Archive | February 17, 2012

Privates, a story of Rin & Girey

This is early on, possibly just after Hurt/Comfort [Beta/Donor story]

Reiassan has a Landing Page (LJ Link).

She poured another cup of tea.

“Were you ever a private soldier?”

“I was… a Duke’s son,” Girey answered, staring at the metal cup. A Duke’s son, because she’d taken away even who he was. “No. I started as an officer. I trained as an officer. What about you?”

He looked over at her, challenging her. Go ahead, lie to me. Pretend you’re common.

She just smirked. “I am not… a Duke’s son,” she countered, which was at least probably not a lie. “And I started out at the bottom.”

“You started like a peasant.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen your signet.”

“You have,” she agreed, maddeningly calmly. “Yes. But I started at the bottom.” Her smile finally graced her lips, although it didn’t look like her. It looked like a soldier’s smile, tired and laughing at the world. “Ill-fitting uniform tunic and marching until my feet bled, just like everyone else. Sword drills until my blisters had blisters.”

“You’re a Healer,” he protested. The idea of a priestess of Reiassannon – even if she was some sort of lay priestess, she was still a Healer – learning sword-drills was just wrong.

But she kept smiling. “Does me no good, does it, if the enemy attacks while I’m healing someone?”

He flushed. That had been him, hadn’t it? “Well,” he grumped, “it served you fine against me.”

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Down in Kitty Town, a drabble of Tir na Cali for the Giraffe Call

For [personal profile] lilfluff‘s prompt.

Tír na Cali has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.

“I need you to head up to Oregon City,” Miles told her.

“One of the seventeen people up there causing trouble?” she joked weakly. She’d had plans for the weekend, but Miles had a way of knowing these things and sabotaging them.

“It’s not, technically, Oregon City. Not anymore.” He passed her the data pad with the file. “Baroness Maeve deeded a square of it to a daughter of one of her slaves, a moddie. And her daughter, Baroness Sybil, expanded that to two square miles. Autonomous. Her own law there.”

“She can… yeah. She can do that, can’t she? If the Countess above her doesn’t object, she can call on the Yseult precedent.”

“Exactly. But what I’ve got now is the granddaughter of two moddies – Agency moddies, mind you, not skin jobs – who controls her own territory. And Vrrronica ni Annawrrra – don’t forget the triple R when you talk to her – who has, I’ll note, been ennobled by Baroness Sybil – Lady Vrrronica has set herself up a little moddie town.”

“Moddie town.” Irena stared at the notes. “And you want me to…”

“Put on those cat ears you wear so well and go looking into it. They can’t tell a skinjob from a deep job if the acting is good enough, and I know you can do it. You did really well in the ni Uhura case last year.”

Irena sighed. “All right. Rrrina it is. But Miles… I had hairballs for a month last time.”

“It’s a deep cover operation,” her boss smiled. “It’s good for hazard pay, and I’ll put you in for a week leave someplace with a nice big spot of sun, too.”

She scratched behind one ear. “All right. Since I can’t really say no, anyway.”

“Ain’t government service grand?” Her boss’s grin stretched to downright shit-eating. “Have fun in kitty-town.”

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Alder by Post update

* I am taking subscriptions for Alder by Post, as I reached the required amount of interest. A subscription is $20 for a year w/in the US, $25 outside the US.

If you have donated >$50 to the Giraffe or other Alder projects, all you have to do is ask for the postcards; you do not need to pay!

* I still have several copies of the limited edition First Issue of Alder by Post, featuring a story from the Aunt Family ‘verse. If you donated to the January December Giraffe Call, all you have to do is ask. If not, it’s $2 US, $2.50 non-US.

* Issue Two is in production and should be out by Wednesday of this coming week, 2/22/12. If you donated to the February January Giraffe Call and wish a copy, just send me your address. If you did not, $2 US, $2.50 non-US.

Alder by Post
1 Issue, US $2.00 USD
I Issue, non-US $2.50 USD
1 year, US $20.00 USD
1 year, non-US $25.00 USD

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Window Shopping, a story of Tír na Cali for the Giraffe Call (@anke)

For [personal profile] anke‘s prompt.

Tír na Cali has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.

Setting note: Jane’s thought “no ap to the end of his name” means that Andrew does not have a name following royal naming conventions, despite the royal-red hair.

Content warning: this story includes mentions of slavery and nudity.

Jane liked going to the mall, hanging out with her friends there, like most of the people she knew did; like, she was pretty sure, teenagers everywhere did.

So when family moved from a small, middle-class neighborhood in the burbs to an upscale one with her mother’s second promotion in a year, she prevailed on a new friend in her new school, a shy boy named Andrew with a shock of red hair but no ap to the end of his name (immediately giving him and Jane something in common), to show her the mall.

“It’s not going to be the kind of thing you’re used to,” he warned.

Jane scoffed. “I can handle a mall, Andy. It’s not like I grew up in the ghetto or something.” Even though, to the super-rich and royals they went to school with, she might as well have.

“All right. If you flip out…”

“I know. Do so quietly. Geez, Andy. I’m not an American or something.”

He’d only smiled weakly, and agreed to show her around, because, really, what else was he going to do?

Freak out quietly. She wasn’t going to freak out. She wasn’t a country bumpkin. She really wasn’t. But this mall… if mall you could call it…

“Andy, tell me I don’t look like a country bumpkin.”

“You really don’t,” he assured her. “Do you want to put me on a leash? You’d fit in better.”

She eyed him thoughtfully. He looked serious. He sounded serious. And there certainly were any number of people wandering around with collared slaves, some on leashes, some not. She smiled, a slow thing that seemed to start at her toes. The stores were fancier. The floors were fancier. There were naked slaves in a store window right there, practically in front of her nose. Naked! Her family was well-off, but Jane had only ever seen two or three slaves up close, and never quite this close.

She wrapped her arm around Andy’s waist, getting a small smile from him. “I think we’ll do just fine,” she said, feeling it becoming true as she said it. “Let’s just window shop.” The blonde in the window was pretty cute, after all.

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