Sorry about no-posting on you guys. I got a new computer and am half way through transferring files between it and my old one... which means I can't find half my files. How about some instant flash fiction, instead? The following is a 3Dimage I made a week ago and I think I'll make up a story to explain it.
Shrill, happy-child giggles echoed throughout the halls, ricocheting off every surface, as shrill noises were want to do when every surface is made of glass. Ishmael pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes tight. His beloved nephews were in the board room again. The Chess King was not going to be happy if they left finger prints all over the place. Again.
If? What was he thinking? Of course they were going to leave fingerprints all over. He loved the little tyrants, really he did. But if he'd wanted to raise little glasswork babies, he'd have married and had some. Life in the Glass Palace was no place for a family. Not that he had any choice but to raise his recently orphaned nephews here, of course. He still had ten years left on his indenture contract. He had been lucky to get an indenture in the first place.
Ten years previous, he'd been a wild young man who'd thought he knew it all. He'd joined with up with a band of like-minded glasswork youths and rebelled against the Chess King. Well, they had thought they were rebelling. The king thought they were a bunch of moronic children. Hence the twenty year indenture to the Glass Palace, "repaying his dept to society" by polishing and shining all the kings ridiculous baubles.
And now he would have to polish the king's pride and joy, a larger than life, living chess set. He entered the board room with a fierce glare on his face, determined that this time, they were not going to weasel out of the punishment they had coming. But then he saw Garth and Gantry looking at him with such earnest little faces. Ishmael signed in resignation. How could he possibly sand the little tyrants' butts after they made him a sign like that?