Archive | April 12, 2017

Worldbuilding: The Agencies Meet

To Lilfluff’s Prompt, ” Something relating to the agencies discovering each other?” This is more of my Camp Nano project

The Joining

Cade Ferrel’s organization didn’t even have a name, just “Agency 3-1-7″ and “Protocols 7, 9, and 12″. They didn’t have a budget line, or at least not an admitted one, and the money they got wasn’t impressive by anyone’s standards.

(There was a rumor his predecessor had once turned a surveillance job, posing as a panhandler, into a hundred percent increase in the month’s budget. While Cade was pretty sure that was an exaggeration, it still remained a very telling story.)

What Agency 3-1-7 had was a very open-ended mandate and a couple extremely open-ended laws about how they performed that mandate.

And Cade was looking at a witch who swore up and down that magic was real.

Now, Cade had encountered lots and lots of people who swore just about everything was real, from the Moon Landing to aliens to brain-tapping via tap water (“why do you think they call it tap water?”) to a magical ritual being what really killed Kennedy. But most of them didn’t have Top Secret government clearances and badges that matched Cade’s for obscurity.

This particular so-called witch belonged to Agency 3-2-9, with a sub-reference to Protocol 19. Cade had actually heard of Protocol Nineteen; even though Agency 3-1-7 didn’t fall under it, sometimes they used it for this and that. Mostly that, lately, where that meant bending the law because we don’t have any funding.

The witch was telling Cade that there were things that could be done to surveil without equipment. With the only cost being in time and getting one of Agency 3-2-9’s workers in place for ten minutes.

Ten minutes! Cade was in love.

Cade wasn’t going to have to panhandle to make budget this quarter.

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Here, Kitty, Kitty

A sequel to a feral cat-girl

Mike was far less help than Luke had hoped he’d be. Mostly, Mike was standing off to one side, laughing. “Luke, only you could go looking for students and find a feral tiger.”

“She’s not one of ours. At least, I don’t recognize her and she looks a little too old to be one we were supposed to get.” Luke shifted his grip as the catgirl tried to bite him. “I don’t think she has rabies but I don’t really want to find out the hard way, and I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Have you tried talking to her?” Mike smirked from his safe position out of harm’s way. “I know that’s not really your specialty….”

You try talking to her. I think she thinks I’m dinner.”

“You know, I think some chatting would do you good. Just say hi to her, Luke.”


“Just a couple words, then I’ll help.”

Luke sighed. “Hello, kitty.” He felt stupid. She was snarling at him more like a cat than a person. Right, what would he say to an unhappy animal? “Easy, there. I don’t want to hurt you.” He mellowed his voice. “I don’t. I have some food back in the van, actually, if you’re hungry.” She wasn’t over-thin, but if she was wild, she was probably hungry. “And fresh water. Do you understand? Water.”

She’d stilled and was staring at him. He didn’t know if she followed anything he said, but she seemed to be relaxing.

Then, suddenly, she stared over his shoulder. Her ears went back and she hissed.

Luke turned, half-losing his grip on the girl as he did so, just as what was clearly a dog-boy leapt on Mike.


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Funeral: Theft and Ownership

First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Family Problems

Senga’s good mood only lasted until they got to the parking lot. Erramun had stopped growling, but he didn’t look happy – not that she expected him to; she wouldn’t have been in his situation, and she wasn’t sure she was in her situation.

“I think you frightened her,” she murmured. “This is my car.” She nodded her head at the nondescript vehicle in the nondescript color behind them, a mintish-green Corolla she’d bought because it looked like a hundred other cars within any given three-block radius.

He raised his eyebrows. “Making a lack of statement?”

“Exactly.” She beeped the car open and slid into the driver’s seat. “Unless you’re worried about your ride being stolen, why don’t you come with me now, and we’ll come back for your vehicle later?”

“I walked.” He slipped into the passenger’s seat. “I don’t – didn’t – live that far from here. But.” He coughed and shifted in his seat, not looking at her. “There’s stuff I don’t want to leave there too long.”

“Right. I’ll show you my place, then you can go get your things. I have to get ready to take possession of a manor, anyway.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Family manor? Why’s your cousin want it?”

“Same reason she wants you, possibly. Because it’s mine.”

“She probably wants to use me as a murder weapon,” he pointed out, managing to look at Senga this time.

“Well, she might want to use the house as a kill zone. It’s been used for that before.”

“And what about you?” He sounded like he was forcing the words out. Considering the situation, Senga couldn’t blame him.

“Me?” She eyed him sideways. “I’m not in the business nor habit of murder. What I want to do with you – well, I’m going to have to figure that out, aren’t I? I didn’t expect to get anything from Great-Aunt Mirabella, much less…”

“…a slave.”

“A Kept. A responsibility.” She managed a small smile. “They’re not quite the same thing, you know.”

“I was alive when your grandmother was nursing at the teat,” he countered.

“Unlikely, but possible. I’m young, but my family isn’t. And my grandmother was Great-Aunt Mirabella’s sister.”

“…Unlikely, then,” he agreed. “You still don’t have to educate me in what being your bond and bound servant means.”

“Of course I do.” She maneuvered the car through traffic and wondered how she was going to explain this to her team. “You know what the words mean and probably know the law – and the fae Law – better than I do, but that doesn’t mean you know anything about how I handle having a bond servant.” If they were going to use that term, which was strange, archaic, and just like Great-Aunt Mirabella, she was going to make sure they were using it the same.

He was eyeing her sidelong. “You are young. What do you mean, ‘how you handle it?’ A collar is a collar is a collar.”

“Now that,” she said, feeling a little bit irritated and letting it show, “is just about the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all day, and I’ve been around my family.”


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Tootfiction/Thimbleful Thursday: At Arm’s Length

She’d learned early that the thing to do was hold your-gloved, armored-arms out and push. The things weren’t clever, weren’t strong, were just persistent. With your arms held in the direction of the things, you could plow through. Facemask down, coat on, push.

The first time had been a surprise. She’d come out the other end pleased to survive. After that, she pushed everywhere. Need food? Push. Need a new hideout? Push.

When she pushed and someone pushed back, she was briefly stumped.

Written to March 30th’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt as an experiment in tootfiction – 500-character-or-less fic.

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