A collection of flash fiction created during the weekly Livestream event on Butterflies from B's on YouTube.
Every week I select a prompt and we exercise our brains by writing a brand new story that can start a new story or even generate ideas for y...
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I'm sitting opposite the ugliest face I've ever had the misfortune to lay my eyes on. Someone had the upper hand in a fight with this man in days gone by, and made a mess of his unfortunate features. He's droning on, but I'm finding it difficult to concentrate on his words because his face is screaming.
"That's why no one cares about a female knight, " he concludes, a triumphant wave of his hand hitting the low hanging lamp above our table.
Since I'm not sure why this flourish is required, I just gaze at him willing him to take his ragged collection of bags and torture some other soul with his tales. He stares back equally determined to earn, if not by talent then through exasperation, the food his growling stomach has been calling for.
"I'm curious," I say, deciding to play this game a little longer, "If the knighthood of the first woman is not sufficient to earn respect, why the villainy of the magician?"
He steeples his fingers reminding me that I'm a stranger in a land not created to contain my brilliance. Such a gesture would be offensive enough for me to challenge him in order to defend my honour if we'd been in a similar tavern in my own World. Judging by the worn muscles of his body, he'd quickly find himself at the end of my very sharp sword, begging for his life.
"You're a woman."
I shrug.
"While it is true that you possess a keen awareness of your emotions, there is no romance to draw female supporters and men cannot fathom your mind."
A ridiculous point, to be sure, but non of the bluster that would be aroused in me rises to the surface. His face is too distracting and I require answers. As he has already offended me, I feel no compunction to spare his feelings.
I point to his face, "What came you to these scars?"
"Born this way."
"Liar."
He sits upright and places a delicate hand on his chest. "You would dare to call the Bard of Barnables a liar. The offence is too much to bear, Madam. I'd rather be facing the deadly side of your weapon than be treated this way and will be requiring recompense for your wounding my pride."
My face twitches with suppressed laughter at his exaggeration. If the others of my regiment had known this ridiculous fellow, they'd have followed me through the Portal.
"Do not scoff at my pain, unlikeable woman," he says, standing to his full height, which surprised me. He'd posed as a haggard beggar when he'd slipped in beside me.
"I assure you, the tip of my sword is sharp, but I am a hero. No harm shall come to your person for as long as I continue to bear the title, regardless of your abuse or conjured indignation at imaginary slights."
