Archive | January 2012

Giraffe Call Early Wednesday Update

Jan18

The Giraffe Call is Still Open (and on LJ)! It will stay open until this Friday evening, or until I’ve written one prompt to ever prompter, whichever comes first.

Monday morning we reached the $201 goal – our furnace bill is paid for! (also, there will be another single-setting Call near the end of the month) At $211, we are just $29 from reaching the next incentive level, where I will hold a chat session with characters!

Claim your words! If you have donated to this call, or to any call, you can ask for $x100 words continuation on any story posted here!

Back to writing!

Linkback Incentive Story (and ON LJ)
Summary so far:
One-offs
First Steps (LJ) The city remembers
The Dark Places, the Numbered Streets (LJ) – Ance seeks a real adventure. And finds it.
Recovering the City (LJ)
The Tuesday Map (LJ) Life in the BAELZ.
Souvenir (LJ) A little something from every city
Birth of a City (LJ) It started with asteroid miners…
The Cracks
Through the Cracks (LJ)
“China is Here” (LJ)

Unicorn/Factory
Unicorn Chase (LJ)

Dragons
Origins of Smokey Knoll (LJ)

Facets
Underneath (LJ) [Josie[

Shadow Rebellion
Evoloution (LJ)


Donate below

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/235734.html. You can comment here or there.

Radio silence

Jan17

/Amused/ You know you’re online a bit much when….

I was offline for most of today – we were in Rochester, about an hour and a half away getting a remote starter installed in the car. Offline also = off-computer, although I did get 9/10 of an adorable baby hat knit. I apologize for the delay in Giraffing, and will pick it up again tomorrow!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/235413.html. You can comment here or there.

Evolution, a story of the Shadow Rebellion for the Giraffe Call

Jan16

For [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt.

Shadow Rebellion now has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ

I didn’t believe my dad at first.

Okay, that’s not really nice of me, but I really didn’t. He liked to make up stories sometimes, to entertain us, and I knew, having spent the last summer living in one during an internship, that the cubes in the middle of the megaplexes can get really creepy if you spend too long there. I could put one and one together and come up with a dad who had gone just a little loopy, without loving him any less, without trusting him any less… just without believing him at all.

I didn’t really even believe him “at second;” when the news reports started coming out of the City, in part because he was quoted on the news. “Hey, Janie, isn’t that your dad?” is really not what you want to hear when you’re studying for an exam.

It wasn’t until we went into the City for the weekend that I really understood, or at least believed, and having begun the process, well, then I had to study it. I’m a college student, aren’t I? So I talked to a professor and he talked to the Dean and the Dean signed the papers and four of my buddies and I now have a grant.

It’s lovely how those things work out, isn’t it?

We started with the statues, figuring they would be easy. I mean, they were Writing, weren’t they?

And they were. Of course, the problem was, they weren’t writing in English. They weren’t writing in any language anyone we could find could recognize. So we hauled in a couple language students, and got them deciphering the super-slow-writing while the rest of us started finding something that could identify the shadows and the ghosts.

It took us a while.

It took us weeks just to determine exactly where to read their signal, and why the daylight lights were making them visible (not the “daylight” function, actually, but the fact that they were a special style of bulb. The light streaming through one of the chemicals in the fluorescent did it). Once we did that, we could follow them, and figure out their patterns. They followed humans, we theorized, out of camouflage; even in the light of those bulbs, they still looked pretty much like a flat shadow.

Running with that theory, we tried to open up communication with them. We tried all different sound frequencies, some different light patterns, even smells. We were on to textures and tastes when the intern we’d put on deciphering the statues came running into the lab.

“There’s a problem!” she screamed, just as we were about to try vanilla-scented sandpaper. “No, stop. They’re tactile. Haptic language, we’re pretty sure.”

“That’s what we’re trying,” I pointed out, as patiently as I could.

“The problem is, you don’t want to talk to them. You really don’t. We deciphered the statue’s language. They’re not statues. They’re… well. They used to be shadows. And, uh, we think that they have a three-stage evolution…”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/234772.html. You can comment here or there.

Birth of a City, a story for the Giraffe Call (@Inventrix)

Jan16

For [personal profile] inventrix‘s prompt

It started, as most things do, with a single settlement on a major route.

The route was, in this case, a slip-hole through an asteroid belt, not a long valley or a waterway, and the settlement was a group of seventeen people, miners and their kin, who staked out the best chunk of belt and attached their settlement to the biggest stable land mass.

The first to come was a teacher, someone whose skills lay in education but who had always had what they called “void-fever.” He brought with him a module that attached near the settlement, and the tubing to make a “road.”

After the teacher came some scientists, who were curious in studying – well, they were scientists, they wanted to study everything. Micro-G living on humans. The elements found in the asteroids. Void and zero-G’s effects on just about everything. They brought a company-sponsored seven-level settlement, and triple-wall tubes to connect to the miner’s cubic. Since they also brought children, they attached to the teacher’s module, as well.

And many of them brought spouses, partners, cuddle-friends, which meant that there had to be something for those people to do. Three of them dreamt up a small business, and wrote up a proposal, bringing money, a module, and materials from the grounded cities. They also hired three programmers and a mechanic who could handle micro-G, and, as their business took off, another seven employees, only half of them already on the Rock.

There’s some argument about whether that first company was the tipping point, or the bar-slash-bordello that followed (Angie’s, done in an imitation old-style, complete with swinging saloon doors past its airlock and girls in bright saloon costumes), but, one or the other, people started coming for things other than the mine, the miners, and their children. And once the hydro-farm and distillery came to service the bar, and the gidget factory to support the first building, and the hair salon and massage parlour to support the factory workers… Well, then they needed a water refinery and a toy store (and a “toy store”) and a movie theatre.

The police first formed when the population topped a thousand and, while the city did not have a fire department, quite, it had a leak department, and then a public works bureau, that collected money and used it to reinforce the tubes and, at about ten thousand, build a globe around the whole thing for another layer of protection. And then, of course, they needed someone in charge.

It surprised no-one, except possibly herself, when the first miner, whose idea this had all been, was elected mayor seventeen years after she had first started digging on the rocks.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/234327.html. You can comment here or there.

Underneath, a story of Facets of Dusk for the Giraffe Call

Jan16

For [personal profile] kc_obrien‘s prompt, with a side order of comments asking for more development of the female team members and for more time in-world, not just through-the-door.

Facets of Dusk has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ

“It’s awfully dark in here,” Josie murmured unhappily. “I can’t feel the sun at all.” Or the trees, or the wind. There was a breeze, at least.

“But it’s rather warm,” Peter countered. “Or at least constant. It’s not a case of no solar heat, then, a burn-out planet.”

“It’s…” Aerich looked around disdainfully. “Rather dirty.”

Josie turned to look at him, trying not to laugh. He got so bent out of shape when he was laughed at. And, to be fair, the place was rather dirty. Untouched-feeling, stale, and the dim light only made it seem more so.

“Xenia and I will scout,” Cole declared, to no-one’s surprise. Xenia and he scouted, like Peter read instruments and Alexa Opened. Like Josie Knew. “You guys stay within a block of here, and see what you can find out.”

“Got it,” Alexa answered, crisp and professional like the suits she preferred. Josie smiled to herself, even though this world was making her a bit uncomfortable.

“They’re kind of cute, aren’t they?” Peter whispered, in a voice only for her ears. “G.I. Joe and Action Figure Girl?”

She swallowed another giggle. “They are,” she agreed, not admitting just how cute she could find them. “So, Science Man, why don’t we do our own exploring?”

She realized from the warmth suddenly coming off of him that there was more than one way to read her suggestion, and from the heat inside of her that she wouldn’t mind either one. But they were both professionals, of a sort. She cleared her throat, ready to backpedal. “That is…”

“We explore this world,” he agreed, rescuing her. “And then, later, perhaps…”

“Later.” She could hear his smile in his voice better than she could see it, but she could feel her own stretching her lips. “For now…” She dropped her mat on the ground and sank into a lotus position, hearing Peter move away, his instruments beeping softly to him, sending out an eerie glow.

Slowly, the glow faded from her awareness, and the beeping, Aerich and Alexa pacing out a perimeter, Peter reading the emanations of the world. Slowly, her senses stretched outwards – the Door, behind them, in a sturdy metal archway meant to last. Around the doorway, a building, still standing, tallish – about seven stories – made mostly of metal and stone. Around it, a block of similar buildings reached to slightly shorter heights.

She stretched further, tasting the dust in the air, the abandoned feeling of this place, the suggestion, beneath all the dust, of not quite abandoned, as if someone had left the light on, planning to come right back. Feeling Cole and Xenia, skulking around like thieves in the night. Feeling the edges of their world, a tall structure somewhere above. A roof. A roof above the entire city.

“We’re in some sort of created cavern,” Peter said at the same time. “And it seems like there’s another such pocket directly above this one. And above that…”

She stretched her senses, reaching for the power of the ground under her, reaching for the sunlight. “Ah,” she moaned, as the life and bustle and sunlight! assailed her, pressing in on her, talking to her in words she couldn’t understand, pushing into her. “And above that is the city.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “Above that is where the people are.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/234171.html. You can comment here or there.

Giraffe Call Monday Update

Jan16

The Giraffe Call is Still Open (and on LJ)! It will stay open until this Friday evening, or until I’ve written one prompt to ever prompter, whichever comes first.

Guys, I’m really excited at how close we are to the $150 incentive level! I’m bouncing up and down – and, I confess, I’m kind of curious to see if we can make it to the $201 level as well (not in the least because of the furnace bill, but I want to see how I handle a second Giraffe Call in a month, too). 😉

As a reminder – if you donated to this call, or to any call, you can ask for ($x100) words of continuation on any story posted here. Several people from the December call have not yet claimed their words.

Back to writing!

Linkback Incentive Story (and ON LJ)
Summary so far:
One-offs
First Steps (LJ) The city remembers
The Dark Places, the Numbered Streets (LJ) – Ance seeks a real adventure. And finds it.
Recovering the City (LJ)
The Tuesday Map (LJ) Life in the BAELZ.
Souvenir (LJ)
The Cracks
Through the Cracks (LJ)
“China is Here” (LJ)

Unicorn/Factory
Unicorn Chase (LJ)

Dragons
Origins of Smokey Knoll (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/233806.html. You can comment here or there.

Monday, with Snow

Jan16

Snow falls in inches in laboratories.
Where we live, it falls in
drifting mounds to my knees and
shallow valleys.

Wonderful weekend!! E.Mc & Piven, two of our closest friends, were down to visit, and to celebrate a late Christmas (Giraffe toilet paper holder! Eeeee!) We showed them Ithaca Commons, which we’d somehow managed never to do in the 4 years we’ve lived here, went out to Indian, as per Giraffe Call $50 incentive level (It was awesome. It always is), met up with an author-friend E. originally met at Albacon last year, and generally hung out and ate a lot of food.

I’m feeling recharged and ready for the week.

Also, it snowed. A lot. 🙂

[personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s Garden of Prose is still open; head there to give her a prompt on the theme “Paths.”

shadows-gallery has inked “Frozen.”… it’s a beautiful piece of art that seems to be wanting me to make a story from it.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/233586.html. You can comment here or there.

Souvenir, a story for the Giraffe Call

Jan15

For EllenMillion‘s prompt.

I like to pick up a little souvenir in every city I visit, a remembrance, if you will, a way to hold the place a little closer to me.

When I started, I was pretty haphazard about it, a postcard here, a commemorative t-shirt there, a city-opoly game in the next place.

The problems with that, though came down durability and portability. Paper deteriorates, board games lose their pieces, t-shirts fall apart after a while. They all get hard to carry, and hard to store. I wanted something that would last. I wanted to hold onto those memories for a very long time. I wanted to be able to bring them with me.

It was maybe six, seven cities in that I stumbled upon shot glasses. The ultimate solution. Almost every place has them, they’re amazingly durable, they’re distinctive in some way, and they’ll fit in a pocket if I have to. So now every city I hit, I stop in a rest stop or a souvenir shop, whatever I can find, and pick up two – one for my van, and one for the place back home, sort of a museum. Sort of a mememto… you know. That thing.

I had to go back, of course, to the first six. Now that, that was hell. Not the hardest thing I’ve done in my line of work, not by far, but it still wasn’t easy, retracing my steps, going back into the ruined cities I’d already cased for survivors and supplies, looking for one little glass.

But I like to have a remembrance that I’ve been there. A way to remember these places the way they used to be.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/233248.html. You can comment here or there.

Linkback Incentive Story: The Enemy’s City, a story of Reiassan

Jan15

This is the linkback incentive story for the January Giraffe Call. (here on DW and here on LJ. It is set in the Reiassan ‘verse, at the same time as the Rin & Girey story, but with different characters.

Be sure to tell me if you have linked to the call. Thanks!

Ciranelle did not know what to think, not just of this city, not just of this country, but of everything, of her entire life, as it had been overturned, twisted around, and turned on its head. She knew what she thought, at least, of her captor, the arrogant peasant Inalor.

“Arrogant peasant” didn’t begin to sum it up, but since Ciranelle only knew about a hundred words of Callenian and her captor knew less than that of Bitrani, it would have to do. It was enough to tell him to keep his hands off of her. Again. And then again.

She admitted to herself, if to no-one else, that she rebuffed his attentions mostly because she could, because he owned her, had claimed her fair as the sunshine for his war-bride, and yet still allowed her to push him off like a nervous plowboy. The power sent shivers through her.

Sadly, that wasn’t all sending shivers through her, and it was her only power. Her situation, as fun as it might be, was more than a little terrifying, when she gave herself time to think. And these people – not the arrogant peasant, but the rest – were so strange.

And the way they looked at her was worse than their strangeness, worse than the funny way they talked or the strange clothing they wore, clothing that Inalor had made her wear by the simple process of taking away everything else. Even in her strange-buttoned qitari, Ciranelle looked strange. Exotic.

“Exotic” was new to her, and Inalor had had to translate the word, painstakingly, slowly, with gestures. “Exotic” should mean dark-haired beauties with forest eyes and tan skin, not her, not her blonde hair and blue eyes and threatening sunburn. Not Ciranelle, ordinary enough that she should have been overlooked.

“Come here.” Inalor grabbed her arm, not roughly, but firmly enough to remind her that she had not, indeed, been overlooked, that of the twenty women hiding in the ducal manse’s wine cellar, he had taken her. The mostly-decorative shackles on her wrists clanged and jangled as he pulled her.

“What?” she asked obstinately, digging in her heels, though the stone-paved road gave her very little traction. Frustrated, she repeated herself in Bitrani: “What? What is it you want from me, you difficult little man? Why won’t you just let me go? Send me back to my mother, won’t you?”

“He will not send you back to your mother because that is not the way things are done.” The accented but clear Bitrani that answered her startled Ciranelle into silence, long enough for the speaker to come out from around Inalor. “Surely you knew that. Your people do the same.”

“I know it,” she admitted cautiously. Who was this strange woman, her hair neither Bitrani blonde nor Callanthe black but a muddy in-between color, her brown skin freckled, her Callanthe tunic a customarily Bitrani rust-red? “But I don’t have to like it, do I?” The Three help her if she did.

“You don’t have to like it, of course not. I’m assuming you don’t want me to translate your… complaints… to Inalor?” The woman raised an eyebrow, amused at Ciranelle – amused! – and a little mocking, as If she was saying I know you better than you know yourself.

The worst of it was, she was right. “Please don’t,” Ciranalle asked unhappily. “It will only make him glower. He does that enough already.” And as much as she enjoyed the power saying “no” gave her, she knew it had limits, and she wasn’t nearly ready to find those edges.

“I assumed as such. It’s more entertaining to yell when no one can understand you, isn’t it?”

Ciranelle didn’t like the way the woman smirked knowingly at her. “It’s easy to yell and holler when you’ve been taken away from your home,” she answered shortly, “taken from everything you know.”

“That’s what my father always said,” the woman answered sympathetically. “He said there was a point where he decided to stop fighting, not for my mother’s sake, but because fighting was just wearing him out.”

“Your father?” Ciranelle tilted her head. She knew it happened, but…”

“A war groom, yes.”

She flinched. “How can you say such a thing about your own father?”

“Well, in Callenian it’s not so dirty. Not dirty at all, actually.” She paused. “That, as a matter of fact, is part of why Lord Inalor hired me to translate.”

“Part of why? Lord? Hired?” Ciranelle boggled.

“One question at a time,” the woman smiled. “First, let me explain to my employer.” She turned back to Inalor – Lord? It must be a joke. – and spoke with him in fluent, smooth Callenian for a few minutes. Ciranelle caught very few words – her name, “getting along.”

When the woman turned back to her, her expression had changed; she looked hard, businesslike, distant. “Lord Inalor hired me to translate a conversation between the two of you. It is his desire, as you enter his home city, to be perfectly clear about the situation that you are in.”

Ciranelle swallowed hard. That didn’t sound good. “When did he have time to hire you?” she asked, instead of the questions she wanted to ask, instead of screaming. Lord. Lord, again. “I don’t know what there is to explain, either. I know the position I am in. I’m his whore.”

The woman spoke rapidly in Callenian, frowning deeper and deeper; in return, Inalor frowned deeply and spoke back to her, short, staccato syllables, with broad, angry hand gestures. She hadn’t seen him that angry in all of their trip here. She hadn’t seen him that angry when she rebuffed him.

Slowly, the woman turned back to Ciranelle and translated. “I think we have having that problem again, that you had in speaking about my father. Inalor wishes me to make it very clear to you that you are not, in his mind, a whore of any sort. You’re his wife.”

“How can I be his wife?” she protested. “He dragged me from everything I know. He…”

“He captured you as legal and right spoils of war, as our people – both of our peoples – have been doing as long as there has been war, and made you his wife.”

“He…” She sat down, perplexed. “He can do that, without me knowing about it?”

“He can, although it’s courteous for him to take you to the temple. He says he intends to, by the way, when you stop yelling at him quiet so much.”

“He… he intends to marry me?”

.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/230657.html. You can comment here or there.