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Knowing Doomsday, a drabble of Boom/Cynara/BoomTown

Jul19

After:
Unrepentant
Eriko
Revenge

Cya was not used to people not knowing her.

She was used to people not knowing her name went with her face – not here, not in Cynopolis/Boom Town/Her City. It was, after all, her city. But she was not used to people not knowing that her name went with her reputation. Not anymore.

There were a few, of course. Boom were big, but they weren’t actually the biggest crew in the world, and they weren’t the only crew of fae out there, doing things.

But they were loud – explosive, even – and that meant that most people, at least in this corner of what had once been the United States, had heard of Boom. They hadn’t always heard of Cynara, Red Doomsday. But when she said, “Cya, of Boom,” most people knew who she was.

Dysmas was an odd case – Dysmas, and, now that she had her in a box, Eriko. They knew Cynara. They knew that her face – which had, after all, not changed in fifty years – went with the name Cynara, although they were more likely to put cy’Drake with it than Doomsday.

It was like a loose tooth. She couldn’t help wiggling it.

Eriko was – not all that fun, not really. She was too stuck in her own little world, even now, even neck-deep in Cya’s world, to really understand to whom she was talking – or, more importantly in Cya’s way of thinking, to what.

So that left Dysmas to talk to. And she found, thus, that she kept seeking him out.

It took him a couple times to notice that she always seemed to be where he was. The third time she tracked him down – Found him, really – he was at a local market, looking over a tailor’s wares.

“You seem to have a knack for finding me.” He sounded like he was complaining. The tailor – who knew who was standing in his shop, since Cynara had Found him and offered him a place and custom – giggled nervously.

Dysmas didn’t understand. “What?”

“You were joking, yes, sir?” Dysmas carried himself like one of the Returned Gods, like he expected tribute. The tailor – Sania, his name was, John Sania – must have assumed, thus, that he was a friend of Cya’s. “She’s Doomsday. Of course she can find you.”

“Yes, of course.” Dysmas was not very good at hiding it when he was confused. “She’s… Cya, what is he talking about?”

She noticed the way the tailor found a way to be behind his counter, just then. She didn’t blame him. She coughed, politely. “I’m Doomsday,” she said, trying not to giggle. “I find things.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/753230.html. You can comment here or there.

Escape from Rochester – Camp Nano Day Seventeen (slow day)

Jul18

First Line of yesterday:

The world was on fire. Ahead of us, where Syracuse would be, the pre-sunrise sky was lit up with orange and shadowed with grey.

Last Line of yesterday:

“She shouldn’t be moved,” Lewis sighed, “but we shouldn’t’ stay here, either.”

Current Word Count:
25143

Words Yesterday:
1002

Par:
25500

Death Count:
6+

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/751998.html. You can comment here or there.

Escape from Rochester – Camp Nano Day Sixteen

Jul17

First Line of yesterday:

I don’t think we’ve ever acted so fast; we turned, we dove, as a team, taking him to the ground.

Last Line of yesterday:

I started to pry myself out of my seat, and then realized I didn’t really have to; I could see it out the side windows, too.

Current Word Count:
24141

Words Yesterday:
1487

Par:
24,000

Death Count:

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/751488.html. You can comment here or there.

Revenge? a continuation of Boom/Cynara (For @inventrix)

Jul16

After Eriko

It was tempting to some small, vindictive part of Cynara to leave Eriko down there.

The cells she had built were two stories underground, encased in solid rock and paneled in thick enough hawthorn to make any Workings pretty much impossible. They were connected to the city’s grid – there was electricity, and water, and air – but they were, rather than under her house, under a warehouse in a completely different sector of the city. If she wanted to, she could close the outside door, seal the earth over it, and pretend there had never been anyone there at all, and nobody except her and Eriko would ever know the difference.

They – Boom – were, however, theoretically the good guys. It would take a fae a long time to starve to death – very long, if the things Cya had learned were any indication – and it was a horrible way to die. Not among the worse, but certainly not among the easiest ways Cya knew.

Thus, she had one of the City employees detailed to sending food down three times a day, and once a week, she visited the bitch herself.

“I brought you some books.” She slid them through the door slot. “I remember you liked foreign studies, back then. There’s some modern pieces from France and Germany, Italy and Russia – or, I mean, where they used to be.”

“How did you get these?” It had been three weeks, and those were the first words Eriko had said to her.

“I’m a Finder.” Dysmas hadn’t even known who Boom were. It was possible that Eriko didn’t know the third-most famous thing about Cynara.

“What, you find lost keychains?” The woman was locked in a hawthorn box and she still managed to sound like she was sneering.

“I find everything.” She knew she sounded cocky; when it came to her Finding, she was cocky. “I found you. I found these books.”

“Yeah, great, Nancy Drew. But these books – they’re from another continent. How did you get there?”

“I didn’t.” Not that it hadn’t occurred to her to try – but that was a long, long time to be away from her crew. “I found the books.” She decided to spell it out, just in case Eriko really was that stupid. “It’s my innate, Eriko.”

“You didn’t have that when you were in school.”

“Not so much my first year. And what I had, I didn’t have much call to use.” She had always known where Zita and Howard and Leo were. It was just that she couldn’t do anything about it. “But you know, powers develop over time.”

“Mine didn’t.”

“You have to work it, like a muscle – not that I’d recommend trying, in there. It’ll give you a hell of a headache to even try.”

“You know this is going to drive me insane, right? It’ll drive anyone insane – any fae – if you leave them in here.”

Cya tapped the door. “I’m rather counting on it. It’s the only fair punishment I can come up with.”

~

“I brought you some puzzles.”

“Why?”

Eriko had been in there for three weeks. Cya hadn’t done mind Workings – couldn’t do mind Workings through the hawthorn and rowan – but she had enough experience with insanity to recognize signs without magic.

“Because human beings aren’t meant to be alone, and being alone without stimulation is likely to drive you crazy.”

“We’re not human.”

“I’m not human. I’m not so sure about you.”

“What’s that supposed to me?”

“Look at yourself for a moment. Look in a mirror.”

“I don’t want to.”

“And why not?” Cya kept her voice calm.

“I don’t want to, that’s all.”

“Your Mask is down.”

“Of course it is. In here…”

“In there, it would take constant, endless effort to maintain a Mask. Easier to just not look in the mirror.”

“What would you know about it? What would you know about being human? You haven’t changed, you haven’t aged…”

“And neither have you. But that’s not what you want to believe, and it’s not what you want the world to believe.” Cya pushed the puzzles through the food slot. “You want to be human. And humans – and fae – do badly in isolation.”

“You put me here. You locked me in this box. I thought you wanted me to go insane.”

“I did.” Cya chewed on her lip for a moment. “I put you in there to punish you. To hurt you.”

“For doing the same goddamned thing as everyone else did, back then. For doing the same thing as was done to me. For hurting your precious Leo, when I’m sure he went and hurt someone else in his time.”

“You know what the worst of it was?” Cya tried not to think about Leo and Gabi, about Gabrielle’s broken belief that he’d ruined everything. “For all of us? It was watching our friends be broken, be hurt, be lost and confused, and not being able to do anything about it.” It was being told we weren’t supposed to care. It was being helpless to do anything.”

Eriko scoffed. “Tell me another one about how bad you had it. Tell me another story about how your lives sucked so bad.”

Cynara stood up. “I think I’ll wait until you can tell me yourself.”

“Wait!”

Cya left.

~

“I brought you some magazines.”

“Magazines, seriously? Where do you – no, don’t tell me. You Find things. Some somehow, you found magazines. Because you’re fucking Wonder Woman.”

“Give me your word.” It wasn’t planned, this time; the words were out of her mouth and then Cynara wondered what she meant.

She had just enough time to think about it before Eriko asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Give me your word that if I open this door, you won’t try to escape.”

“Why? And don’t give me that shit that humans aren’t made for isolation yadda, yadda. Why?”

“Because I want to talk to you.”

“You’re talking just fine.”

“You’re saying you don’t want to see another face?”

“I’m saying you’re cy’Drake and you don’t do anything without a nice complicated reason and seventeen loopholes.”

The laugh surprised Cya. When was the last time she’d laughed like that? When her grandson’s youngest had spit up on her shirt, that was when – and the whole family had been a little confused about that.

“What?” The woman on the other side of the wall was suddenly cautious.

“It’s just…” Cya pulled herself back together. “It’s nice to hear. I’m going to open the door. Don’t try to escape.”

“I’m… you’re insane, you know that?”

Cya muttered a set of Workings under her breath, hanging them on her like weapons, and swung the door open. She found she was grinning until her cheeks hurt. “Insane?”

She pulled up a chair, blocking the exit, and pulled up a second for Eriko. They were down here, in case she wanted to do this.

“Yeah. Insane. Certifiable.”

She found she was trying to stretch the grin further. “Nobody left to certify me. You’re showing your age.”

She sat, cautiously, just inside the door of her cell. “I’m old. Why are you laughing?”

“Because.” Cya snorted again. “Because it’s funny.”

“That I’m old?”

“Oh, that’s hilarious.” She giggled, relishing the sound of it, the feel of it in her mouth. “You’re old. No. No, it’s funny that you see it and you don’t even know what you’re seeing.”

“You’re nuts. Insane.”

“Yes.” Cya giggled again. “Yes, yes I am.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/751289.html. You can comment here or there.

Escape from Rochester – Camp Nano Day Fifteen

Jul16

First Line of yesterday:

“Hey!” Mary managed to force the door open the rest of the way. “I wasn’t the one who screamed!”

Last Line of yesterday:

And by Remembered, I mean he grabbed Dorian by the back of the neck.

Current Word Count:
22,654

Words Yesterday:
1511

Par:
22,500

Death Count:
6?
3 otherwise out of action
unknown wounded
Plus several dozen weasels, hamsters, and terriers dead.
And one dead Swamp Thing

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/750643.html. You can comment here or there.

Escape from Rochester – Camp Nano Day Fourteen

Jul15

First Line of yesterday:

“So. Killing fae.” I’d said that already, hadn’t I?

Last Line of yesterday:

“We just wanted to see what was going on, and then we tripped over a foot, and I – I mean and Mary screamed.”

Current Word Count:
21143

Words Yesterday:
1524

Par:
21000

Death Count:
5?
3 otherwise out of action
unknown wounded
Plus several dozen weasels, hamsters, and terriers dead.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/750241.html. You can comment here or there.

Jumping Rings: A Story of the Circled Plain Chapter Three

Jul14

 

Chapter Three: Taslin

Duck

“Duck! Damnit, Taslin, I said duck! The next time you miss, I’m going to leave you so sore you can’t lift a sword nor spear for a week!”

Gan was shouting. Taslin found her lips curling back in a grin, so, instead, she ducked her head. “Again, ma’am Ganlenrel?”

“Again! I’ll give you again, you worthless Outer-Circle mutant of a waste of armour, again, now, and what did I tell you about keeping that left arm up, Gladiator, keep your arm up and keep that shield up! Now duck, and what did I tell you about playing to the crowd?”

Taslin dropped down under Gan’s blade, rolled in a move she’d been practicing on her own, and came up just behind the trainer’s off-hand. “Don’t do it unless I can do it right, and forget playing to the crowd until I can survive three fights in a row with no new scars. Right now I’m fodder for the mill.”

She tapped her sword against the giant’s arm. “And don’t get cocky. Ma’am.” Who would have thought the big career Gladiator had reached for the feminine? Taslin hadn’t believed it, not really, until she’d seen the big woman at dinner, in skirts with a ribbon in her hair. “I’ve been listening, ma’am.”

“Of course you have.” Gan did something with her sword that almost embedded the hilt in Taslin’s kidney, but Tas had been expecting something of the sort – she’d been showing off, after all – and had already danced out of the way. “Because you’re a book learning sort, and you think you’re smart.”

“No ma’am.” She bowed politely. “Try the dodge again, ma’am?”

“So you don’t think you’re smart? Are you a stupid sod, then, the concrete from the outer circle still drying off your boots? You the sort that thinks a Fountain is for gulping out of? You the sort that dies fast?” Gan punctuated the last with a sword-swing, one that Taslin barely managed to dodge. “You the sort that listens to my words instead of watching me blade, Taslin-the-smart-one?”

“No, ma’am. No, Ganlenrel, ma’am.” Taslin jabbed in a short feint and was unsurprised when it was blocked. “No, of course not, ma’am. I listen to your words and watch your blade.”

“And why is that, smart thing?” Gan’s blade smacked down hard on Taslin’s ass and, recognizing it as a punishment and not a fight move, Taslin stood and took it.

“Because, ma’am.” When the sword did not hit again, she took a step back out of reach. “I want to survive the ring.”

“Everyone wants to survive, Gladiator. Nobody comes here wanting to die.”

Neither of them called that on the obvious lie that it was. Instead, Taslin bowed again. “I want to thrive.”

“Hunh.” Gan bowed in return. “Then you just might live. Go sluice off, Gladiator. You’ve got your stage class in twenty minutes.”

“Stage?” She racked her practice sword and hung her leather armor on its stand. “What sort… oh.”

“The part where you play to the crowd, yes. This is a show, gladiator. Don’t ever forget it.”

“But you said not to bother playing to the crowd yet.” Taslin stepped off the sand, bowed, and stripped off her practice tunic.

“No. And I meant it. Seriously, Tas. You’re going to be good if you survive; don’t get dead being a ham before you can be a star.” Gan followed her out of the sandbox, stripping out of her own armor and tunic as she went.

“Then why…?” Taslin took a step backwards out of the practice-mistress’ reach. “I don’t ask to be contrary!”

“You talk pretty fancy for an eighth-circle girl, Taslin born in Altreka.” It wasn’t an answer.

“I left that behind.” Neither was that.

“Hrrmph. You need to start good habits now, that can turn into playing to the crowd when you’re ready. If you learn bad habits, you’ll have to break them, and that can fuck with your fighting.” Gan tossed her a towel.

“Thank you.” She wiped off the worst of the sweat and grime, leaving the sand at the edge of the sandbox where it belonged. In the spirit of fair trade, she offered up a piece of herself. “I was a scholarship kid. Sixth-circle school, three times a week from the time I was ten.”

“And here you are.”

“And here I am, yes, ma’am. I should shower before stage classes?”

“Hrmph. Yes. Go, you.”

Taslin, of course, went. She couldn’t tell, not really, if the training mistress liked her or hated her, but she had a feeling that was part of the nature of training. She wasn’t supposed to be friends with the woman, she was supposed to learn.

“Duck.” She muttered it to herself. “Duck, then swerve. That shoulder roll is too showy, and it’s not level enough yet. Ow.” And her shoulders were sore already. She needed to work on her dives.

“Talking to yourself already? I’d heard that was a trait of the Servi, not of Gladiators.”

“I hadn’t heard it of any of the cheaters.” Taslin slowed and glanced sideway.

The Gladiator-valet Vinroth smiled shyly back at her. “I would not call them – you – cheaters, but I hadn’t truly heard it either. What has you talking to yourself?”

“Shoulder rolls. And ducking.”

“Standard first week fare, sounds like. What are you doing with it?”

“Trying to survive long enough to thrive, not showing off, and watching my left hand.” The words had the rubbed raw places in her voice by this point, and she could tell from the look on Vinrosh’s face that it showed.

“And, again, that sounds like first week fare. Which means next is stage class, yes?”

“Next is a shower, and then stage class.”

“Excellent.”

“Vinroth…” She’d had this argument before. Seven times, as a matter of fact, for the seven days she’d been here – and seven more showers than she’d ever had in a week before.

“Hush, you. I enjoy doing my job.”

“I enjoy washing myself without a helper.”

“Then we’re at an impasse, once again.” Vinroth was smiling broadly as he bowed to her. “I will, once again, stand outside your shower. And you will, once again, grumble about it.”

“That does seem to be the routine.” The skinny guy was so cheerful about it; Taslin smirked back at him. “Ten years of this, do you think?”

“Oh, no, I’ll be lucky if it lasts for ten weeks. You’ll have your own valet in a month or two, hands-down.”

“I’m a plebe, a newb. I’m still so raw I’m getting slapped with wooden swords until I can’t sit.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be lucky if I can stand up in two months.”

Vinroth shook his head. “I know talent when I see if, and so does Gan.”

“You said everything was routine.”

“The training is routine. Whether or not you are routine remains to be seen.”

Taslin peeked sideways at him again. “You’re just saying that to get in the shower with me.”

“Indeed, no. If I were saying something to get into the shower with you, it would be more along the lines of ‘I know your shoulders and back must ache. In the shower, I could help relieve some of that tension… and any other tension you might have.”

“Ha.” Despite herself, Taslin knew she was grinning stupidly. She turned away. “Well, gotta say that’s more tempting than ‘I could wash your back.’”

“Then I must say that you have never had your back properly washed. But now we are at the showers, and I must go back to waiting outside for you to change your mind.”

“You know I’m not going to, right? Change my mind? Give in?”

“I know that you seem rather unlikely to. However, Gladiator Taslin, this is my job.”

“What lands you a position playing valet to Gladiators, anyway?” She’d made her jokes, of course; everyone did. Standing around all those naked and nearly-naked people, with sweaty, well-toned bodies.

“Mmm, and that is a story for another day. A day, perhaps, in which I am in your shower, washing your back.”

“You strike a hard bargain.”

“I do endeavor to. I’ve discovered that hard bargains, when won, are better valued than easy ones. And I like being valued.” The smile Vinroth shot her was sunshine-brilliant, with very pointed canines.

“It seems like an odd place for value.”

“On the contrary. Gladiators – any of those who bend knee to climb, really – have so very little that is their own. Everything else is given to you either by the pit or your patrons, no?”

“Everything but my drive.”

“And me.” His fingers touched her arm briefly. “I am given to you by myself. I choose to serve.”

“Ah.” Taslin felt uncomfortably warm. She mirrored the touch, very lightly, just feeling the hair on his arm. “I understand.”

“Then you should go shower, Gladiator. Because your stage class is going to be rather interesting and likely rather difficult.” Now Vinroth’s smile was more light, less toothy, and possibly sardonic. “Although you’ll have an advantage over some of them. You speak nicely to begin with.”

“Talking’s not usually required much in the pit…” It was a nice, solid subject, but she still felt the sand slipping out from under her feet.

“You haven’t seen that many pit matches, have you?”

“They don’t often let the Eighth Circle in to watch. Mostly the travelling shows.” It didn’t usually chafe like this. She was born of Altreka, in the Eighth. It was simply a face. Usually.

“You will see. I think you will enjoy it. You already know how to put on a show. I’ve seen you, your chin up, smiling.”

“That’s just good fighting.”

“And it’s good pit fighting, too. Now go on, Gladiator. Get clean, and then I will get to help teach you all about the proper way to play to the crowd.”

“You…?”

“Yes, me.” He bowed again, this time with a series of flourishes that made it look like the end of a dance. “I am a man of many talents.”

She turned away before he could see the sudden speculation. Many talents, indeed.


Chapter Four: Valran (LJ) Duck

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/749954.html. You can comment here or there.

Escape from Rochester – Camp Nano Day Eleven/Twelve/Thirteen

Jul14

First Line of Friday:

He stepped over the body like a prom queen moving over a puddle.

Last Line of yesterday:

I swallowed. This part I didn’t like talking about. Hell, what fae did?

Current Word Count:
19619

Words Weekend:
4488

Par:
19500

Death Count:
Oh dear bog I’ve lost count. Umm…
5?
3 otherwise out of action
unknown wounded
Plus several dozen weasels, hamsters, and terriers dead.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/749748.html. You can comment here or there.

And one more meme response

Jul13

Dr Who – Donna Noble. If Donna winds up there, I’m sure the Doctor will follow.
http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/878555.html?thread=4710363#t4710363

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/749541.html. You can comment here or there.