Archive | April 2016

Birthday (2), a continuation of a story written to @lilfluff’s prompt

begun here.

It hadn’t been Cathleen’s intention to disrupt her staff and throw a monkey-wrench in her own birthday party. She liked her staff; many of them had been transferred to her house when she came of age from her Lady Mother’s home, and thus had grown up with her. Her landscaper, Cahir, had played tag with her in the labyrinths behind the Baronial manor. Her chatelaine, Elva, had been her nanny when she was little. She wanted to take care of them all; she wanted to protect them from her Lady Mother, as much as she could.

And now Elva was giving Cathleen a look much like she had when Cathleen was very young and had gotten herself muddy and bloody just before a big event. Cathleen looked up at her chatelaine, sighed, and looked back at the boy. “It’s his birthday too,” she tried, and it was; that had been what had caught her eye.

Elva just clucked. “Wash your hands, my Lady. I’ll make sure the birthday boy here gets plenty to eat – and a bath. Tomorrow you can tell me what you’re going to do with him. Today…”

Cathleen sighed. “Today,” she allowed. “I’ll deal with my Lady Mother today.”

And then tomorrow she could do as she’d always done, and get all muddy and dirty in her own private unbirthday celebration. By then, the Baroness would have moved on to other things, and Cathleen – and her new co-birthday acquisition – could celebrate in peace.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1084842.html. You can comment here or there.

A Wink, a story of Stranded

Written to [personal profile] inventrix‘s prompt to my Very Small Prompt call.

There was a man at the festival with an eye-tattoo that winked.

Autumn hadn’t been sure the first time. There were several beautiful pieces of ink wandering around this ‘fest – it was pushing a hundred degrees out, and everyone was wearing just about as little as they could get away with. And there was this man, topless and wearing short khaki shorts and Birkenstocks, and the eye centered on his spine had a perfectly-shaded iris. And then it was closed. And then there was the pupil again.

It had been a long day already and it was only noon, the first time she saw the tattoo. Autumn’d gotten herself some water, stepped into the shade of her tent, and munched on a nectarine.

The second time the man wandered by, she had a small set of strands laid out over the pathway. Dozens of people had stepped over them without knowing, brushing through them, hardly moving them.

The man with the eye on his back paused. Deliberately, he turned his back to her.

The iris was blue, the ice-hue that always tripped her up. It was looking straight at her.

The eye-tattoo blinked again and was back to a black-and-grey drawing. The man turned around, looking straight at Autumn. Deliberately, and with a sardonic grin, he winked at her.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1084536.html. You can comment here or there.

April Patreon Theme Poll!

Hello! It’s time for the April Theme Poll!

These polls determine the theme for Patreon writing for the month, spurring the prompt call and from there several stories.

Want to check out my Patreon? Look here.
For just $1, you can read all the Patreon stories; for $5/month, you can prompt in the prompt calls!

Don’t have Dreamwidth? Please feel free to vote in the comments.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1084265.html. You can comment here or there.

Birthday, a story to @Lilfluff’s Prompt

So [personal profile] lilfluff sent me a bunch of prompts for my birthday in 2014. *cough* This is from Tír na Cali.

It was the Lady’s birthday, and the house was in an uproar. The Lady herself was not all that demanding — but her Lady Mother was, and that meant that everything had to be absolutely perfect: the Lady might own them, but the Lady Mother was still Baroness, and she could make their lives miserable and their Lady’s life horrible.

The cakes were divine and adorable, the house was scrubbed till it gleamed. The landscaping was trimmed until everything was level and bright and lovely. The household slaves were all in their absolute best uniforms. Even their collars were gleaming. In five minutes, Herself, the Lady Baroness, would arrive.

And their Lady Mistress was sitting on the veranda, happily sharing a tray of hors d’oevres with a scrawny teenaged boy who was still in slave-raider pants and the bright orange slave-shop collar.

“What?” she asked her chatelaine, when the patient woman found them. “It’s his birthday too.”

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1084842.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1083848.html. You can comment here or there.

Strong Enough? A side story of a fic

Written to [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s suggestion of a continuation for this piece, written for the Dungeon and Cave call in 2014.

“Babe, I’m strong enough for whatever you want.” He could taste the beer on his belch. Could she smell it?

She wrinkled her nose. Yes. And no; she shook her head. “I don’t think you are.”

The woman walked away from Craig, the turn of her heel dismissing him. Craig let out a breath slowly, as inaudibly as he could, and did not turn to watch her.

Still, even through the noise of the bar, he could hear Rick’s answer. Maybe Rick was. Maybe Rick would walk out the other side intact. Craig didn’t know. He barely knew Rick to talk sports with him, much less…

…well, there were things you didn’t talk about with your buddies, and there were things you didn’t talk about at all. That lesson, Craig hadn’t needed to learn the hard way.

With any luck, there’d only be the one lesson he’d had to learn hard: When a certain kind of woman thinks about challenging you…

…don’t let it get to the challenge. Don’t even let it get to the thinking, if you can avoid it. Be pitiful, be lamentable, be ridiculous. But don’t let her challenge you.

Want to see more? Drop a tip in, ah, the tip handcuffs:

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1083422.html. You can comment here or there.

Flight

Written in response to a lovely picture @dahob showed me – here.

She hadn’t meant to run – to flee, that is. Drifa hadn’t really been meaning to do anything, not consciously. The pain had come, and she’d been trying to get away from it. A little walking, that would help. A little running, maybe that would help more. She hadn’t noticed for a good twenty minutes that she wasn’t running, she was flying. She hadn’t noticed until she landed that she was wearing a sheet and nothing else.

Crows were landing all around her, settling in the snow and cawing questions at her. Drifa cleared her throat and answered. “Lost,” she told them, “new-fledged.” It was close enough, and none of them questioned her size.

Nor did they question her nudity in the snow, but, then again, they were all nude in the snow, too. And neither she nor they thought it was strange that she could both understand them and talk to them.

It seemed the crows knew more strangeness than they wanted to admit: They understood where she had come from. But none of them would show her the way back.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1083221.html. You can comment here or there.

Summer Plans

written to [personal profile] inventrix‘s prompt. Year 17 of the Addergoole School.

The teachers had been on edge all year. Dáin figured it had something to do with the stuff that had been happening when he came to school – portals opening to other worlds, people disappearing and reappearing, miracles and horrid things all over the world, if the news was to be believed at all. But the news didn’t come through – no TV came through at all, down in Addergoole. The older kids said it used to work, but something about the shifting wards or the weather patterns had turned out to mess with any incoming signal. Phones to the outside didn’t work well either, if they worked at all.

The teachers being on edge had bothered Dáin more than the lack of contact. Addergoole had this way of sucking you in, making you forget about the outside world. He’d barely thought about his parents, just enough to send them a couple slightly-guilty letters. He’d thought about his old boyfriend even less, and the letter he’d sent him had been a lot more guilty.

Mostly, though, Dáin had been pretty engrossed in his first year of school. There had been magic to learn, an awkward Change to handle, his Keeper to, uh, be Kept by, and the rest of his classmates to mostly-try-not-to-bother, as per orders.

And now he was standing in the Auditorium. His bags were packed. His Keeper had graduated. He was ready to go home and play video games all summer and not think about magic or collars or babies or anything else about Addergoole until September rolled around.

The gym teacher strode to the front of the room and cleared his throat. Then Director Regine and Professor VanderLinden joined him. But it was Luke who spoke.

“In June of last year, strange things began happening all over the world. The human media didn’t know what to make of it, so I’m imagining the reports you got were pretty sparse.”

Dáin swallowed. Strange things. That was an understatement if he’d ever heard one.

“We weren’t sure what to make of it, either, when it first started. We thought maybe it was a world-wide Nedetakaei attack – even though the Nedetakaei have been very bad at any sort of coordinated fighting. It turns out…” His wing folded tight to his chest, and when he continued, Luke sounded not only sad, but miserable. “It turns out that the Departed Gods are back.”

Shouting erupted. Dáin sat down slowly. This was – it was impossible. The Departed Gods were a myth, the sort of creation story nobody really believes.

The projection screen behind Regine lit up. Dáin swallowed against a hard lump in his throat. That was… no. The rubble, the fire…

“This was Pittsburgh, four weeks ago. As far as we’ve been able to tell, the fires have been burning for months and are still burning.” Luke cleared his throat. “There were survivors. In every city, there were some survivors that we know of. But there weren’t many – there weren’t nearly enough.” He hung his head, and for a moment, he was silent. Dáin didn’t blame him. He didn’t feel like saying anything either.

The rest of the auditorium seemed to feel the same, at least for a minute. Then, shouting erupted.

Dáin didn’t have anything to say. Over the din, Regine’s voice carried. “I am afraid this is not a hoax.” She sounded genuinely sad. “If you wish to go home for the summer, we will do our best to help you make arrangements. But there is no guarantee that any sort of mass transportation — airplanes, busses, trains — will be running, nor that gas stations will have fuel for cars. We do recommend that you stay here, at least while we work to ascertain the situation fully.

“That being said,” she continued, “if you do wish to leave Addergoole for the summer, gather to the left of the auditorium. If you wish to stay, you may wander as you wish.”

Dáin looked around, watching as people moved slowly, shuffling as if they were ill, one way or the other. He couldn’t seem to make himself move.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1083020.html. You can comment here or there.