Archive | August 27, 2014

Some Jobs Just Aren’t Worth the Risk, a ficlet of Tír na Cali fr @dahob

Courier jobs were, sometimes, risky. They were sometimes people who didn’t want messages to go through, sometimes people who hadn’t heard don’t shoot the messenger.

It paid immensely well, however, and Cory was willing to take quite a few risks for the money. Risks like taking packages over closed borders into war zones. Risks like delivering people to and from situations where they didn’t, legally, belong.

Risks like carrying a very lovely hand-written note to a very lovely, rich woman.

Cory swallowed and reminded himself of his Californian-style manners. Look down, smile, stay polite and speak when you were spoken to. He’d prefer the Middle East. He’d prefer North Korea.

“You’re certain this is for me?”

“Yes, your ladyship.” Cory had practiced in front of a mirror. He practiced every time he had a mission.

“And did you read it?”

“No, your ladyship.” Of course not, your ladyship.

“You weren’t even a little curious?” She still sounded bored. Bored was good.

“I’m not paid to be curious, your ladyship.” Which meant he never gave any indication that he cared in any way what was in his messages.

“And you are paid to be polite.” Oh, dear she was sounding amused.

“Very well, your ladyship.” Very, very well, your ladyship.

“Come here.”

“Your ladyship?”

“Come. Here.”

Ten feet separated Cory and the Lady. He liked those ten feet, his standing position and her lounging on the couch.

On the other hand, he knew better than to say no to a Lady in Tír na Cali. “Your ladyship.” Cory bowed, deeply, the way he’d practice.

“You’re cute, and you know your manners. Very cute.” Her hand darted out and grabbed his chin. “I think I’ll keep you.”

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Wildlife Refuge, a story of Fae Apoc for the Giraffe Call

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s prompt

“Let me see.”

The gate-keeper had four legs, which wasn’t the weirdest things Capri had seen on this trip. The fact that they were giraffe legs was kind of interesting, at least.

“See?” Capri made the nothing-to-hide gesture, jacket held wide open. “I left my weapons at the front gate, as instructed.” And if that wasn’t an uncomfortably vulnerable feeling, Capri didn’t know what was.

“Drop your pants and your Mask.”

Oh, that was.

“Excuse me?”

“You saw the sign on the front gate, didn’t you?”

It had been written in Old Tongue. Capri had gotten maybe one word out of seven. “Yes.” One of the words had been half-man or maybe half-human. That could mean a lot of things, all of which applied to Capri.

“So, it’s a wildlife refuge.” The… centaur? pawed the ground with one hoof. “Satyrs, fauns, minotaurs, centuars, griffins… you get the idea. Gotta be half-human, half animal, to walk in here. Or fly.”

“Ah.” Now that was a meaning Capri hadn’t thought of. “Right. So, you want me to drop my pants…”

“Well, if your upper half is animal, taking your shirt off will work, too.”

“I don’t suppose you’d settle for just seeing my ankles…”

“What, are you shy? Everyone drops trou. I mean, everyone who wears pants. I, obviously, didn’t have that problem.”

Shy. “Well. It’s just that… yeah. I’m shy.” Capri gave up and dropped Mask and trou both. “Also, faun.”

At least the fur covered almost everything.

More: Safety

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(the tip jar is a kitty for reasons)

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Did You KNOW… (Giraffe Call Commissions)

…Giraffe Call commission rates are significantly lower than my standard rate?

PLUS Giraffe Call commissions get you

* a second fic written to your prompts
* Movement towards group goals, such as more stories.

Giraffe Call rates ($1/100 words) are available until I finish this round of stories:

(the tip jar is a kitty for reasons)

Request a continuation of any giraffe story & help me support other artists.

At $25, T. & I get take-out. Thai, I think, though it may be Indian.

at $40, I will commission a piece of character art from a crowdfunded artist

At $50, I will write an extra fic for everyone.

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Three-Word-Wednesday – Entanglement

To Three-Word-Wednesday (Today’s words are entanglement, death, heartless).

This one wrote itself – helps I’ve been watching a lot of Supernatural.

She intended to avoid entanglements.

They were a bad idea in her line of work – they led to uncomfortable explanations, teary goodbyes, jealous shouting matches, and, on a couple regrettable occasions, death.

So she tended to stay away from emotional connections.

There were liaisons, of course – she still needed human contact, and her cousin was, while pleasant, her cousin. Not the sort where you’d spend the evening cuddling, watching TV, necking, even when the job didn’t get in the way.

But she avoided anything more… long-lasting than a bump-and-cuddle.

It had gotten her called heartless, a time or thirty. It had gotten her called a lot worse than that, too: slut was a favorite, tease – although she never really deserved that one – bitch. But in her line of work, she was used to being called bitch.

And who wanted an entanglement with someone who called you a bitch, anyway?

But sometimes, despite all that, she found herself caring. The job could wait for a day or a week, she’d say. Her cousin could handle this case on her own. She wasn’t actually heartless, after all. She needed human contact. But the problem with entanglements was, they tended to twist you up in knots.

And there you were all tied up, when the job called. Safer to just avoid emotional connections altogether.

Following/riffing off of this: Better Left Unsaid

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With the Goats

To wispfox‘s prompt

Morning came, and Lazhman slipped out of the house and into the herd. When he could, he slept among the goats, too, but the census-counter was in town, and everyone had been pressuring him, act normal, Lazhman. Act like a person and not a goat.

Lazhman had no interest in such things, but he did sometimes like bread and stew and, to be fair, didn’t have the stomach the goats did. So he spent most his time among the herd, let his beard grow like a goat’s and his hair as well, twisted two braids to look something like goat-horns when nobody was looking, and spent just enough time in town to convince people to keep selling him bread and stew.

He’d done that, last night. Now he could sit out on the hill near Copper and Counter and the other goat, watch the clouds and the river move by, and have no cares except the wildcats and the occasional bandit.

“Hello there.”

What? Words? Lazhman snorted and looked around.

“Hello.” She’d snuck up behind him, how had she done that? “I’m Liegya.” The census-taker, that’s who she was. “I’d like to talk to you.”


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I was Curious, so I went back 8 years in my Livejournal

12:04 pm August 29th, 2006
Care & Feeding of the [Lyn]…

Painting with broad strokes, it’s generally a good idea to not tell me things unless I ask for information. I’m a bright girl; I know a lot of common knowledge things and am good about asking for information when I don’t know something. I get irritated when I’m told things that a moment’s thinking should suggest I already know.

But, worse that that… ye gods, don’t ever tell me what I’m thinking, what I want, what I’m feeling. Not to put too fine a point on it, but you don’t know. Yo’re not in here, and assuming you know what I want/feel/think more than I do is an onforgivable arrogance.

Feel free to suggest that my words and my actions don’t seem to be in line, of course (“You said you liked him, and then you spit in his coffee. That doesn’t seem to make any sense” but not “Bah, you don’t like him!”)

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Teaser – Staff yell at Regine for Kuro_Neko

“We already have monitoring in place…”

“Clearly is it not enough!” It was a roar. It needed to be more. Caitrin dropped her voice to a very quiet, calm, analytic tone. “This cannot happen again.”

(to @Kuro_Neko’s commissioned request for the staff yelling at Regine.)

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