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D is for Dances Down in that [Dystopic] Underground School

Apr15

For Rix_Scaedu and Lilfluff‘s prompts.

First Dance, Year Nine.

Everyone seemed so into the dances here.

Back at home, Pania had not been all that big on the whole idea of school dances. Then again, back at home, there had been other things to do, other places to hang out. Here, down in Addergoole, there was the Arcade, and the dances, as far as she could tell.

So she asked a couple questions of older girls – the ones who seemed willing to talk to her, and who seemed like they’d neither tease her mercilessly for asking nor lie to her to see what she showed up in, and she bought a dress from the Store’s rather wide selection of pretty party dresses, and gave in and bought heels to match.

There. I’m not going to be the belle of the ball, but I won’t be the laughingstock, either.

First Dance, Year Eighteen.

Dances. Really.

Lælia’s mum had spoken fondly of such things, from her own days at her alma matter, but Lælia hadn’t reallyexpected them to still be going on.

For one thing, that had been Year One – very nearly two decades ago. For another, that had been Before The End. Lælia didn’t know if they still had dances in normal high schools. She didn’t really know if they still had high school in normal high schools.

All of her friends from Jr. High had moved away when things started getting messy – moved away, or, in more than one case, just vanished. In those cases, Lælia (and everyone else) tried to pretend they’d just moved, too, that Carrie and Leslie were in the same “I don’t know where but Dad says it’s safe” as Jennifer and Tyler.

All her friends had gone away. Lælia had gone to Addergoole.

First Dance, Year Nine.

“A dance?” The lovely man in the velvet tux bowed over Pania’s hand.

“I’d, ah, be honored.” She was pretty sure that was what she was supposed to say. “I’m Pania.”

“Ambrus. Pleased to meet you.” He had the most stunning eyes she had ever seen.

“Me, too.” Smooth. Pania tried not to look like a complete moron as she let the gorgeous guy lead her out onto the floor. “This is louder than I expected.”

“It does that.” He smiled, bowed, and set one hand gently on her waist. “You get used to it after a while.”

“People have been saying that a lot.”

“It is true about any number of things, here.” He stepped in so he was almost against her; he smelled of aftershave, very faintly, and something deep and male. “And it’s true.”

First Dance, Year Eighteen.

Lælia had found a dress at the Store – she’d found dozens, maybe hundreds of dresses at the Store, actually, but one she really liked – and shoes, and all those things her mother had told her you needed for a dance.

She was relieved – and surprised – to find out that her mother’s descriptions of these things had been spot-on. Fancy dresses, guys in tuxes (two girls in tuxes, one guy in a dress, one in a kilt), loud music (most of which Lælia recognized), and booze flowing like water.

“Where do they get all the stuff?” She hadn’t meant to ask it out loud, but, having said it, turned it to a handsome – nearly pretty – black-haired guy standing next to her at the bar.

He smiled, a brilliant thing that made the room brighter. “Magic.” He wiggled his fingers at her, and then turned it into an offer of a hand. “I’m Maleagant.”

“I’m Lælia. And if you tell me it’s magic, I’m willing to believe you.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/511092.html. You can comment here or there.

Monsters, a story of Fae Apoc for the Giraffe Call

Apr10

To [personal profile] thnidu‘s prompt
There was a monster to fight.

There was always a monster to fight. it seemed as if they had been fighting monsters forever. Maybe they had.

Shahin closed her eyes, shutting out the world of the now. She reached for the vision, pulling it from the vague, taunting recesses of her mind. When? Where? What? She demanded her power answer her and, cowed, it did so.

The monster was a troll, one of those fae that had given up any pretense of humanity. It was coming to them; it had a plan. An ugly plan, and she could see the timelines in which it succeeded.

They had been there before. She would not let them end up there again.

It would be here in half an hour. Shahin stood up, and spat out the orders that would change here into the battlefield of her choosing.

~

She fought with swords. Her Name was the Ice Rapier, after all, and, if the blades she wielded were not quite rapiers, well, she was not quite as Ice as her reputation would have you believe.

She fought with swords, cutting into the flesh of the monster, into its bone, into its heart. But she fought with words at the same time. She was a short woman and the monster was tall, taller than anything human. She could drive her blades only so far into it. But she could whisper, Meentik Kwxe, Burn, baby, Burn, and the flesh of the monster would light on fire. And then Qorawiyay Hugr Phobos, run, you fucker, run and the flaming monster, suddenly terrified, turned and ran.

She laughed with glee as she chased the thing down. Running away, it was easier to hit, with Meentik Hiko bursts of electricity and with the arrows of her team.

And when it fell, she stood on its chest and cut its head off with her swords. One less monster to fight.

M for Mimosas; after Why Swords

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/508768.html. You can comment here or there.

Why Swords, a setting drabble of Faerie Apoc post-apoc, for the Giraffe Call

Apr10

After:
Toy Soldiers
With Friends Like These…,
Cleaning Up and
this scrap (http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/398701.html)

“Why swords?” Ty lounged – there was nothing else to call it – on Shahin’s bed, watching her as she prepared herself for battle once again. “It’s not like you don’t know what guns are. It’s not like you couldn’t get someone to Meen… damnit… to create them for you.” It pressed both hands to its forehead as the pain of nearly disobeying an order hit.

Shahin took a moment from her preparations to stroke Ty’s hair until the pained look went away. “Supply chain, primarily. And not getting jumped by other people who would like guns and don’t have someone to Meentik them up.”

“Supply chain?”

“If you have a gun, you need bullets. You need someone who can repair it. You need someone who can make guns, or find them, either magically or through old tech – and that takes parts, and materials, and machinery. Supply chain. A sword takes a hot enough forge and a guy with a good arm and some practice.”

She made tiny circles with the tip of her weapon. “Besides, it’s in my Name.”

Ty laughed, although its eyes were tracking the point of the blade. “That’s a good reason. You could have just said ‘style,’ you know.”

“I have been accused of being the world’s vainest warrior.” Fairly, she had to admit. “But this isn’t just vanity. People have guns, sure. But people have more pointed things. This sword is pushing it, really. A pitchfork would be more normal, or a machete.” She tilted her head at her weapons rack, where she had examples of both. “The world is a lot more obviously violent than it used to be, and a lot more poor in manufacturing.”

“I do live in the same world you do, you know.” Now its pride was pricked. Shahin couldn’t help but smile.

“Now you do. But until we captured you – no, I don’t think you did.”

Monsters

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/508553.html. You can comment here or there.

Way Back Wednesday: Akatil Yixox

Apr3

Early 1970’s

Reid found the goblin who was dubiously named Akatil Yixox where he’d expected to find him – miles deep inside the machinery, tinkering.

“‘Keel.”

“Reid.” The tiny man pushed his goggles onto the top of his head. “I’m working.”

“I got an offer. And it includes both of us.” He paused. “Mo made the offer, actually.”

“You’re obviously going to take it.”

“It’s got a lot of merit. And it involves teaching.”

“And you want me to come along.”

“They don’t have a good Unutu guy.” Reid could barely say the word. “And, besides, you owe me seventeen and one-half favors.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/504476.html. You can comment here or there.

Teamwork, a story of the Faerie Apocalypse, for the Giraffe Call

Apr1

For [personal profile] eseme‘s prompt, after Short/Cut.

“Solange, stop playing with him.”

Zelda perched on a tree branch, watching the fight below. Her sister-in-arms had been fighting the creature for at least an hour.

But she’d been in a strange mood lately and insisted on splitting the opponents up fairly – Solange got half, Zelda got half, and they only backed each other up if they were running into some sort of trouble. Zelda had, this time, gotten the easy one; he was bound and unconscious at the foot of the tree.

“I am… not… toying.” Her breath was coming ragged and unhappy. Zelda whispered out a healing spell, focusing on the lungs and windpipe.

To distract Solange from what she’d done, she added another taunt. “Come on, you’ve ended dragons in less time than it’s taken you to wear this one out. What’s up with you lately?”

“Your complaints are not helping.” The monster glared up at Zelda with glowing red eyes. “If you would silence and wait your turn, this could be over.”

It was a long enough distraction for Solange to get in a good gut-stab and then, before the creature could recover, a heart-shot. Or, at least, in a human, it would have been a heart shot. The monster just laughed.

“You will make a fine addition to my collection.” He grabbed Solange’s hair and yanked backwards. “Both of you will. I have been looking for someone new to entertain me.”

“Not yet, Zel.” Solange did something quick and complicated, that ended up with her holding the monster’s hand with one hand and kicking him in the wounded gut with both feet.

The creature might not have had a heart where it was supposed to go, but it had intestines in the right place. Well, it had. Now its guts were all over the ground.

Solange spat out another spell, bringing a sharp wooden blade to hand, and chopped, and chopped again. The monster fell over in a surprised heap.

Zelda kept her hands over her mouth to cover the death spell she’d whispered.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/503060.html. You can comment here or there.

Yes, a drabble of Luke and Myst (@kissofjudas)

Apr1

After Finale, Turnabout, after Finale.

Luke had been through battles. He had held his own entrails inside his body while waiting for a healer to get to him. He had sat waiting, the endless breath-holding, to hear if his nation was at war.

All of that was a heartbeat, a moment, a breath compared to waiting for Myst to answer. In his head, Mike taunted him. Keaira taunted him. Wil didn’t taunt – she never did – but she shook her head slowly, amused.

When I said ‘don’t be an idiot,’ Bird-brain, this wasn’t what I had in mind.

“Of course I will, Luca you idiot. Returned gods, I love you.”

Myst’s voice chases away all the others. She was hugging him, sobbing into his shoulder, so, slowly, sluggishly, he held her against him, patting her back. That was a yes. She’d taken the ring. She’d said Of course. He kissed the top of her head and tried for words.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He laughed, more than a little embarrassed. No need to tell her that he’d thought he’d been asking, building the house. Not right now, at least. “It was time.” he took the ring out of her hand and, as carefully as if he was defusing a bomb, slipped it on her finger. His wings were flared wide, and his heart was perfectly at peace.

Nearly perfectly. He reached out an arm to the children. “Icarus. Chavva. This is about you, too.” It would always be, forever and ever, about family.

Family. He pressed Myst close to him. It was a nice word to be thinking of again. It was a nice thing to be being, again.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/503018.html. You can comment here or there.

Fashion in Addergoole After the Apocalypse, a series of Vignettes

Mar30

Just before Year 18

The stores hadn’t gotten any new stock in months, but they were struggling, trying to pretend like nothing was wrong, hoping – like everyone was – that this would blow over soon, that things would go back to normal.

They’d pulled all of last year’s stock, anything they had in their warehouses and back rooms, in a sad attempt to keep things normal.

“Mom, I can’t go to school in last year’s clothes. Everyone’s going to laugh at me.”

“No, they’re not.” Laurelia’s mother was amazingly unsympathetic. “Because the world is ending everywhere, Laurelia, not just here.”

“But these clothes are so… ugh.” She plucked at the tunic-shirt distastefully. The end of the world was being very irritating.

“Then I suggest you learn to sew.”

Just before Year 27
Every piece of clothing Garden owned had been patched at least once. Every piece of clothing everyone she knew owned had been patched at least once. After a while, they’d given up on making clothes look new and had settled for being warm.

Except holiday clothes. Garden still had a skirt where you couldn’t see how they’d altered it and a nice soft sweater where they’d made the darns decorative.

The week before she was supposed to go to Addergoole, her mother pulled out a box Garden had never seen before. “I saved these.” The clothing was soft, clean – new – and smelled of cedar chips and lavender. “It’s not enough for the whole year, but it will get you started. And it looks like I got the size about right.”

Just before Year 37
Moretta’s mother was the seamstress for their town, which gave her a bit of an advantage. Her mother had tried out most of her ideas – how to take three pairs of ruined pants and make one nice pair, how to turn an old, ripped blanket into a jacket, how to make a dress from whatever you had leftover from other projects – using Moretta as a mobile dummy and advertising placard.

In return, Moretta had clothes to pack for Addergoole that looked like clothes. Her mother had dug into an old stash of fabric and spent some time looking at old fashion magazines, and then spent three months sewing. “They’re going to be coming from all over the country. Except Ediana, who you know, and Gerald. But most of them will be strangers. Their people will have different fashions. Remember that. There is no ‘voice of fashion’ anymore. And in Addergoole… well, there will be bigger problems.”

Moretta, who had been born four years after the world ended, didn’t know what her mother was talking about. But she knew that she had clothing that looked good on her, and felt nice, and kept her warm.

Just before Year 47
“All right. Two nice dresses, five pairs of pants, and three skirts. Nobody at school will be as well-dressed as you are.”

Naia’s mother wasn’t by any means an accomplished seamstress, but she was a very good cobbler and leather-worker, and her sister, Naia’s Aunt Prima, owned the burgeoning textile mill that employed most of the town. Naia knew she was lucky to be as well-dressed – and certainly well-shod – as she was.

She stroked the skirt carefully. “It’s all very nice.”

“But you’re thinking about the girls from New Detroit, aren’t you? With the fancy trim and the strange cuts on everything?”

“And the ones from the South.” Since her mother had said it, she could admit it. “With those pants.”

“You won’t be out of fashion in Addergoole. But, just in case…” Her mother folded a dress in the New Detroit style into the trunk.

Thanks to @inventrix for the names and for brainstorming with me on the fashion.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/501603.html. You can comment here or there.

Lazy Bidding

Mar29

For Rix_Scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of Laziness as an Art Form and Laziness X4.

“So, my Master wants to know, if you are concerned about the number of Kept he’s taken in, what you would bid to take one of them off of his hands.” By the third upperclassman Roanna talked to, she had the words down pat.

She was also getting used to the look of disbelief, although every person had a different reason for the disbelief.

“Concerned? No, I’m just impressed. I never managed more than three, and I had to set someone on fire for that one.” The draconic-Change Yisachar smirked down at Roanna. “You can tell your Master, if I want one of his Kept, he’ll know when his pants are on fire.”

Roanna gulped. “I’ll tell him, sir…”

“Just Zak is fine.”

“Zak. Sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, I’m not bothered. You are pretty, you know.”

“No, that’s Zuleyma.”

He just smiled. “Good luck with your auction.”

He was the only one to outright threaten. Cillian, short and Irish-looking and ratty, just leered at her. “I’ll take you for whatever he wants to sell you for. I’m real good at making happy pills.”

Something about his breath made Roanna’s skin crawl. “Not Zuleyma? She’s the pretty one.”

“I don’t want a princess, I want a good woman.” He made as if to squeeze her bum, but stopped short of actually touching her. “A good girl, a clever girl.”

“Flattered. I’ll let him know.”

If these were her options, she’d take sharing a spare bunk with Tamberlain or Zuleyma for the rest of the year.

Adder just looked amused by the whole thing. “I’m not a Keeper sort, really. I mean, I tried it, but it’s not my thing. I was just wondering what it had to be like, sharing a Keeper with three other Kept.”

“Oh.” Roanna gave that one some thought. “It’s weird. I don’t really like Segenam, you know? But I’m still competing for his attention.”

“That’s a lot of being Kept for you. Even when you’re the only one. Good luck with your auction.”

“Thanks.” She really had to find someone who either wanted her more than Cillian did, or wanted someone else more than Cillian did.

“Which of you are good at housework?”

Oh, a girl. This could be interesting. Roanna turned around to behold the elfiest Elf Change she had ever seen. “Well, ma’am, that would be me or Merton.”

“Merton. Hrrm. Is he the short black-haired one? With the teddy-bear Change?”

“He got a little taller with the Change, but that’s him, yes.”

“Tell your Keeper I’ll offer three mid-level favors, standard conditions, for your Merton. And I think I know who you can get to buy the princess.” Her smile was somewhat sympathetic. “You’re a cute one, but I’m not into girls, sorry. And you’re too…”

“I know.” Roanna sighed. “Unless someone wants a housewife, they’re going to want Zuleyma first.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing, you know. Even if it does mean you get stuck with Segenam. I know him. He’s going to be too lazy to be too much of a bad Keeper, and you can probably find a way around him enough to get your own way.”

“But I’m still Kept.”

“That’s generally how it goes. Look, I’m Kianna. Talk to Thahn and Vianna about taking the Princess off your hands.”

Roanna thanked Kianna, and went searching for Thahn and Vianna. Thahn and Vianna turned out to be a semi-terrifying pair of twins, who seemed plenty interested in trading for Zuleyma and offered a series of complicated terms.

She took her notes back to Segenam, who, on looking at her ten pages of notes, insisted on the short version.

“You have potential buyers for all four of us. I think most of them are okay, but I think Cilian is really creepy and I’m not sure Adder is a good idea. How many of us to you want to get rid of?”

The words filled her with an unhappy lump in her throat. Get rid of. Why would that bother her? Why should she care that he didn’t want her?

Much to her chagrin, she found she was crying. And, of course, the only one who wanted her was the creep, Cillian.

“Hey.” Segenam frowned at her, which just made Roanna’s stomach do more unpleasant things. “Hey. What… oh.” He sighed, much-put-upon sounding, and patted her shoulder. “Cillian’s the one that offered for you?”

Roanna sniffled and nodded.

“I’d rather piss in his mouth than give him anything, even if he paid me. Someone better offer for the others?”

She sniffled and nodded again. “Though I mean… Adder?”

Segenam scoffed. “Adder can’t even Keep himself. Okay. So who’s that leave me, if we don’t deal with Adder and Silly Cillian?”

“Tamerlain and I.” She pulled a hanky out of her pocket and wiped her nose.

“Perfect. Good job.”

The surge of pleasure at the praise couldn’t quite cover over a dull lump of bitterness. “So you can fuck Tamerlain and I can cook and clean.”

Segenam made a funny face. Roanna had no idea what that one meant. “Or the other way around. I’m sure you can teach him how to cook and clean.”

Ro had no idea at all what to say to that.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/500277.html. You can comment here or there.

Finale, a drabble of Luke and Myst (@kissofjudas)

Mar26

After Matters, after Mutts

The blood splattered, and the woman fell.

Luke pulled the sword out of his chest with both hands. “Idu… Kwxe.” shit. The bitch had really gotten him. But he could still feel for heat signatures. A child could have done that.

Child. The children were right there, holding their knives. Good kids.

“We’re clear. Nobody else within a mile.” He coughed, and spat out a Jasfe Tlacatl. There. His guts were back inside of him. “Myst…” he closed his mouth. “Mystral, sa’Oncoming Storm.” He dropped to one knee in the bloody grass. “I did not come home tonight to fight …ninjas.”

Don’t be a moron, Luke

Trying. The blood loss and the twitchy feeling of post-combat were not helping the situation.

“But we fight together. Like we move together.” The children were listening. He should be careful what he said. “We’re a team, Mystral. We should always be a team.” The ring was still there, in his pocket. Sapphire and diamond. He pulled it out, and offered it, in the palm of his hand. “Mystral, would you do me the immense honor of being my wife?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/499134.html. You can comment here or there.

Mutts, a drabble of Luke and Myst (@kissofjudas)

Mar25

After Check, after Fire

::Luca. I’m on the ground. The slave-trader bastard that had me is dead. Tell me where you want me, and what you want me to do.::

For the briefest moment, Luke was confused, as Mike’s voice was replaced by Mystral’s. Then he smiled, a fierce snarl of an expression.

“My kids aren’t mutt’s.” He stared at a direction that was close to where the woman actually was. She was either getting careless with her voice-throwing or taunting him. “Damn you, my children are not mutts.”

“Must be hard for you.” While she gloated, Luke send Myst a mental map. ::Come in this way. Watch out for traps.:: “Your blood looks pure, with those wings. But the mutt blood shows in the children. Don’t worry.” Her voice changed position, and the tone changed to something conciliatory. “They’ll know what they are well enough when they serve us. They’ll always know. Won’t you, children?”

“Stay away from my kids!” ::Now:: He made a lot of flapping, useless rage-noises, that put him “accidentally” between the bitch and the children. It also drew her attention to him, so that Myst could make a move.

Once in a while – once in a very long while – Luke enjoyed playing stupid.

He knew when Myst was in position. He thought he would always know. “Fuck your slaving asses.” He snarled it, and stepped forward into the woman’s reach.

She had a sword. It was steel, at least. His was, too. He hoped he’d gotten in the better shot.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/497766.html. You can comment here or there.