Tealblood -- prompt #2There were people who were completely done with the unfairness of life -- and then, taking it to the logical extreme, was Inakov Diemer. She was adorable, yes? Perfect, yes? (Alright, perhaps a little clumsy, but it added to her charismatic charm! That was what Bundad said, and Bundad was never wrong. Ever! Never ever ever.) And if she was all of these things, then why hadn't she been invited to that yellowblood's wriggling party?
It boggled the mind, really, knowing that someone of lower status would have willingly not given her an invitation. Twenty minutes ago it had drawn a pointed hmph, fifteen minutes ago she had pointedly popped her gum and sighed, and ten minutes ago she'd taken out some binoculars.
Five minutes ago, Inakov Diemer had climbed onto her lusus (although not without fidgeting and a few failed attempts) and, with bubblegum reapplied into her talk blaster and a bandage dutifully reapplied to her skinned knee, a "...dad, let's go, come on!" set her trusty steed off on his way to the hive that that filthy yellowblood who she would PROBABLY NEVER WANT TO KNOW was partying at.
Huh.
Sure, alright, maybe it was further than anticipated -- and maybe Bundad was not the fastest of steeds, given his tendency to stop and eat a few tree branches every five minutes ("dad, you're destroying the environment, can you not") -- and maybe her getting bonked in the nose by an as-of-yet uneaten tree branch and convincing her lusus she wasn't going to die was a bit of a time waster ("dad, I'm fine, really, my nose isn't as sensitive as yours") -- and all of that coagulated into the unfortunate fact that, by the time Inakov had arrived at the party, people were beginning to trail out, with cake smeared on their faces and disappointed looks right below that. So she couldn't even bring herself to be angry, because wow, the party looked awful? There wasn't any need to be dramatic anymore. All her preparation had been pointless, because even if the bug lusus guarding the hive's door was giving her what might have been a suspicious look...and Ivakov couldn't tell, bugs didn't really have expressive faces...it let her walk right on by into the hive and just give the saddened yellowblood a --
Well, she'd been going to give the other girl a very dismissive stare and an annoyed bubble pop, but there was cake all over the walls, and suddenly Ivakov couldn't find it in her to be angry. It looked like a disaster zone. Like a bomb had gone off. And the girl, who was all of maybe four sweeps, looked like her moirail had just broken up with her. Only maybe an hour earlier, the party had been wonderful, with joyful laughter eminating far enough that she could hear it from her own hive -- and clearly something had happened here, but all she could really think of was walking over, patting the weeping girl on the frosting-spattered head, and handing the poor lowblood a stick of banana-flavored gum. (It matched her blood color.) (Nobody had ever said that Ivakov Diemer was known for her compassion or her ability to be smooth.) And there they sat, in awkward silence, one girl staring at the other for a solid fifteen minutes, until Ivakov broke the silence with what was probably the worst possible question to ask.
"...what flavor was the cake?"
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