Archives

Throwing Things – more of the Cya Carew Story

Directly after Rocks

She took his hand, because she needed to reassure herself that he really was fine. “I don’t-” she started, and fell quiet. There were too many ways to end that sentence and she didn’t like any of them.

He glanced over at her, and she recognized the expression, even if he looked nothing like Cabal, nothing like Gaheris. “I got it.” He was quiet for a minute, as she led him out of Leo’s house and down the quiet neighborhood street. “You don’ like, uh. Being emotive.”

She snorted, laughing at herself, at his phrasing, at the whole mess. “Let’s be honest,” she said, dryly and more openly than she usually was with her Kept. “I don’t like having emotions. But Leo – thinks that’s a mess, and Dr. Rexinger agrees, and if I’m going to be entirely honest, if one of my Kept told me they didn’t like having emotions, I’d spend the whole year helping them work through that. So I try to have emotions. But I don’t -”

“How long?” he asked, when she had found no words to finish that I don’t…

“Not feeling? Trying not to feel? Decades. A long time. Since after school.” Since after school. Since she learned that she couldn’t help Leo with Eriko, and that showing emotion around that crew, her Keeper’s crew, was an admission of weakness and an invitation to correction.

Cya didn’t like being wrong. She hadn’t liked being wrong, being corrected, as a teenager, a lifetime ago.

“That’s a long time,” he said, and for a child of twenty-three, that sentence in and of itself was a fair assessment. Then he looked up at her, looking worried. “That’s a really long time to be pretending you weren’t angry.”

She looked away. “When – when I let Leo know, sometimes it messed with him. When he was really crazy, it could send him away, either actually or just make the conversation get lost. So I stopped, well, I stopped feeling it, so I didn’t send him off into the deep end.”

“But he’s been sane for a while, didn’t you say?” He sounded a little uncertain, like he didn’t want to push and yet thought he ought to. She couldn’t blame him for that one.

“He’s been better for quite a while. But then, well. I had to get better.” She laughed, although it had no humor. “Habits, I’m all about habits. I get messed up when those get shaken, you know?”

“I-” He didn’t sound like he knew. She couldn’t fault him for that, either.

“…I stopped feeling it, and then I forgot I could again, and by that time, I’d stopped feeling things as much as I could.”

“But now you’re learning how to feel again?” he guessed.

“Yeah.” She looked over at him. In the dim light of the streetlights, his face looked like it could be anyone’s. That made this all the weirder, like she was talking to generations of her Kept. No, she reminded herself firmly, just one. Carew. We’re here, today, and that’s it. “Now,” she tried the words on for size, “I’m letting myself feel. And it’s-”

“Weird,” he offered. “Like learning a skill. Did you tell me,” he offered, “something about learning a new skill every decade? And all the messed-up pots and twisted ankles and bad phrases in Russian nobody ever sees?”

“…I did.” Every once in a while, one of her Kept actually paid attention. “Yeah.”

“So,” he offered, “this is a skill, right? Like, uh. Like teaching Jeska how to exist around humans, and how to have leisure time? Something that’s gonna come with some trial-and-error?”

“..Yeah.” She nodded slowly. It stood to reason that the Kept who’d befriended a former Nedetaka might know about learning skills most people took for granted.”Yeah, I guess it is a skill. But, k- Puppy, Carew, when I mess up throwing a pot it doesn’t send you fleeing to Leo’s.”

“Well,” he offered, with a crooked smile that looked too much like one she sometimes glimpsed in the mirror, “if I thought Leo – sa – Lightning – you know – if I thought he’d come talk you down from messing up pots, I might.”

She hugged him, because he was a clever boy, and she was going to miss him when his year was up. “Thanks, puppy,” she whispered. They both ignored the way his tail wagged happily at that.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1301532.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Rocks – a Cya/Carew story

Cya and Carew, Carew’s POV – what happens when Cya starts feeling things she’s been repressing.

He could have gone to his crew.

They were here, now. Cya had Found them and offered them a ticket to Cloverleaf via her teleporter, and, much to Carew’s relief and occasional confusion, they’d all agreed.

(He’d spent six months wondering why they hadn’t come to find him when he graduated, only to find out that they had, just the day after he’d left, and nobody they’d asked had known that Cya had taken him.)

But he didn’t want them to get the wrong impression and, besides, this was the second time, and he was sort of hoping someone would do something, so when Cya started throwing things – pebbles, rocks, stones – at the wall, he’d slipped out the back door and run to Leo’s house again.

Leo had gotten a strange look on his face and left. Carew had settled in to teach Jeska some more card games and anything else that could keep his mind off of my Keeper is throwing shit at the walls.

She was in therapy. She was supposed to be getting better. She seemed to be getting… more emotive. He thought that was supposed to be better. Most days it was better.

Not today.

She came back a couple hours later, walking in with Leo. Her face was red; she’d been crying. Of course she’d been crying. But she looked like she was over the bad part.

“Hey.” She sat down next to him and held out a hand.

He took it without thinking, then wondered if it was a good idea. What if he’d done something wrong?

She never hurt him (except in the good way), even when he messed up, which did happen on occasion. But sometimes she could be scary anyway.

“I’m sorry. I’m getting used to having emotions again – I did a really good job of making them go away for a really long time – and, uh. I’m feeling things I’d forgotten about. But that doesn’t mean I should make you suffer for it.”

A really long time. Carew looked at her cautiously. She was older than the end of the world.

“So, uh,” he hazarded a guess, “things from Addergoole?”

“Things from Addergoole,” she admitted. “Want to come home so I can make it up to you?”

“Wait, it’s a choice?” He regretted the words the moment he’d said them, but she didn’t look offended.

“Tonight, it’s a choice.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “It’s not like I don’t know I messed up.”

“No,” he shook his head, then hurried to finish the sentence. “You didn’t mess up, boss. But I won’t mind some making up, anyway.”

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1301532.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1301196.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Beauty-Beast 9: Weapons

FirstPreviousLanding PageNext

🔒

There was a moment of silence in the car. Ctirad could hear the road under the tires, some traffic noise, the breathing of all three of them.

“You Belong to me,” Sir agreed carefully. “And I neither object to you having claws nor intend to use you as a murderer. Would you like my word on that?”

Ctirad wasn’t certain he could speak. He cleared his throat and settled for “sir?” with an intonation that might have relayed what the fuck?

“I am not going to use you as a tame killer. I will never order you to kill and I won’t put you in a situation where the bond is forcing you to kill if I can help it. Okay?”

“Sir.” He didn’t know how to express what he was feeling. He didn’t believe it, but he wanted badly to. He swallowed around the dryness of his throat and the way everything felt like it was pressing down on him, taking his air. “…sir?”

“My name is Timaios, Ctirad, and when we’re alone – which includes with Sal – you have permission to use it. Does that offend you?”

“Does…” There were too many options. Shit. “Does what offend me, sir… Ti… sir?”

No. Fuck it, he was not going to give in to that trap. Timaios was his owner, and he was not going to forget that, not even for a second.

“Does it offend you that I won’t use you as a weapon?”

“Sir. I am a weapon.” There was nothing to be offended by, or not, in that. He pointed his face blindly at his owner’s and waited.

“Do you want to be used as a weapon?”

“Sir.” His throat worked as he tried to come up with a safe answer. “Sir, I Belong to you. I Belong to be used. There is some use you are going to have for me, or you wouldn’t have taken me as payment. I’m not decorative-”

“The fuck you’re not,” Sal muttered from the front seat. Ctirad ignored him.

“-I don’t talk sweet, not without paying a lot of attention to my words. I don’t do accounting, I’m a lousy housekeeper-”

“-bet you look great in an apron.”

“Sal. That’s enough.”

“-I’m a decent cook, but nobody buys a Kept because they can cook. So that leaves bitch, whore, and weapon, and of those, sir, I prefer weapon. I’m better at it anyway.”

“Sal?” Ctirad’s owner’s voice was tight. “Please remind me to find an unpleasant end for Ermenrich and, more immediately, to find a way to rehome or free all of his other servants, slaves, and Kept?”

“Yes, sir.” The joking was gone from Sal’s voice, too. Ctirad held still and waited for the fallout.

🔒

FirstPreviousLanding PageNext

Want more?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1300888.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Funeral – A description of Senga

Working on in-text character descriptions. Senga, from Erramun’s POV

Erramun took a moment while Senga was bantering with her cousin to really look at her.

She wasn’t so much short as she was shorter than him, which, to be fair, wasn’t saying much. She was wearing a very nice dress in sedate black which very nearly concealed most of the weapons she was carrying and, to a less trained eye, might hide the muscles in her arms. It couldn’t hide the way she moved, though, like she was tracking something. He wondered if, under her Mask, her Change was feline.

Her hair had been done up; it looked fancy, but it stayed out of her way. Black-brown and straight or straightened, for all she called herself the white sheep, he was amused to see her hair was darker than her honey-brunette cousins. She looked comfortable in the fancy-dress, and looked like she could kill someone without breaking a sweat. It was an interesting combination – but one that was less surprising than it might have been, given her family.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1300585.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Funeral: Family Problems

First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Ellehemaei Inheritance Law

Senga looked over and up at Silence. He was looking over and down at her. He lifted his eyebrows at her. She shrugged at him.

“You’re right,” she admitted, “I’m screwed if you say no, and you’ve got more to lose by saying yes.”

“You don’t have shit to lose by saying yes,” he growled.

“Why don’t we talk about that when we’re out of here, one way or another? Because this isn’t exactly my cup of tea, either.”

“Yeah, well..”

“I’m sorry to rush you,” Mr. Maladono interrupted, not sounding the least bit sorry, “but I have several more cases to get through today. Mirabella’s will was, as you might have noticed, quite complicated, and there are quite a few people who wish to contest the terms or amounts of their inheritance.”

“You’re going to need more bodyguards,” Senga muttered. She looked up at Silence. “Well? This is your call. You’re the one that’s going to be wearing the collar.”

“You’re the one who — well, no.” He leaned backwards and stared at the ceiling for a minute. “Senga Monmartin, I Belong to you for—”

Mr. Maladono’s loud throat-clearing interrupted in.

“Oh, departed gods fuck all. Senga, I’m yours.”

“Erramun, Death Comes Silently, you Belong to me. Don’t kill me. Don’t maim me, either, and let’s get out of here before either of us maims someone else.”

“Sounds good to me.” He snarled it, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I mean, sounds good to me, mistress.”

Senga caught a flash of expression on Mr. Maladono’s face that she didn’t like, something like a pleased smirk. Maybe he enjoyed these clauses. Maybe he’d written them in with Great-Aunt Mirabella.

Maybe he was just an asshole.

Right now, he wasn’t her problem. Her problem was taller, looked nicer, and also looked like he was about to kill her, regardless of orders to the contrary.

She walked out of the funeral home as quickly as she could while still looking casual. Next to her, Erramun stalked. His face was set in something that looked irritated rather than furious, but she could see the hand closer to her was clenched at his side.

“Senga! Senga, you little bitch, don’t ignore me!” Eaven hurried up to her. Senga stopped, mainly because she didn’t want her cousin screaming her name in the middle of a wake filled with very important people of many different stripes. “Senga, you know you don’t deserve any of what mother left you. Just give it to me all now and there won’t be any trouble.”

“The Monmartin house?” Senga raised her eyebrows. “I think I deserve the house I grew up in.”

“You don’t have any use for that. A penny-ante thug like you? What are you going to do with an estate?

Erramun took a step forward so he was looming over Eaven. “It’s her inheritance. It’s her business what she does with it.”

“And you?” Eaven sneered. “Are you her inheritance, too?”

He smirked. It was an expression that looked like a tiger about to eat a fat gazelle. “It looks that way.”

“I always knew you were born to-”

“Eavan.” Senga cut her cousin off with far more shortness than she’d ever dared use in the past. “Eaven, I think it’s best if you don’t finish that sentence. We are leaving now. With that which we were given. And I’d suggest you do the same.”

“I’m going to get it. The manor. The money. Him. You know I am. There’s never been anything that she’s denied me.”

“And maybe that’s why you don’t have as meaty an inheritance as you wanted. Because you got it all along.”

“Is that what this is all about? You’re jealous because my mother gave me the goodies your mama never could?”

“My mother’s dead,” Senga pointed out, her voice flat. She’d cried those tears a long time ago, and, besides, it’s not like Eaven didn’t know that – and didn’t like to rub it in.

“You’ll be joining her soon enough if you don’t give in. You know you can’t win, and you know you don’t deserve it. So make life easy on yourse-”

She trailed off, staring at Erramun. He was growling, low and animal-sounding. “Senga, put a leash on him before he hurts someone.”

“I’m fairly certain the point of him is to hurt people. And I’m fairly certain I’m not going to put a leash on him. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, cousin. Do enjoy what your mother left you. And, oh.” She couldn’t help leaving with a parting shot. “Try not to let your sister steal everything she didn’t get from you. I’m sure she’s going to be trying.”

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1304892.html

Want More?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1300310.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

More of Mélanie’s story (Mdom not asshole)

First/previousLanding PageNext

She desperately wanted to know what they were doing, why she was pretending to be something she wasn’t, but it wasn’t like it was the first time she’d had to pretend. Mélanie let that lazy little smile grace her lips and swept her gaze over the place like she was slightly too good for the sleazy little slave pen and everyone in it.

“Very good,” her new owner murmured, and Mélanie nearly lost the act.

“Sir,” she replied, in the same quiet tone, “if you make me giddy…”

“Ah, my apologies. You’re new, and it’s been a while since I’ve had anyone new. We’re nearly there, just this little crowd of toughs…”

The little crowd of toughs was five very tall, very broad, very creepy looking men and three collared men, all of them smaller than the free men but none a single bit less creepy. Mélanie pretended to consider the collared ones for sale – she wouldn’t have bought any of them, except maybe that one with the handlebar mustache, and he needed a bath – and then the thugs themselves. The shortest of those might have been nice, but he would have fought the collar forever, and she was not generally a fan of such things.
The cart brought her back to herself. It was just that – not a carriage or a wagon but a cart hitched to two big draft horses. She looked it over and did not show anything, because she was practicing not showing anything at all.

“Up on in,” he urged her, and lifted her in just as he said it. Mélanie didn’t have time to complain or even to wriggle before she was sitting on the bench seat of the wagon.

“It’s not a limo,” he said dryly, to – well, she wasn’t showing anything, so she didn’t know what he was responding to, but he did. “But it will get us where we’re going. And it doesn’t stick out.”

“Yes, sir.” What else was she going to say? Well, there was the obvious question. “Where are we going, sir? And… why…?”

“Why were we leaving in such a casual hurry? Because there are people there that think I owe them money, and it behooves me to not be looking flush. They won’t demand you in payment, but they might think if I’d paid for you I must have other liquid assets… you see?”

“I… see. And, ah…” His openness made her brave. “Do you owe them money… sir?”

“No. Well.” He clucked at the horses and got the cart going down the road. “That’s open to a certain amount of interpretation.”

“As in, you think you don’t, but they have reason to think they do?” Oh, returned gods, he was going to turn around and sell her back.

He laughed. “No, no. As in they think that I owe them ‘rent’ for crossing over their property line, and I think if they can’t stand there and collect their tolls, it’s not their land. And the deer wasn’t even on their property…”

“You’re a poacher!” She was horrified to find she was delighted.

“Guilty as charged, although I like to think that mostly I just take things that other people have forgotten or ignored. And certain people do think their borders extend further than they really ought, by any measure except their own pride and arrogance.” He grinned at her. She found that she was looking at his face, that it was a handsome face, if a bit scruffy and with an interesting scar across one cheek, and that she very much liked his grin.

She also found that she was grinning back at him.

“This sounds like a very interesting profession. But… you didn’t poach me.”

Now why had she said that? Oh, for that waggle of eyebrow. “Or did I?”

“… Did you?”

He leaned back on the bench seat and laughed happily. “No.” The laugh slid away. “Unfortunately, it’s precious hard to steal slaves and almost impossible to steal Kept. So, instead, I stole the goods I used to buy you. Some here, some there, but I hope that slaver doesn’t try to sell them in the local market. Well, okay, I don’t actually hope he doesn’t try to sell them, because he’s an asshole and deserves everything he has coming to him, but there’s a possibility I might need that market again.”

“Okay.” Mélanie took a breath. “So. You walked into a slave market past people whose taxes – tolls, extortion – you haven’t paid, bought a slave with stolen goods – did you steal the goods from those thugs? – and walked back out. Right?”

“Exactly. I didn’t steal the goods from those thugs; those came from a different set of thugs altogether. But you have the basics right. So, hello. My name is Jesper Lune. In certain circles, I’m called Fox-Crazy.” He held out his hand to her.

She had to be dreaming. Things this weird just did not happen in real life. “Hello, sa’Fox-Crazy. My name is Mélanie; I’m called Shadows at Dawn by certain people. And… you just bought me. Why?”

“Because I liked the way you looked.”

“Shivering and terrified?” She wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“Not that part. They had to chain you up to make you comply. You weren’t broken, you weren’t ready to be obedient.”

“…you just risked murder or worse to buy a slave that wasn’t ready to be obedient. Are you aware, sir, that you make no sense?”

“You see, that’s the fun part.”

First/previousLanding PageNext

Want More?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1298583.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Hurt/Comfort Bingo: Dungeon

This is Hurt/Comfort so comes with the warnings inherent in that. Also, Dungeon. And Fae Apoc.

I.e., people will be hurt, in a dungeon, and possibly treated as things.

Card is here: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1189081.html

There were ten of them in the dungeon, as far as he knew. Sometimes they would count off. They’d whisper their names into the dark, so that they wouldn’t forget them, so if any of them made it out of here, someone would remember who they’d been.

Nobody had any hope that their families would ever know what had happened to them. For the most part, they’d lost any hope that anyone they knew was still alive, any hope that they were ever getting out of here.

Sometimes, their captors would take one of them away. They used prods and tasers and a whip, and none of them were strong enough to fight it, not after a few days in the dungeon.

Sometimes they brought them back, sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes when they brought them back, they lay on the floor of their little cage whispering “kill me” over and over again.

Sometimes, when they took him away, it was because someone wanted to use him. Sometimes, it was because they wanted to ‘beat the fae out of him’. Sometimes those were the same thing. He let his mind go away and tried to not be there for those times. Sometimes, it worked.

He didn’t think everyone here was fae, but he could only see the cage to the left of him, and in that one, the girl looked like she was half-lizard. They beat her, too, but the last time they’d tried, she’d taken a big bite out of one of them.

He hoped she’d found it tasty, because they hadn’t brought her food since, and there was only so much of his own food he could share with her. He was starving slowly… they were all starving slowly. Somehow, he didn’t think that would be what killed any of them. Not with the rest of it.

A light came on. They all fell quiet. The light wasn’t supposed to come on for a while — was it? The gnawing in his stomach was still at the mild just-ate-something stage and the pain in his back hadn’t subsided from the last time they’d dragged him out of here. But they liked to change their routines.

“Dead gods.” The voice wasn’t one he recognized, and the curse was a fae one. She sounded, he thought, horrified. Shit, had they found someone else? It’d been months — maybe? Long enough, at least, since they’d last brought someone in. He’d hoped whatever project they had in mind, they had enough of them for it.

“Can you see this? There’s more cages down here. Rows of them. Oh, fuck, Demmond.” He thought she was gagging. Frankly, he couldn’t blame her. “I think there’s something dead down here.”

“How could anything living handle that stench?” The second voice was male, and every bit as horrified as the woman. The stench – he wanted to say you get used to it – but he wasn’t sure, yet, that this wasn’t a trap.

Holding very still and staying very quiet, that’s what they’d been taught. They knew, all of them, what happened if they didn’t do either of those things. So he held very still and said nothing.

“Are they dead?” The woman’s voice came a little closer. He could hear her steps on the old stairs. “Oh, gods, look, blood. Someone hit their head here, I think. See?”

Her name had been Ginnie, and they’d dragged her out kicking and screaming. She’d never come back.

“They dented the stair. They really are sick fucks. I mean, we knew it already – shit. One of them moved. They’re not dead. Caroline, they’re not dead. At least one of them.”

“They’re not?” The steps down the stairs were quicker now. “Oh, fuck, to be living down here, to be stuck in these – they’re not even cells, are they? More like coffins with bars. Oh, shit, another one of them moved, and… Demmond, the paramedics are going to freak out.”

She’d stopped between his cage and the one next to him. She was staring at the lizard girl. Without moving, all he could see was her pants – trousers, they looked like nice ones – and black sneakers, so the staring was an assumption, but her legs were spread and she wasn’t speaking or moving.

“Shit,” Demmond whispered. “No way in fuck they can Mask, not in the state they’re in. Gods and demons. All right. Well, let’s get ‘em out and see how many of them are still alive.” He hesitated. “You start with her, I’ll take this one. I think his rib cage is moving. If not, I can give him a decent burial.”

He held his breath and held still as his cage opened. He knew what happened if he moved. He still had the bruises from the last time he’d tried.

“Hey. Hey, can you look at me?” The man’s voice – Demmond’s voice – was gentle.

He still didn’t move. He knew a trap when it was in front of him.

“Shit.” Demmond muttered something under his breath. A Working, magic. Idu – oh, no, oh, no, no. Not Idu Intinn.

“I’m reading his mind, Caroline. This is going to be tricky. He’s panicking, but he’s panicking ‘cause they’ve been fooled into believing things like us before, and they’ve turned out to be ‘traps’ to test their behavior. He’s scared to move without – without, oh, there we go. Forward.”

That was the word. Slowly, he crawled forward out of his cage.

“And – sorry, kid, I don’t like to do this, let’s see. Stand.”

He couldn’t. He got as far as his knees, but he couldn’t make his legs unbend. A keening sound came out of him that he couldn’t stop, and he flinched, waiting for the strike.

“Belay that last order. Shit. Okay, Caroline, you want ‘forward’. And then maybe… ‘wait?’ ‘Cause I don’t think they can stand. Shit, shit, fuck, damn.”

Suddenly the man was kneeling, looking him in the eye. “Do you remember your name?”

That was a trap. That was the worst trap. He shook his head no, no, managed to croak out a no, sir, but the name was there in his mind that wasn’t fair…

“Adamas. That’s a good name. Car, careful. They’ve been told not to remember their own names.”

“I know. But remember, we already got them. Hopefully the whole thing, root and vine. Now… now we have to help these guys.” Demmond’s voice was careful, calm. He sounded soothing.

He, Adamas, no, no.. shit. Adamas didn’t know whether the soothing was a good thing or just another trap. He stayed where he was, watching Demmond – who turned out to be a very tall, very broad man with very dark skin – and Caroline – who was probably only short and light-skinned in comparison to Demmond.

They were opening all the cages, coaxing all of the prisoners out, one at a time. Someone had called down the paramedics, and Demmond was murmuring a Working very softly.

A Mind working. Adamas tensed. That could be bad, that could be so bad – no. No, he was making sure the paramedics didn’t see anything but humans.

“But her tail…” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Adamas cringed back as best as he could without actually moving his legs.

“It’s all right. We’re going to have the paramedics stabilize her and record all of her… recordable injuries, all right? Then once she’s settled in the hospital, we’ll get a proper healer in for the rest. For all of you. But we want to be able to prosecute these assholes to the full extent of the law, and that means letting the human techs do their jobs. Okay?”

Adamas nodded slowly. Why was Demmond telling him all of this?

“The paramedics are going to have their hands full. Can you handle being down here with them without freaking out?”

“I…” His voice was barely a croak. He tried anyway. “I won’t freak out.”

“All right. All right. You don’t look like you’ve eaten in a month, but believe me, son, you’re in better shape than most of them here.”

“I…” he nodded slowly. “I’m tough.”

“I bet you are. All right. I’m gonna go get the EMTs. You wait here, and if you can, answer any questions Caroline has. Okay?”

Obeying he could do. Adamas nodded his head.

“Good. Good. All right, hold it together.” He was gone up the stairs, sprinting. Adamas didn’t watch . He didn’t like the stairs.

“Okay, Adam… no. Adamas. I’m Caroline.” She squatted down in front of him. “We’re talking to you because you’re in better shape than most of them here. If I give you water, can you drink it?”

“I-” He was allowed to drink what he was given. He nodded mutely.

“Good. Here.” She handed him a soda cup with a straw in it. He sipped cautiously, and then, finding it cool water, more eagerly.

“How long have you been down here, Adamas? You, and the rest of them?”

“I-” he sagged. “I don’t know. Some of them were here before me. The lizard girl, she was here before me. And the one in the back corner… Edwin. And one other one, but he doesn’t talk anymore. Marcel.”

“Good. Thank you. We’re going to get you out of here, and we’re going to have questions.” She looked him in the face. Adamas struggled not to look away. “Two questions. Can you testify? And can you testify without talking about fae things?”

Adamas cleared his throat. “Why me?” It sounded pitiful to his ears, but he didn’t mind all that much right now; he felt pretty pitiful too.

“Because right now, you’re coherent and moving. None of the rest of them are.”

“I’m tough,” he muttered. He’d thought that was a good thing until he ended up here.

“I bet you are. So. Can you?”

“Can I…” He winced. “Can I think about it?”

“Yes. Just – promise me you won’t vanish without giving me an answer, okay?”

Adamas ducked his head. He didn’t want to answer that one. He didn’t want to give her any answers at all.

She’d probably saved his life and he was pretty sure she had saved the lives of most of the other people in this dungeon. “I promise,” he muttered.

“Thank you.” She nodded up the stairs, and paramedics in their white uniforms came bustling down the stairs.

The next period of time was confusing for Adamas. He was almost strapped to a gurney, before Demmond stopped the paramedics. Instead, they moved him upstairs as carefully as they could, and a white-clad woman sat with him in the ambulance.

There were a lot of ambulances. He saw more move around than he thought there’d been people in the basement. Then he was sitting in one while a paramedic took his vitals and spoke quietly to him. He tried to answer the questions, but they seemed to be coming from very far away.

“Sir, stay with me. Do you know what day it is?”

He didn’t shake his head, because he thought it might fall off. “Is it winter?” he tried. “It was winter the last time I saw snow.”

He didn’t remember anything after that, but there was a warm hand in his, and the light was so bright.

He came to with people tutting quietly over him. “…underfed, clearly abused, three unhealed broken ribs and more damage than I can list in any reasonable amount of time. I’ve documented everything. I do hope you put these bastards away for good, but right now, what this young man needs is rest, fluids, and recuperation.”

He wasn’t in the dungeon anymore. He wasn’t… he tried to sit up and found that movement was difficult. He blinked his eyes instead. “The… the girl in the cage next to me?” His voice was a croak. His voice had been a croak for a long time. Edwin? Marcel? Ginny?” One by one he listed them all off – the dead or gone and the ones that had still been down there. “…Cary?”

The detective – Caroline? That was her name – sat down in a chair next to him. “Adamas, there were nine people in the dungeon with you. Two of them didn’t survive. One had been dead for a while; we think that’s Marcel, and a girl two cages down from you died on the way to the hospital.”

Adamas sighed. “At least they’re out of there.” He reached around. “Is there, please, water?”

“Here.” The detective held it out in a cup with a straw. “Drink slowly, all right, not much at once. They’ve got you on IV fluids and about a jillion other things I don’t really follow. But you’re healing up. So… do you have anyone we can call? Family? Friends?”

Adamas shook his head slowly. “No. Nobody. That’s probably how they got me.” He chewed on his lip for a moment. “I might be able to … No. It’s been too long.”

“All right. So… I would offer you my place, but that’s not going to work, because I’m working the case. So I’m going to ask you to trust me, Adamas. They’re going to let you out of here in a couple days, and I’m going to introduce you to a friend of mine. Someone not in law enforcement. Someone who can keep you safe while you recuperate.”

“What about… what about everyone else?”

“Demmond and I are working on it. We’ll find everyone a safe place to go, at least in the short term, and then, if you want, we can help you get back on your feet and independent.”

“If we want?” He was almost whispering. The doctor was still there. There were so many questions.

She patted his ankle gently. “We found paperwork. We have a good idea of how those bastards got at least some of you – and how many there’d been over the years. We can help you find – a suitable arrangement. Once you’re recovered.”

“Detective, he really needs to rest right now. There will be plenty of time for you to bother him later.” The doctor stood up. “They’ve all been through a great deal of trauma.”

Caroline also stood up. “And we endeavor to make sure they’re not going to have any more trauma, I assure you, Doctor. Thank you for your time. Adamas, I’ll be talking to you again. Thank you.”

“Wait.” They were leaving. He didn’t want them to leave. “Could – it’s lonely in here. I haven’t been alone in a long time. I-” He cringed. He was being very demanding; their tolerance wouldn’t last long.

The doctor’s expression softened. “I’ll see if some of the others want to share a room, how’s that? Many of them are worse off than you, though. You’ll have to keep that in mind. A couple haven’t spoken at all.”

“We were punished for speaking,” Adamas explained. “Or for moving. Or for – well, anything. We learned to be quiet.”

“And you? How come you’re willing to talk.”

He blushed and ducked his head. “The detectives told me I could.”

“The… and that worked because they were authority figures?” the doctor guessed.

“I think so. And they opened the cage. I figured that if they were going to open the cage and use the command words, they could tell me I could talk.” He ducked his head. Part of his mind was still waiting to be proven wrong, to be punished all over again.

“That’s… all right. Detective, do you know what the right command words are?”

“I know some of them, Demmond knows some of them. Do you want me to see if I can get the others to cooperate with you?”

“Cooperate,” Adamas whispered. “That’s one of them. It’ll work, but um.” He ducked his head and fell quiet. “Cooperate” was not a word that came with “talking.”

He could feel their eyes on him. “Is there a word that comes with less negative connotations?” The doctor sounded surprisingly gentle. “Adamas? What can we tell you to do that won’t hurt?”

“Rest,” Adamas whispered. “Rest is a good one.” He hadn’t heard “rest” very often; he didn’t think any of them had. “The… gentle? one, she used ‘rest.’”

“The gentle one?” Caroline asked. He could tell that she wanted to be sharp. He appreciated she was trying not to be.

“There was one. I mean. I thought she was supposed to be the good cop. But I think she was…. better. Better than the rest. I don’t know. Some of us, we thought she used to be in the cages, too, in the dungeon. But people who were in the cages, they didn’t walk out.” He swallowed hard. “They left, you know. But they didn’t walk out. I didn’t think any of us would.” He barked out a little laugh. “Guess we didn’t, after all.”

Caroline patted his shoulder very gently. “All right. ‘Rest.’” She looked him in the eye. “Rest, Adamas. I’ll come see you when you’re ready to go home.”

~

There were five of them in the hospital room. They still spoke in whispers, because none of them could quite believe that there was no punishment coming, that they were free – or would be free, when they were healed. They whispered their names, and what they’d been told.

“The women,” whispered Cary. “She said ‘rest,’ and then she said we didn’t have to serve again. I asked… how long.”

“You asked?” hissed Kari. “Are you trying to get punished?”

“She didn’t punish me! She said ‘rest’ again, and said I could rest as long as I wanted.”

“She told us all to rest.” Edwin had managed to pull himself up in his bed. “Guys, I think maybe this is for real. But – how did they know the words?”

“I told them,” Adamas whispered. “The doctor, he wanted us to cooperate, so we didn’t get healed.” He stopped talking while the other four hissed and twitched. “I told him that was a bad word.”

“You told them?” Don hissed. “Told them?

“I… I think this is really not a trap. I think we are really being saved. I don’t know why. I don’t know how they found out about us. But I think they are really the law – the human law,” he added, so much more quietly “-and I think that they caught the people.” Their tormentors had never been anything but Them or the people, as if giving them a name somehow would give them even more power. “I think that they really will take them to trial. So we will need to testify, so we can hurt Them back.”

“Human law?” Kari breathed. “That won’t hold Them. Not all of them.”

“It will hold them for a while, especially if human law is enforced by people who’re like us. It will hold them while we heal. While we get stronger. While we remember how to stand,” he murmured, and he meant both literally and figuratively. “That’s long enough. We can be ready when the human law can’t hold Them anymore. And you know what will happen then.”

The hisses settled into quiet murmuring. They nodded, one of them – Edwin – and then the rest of them. “We can testify,” Edwin agreed. His voice sounded almost normal, if tired and bitter, when he added: “none of us have anything to lose anymore.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1298061.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Oh, it’s Autumn. (A piece involving Cya, Carew, and Leo) (Still Sword/Lady timeline)

This involves sidelong descriptions of really rough sex.

“That… was different. He was different.”

Cya had come home scraped, bruised, and smiling, wearing different clothing than she’d left in, leaning on Leofric as if she might actually need the support. The smile was a particularly lazy, pleased version of her sated expression.

Carew knew her sated expression. He’d put it on her face more than a few times — especially in the last few weeks. Not like that, though, and not with bruises like that, either.

She’d handed him a pile of clothing, her expression turning slightly-abashed. While she’d dished out the casserole she had waiting — because she was Cya, and she almost always had something waiting — Carew had unfolded the clothing.

Every single piece was cut, like it had been sliced off of her.

No question why she’d given him the clothes, then. Carew wiggled his nose and the clothing came back together. If being a mechanic didn’t work out, he thought, not for the first time, he had a good future as a house-elf.

After that… after that he’d been looking at his Keeper’s bruises with a combination of jealousy and wistfulness. He wanted to have put that expression on her face. He wanted someone to put marks like that on him. Even at her roughest, Cya never marked him thatmuch.

“Leo,” Cya had said with cheerfully sharp edges, “you probably shouldn’t tease my Kept if you’re not willing to bruise him all up, too.”

He hadn’t been expecting that. He hadn’t been expecting Leo’s expression, the one that made Carew wonder for a moment exactly which one of them had the predator Change and which had the prey Change.

Hard to miss those antlers, though. Hard not to think of what those antlers could do to you.

Now… now he was having other thoughts about predators and prey. He sprawled across the bed, pressing his knee gently to Cya so he could stay in contact with her. He was bruised, scraped, aching, and absolutely sated. “That was…” he repeated, but he had no words for what it was.

“Autumn,” Cya filled in, in a voice that sounded like he felt. She’d watched. She’d watched the whole thing, and Carew’d had absolutely no doubt she was loving every minute. “That was autumn and Leo. Buck,” she added, as if somehow Carew had missed that. “But I wouldn’t mention that part to him. I don’t think he likes it.”

Carew considered that for a moment. “He looked like he was having fun?” he offered cautiously.
“He did, didn’t he? Mmm. Don’t proposition him on your own.”

He already had fidelity orders. He was also not suicidal. “Yes, ma’am.”

“But if you liked it—”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“-then I’ll see if he wants to have another round before autumn’s over.” She considered things thoughtfully. “Not for a couple days, though.”

Carew stretched, feeling every bruise and scrape. “Not for a couple days,” he agreed.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1297398.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Beauty-Beast 8: Claws and Monsters

FirstPreviousLanding PageNext

🔒

Ctirad could practically feel Sir’s eyes on him. The silence seemed to hang in the air, something nobody was saying just waiting to be said.

Finally, Ctirad cleared his throat. “So what should I know?”

Sir chuckled. “I’m not Ermenrich. Sometimes I’m an asshole, and I admit it – Sal will tell you…”

“Sometimes he’s an asshole,” Sal agreed cheerfully.

“-Thanks, Sal. But I’m not a monster,” his voice did something strange. Ctirad looked up at the voice as if that would help.

He felt a hand on his hair. “If you would, if you can, keep your eyes closed just a little longer, please.”

Well that, for all the buffer, was an order. Ctirad nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. That’s fine, I can handle that, sir.” Some impulse made him add, “as long as I’m not left alone, please, sir.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Sir’s hand moved from Ctirad’s hair to his cheek. “It’s a deal. I won’t leave you alone and blinded ever, all right?”

“Thank you, sir.” He swallowed, worked his way around a lump in his throat, and nodded his head uncertainly. “I just. Can’t read your expression,” he admitted. “…Shit, I sound ridiculous.”

“You sound,” Sir corrected, “like someone newly under a new bond of Belonging, someone who didn’t have a very good time of his last Keeper and maybe not the Owner before that. You sound like someone who needs to be treated with respect. Because I can see your claws, Ctirad, and I am very interested in them, but I wonder if you know exactly how much they show.”

Ctirad swallowed. “Sir?” He flexed his fingers. He did not have claws, not with his Mask down. He never had – at least, he was pretty sure he never had.

Sir stroked Ctirad’s back and the back of his hair. “You have anger in you, which is completely understandable, but you have barely-restrained violence, too. Frustrated violence, if I don’t miss my guess, but also, mmm, like a tiger. Simply sitting there, you have the potential to murder.”

Ctirad went stiff. “Sir.” He tried to show nothing in his voice. He was pretty sure he failed. “I Belong to you.”

🔒

FirstPreviousLanding PageNext

Want more?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1296736.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Funeral: Ellehemaei Inheritance Law

First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Legacies and Unimportant People

The lawyer was waiting for them, all prickly and officious. “Miss Senga Monmartin, Mr. Erramun Silence. Here are the full details of Mirabella’s behest to the two of you. It encompasses all that was read in the will – both the rewards for compliance and the punishments for a lack thereof, as it were – but includes also this statement:

“‘Now, Silence, I know you, and you’re going to try to give up as little as possible, and Senga, I know you, and you’re going to try to be nice, because that’s what you do. Neither of those things are bad traits – but they don’t suit this plan of mine. If I’m gone – and if I weren’t gone, you wouldn’t be hearing this, now would you – you’re going to have to trust the plan, both of you, because nothing else will keep you both above water.

“‘In that vein, I will only consider you to have followed the letter of my will and the spirit if you swear to the Belonging in front of Mr. Maladono, my favorite lawyer, and if you do so with no qualifiers. Nothing but you, Silence, saying you Belong to you, Senga, that and nothing more.’”

Senga looked at Silence. He was growling softly under his breath, glaring at the lawyer and the paper the lawyer was holding. The lawyer, quite sensibly, took a step backwards. Senga resisted the urge to do the same as Silence turned his glare on her.

“This was not my doing,” she pointed out, “or I wouldn’t have bothered to be negotiating terms with you.”

“You’re fucked if I say no, aren’t you?” There was something amused under the growl. Senga struggled not to show anything on her face.

“You’re fucked if you say no, too, aren’t you?” she countered.

“Oh, yeah. But it’s nice to know we’re fucked together…. or not-fucked together.” He smirked at her. “Which defeats the purpose of me being under your Name, I suppose.”

She snorted. “I don’t think Great-Aunt Mirabella arranged this all just so my bed would be warmer. For that, I can imagine she’d have picked someone who wanted the collar. She had a few of those, didn’t she?” She turned that question on the lawyer, who was doing his best to pretend he wasn’t listening to this discussion.

He cleared his throat. “If you mean, were there people in Mirabella’s will… there were three. Those disbursements were handled separately, as that is obviously against the law in this state.”

“All states, I’d think?”

“Oh, actually, there are special laws in three states, including California, that were presumably put in place stealthily and under the aegis of other laws by powerful Ellehemaei. That being said, if you wish to discuss inheritance law vis-a-vis Ellehemaei, I’d be more than willing to do so – at another date. Right now, I need to know which path the two of you are pursuing.”

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1300310.html

Want More?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1296520.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable