The Art of Talking Down Beasts

“How are you considered such a great monster slayer if you’ve slain so few?” Wesley snorted in his regard, tight jaw, harsh squint.

Nishay frowned, set her hands on her hips, fully faced him. Her brown eyes were cold, hard, and weary. “Well, a lot of them happen to be intelligent, so I just talk to them about how they’re disrupting the environment, and they almost always apologize and stop.” Her voice was challenging, bordering on argument hesitantly.

“I have no use for talking when I have this,” he sneered, rolled his eyes, and flaunted his broadsword-"a gaudy display of magic.

“I do wonder, sometimes.” she gave him a clenched half-smile, the wind brushing against her braids. “Why is greatness measured in violence?”

He shrugged. “It’s just how the world works. I don’t make the rules.”

Nishay crossed her arms. “Don’t make them, but like to throw them around? Interesting.”

“Who cares about negotiations when you have to keep the world safe?” He swept his arm, stepping closer. “Why even trust a monster?”

“It takes social skills you clearly lack.”

His lip curled. “What was that?”

Nishay rolled her eyes. “Listening is a social skill,” she spat.

Wesley swatted the air. “Someday, talking won’t save you. And when that day comes, don’t come crying to me.”

“No need,” she said. “I’d hate to owe you anything.”

Author's Note

Photo by Lance Reis on Unsplash