Blahbarian

Did you know that the word “barbarian” comes from the Medieval Latin barbarinus, meaning “foreign, of another nation or culture”? The Latin word is from the root barbar-, which was used to imitate the unintelligible speech of foreigners, originally from the Sanskrit barbara-, meaning “stammering.” In fact, originally the word barbaroi meant “all who are not Greek,” but after the Romans took over much of the world, they started applying it the term to non-Greeks and non-Romans—although by the Greek definition, they themselves were actually barbaroi themselves. (This is also the etymological source of the name of the Barbary Coast, the Berber people, and other similar terms as well.)

But what all this means it that essentially, the English word “barbarian” means “a person who says blah, blah, blah.”

Writing Prompt

Write a scene that includes a character speaking a different language, speaking in a thick accent, or otherwise speaking in a way that is unintelligibe to the other characters. (Note: You don’t necessarily need to know the language the character is speaking—be creative with it!)


Writing Without Rules: How to Write & Sell a Novel Without Guidelines, Experts, or (Occasionally) Pants

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28 thoughts on “Blahbarian

  1. Kerry Charlton

    DARTHINIA

    If you believe in the super natural as well as angels. you might like my story. After forty seven years, I have decided to reveal a fall night that happened to change my life

    It wasn’t the first time I had seen her on campus. And it surely wouldn’t be the last, I was sure of that but I let her pass after her eyes met mine in a big smile. ‘Idiot,’ I thought. Her hair had shone in the sun to be of many colors, that puzzled me. It certainly wasn’t a dye job, too complicated for that.

    I saw her again the next day in the student union, this time from the rear but I couldn’t catch her. Her swing was distinguished in it’s movements now why would I use a word like that to describe her derriere? Was it possible to fall in love with just a few glances or was I off shooting rockets somewhere,

    I noticed a banner in the cafeteria announcing a dance being held Saturday to welcome all the new freshmen to campus so I decided to go. Maybe, just maybe I might see her. But the evening wore on and some of the crowd had already left, I felt abandoned and cast my eyes toward the crowd once more in a desperate search and as my eyes bore though the crowd, they landed on her back. She couldn’t see me so I blew her a kiss from sixty feet away and she jumped suddenly as if I had touched her.

    She raised her arms up as if they were a beacon for me and I was drawn to her by a force unknown to me. The music changed in mid song to a tango and she jumped into my arms and we danced as I had never before. There was not a word spoken between us but I understood what she wanted. I pressed her to my body and we threw ourselves to the beat and danced across the room as the crowd stood and watched as if spellbound.

    It wasn’t I dancing and yet it was, I lifted her as if we were both flying over my left shoulder, she rolled across my back and hurtled her toward the floor. I caught her in mid flight, her head only inches from from slamming onto the floor. She glanced toward the bandstand, the music slowed to a soft waltz as she worked her way up into my arms and we danced cheek to cheek.

    Meanwhile, the scene changed in a flash, we stood on a balcony high above the ocean, from the edge of which hung slightly over the water at least seventy feet below. I could tell from her eyes, she had to go. She walked toward the rail and she saw the fear in my eyes, she hesitated and turned and kissed me as if to say thank you. I held her hand but she broke away. Vaulted to the top of the rail, she did like a driven butterfly , and balanced herself as she looked through the night to the crashing surf.

    I rushed to the rail as she dove off in a swan dive toward the roaring surf. I looked down in horror expecting to see a floating body but she rose up some, waved and blew a kiss which fell on my cheek. Immediately the heavens burst forth with a meteor shower and then quiet. I knew she she had said goodbye

    I named her Darthinia and she lives to this day in my heart.

  2. GrahamLewis

    A DAY IN THE LIFE OF BILLY SIRD

    The impending dawn seeps around his blanket, and Billy Sird stirs, opens his eyes, and listens. Nothing happening yet, so he makes a tentative sound. No response, so he makes another. Finally he hears them out there, and waits, a bit impatiently, calling again and again.

    “Morning Billy,” the man finally says, as pulls away the blanket. Unable to form words, Billy makes enthusiastic sounds. His face would probably break into a smile of anticipation, except that Billy was born without facial muscles, only a solid unmoving carapace surrounding his mouth. He must communicate by wordless sound, by angle of expression, and by varying his tones. He tries so hard to get his point across, and is never quite sure he succeeds. Because he’s never spoken, he never understands what he is not saying, and never understands why they don’t understand him.

    Billy spends most of his day in his quarters, sometimes staring out at the incomprehensible activity around him, sometimes alone, times at which he stares into space or mumbles to himself. Sometimes he’s taken out for exercise, and makes excited sounds, and the others seem to understand. He has learned to sound happy, to sound startled, so sound lonely, to sound angry, to call for company. All without words or a smile or frown.

    Thus passes Billy’s day. Dark is approaching and so is the blanket. Billy nestles beneath it, chattering softly to himself, and closes his eyes.

    Thus passes another day in the life of Billy Sird, the peach-faced lovebird.

  3. ikhan928

    ‘Finally you’re home! What took you so long?’ Belle was standing by the front door watching Sean as he dragged himself inside and set his bag on the floor. He stood there for a moment, wavering on his feet a distant, vacant look in his eyes. He leant against the wall, summoned the last of his energy and removed his coat and shoes before stumbling upstairs. ‘No doubt to collapse on our bed.’

    ‘Is everything ok? Sean what’s wrong?’ but there was no response. ‘Fine! Ignore me!’ Angered, Belle went to seek out her armchair, indignation rising within her at the way she had been treated.

    ‘It wouldn’t kill him to give me a little attention.’

    After what felt like an age, Sean came back downstairs a spring in his step.

    ‘Sorry about earlier, I was knackered’ giving Belle a kiss on her forehead he plopped down on the sofa and turned on the TV. Channels flicking from one to the next.

    ‘If he thinks he’s going to get out of it that easily he’s got another thing coming’ thought Belle as she curled up on the armchair, tucking her legs beneath her.

    Sean rose from the chair and went to the kitchen, rustling through the fridge and kitchen cabinets looking for something edible.

    ‘Belle, dinner time!’

    She grudgingly rose from the armchair and slowly made her way to the kitchen. A delightful scent reached her nose ‘Ahh chicken and gravy’, saliva flooded her mouth.

    ‘I have your favourite’ said Sean, placing a bowl before Belle and scratching behind her ears.

    Belle looked at it and then back up to Sean, ‘Fine, I will talk to you but I am still annoyed’.

    Savouring every bite she thought ‘He might be a stupid human, but he’s my stupid human’.

  4. Big Tastey

    John climbed the mountain, past the point of safe return, until he arrived in a valley nestled between two mountain peaks. The sky was a deep blue and the wind was cold, but John hardly noticed because John was angry at his god, and he had come to the valley of the gods to air his grievance. From the various campfires he could see in the distance, there were a lot of gods living here. John sighed. It might take him a while to find his own god.

    At the first campsite he saw a large green turtle. On its back was a yellow flower growing out of a clump of dirt.

    “Who in the hell are you?” John said.

    “ fl#++++++.” the turtle said in a language that was ancient before time even began.

    The turtle resumed walking around the campfire in a never-ending circle.

    “Flat Earthers!” John said.

    He looked around at the dozens of other campsites. John grew impatient in his search.

    “DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE THE REINCARNATION CAMPSITE IS?” John said.

    A tall man with the head of a bird stood up and pointed to the East. Black feathers tinged with pink hung from his arms.

    “And who worships you, Birdman?” John said.

    “wwtk auck ghybdooooooooooooooo maaaataaaaa.” [Hivaro headhunters in the Amazon. I like your head.] Birdman said.

    John nodded as if he understood.

    “Thanks. Be seeing you.” John said.

    He walked east through the campsites. One campsite, without a campfire, had a group of trees standing in its center. They shouted angrily, in what John assumed was Ent, at everyone else as they pointed at the many wood fires. John finally saw someone he recognized.

    “I need to talk to you, Vishnu!” John said.

    “Aosodln osfnong disonsl sssfffffppppttt.” Vishnu said.

    “What?” John said.

    “Vishnu said no autographs now. Come back at eleven.” Brahma said.

    “I’m not here for an autograph. I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Vishna!” John said.

    “Bonepickers are three campsites over.” Brahma said.

    “Not literally pick a bone! I’m here to complain about my reincarnation! I came back as myself and I didn’t want to come back as me. I didn’t like me. I was me-incarnated!”

    “Dkvof sofdk lfgjdll lfdgjfdj?” Vishnu said.

    “Vishnu asks why you don’t like yourself?” Brahma said.

    “Because I never made a difference! All of my life I watched as others suffered and I did nothing to help.” John said.

    “Wjik ool iaye onmisowpcz mjlwqpff.” V

    “Then you have unfinished business.” B

    “Shiva eklds. klf mwgbvkqbg ;fd dksokld kl big tastey.” V

    “Shiva comes. The Destroyer has promised to spare the Earth if good outweighs the evil.” B

    “Ev kols dool lke slkdgl alk wkel oklds lsksflsk.” V

    “Go back into the world and make your difference.” B

    John left the valley of the gods and descended the mountain. He vowed to help make the world a better place.

  5. Quill7

    RAINBOW TALKER
    “Did you hear about the new movie coming out?”
    “Pink.”
    “Okay, did you like the look of the trailer?”
    “Blue.”
    “Look Tim, I know you said you were learning a new language but you still haven’t told me which one.”
    -Tim shrugs-
    -Tina sighs-
    “Fine, I’ll just try to understand you.”
    “Pink.”
    “From the looks of tbe trailer I think that dude is gonna die.”
    “Blue.”
    “But the heroine seems nice. Relatable, talented, and a good actress.”
    “Yellow.”
    “What about the other girl? She has to be the antagonist.”
    “Green.”
    -Tina squints at Tim-
    “Did you hear how they’re taking our favorite show off NetFlix?”
    -Tim nods and glares through slit eyes-
    “Red.”
    “Aha! I knew it! You’re speaking in colour!”

  6. Quill7

    RAINBOW TALKER
    “Did you hear about the new movie coming out?”
    “Pink.”
    “Okay, did you see the trailer?”
    “Pink.”
    “Did you like it?”
    “Blue.”
    “Okay, Tim, I know you said you were learning a new language but you still haven’t told me what.”
    -Tim shrugs-
    -Tina sighs-
    “Fine then, have it your way, I’ll just try to understand you.”
    “Yellow.”
    “The movie seems so sad though, from the trailer, I know the dude’s gonna die.”
    “Blue.”
    “And that girl, she’s the antagonist I’m guessing.”
    “Green.”
    “The heroine seems nice. Relatable, believable, good actress.”
    “Yellow.”
    -Tina squints at Tim-
    “Did you hear about how our favorite series is being taken off NetFlix?”
    -Tim nods, his eyes in angry slits-
    “Red.”
    “Aha! I knew it! You’re speaking colour!”

  7. ReathaThomasOakley

    Marge and Arlee Converse

    “Arlee, Dear?” Marge called from the kitchen, but her husband didn’t move, his recliner was so comfortable mid-afternoons in Spring with a gentle breeze slipping through the open window, the last of the late snow finally melted, Sports Center on mute, buds on the lilac bushes. . .

    “Arlee?” She was now in the den. “Dear, are you napping,” she paused, “again?”

    “Ah, no, no,” he pushed the chair upright, caught the remote before it fell. “Just thinking I’d better call Ethan about the sprinkler system, lots to do this time of year.”

    “Well, yes, just don’t forget about a new watch battery.” She glanced at her wrist, touched the object there a few times. “Oh, my, I’m late.”

    “Late? Going somewhere? Need the car? I can get the battery tomorrow.”

    “Oh, no,” Marge laughed, “just meeting Carol at the high school track in a few.” She tapped her wrist again.” High school? Arlee wondered, but didn’t ask.

    “New bracelet, Marge?”

    “No, you silly, it’s my Fitbit.”

    “Pardon?” Arlee stood.

    “What the kids gave me for my birthday. Remember?”

    “Ah, sure, a watch.”

    “Well, yes, I suppose, but I wanted to watch my stats change in real time, so I had to sync my tracker with my app dashboard.”

    “What?”

    “I’m afraid I’ve been having stat gaps, like when I’m out with Carol, so I set up MobileTrack for the phone sensor.”

    “What?”

    “Been having some tiny little problem with Bluetooth syncing, suspect it’s that pesky Bluetooth.” She picked up the bright blue jacket from the back of her chair, and put it on, carefully inserting her thumbs into the slits at the cuffs.

    “Don’t think I’ve seen that before, or those, um, trousers.” Perhaps he was still asleep.

    “Oh, I’m so pleased you noticed.” She laughed. “Can you believe I’m back in polyester after all the years of everything natural, but, except for that little issue with sweat sesh stink, this keeps me drier.” She turned to leave, but glanced at the bookcase with the vacation photos.

    “I keep forgetting a most important thing with my Fitbit. Can you believe on our next cruise I can change to a new country’s food database?”

    “Uh, no.”

    “All I have to do is from my dashboard, tap the Account icon, Advanced Settings, and then Food Database. Then choose the country I’m logging from. Hope I don’t forget to change it back when we get home. Hmmm, I’ll just set up a silent alarm or calendar notification to remind me.”

    Marge walked back to her husband, kissed him on his bald spot. “Now, don’t forget the watch battery, the girl at the drugstore will help you.”

    “Marge,” Arlee cleared his throat, his brain and voice didn’t seem to be working. “Dear, I’m sorry, and maybe it’s me, but I haven’t understood anything you’ve been saying. It’s like I’m in a foreign land and I don’t know the language. What are you talking about?”

    “Well, we need to be getting more exercise at our age, because, well you know.”

    “But, Marge, the words, the, I suppose, the jargon. Where did that come from?”

    “Don’t you recall, Nathan was here all Saturday afternoon and he explained everything to me.”

    “Nathan? Nathan, our eight-year old grandson?”

    “Yes, but he is nearly eight and a half. Bye.”

  8. ShamelessHack

    “Two Pina Cyuckladas, please.”
    “I really love this place. No one can beat it for snarfling up hot Hobbit guys.”
    “Look, there’s Frodo Baggins! Isn’t he blarbeous?”
    “Mmm, yeah. The hair on his feet make me flamble all over.”
    “I wouldn’t mind if he tossed me on my yelwon and jumped my glimperding.”
    “He’s looking our way. Now he’s picked up his mug of blorpnot from the bar and is heading this way.”
    “Hi there. I haven’t seen you two chikbendas around the Shire. Are you new here?”
    “Yes, I’m Brendelia and this is my friend Mahmahlunia.”
    “Hi! I’m Frodo. I’m bleched to meet you.”
    “Likewise.”
    “Listen, girls, I hear there’s a new club opened up down the road where just about fletgraming goes.”
    “Fletgraming?”
    “Uh, huh.”
    “Well, I don’t know…”
    “Oh, Mahmahlunia, don’t be such a sworepulett.”
    “How about it, Brendelia? You and me, eh? And after we can talk about your glimperding at my flabernabby.”
    “OK, Frodo. But you have to promise not go too glopmantilly on me. I’m, well I’m still a jevbender.”
    “Do I look like a blahbarian to you, Brendelia?”
    “Brendelia, don’t go with him! Horglenia told me he tamplatized her when he got her into his flabernabby.”
    “Harbat you, Mahmahlunia! I’m a big detwinia! C’mon, Frodo, let’s go.”
    “Hooboy!”

    And it came to pass in Middle Earth that Brendelia wasn’t really a jevbender, not even close. She had long ago sacrificed her virtue to the Dark Lord, and that’s why the Ring of Power isn’t destroyed, but instead is now hanging over the bar at Murphy’s Pub on the corner of 79th Street and Mt. Doom Avenue.

    And you were wondering why the sky is always black…

  9. MicahLee

    It sounded like screaming.
    That was all Kappel could think of when the ship’s doors opened, letting in all the sounds from the dock. G’Kayok citizens weaved in and out of each other’s paths, buying, selling, arguing, teasing, flirting, dealing… and it all sounded like hundreds of people screaming over each other. Detective Pulse, of course, was unfazed, or at least better at hiding her reaction to the cacophony. She strode down the gangplank. He followed.
    “How are you used to this?” He leaned in to ask.
    She didn’t look at him. Maybe she couldn’t hear him over all the noise.
    They moved deeper into the crowded market, and the noise only got worse. Kappel resisted the urge to slap his hands over his ears or maybe to raise his fingers just to test if his ears were bleeding yet.
    “DETECTIVE!” The sound of English tugged at his senses. A particularly round G’Kayok in an orange coat waved them down. Cezain, their contact.
    “Welcome to our home! We are so happy to see you!” He whisper-shouted in a halting voice. His voice was breathy as if he were making a real effort to whisper, but the volume remained incredible. The pauses were punctuated with concentration as he searched for the next word. He curled his long fingers. “Follow..me… to your…embassy!”
    Compared to the sweeping campus on Arameth Prime, this embassy outpost on this planet was little more than a shack. Its fabric roof rippled and snapped as ships took off into the atmosphere. They passed through the heavy door and inside… silence. Papers shuffled, and chairs shifted, but beyond that… nothing.
    “No one is talking,” he whispered, as if scared to break the sanctity.
    Detective Pulse shook her head, tapped his shoulder, and reached up to take something out of her ears.
    “Wait… you had EAR PLUGS on you the WHOLE TIME?!”
    Seven heads swiveled in his direction and the only sound to follow his outburst was a collective “Shhhh!”
    She shrugged, a grin pulling on her lips. “They are talking, by the way. Look closer, rookie.”
    He looked. And he noticed. He noticed the hands and fingers flying through motions and raining down because picking up again.
    She was smiling. “People will always figure out ways to communicate. It’s one of the most important things we do.”
    A tall G’Kayok walked by and gave her a smile and a respectful nod. She returned it in kind.
    “And some things are the same in every language.”
    “I WILL…SEE…YOU…FOR WHAT YOU CALL… DINNER….TONIGHT?” Cezain’s whisper-shout unseated two employees and startled the rubbish-critters outside. Heads swiveled, and the room responded to the outburst in a flurry of sudden sound.
    “Shhhhhh!”

  10. creaturescry

    General Arlan was a man of culture and old books. He surrounded himself with stacks of the musty things in the library, digging through the information they kept locked within. When he wasn’t commanding an army or speaking with the other Generals he was tucked away in the castle he built for himself. He sat under the light, a massive red hood dripping over the entirety of his face. He flipped the page of the book he held in his hands, reading the history of the great land. It once was great, it was once free, then King Ezra came into play. He shook the thoughts out of his head and focused back on his reading. Although not many appreciated Ezra, it wasn’t his job to judge the man. He was there to command his army in battle and keep them in shape when they were back at home. He was getting a lot of those troublesome thoughts lately.

    “General Arlan!” Harold, another of the Generals shouted as he tumbled into the Library, “we have a problem!”

    Arlan groaned and slammed his book shut, “what is it Harold?”

    Harold, he had just reminded him of another troublesome thing. The aloof General danced around the miscellaneous piles of books with the grace of a troll. But that wasn’t surprising since he worked closely with them to spy on the Giants. The blonde haired mess of a man eventually reached the fort of books out of breath and still as panicked as when he arrived.

    “There’s a man here who doesn’t understand us,” Harold sputtered, his hands animated as he relayed the story, “he just came out of nowhere speaking gibberish.”

    “Gibberish?” Arlan said as he emerged from where he was sitting, “you mean a foreign language?”

    “Please go easy on me, I really only know Trollish and Human, I don’t know any of that fancy stuff.”

    “Fine, take me to him then.”

    Arlan still wondered how Harold became a General in the first place. Noah, a half dark elf General, was selected for his skill in tactical planning. Dominic, who was in charge of the prisons and elf slaves, was selected for his loyalty and violence. Harold? He was selected for his charisma as far as he knew. Mediocre fighting, somewhat coherent strategy, and excellent trollish. He shook his head and kept following Harold, he never could understand what was going on in Ezra’s mind.

    “Noah is he still in there?” Harold asked as he peeked into the closet office.

    “He’s fine,” Noah replied, emerging from his office, “but its not that big of a deal.”

    “Why not?”

    Noah crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, “didn’t you smell the alcohol on him? He reeks of it!”

    Harolds face turned blood red, “so, it was literally gibberish?”

    “You’re becoming more and more troll like as they days pass,” Arlan commented, his lips straining as they tried to hide his amusement..

    “Aye Shevhin,” Harold Cursed in trollish, grinning mischievously, “looks like I am.”

  11. rlk67

    Life had been nice. I made it through junior high and high school without liftin’ a finger.
    I only learned the basics: 1. Teachers are boring. 2. School’s a waste. 3. Who needs English? 4. Whoever invented math is dumb.

    And of course, money talks. No, it screams. HA! Every “A+” of mine paid for by rich Grampa who also hated school back in the 1800’s (or whenever he was a kid), and finally had his revenge on his torturers…I mean, teachers…through me…his sweetie, sad, doggie-eyed, no-nothin’ grandson. “Leave the boy alone!” he croaked to my parents. “If he don’t want to learn, let him get through and he’ll make it…like I did!”

    Naturally, Mom and Dad weren’t so on board with this. Oh, no, they said, I needed to really be taught somethin’ in school. Well, I was. It takes just a few dollar signs to get the mean faces to look the other way. And now that I am in the highest college in the land, I’d expected that we should continue our, ahem, lesson.

    But then gramps left me. Lyin’ on his death bed, he waved his wallet, and moaned, “We don’t need no education, bum, bum, bum, bum, we don’t need no th-th-thawwww…..” and then he was gone. So the money was passed, and daddy’s rich now. But he ain’t helpin’ me any.

    Then summer was done, and I moved into the dorm of my new hotsy-totsy school. My roommate put out a hand. “Ah…a fellow tenant. Thy cognomen, s’il vous plait?” I didn’t mean to be impolite, but I just stared. Thycog? What kinda name was that? He took back his hand, and no more smile. He sighed.

    “Beckett. Beckett Wellington. Esteemed. Must not brood, mine companion. Common angst for newbies. Weltschmerz will dissipate anon.” Oh, man, Thycog was so weird. I just hope he don’t snore.
    I grabbed a half-broken pencil and tore out a loose-leaf paper and ran out. I looked at my crumbled schedule. First class–‘Recondite Etymological Comparison in Practice’: 9:30, Hifalutin Hall, room 212. I stopped some guy and asked directions.

    “Ah, Voltaire…’Everyone goes astray, but the least imprudent are…’” Oh, never mind. I ran in another direction, and asked some others. “Go hyperborean!” “Easterly a-scintilla.” This wasn’t normal. Oh, man, I was gonna be late. I finally found it and took the last seat in the back. The teacher was a tall guy. I hope he was nice, too.

    “And so, as you well know, the constitutive rudiments apropos of precise patois have inceptions in univocal abstractions.” My head was jelly. What was with this place?! Mr. Patois kept talkin’. “Who amongst us can cite a precedent of third-world realm?” President? Third? Oh, man, I know this. I raised my hand. Shocked silence. Patois looked confused.

    “Yes?” he said to me.

    “Thomas Jefferson?” More shocked silence. Patois was stun-gunned. “I see,” he said quietly. Yesss! I pumped my fists. Great start. So why are they moving their desks away from me?

    Later I was walking to my afternoon class, ‘Socio 145: Kinsperson in Munitions’ with Professor Knopfler, when I saw…her. Oh, her. Everything at first site. I smiled at her and she said, “Pulchritudinous visage, conjugation is thy aspiration postulated and approbated!” I guess that means she’s taken. I walked away sad, and surprisingly, so did she.

    Well, after class the next day, Patois told me to stay. There were no more payoffs from Grampa, so I braced for the worst. I told him my story, but he spoke to me normally, and said everything was going to be ok. No more easy life, and he would help me through! And I stayed at that place for many years, learning under him.

    Today, I’m hitched with kids of my own, and have a great job! And not only that, but my intrinsic lexicon and elocution are curiously cosmopolitan, if I say so myself.

  12. Nicole Coffey

    As soon as Keegan walked into the Other club, he was smacked in the face with Orc stench. Tonight was the Master match of demons his friends persuaded him to come watch, but it was a popular event that attracted all kinds of Others. Past the marshy smell of Orc was the sickeningly sweet waft of sprites. They gathered at a bar Keegan passed to find the staircase.
    Despite this being a part of his culture he wasn’t a Hellbent or Oskborn demon, none of his talents were violent, sexual or otherwise impure. Keegan didn’t care for the fight between the demon and it’s master.
    “Keegan!” Samantha wrapped him in warm, tiny arms once he found his friends.
    Rake was too caught up with the scene on stage to listen. A few of the wolf shifters nearby were snickering about the pride of a demon being broken, and that’s why this event was so funny. Although Keegan wasn’t born of malice he was still the Other they mocked and he had half a mind to turn around and set them on fire but Samatha forced his attention back to the stage.
    “Our next Demon to be met with its master is a level three, incubus.” called the announcer, a demon himself, with too wide of smile not to be a Shadow. He motioned for the guards to bring the incubus forward.
    “Duzell, your master is level one, pyromancer, Keegan Shale.”
    Rake choked on his beer spraying the guy in front of him. Keegan wasn’t sure whose eyes were wider his, or Rake who sputtered incoherrantly. While Samantha pushed Keegan on stage onlookers began to laugh. The bright lights nearly blinded Keegan but he couldn’t miss the tower of a man who waited for him. For show Duzell was shirtless. It emphasized his long lineage that wrapped up half his body in tattoos, and his imposing stature. Duzell’s pale skin grew red with agrivation when Keegan remained silent.
    “Et edyacer? Hastil mæden, err Keegan.” He seethed.
    Though his voice was smooth and he spoke clear Lansic, Keegan couldn’t understand. He had been raised on Earth, away from all the demonic languages, even Lansic which was as generic as English. Sweat itched the palms of Keegan’s hands and formed across his forehead. He had to win over the demon, he had to find out why he was his master, as the game was played.
    “Damn you Fates.” he muttered.
    Duzell stepped forward and pushed Keegan back. “Q’in tes? Resstha toi echno,” He said grabbing Keegan by the arms. “resstha toi almance,“ then by the chin to shake the smaller man’s head. “œ toi yenta?”
    Keegan pulled away when Duzell’s hands landed on his hips. He didn’t need to know what the higher demon said, just a hunch from the catcalls in the audience let him know. After a few more seconds watching Duzell grin bemused, Keegan returned the smile. Duzell was an incubus after all, so perhaps his last statement was a good place to start.
    “Ok Duzie, “ Keegan grabbed him by the beltloops. “let’s play.”

  13. RafTriesToWrite

    Guardians of The Galaxy Vol 1.5 (Or at least, this is how I imagine it went down)


    “How’s he doing rocket?” Peter asked, looking concerned.

    “Still sleeping” He replied, looking at the little plant. “We’ll probably wait another day, give or take”

    “Okay” Peter went out.

    “Just take your time little guy. I’ll be here” Rocket whispered calmly at the tired plant. Eyes closed, chest breathing lightly, little leaves spread about his head.

    “Is the little plant awake?” In came Drax stomping into the bedroom.

    “Shhh Shhh! Quiet. You’ll wake him up!” Rocket tried to push the big guy out the room, he succeeded but barely. They were standing in between the corridor and the bedroom. “Listen, you can’t just keep barging in and making noise like that.”

    “Oh. I just thought the puny plant had woken up. I wanted to give it a hug.” Drax scratched his hairless scalp.

    “No, that will crush him. Just go” Drax was just about to leave when the bedroom door suddenly cracked open.

    “Groot?” Groot spoke in a tiny voice, crawling out of the bedroom.

    “Groot!” Rocket cheered.

    “THE BABY PLANT IS AWAKE!” Drax screamed.

    “I am groot” Groot said.

    “What’s he saying?” Drax questioned.

    “I am groot” Groot said.

    “Okay little guy. I’ll be right back.” Rocket started running towards the main deck of the ship. “Watch him Drax!” He ordered.

    “I can see him just fine” Drax replied.

    “I am groot.” Groot spoke to Drax.

    “Hi groot. I am Drax. Do you remember me?” Drax knelt down to talk to baby Groot.

    “I am groot” Groot replied.

    “What does that mean?” Drax asked.

    “I am groot” Groot replied and started crawling back into the bedroom.

    “Wait. What are you saying?” Drax questioned, following Groot inside the bedroom.

    “I am Groooooooot” Groot screamed, as loud as a baby can.

    “I don’t get iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit” Drax joined in on the screaming as well.

    “What are you two dunderheads doing?” Rocket comes in with water.

    “I am groot” Groot exclaimed.

    “He started it” Drax pointed to Baby Groot.

    “Well I’m ending it, now out” Rocket was pushing hard to draw Drax out of the bedroom.

    “But he started it!” Drax repeated himself.

    “I don’t care. Out!” Rocket was persistent.

    “I am groot” Groot smiled.

    “What were you two doing?” Rocket asked baby Groot.

    “I am groot” Groot started.

    “Uh huh.” Rocket followed.

    “I am groot. I am groot.” Groot said.

    “Well you both are stupid. Now drink up.” Rocket gave Groot the water he brought.

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