Tea Time

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Two men have a lovely conversation over a cup of tea. At the same time, events happen, seemingly at random.

A one shot written for the Tallenge literature contest.

Submitted: July 14, 2014

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 14, 2014



Tea Time

"How nice of you to join us, Sir Edward," Said Monsieur Dictator as the ceiling crumbled before his feet.

"It's my honor to be of service to you, Mister Dictator."

Sitting upon a chair with a cup of tea in hand was the gentleman known to many by Dictator, mostly because it was his name. After taking a small sip, Monsieur Dictator placed his teacup upon the table suspended above a hole by a thin kite string. The heavily armored Edward sat upon the seat in front of Dictator.

"What a lovely house you own here," Said Edward whilst taking off his helm. He ducked in order to place his helmet on the ground. The wrecking ball behind him missed by an inch.

Dictator slid his seat to the side as the ball of destruction blasted a hole in the wall behind them. A party of woman screamed in terror as the metal object swung about. Edward stole a look at the gentleman and poured some tea from the lukewarm kettle.

The knight took a small sip. "You have nice tastes. Jasmine with a hint of rose." A plant behind him grew into a large vine. "Anyway, what is this visit all about? You hardly invite anyone over without reason."

The vine grew a large rose, easily larger than Sir Edward's head. Monsieur Dictator simply sighed. "Things have been getting tough on me. I am the owner of this immense land and a swimming pool of debt. I was wondering if one of my oldest friends could give me some advice."

"I'm not exactly in the best spot either. I might have a well paying job and a handful of nobles to support me, but the taxes are just getting higher and higher." The rose bud grew a bit larger than Edward's head. "I cannot proceed to help a simpleton such as yourself." The rose was now the size of a grown man. It made a lunge toward the oblivious knight.

"How dare you!" Monsieur Dictator spoke with agitation, yet still kept his fluidly composed voice. Nonetheless, he still flung his cup at Edward to display his anger.

Edward, predicting his companion's state after the less-than-kind affront, smoothly dodged to the side. "I do apologize, I didn't mean to offend you. What I meant to say is that you aren't helping with the capitol's protection. I mean, just like any good citizen you help pay for the kingdom's welfare, but unlike me you are not directly guarding it."

If plants could make noise, the rose would be howling in pain. The scalding tea thrown at it would logically cause such a reaction. The small spill of liquid was enough, and the plant withered away. "I'm very sorry about my outburst, Sir Edward. I knew I shouldn't have troubled you with my personal affairs. I still must worry: just yesterday I received a communiqué. They want to seize my property, Edward."

Edward sighed. "I understand your problems, Dictator, but I just cannot help you with this matter. If anything, though, why on Earth would you contact me for such tribulations?"

"I just thought a good friend would be able to help me deal with the situation. They say confession is the quickest way to closure. Instead, all we've managed to do is break my cup of tea. It's too bad the kettle is cold now." Monsieur Dictator rose up and trudged toward the cupboard.

"Then why don't we talk like good friends?" Edward suggested. The wall behind him exploded, sending heat and debris flying across the room. "How has your life been? Anything different since my last visit?"

Monsieur Dictator let out a breath of air as he took hold of a new teacup. "Not much, truthfully. Look at me; it has been over a year since I've last seen you and nothing has happened."

Edward nudged his shoulder. "Come on. I know you've done something to entertain yourself." A battalion of troops yelling could be heard in the distance.

"Well, I have taken to gardening."

"Oh really," Edward contemplated the thought in disbelief. "How are your plants?"

Gunshots fired throughout the battlefield. The room was quickly being painted with lead. "They aren't doing too well. I started with an entire topiary, but the bushes quickly shriveled away." A bullet shattered the glass kettle. "All I have left is a single, pampered rose."

The knight slowly sipped his tea as Monsieur Dictator returned to his position on his chair. "It must be one wonderful rose then."

"The grandest rose in the universe, Sir Edward." The irritating buzz of planes resonated across the room.

"I should hope to see it one day."

"You will see it Edward, I promise. So how about yourself? Anything interesting happen to The Queen?"

"Alas, many tragedies befall the kingdom. Why, Just yesterday--" The door was forcibly kicked open, loudly interrupting Edward's thought.

"How rude!" Dictator decreed. "Harold, what are you doing?"

The new addition to the room bowed his head in shame. "I am so sorry, Master Dictator, Master Edward. There is a bit of trouble brewing outside and I had to inquire your status."

"Harold, usually a knock or two would suffice." Edward grunted huffily.

"I've been constantly knocking for a while now. When you didn't answer the door I could only assume the worst."

"Oh my," commented Dictator, "I hadn't heard the resonance of the door. I shall accommodate for my behavior at the first opportunity."

"Thank you, Master Dictator. I sincerely apologize for interrupting your discussion." The shouts and screams of falling soldiers cursed the bright sky.

"Think nothing of it, Harold. Now what have you come here to warn me of," asked Dictator.

"Well, you see, the townsfolk are getting upset. They aren't too pleased that a wonderful man such as yourself should obtain such beautiful territory while they roll around in the mud just to make ends meet. Quite the riot has formed outside, and I know the people of this country. They would stop at nothing short of a war to see calamity befall you."

The noises were gone. The terrain outside was a wasteland with only a single survivor standing solemnly alone. "I assure you there is nothing you should worry about for now. Once Edward has left, I do still ask of you to find me in order to discuss these matters in further detail."

Harold bowed once again. "Certainly, Master Dictator. I only thought you would want to hear of these matters. I give you my regards, Sir Edward." Harold finished as he exited the room.

The rest of the morning rested relatively quiet. The only noise to be heard was the quiet breathing of the two old acquaintances and the strong winds blowing outside. It was only after a few minutes of the silence when Edward gazed outside the absence in the wall.

"I think that it's about time I take my leave. I'm sorry I was of no help to you, but I wish to convene with you more often in the future."

"I understand, Edward. Let me show you outside."

The pair walked downstairs, Edward leading while Monsieur Dictator walked closely behind. Every stair that the gentleman removed his foot from dissolved into the wind. The walls, which so handsomely served their purpose, crumbled away like uncemented stoned.

"What do you think, Dictator: will your possessions of this land cause a war?"

Dictator thought for a moment. "Only The Lord may know. For now, I shall live my life to the fullest."

At the bottom of the steps Sir Edward turned around and returned his helmet to his head. In the way only good friends know how, Edward placed his hand on Dictator's shoulder in an unhurried, intimate motion . "My good friend, remember: rejoice on the fortune of your life. Do not be bored. As a matter of fact, be bored, but make sure you are still having fun."

Monsieur Dictator watched as Sir Edward turned around and headed back, away from his plateau. Despite the paradox of his last statement, Dictator understood everything that Edward attempted to communicate. It wasn't until the knight was only a speck on the road when the gentleman turned around.

Monsieur Dictator looked at the empty field behind himself: his empty field. He was unsure of what would become of the land he could now proudly declare his own. He could only imagine the adventures that were soon to be had.

© Copyright 2020 Motus Ginus. All rights reserved.

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