Archive | August 2014

The Clean-up

Aug13

First in this story: Unwelcome Guests
Previous: Kicking Out Unwelcome Guests

I have more planned, but this was a good stop point for this part. 673 words.

“Your target was never here.” Baram punctuated his sentence with a sharp kick to the bikers’ leader’s ribs. The woman grunted, and, on the other side of the field of battle, the nearly-dead tank made a pained noise.

Interesting.

Worry about it later. Baram picked up the boy. “This one stays with us. And your flamethrower.”

“Keep the girl, we need the boy.”

Even more interesting. Baram shifted his weight to his back foot, Jaelie’s cue to pick up the negotiation. “If you need the boy, even more reason we should keep him. You were the ones who were dumb enough to attack us on our home territory.”

“We were hunting down a target the boy said was here.”

“Then he’s not that good, is he? Both stay.”

“If we swear that our gang will never bother you or yours again…”

“Then you’ll be making reasonable precautions to stay alive.” Jaelie relented, just a bit. She shifted forward. “Look, we’ll keep the boy for six months. Come back then, and you can have him.”

“And the girl?”

“She’s ours. Come back in two years and we might – might – talk abut it.”

“You could-”

“We could kill you. I wouldn’t even have to get my hands dirty.” Baram admired, silently, the way that Jaelie made it sound casual. She was tough as nails. All of them were. “The tree will do it for me.”

“Six months on the boy. He’s yours until then. Two years on the girl. She’s her own woman, good luck holding on to her.”

“We’ll hold on to her.” Via jumped down from the wall and grinned. “One way or another. You get on down the road before we change our mind.”

Baram put a foot on the fire-thrower’s arrow-pinned wrists and nodded to Jaelie. She grabbed the seer boy and hauled him to his feet, pushing him against the wall.

The trees let go of the biker boss, and what was left of her merry band managed to get themselves onto their bikes and onto the road.

That left Baram and the girls to deal with the prisoners. “You.” He toed the girl on the ground. “You belong to Viatrix for the next year.”

The girl grunted. “Or what?”

“Or I let the trees have you.”

She twisted to look at the trees, which were reaching out to her with greedy arms. “I Belong to Viatrix for the next year.”

“Yes, you do.” Via pulled out the arrow with a yank, and the girl screamed. “Come with me.” She shot off instructions as she walked, and the girl pulled herself to her feet.

If she stayed that rough, Baram would have to talk to her. Hopefully, it settled down once she had the girl under control.

“Do you want me to get Aly, Boss?” Jaelie manhandled the boy over to him. “I mean, I already have Wish, and he’s enough for any two normal people…”

Baram showed his teeth. He’d meant it to be a smile, but Swish made him snarl. “No. No, this one’s mine.” He poked the boy in the chest. “Six months.”

The boy squirmed, and couldn’t quite look Baram in the face. “Six months.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to clear his throat. “I Belong to you for the next six months, sir.” He dropped to his knees and offered up his wrists. “I come to you with nothing, and everything I have will come from you.”

Baram shot a glare at Jaelie and Via, because he couldn’t very well glare at the kid, could he? He wrapped his hand carefully around the boy’s outstretched wrists. “You Belong to me,” he agreed, “for the next six months. To…” Aly or Jaelie would have done the words better. “to use and to protect. To shelter, to command. Yes?”

Now, the boy looked at him. “Yes.”

They still had two former “friends” in the basement to deal with. But Baram figured their actual prisoners of war might come first. “Come, then. Be Mine.”

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Here in Spain We Just Call That Rice.

Aug13

Homer: Can you let me out of the boat?
Brazilian Kidnapper: What for?
Homer: [Whining]I have to go do a piss.
Brazilian Kidnapper: [Annoyed] Again?
Homer: I’m sorry, I have a bladder the size of a Brazil nut.
Brazilian Kidnapper: We just call them nuts here.
Simpsons, Season 13: Blame it on Lisa

We made Spanish Rice Monday for dinner – we are on the great Clean Out The Freezer quest, and the first thing to come to T’s hand was ground beef. We have peppers, bell & hot, ripening in the garden, and I’ve been in a rice mood.

Thus: Spanish rice. It’s one of those dishes, like stir-fry, that you don’t need a recipe for, but I looked it up just for fun (our version involves white long-grain rice, tomatoes, the last of a jar of salsa, the aforementioned ground beef, onions, the white ends of some bok choy, and a strange variety of spices that included Tabasco and Garam Masala)

I got a kick out of the Wikipedia article:

Etymology
Although called “Spanish rice”, this dish is unknown in Spain. The term “Spanish rice” is not used by Mexicans or Mexican food enthusiasts, and its use probably stems from the fact that the Spanish language is spoken in Mexico; the dish is usually simply referred to as arroz (“rice”) in Mexico.

“…here in Mexico we just call that rice.”

~

I got all the way through this & then realized that my quote might make it sound like I don’t know the difference between Spain, Mexico, and (Portuguese-speaking) Brazil. Not the case! We’re a Simpsons-joke household, and that one comes up even in totally inaccurate situations (“…here in France we just call that toast.”)

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Three-Word-Wednesday – The Easy Way & Hard

Aug13

To Three-Word-Wednesday (Today’s words are eradicate, mercenary, squeamish).

In the same world as last week’s story, The Job

There were always politicians.

Even now, even after the near-end of the world, even after the years of struggling to find a new way to survive, even now, when survival was not guaranteed for more than ten percent of the remaining population, there were politicians.

And they would stand in their safe, protected halls in their safe, cozy auditoriums, and they would pound their fist and shout. “Eradicate the Blank Plains!” they would demand. “Wipe out the Creatures! Make this world safe!”

Over and over again, the politicians would shout, because shouting was safe when you were within the walls.

There were always the mercenary ones.

If it seemed like there were more of them now, when every commodity was a rarity, when there were so many ways to gouge and so few could afford to be gouged, then it was probably a matter of perspective: there had always been those out for number one.

They would stand by the gates and offer “services,” in the marketplace and offer supplies, by the graves and console widows, and all at a low, low price.

If it could be bought, they’d sell it, because selling was easy when your audience was captive.

There were always the squeamish.

If they seemed far more delicate now, when there was no room for delicacy, when food was scarce and resources tight, if they seemed too soft to live, it was probably the comparison: most people had grown far more hard. But there were always those that could not toughen.

They would wail over their choices for meat, when even their herd animals were starving. They would wring their hands over an outlaw’s death, when outlaws threatened everyone.

They would flap their hands, because it was easy to be squeamish when someone else was getting dirty.

There were always those who wouldn’t do what was needful: the politicians, the mercenary, the squeamish.

And then there were the Rangers.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/774111.html. You can comment here or there.

Book Review: The Ideztozhyuh Strode Out of the Mountain (Reiassan Demifiction)

Aug13

It is a truth of our people that goats have always been with us: we imagine, if we are fanciful, that we rode on goatback from between Reiassannon’s legs, back in the Time Before Time.

A recent paper penned by the learned Scholar Piebryo-Tis seeks to dispel that notion, along with several other of our closely-held family stories, as it were.

The Ideztozhyuh Strode Out of the Mountain, Lannamer Stone Press, tells a story – one nearly as unbelievable as the fable of riding from the goddess’s thighs, if with more scholarly backing – of a possible origin of the Calenyena people, and, perhaps more importantly, of our goats.

In the extensive pages of this tome, Scholar Piebryo-Tis details finds from dusty archives left sitting since The Voyage, as Ideztozhyuh Strode refers to the mythical travel from another world. In these finds, the story goes, lies evidence that the first goats were hardly larger than the horses you’ll see running around some mid-continent valleys.

While every schoolchild knows that goats are bred for stamina, size, wool, milk, and temperament, it is one thing to think of gaining a [term here translates as “knot” but means, pretty much, “hand;” a unit of measurement about 4″ or a decimeter long] or sleeker wool; it is quite another to think of starting from the size of a modern newborn kid.

That is, of course, not the only revolutionary idea in Scholar Piebryo-Tis’ work. Among other thoughts unlikely to come into common acceptance any time soon: that the Ideztozhyuh, Piebryo-Tis’ word for these proto-Calenyena, were illiterate until they encountered the mythical Writing People, who taught them language; that the Ideztozhyuh learned to dye fabric from the Bitrani (ridiculous! We’d still all be wearing brown wool!); and that the Ideztozhyuh learned to ride goats from a stranger from another mountain.

Scholar Piebryo-Tis’ sources are fascinating, and the work involved in finding all of this material was clearly well-done. If the Scholar would stick to the facts and not go off on weasel-tracks, this would be a much more solid read.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/773873.html. You can comment here or there.

Wanted Poster (Demifiction for Reiassan)

Aug12

Find This Woman

Lutlin Red

(Woodcut of a sharp-cheeked Calenyena woman with a simple 2-braid hairdo and a scar across her nose)

Stole three goats from Amenet 7 Gidkah
Reward 20 High Kie for the goats
5 High Kie for Lutlin Red

(woodcut of three goats, one with curly horns, one with straight horns, and one with a broken left horn & a curled-back right horn)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/773425.html. You can comment here or there.

Named Female Characters with active personalities/speaking lines

Aug12

Stranded World: Autumn, Summer, Spring, Mellie, Eugenia

Reiassan: Rin, Tairiekie, Enrie

Tir na Cali: So full of short pieces it’s hard to tell, though the mermiad, Lor-Amie

Faerie Apocalypse: Ditto.

Vas’ World: Becky, Malia, Suki

Dragons Next Door: Audra, Junie, Bianna

Facets of Dusk: Josie, Alexa,Xenia

The Planners: So full of short pieces it’s hard to tell, but Tess

Unicorn/Factory:So full of short pieces it’s hard to tell

The Aunt Family: Eva, Ruan, Beryl, Chalce, Aunt Rosaria, Zenobia, Deborah, Hadelai, Beatrix

Space Accountant: Genique, Marist Irio, First Mate Cleonorayen Clyd

Science!: Cara

Fairy town: Mrs. Bao

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/772869.html. You can comment here or there.

Bad Reception

Aug12

From [community profile] dailyprompt, 014-08-12: “bad reception”

“I don’t know.” Kylie thumped the radio down on the desk. “I’m getting pretty bad reception here.”

“Are you sure it’s the radio?” Jacob finished weatherstripping the last window and moved on to the door. “The news has been spotty for weeks.”

“Spotty, yeah, but not static-y” She set the radio down as it found a station it could stick to for more than a second. “There.”

“…god help us I don’t know what’s coming but it’s almost in here. I’m hiding under my desk but I don’t think that will stop it. Oh please, help…”

The radio cut back to static. Kylie and Jacob shared a glance.

Slowly, without taking her eyes off of Jacob, Kylie turned the radio off. After a moment’s consideration, she removed the batteries.

“Bad reception.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/772728.html. You can comment here or there.

Not All Bad

Aug12

First: So, Who Are You?.
Previous: Anything She Wants
“How does that feel?”

Blaecleah shifted his weight on his knees, shifted his hands behind his neck, and twisted to look up at his – err. At Niobe. “Exposed,” he admitted. “Ah, um… kinda like puppet strings being tugged. Not bad…” He shook his head, feeling weird as his neck moved against his hands. “Just different. Vulnerable.”

“Rather.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him. “You look very good like that, I have to say. And it wouldn’t be out of the range of my power to leave you like that for, say, an hour every evening.”

“I can think of a lot worse ways to spend an hour.” Blaecleah’s mouth was going to be the death of him.

“And many of them I could probably do. Do you understand?”

“I get that you control me. Sedge showed that pretty well.” Yep, definitely gonna kill him. “I mean, I know I got in over my head already.”

She frowned. Crap, crap, crap. Blaecleah backpedaled. “I’m sorry. I know, you just want to make sure I understand, right?” Please?

Niobe’s expression softened, and she patted his head. Blaecleah found himself leaning into the touch, and tried to pull away. “It’s more than just controlling you – or, at least, it’s more than just making you follow orders. It’s going to twist your brain around, too. It’s going to make you want to make me happy.”

She cradled his face in both hands. Blaecleah found himself looking up into her eyes and swallowing against sudden panic. “It’s not all bad, though.” Carefully, as if afraid he would break, she placed a kiss on his lips.

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This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/772372.html. You can comment here or there.

Jumping Rings: A Story of the Circled Plain – Chapter Four

Aug12

Chapter Four: Valran

Duck

“Duck.”

Valran ducked. The hose swung over his head and back again, dousing him with warm water. He could barely remember the last time he’d had a true warm shower… not that this exactly counted. This was more like a grooming station, but he’d take it.

It was Bicla wielding the hose. Valran wasn’t entirely sure what he felt about that. He wasn’t required to feel anything; Bicla had bent her knee in service and thus was, technically, the same status as Valran. That didn’t, however, keep her from giving him orders.

“Eyes closed.”

“Eyes closed, ma’am.” He squeezed them a little tighter.

“Don’t give me that shit, Servus.” The water over him was a bit colder this time.

“I don’t see why not, ma’am.” He smiled, although he couldn’t see her. “It’s the nicest flavor of shit I have to give.”

“Because I can make your life miserable while you are here.”

“Yes.” He nodded, guessing at her position. “But I’m not trying to pick a fight with you, ma’am. I’m trying to do as you tell me to, to get out of here as smoothly as possible.”

“Then why do you keep calling me ma’am?”

“Is ‘ix’ or ‘sir’ appropriate?” Her named ended in a feminine la. That was usually a safe bet…

“No!” The water stopped. He could hear her moving around behind him. “Shampooing, don’t open your eyes. “No. I’m female, bodied and chosen.”

The bodied was fairly obvious; she was as naked as he was.

“Then am I missing some inner-circle nuance again?” Valran peeled open one eye to peer at the other Servus. She was stalking towards him with a jar of liquid soap, her feet slapping on the tile as if she wished she were wearing boots.

“Missing some… you’re not jerking my chain?”

“I assure you, ma… Bicla, I really don’t want to cause trouble.” He opened both eyes, despite her orders to the contrary. “I’ve heard stories, know.”

At that, she stopped. “Stories.” It wasn’t, quite, a question. But it could be read that way, if he wanted it to be.

He did. “You have to get through a year on the Outer Circle. Unless you’re already there, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And then you have to be accepted into service.”

“Yes.” She gestured with one hand, get on with it.

“And then you’re bid on. But the head of the program has the final say on who sees you to bid, who’s allowed to bid, whose bid is taken, and how long the term of service is.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Bicla’s hand went to her collar. “I know this.”

“Yes.” Although, from the stories he’d heard, many of those who bent knee didn’t know any of it. “But there’s a lot of control in the hands of the head of the program – and their staff.”

“Ah.” Her hand dropped. “Oh. So why are you giving me shit, then?”

“I’m not, not on purpose. I swear that to you. I’m not trying to give you any trouble at all; I’m trying to be respectful.”

“No-one calls the servus ma’am.“

“Perhaps most people don’t. But you are in a position of power over me; you’re on a higher rung.”

“The servus aren’t on rungs. What are you, stupid?”

He placed his hands very carefully on the edge of the tub, to keep from doing something unwise with them. “Bicla Servus, I am trying to show respect, because you could ruin me.”

“You’re not making a joke out of it?”

“No! No, I’m not doing that, I promise you, this is not me making fun of you.”

“Close your eyes.”

Valran couldn’t tell if that was disagreement or agreement. He closed his eyes anyway.

“You’re not outer circle, not born.” He could feel the soap trickle onto his wet hair.

“No.” He held as still as he could. “But not all that far in or anything. Not far enough.”

“The last two we had come through, they were real inner circle sorts. Second and Third circle, talked fancy, polished nails.”

“How did…” Valran shut his mouth. You were supposed to have to go through the same qualifications whether you were Tenth Circle or First.

“Pencil-pushers. And they were full of themselves.”

“Did you get them placed with bad owners?”

“Never occurred to me. And, I mean, I don’t know how much the Deputy would listen to me. I’m ris driver and maid, not like ris confidante. Ri doesn’t have to do any listening; that’s my job.”

“It’s surprising how much people listen to their servants.”

“And how would you know?” Her hands began massaging his scalp, strong fingers working the soap through his hair and into a lather.

“I listen. And I’ve worked for inner circle people from time to time. Before I went out to the Outer Circle.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“It won’t make any sense.”

“You saying I’m stupid?”

“No, not at all.” He leaned back into her touch. “That feels really nice.”

“Thanks. Took classes. What’re you saying, then?”

“That’s it’s weird, and I don’t entirely understand it myself. But I tell you what. If you ask me when my service is over, I’ll tell you everything I can.”

“My service’ll probably be over by then, too.”

“Probably?”

“I’m not one of you crazies who did this on purpose.” Her fingers paused in his hair, as if daring him.

“Aaah.” He let the silence drag on, one heartbeat, another, another. When he said nothing else, she went back to massaging and shampooing.

“Anyway, the food is good and the hours aren’t horrible and I’m cleaner than I ever was before.”

“That’s two of us.” He ran his hand through the water while she worked. “This is pretty posh, even if it is a vet station.”

“Gotta have the merch nice and pretty and packaged up before you sell ‘em. Otherwise you don’t bring in much money, the program doesn’t bring in as much money, and the whole system falls down.”

“Sounds like you’ve heard that line before.”

“Nothing I’m gonna talk about. I don’t talk about my work or my boss, and neither should you.”

“When I have work and a boss, I won’t. But make it a date? Ten years’ time, I’ll buy you a drink and we can swap war stories?”

“Sure. But you’re still getting shaved.”

“Shaved… oh. Oh, well, fine.” He was glad his eyes were already closed. “If you hand me a razor, I can do those parts myself, you know.”

“Fat chance, pretty boy. Just try to relax and enjoy this part while it’s fun, okay? I don’t do this for everyone.”

Pretty boy. “Nobody’s every called me that before.”

“What, pretty? Nobody calls me that, either, but you’re pretty good when the grime is all washed off.”

“I’ve been clean before.” Possibly not this clean, but clean.

“If you were working for inner circle sorts, you’d have to be. They don’t like dirt.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Or hair?”

“Or hair. They like things tidy. I mean, not all of them, but the sort that would buy a boy like you.” Her hands were on his neck now, working on knots he hadn’t known existed.

Massage or not, he wasn’t sure boy like you was any better than pretty boy. “You really do know a lot about the business, don’t you?”

“I listen. I’m really good at listening.” He could feel the way the shrug shifted her shoulders. “And I drive the boss around and everything, so I get a lot of chances to listen. Dunk.”

“Dun… oh.” He slipped under the water. Her hands were still in his hair and, for a minute, he panicked. She could hold him under here. She could drown him. She could…

…but then she’d be in a lot of trouble, and if she hadn’t volunteered for the collar…. Valran forced himself to relax. Bicla wasn’t going to drown him. She couldn’t afford it.

A tug on the back of his collar told him it was time to come back out of the water. “You didn’t freak.”

“I thought about it.”

“But you didn’t. Hunh.” She rubbed something else through his hair. “All right, up on the edge and spread ‘em.”

“Do you have to…?” He found his feet in the slick tub and worked on standing.

“Don’t even ask questions like that. It’s ridiculous.”

“I can complain, can’t I? It itches.”

“Oh, when I’m done, it won’t itch at all.”

Valran froze, one leg on the edge of the tub. “Bicla…”

“Relax, pretty boy. No use arguing, you don’t have any choice on the matter and neither do it.”

“Bicla,” he tried again anyway, “that’s awfully close to things that are very near and dear to my heart.”

“I don’t think we’re talking about your heart, are we? And besides, relax. It’s practically a warding.”

“I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Ah, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? What did you actually sign up for? Did you read the fine print?”

One of them hadn’t, that was for sure. “Of course.” And he had. That was one of the nightmare scenarios he’d heard the most about – those forced into dangerous and compromising positions for so long that at the end of their chosen-service, they were useless to anyone, including themselves. “But…”

“I know what I’m doing, Valran Servus. I’ve done it to myself. Now sit down.”

He sat, slowly, spreading his legs. It probably shouldn’t have surprised him to find that the tub was designed for this, with an almost-comfortable seat and two footrests.

“Do I have to strap you down?”

“Uh. No. No, as long as the only thing you’re cutting is hair.”

“Nothing but hair, I can promise that much. Al right, do your best to hold still, will ya?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He braced himself in the surprisingly comfortable position and closed his eyes. There were some things you just didn’t want to watch.

She started with scissors trimming down the hair between his legs and around his cock and balls. The scissors made quiet shick, shick noises and, while he felt the cold metal a time or two, she cut very carefully and never cut him.

“All right, that was the fuzzy part. Now onto the fun part.” Bicla’s hands worked over and under Valran’s balls, lathering him up. He opened his eyes, wondering what she was thinking.

She was smiling, although the expression looked more meditative and less aroused. She caught him looking, however, and picked up the razor “And not the really fun part. “

Valran closed his eyes again, but that didn’t stop the sensations. The razor followed in the path the scissors had taken, cutting off the remaining hair.

Behind the razor, Bicla’s fingers followed. Valran tried very hard not to shiver. It had been months… And the last thing he wanted was her fingers to slip or her attention to be divided.

“There. There…” She ran her palms down his legs. “And now you’re nice and smooth and it won’t itch.”

“I don’t think I’ll thank you for that.” He ran his fingers over her work, though. “You’re sure?”

“Relax. It’s the smallest draw of power possible, it was very focused, and I didn’t go under the skin enough to hurt anything. You’d think you were a Purist, the way you’re talking.”

“I’m only a Purist when it comes to my nuts.”

“Only your nuts? Not…” She wrapped her hand around the other part of that equation and tugged.

“Uunf, Bicla, that’s not very nice.”

“No, but it’s fun. There, Purist-Pretty, you’re almost all set. Now all you need is for someone to buff your fingernails and pierce those pretty ears… they barely have a point at all.” Her hand stilled. “You’re not actually a Purist, are you?”

“No.” He stole a kiss – just her cheek – and settled back into the uncomfortable tub seat. “That, at least, I am not.”

Chapter Five: Taslin (LJ) Thrust

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If we reach $20/month in Patreon or $25 in donations in Paypal – or a combination therof – I will post a second chapter this week, on Sunday.

If we reach $40/month in Patreon or $45 in paypal donations – again, or a combination – readers will be able to choose between an outtake or meta/demifiction now or an epilogue chapter at the end.

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