Archive | November 2011

…in Foxholes

For [profile] ysabetwordmith‘s prompt

Commenters: 0

The war in Afghanistan had been getting really tricky.

Carl heard it was worse over in Africa and other parts of the Middle East – even down in Western Europe – where every mass grave for the last forty years had been dug up from inside. The unhallowed dead were rising all over the world, and they were, it seemed, really, really hungry.

Here, the worst problem was the MIA. They hadn’t been laid to rest with proper rites because they hadn’t been laid to rest at all, and they’d come back when nobody was expecting them, slipping into their old units and wreaking havoc. Their chaplain was working overtime, and he’d enlisted the help of an imam from a nearby village and a rabbi they’d had to smuggle in.

And now they were being shambled towards by seventeen dead Afghanis – all but three of them young women – two French soldiers that had gone missing years ago, and a guy from their unit.

“Shit,” Carl grunted, “sorry, chaplain. That’s Joe Ellis.”

“How can you tell?” The poor guy sounded like he was about to lose it, and Carl couldn’t blame him. There wasn’t much left of Joe’s face to identify him.

“The boots. And the tattoo on the hand. I don’t know how you’re going to deal with this one, father. He’s an atheist.”

“What ever happened to ‘no atheists in foxholes?’” the chaplain muttered.

“Joe used to go on about that. Said that that was because people have been trained to pray when they’re scared, not because they suddenly believe. ‘Everyone is afraid,’ he’d say, ‘it’s part of being human.’” Of course, what was left of Joe wasn’t anywhere near human, but Carl was trying hard not to think too much about that.

“Fear.” The chaplain nodded thankfully. “Cover me?”

“I’ve got your back.” Hoping that the little man knew what he was doing, Carl followed him on his crab-skitter across the field. The imam was laying the girls to rest, but Joe, or what was left of him, was trying to chew on someone who had once been his best buddy. While Carl helped the kid hold him off, the chaplain prayed.

“We come to the end of our life as a release, as a respite. We come to the end of our lives as a chance to lay down our burdens, to set aside fear. For in the time after death, truly there can be no more pain, and no more fear. There is nothing left to be afraid of.”

Slowly, and at first uncertainly, the zombie that had once been Joe lay down on the ground. As the chaplain kept talking, Joe’s body reached for a lighter, and, with a beatific smile on what was left of his face, set himself on fire.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/168426.html. You can comment here or there.

Monday, time-confused

The Daylight Savings Time Fall back thing seems to have confused my internal clock as much as the cat.(“It’s early. Or late. Or something, and I’m hungry. Feed me?”). I woke up late today and was nearly late to work… but now am Very Awake.

It was a good weekend. We acquired cheap butternut squash and tasty apple cider, made steel-cut oats with pureed butternut, and I wrote a lot of words, most of them on my nano.

I have left to do: 2 long pieces for Rix, 1 short piece for Ysabet, a setting-piece or something for the comments perk (Still don’t know what to do about that; the story with the most comments isn’t really *in* a setting) and the extension piece, which looks to be “Rule 2.” Somehow, I don’t think this is all getting done before Saturday’s Giraffe Call.

~
If you have things you like for the Winter Holiday, it’s getting to time to post a wish list or lodge a request for baked goodies.
~

[personal profile] meeks has posted an update to Teddy’s Travels (and on LJ).

And [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith has posted Opening the Gate, from September’s mid-month donor prompt session, based in part on my prompt.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/168127.html. You can comment here or there.

Aetheric Cleansing

For JanetMiles‘s commissioned prompt.

After Estate (LJ) and Lost Spirits (LJ)

and in the same setting as Heirlooms and Old lace (Lj)

“Three liters of water, boiling, with four cc of salt and one cc of rue. Testing with item one-seven-seven, ivory and brass dip pen.”

“Got it,” Johias nodded, and then, a moment later, “no. The aetheric resonances are still off the scale. What was your aunt up to, Ruan?”

“Wish I knew,” she sighed, pulling the pen out of the boiling water. “What’s next, salt, angel’s-tears, and holy water?”

“That’s after the holy water with rue. Here.” He handed her a towel, which she used to carefully wipe down the pen. There was no ghost inhabiting this one, yet, and if they were successful, there never would be. “Talking to the ghosts, they don’t even all seem to have known the woman. I suppose they still could have wronged her, if she was the sort to take offense at small things…”

“She was the sort to bind spirits into torment for her pleasure – well, for whatever purpose she had. I’m glad I didn’t ever get to know her. Holy water with rue, three liters boiling, one cc fresh.”

“You know,” he pondered, as he readied the aetheric detector, “it’s possible she had one of these set up for herself, as well.”

Ruan froze. “You think my father’s sister is in one of the ghost traps?” It still felt wrong to call Tansy an aunt.

“Well, it’s a possibility, at least. We haven’t checked for non-vocal ghosts because the ones we found were so very vocal.”

“I…” She dunked the pen very aggressively into the water and counted down seconds. “Ten.”

“Less aetheric resonance, we’re down to a measurable number. Nine point seven five.”

“That’s at least an improvement. Johais – I don’t like this woman very much.”

“I can’t say I fault you. Well, we could, perhaps, get some answers out of her if we did find her.”

“We could,” she admitted slowly, taking a towel and drying off the pen again. “All right, let’s try the salted holy water.”

“You don’t like the idea?” He aimed the detector at the third pot of water.

“Everything about the woman makes my skin crawl. She was evil, Johais, and that is not a word I use lightly. Evil, nasty, impolite… and I worry that she could, in some way, rub off on me. I don’t want to wake up evil.”

Johais kissed her forehead, just over the goggles, carefully. “Very unlikely.”

“Thank you.” They were alone, so she let the giddy smile she was feeling come out, just for a moment. “But you don’t know my family.”

“I have, to date, met thirty-five members of your family, counting the men, and that’s all your mother’s side. I’ve met four members of your father’s family, one of whom was, at the time, a ghost. I have a pretty good idea what your kin are like, my beloved. And I can easily see which family members you take after, and which you do not – and this one, this evil witch, if I may be so bold, is nothing like you.”

“You say the sweetest things. Holy water, three liters from St. James on East and Main, with three cc’s of salt and one drop of angel’s-tears, which, I will note, we’re almost out of.”

“Ready.”

She dipped the pen into the concoction, not, by this point, expecting much result. They had tried every suggestion from every aunt, cousin, grandmother, friend, quack, and even a couple from her father and uncles, and, to date, holy or not, water or vodka, nothing had given them the results they’d been looking for (although the blessed vodka had burst into flames, carrying with it a beautiful mother-of-pearl cigarette case said to belong to a former burlesque dancer).

“And… oh, my. That did it, Ruan. The aetheric reading just dropped to zero. Ruan, I think we found the solution… pardon the pun.” Johais was smiling from ear to ear as he set down the aetheric detector and hugged her tightly and rather inappropriately.

She didn’t mind. She pulled the pen out of the water and set it aside to hug him back properly, and, even less appropriately, kiss him very firmly on the lips. “You,” she murmured, “you wonderful man. I could not have done it without you.”

“I wouldn’t have had it to help with without you. This is a brilliant project, Ruan, a concrete application of research. And we succeeded!” The man’s glasses were fogging up, he was so happy.

“Once,” she pointed out. “Once, and with a very rare and difficult-to-obtain component. And we won’t know if we succeeded, in truth, until poor Mr. Anthony passes away.”

“Well, we have achieved something, at least! That’s… Ruan, did you kiss me?”

“I did. And you kissed me back.” Her own goggles were fogging as well; it had been a nice kiss, but not, she thought, quite that nice. “It was very pleasant.” She pulled the goggles off to clean them on the hem of her apron.

“It… what would your father say?”

“At this point, I believe ‘thank goodness you’ve managed to do something at all about Tansy’s mess.’ He’s quite embarrassed about the whole thing.” It wasn’t her goggles, she realized; the salted holy water was steaming over. She turned off the stove and moved it from the burner, then, to be safe, moved all the other vessels as well. The holy components had, after all, reacted very strangely to Tansy’s possibly-damned-artifacts. “Could you point the aetheric meter at the water, please?”

“That wasn’t quite what… well. Yes. But then I’d like to discuss this kiss again, if you don’t mind.” He stepped back away from her to point the boxy machine at the steaming water. “Ah… one moment, my glasses… hrm. Do did we simply transfer the aetheric connection into the water?”

She peered at the meter. “I don’t think so. There’s not nearly enough resonance left for that. It does make me wonder, though – and worry about pouring the water down the drain. Perhaps if we let it sit? As long as it doesn’t evaporate – I’d hate someone to die and then be bound to individual water particles throughout the world.”

“But it would be awfully convenient to know when he died.” Johais set down the meter and wiped his glasses off again. “Ruan, you kissed me.”

“Would you like me to do so again? To compare the results, of course, purely scientifically.”

“I do not believe there is anything at all scientific about what I am feeling, unless one wants to delve into biology. Quite messy.” The steam was curling his hair – and hers – and both goggles and glasses were fogged again.

“Johais, I’m fairly certain that whatever happens between us, it is going to be both biologic and messy.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/167824.html. You can comment here or there.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!

Not a lot to share lately; life has sort of focused down to apples and nano.

On the former, I have ~9 quarts of something like applesauce ready to can (I really need a second big pot, as the big pot is soaking off burnt apple bits before I can boil the cans), another 2-3 quarts of apple butter ready to go, and boxes of apples everywhere.

We went out to our favorite cider mill yesterday for some more cider and two big butternut squash, cooked one up last night (peel, slice into bits, microwave for 10 minutes, and then roast for a couple to get some caramelization (and if you’re not pan-roasting the seeds, you’re missing the best part)) and this morning we made Steel Cut Oats with ‘Pumpkin’ for breakfast. Om nom.

Nano’s doing decently, though we’ll see how I do when we get to the Giraffe Call.

Speaking of that – next Saturday, with a theme of “Family.”

Beginning to ponder Winter Holiday gifts.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/167487.html. You can comment here or there.

Rule Three

For kelkyag‘s commissioned prompt.

Dragons Next Door Verse. DND has a landing page – here (or on LJ)

This comes after Over the Wall (LJ Link),
The Black Tower (LJ Link,
The Pumpkin (LJ Link,
and
Skeletons (LJ)

The dragon next door studied me, its claws flexing and settling down. Pinned between my shame and my discomfort, I was growing testy, feeling like a small creature in the regard of a much larger predator – which, of course, I was – with a rather reasonable urge to run and hide.

But Zizny wasn’t the enemy. Zizny was my very nice neighbor, and grown women did not run and hide from their neighbors. Instead, I coughed, and regarded the dragon calmly. “You seem very interested in our past.”

“I have been thinking quite a bit about my own,” it admitted. “And also, after a conversation with the Dapples down the street, I have been realizing that I am as guilty of making assumptions as any of the small races are.”

Only to dragons and giants are centaurs considered a small race. I spared a thought to wonder what they considered the tiny races (the nano-scale? Our terminology predated such terms, although it was possible dragons could not focus sharply enough to deal with the tinies). But there were other matters at hand, so I put that aside for another day. “Assumptions?” Anything to avoid talking about my family, please.

“Assumptions. For instance, that the centaurs were a family group.”

I admit, I felt a little smug. Only, I need to point out, because I’d made such a stupid mistake when it came to the Smiths and gender, and was still feeling the need to redeem myself.

The smugness just made me feel guilty, though, and I admitted “I’ve done the same. I suppose we all do; Smokey Knoll is a… very varied area. It’s hard to find two households from the same culture here, any given culture.”

“Indeed.” It dropped its jaw in either an invitation to climb inside or a parody of a laugh. “I thought all humanoid races were the same for quite a while.”

“I’ve found a tendency to overlay human society and perceptions onto other races,” I could admit comfortably now. “Gender roles included.”

“I think it’s a common habit,” it nodded. “Especially when your race is the dominant one in an area. Humans living in the dragon caves up north have often adjusted to our habits, as much as they can, so we attempt to do the same here.”

“I’d noticed,” I smiled. It would be interesting to live in a dragon cave; I could imagine that Sage would love it for his research. Maybe when the children were grown… I sighed.

Zizny blinked, far too perceptively for my comfort. “I will be sad when Jimmy flies the nest,” it admitted quietly. “There are so many predators out there that I cannot protect cx’za from.”

I nodded. “Yes. I worry about the decisions Jin will make, left on his own.”

Another perceptive glance. “You did not make good decisions when you were his age?”

“I didn’t have a lot of room to make decisions when I was a teenager.”

“No? Someone else made them for you?”

“My parents. My grandparents.”

“The same ones that you did not invite to your wedding to Sage?”

“The same,” I agreed tiredly. “That was one of the first decisions I made on my own. That was Rule Three.”

“I’ve been curious about your marital ‘rules’ for quite some time,” it admitted. “Tell me, what is Rule Three?”

“Rule Three.” I smiled wistfully, remembering. “We hadn’t been dating long, Sage and I, but I was having a bad time of it. I kept running into things where I’d say ‘my mother’ this and ‘my mother’ that, or if it was really bad, ‘my grandmother.’ It had to get really, really bad for me to mean Grandmother Austen, my father’s mother. Usually I meant the one who was paying my tuition to the Pumpkin. It wasn’t so much that I lived in fear of disappointing her as that I knew, without a doubt, that everything I’d done since being conceived was a disappointment. Grandmother O’Reilly is like that.” Even all these years later, it made me wince to think of it.

“Impossible to please? Judgmental?” Zizny asked, in what I thought was a sympathetic tone. “She sounds like a very difficult woman.”

“That is a very, very good way to put that. Very apt. She never approved of my mother’s marriage to my father – my dad’s family is dirt poor, what Grandmother O’Reilly would call ‘trash.’ I was a failure in her eyes just existing; she sent me to the Pumpkin in hopes that it would either kill me or, somehow, redeem me.”

“A lovely family.”

“She’s the best of the lot. But she was hanging over me in my head, this specter of everything I was doing wrong, and I know it came out in how I acted, in what I said. Finally, after the nine hundredth or thousandth time that I said ‘my mother’ or ‘my grandmother,’ Sage sat me down and had a talk with me.”

“‘I am not dating your ancestors,’” he said. And that, even now, made me smile. “‘I am not dating your mother, and I don’t want to marry her. I want to marry you.’ And that is how he proposed to me and instituted Rule Three all at once.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/166596.html. You can comment here or there.