This is a story I'm writing as part of NaNoWriMo, which is a month-long event where writers from around the world focus on writing each day of the month of November in order to finish, or create a piece of fiction.
I did start this story before November but decided to use this month to try and get this one finished, or at least get a good bit of it written.
A Night In The Western Wastes
M'Trada's hand jittered, and he stared at the disturbed liquid dance in the glass. The ice clipped along merrily and gave some percussion to the solid bass thuds resonating from the floor below. "What do you want me to do?"
Crovin took a long and slow sip, clearly savoring the taste of this little victory. M'Trada knew this had nothing to do with money. Crovin had more than enough. No, this was about power, and the Alid knew that in a situation like this, he had it all. The imbalance must have been written all over M'Trada's scales at this point, and more than that, his body revealed everything that he was unable to hide.
"You have your own transport?" Crovin finally asked, as he inspected his now, almost empty glass. "I don't need an answer. You were seen before you landed." He placed his glass on the table, the hologram of the dancers on the main floor were now moving around, and through the drink.
"Come on, spit it out twig neck!" M'Trada shouted, furious by this stage having to wait while Crovin danced around the subject, subjecting him to childish games. "Do you want me to kill someone, or what!?" He let out another frustrating snarl.
"Twig neck?" The Alid ran fingers lightly down his throat. "That is considered a racial slur, M'Trada. You don't hear me playing in the muck with such vulgarity and cheap character jabs. I mean, I could call you a scaler, or a lizard. But, I like to think our friendship is too important to smudge with such base insults."
I hate you. M'Trada thought, feeling the itch that danced across his scales subside. An unrelenting force of pure energy swept through his core, and like a wave it slowly washed away all that was on his mind.
"You're no fun, and the death glare you're throwing is not intimidating. I like someone who can bite with baring their teeth, if you catch my meaning, but you. You're just too dense for that I suppose." Crovin said as he stood up and slowly walked to the window, proudly showing his back to M'Trada. "I want you to pick up something for me, off some undesirables who dwell in The Dead Zone."
"You have plenty of your own people, surely you can send one of them to play fetch." M'Trada said, through gritted fangs.
"Oh, I know that. But, rather than risk the lives of one of my trusted guard. I'd rather send you." Crovin sent a crooked smile over his shoulder. "Now. Be a good boy and get going." The Alid turned around and folded his arms. "Upload the details to his datapad, Frakaz." He waved the back of his hand, staring over M'Trada's shoulder.
He heard no approach, seen no shadow move until a hand clamped around his arm and waved a hand held device over M'Trada's datapad. He was taken completely off-guard, and was left wondering if the person had been in the room the entire time.
After a moment of waving, he was released, Frakaz crept away to blend into the background of the room once more.
M'Trada stared at his communicator on his arm, and watched an icon go around and around, until it turned green. "Upload complete," a thin robotic voice said, and he looked back up to the Alid, who once again, had his back to him.
He stood up, and exited the room briskly, knowing that if he spend even another minute in there he would have been forced to ring the worms neck. On his way out, he took a glimpse around the room for Frakaz, but couldn't see him.