Archive | April 2017

Too tired for the bells and whistles – more Mélanie/Mdom-not-asshole

Apr18

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💰

“That… well, that’s rather ominous,” Mélanie admitted. “Does that mean if I’m irritable at you, I’m going to be, say, an obnoxious treasure? Or some sort of treasure kept in a glass box?”

Being called a treasure was rather pleasant, she had to admit, if she ignored the sense of worry from the ominous part of it.

“It’s more that, if you find me too irritating, you’ll be more of an independent agent who happens to be a treasure, where if you actually find me pleasant to be around – which I suppose is possible; it’s happened once or twice before, and the bond thing might help with that a bit – you’ll be my partner.”

“In crime?”

“Well, that too, I’m sure. I do a bit of that. Crime. I mean, if we can call it crime.” He gave her a very charming smile. “After all, it’s not as if there are that many laws anymore… right?”

“Well, you’re the boss.” She was smiling back at him again, how did he do that? And what’s more, she’d missed ten minutes of scenery while she ws smiling at him. She looked around, trying to figure out where they were.

The road was overgrown with weeds; to either side of the road was almost entirely choked with greenery, and through the trees she could see one white shingle of what had, at some point, presumably been a house. She had never been through here before – wait. Once, back just after everything went to shit. She peered at the house; with effort, she could make out the picket fence with the elaborate designs carved into the pickets. “I wanted that house so badly,” she whispered. “It looked like a fairy tale.”

“I guess a lot of our fairy tales died in the End Wars.” he patted her shoulder, sounding, for a moment, far less flippant. Then the moment was gone, and his voice lifted up. “On the bright side, we can make our own tales.”

“What, like ‘the cautionary tale of how not to end up in a slaver’s cage?’”

“Well, that’s a good one. To be a proper fairy tale, you’d either have had to upset several grannies at crossroads, or been under a curse, or, let’s see, it’s your origin story and your handsome prince is going to rescue you.”

“Or I’m going to rescue my handsome prince, but he doesn’t know it yet,” she countered.

“Ah, a modern woman.” He grinned widely at her. Mélanie tried to ignore the surge of warmth. It wouldn’t last. It never lasted. “Wonderful. I’m absolutely certain I’m going to need some rescuing along the way. So. Your fairy tale. How did it begin? ‘Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess…’”

“-Swineherd,” Mélanie countered. “I mean, also dairy maid. Mostly dairy maid.” She ducked her head. Who’d have thought the monsters would come that far out of the cities? “Until she happened upon a hungry dragon who was eating her herds.”

“Oh, it’s one of those stories. A beautiful dairy maid who tried to defend her herd against the dragons. but-”

Mélanie bit her lip. “But the dragon was too big for her, the end.”

“…aww.” he patted her leg gently. “I’m sorry. Sometimes the stories we make up are better than the ones rooted in truth. So you’re going to rescue me, are you?”

Mélanie rallied and gave him a weak smile. “I think that’s the way the story’s supposed to – where are you going?” She reached for the edge of the cart, even though she knew, knew, that running away was futile when one was Kept.

“Oh? This place is my home. Don’t mind the ghouls and goblins; there’s just there for ambiance.”

“You do not… no. Oh, no, you don’t.” She jumped over the edge of the cart before it could drive through the gate made of spider webs and giant spidery legs of steel, skulls and bones out of no monster that should be known to mankind. “No, this- I know this place.” She was backing away from the cart back down the road even as he stopped the cart and hopped out. “Everyone knows this place. No, you might be mad, but you are still not dragging me in there.”

“Princess dairy maid… Mélanie….” He walked towards her, hands out, his smile gone. “It’s safe for you and me, I assure you.”

“People die when they go in there! People come back empty!”

As stupid as it was, she took off running.

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Red Thorns – doomsday/cloverleaf

Apr18

In Cloverleaf, they don’t kill their attackers if they can avoid it; they make future assets out of them. Here’s a flash of that.

“Look, it’s not like Cloverleaf actually kills anyone.” Hecherak had coaxed. “They’re weaklings. We’ll be in, out, steal a few sheep, maybe some… ha, cattle, and then we’ll be back. Good practice for a real raid, no trouble, and we won’t really be risking anything.”

At the moment, Tekliek was having trouble discerning the fine points of difference between death and his current situation: that was, impaled with three hawthorn stakes that had been sent into him with surgical precision, missing anything he actually needed to survive. Death hurt less, he was pretty sure.

Death might involve a beautiful redheaded halfbreed straddling him.

“Here’s the situation,” she began, and Tekliek passed out.

When he came to, his hands were chained above his head, his feet were chained to something, and he was in the sun. He was no longer pierced through with anything, but from the burning, he could tell he was cuffed with hawthorn.

The half-breed woman was there again. “Here’s the deal,” she began again. “You are going to swear to not attack Cloverleaf for five years or anyplace flying the cloverleaf circles for three years, to not enter Cloverleaf during that time without the freely-given signed permission of the gate guards, and to leave Cloverleaf trade caravans alone for ten years. Then I’m going to mark you with my thorn, and what that means is that the next time I see you, you will do one favor for me. It won’t kill you, your children, or any Students you might have and it will not bring harm to any children still in your care or students the same. Understood?”

Tekliek nodded slowly. “Under-ah!” She had pressed her fingers into his skin, just under his collarbone on his right side. When he looked down, there was a thorn marked in red ochre.

“Good. Someone will be along to take your oath in a moment.” She moved down the line, repeating her speech. To one side of Tekliek was Poesl, from their clan; to the other side was his friend Fijsk. Past Fijsk was Hecherak, and the red-headed halfbreed was straddling her now, ready to mark her.

“Oh, not your first time, is it? Third. And I see you still owe me for the last time.”

Tekliek shared a look with Fijsk. They looked over at Poesl, shook their heads, and looked back at each other.

With their new tattoos burning on their shoulders and their new oaths fitting like cages, they waited patiently at the gates of Cloverleaf for the guards to acknowledge them. There was never going to be a better time or a better reason to slip Hecherak’s leash.

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A Month of Sundays – Tootfiction/Thimbleful Thursday

Apr18

She woke on Sundays.

The world was small, quiet; the landing site nearly self-sustaining, but when she’d slept a month she’d woken to find the smallest robot bumping into walls, so now she woke on Sundays.

Her calendar marked thirty-one Sundays. She woke, X’d the date, took notes, transmitted data, checked the fields.

The robots did most of that. Still, she had to do something.

The calendar had 12 months of Sundays. On “Christmas” she made eggnog. For “New Year’s”, she cried at old songs.

On Leap day, they finally reached her.

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

Actually, in this case, this version is slightly longer to fit in the Thimbleful requirements. The Tootfiction version here – https://tootplanet.space/@aldersprig/34252 was only 80 words.

… and now that this text may be longer than the story…

Oh yeah! Inspired by the Wired comic for Interstellar, which I liked better than the movie.

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Beauty-Beast 11: Masks

Apr17

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🔒

“Now you know half of it.” Timaios leaned back, searching Ctirad’s face. “And, yes, that’s a fairly common reaction. Although you don’t seem like you’re awed by my money.”

“Why should I be, sir?” Ctirad cleared his throat. “I mean. You have money for yourself, not for your toys – except to buy them.”

“If you’re not careful,” Timaios warned, “I’m going to take certain words away from you.”

“Sir?” Ctirad searched Timaios’ face, but could find nothing helpful there.

“I am not particularly fond of my Kept referring to themselves as toys. You’re Mine, yes. That does not make you something to be put in a box when I’m bored.”

Ctirad swallowed. “Experiences differ, sir,” he said as politely as he knew how.

“I’m beginning to get that impression. However, you are not my toy. You Belong to me. That is different.”

Ctirad wanted to ask how, but he’d already pushed his owner too far. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you ready for the next part of this little show-and-tell?”

“As you will, sir.” He had no idea how to be ready or now or how that would change anything.

“Sal?”

“Workings are up, sir. We can see them but they can’t see us.”

“Very good, thank you.” He shook his head once, and his Mask dropped.

Ctirad took a careful moment to take in the changes, his expression set at “neutral waiting”. His Owner was… he was still the same man. That was the first thing he noticed. “Same chin, same cheekbones,” he muttered, mostly to himself, but so his Owner knew he was processing. “The tusks’ve got to be interesting.” The tusks curved downward; there were horns curving upward. The whole visage had a slightly grey, stony tint to it.

Timaios snorted, when it became clear that was all Ctirad was going to say. “That’s it?”

Ctirad looked up, meeting his Owner’s eyes. “Does the stone look go all the way down?”

He surprised a laugh out of Timaios and a squeak-like noise out of Sal. “You’re either a good faker or impressive.”

“Little of both, sir. I’m not freaked out by the whole thing, if that’s what you mean. But I see how people would be.”

He didn’t know if it was the right answer, but he kept running into situations here where Timaios didn’t want the “right” answer anyway, so he figured honesty was his best bet.

Timaios raised his eyebrows. “Tempted to ask what’s under your Mask.”

“I Belong to you, sir. You can tell me to do anything you want.”

“I’m beginning to understand that that is your very polite way of saying ‘no way in hell without an order’, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. But it’s also the truth.”

“It is, yes.” His hand felt the same on Ctirad’s face as it had before. His Mask went up as he reached out to Ctirad, and some discomfort seemed to leave him with the reappearance of his public face. “I will ask you for your face behind your Mask. But I will wait until we are alone.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He couldn’t really argue with anything. “Thank you, sir.” Maybe if he was sufficiently distracting, his new Owner would forget about that.

“Speaking of ‘alone’, Sal, how long until we’re there?”

“Three minutes, sir. But i can do a pretty good Ignore the Back Seat Working on myself, too.”

“No, that’s not needed. I can wait three minutes. Thank you, Sal.” Timaios’ hand moved down to Ctirad’s knee and rested there. “We’ll get you settled in and then eat dinner in my room, I think,” he mused in Ctirad’s general direction. “And I’ll have Honore take your measurements and get you some new clothes. If I’m going to have you at my side in public, you’re going to have to look like you belong there.”

Clothes didn’t matter, as long as he could move in them. “Yes, sir.” He remembered, vaguely, having an opinion on such things once. He wondered if he’d left that back with his favorite color.

“And then, maybe…” Timaios’ hand slid up to Ctirad’s thigh, “you can tell me what you really think of my Change, when we’re alone.” His fingers were suddenly tight on Ctirad’s leg – not tight enough to hurt, more of a promise of entertainment than of pain.

That, he could answer without having to think about. “I look forward to seeing how far down the stone goes, sir.”

And that was a genuine smile, or at least he thought it was real smile. Ctirad swallowed around pleasure and the strange feeling that he’d done something right.

🔒

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Tootfiction/Thimbleful Thursday: New Leaf

Apr17

The trees in Haleth Forest were unlike those anywhere else. They had not grown but had been created. In every one of them, broad leaves spread out, waiting for pen.

You could climb the trees to read someone else’s tale unfolded leaf after leaf or you could climb higher to find pages that had not yet been written on.

There, you could write your own story on new leaves, untouched by hand or pen or tale.

Some people used it to gain immortality.

Some used it to gain a fresh start.

Written to Dec 29th’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt as an experiment in tootfiction – 500-character-or-less fic.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1307784.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

#faepril – a unicorn mechanic

Apr17

So [personal profile] anke is doing #faepril over on tumblr (see here) so I decided to write some fae descriptions. Here’s a unicorn mechanic.

Cya had, for once, not been looking for fae.

She had been looking for someone who could help her fix her car, actually, or the thing that, 50 years past the end of most manufacturing in the world, she was calling a car.

It wasn’t that easy, however, when you were three days out from anywhere, you were driving a cobbled-together vehicle that ran on sunlight, hope, and magic, and the last time you’d seen anyone had been half a day ago.
And it was raining.

The man came out of nowhere, or at least, he seemed to, and when he saw her Mask was down, showing off her Fae traits, he dropped his own glamour to show her that he, too, was fae.

The unicorn horn caught her attention immediately, the golden hair – not blonde, gold – that ran all the way down his back, the skin that was just as golden. He was tall, very tall for this long past the apocalypse, and bright like a statue.

When he saw she was squinting, he put up his Mask again, leaving him red-haired and brown-skinned, freckles dancing over his nose that was nearly as pointed as the horn she couldn’t see anymore.

“So. Car troubles?” It was only then that she noticed he was carrying a bag of tools. “I had this sense someone here might need some help.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1307557.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Stranded Cat

Apr15

The cat was trailing strands behind itself, so thickly that at first Spring could not see the color of the cat or the shape of it, just a cat-size ball of Strands.

“Did you-”

Her partner snorted. “That’s Ginger Tom. Well, that’s what I call him.”

Spring squinted, and noticed a line from her partner to the cat, no, several, thin but intense.

“Ginger Tom?” she prompted. This was… interesting.

“Well, Anna down the street, she calls him Pumpkin.” He strolled up the hill of his neighborhood as if it were flat. “And then Geordi down there, he calls him Nightmare. And Candid-and-Cariadad, they call him Only Man, and the redhead who won’t tell me her name, she calls him brother.”

Now Spring could make out the cat, a big orange – no surprise – ginger tom. “They all know him?”

“Know him, love him, feed him. you can see it, can’t you?”

“The way he’s connected to the whole neighborhood?” Spring paused. “No, that’s not right. Not quite connected.” She found herself smiling. “Smart cat. I didn’t know they could do that. He’s made himself the neighborhood.”

“Not a mouse or vole in a mile radius.” Her partner was definitely proud. “And he brings the other cats around like a posse, too.” He gestured towards several other cats. “Shares the food. He’s a good cat.”

Watching the strands twisting around the hill, Spring had to agree.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1307202.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

I’m really starting to like Cade, which is bad, because The Agencies are the bad guys (another snip)

Apr14

There was something to be said for very basic technology.

Cade ran a finger over the transmitter, which was small but not micro, easy to use, hard to break, and relatively easy to conceal as long as your target wasn’t actively looking for it.

They had an agent working as a maid in the Grande Star Hotel, which was where their targets were presumably staying. They also had a busboy at the Templeton, and a front desk clerk at the Gaslight, because you never could tell with these particular targets if they’d actually go where you thought they’d go. The Hampton Inn, well, Cade had a room there.

You did what you could, and getting their staff jobs so they were being double-paid had advantages when you were scraping the barrel to give them a raise.

The witch – Fiora, her name was, and she was a lovely woman that probably would have been more at home in long floral skirts with her hair down than in the Agency skirt-suit with nylons and heels – produced her micro welding kit and another small transmitter. “So, if we start with this, and then right into the circuit board, here, we draw a sigil, it’s a basic one, but it encourages a lack of caution. Loose lips and all that. But if I add this one to the case, like thus, then it also transmits a signal if certain phrases are used.”

Very basic technology was nice, Cade thought, but very basic technology supplemented with nice, tidy little magic spells – now that was what the Agency needed.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1306911.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Taking Prompts: Crayon Bingo

Apr14

Description from [community profile] allbingo:

[The List] is all of the Crayola’s colors past, current, and discontinued from their various products. There is a huge list with examples of the color here.

You may use the prompt however it speaks to you. If it inspires an emotion or the actual color that is up to you and your muse.

Prompt away! As always, prompts in Bingo lines with other prompts are more likely to be used. The ones that have been chosen are the appropriate crayon hex color – except Rainbow, which well…

Purple Pizzazz Sunny Winter Wizard Mummys Tomb Dandelion
Black Coral Dodger Blue Yellow Sunshine Meat Brown Brown
Plum Cherry RAINBOWS Goldenrod Prussian Blue
Smokey Topaz Fuzzy Wuzzy Peach Star Spangled Banner Pine Green
Blue Melon Pearly Purple Banana Mania Robin’s Egg Blue

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The Wall- a story for Patreon

Apr13
History and memory did not go past the wall.
It was as tall as anyone could imagine, an unknown width, and it surrounded the Community, giving them room enough to live and grow but no more.

It could not be climbed, being smooth to the touch and unpleasant to be in contact with for any length of time.  It could not be drilled through, nor broken.  It could not be dug underneath.

The people of the Community asked themselves what the wall was for, and they came up with many stories in answer: it was to protect them from something big and deadly outside.  It was to protect something small and fragile from them.  It was the edge of the world.  It was a portal into another space.
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