Blogophilia 10.11 Tellith Part 1

It’s time for Blogophilia, the fun blog group where Martien gives participants prompts to use in their weekly blog. This week;s prompts are:

Ecrits Blogophilia Week 10.11 Topic – TMI (Too Much Information)

BONUSES:** Hard (2 pts) Include a line from Mark Twain’s ‘Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’

Easy (1 pt) Include a mode of transportation

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I was trying to do complete (or at least half) stories, but it;s not happening this week because most of my writing time is going to the Jorick short that will be in the Creature Feature anthology.

This story takes place during the end of Ashes of Deceit. (book 4 in my series)

***

Tellith wedged the edge of the blade under the flap of loose paint. He scraped, watching the bits of old paint drop down to the plastic. With a flick of his wrist he started again, on another chunk. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

With a huff of impatience, he blew a frizzy curl off his forehead and looked at his brother. The opposite of Tellith, Bray was pale with red-gold hair and freckles. The disparity wasn’t caused by an unfaithful mother, or a philandering father. In truth, they weren’t brown brothers, but had become so in the afterlife. Turned by the same master, they were brothers in blood.

And that was the only reason Tellith was there now instead of at the citadel. He was burning up two week’s worth of vacation to help Bray paint his den. It was a tedious job that he was sick of already.

“Why don’t you just hire someone to do this?” he asked testily.

Bray paused scraping to roll his. “You know anyone? It’s not like I can hire a human crew. Business hours…”

It was a valid excuse, but Tellith wasn’t interested in admitting it. “Yeah. Yeah. You’re just lucky they let me off for this.”

They went back to their work. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Finally, Bray asked, “You’re still just a guard?”

Tellith tried not to be annoyed with the question. “A greater guard, but yes. Though at the rate the Executioners are dying lately I’ve got a chance.”

“Oh?”

It was obviously a polite inquiry with no interest behind it, but Tellith felt like making Bray suffer. “The Hand of Death has been back at things, apparently. I don’t know that you’ve heard of him?”

“Not really,” Bray muttered.

Tellith bit back a smile and launched into a long winded story about a vampire named Jorick, the legendary Hand of Death, son of Malick, the head of the Executioners. Jorick had been an Executioner once, long ago. After trying to kill everyone in the citadel, he’d retired only to resurface a few months ago.

“Since then, five Executioners have died.”

Bray stopped scraping to look at him. “You don’t have that many of them, do you?”

“Twelve. So Jorick has wiped out almost half of them. Of course they’ve been replaced.” He started on a long drone about the process; how Malick called the candidates before him, probed their minds, and made his choice, but his ringing cellphone interrupted him.

“better get that,” Bray said with relief.

Tellith was tempted not to, just to aggravate him, but he tugged the device out. Roger’s name flashed on the screen, and on a whim he answered.

“Well hello! You just had to bother me on my vaca-”

Roger cut him off. “Where are you?”

Tellith gave an impatient huff. “I already tried to tell you. I’m on vacation, helping Bray repaint his den. You remember, he was in the coven with me-”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re under attack here!”

Tellith blinked at the partially scraped house. “What? Are you serious? What’s going on?”

“No, I’m joking,” Roger said sarcastically. “Yes. I’m serious! Get your ass back here before we’re all killed!”

“It’s a two day drive from here. If I left this minute-”

“You’d be here in time to bury us, maybe,” Roger snapped.

Bray looked up from his work. “What is it?”

“It’s Roger. He’s a greater guard, too. He says they’re being attacked.” Just then he heard the sound of an explosion on the other end of the line. “Holy shit. What was that? Roger?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. I think they’re blasting their way into the citadel!”

“Who is?” Tellith practically shouted.

“I have to go. I’ll see you if you ever get here, assuming I’m not dead!”

“Roger!” Tellith yelled into the phone, but it did no good. The line went dead.

He thought about calling Roger back, but if he really was fighting for his life it would just be a nuisance. Frustrated, he jammed his phone back into his pocket.

“What the hell is going on?” Bray asked, his task temporarily forgotten.

“I don’t know. It might be the Hand of Death.”

Bray shook out of his surprise and turned back to his work. “Aren’t you glad you’re here?”

“No. I’m going to have to go back.”

Bray spun back to him. “Are you kidding? You promised me two weeks, but you’ve only been here one. We haven’t even started to paint yet! Besides, it’s safer here! Why would you want to go running back? You sad yourself this Hand of Death killed half the citadel once. Do you want involved in that? The average man don’t like trouble and danger.”

“But I’m not average,” Tellith said, tossing the paint scraper onto the patio table. “I’m sorry, Bray, but I have to go. They’ll be requesting me officially pretty soon, anyway.”

Bray sighed. “Fine, man, whatever.”

“Look, I’m sorry-”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll just have to prostitute out the rest of the coven to raise enough money to hire someone that won’t ask questions, like why we’re not home all day. No big deal.”

“That’s a little TMI,” Tellith smirked. “You’ll be fine. We were almost done scraping, and you could make the rest of your lazy ass coven do the painting.”

“Good luck with that. The prostituting thing was more likely.”

Tellith chuckled as he ducked inside the house and hurried to the back room where his bag was. He gathered up the things he’d scattered around the house; bath supplies, extra clothes, a book, and hurried back out to his car.

Bray waited as he threw the bag in the backseat and climbed in. “You could come with me,” Tellith suggested.

“Hardly,” Bray answered. “Good luck not getting killed by the hand of the dead, or whatever his name is.”

“Jorick,” Tellith called as he fired the vehicle up. “And thanks! Good luck to you with your paint!”

He peeled off, leaving a spray of dirt and gravel behind in his haste.

Not that I’ll get there in time to do anything except bury them.

**

Guesses:

pic: Nissmech

topic: Stephen

1. traffic jam 2. in the city 3. downtown 4. overcrowding 5. summer in the city 6. limousine races 7. city traffic 8. Busy afternoon 9. transportation 10. they need some stop lights.