Archive | August 2017

A New World: Tourists

First: A New World

She had almost finished the potion when the first “tourists” arrived.  A “tourist”, it appeared, was a person with a flashing glass tablet held in their hand, clothing that did not seem appropriate for any time or era, and a habit of touching everything.

“It says here,” said the older woman, “that this is where Kael created her potions.  And this woman here is represents Kael.  She didn’t like visitors much,” she added in a stage whisper.  “Hello, Kael.”

Didn’t like visitors much.  That was an interesting way of putting it.  But between the fact that she was playing a representation of herself and what Mr. Vibius had said, Kael knew how to act.  “Shhh,” she hissed.  “At this stage, you may disturb the potion, and if you do that, I may test the next potion on you, and I doubt you’d like that one.”

The younger daughter – not a woman yet, not even thinking about being a woman yet – stepped right up to the yellow line of tiles someone had installed. “Why aren’t you using the big cauldron?  It’s got something boiling, too.”  She spoke in a curious but quiet tone and ignore her parents’ attempts to pull her backwards.

“The big cauldron can wait. It is merely a distraction potion and will not be hurt by a little extra boiling.  This one, though, this one requires careful attention, and for that I require a smaller cauldron.  See, with this cauldron, I can see to the bottom.  Careful, don’t breathe in the fumes.”

The girl stepped back another step and glanced over her mother as if looking for permission or reassurance.  

“There won’t be anything here that’ll hurt you, honey, it’s a museum,” her mother tutted.  “They’re not allowed to do anything dangerous.”

That was the sort of opinion that could get the girl hurt or maimed.  “Actually, this is my potions-room, and in here, things could often be deadly, not just dangerous.  Even a mild and curative potion could end up burning the nostrils and giving one visions or headaches.”

“Like hatters,” the older daughter put in.  “Breathing in mercury fumes.”

Kael only followed a few of those words, but the meaning was clear enough.  And the mother was tutting.  “I can’t believe-”

“When this place opened,” the father put in, reading from a booklet, “several guests had to be hospitalized.”



Swift of Hands

Written to sauergeek‘s prompt, in a ‘verse that I just created.  


Defekisal was running.

This was not an actually common experience in Kisal’s life, because when you did things right, you didn’t have to run.

But luck had not been with Kisal today, and so it was time for pounding sandals on flagstones and the terrifying feeling when fingers almost caught on the back of a tunic.

There was another tunic under that one, just in case, but it was a blow to pride to get caught, on top of the ridiculous pride-ding for getting made in the first place.

Kisal skidded under a fence.  If they ever fixed that fence… but the fence-owner was a Sister and wouldn’t repair it unless the Guard or the Magistrate forced her to.  Which they might; Kisal had to remember not to run this way again for a while, and tell Podefemide to avoid it too.  Femie got made a lot more often than Kisal.  Something about the way she looked at people; she couldn’t quite hide the challenge in her eyes.

The fence wouldn’t hold the guards for more than a couple seconds, but that was all Kisal ought to need.  She grabbed a rain-gutter at just the right spot and swung herself upwards.  There was more than one reason to stay slender and keep in good shape, and throwing oneself bodily up onto a shed roof was one of the best.  She slid down the steep roof, caught the flagpole, and hurled herself over the next fence.

Her shoulders ached, but she was nearly away now.  She ducked into the nearest temple – a lowercase-T temple, the sort that were safe but only allowed on suffrage by the big-T temples – and dropped the outer tunic into the donation bin it had come from.  The rag tied over her hair became a belt that looked far nicer when turned inside out, and a wash at the charity fountain cleaned the dirt and make-up off of her face.

The back door of the temple held a selection of scarves; she dropped three gold walek in the bin and wrapped one around her waist as a skirt, the other around her head for a pretense at modesty.

She meandered down the road, stopping at a vendor to buy a posod-fruit and pass on a message.  The Guard hurried by her, never even noticing her.

Kisal picked up another old tunic at the next temple down the road and went back to work.

Want More?

Links for the Poll

There’s this poll Here, and it might be easier to answer if the links were available for the stories. Thanks to Kelkyag for many of the links, for cleaning up the order, and for commenting. 

  • Where It All Began – the Zeroth Cohort in Addergoole: Where It All Began (Adg)
  • The Princess and the Tallest Tower: Introduction (new, standalone)
  • Return to Sender/Old Debts and Old Favors***: No posted text yet, see concept image (unknown ‘verse; might be FaeApoc)
  • Catbois in Cages: Catboys in Cages and Continued (FaeApoc, new)

Potentials Suggested But Not On the Poll:



Adg: Addergoole
AF: Aunt Family
DnD: Dragons Next Door
R&G: Rin and Girey, the first and longest-running story of Reiassan
TUn: Things Unspoken
UF: Unicorn/Factory

Fae Apoc, Stranded, and Reiassan are their own universes

Half-breed of Heart

Written to clare_dragonflys prompt. Doug is a character from Addergoole (The Original Serial), Addergoole: Year Nine, and the current Addergoole: a Ghost Story.


Doug was not a Mara; he was not one of the pure-blooded Warriors, the Protectors of the fae.

He had been aware of that since the moment he Changed – if he hadn’t been pretty sure of it long before that.

His father was a Mara who did not have Mara children.  His mother was the halfbreed daughter of a Daeva (the Inspirers, the succubi, the pleasure-givers and pleasure-takers); said Daeva did not bear Daeva children any more than Doug’s father could have Mara.  The chances of Doug being Mara were about as slim as the chances of him being elected president of the world.

His Change had just cemented that: his wings that would never sustain flight, his body that could not take damage the way that a Mara’s could.

The thunder that rumbled out of him when he was particularly irritated.

The fact that he was, when touching someone, when touching someone with his feet on the ground, stronger than his father or than any other Mara he’d ever gotten to spar with him.

He wasn’t a Mara.

Right now, he was damn glad of that.

His student Hestia – his newest, his youngest, his smallest student, Hestia – had felled the monster.  She had done a damn good job of it, especially for someone whose Change was not warrior-related.  But then the monster had made one great final heave – and landed on top of Hestia.

Hest weighed maybe 110, most of it muscle – but there was only so much muscle could do for you without any leverage.  Her spear was still in her hand, but she’d dropped her blade.

And the monster weighed almost as much as three elephants combined, and was twice as fat.

Doug grabbed the nearest long thing – part of the building they’d been fighting in, a beam or something.  The building probably needed it.  He needed it more.  He set his feet in the dirt, let his toes feel the ground below him, and pulled on the thunder.

He shoved the stick under the monster, aiming carefully, not wanting to hit Hestia, and he pushed.

Three counties away, they were closing their windows.  The sky flashed and sparked.  The ground  flashed and sparked.

The corpse of the monster lifted, an inch, a handspan, a foot, two yards.  Doug heaved, the world sparked, and the monster flew a couple feet through the air and landed with a wet thump.

He scooped Hestia up into his arms, muttering healing Workings and curse words at her indiscriminately.


Want More?


Written to an anonymous prompt, with nods to kelkyag’s prompt.


“Evangeline, what is WRONG with your sugar?”

There were too many people in Eva’s kitchen.

“Aunt Eva, where do you keep your star anise?”

“What do you need star anise for, Bellamy Jane?”

“Her middle name isn’t Jane…” Continue reading

The Hidden Mall Fourteen: Books and Bad Decisions


Abigail pulled her feet back with a yelp. “Okay, okay we need higher ground. Come on, maybe this one has a food court on the second floor. We can climb on a table.”

She hadn’t even gotten the words out when the cleaner Liv was tugging her – not towards the food court but up onto a bench. “Here. This should get us out of the water for a minute. And we can see the map from here.” She pointed at the dim map, no longer lit-up from within but still showing proudly things like the food court. “I still feel like if we could just get into Rue 21, maybe we could find our way back to the first mall. And if we could find that, maybe they could help us find our way home. One home, all the homes. Anything.”

“The first mall?” asked dirty-Liv sharply. “You don’t mean the place with that awful store that bought regrets, do you? Urrgh. Something about that place was just creepy. Made my skin crawl. And then there was that bookstore…” Continue reading

Mapping the Bitrani Territory

To Lilfluff’s Prompt: this is set in the immediate post-war era in my Reiassan setting. The Calenyena have, after centuries of war, finally conquered the Bitrani. 

And now they need to deal with that conquered land.

“What did I do to offend the gods, the engineers, and the Empress?”  Tetatelai Mapmaker grumbled at her goat, her partner, and the world in general.  “Whose boots did I piss in, whose tent did I stumble against, what city did I misspell?”

“You know,” Openpennait Sword-bearer raised his aristocratic eyebrows at her.  “Some people would take this as an honor.  You are in charge of adding new territories to the Empress’ maps.  That’s an impressive duty.” Continue reading

Funerary Rites Twenty: Family

First: Funeral
Previous: Naked, Dead People, Etc.

He looked her over for a minute, almost as if he hadn’t seen her before.  Then he closed his eyes and went still.  “Daughter of Claudia, the lawyer said.  In the fae style.  But that’s not what you said, is it?  Daughter of Aonghus, himself the son of Sláine.  I was distracted at the time.  That’s the only excuse.  That’s an interesting lineage you have there.”  He opened his eyes again.  “Claudia, Named simply The Free, who was that and more, wild and calm, and absolutely deadly when crossed.  Aonghus. The White Wolf.  Oh, did he cause trouble in the winter.”  His lips curled.  “Yes.  I know about your family.  I knew Sláine, too, Life-or-Death.  You come by your violent tendencies honestly, Senga Monmartin.  And what do they call you?”

Senga had not heard her family’s Names spoken in decades, and she hadn’t heard them spoken like that – with cautious reverence – since they’d died.  “They call me Monmartin,” she answered dryly, and waved her hand before he could complain that that hadn’t been what he meant.  “It’s not actually my last name.  They call me War,  but the full name is Swallow on the Mountain of War.”

“Mon-martin,” he murmured.  “That’s quite a mouthful of a Name.”

“My Mentor had – has – a leaning towards the poetic and a flair for the dramatic.  It was supposed to be Swallow of  War, but she couldn’t resist the chance to get the Mon part in there.” Continue reading

Fanfiction: Diagnostic Machine

Crossover: Dr. House, Faerie Apocalypse. I cannot write Dr. Cuddy, so the third person here is a vague unnamed person.

“Dr. House, I’d like to introduce our new diagnostic machine, Melody Redfern.  Melody, Dr. House.”

“Oh, come on,”House scoffed.  “You keep trying to replace me, and you know it’s futile.. Face it,”he sneered, you’re stuck with me.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go stick a needle in a teenager’s spine.”

“No, House, you misunderstood.  Melody isn’t here to replace you.  She’s here to replace the ridiculously overpriced tests you keep ordering.”

“What’s she going to do?”. His gaze raked over the young woman, taking in her floral skirt and silver bracelets.  “Read their tea leaves?”

“Now that you mention it…” Melody’s voice matched her appearance: sweet and thin. Continue reading