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Enlightenment

Dec19

To an anonymous prompt.

(Possibly Fae Apoc, sure sounds like it)

“Are you sure you’ll stay, then?”

Shea hadn’t been looking for the underground facility – hadn’t been looking, at least, for this specific, deep-cavern-system underground facility, with its refugee population hidden there since the Catastrophe. But, having found it, and, more specifically, having found them, Shea couldn’t leave without doing something.

Some of the refugees, some ancient, a few teenagers, three mothers of infants, had agreed to leave; Shea knew a place where they could be safe and learn to adapt to the world outside. But the Elder, and most of the rest of their group, were adamantly refusing to budge.

The Elder in question shook his head at Shea one last time. “I’m too old to find out what a post-Catastrophe world looks like. And many of the rest of the group were born down here. They’ve never seen daylight, never tasted un-filtered air. They wouldn’t survive the brightness.” He gestured at the dim emergency lighting that had sustained them all this time. “None of us can handle the greenhouse lights without protective gear anymore.”

Shea nodded. “I’ll be very careful with those who come with me. And for those of you that stay behind…”

The Working was complex, but Shea had grown used to strange and weird Workings while exploring the ruins of fallen civilizations. The trick was to make this one last, not a couple days, but as long as possible, ever changing.

After a small eternity, twenty or thirty minutes, Shea turned back to the Elder, a glass jar in hand. From the jar, a faint glow, barely brighter than the emergency lights, emanated. “This is my gift, a seed of a sun. It will grow, slowly, mimicking the effects of a real sun, although it will never be as bright as Sol. It will adjust over years, so that you have time to adapt to its light. Hang it in your largest cavern, and, in twenty years, grass will grow there.”

The Elder cradled the tiny sun-seed, tears coming to his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“I came here for enlightenment,” Shea answered dryly. “It is only fair that I leave some in return.”

**

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/202448.html. You can comment here or there.

Trojan Gift, a story of Addergoole Yr 9 for the Giraffe Call

Dec19

For [personal profile] wyld_dandelyon‘ prompt. This is set in the Addergoole ‘verse, whose landing page is here on DW & here on LJ, in year 9. Sylvia the Otter-girl is the character in the icon, by @Inventrix, shown here:
.

Third week of year 9 of the Addergoole school.

“You’re going to need this.”

Gar had no idea where the girl had come from; he’d been walking down a back hallway when she’d stepped out of nowhere in front of him.

He knew her from a couple of his classes, a slender, quiet girl with whiskers and paws that reminded him of an otter. Sylvia. She was pretty, but in a room full of aggressive beauties, she’d always faded into the background.

Garfunkel knew the feeling. He was, to quote his ex-girlfriend, “just a guy.” Just a guy, now, who seemed to shoot off crags of red stone when he got upset, like a particularly rocky porcupine version of the Hulk. Just a guy who, he was told, was very good at some odd magical words that made his tongue tingle.

And who, at the moment, was being faced with an otter-girl with some sort of necklace, no, collar, some sort of collar in her paw.

He shook his head, backing up slowly, holding up his own why-did-he-have-paws. “No, no thank you,” he said hurriedly. “I’ve seen all the collars around since, whatdy’acallit, Hell Night. I’ve seen everyone all hangdog and upset. I don’t need to join their ranks.”

“This is different,” she insisted. “It’s still a collar, but it’s different.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because I don’t lie, and I promise you I’m not lying to you. You are going to need what this collar gives you. I have a very strong feeling about that.”

“I have a very strong feeling about not becoming a brain-washed zombie,” he answered dryly.

“You won’t.” Sounding hurried and a bit irate, she added, “just put it on. It doesn’t mean anything without the words.”

“The words?” Her stare was rather unnerving; despite himself, Gar found himself taking the collar-thing from her and putting it around his neck.

“’With this ring…’ that sort of thing, the words your hang-dog friends said,” she hedged, and then, in his mind…

I Belong to You. The Fourth Law of Keeps states that one Ellehemaei –

Elle-?

Ellehemaei, the people of Ellehem, of the land that is not Earth. The fae, the Fair Folk, the Departed Gods. You.

Departed?

The answers flooded into his mind as the questions appeared, images and explanations, a tone in the mental voice that sounded like the otter-girl. When he opened his eyes, finally, there was one phrase on his lips. His mind full of what it meant, he still couldn’t help but say it.

“I Belong to you, Sylvia.”

“Yes,” she smiled, looking pleased. “You do.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/201427.html. You can comment here or there.

Throw out a line… a story of Addergoole post-apoc for the Giraffe Call

Dec18

For [personal profile] jjhunter‘s prompt. This comes right after “You’d Better Watch Out,” and is a story of Addergoole/Fae Apoc (landing page here on DW and here on LJ).

The title is from the lyrics of this song, “He Can’t Even Bait a Hook.”

“What’s this?” Ahava stared at the contraption Constance was holding out.

“It’s a fishing pole. That’s a body of water with fish in it. Apply one to the other.”

“Why?”

“We’re teaching you to fish. This is part of my gift to you.”

“You stupid girl, that’s a figure of speech.”

She didn’t even wince. “And why shouldn’t it be a reality, too? You’ve never been good with either plant or animal Workings, Ahava. Without people to keep you fed, how will you eat?”

“I…” He stared at his former slave. He’d freed her as he graduated, and, in his mind, she’d always remained the same scared, easily-cowed crying girl he’d left behind. Looking at her now, he realized she’d grown up. Looking a the fishing pole she was holding out for him, he realized, a little shamefacedly, that he hadn’t.

“How do I even use this thing?” he asked angrily. Anger had always made her give in before.

“You put the worm on the hook, like so;” she picked up a second pole and demonstrated the disgusting-looking maneuver, “then you find a place where it looks like there are fish, and – back up, I haven’t done this in a few years -“

Prudently, Ahava backed up. Maybe if she couldn’t do it anymore, he wouldn’t have to, either?

“-and like this, you flick it out and let out some slack as you go, using this lever. See?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier,” he grumbled, as he reached for one of the nasty worms, “to teach me how to hunt? More practical, too.”

She leveled a cold gaze on him. “I don’t trust you with a weapon, Ahava. I promised to give you what you deserved and needed. I didn’t promise to make it easy.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/200557.html. You can comment here or there.

You’d better watch out, you’d better not… a story of Addergoole for the Giraffe Call @Lilfluff

Dec17

For [personal profile] lilfluff‘ prompt. This is set in the Addergoole ‘verse, whose landing page is here on DW & here on LJ.

He hadn’t been easy to find.

Constance had a feeling Ahava wanted it that way. If she had been him (which, clearly, she was not), if there were three people she would want not finding her after school, it would be herself, Quintin, and Luhanna, and not just because they were a sharp and effective crew.

But she had made him a promise – three promises, because Constance always did things in threes – and she was going to keep it, despite the world ending, despite what he had done to her (and to their daughter, and to the girl that came after her, and to her friends), despite the complete waste of space he could be. Despite that, or because of it, or superseding it.

Between the three of them, three years out of school, they had resources that, she thought, Ahava probably hadn’t planned on. Not that Ahava really planned on much – not yet. It might be that he would, when they were done with him. They called on every friend and every owed favor, every family member they could find, sent out feelers to every network they knew, bribed those they could and blackmailed those they couldn’t bribe. It took another three years, but Constance had nearly expected that.

They found in him the ruins of Vegas, in Aphrodite’s temple, stoned to the gills, giggling, a blond girl face-down in his crotch and a redheaded slave-boy oiling his shoulders. His Mask was down, his blue skin and green hair showing, his eyes luminescent. He wore nothing except a piece of beefcake armour, probably something he’d made himself.

“The hunters are coming,” Constance greeted him.

“They won’t get in here,” he yawned, not yet realizing who she was, who they were. “They never do. The guards stop them.”

“And when the guards are gone?” Quintin asked. “Then what will you do?”

“Find more guards? I don’t know, this is Aphrodite’s temple. Let her deal with it.”

“Aphrodite has been dead for three years, Ahava,” Luhanna murmured. “Her temple is in ruins, all but this little nook. Your slaves keep it for you, but your slaves are human. Eventually, they’ll get bored, or the food will run out.”

It was, Constance noted, Luhanna’s voice that got his attention. Somewhere in the back of her mind, that bothered her. She put that aside for later, as her former Keeper looked up at them.

“Connie? Lu? Quint? What are you guys doing here?” She was pleased to note that fear, at least, got through his haze.

“We came to bring you a present.” She spoke now, because this was her quest.

“A present?” He pushed the slaves away and stared at her, a little needle of comprehension sinking into him. “Con… Con, that bullshit promise you made?”

“That bullshit promise I made,” she agreed. “You have twenty-five minutes to pack up anything you can carry, and anyone who wants to come with you. You’re leaving with us.”

“Where?” He didn’t, she note, argue that he was coming. He’d never been stupid, at least.

She smiled grimly. “Out into the real world.” Or what was left of it.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/199839.html. You can comment here or there.

Peace, Quiet, and the Null, a story of (Addergoole??) for the Giraffe Call @inventrix

Dec17

For [personal profile] inventrix‘ prompt. This might be Addergoole, whose landing page is here on DW & here on LJ.

The class of 2014 was having problems. Cadfan woke in the morning to find his bed shredded, and it seemed every time he gestured, he shot knives from his hands, cutting up everything around him.

Aesara’s gift of being able to see everything that might happen, everything that could have happened, meant that even walking down the hall was nearly impossible, as she saw every path everyone might take. She had locked herself in her room because there, at least, the paths seemed to mostly lead to her dying quietly.

Chang didn’t mind things that much at first, until it turned out that having no friction really made, well, everything harder. Walking down the hall was nearly as impossible for him as it was for Aesara, and holding things required special concentration.

Merial might have been said to have it the worst, but nobody got a chance to ask her. Gills are not a fun power to have on dry land.

And in the middle of this walked Kyme, smoothly but not without friction, sharply but only of temper, with no more ability to see than any human, no more ability to breathe water than any mammal, no more beauty than any pretty girl, no more intelligence than any good student, no more strength than any athlete. In short, in walked Kyme, who was blessedly normal, who was blessedly quiet, and with her walked a small null zone, where, for a few moments, everyone else could have peace as well.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/199530.html. You can comment here or there.

…Haven’t You People Ever Heard of Closing the God-Damned Door… A story of #Addergoole, non-canon

Dec3

Rix and I were talking about family trees, and how Mike VanderLinden ends up twice on a standard family tree program, and that led to how Mike should clone itself. This is what resulted. (The lyrics were Rix’s idea; googling them got me to Panic! At the Disco, hence the title)

Mike and Manira are both Addergoole characters. Short version: Mike is a succubus, a Daeva, a bloodline of gender-fluid fae. So’s Manira, but due to Plot, she is stuck in the body of a half-breed teenaged student.


Last night, can’t remember.
What happened? Where’d we go?
I woke up this morning.
Where’s my car? Where’s my keys? Where’s my clothes?
I feel my head still spinning but I’m doing alright
Cause I think I just had the best night of my life.
Last night, can’t remember.
What happened? Did it happen? Last night
~“Last Night,” Good Charlotte

Mike woke with a mouth full of cotton and a feeling in his head like something had been rearranged. No – her head. She looked down at herself, wondering what the feeling like… oh.

She rolled over in the bed – not her bed. Her bed was softer, and generally darker. The succubus Manira smirked back at her, licking her lips as if devouring a tasty secret.

“How’re you feeling, lover?” the girl purred.

“I… ill,” Mike admitted. How had she ended up here? For that matter, where was here? And what did Manira know that she didn’t? “Where are my clothes?”

“Tch, never did figure that out, did you, pretty? I’ll get your clothes when I’m damn good and ready to.”

“Is that any way to talk to your Mentor?” Mike complained.

“Is that any way to talk to the only one in the room who knows what you did last night? Or you could go back on your high horse, little girl… and in nine months you can admit you don’t know who should Name it.”

“Name… Manira!”

“Not me, pretty thing, I’m still stuck in this body. No cock.” She made a rude gesture. “What’ll it be, Professor Prettypants?”

Mike sighed, wondering how she seemed to end up with this strange girl grabbing her by the short ones. “What can I do for you, Manira?” And who knocked me up?

“That’s a good professor,” the girl cooed. “Now come here and kiss me properly.”

An exhausting, hot, sweaty two hours later, Mike lay back on the bed, parts of her throbbing that hadn’t felt want like this in centuries. Manira had a way of making everything feel just a little dirty, just a little wrong, and she ate it up, devoured it in a way that managed to make Mike feel like less of an incubus by comparison.

She was patting Mike’s tit now, making the Daeva ache with a new surge of need. “I knew you could e a sweet ride if you were properly convinced. And I won’t do it again, Professor, but I wanted to taste you properly motivated.”

“Unh.” She wasn’t sure she could manage more than that. “Baby?” Oh, yes. The reason she’d ended up like this.

“I’m really surprised you can’t remember at all… that drink must have been better than I was told. You students really are quite impressive pharmacologists, Mikey.”

“Baby?” she insisted. Drugged. Oh, good. She really had to have a talk with Luke and Regine about that.

“Silly girl. You’re the father.”

“Mother?”

“Mother, too. I’m sure Regine will be thrilled.” She patted Mike’s stomach. “Be careful with the little peanut. It took a bit of bending to get it in there.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/190429.html. You can comment here or there.

Fallen

Nov25

For Rix_Scaedu‘s commissioned prompt. Written in the fae apoc ‘verse, at the time of the apoc.

The Faerie Apoc Landing page is here (and on LJ)

Content warning: gore and implied implications.

As her people counted things, Alionda was rather young. She had seen her first century only a few years before the gates back into the human world opened up, and it was only through an accident that she managed to get through at all, much less as quickly as she did.

She had, however, fallen through one of the secondary gates that had opened when the rebels wrenched open the main doors – quite literally fallen, as this gate was several hundred feet above the ground.

The Ellehemaei body can survive many things that a human can not, but it still suffers from impact injuries, and the Word Tlacatl was not one Alionda the Water-Singer had much skill with. She lay there, at the bottom of a strange hole lined in grey rock, for several days, hungry, her lungs punctured, her body broken, unable to speak enough to form the Words to help heal herself, unable to do much more than hold herself together. She lay there, each breath agony, for an eternity, while around her the city moved and people shouted and clamored and somehow never saw her. If there was a hell, she had found it, below her heaven of Ellehem.

“What have we here? Lovely… and still alive.” Her eyes had flown open at the sound of a voice – a human voice, she was fairly certain. He looked human. He looked handsome. And he was smiling at her. “Are you an angel from the sky, or a demon?” He scooped her into his arms without seeming effort. “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/185880.html. You can comment here or there.

W-T-F, a story of #Addergoole, for the Giraffe Call

Nov25

To [personal profile] lilfluff‘s commissioned prompt – a bit more of Uh-Oh (Lj) and Oh, Shit (LJ).

Raylan is the brother of a character in Addergoole.

The strange woman muttered a few more words under her breath and, like a stage magician’s trick, pulled her hands apart, revealing long strips of cloth. “Listen,” she murmured quietly. “Hold still and this won’t hurt. You have my word on that.”

She did someone else with her hands, making Ray’s ears pop. “You can talk, as long as you keep it quiet.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, not trying all that hard to be quiet.

“I’m wrapping you up so you have a harder time wriggling, what does it look like?” Indeed, she’d grabbed his ankles and started wrapping the cloth around him over his pants, twisting it firmly.

“Okay, I get that, but I mean, with me. Aside from the floating me in the air thing, which is, by the way, terrifying.”

“I thought that would be patently obvious. I’m kidnapping you.”

“Okay, okay.” He kicked his bound ankles in frustration. “Why? I mean, you said I wasn’t what you were looking for, but I’d do. Who were you looking for? Maybe I can help you? I know this neighborhood pretty well.”

“Well, I suppose it’s possible you know. There’s a young man who lives in this neighborhood. He was about five foot tall the last time I saw him, but that was several years ago; he’s probably grown. Blonde hair. Blue eyes, very blue eyes. Prone to broad shoulders and a nose that is going to make him look like a thug.”

“Curry?” he blinked at her. “You’re looking for Curry?” How could someone go looking for that lump of meat and think he’d do instead?

“Curry, ah yes, that would be his name. You know where he lives?” She’d gotten to his hips by now, wrapping with impersonal efficiency.

“I – yeah. Right down the street.” He turned to point, only to see his father running towards him. “Dad! DAD!” he shouted.

“Raylan! Ray…. Twyla?”

Dad knew this nutcase? “Dad?”

“Dave…?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/185834.html. You can comment here or there.

Wolf at the Door

Nov25

First Saturday Dance, Year Nine:

Ciara had been talking in a corner niche with a couple of upper-classmen with whom she shared her Chemistry class, but they, being a couple, had moved onto the dance floor when the song went to a slow, romantic tune.

She hadn’t found anyone that she was interested in being romantic with (except the guy she’d just been talking with, but that was clearly not going to work out), but that was no reason to mope in the corner. She turned to go find some of her classmates, and found herself face-to-face with a bicep.

“Dance with me.”

The voice attached to the bicep was deep and rough; the bicep itself was covered in a deep red shirt. Looking up, she saw a black tie, with a tiny woven design of swords. Further up revealed a predatory smile; to the top showed shaggy black hair covering sapphire-blue eyes.

“No, thank you.” She ducked under his arm, and moved quickly without running to the bar, where the light was better and she knew more people. She didn’t look back. It didn’t seem like a good idea to look back.

Second Saturday, Year Nine:

Ciara opened her door, looked outside, and closed her door again. She’d been hearing rumors, a whisper, a murmur, a sideways threat. She knew that something was up, or going to be up. The creepy noises, the dim red lighting, the screams and haunted-house noises in the background – all any of that did was confirm her suspicions.

Her upperclassmen friends had said they might stop by, and it was still early. She passed the time making cookies in the tiny dorm oven, batch after 10-cookie batch, until someone pounded on the door.

She opened it carefully, holding on to the doorknob as she peered out into the darkness.

Into a mouth full of sharp, very white teeth. “Come out and play.”

“No, thank you,” she answered politely. “Would you like a cookie?”

“Cookie?” It confused him for long enough that she could shut the door without hitting him, and that was all, at the moment, that mattered. She slammed it, wishing this place wasn’t so damn literal. Wolf at the door, indeed.

Mid-October, Year Nine:

She knew his name by now. He almost never wore his Mask down, showing those feral teeth and those creepy, creepy eyes, but he liked to show up to the dances that way, so she’d managed to put the two men together into one wolfish upperclassman.

He knew her name by now, too. That was a bit less on the positive side of the ledger. Creepy enough to have him pop up unexpected. Creepier to have him drawl out her name like he was tasting it, licking it.

He was out in the halls after her Hiko class, following her from the gym down towards the suite she’d moved in to. “Keeee-aarrrr-uh,” he growled. “Come and play with me.”

“No, thank you, Amadeus,” she answered politely.

“Call me ‘Deus,” he retorted, stepping in front of her. “Everyone else does.”

“I’m sure they do, Amadeus. I’d rather not play with you.”

“It could be a lot of fun.”

“For you, I’m sure,” she agreed. “Please let me by.”

As always, the politeness seemed to work, and he let her flee.

Mid-November, Year Nine:

This time, it was Tlacatl class she was leaving, and a long conversation with Dr. Caitrin (after some very educational conversations with the girls Amadeus had Kept in years Seven and Eight) had left Ciara determined, if frightened, and a little bit angry.

“Keeee-arrrr-uh,” he called out, coming around the corner. He wasn’t always there, not enough that she could plan for it, and he was never outright violent, not enough that she could feel justified asking her crew to walk along with her, but there was always the threat that he’d be there, like he was today, taunting her. Asking her to play.

“Come home with me tonight.” As he had the last few times, he grabbed her arm, holding her firmly.

“No, thank you, Amadeus,” she answered, as politely as she always did. “I have plans tonight.”

“You always have plans. You ought to come home with me instead. We could have some fun.”

“I’m sure you’d have fun,” she answered. “Please let go of me.”

“I don’t want to.” His grin was sharp. “Nobody’s ever said no to me before.”

“I’m sure they have. I’ve asked.”

“Not like you have.”

“And yet you keep asking.”

“If I ask long enough, eventually you’ll say yes.” He tugged on her arm, this time, pulling her towards him. He was escalating.

She shook her head, out of clever retorts. “Amadeus cy’Valerian, I challenge you.”

“…what?”

Next: Wolf in the Circle

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/185593.html. You can comment here or there.

Oh, Shit, a story of #Addergoole, for the Giraffe Call

Nov24

To [personal profile] lilfluff‘s commissioned prompt – a bit more of Uh-Oh ().

Raylan is the brother of a character in Addergoole.

“None of that,” she smiled. “Stay quiet, and this won’t hurt much.”

Raylan stared at the crazy woman for a moment. Was she kidding? Was she just really insane? Batshit crazy, Dad would say, when he thought Ray wasn’t listening. Often about Mom, who Ray had never met. “Fuck that,” he muttered, and then, louder, as loud as he could, “fuck that! Fuck you! Help! Help! FIRE!” He struggled, even though he was floating in mid-air and wasn’t sure what good it would do, flailing with all four limbs, kicking and punching and shouting as loudly as he could.

He mostly had his eyes scrunched up, but when he peeked, the woman looked more than a little bit affronted. Good! He kicked again, and shouted, a little louder, “FIRE!!” as his foot actually connected with her shin, and then with her knee. “Damnit, someone!”

She muttered something else under her breath, and suddenly, he couldn’t hear his own voice. He kept shouting, trying not to panic, but it was hard when he was floating, either voiceless or deaf, in mid-air. He kicked harder, instead, connecting with her hip this time.

“That’s enough of that,” she snapped, reassuring him that he hadn’t lost his hearing. He kicked all the harder, until she backed away from him prudently. “Now,” she glared at him. “I did say something about it not hurting much, didn’t I?”

Raylan fell still, looking at her face. He hoped someone had heard him. He hoped they were coming soon.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/184764.html. You can comment here or there.