was in order."

Milo shook his head. "What-"

"Be a dear and take the money, would you?" Ren said. "Hurry now, Granny can smell the cinnamon rolls burning and a woman in her hundreds can only move so fast."

It took only a few seconds for Milo to hesitate, sweep a tongue over his lips, and tug the bills free. No sooner had he taken the cash did he request a drink from the bartender - someone who was seemingly unaffected by the goings-ons of the night. Soon he was glancing down at a solution thick with alcohol, desire clear in the dilations of those pretty blue eyes of his. Ren smiled a toothy grin, crinkled the corners of his eyes, might've even laughed.