Hey, Fye. Thanks for the crit. Where do you get the energy and time for so much feedback? You are spot on as usual, with one exception: They sell slices of watermelon, not whole melons. I now see that the ending is a dud. More work needed. Cheers.

1000% would sub for more Elvari. Super interesting character.

The last sliver of sun disappeared behind the dome of the Imperial Auction House, and blue streetlights flicked on, their clockwork duty unbothered by the tension in the air. The woman across from me, a young blonde with cotton-candy blue lipstick and the eyes of a wolf, slipped something from her purse: a glint in the newfound light. My shoulders clenched, sweat pricking at the back of my neck.

It was only a compact.

I was sitting in the center of the safest city on Earth, a mere stone's throw from house of the ‘esteemed’ Emperor himself, scared senseless at the sight of a powder puff.

Vaughn set aside his pen, then read over his words. Not too shabby, but there was something missing. Did he need to say outright that this was the night of the License Auction? Perhaps not--any reader worth writing for could surmise that much. Maybe a bit more flourish for the wolf-eyed dame across the way?

The woman, unaware that she was being written about, tossed her compact back into her purse.

A plump man in a yellow raincoat huffed through the courtyard, plopping himself on the bench beside Vaughn. When his breath had caught up with him, he glanced around at the few hundred or so people waiting beneath the streetlights and smiled.

"So," he said, nudging Vaughn with an elbow. "What're you here for?"

This guy had to be joking. That or it was his first time. The License Auction may well be the largest gathering of the criminal underworld outside a gene-mod fighting ring. A seasoned bidder knew to keep his mouth shut.

"I'm looking to get a 'sale of illegal foodstuffs' license," the plump man continued, unaware. "I gotta nice bakery, and I wanna sell egg custard."

The wolf-eyed woman snorted, and Vaughn jotted down a note about a bakery.

"Egg custard?" he said. "You can bid on a license for any crime in the world and you want to sell egg custard?"

The plump man put his hands on his hips. "Well if they'd just make eggs legal again I wouldn't hafta."

Now a few of the shady guys crowded nearby began chuckling too, their breath curling like smoke in the cool, blue light.

"Well what about you then, eh?" the plump man asked. "You're not all here for the murder license, are ya?"

The question hung like a crook from a noose. The doors of the auction house opened, and people began filing in.

"Nope," the wolf-eyed woman said, standing up. "I'm after a license to own any exotic pet I want." She glanced at Vaughn. "And you, notebook guy?"

For the first time this evening, the tension fell from Vaughn's shoulders, and he laughed.

"I'm bidding on a libel license."

The plump man stood and offered a handshake to each of them. "Guess we're all innocents then, eh?"

Vaughn wrote the phrase "all innocents" in his notebook, then closed it. "Guess we are."

Nathaniel sat down on a bench as the sun sank below the horizon on a cloudy summer’s eve. He scanned the pages of his newspaper idly. A second gentleman in a blue suit arrived, perched on the other end of the bench, and stared at the swift current of the river just beyond the footpath.

After a few minutes, the silence was broken by a question from Nathaniel.

“Eddie, you ever read the Seer section of the paper?”

Eddie looked at the paper in Nathaniel’s hands and scoffed. “Why would I bother? It’s just prophetic drivel, no more real than the horoscope section. I wouldna taken you for someone to waste their time.”

“Not usually, no.” Cocking his head he continued, “but something caught my eye today. ‘A one-eyed man stabs a man in a blue suit six times in the back.’ And here we are.” Nathaniel looked intently at the man sitting next to him.

“Is this a joke or somethin’?” Eddie chortled. “You’re not the only one-eyed man in the world, and I ain’t the only bloke in a blue suit. Besides, we’ve known each other since kindergarten. I’d bet the seer is really just the editors' mad lib puzzle for the day. I mean who’s gonna call them out if they’re wrong?” He wrung his hands for a moment before catching himself then sat back on the bench slowly, weaving his fingers behind his head.

“Nah, you’re probably right,” Nathaniel replied and folded the paper gently, setting it between them, the Seer section face up with the prophecy circled in red. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve got any reason to harm you. Like you said, we’ve been friends since kindergarten. A well-seasoned friendship, you might say. Had our ups and downs, sure, but all friends do.” He shrugged, smiled thinly, and touched the crow’s feet forming at the edge of his glass eye.

Eddie dropped his hands and turned toward Nathaniel. “Man, I thought you’d forgiven me for that? You know it was an accident. I got distracted by a pretty lady walking by and the dart went sideways. How many times do I gotta say I’m sorry? Although, I still think you got the better end of that deal since you got to marry her.”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel sighed ruefully, “I did get to do that.”

Whip fast Nathaniel pulled out a knife and stabbed it into his friend’s throat. Eddie’s eyes widened and a gurgle was the only sound he made as he scrabbled to grab the knife. Nathaniel pulled it out and Eddie toppled forward onto the grass holding his torn throat.

Nathaniel knelt over him, whispered, “Friends don’t fuck friend’s wives,” then stabbed the fornicator six times in the back. As he bled out, Nathaniel rolled him over the footpath and into the river.

He went back to the bench, picked up the newspaper, folded it around the knife, and tossed it in the river.

“The Seer got one right at least.”

______________________________________________________

WC: 499 All feedback is appreciated.

Tigo was much younger in person. All the photos on his official website showed a man with haunted eyes and gray at his temples. In his performances he moved like there was a weight on his soul, forcing everything he had no words for into the show. But now, in the hotel restaurant we'd agreed on for the dinner interview, all of that seemed to melt away. He lounged in his seat, looking every bit like the mid-thirties man he was.

I was just glad he was here at all. For a seasoned performance artist, Tigo was notoriously reclusive. He bared his soul to the world in his work, but outside of it he was famously cynical and abrasive, thumbing his nose at the establishment in whatever form it took. I didn't trust my magazine's indie darling status to exempt me from that label.

Our drinks arrived, and I decided to start with some simple pleasantries. "You landed in Mondeclay a week ago. How are you finding the city so far?"

He sighed. "Finally, something open-ended. Do you know how many people said 'good morning' to me today?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Six, and all before I'd even finished my breakfast."

"If you have any complaints about the service here, you should take them up with the management," I said.

He sipped from his glass. "It's not about the service. It's about the scripts people refuse to admit that they read from."

"Is that all you want to cover in this interview?" I asked. "Nothing about your process, your hobbies, your latest installation at the Blackstone Gallery?"

I'd seen the previews, of course. His publicist had put together a press kit. The video gave away just enough to look mysterious: a shot of an unmade bed, a brief close-up of Tigo's face as a lone tear rolled down his cheek.

I'd been looking forward to the full piece. But now I was rapidly losing interest in anything he had to say.

He snorted, already getting up to leave. "Do I want to reduce myself to a grayscale outline, flatten out the work I bled and wept for, just to appeal to an empty-hearted public? No."

For a moment I was too indignant for words. He'd agreed to the interview. He'd suggested this place. And now he was going to walk away and make this a waste of my time.

I had to salvage something from this mess. I readied my camera.

"Don't you want to see what performance you can make out of this?" I called to him.

He turned at the sound of my camera snapping, just in time for me to capture the expression on his face: curious, unguarded.

The idea here is that the main character was in an abusive relationship.

The animals loved him enough to take his life in order to save him from that relationship.

I remembered this prompt lol

Good job creating a part 2 using this prompt

Thanks, Fye! Yet again your astute eye has picked up on some very important bits and bobs.
The Boss and John are actually one and the same, hence the use of piggy eyes twice which I thought would make this evident, but apparently not. Thank goodness you're here to help point these things out.
NYTB!

Twelve dogs, an army of cats, and more horses that I could count awaited me, running around my feet, jumping up and licking my face.

I scooped my puppy into my arms and buried my face in her fur. She was really in my arms again, and O didn’t want to let go.

Then, the path of animals parted and a massive black horse approached, nuzzling my face with his big nose. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, back then.”

I remember falling of his back and leaned into his nose. “Never, Cloud. You were my sweet boy. You never hurt me.”

Only when you're still growing! Humans are capable of the greatest and worst things.

Creative combination!!

Nice story but um … what was she gonna do?

Try a little something called 'trust' next time!

Almost a year ago, I received a piece of paper in my mailbox that read "I know what you did 5 years ago". It was simple enough to track down who put the note in my mailbox between the number of hidden cameras outside my home, and a short period of time later, I had my neighbor unconscious, tied to a chair with a bag over their head. Typical stuff. They insisted the whole thing was a prank, but I couldn't take the risk they were telling the truth. It's a shame, kind partner, nice kids, I really liked them.

Since then, I've moved, changed my name again, can never be careful, you know? At least, that's what I thought until a day ago. At my new job, a co-worker showed me a post on Reddit, they thought the whole thing was hilarious, and I half heartedly laughed. For the first time since I took this new job, I told my boss I had to leave, said it was an emergency. And I didn't lie, it was an emergency. I just didn't realize how rusty my hacking skills were. Took far longer than it ever should have, but I did it.

What happened at that blacksite was between three people, my neighbor, myself, and God. For almost the last year, only two people knew. Then the internet knew. And now? Well, once something is on the internet, everyone knows, but I think I've done enough to where it should be back down to two.

>!For those reading in the future, I was inspired to combine these two prompts together, originally posted less than a day apart. https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/11q54rr/wp_when_you_wrote_i_know_what_you_did_5_years_ago/!<

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“Homicide Victims Rarely Talk to Police” —The Express-Times

Madam Lin Merlo sat in her candle-lit living room between Detective Mullen and a crystal ball. A milky mist swirled and pulsed within the glass as a nasal voice spoke.

“I ain’t squealin’ to no cops!”

“Sir.” The seasoned detective’s hands throttled the air. “We’re trying to catch your murderer!”

“So? I already know who did it.”

“Don’t you want them brought to justice?”

“What justice? Ten years' prison time? Five if they play nice? Besides, I’m dead. What good is justice to me now?”

At this, Lin shrugged in agreement and took a drag from her pipe. Its indigo clouds mingled with the smoke from the incense burning on the mismatched end tables.

Detective Mullen ran his hands through his greasy hair, then squinted at the medium.

“You’re losing your touch, Lin.”

“Me?” Smoke fluttered from her nostrils. “You can hear him loud and clear, can’t you?”

Clasping his hands, Detective Mullen returned his attention to the crystal ball. He tried on a more sincere tone.

“Sir, what if he kills someone else?”

“They’ll just wake up here. There are worse things.”

The detective whirled wide-eyed to the medium.

“Lin!”

“What, you think I can just shove my hand up his metaphysical ass and make him talk?” Lin mimed a puppet with her free hand, and a laugh burbled from the crystal ball.

“I don’t know why we bother with you.” The detective stood up from the ripped sofa, pulling a cigarette box from his trench coat. He spat over his shoulder as he trudged toward the apartment door. “This’ll make nine unsolved homicides, Lin.”

After the door slammed shut, Lin gazed from her clashing, secondhand furniture to her leaky windows. Outside, the last bit of orange sunlight bled into the blackening sky over a city where nine murders lurked.

With a smoky sigh, she decided she really didn’t want to be thrown out onto those streets.

“Mr. Ricci, they actually pay me big to help solve murders, and if this keeps up, I’m gonna be living on Ramen and packaged underwear. Is there any way I can bribe you?”

“I’m dead. What could I possibly need?”

“I don’t know. Where’re you at? Heaven? Hell?”

The crystal ball dimmed for a moment.

“...It’s mostly empty space.”

“Oh, there. Well, eternal emptiness will get boring quickly.”

“Sure, but it’s not like you can ship me a TV.”

Lin took a thoughtful drag and looked around her living room. Her eyes fell on her dusty childhood boombox.

“Well, you can hear me fine right? How about radio? You like music? Audiobooks?”

“Ooh, I love those true crime podcasts. Got any of those?”

“I can get them.”

“Alright. One hour a day—”

“Woah there. I have a life… and eight other spirits to bribe now that I know I can. Twice a week.”

“For two hours each.”

“Deal.” Lin tapped her pipe over an ashtray, then sat up straight. “Now, who dunnit?”

r/copypasta material

Haha! Thanks. I just like writing silly and non-sensical stuff, so no offense taken! Thank you for actually reading it. Haha.

[removed]

I think that your descriptions of both the compound and Shahid were perfect. Clear enough to get us started, but not overloading us. Even some of the way he walks, and the background, adds to the mental imagery of his character. As does little things like the compound having an execution spot away from the buildings, which probably have small, blacked out windows to limit light. His ability to take out three soldiers using his camera as a weapon only adds to the idea of his physique - I picture someone strong and agile.

Perhaps they can come up in some other stories, because I would love to see more of these characters.

This is stupid and insane*, and it definitely gave me a good laugh! Nice job!

^(*Note: not meant as an insult, this was well-written)

This was quite the interesting read! Certainly shows how weak us puny humans really are!

[removed]

This was a new planet, but familiar in many ways. Skyscrapers, combustion engines, billboards and flashing lights. Bipeds with mops of motley colored hair - humans. Familiar to her and even cherished, though these ones certainly didn't cherish her. She'd been incarcerated within a secure facility, a blacksite in the middle of the desert protected by facsimiles and strawmen as much as by the advanced weaponry that they hoarded from the other countries of that pale blue dot. It was all very familiar - it was the filter for all human worlds; the crux where their civilization either threw itself into the stars and united, or crashed back into the ground like a sputtering star that had its last bit of fuel ripped away. Even her own world had such a time, though there certainly had not been only humanity on that one.

Her head snapped to the side as the man across from her smacked the plastic table like it had been the one ignoring him. She clicked her tongue and smiled apologetically. The daydream had distracted her after the threat had come into her senses. The man across from her was an intelligent sort and had already adapted to the situation. Aggression would get him nowhere and he knew it had just been a lapse in her attention. They both knew that his palms were slick with sweat and the eyes behind his glasses, carefully guarded, were hiding whisper thin threads of fear.

After all, she had destroyed quite a few buildings according to their reports.

She opened her mouth, sharp canines and predatory eyes immediately breaking what demure veneer had come over her. That which was not already spoiled by the scaled, fifteen foot length of tail that lazily moved in the air behind her. Or by the pointed, expressive ears that flicked this way and that as she listened.

"My apologies. The threat I spoke of earlier has just passed through your heliopause. You were saying?" She paused expectantly, though the silence drew out a tad longer than necessary.

"...why should we believe you? You destroyed one of our cities - or nearly so - and then start speaking of some cosmic threat that our own instruments can't detect. Not even a whisper. It looks like a ploy - a way to buy yourself time." His voice was calm, controlled. This wasn't a half-baked interrogator or some sort of up-jumped fop that grilled random captures. He carried himself to well, too confidently. His breathing and heartbeat were steady despite the intensity that sparked from his words. He was holding himself to the edge of readiness, as focused on her as he was on holding himself ready to fight and evade at a moment's notice. A proper representation of the knife's edge that humanity could expose when honed.

She would not insult that.

"Because as advanced as the instruments you have are, you never saw me coming either. Nor the ships in counter orbit on the other side of your sun--"

A bit of sweat, and the two MP's at the door stirred.

"-- nor the thing that I engaged on your behalf. The other captured critter you're holding nearby. I wasn't able to kill him before your people interrupted. If he wakes up, your planet will fall under his thumb in days. If the projectile his ship fired - that threat - hits, then you will have a brief reprieve." A breath, the man focused on her words even as her tail swished behind her like a satisfied cat. A reprieve, they needed that - to think, to plan. Anything.

"...as the planet roils and splits in half. "

The room grew quiet. A few rooms away, through 'soundproof' walls and layers of steel, a little servant relayed the muttering of the gathered group of men and women. Those who held the seats of power in this country and had brought her here to be interrogated. Tempers flashed, voices raised, and as it came to an apex she opened her mouth to speak again. Yet she was interrupted by the man in front of her.

Though he might not see it, approval flashed in her eyes.

".. So, either fall to this or yourself, is that it?" Contrary to the expected, it was not defeat that infected his words. Instead a line of steel and grit reinforced it. A silent telling of the iron in his spine and the planted flag in the earth that told her he would grip the blade of the knife plunging into his heart for a still-beating second to try and defend and save those he wished to.

"No. Conquest is easy; I would not have saved the living souls in the buildings we dropped for a conquest." She stood up, and the soldiers at the door drew on her with practiced ease. Then fell to the ground in a heap, snoring comfortably. A spark shot from her hand and in that outstretched palm a miniature sun grew. It expanded, sketching out a complex and interconnected lattice of symbols and intent that burned brighter than the feeble light above them.

&#x200B;

Then, fresh air. They were standing in the desert, atop a plateau within view of the compound. It was now they could see the threat with their own naked eyes, as if a star was streaking across the sky, growing bigger and bigger with each passing second. The gaggle of suits that had been listening in on them looked at the sky, eyes wide. The interrogator looked at it with grim remorse. There was nothing he could do. He had done all he could and now he could only watch the knife sink into his heart and end everything he had ever fought for. Alas... or?

More of those selfsame intricate runes. More, larger, crackling with energy that they drew from the very air. Static fit to raise stones from the ground and flatten the sand for a hundred meters into shifting, mesmerizing patterns. In the center, their prisoner with a hand outstretched. Her face a mask of delight, bending the whims of might and magic to her will and with a lash of her tail, a bright lance of energy speared forth to transfix the Threat she had spoken of. The crack was deafening for the moments it happened - the snap of lightning as the bolt broke past sound itself. Further, a thump as it pressed through atmosphere then--

&#x200B;

Bright. So bright. The nighttime desert turned to midday in harsh focus from the colliding stars. The thrum of a helicopter could only now be heard, breaking for the taken group as they stood behind the woman and stared. As much as the spectacle had shown them, so many more questions were raised. She turned, arms outstretched as the little half-cloak she had been wearing around her shoulders caught the wind.

"The Tir'Nian Federation would like to open diplomatic channels."

// Hi there! I'm Miri Auri, Exarch. I like to write stuff! You can find more stories I've responded with here on Writing Prompts on my profile, as well as links to other stuff I do! I am also open to messages and comments, so please feel free! I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into my world. \\

Glad I was able to help! Keep up the good work.