Archive | March 4, 2016

Groundhog Day, part the End


Part One: Dreamwidth ~ Live Journal
Part Two: Dreamwidth ~ Live Journal
Part Three: Dreamwidth ~ Livejournal
Part Four: Dreamwidth ~ Livejournal
Part Five: Dreamwidth ~ Livejournal
Part Six: Dreamwidth ~ Livejournal
Part Seven: Dreamwidth ~ LiveJournal
Part Eight: Dreamwidth ~ Live Journal


The guard dog tugged at his leash, but he couldn’t escape. He whined and whimpered, but couldn’t make any other noise. He looked up at his so-called master and whimpered.

The look his master gave him was cold. “Sit. Stay. I’ve got preparations to do.”

Against his will, Nepharn the Dog sat and stayed. Around him, the village prepared for the attack, and here he was, with no way at all to break the defenses and let Gorjarn’s men in.

How had she known?

A skinny teenaged girl patted his head. “Good dog.” He thought the smile she gave him was far too vindictive. “Good dog, doing just what you’re told.

Nepharn the Dog whined. He had a feeling today was going to go very badly for him.


Tip Jar ~ Patreon

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1072166.html. You can comment here or there.

Please follow and like us:
error

The Doomsday Room of the Cloverleaf Museum

The Cloverleaf Museum of History had dedicated half a floor of their four-story building to the history of Cloverleaf and the pre-Disaster city it had replaced, Helena. And in that area, they’d dedicated one room to the city’s builder and founder, Cya Red Doomsday.

Tarben had stared at the official portrait for perhaps a little too long. She didn’t look all that different than he remembered her. She’d let her hair go back to brown, except one streak in the distinctive “Cya Red.” She was smiling, the sort of exasperated little smile he remembered well. And she was wearing academic robes, which made her look a little bit distinctive and maybe a few years older.

Few years. Tarben snorted, glad there was nobody else but an aging docent in the room – an aging docent that, if human, was young enough to be his daughter if not his granddaughter. Cya’s kids had been almost ready for Addergoole when she’d Kept Tarben, and that had been quite a long time ago.

He recognized the wooden chest to one side of the portrait; the one she’d built for him had lasted over fifty years, but he’d lost it when he’d had to flee a town a little too quickly. He recognized the replica self-storage unit, too, and had to stifle a laugh. What a way to show Cya’s history!

His eyes stopped on a rack of collars, and his smile vanished. Slowly, Tarben crossed the room, counting rows. Ten rows of ten. She’d gotten a bigger rack somewhere along the way. And…

“Excuse me?” He flagged down the docent. “There’s some collars missing.” His collar was missing.

“Oh, yes.” The docent beamed at him. “When she donated the rack to the museum, Mayor Doomsday held on to some of her favorites.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1072046.html. You can comment here or there.

Please follow and like us:
error