Archive | March 23, 2012

Shit, Fan, a continuation of Fae Apoc for the February Giraffe Call

For Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt, second half of the story, after Up Shit Creek (LJ) and Shit Keeps Coming (LJ)

Fae Apoc has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.


The redheaded stripper launched herself at him from the stage. This was… not what Pyry was expecting. Sure, he was a generous tipper, and always tried to be a gentleman, but…

“Eee, you’re adorable. Bo Duke, what did you DO to yourself?” She straddled his lap, putting his face directly between her lamé-clad breasts, and stroked his horn.

His. Horn.

He didn’t whip his head up, because he didn’t want to poke her in anything important or expensive, but he did, slowly, look up into her face. It was a long way and a lot of freckles up to her stunning green eyes, but he made the voyage heroically. “Desirée?” he managed.

“Des, get back on stage,” the manager hollered.

“Oh, come on, Ted, there’s three people in the bar and one of them’s asleep. Besides, Bo paid me for the lap dance, didn’t you, Bo,” she grinned.

“Of course I did, Des.” He tucked the folded fifty in the side of her g-string. “Des, I thought…”

“Oh, yes,” she grinned at him. “We were talking about what you did to yourself. I didn’t know you were fae, you lovely man. What made you decide to some in with your Mask dropped after all this time?”

“I, uh.” Pyry squirmed. “Just Changed.”

“Just.” She pursed her lips. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“Yeah…?” He had a sinking feeling he’d suddenly lost his favorite dancer. He suppressed the urge to slide another fifty in her g-string, and, instead, asked merely, “you like it?”

“It’s lovely.” She petted his horn gently. “It feels good, like getting a shower.”

“It should,” he admitted dryly. “It can turn anything cleaner.”

“That’s a pretty impressive power, Bo.” She kissed the base of his horn and wiggled pointedly on his lap. “Do you have a Mentor and all that?”

“Uh…” He squirmed more. “My mother’s looking for someone.”

“Hunh.” She pressed his face into her chest as she made thinking noises. “I know someone. I know a couple someones. Who’s your mother?”

“Argh,” he complained against the freckled curves. “I’m not eight.”

“No,” she laughed, “you’re not. But there’s a way these things go, and, well, I don’t think you want me as your Mentor.”

“You?” he coughed. “I… don’t think I’d be able to focus on my studies.”

“Oh, nonsense, you…” whatever she was going to say was drowned out by the slamming of doors as three… trolls, they had to be trolls, Pyry hadn’t know such people really existed… stomped into the bar. “Shit, Nedetakaei. Stay behind me, Bo.”

“Oh, not from you, too,” he grumbled. “I’m. Not. A. Kid.” The tall stripper was already off of her barstool, though, and chanting under her breath.

“Fine, then, try not to get killed.” She tossed him a short wooden sword as it appeared in her hand, and… jumped. Landing upside-down on the ceiling.

“Nice.” He didn’t have time to appreciated it more than that, though; the trolls were going straight for him.

“Horn,” the blue one laughed. “That’ll be fun. Come on, pretty boy, you can be our new pet if you’re good.”

Pyry felt a smile stretching his lips. He was finally going to get to fight monsters! “Maybe I can take you home for my sister to play with,” he quipped… and the fight was on.

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Princesses, a story of the Aunt Family for the March Giraffe Call

For [personal profile] jjhunter‘s Prompt.

A continuation of “Tell me a Story,” (LJ), “Princesses, Knights, and the Huntsman” (LJ), and The Princess and the Huntsman (LJ)

The Aunt Family has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.

Rosaria sipped her tea and stared out the window at the tiny back yard. She’d moved here when she couldn’t take care of the big house anymore, leaving that to her oldest daughter and her brood. The family did that, passing houses around – this one had belonged to an elderly aunt of Rosaria’s, Estebana – much the way they passed charms, and trinkets, and power. Nothing was ever lost.

It had been Estebana, actually, Aunt Essie, and her grandmother Anselma, who had taught Rosaria about the stories. She could still remember sitting at the kitchen table – now her table, just with a new coat of varnish – learning about the archetypes.

Her cousin Adam, Estebana’s son, had been there, too. It had been his watercolors that she’d learned from, bright, brilliant paintings illustrating the forms the story-characters might take.

“This is the princess,” Aunt Essie had begun. The painting was of a girl in a flowing yellow dress with a white pinafore. Rosaria had wanted that dress so badly, and the little yellow-gold tiara, and the bouquet of flowers. “She represents a certain type of girl. She is pretty, and regal, and she will need rescuing at some point. Unless…” She pointed to one of the smaller women in the background of the picture. “If she is holding this,” this princess wore fringed buckskin, and carried a fierce-looking club, “it will be she that does the rescuing.”

That hadn’t, at the time, seemed that romantic to a young Rosaria. Now, staring out at the daffodils, she saw her granddaughter Lily, wearing a white pinafore and gold tiara, and carrying a giant war-club. It bore reflection.

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It’s really too early for gardening, even if it has been in the 80’s the last couple days here (Last frost date is sometime in April… (looks it up)… this says mid-May, this says early May.

But! Last winter we planted garlic, and it’s coming up brilliantly. We also planted crocuses, and they’ve bloomed, and day lilies, and they’re beginning to come up.

My favorite, though? (I’m silly) Last year, we freecycled (<3 Freecycle) some chives and planted them in a patch of semi-garden next to the house. They're up and ready to be hair-cut already! (I love chives because they're always up before everything else, even in miserably grey, snowy Marches).

Speaking of freecycle, some time ago, I freecycled some seeds. I still have a few left, having stored them in the freezer in an airtight bag in the meantime, so, to fill out the chives, I planted Something that calls itself Chinese Garlic Chives around and between our two chive tufts. All The Chives!

This weekend, we’ll hit the farmstands, finish planning our raised beds, and figure out where to plant the asparagus bed.

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