Archive | February 2012

Fated, a story of the Aunt Family for the Mini-giraffe-call

Feb4

To [personal profile] inventrix‘s prompt.

Modern era, another branch of the tree.

“Damnit, not again.” Karen threw the pregnancy test in the garbage and leaned against the bathroom door, sighing.

The phone rang as she was getting her nerve up to leave the bathroom. Of course. She picked it up without bothering to check the Caller ID. “Aunt Becka.” She knew she sounded inhospitable. She wanted to sound a lot more than that.

“It’s not always a blessing, I know that, dear,” her mother’s oldest sister began without preamble. “It was for me, but it wasn’t for all of us. But when it’s not a blessing…”

“It’s a responsibility. Yes.” She grumbled at the phone. “I didn’t ask for this, Aunt Becka. The family has other lines. Let them be all aunt-y. Leave me out of it.”

“The power doesn’t work that way, dear, I’m sorry. Enjoy being free of it for now, I suppose. I still have a few years left in me.”

She hung up with a scolding click, leaving Karen to stare at her phone, and wonder who there was left to appeal to.

She’d asked her mother, who had told her, simply, “You’re the last unmarried niece your Aunt Becka has.”

That all her other sisters and cousins – nine of them – had done their damndest to get pregnant before they even finished highschool and married at, in three cases, the expense of college at all, while Karen had finished school, that didn’t seem to faze anyone, least of all the Aunt Magic.

She didn’t know if it was bad luck or the magic messing with her, bad biochemistry or just a bad hand at love that had left her thirty-four, childless, and without a relationship that lasted longer than three months, but she hated it either way. Her oldest cousin’s oldest daughter was already pregnant! And she…

…would be the crazy lady in the corner house with no love and no children, raising cats and reading tarot cards. And, because everyone assured her that she had no skill at this sort of thing (her sister Letty had had that, and their cousin Edna, but they had run screaming from the power with babies at seventeen and nineteen, respectively), she would just be a vessel, a stupid vessel for the stupid family power. A coma patient could do that. A BOY could do that.

In the corner of the bathroom, a photo fell over. Sighing, Karen picked it up. Her Great-Aunt Ruan smiled back at her, her arm around her long-term beau Johias.

“Well.” Un-married and childless, that was the rule. Smiling slowly, Karen dialed the city’s adoption agency. No-one said she had to carry this stupid power around alone.

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1323390.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/258018.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Lines of the City, a story of Stranded World for the Giraffe Call

Feb4

For [personal profile] eseme‘s prompt

Stranded World has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ

Autumn didn’t like the city.

She thought, all in all, it was a fair dislike. The city was noisy, crowded, smelly, loud, and foreign; the traffic impatient, the people worse.

She had grown up near people like those she chose to live with now – people who were sideways-of-normal enough that they didn’t judge, or, at least, when they did, there was someone else to call them on it. Walking into the city was walking back into the normal world, as her mother would say, “Mundania.” It was remembering how to put on a face that felt stiff and uncomfortable, like a suit, like a mask.

There were times, however, when the cities were unavoidable. Paperwork. Downtown craft festivals. Her brother calling. A mysterious message from someone who might be Tattercoats and might not be (The handwriting had been all off, but the wording had been perfect). And so into the city she went.

Craft fair meant she could shirk conventional appearance rules; paperwork meant she could not. Winter meant she had to look nice, but a little odd, to tweak him. Tattercoats meant she had to look pretty. She had spent more time getting dressed today than she normally took in a week, and ended up looking, to the naked eye, quite a bit like Autumn-dressed-down, or perhaps a Victorian Gypsy.

The paperwork people did not notice, which, after all, was the whole idea. She filed her forms, paid her fees, and left poorer and more knotted into the system, but less likely to become far more poor and far tighter knotted. Her father had taught her that: “‘Render unto Caesar,’ honey, means ‘make sure the guards have no reason to look at you.'”

Her father, she pondered, had been more than a bit of a rebel.

Winter had noticed, if only for the many-times-touched lines of her clothing, but had simply said, “you look very nice today, Autumn.” Winter was only a rebel in having gone as smooth and orderly as was humanly possible.

And then she was in the park, waiting for someone who might or might not be Tattercoats, and a man walking by looked at her, looked at her and didn’t say anything, but tipped his hat at her as if it was 1890, and Autumn felt something twist. She reached for the connection to Tattercoats, found it, as always, elusive and uncooperative, and found instead the heartstring of the city.

She was sitting on the bench, reading songs in the heart of the metropolis, when her alarm rang an hour later to remind her of the festival. She left humming, new songs in her heart and a new design for a picture already presenting itself. She might prefer the wild roads, but the city, it seemed, would have its own song for her, too.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/257670.html. You can comment here or there.

Giraffe, Etc. Summary

Feb4

The Mini-Call is up! (and on LJ) Prompt on the Aunt Family series!

Since the last summary (and on LJ), I have written:

For the January Giraffe Call:
One-Off
And Before That? (LJ)
Backstage (LJ), technically Big Trouble in Little China fanfic

Fairy Town
In Mr. Ting’s (LJ), after Burning Summer Quest (LJ)
Katydid’s Camp (and on LJ)

Tír na Cali
Tea with HER (continuation 5) (LJ)
Tea with HER (Completion) (LJ)

Fae Apoc
When the Gods Attacked (LJ)
Delving in History (LJ)
Bringing Home History (LJ)

Bug Invasion
From the moment they breathed our air (Lj) after: Staying in the City (LJ) and Spooks vs. Bugs (DW)

Non-Giraffe Writing included:
Non-Giraffe

Addergoole Yr9
Moving On (LJ), Ahouva & Basalt
Damn List (LJ)
[personal profile] clare_dragonfly wrote this story of Kayros and Vic.
[personal profile] kajones_writing created
these characters and then wrote
this story and
this story.

Addergoole: Boom
Meeting the Family (LJ) (a chat log)
Roleplay Log (Cya/Cabal, posted by cluudle)
Cleaning Up (LJ), One month later
cluudle wrote this story set in the same general timeline as my current Boom ‘fics, staring Yoshi’s paternal half-brother Etienne.
Legacy (LJ) – several years later

Tir na Cali:
Wrong Brother? ()after “Can we be that Close?” (no xpost). [Donor Perk]
Cali-Novel Ch17-most (LJ) [Beta]

Aunt Family:
Read my story “The Wish Machine” (from the Aunt Family ‘verse) in this month’s EMG-Zine!

And I’ve asked you, and asked you to ask me:
Pick a character to ask questions of! Any character of mine in any setting!
(and on LJ)
Ask Kendra here (LJ)
Ask Rin here! (LJ)
Ask Audrey Here! (LJ)

The donations reached an AMAZING $246!

Thanks to everyone who participated!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/257500.html. You can comment here or there.

Mini-Giraffe Call: The Aunt Family

Feb4

The Mini-Giraffe Call is CLOSED! Thanks to all that participated!

For the next 36 hours, leave your prompts on the Aunt Family ‘Verse.

The Aunt Family has a landing page here (and on LJ)

Because this is a mini-Call, there will be mini-perks!

* For every $10 donated, one prompter chosen at random will get an extra 500-word story
* If the call reaches $30, I will write a second prompt for everyone
* If you donate, as always, you had sponsored 100 words continuation on any Giraffe story for every $1US donated.


Also! Because my goal for this mini-call is to raise $$ for character art, I will take donations in art as well. Talk to me to discuss reasonable words-for-art rate.

(Dwolla account available on request)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/257100.html. You can comment here or there.

Ask-the-Characters session: Audrey (Dragons next Door)

Feb3

She left her apron at home; the woman who steps into the interview chamber is coiffed, trench-coated, and pretty; when she hangs up the coat and fedora to sit down, she looks like a 30’s screen siren. Blond-brown hair falls in perfect ringlets. A tea cup comes to hand, and she smiles at the audience over it.

“I hear you have questions of me?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/257021.html. You can comment here or there.

Katydid’s Camp, a story of The Fairy Town for the Giraffe CAll

Feb3

For kelkyag‘s prompt

After Loaves (LJ)

It had started with Katydid’s Kitchen. That was ambitious enough, strange enough. They’d already started calling her the Loaves-and-Fishes girl, and, Jorge had to admit, it certainly looked miraculous. Since Katydid wasn’t telling her methods, too, people just assumed magic.

In this City, Jorge pondered, everyone was magic-mad.

The crazy thing was, however she was doing it, the girl was pulling out miracles. She was feeding people who’d been starving, weaving blankets, mending tents; this little suburban kid was taking care of an entire Hooverville, and doing so with a level of tact that the social workers just couldn’t hack.

But that wasn’t enough for the girl. She’d done something, he didn’t know what, but she’d shown up one day with a stack of paperwork, and, bam, next thing he knew, she’d moved Katydid’s Kitchen two blocks north. To the factory district. To the old shoe factory, a monument to the days when industry used to be here.

And then, then, like somehow she made sense, she’d rounded up about ten of the most stable of the Hoover-villians, and put them to work. “Go get this,” she’d tell one, “go ask for that,” she’d tell another one. Pallets. Remnant fabric. Dumpstered wood, and dumpstered food. The stuff the Salvation Army threw out. Stuff off the curbs.

“Katlyn-didn’t,” Jorge asked her, when he could get a moment of her time without being sent running like an errand boy, “what in hell are you playing at?”

She looked at him, which was a plus. She hadn’t done that in a few weeks. But the look was odd, like he hadn’t gotten the memo everyone else had.

“I’m building us a house, Jorge,” she told him. “The deep cold is coming. People die out there.”

He shook his head, not understanding, but in awe anyway. When she got like this, he was learning, there was only one thing to say.

“How can I help?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/256719.html. You can comment here or there.

Bringing Home History, a continuation of Fae Apoc for the Giraffe Call (@inventrix)

Feb3

After
Scrounging for History (LJ)
Digging through History (LJ)
Delving in History (LJ)

Part 3 of ~7.5
Fae Apoc has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ

At least they knew what to do. Karida nodded to Dor, who began plundering the area quickly.

“My home,” the girl hissed. “Go ‘way.”

“No, it’s not,” Karida answered gently. “There’s not even a blanket. You may have been scrounging here, same as us, but you don’t live here.”

“My home,” she repeated stubbornly. Karida reached out again, but she could find nothing like a nest. Even the most feral of humans made nests.

“No,” she shook her head, and carefully took the girl’s wrists. They were thin and bony, with a bit of firm muscle under the skin. “Do you have a tribe? A village, a town, a family, a people?” She stopped, because with every word, the girl flinched.

“No,” she whimpered. “Did…”

“Aah.” A sole survivor, perhaps, a runaway? Karida lead her gently back into the basement, and from there up the stairs. “Where were your people?”

The girl’s words seemed to be coming more smoothly as she kept at it. “To south,” she gestured.

“In the towers?” Those were giant buildings. They could house a whole colony in one of those, and never need to split up again.

“No, no. No!” She almost shouted the last, pulling at Karida’s grip on her wrists. “No.” Her shoulders slumped. “Further.”

“Not the towers. Okay.” Those would need investigating, probably by the whole company. “Why… oh.”

The girl folded in on herself at they reached the sunlight, but nothing could hide the finely-pointed ears sticking out of her hair, or the faintly golden shimmer of her skin. “They threw you out?” she guessed.

“Guh,” the girl sobbed, pulling her knees to her chin. How long has she been on her own? Well, she wasn’t any longer. Dor had followed them out of the hole; he handed her a length of rope now, and a small bit of bread, and their canteen.

Karida knelt down. “It’s all right. What’s your name?”

“Fiery,” she managed, still flinching down as small as she could get.

“Okay, Fiery. You know this area pretty well?”

“Little.” She was talking into her knees, but it wasn’t the first time Karida had interpreted, and, behind them, Amalie was humming quietly, helping.

“Then here.” She pressed canteen and bread into the girl’s hands. “Eat. Drink. We will feed you and give you water. We will protect you.” And clean her up. “And you will guide us around this place.”

Fiery nodded, and nibbled at the food cautiously, washing it down with long gulps of water. “I can,” she agreed, her mouth full. “Protect?” Her pointed ears perked up at that.

“Protect you,” Dor agreed. He sat down to the other side of the girl, one hand on her shoulders. “Like you were our own.”

“And teach you,” Amalie offered, working it into her tune. “Like a little sister.”

“Like a sister,” Karida agreed. It would remain to see how many words the girl could learn, but that one, it was clear she knew.

“Sister.” She ducked her head to hide a smile. “Yes.”

Continued in Singing down History (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/256401.html. You can comment here or there.

Giraffey Goodness!

Feb3

Last Call on the poll for this weekend’s livewriting session:
LJ
DW

If anyone has a suggestion for a live-writing program that isn’t Google Docs, I’m open to test driving something else.

Pick a character to ask questions of! Any character of mine in any setting!
(and on LJ)

Ask Kendra here (LJ)

Ask Rin here! (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/256001.html. You can comment here or there.

Ask the characters 2: Rin

Feb3

The shortish black-haired woman steps briskly into the room, the silk of her formal tunic and pants rustling so very softly. The lines of the tunic show off an athletic but womanly figure underneath; the bright colours go beautifully with her dark-tanned skin.

She perches more than sits on the high backed stool. “So,” she smiles. “You want to ask me questions. So ask?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/255887.html. You can comment here or there.

Damn List, a story of Ahouva/#Addergoole Year Nine for… um.. myself.

Feb2

After Moving On (LJ

Content warning for more … post-trauma magical thinking. I really don’t know what to call it but Ahouva’s brain is not a fun place to be and she’s not very nice to herself.

Out the back door of the classroom, down a side hallway, if she turned left here she could make it to the place where they went outside for kaana lessons. She planned out her route, even as she examined Basalt’s orders – and not just the very few he made orders directly, but all the other things he said that didn’t force obedience, just tested it.

She didn’t have an direct rules about where she should be after class, but he had said “I’ll meet you after your class.” That could just be courtesy, but it was probably a test. Probably a test she was in the process of failing. Just because Calvin creeped her out. Bad girl.

Chastising herself: she knew better. She knew to do what she was told. If she did what she was told, Basalt would at least have less reason to be unhappy with her, to punish her. He hadn’t punished her yet, except these lists, but that just meant it would be horrid when he finally did.

She slowed down and, forcing her feet to keep going, turned around. She had to go back. It was the only chance she had at understanding what he wanted of her. It was her only chance of minimizing her punishm-

“Ow! You bastard!” Ahouva stopped inside the doorway again, trying to stay hidden and still listen. That was Calvin, wasn’t it?

“If you ever,” Basalt’s voice was low and menacing, a rumble like a volcano about to erupt, “say anything like that where Ahouva can hear you, I will break more than your nose, you pissant little piece of shit. You leave my Kept alone.”

“You can’t get away with this shit.”

“Watch me. Bring your useless little friends, and I’ll bring my friends, and we’ll see how that goes.” He was terrifying. She pressed herself against the doorway and tried to become invisible. “Get out of here. I don’t want her to have to deal with you.”

“I’m gonna…”

“Now now, you aren’t. Get out of here.” Ahouva heard someone walking away, hurrying away, what a wonderful idea. She should…

No, she shouldn’t. She made herself smile faintly as Basalt rounded the corner, and stopped, frowning.

Frowning. Frowning was bad. She took an involuntary step backwards. “I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t want you to hear that.” He wiped his hand on his jeans, leaving a wet streak on the black denim. Ahouva gulped, and stepped back again, cursing herself as Basalt’s frown deepened. “‘Who, I’m sorry. Believe me, I didn’t want you to hear that.”

“I believe you,” she answered dully.

“Oh, balls, honey, come here,” he grumbled, holding out a hand. Unwillingly, she reached out for his hand, putting her fingers over his fingers. “Ahouva, Calvin is a grade-A asshole. I don’t want him bothering you. What are you…?”

“This stupid list,” she muttered, scribbling in it. “It’s still after class and…”

He peered over her shoulder. “Oh. Well. Let’s go talk about that, okay?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/255729.html. You can comment here or there.