Archive | March 30, 2016

The “A” Warehouse

Written to 2 prompst from this page, which are the bold-italiced sections of this ficlet

Yes, I owned the “A” warehouse. “Owned,” you see, because while I still hold the deed to the property, the property itself is gone, and where it’s fallen, I don’t think there’s anyone who cares about things like deeds.

This is a story about infamy, marriage, and being an arch-mage, although I’m forced to admit that the arch-mage part is still in the future – in the hopeful, potential future at that.

The infamy part, unfortunately, is very much in the “now,” and in all potential futures available from here, too. And the marriage – well, here’s fingers crossed and hats off to Marvipost and Tannibaun that that doesn’t turn out to be in the past.

But you were asking about “A” warehouse. Down in the lettered streets, which are now quite a bit more “down” than “streets”, may Tannibaun and Ornigzar have mercy on the souls of those poor denizens. I owned it. I kept it stocked. I understand the regulations, maybe better than most people. I helped write half those regulations, after all – and now we get back to the infamy part.

Now I see that you recognize me. I’m told my face isn’t done justice by those portraits, and I’ve never been the public one in our marriage.

But I owned the “A” warehouse – and the “C” and “F” as well. And I stoked them all. What the inhabitants of the belowland will be doing with them, now that the entire sector has fallen, I do not know. What they will do to any survivors, I can only guess. I know only that they are gone, may Marvipost and Ornigzar forgive me.

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Pick-up lines, a ficlet of Cya/Doomsday

When Cya went to one of the downtown bars with Leo, she knew that she could expect a certain amount of flirtation in varying degrees of heavy-handedness. Today was no different – some smooth pick-up lines and some sad, some who wanted to sleep with power and some who thought she looked cute, some who thought Leo looked cute and some who thought they were dangerous in an interesting way.

And then one drunken guy told her he could help her out. “I’m good friends with the Mayor, you know. If you need a job, I can help you.”

She looked him over for a minute while the gathered crowd around them fell silent. He was earnest and pleased with himself – and she’d never met him before.

“Would someone please tell him?” She raised her voice so it carried.

One of the off-duty city guards, sounding as if he was trying not to laugh, cleared his throat. “What would you like us to tell him, Madam Mayor?”

The man frowned, but he clearly hadn’t gotten it yet. Cya sighed. “Well, my name would be a good start.”

“Well, I hear,” Apollo offered, “that the bandits to the west call you the Red Death.”

Actually, they called her the Red-handed wielder of the Lightning Death, but since neither she nor Leo actually killed anyone, she supposed that was a moot point.

“Up north, they call you the Savior of Adamtown,” a guard offered. Cya winced. That had been a bad one – but she had, technically, saved Adamtown.

“In school,” offered a third, who had been a student of Doomsday until just a year ago, “mostly they call you Prince Red.”

That one, she hadn’t known. And now her would-be suitor was beginning to get the point. He was turning pale. “Madame Mayor?” He glared at her. “No, you’re way too young. The mayor’s been here for fifty years!”

“The mayor is fae, you idiot.” The bartender looked far from impressed. “And you’re bothering her.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” he whined.

“Easy,” Cya offered. “Don’t claim friendships you don’t have. Promise that, and we won’t have a problem.”

“I.. I promise,” he stammered. From the way the air didn’t twist and the way he was willing to make a promise that quickly, Cya could tell he wasn’t fae. It didn’t matter. She smiled so all her sharp mink teeth showed.

“Good boy. Now go leave the Mayor alone. I want to flirt with someone less unwise.”

AS he hurried off, she began to wonder if it was time for a new city.

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