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I Have This School, a story of Cynara/Regine (Boom) (@inventrix)

Apr29

This takes place some time (2 years or so) after The Year Cya Didn’t Keep Anyone.

She cleaned the dust of two years of hard labor off of herself before she went back to school; she re-dyed her hair the brilliant red it had been for most of her life and found clean, nice clothes. When she walked up to the wards and knocked, she didn’t look like the scruffy girl who had been pulling a city out of the earth by the force of her mind. She looked like a responsible adult.

She didn’t think it would help enough, but she thought that, considering the Administration, to not put on the facade would hurt too much.

She gained an audience with the Queen of Addergoole, Director Regine Avonmorea, by the simple expedient of asking. That was, Cynara had a feeling, the last easy part of this mission.

“Jae’Red Doomsday.” The Director nodded her head politely.

“Sa’Lady of the Lake.” Cya responded to the lack of inflection with an equally bland response.

“How can I help you today?” If Cya were to attempt to anthropomorphize, she would say the Director sounded tired.

“I came to offer you help.” Without further prelude – it was wasted on the Grigori Director – Cya laid out the carefully-chosen plans and diagrams, staff folios and curricula. “I’ve built a school.”

The Director almost looked surprised. A trick of the light, Cya assumed. She flipped through the pages, one at a time, either pretending to look through them or – more likely, considering that she had never showed any interest in pretense before – actually considering them. “This is a blueprint for something to be built?”

“This is the plan for something already built.” It was missing enough information, of course, to be no use in, say, an invasion, and suggested several things that were just not true, but it was a plan for the school.

“With suggestions for study plans and staff, I see.” She continued to flip the pages. “Heavily centered on your Crew.”

“As is Addergoole on yours.” She spoke levelly, calmly. Nothing explosive here. Nothing at all.

“I see you have a few spots left open.”

“If this project is to be part of the Addergoole system, then there will of course be room for other Addergoole graduates, or other teachers that you feel would be appropriate. Perhaps some of your core staff are looking for a little sunlight, and could be rotated out? I’m aware you have done that once or twice over the years.”

“You would be. Your grandsons are in school now?”

“One grandson, and a granddaughter, at the moment.” The threat was implicit, of course; Regine would never be so gauche as to spell it out.

“And this project of yours. You built it before making the offer?”

“I did.” She forbore any explanation or defense, although she had plenty of both.

“Very interesting.” The Director closed the notebook with a rather final-sounding thud. “You had in mind opening another branch, as with Addergoole East?”

“I did. Different students benefit from different learning environments.”

“They do. And your great-grandchildren…”

“Would have their school chosen by their mothers, of course, among the Addergoole options.”

“Of course. And, refresh me, how many of those mothers currently live on the Boom ranch?”

“Currently? Two.”

“Of course.” Regine brushed her hand over the book. “It’s a very good plan, Cynara, jae’Red Doomsday. But I’m afraid I am not interested with engaging in a partnership with Boom.”

Cya had not expected she would be, but she had allowed herself to hope. “May I ask why not?”

“Your crew has always been explosive. Revolutionary.”

“Explosive, I will grant. In our teens, we were very volatile.” We. It covered it well enough. “But revolutionary? There’s hardly anything left to revolt against.”

“A situation which I’m certain your crew could change, had they the desire.” It was a pat answer that didn’t actually answer anything. “No, jae’Doomsday, I do not think your Crew are the proper people for such an endeavor. I’m afraid you built your school in vain.”

“In vain?” Cya allowed herself a smile. “No, certainly not. There are fae who are not part of the Addergoole project, still. Less than there were, but they exist.” It was not a threat, not quite. Cynara was no more gauche (here and now) than her hostess.

“Your descendants are still promised to Addergoole.”

“Of course.” Cya smiled more broadly now. “All of the Addergoole-born descendants of Boom and their allies are promised to Addergoole, as it has always been.” She was un-threatened. She was un-offended. She had a lot of allies. And they all had children.

She watched the implication reach the Grigori’s computer that she used in place of a mind. All those grandchildren, all those great-grandchildren, raised by Boom.

Their kids had been impressive enough, en masse. Their grandkids…

“I wish you luck in your project, Cynara.”

“And I, you, in yours.”

She left before their threats could grow less civil.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/523284.html. You can comment here or there.

V for Vindicated

Apr29

For @KissofJudas’ prompt. Fae Apoc, Addergoole Grad.
Via is a character in the Baram’s Elves sub-series; this takes place after she graduates and before she ends up at Baram’s.

Via left the body where it fell, cleaned the weapons with three cloths and a quick Working, and left those sitting on the body’s chest.

The man wasn’t dead, yet. He wouldn’t be dead, if someone got him to a hospital. And he was Faded, with enough strength to be held to an oath, so the chances were, in time, long enough time, he might heal. He might, however, wish he was dead.

“You’ve gotten a vindictive streak lately.”

She should have been surprised to see the man standing at the mouth of the alley, but she found that she wasn’t. “Could we take this conversation somewhere else?”

“Probably best.” If she hadn’t known better, Via would have thought the man sounded amused. “There’s a cafe down the road with the sort of sense of time that’s useful in cases like this. I know the owner.”

“That works.” He probably knew where she lived, but that didn’t mean she wanted to bring him there. “You took longer than I expected.”

“Your graduating class is more active than most.” He tilted his head down the road and, not wanting a fight, not here, Via followed.

The cafe was exactly the sort of place she’d expect him to pick, with deep booths and ambient noise that covered casual conversations. They sat across the table from each other, drinking beer and eating fries, both waiting for the other to speak.

“How many?” He broke first, or perhaps accepted the role of inquisitor.

“Seventeen.”

“You have a reason?”

“Rapists. Monsters. Torturers and creeps.”

The man across the table looked, she thought, as if he was contemplating her list. “We didn’t educate you to be a vigilante.”

Viatrix raised her eyebrows. “You could have fooled me.”

At that, the man across the table laughed. “You’re doing a good job of it, Via. And not even a whisper of chance you’ll get caught. Well done.”

Vindicated. Viatrix smiled. “Thank you, Luke.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/523210.html. You can comment here or there.

S for Shahin, a story of Addergoole Post-Apoc for the Giraffe Call

Apr26

To [personal profile] natalief‘s Prompt of the same name. After Mimosas.
The hermaphrodite – known alternately as Ty, Tya, and Red Sun at Night, and now known as oro’Shahin – studied its mistress uncomfortably.

The mimosas, Ty thought, had been a good idea. They had melted a bit of the ice Shahin kept around herself like a shield, gotten the vestiges of a smile of out her. Ty found, and was surprised and enlightened by the discovery, that those smiles had become a bit of an addiction.

I will allow you in my bed, she’d said, when you have learned what it is to serve. And it had been, so far, an education. Not just in serving, although Shahin had been an apt and firm instructor. But in the life she and her people lived, in the hunt for the monsters that survived – and in Ty’s mistress herself.

Ty kowtowed. It was a position with which the slender fae had more than a little experience, although generally in situations more playacting than real. Now, with the feel of Shahin’s metal-and-leather collar weighing down its neck, the position took on far less playfulness and far more gravity. It could stay down here forever.

“I would send a message to sa’Lady of the Lake.” Ty spoke to the floor. “It has been long enough that she’s going to be sending someone to look for me.” There, mistress, take that information for what it’s worth.

“And what would you tell her?” Ty didn’t dare look up at Shahin’s face, not yet, but he thought she was not too displeased.

“Ah. Well, mistress, therein lies the rub.”

“And what rub is that?” She had not, yet, given her new Kept a pet name; most of the time she used no name at all. Ty wondered at it, being nameless. Would it eventually forget its name?

Ty coughed. “You asked what I wanted. What if I want to stay?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/520908.html. You can comment here or there.

Way-Back Wednesday, a story of Regine

Apr26

March 7, 1810

Regine studied her son – her only son, her only child. She studied his Change, the echo of her father, all those years ago, muttering in the back of her mind.

She took three measured breaths, and then a fourth. “You are my son.”
She affirmed this truth, in case anyone had any doubt. “We will find an appropriate Mentor for you, who can teach you what I have not.”

“If there is anything you have not taught me.”

“I am certain I have missed, perhaps, one or two things.” Regine did not touch easily, but she made herself touch the fluted, fin-like ears that his Change had brought. “You are my son.” She did not know if she was reassuring him, or herself.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/519940.html. You can comment here or there.

M is for Mimosas in the Morning, a story of Shahin/Fae Apoc-post-apoc for the Giraffe Call

Apr23

To [personal profile] anke‘s prompt. After Monsters and others.

“Mimosas in the morning?” Shahin studied her Kept, who had stirred up mix of orange juice – and where had Ty gotten that? She had to assume it’d figured out how to Meentik it up – and, even more improbably, champagne. “Hardly manly.”

“Neither of us, my dear Keeper, can be counted as manly. You may be as tough as one by some estimations – although I’d say they’re wrong. You’re as tough as a woman, which I’d count as far stronger.”

“You want something. And you’ve dangled far afield of your answer.” Neverthless, she sat down, swirling the drink and watching the bubbles rise.

“Don’t I always want something?”

“Well, often, at the very least. Is this poisoned?”

“Of course not.” As if to prove it, Ty lifted the glass. Before the slender hermaphrodite could drink, however, it flinched, running afoul of an order. “If I may?”

“You may.” Shahin took a ridiculous pleasure in that order, although it had been laid in as a supply-train precaution, rather than out of sadism. Don’t eat more than I or my lieutenants put on your plate. She hadn’t said drink, but she’d proven to be impatient with any loophole-searching.

Ty sipped the mimosa. “Not poisoned, dear Keeper.”

“Very good.” She sipped her own. “And very good. Your Working?”

“My Working.” His shoulders rolled. “I didn’t have any orders against this sort of thing…”

“No. I’m certainly not going to stop you from a domestic Working. Especially not one this good.”

She was intrigued to watch the set of his shoulders relax. He’d been worried. Interesting. “Now.” She leaned forward, watching him flinch away. “What do you want?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/517114.html. You can comment here or there.

J is for the Last Jubilee, a story for the Giraffe Call

Apr20

For several prompts, primarily J is for Jubilee, from [personal profile] sharpeningthebones.

The party hadn’t been going on for all that long, at least not in a global scale of things. Only a year or two.

It was the Last Jubilee. It was the Final Party. It had begun the day that D.C. fell. And it was going to go on until they ran out of gin and juice, or until they all died, whichever came last.

When Joey had begun the party, she’d expected it to last maybe a couple days. A week, maybe. She’d opened up all the doors of her house and invited everyone she knew to the party.

What else could she do? D.C. was down. New York had already fallen. So had L.A., London, Madrid. The gods were like locusts, devouring everything – and everything they didn’t kill, the so-called heroes were eating.

What use were carefully hoarded supplies against a crisis like this? What use was it living when everyone else was dying? Joey had gotten as drunk as she could, as stoned as she could handle, and then she had started calling people.

For everyone that didn’t answer, she took a shot. For everyone that did, she snorted a line.

It took her three weeks to call – or text, or e-mail, or skype – everyone she knew. Three weeks that she didn’t remember when they were happening, much less afterwards.

And then, then she started the party. “Invite everyone you knew,” she’d told her friends. “Bring ’em all.” It couldn’t have been that many people.

At first, only a couple people showed up. So Joey opened up the bar, and the fridge, and did a little surreptitious magic to keep the booze flowing and the food coming.

She spent the next week toasting the dead, and greeting her guests. The week after that, she spent meeting her new friends. And the week after that… even newer friends.

That had been two years ago. The booze kept flowing. The food kept coming. And the new friends kept coming.

If the world was going to go and end on them, Joey thought, well, then, they were going to see it out with the best wake they could.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/515397.html. You can comment here or there.

No-one said it would be easy

Apr20

No-on said it would be easy.
But no-one said it would be this hard.

Aelgifu sat in the break room, nursing her infant son while trying to figure out her biology homework.

Siggie was having a moody time of it lately, whiny and demanding whenever she left him with other people – even other-Mom, Io – for too long. His older sisters, in turn, were taking turns being as bratty as they could manage. None of them liked the apartment. None of them liked the day care. And, to a one, they all – even, on days like this, Ayla – wanted to go back to the Village, where all their friends were.

Nothing ever worth doing is easy.. Ayla kissed her son on the top of his head, and counted her blessings once again.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/514984.html. You can comment here or there.

I is for the Individual, a story for the Giraffe Call

Apr19

To [personal profile] thnidu‘s prompt, with help from [personal profile] lilfluff‘s prompt and [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt

Probably fae-apoc-post-apoc.

“We hold that the individual must always be more important than the institution.”

Iancu didn’t so much explain his position as he declaimed it, his long, elegant fingers twirling outward in a poetic swirl. Below the dais, Irene rolled her eyes.

“Surely you must have some form of government, some form of rules. Infrastructure? Education? Legislation?”

“There is no law, no teaching, no road that can bind the individual to the institution.” This time, Iancu pointed at the road-sign-like icon they had nailed to a tree: a single figure, standing in a green field. It looked to Irene like a prewar sign for the men’s room. “From this we take our stand.”

“But you have a stand. As a group. Someone must speak for you, for there to be a stand.”

“There is the individual, speaking for the individual. No-one may speak for another.”

“Then how do you get anything done?”

“Well, the individual does it. Sometimes many individuals do something while working near each other. That is how we built the road.” Iancu gestured to the lane in question.

Irene looked around the elven settlement. Houses were built in a myriad array of styles, but all were tucked away, barely visible from this central clearing. The clearing had any number of the independent “elves,” a subspecies of fae that she had not previously encountered (and hoped to never encounter again). Relics and icons of the world long gone hung in the clearing – not just the single “Individual” sign, but many others. One looked to her agéd eye to be a “school crossing” sign; under it, three elves were debating. Perhaps whether this suggested travelling in groups of one adult with a number of children. The lane, at least, looked well-built – if you allowed that it was seven lanes running next to each other. Irene pitied the wagon that tried to drive down that road.

“So there is no-one with whom the nation of Arista can negotiate?”

“No-one,” Iancu agreed. “Or all of us, one individual at a time. Such is the way of my people.”

“Then on who would we declare war?”

The gaggles of elves across the center clearing silenced. “War?” She thought Iancu’s voice might squeak.

“If we can not negotiate, we will go to war. Such is the way of my people.”

She watched Iancu’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I suppose you would go to war with each of us individually.” He coughed, and looked around the clearing. “Perhaps, as a convocation of individuals, we can appoint a speaker to negotiate with the Arista.”

“Wonderful.” Irene smiled. If they negotiated like they built roads, her people were going to get everything they wanted.

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/527456.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/514026.html. You can comment here or there.

H is for Holy Hot Hell Night, Batman

Apr19

To wyld_dandelyon‘s prompt.

Æowyn is a character from Addergoole: Year 9. This is set in Year 11.

The AC was broken in the halls of Addergoole, and the halls were, consequently sweltering.

Æowyn stripped off a layer, leaving her in a tank top and boxers, and tied her hair back in a ponytail. Things did not break in Addergoole, not like this, so it had to be someone’s idea of a prank.

Æowyn didn’t mind, not really. She wasn’t cold-blooded, not like some of the snakey Changes she’d met, but neither did she mind the heat. Some of the others, however, were clearly having a harder time of it. Eluned looked flat-out miserable, and Kendrew, a Cohort after Æowyn and Eluned and with a Change and power based on ice, looked as if he was going to melt.

“Holy Hot Hell Night, Batman.” She muttered it under her breath to amuse herself, and didn’t expect an answer.

“Holy hot snake ladies, Robin.”

“Holy… what?” she turned to follow a voice she didn’t recognize yet. Almost didn’t see him, as he’d managed to blend himself into a niche in the wall so well he was almost invisible.

“Holy hot snake ladies. Is Hell Night the day when they turn up the heat to see if we still sweat?”

Æowyn found a smile growing. He was cute, in a blonde-and-scruffy sort of way, if you could look around the edges of his apparent camouflage power. “In a manner of speaking. Do you?”

He wiped a hand over his brow. “Seems like it. You, too?”

“Despite the scales, yeah.” She looked at him, dripping in a corner. She could feel her fangs against her lips. “Something spook you?”

“Don’t tell anyone?”

“Cross my heart.” She made the gesture across the center of her chest, and felt the settling-in of a promise.

“I thought I heard horses galloping. When it turned out to be a centuar…. I freaked out.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “So you do sweat.”

“I just said… oh. Oh, it’s that sort of day.”

“Yeah.” Æowyn remembered her first Hell Night, and the way another blonde-and-scruffy boy had terrified her. “It’s that sort of day. Tell you what. ‘Come with me if you want to live.'” She held out her hand.

“Terminator. The heat really is on, isn’t it?” He studied her hand thoughtfully.

“I know a way to get out of the kitchen.” She kept her hand held out, not entirely certain what she was going to do.

“I’ll take it.” He slapped his hand into hers and squeezed. She squeezed back, and led him out of the heat.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/513563.html. You can comment here or there.