Winner of the Writer's Cramp 10/11/12. Two warlords meet for the first time. |
Tron strode purposefully into the Stars in your Eyes coffee shop. No-one could accuse him of cowardice. Not that anyone would, on pain of possibly horrible and potentially slow what with all the forms that had to be filled out these days - death, but that was beside the point. He went straight to the bar, pushed past the other creatures waiting for their Constellation Half-Cafes and Moon-Mochas, and growled at the seven-handed humanoid behind the counter. âCoffee Comet. Now. With extra stardust-sweetener.â The server didnât look up from the machine it was operating, one hand stirring milk, another grinding coffee granules, one testing the temperature of the coffee and at least three others turning various dials . âIf youâll wait your turn, sir...â Tron leant across the counter and grabbed the creatureâs spare arm. âThatâs the Mighty Lord of Tron and all surrounding systems, soon-to-be ruler of the Galaxy to you, sonny! Now Get. Me. My. Coffee!â The humanoid, to its credit, barely flinched. It placed a cup of bubbling Hazelnut Hubble on the counter, and looked up at him. âAh yes, The Lord of Tron. Thereâs someone waiting for you.â It pointed to a dark corner of the shop, where a figure sat in the shadows with two cups of coffee on the small table of front of it. Tron grunted, released the server and stomped over to the table. He sat down awkwardly on the low, squashy sofa. A calloused hand emerged out of the shadows and pushed a cup of black coffee towards him. Tron squinted into the darkness. âThe so-called Lord of Trun and all surrounding systems, I presume?â âAnd soon-to-be ruler of the Galaxy, actually.â The creature moved forwards into the light. âAnd I am the Lord of Trun, that has never been disputed.â It glared at Tron. âI wonât say Iâm pleased to meet you.â âLikewise,â Tron muttered, regarding his coffee with the utmost suspicion. âYou should know, by the way, that I have five of my most trusted bodyguards undercover in this shop, and ten patrolling the streets outside, and a thousand marshalled at a secret location not far from here with strict orders to come and get me by whatever means necessary if I havenât returned within the hour, and to avenge my death with the utmost savagery if it should come to that.â Trun raised his single eyebrow. âAs do I. I have satellites in orbit, too, ready to blow up this whole asteroid if I should be dishonoured here.â âOh yes, I have those as well. On the next planet along too, in case I get particularly angry.â Trun nodded appreciatively. âGood move! Always catch âem by suprise, thatâs what I say.â He took a gulp of his Iced Moon Latte. âNow, letâs get this over with, Tron.â Tron sniffed his coffee tentatively, then took a swig. âYes, letâs. Iâm not gonna pretend I want to be here, Trun. Itâs just my subjects, whining and complaining all the time. We didnât want this war. Why should we have to fight in it? Because youâre bloody subjects, thatâs why! Thatâs what youâre for!â âYes, thatâs exactly it! Why donât people just blindly obey anymore?â Trun leant forwards, speaking conspiratorially across the table. âI tell you what, Tron, it would have been fine if the bloody wives didnât get involved. We could have gone on warring, like in the good old days of our fathers!â âYeah! Then they have to come in all like, go and have a nice sit-down somewhere and talk it through, dears, Iâm sure youâll be able to come to some sort of adult decision.â Trun looked around nervously. âHey, keep it down a bit, would you? Iâm pretty sure the missis has her own spies in here as well. I donât like the look of that sphinx over there.â Tron quickly turned his head to look, then stared furiously down at the table, speaking very quietly whilst attempting not to move his lips at all. âNo, no, no, thatâs not one of yours. Thatâs my wifeâs sister. By the gods. Sheâs really not going to let this one go.â Trun was staring at the table furiously as well. âMy wifeâs mother just walked in. The half-dragon with the bright pink hat?â Tron risked a look round again. There was, indeed, a formidable-looking older woman with a spectacular pink creation covering most of her top half and a lethal spiky tail and claws on the other half. âI donât suppose...â Trun looked up at him. âWell, look, thereâs this small moon my wife doesnât know anything about. We could, you know, meet up there every so often and have a short battle. You know, a good bit of honest bloodshed.â âAnd in the meantime... a peace treaty?â âYeah. Iâll rule Tron, you rule Trun, and weâll leave the rest of the galaxy for now, eh?â âAgreed. Gotta keep the missis happy. â Trun stood up, and threw his chest out. âHumble subjects!â he announced to the shop in general. âI and the Lord Tron have reached an agreement which is greatly to my liking! Our systems are no longer in direct conflict! Mark this day well, puny peasants, as the day when your overlords allowed you to live in peace once more!â A few people looked round, and one purple creature waved at him to stop proclaiming and mind his own business. Trun waved magnanimously back, whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Tron - âMy wifeâs going to the space-spa on Jaglam Beta next Thursdayâ - and strode proudly out of the coffee shop. |