Chara(s): A Hitter (OC)
Fandom: Org Fic – Fae Apoc xover
Prompt: Communication Cut Off
This continues a series of stories taking place in my universe, Fae Apoc, at the time just before the aforementioned apoc. Portals are opening up to one other world at that time, and in this story, well, they happen to open up into a whole BUNCH of worlds.
And from those worlds, a bunch of poor soon-to-be-victims-of-bad-things who bear some resemblances to fandom characters happen to slip through some portals. And then bad things happen to them, because that, after all, is the name of the Bingo.
Content warnings for the series: violence, death, bondage, capture, drugging, visions. For this story: violence, wounds
“All right. So we’ve got him right where we want him. He’s going to freak out just about now, yes, you’re a genius, yes I am, and there he goes running for the warehouse. You got him, my man?”
“Got him.” The hitter was perched on top of a stack of crates. He had a long slash on his left side that he was ignoring – his t-shirt was acting as a bandage and it wasn’t that deep, not enough to slow him down – and a bruise that was threatening to close one eye shut. but this fucker? Yeah, he could take him down without thinking twice.
“All right, and here he comes. He’ll be on you in three, two-” Continue reading
Written to Sauergeek’s prompt to my new “WTF?” Prompt Call.
I am picturing this as the same era/world as The Trouble With… (Chickens, assignments, ferrets, and so on)
It wasn’t, exactly, a dance.
That is, it was never a dance that would performed in high society, in the dance halls of the Dames and Lords.
It was a dance that was born out of too much whisky, the sort of stuff that ambitious university students brewed in the abandoned dormitories. It was born out of the awkward one-woman-to-ever-seven-men ratio that was common on the University campus – especially those sections where students were brewing bathtub hooch and coming up with interesting ways to “Age” it without getting caught. And it was born out of one woman’s very determined urge that, if she was going to be in experimental sciences, she was going to get dances, no matter what her uncle said on the matter.
It was neither a tango nor a foxtrot, but it was face-paced, steamy, and done best when more than a little intoxicated. It was something like a square dance, except that it was done with one woman at the heart of eight men. And it was quickly declared against the rules by the university, illegal by the government, and immoral by two different churches.
It was so wildly popular that before she graduated, the young woman responsible for the craze wrote an anonymous tell-all book, the sales of which funded her experimentations for the next fifty years.
I think the best warning for this one is: This creeped me out. No body horror but brain horror.
“We have an agreement.” The woman’s smile was fake. “You signed the papers, the money has been deposited, and you are ready to comply.”
“Yes.” Tepha nodded shortly. “You have my thumbprint. You have my consent, and I’ve seen the money in the account.” She put down her Access – the cheapest possible one, but it did show her things like bank accounts. She’d done the three swipes necessary to take the account out of her name. She couldn’t touch it anymore, and that was important.
“Good. Now, I know you’ve probably heard some things about the Procedure. Half of those are lies and the other half… well. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Considering the things Tepha had heard, that was not remotely comforting.
It didn’t need to be. She wasn’t here for comfort.
She sat down in the chair the woman indicated. She closed her eyes.
“We can’t sedate you for this part, but don’t worry. Most people lose consciousness very quickly.”
She didn’t know if that was a good thing. She knew – if half the rumors were true – that nothing was the same after you’d been Zonked. She knew – if even a quarter of the rumors were true – that it wasn’t reversible.
None of that mattered.
The wires attached to her head. The pill set on her tongue, a wafer that tasted fakely of fruit. She felt it dissolve. She felt a sudden jolt of pain. And then…
Then she felt nothing.
“There we go.” The woman removed the wires and waved her hand in front of Tepha’s face. The eyes tracked. There was no expression.
“Good.” The woman nodded. “Stand up and go through the blue door. Follow the instructions you are given.”
Zonked people were cheaper than robots, could often still handle independent thought, and the price of feeding and housing them was minimized by their lack of want. If the woman found them creepy… feeling was not part of her job description either.
The woman who had been Tepha did as she had been told. There was nothing in her to suggest any desire to do otherwise.
Written to July 19th’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt: Zonked OutWant more?
First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
Previous: Girl Talk
She couldn’t put off the other thing forever, so eventually, once she and the house had finished putting her clothes away and she’d changed into something that seemed comfortable and cute – and made her look like a starlet pretending to be Rosie the Riveter – Mélanie went back down to the kitchen table.
She found a pen – an old ballpoint click pen – and a pad of paper waiting for her. “Thank you,” she told the house, and began writing.
She had been with the slavers for three markets, so she had seen both their holding area and their market pens. She knew what their feeding schedule was and when they got in new food shipments. She knew when, approximately, they put everyone on lockdown for the night. Continue reading
They didn’t sleep well, but they drowsed for several hours, until the sun began to sneak over the horizon and Deline, at least, was tired of pretending she could rest.
The storm, which had come back twice during their restless sleep, seemed to have passed by the time they made it downstairs and into the small town. Deline wasted a few minutes wishing over the carriage system, but even if it was safe for them to risk, the carriages wouldn’t travel if there was risk to the horses.
Their provisioning was quick, since there were only two stores in town. It was at the second one, while Carrone was making faces at Deline’s purchases, that the shopkeeper aimed a sharp look up and down both of them. Continue reading
Written to LilFluff’s prompt to my new “WTF?” Prompt Call.
Probably a new universe. The last two times Fluff prompted me, we ended up with Kael’s Tower/a New World and The Hidden Mall, so…
When Emma found the door in the closet of her great-grandfather’s old house, she knew what she had to do.
It was simply the way these things were all done in the books.
She ought to check it out first. After all, someone always did.
But since she was staying for the weekend with her cousin, she went to get Britney first.
Britney, who was very interested in the current Seventeen magazine, did not want to come see some stinky old closet on the top floor where they really weren’t supposed to be anyway. “Aren’t we a little old for make-believe, Em?”
“No.” Emma’s chin jutted out. It would be so much easier to do this without her. And yet… “We’ll be old for make believe when we’re old. Grey hair and creaky joints and all that. Come on. A secret door!”
“Allll right.” With a great show of reluctance, Britney came along.
The door, at first, did not want to open, and Emma had to once again coax Britney to stay and help her get the doorknob – a little thing, shaped like a fist – to turn.
When they finally opened it, neither of them were nearly as surprised as they ought to have been to find themselves in the middle of a forest.
Britney, who had read the same books that Emma had, took a coat from the closet, sniffed it, and slid it over her shoulders. The camel-brown leather coat made her look older and more intense than she was.
Emma thumbed through the jackets before pulling the plastic off of a trenchcoat, a grey one that looked styled just right. It was a wee bit long on her, but that was fine. They were just stepping into a forest…
They left the door propped with a rock that happened to be very brick-shaped, neither of them looking too closely at the way it seemed to hang in mid-air on this side. And they started walking, both of them secretly wondering if they would encounter a faun or a talking rabbit, a sentient scarecrow or a family with buttons over their eyes…
What they encountered was a glass wall, a thick one, and, outside of it, a city of gleaming steel and shining lights. There were pod-like things zooming around in mid-air, and the sky, far above, seemed to be covered with yet another layer of glass.
They looked behind them. There was the forest, and, somewhere in it, a portal.
They looked in front of them. “This…” Emma whispered. “This was not what I was expecting.”
Written to DaHob’s prompt to my new “WTF?” Prompt Call. Fae Apoc, early apocalypse.
Things had been going weird for weeks, but Tlalli had been doing a pretty good job of pretending they weren’t.
She went to classes every day, went to work after that, and screened stupid application after stupid application for a roommate, looking for someone who wouldn’t be torture to live with and would actually pay the rent something like on time.
There was some weird shit on the tv, weirder shit on youtube, and twitter was blowing up with the stuff people had seen – and the people that had died or vanished. One person she followed posted a list every morning. Just an image, black names on white text. It was getting pretty long. Continue reading
The drive was not all that long, although it went through five minutes of the sort of traffic where it would have been quicker and probably easier to get out and walk. Ctirad shifted a few times in his seat, but for the most part, he was still. He wanted to find a place where he could be what Timaois wanted of him, even if I want you to be you was the least helpful advice ever.
He opened his eyes when Sal pulled into an underground garage that, while not hidden, was not exactly advertised, either. The bar that raised when Sal swiped a card was far more intense than the normal wooden gate, too, and there were two of them and a metal roll-door before they reached the actual garage.
“Secure,” Ctirad murmured.
“People who work here take such things very seriously,” Timaios agreed. “And I admit I like it, or at least, my public persona likes it.” Continue reading
Beulah considered the spell that had been the work of the last decade.
She considered young woman now leaving the property a young woman who attended the property – an 85 year old Widow. Valise in hand, she was headed off to a new life, away from whispers of what she’d done when she was twenty (the story originally had been what they did when they were twenty, but as more and more of the children of the original miscreants told the story, rather than the people who had been there, they didn’t wish to impugn their own parents, and so one by one the party shrank until it was only the woman leaving now and Beulah – and nobody made whispers like that about Beulah where she might be some day hear them); she left behind two dead husbands, three dead children, eight grandchildrens and at least four great-grandchildren, one of whom was Beulah’s great-grand-niece. Continue reading