This month’s theme is
Libraries and Librarians
Things marked with a * are free for everyone to read.
This month’s theme is
Libraries and Librarians
Things marked with a * are free for everyone to read.
Originally posted March 9th, 2011.
They were building it anew.
There hadn’t been much left after the devastation, and the city they’d lived in had been a stinking, rotten, fetid ruin. Better to leave it to the dead and dying, better to leave the diseases to work their course. Those of them who could walk, who could carry a pack, who wanted to live, had banded together and headed for the hills.
Nobody in the Fae Apoc really knows what’s going on, do they…?
The Grigori would not listen to her.
Natela was not particularly surprised. For one, the Grigori rarely listened to anyone who was not Grigori, and although she had their blood, she was not of them, but by their standards.
This story takes place 50 years past the original story, nearly 40 years after the apocalypse, after the Retirement stories.
Kailani and Rozen were being followed.
Not exactly followed — more like followed-in-front-of — and not by a person or people. Rozen would have been able to deal with people.
A bonus post, because I was entertaining myself.
The series of follies – small buildings, in other situations often in formal gardens, designed to be decorative while often resembling some purpose-built building – known most commonly as The Red-Tree Follies dot the landscape in a wavering set of ovals from east to west, providing lovely places for a picnic, for an evening’s rest, or for a small wedding.
This story is set in 1864, one year after Abe Lincoln made Thanksgiving a national holiday. Parties take time to plan, dontcha know?
Luke knew Mike had set him up the minute he walked into the party.
The way the fancy people in their expensive dresses turned to stare, the whispers that he couldn’t imagine he wasn’t supposed to hear:
Originally posted January 3, 2012.
Tom looked at the knife the girl had given him, if you could call it a knife. He didn’t look long; there was a monster in front of him. There had been a lot of monsters in front of him lately, since the – well, since whatever the hell had happened.
Okay, this started out when I was trying to write a story for Patreon (Legends and Myths, Fae Apoc) and sort of failed, but I had this idea about the Council (the ruling body of the “Good Guys” fae, the Shenera Enderaei, the Children of the Law), inherently having no authority to do what they do. And since I’ve played with the idea of Cloverleaf/Boom/Cya facing down the Council before…
This is set some long time after the founding of Cloverleaf, and is non-canon.
“We are here to see how well you are abiding by the regulations of the Council. Your position as a pro facto dictator here raises a red flag in our books, and we will be here until we have passed judgement or removed you from power.”
Cya looked at the people in front of her. She looked at the woman standing to her left. “This is a ‘Man on the Moon’ situation,” she told the woman.
The woman nodded and vanished. Cya smiled. The expression was small, polite, restrained. People who knew her the best — and only them — knew that it meant she was absolutely furious.
The space of three heartbeats passed. “I do not acknowledge your authority to judge me,” she told the people calmly. Continue reading
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.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1308799.html. You can comment here or there.
March is Worldbuilding Month! Leave me a question about any of my worlds, and I will do my best to answer it! (I need more questions, guys)
This ninth one is from medicmsh3141: What’s your favorite part of mapmaking?
Oh, no, favorites!
…All of it?
Okay, so when I was working on my first-ever Nanowrimo novel, The Deep Inks, one of the flaws in that book is that I spent like… 3 chapters describing an entirely-useless-to-plot town that the antagonists had built… I don’t even remember why.
But I LOVED that town.
Forget killing my darling lines, when I worldbuild–>write, I have to kill my darling TOWNS.
First, I’m rubbish at visualization, so when I make a map, I can start to actually SEE a place come together.
Second, it’s arts-and-crafts, and I really, REALLY like arts-and-crafts. I get to pull out the lentils/split peas/other pulses and play like I’m finger painting, I get to draw shapes that aren’t going to look “wrong” because, let’s face it, it’s an imaginary world. I get to get out the watercolors and PAINT.
…there’s more than one reason I do all my mapmaking on actual paper with pencil. 🙂
Okay, so there’s the haptic side of it, there’s the visualization side. There’s getting to play with logistics, too: where would they put cities? Roads? Fords/bridges?
I’m gonna put floor-plan making in here too, ‘cause it fills many of the same urges. “How would they cram as many people as possible into this space, to both fill basic needs for shelter AND to encourage them to spread out and build proper houses?”
(That one’s Colonize Earth, which I never did get too far with).
Maps and diagrams are all about questions. How would they do that that is different from how I would do it?
I’m still not one hundred percent sure why Cya built Cloverleaf in a series of circles – but I love it. Might’ve been for the tower in the middle, everything pointing like arrows at the giant thing that, after all, is not actually the school.
Anke prompted me with “treehouse” the other day and I’m still playing with all the details of a post-apocalyptic scrounger’s tree house…
…I considered going into architecture, you know. Sometimes I really regret that I didn’t.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1285229.html. You can comment here or there.
Milana should not have been their entry specialist. Helji talked to machines. Signy broke things. But Milana had delicate, clever fingers, Helji was busy figuring out the archaic and terrifying building system, and Signy had both hands full of guards, rather literally.
So Milana was here, crouched in front of a nice door lock that seemed to be purely mechanical, muttering quiet Workings at it…
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This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1091066.html. You can comment here or there.
Fiana was getting old, and Edgar was not…
Years after they helped to build Cloverleaf, a plumber and his wife discuss their choice.
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This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1086715.html. You can comment here or there.
When Cya went to one of the downtown bars with Leo, she knew that she could expect a certain amount of flirtation in varying degrees of heavy-handedness. Today was no different – some smooth pick-up lines and some sad, some who wanted to sleep with power and some who thought she looked cute, some who thought Leo looked cute and some who thought they were dangerous in an interesting way.
And then one drunken guy told her he could help her out. “I’m good friends with the Mayor, you know. If you need a job, I can help you.”
She looked him over for a minute while the gathered crowd around them fell silent. He was earnest and pleased with himself – and she’d never met him before.
“Would someone please tell him?” She raised her voice so it carried.
One of the off-duty city guards, sounding as if he was trying not to laugh, cleared his throat. “What would you like us to tell him, Madam Mayor?”
The man frowned, but he clearly hadn’t gotten it yet. Cya sighed. “Well, my name would be a good start.”
“Well, I hear,” Apollo offered, “that the bandits to the west call you the Red Death.”
Actually, they called her the Red-handed wielder of the Lightning Death, but since neither she nor Leo actually killed anyone, she supposed that was a moot point.
“Up north, they call you the Savior of Adamtown,” a guard offered. Cya winced. That had been a bad one – but she had, technically, saved Adamtown.
“In school,” offered a third, who had been a student of Doomsday until just a year ago, “mostly they call you Prince Red.”
That one, she hadn’t known. And now her would-be suitor was beginning to get the point. He was turning pale. “Madame Mayor?” He glared at her. “No, you’re way too young. The mayor’s been here for fifty years!”
“The mayor is fae, you idiot.” The bartender looked far from impressed. “And you’re bothering her.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know?” he whined.
“Easy,” Cya offered. “Don’t claim friendships you don’t have. Promise that, and we won’t have a problem.”
“I.. I promise,” he stammered. From the way the air didn’t twist and the way he was willing to make a promise that quickly, Cya could tell he wasn’t fae. It didn’t matter. She smiled so all her sharp mink teeth showed.
“Good boy. Now go leave the Mayor alone. I want to flirt with someone less unwise.”
AS he hurried off, she began to wonder if it was time for a new city.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1081439.html. You can comment here or there.
(The Apiary is – or will be – the companion university and surrounding town to Cloverleaf and Doomsday Academy)
The chair was singularly uncomfortable. Augustinus did his best not to shift and squirm.
The woman in front of him was lush, far too lush, and something about her scent just made her beauty even more uncomfortable. And she was smiling at him with a wide grin that looked a little too predatory.
She glanced down at her notes. “Now,” she purred, “why don’t you tell me about your experience with chemistry?”
Augustinus cleared his throat, not for the first time, and tried not to make an absolute fool of himself.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1078210.html. You can comment here or there.