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Abuse, for the Hurt/Comfort Bingo Card

Fae Apoc, for my Hurt/Comfort card. Pretty much what it says on the tin. The aftermath of a bad Keeping being handled by a new Keeper.

“Dumb, dumb, stupid, dumb.” Valla had been repeating the refrain for three nights, ever since she fell into the stupid trap from the stupid trappers with the stupid mind-fuddling haze and the stupid, stupid, stupid moment where she’d agreed to be theirs.

Well, his.

She knew better. She knew so much better. And this time, there wasn’t going to be any convenient rescue. There wasn’t going to be any time limit. She was well and truly boned.

…except she wasn’t, yet, which was confusing. Well, they were on the road, as it were. The trappers were actually trappers, hunting for fur and meat in what had, at one point, been a city. The brain-fuzzing mess she’d stepped into had been intended for one of the big mutant monsters. So had the pit trap it’d been in. “Stupid, stupid, dumb-ass, stupid.”

“I know.” The voice made her freeze. “But it’s not really nice to point it out.”

“Sir?” She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to ignore him, either. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Are you done hauling water?”

“I filled the cask,” she answered carefully.

“And what’s stupid?”

“I am, sir.” She could answer that one easily!

“You’re not the first person to get caught in a trap, you know. That’s why they’re traps.”

“I know, sir.”

He sighed. Valla winced. He had been somewhere between patient and negligent since he caught her, letting the rest of his team give her chores and mostly ignoring her. “Come here.”

“Sir.” She hurried over to him, looking at the ground. What had she done? What was he going to do? What was–

“Here, sit here.” His wagon had an old van seat in the front; he patted the cushion next to him.

Cautiously, still not looking at him, Valla sat down.

“All right. Good. That’s a good first step. Can you look at me?”

“Sir?” It wasn’t an order. She didn’t know what to do with it.

“Please?”

Valla peeked up at him nervously. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look anything except maybe a little bit worried.

“That’s a good start. All right. So. You said you’d been Kept before.”

“Yes, sir.” Some people didn’t like leftovers…

“Your former owner, they had standing orders for you?”

Oh, no. “Yes, sir.” She didn’t look away. He wanted her to look at him. But she tried to let her eys drift downwards towards his lips instead of his eyes.

He was frowning. She tried not to wince away. “Could you give me a couple examples of standing orders?”

“Yes, sir.” She cleared her throat. “There was, uh. ‘speak when you’re spoken to and not otherwise,’ and, um, ‘don’t fight, don’t fight back’ and…” she sorted through the rest of them, not wanting to give him ideas. “‘Do what the crew tells you to do without argument.’”

“I see. You’re drawing me a picture, here… tell me one of those standing orders you were avoiding telling me, just now.”

That one was an order. She swallowed and spoke fast and quietly. “‘Wear only what you’re given and, if you’re not given anything, don’t try to cover up.’”

“…And now you’ve colored that picture in. Thank you, Valla. That’s enough.” He patted her shoulder very gently. “All right. Here are you new standing orders.”

Valla tensed. Here it came.

“You already do what the crew tells you; you don’t need an order for that. But if they tell you to do something you don’t understand, or you find unpleasant or unconscionable, either tell them to check with me, or tell them you have to check with me, and then do so. Understand?”

“…Unpleasant?” She must have heard him wrong.

“Unpleasant. Now… if you really dislike doing the dishes or something, you may have to do some things you don’t want to do, but we can negotiate a lot of that.” He looked at her face. “…at some point, I may need to track down this former Keeper of yours and beat them up. But that’s later.” He shook his head. “Valla, you Belong to me now.”

Of course she did, because she’d been stupid enough to get herself trapped. “Yes, sir.”

“And, yeah. I want you to work hard and be an extra hand around the camp. I want to use your expertise – once you trust me enough to let me know what that is. I want you to be an asset to my team. None of those things are orders, Valla, please… You look like you’re taking mental notes. It’s okay.” He patted her shoulder. “You’re doing very well. I’m very pleased with you.”

She closed her eyes. It felt good. It felt strange, and warm, like being wrapped in a warm blanket. “Thank you, sir.”

“But…”

The panic set in, and she opened her eyes. “Sir?”

“But… and Valla, I cannot stress enough that these aren’t orders… I don’t want you to be miserable. I’d like it if you could be happy.”

Valla stared at him. “Why? … Sir?”

“Well… I do?” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Look, it makes me happy when you’re happy. So… you have to tell me if something makes you unhappy.” He tapped her collar lightly. “I know this, being collared at all, being Kept, makes you unhappy. You don’t have to tell me that. But… I’m serious. If someone in the crew asks you to do something and you think it’s a bad idea or just, I don’t know, don’t want to… I’ll stand up for you, all right?”

Valla tilted her head. “It’s happened before?” she guessed. “When you were… younger? Sir?”

“It happened before,” he admitted. “You’re a smart one, Valla.”

“I know what Keeping is like, sir.” She was being very forward. But he didn’t seem to mind, at least not too much. “Someone… hurt your Kept?”

“Nobody in the crew now. But I didn’t know, not for months, because she thought I’d wanted it. And you, you look like you think any awful thing must be exactly what your Keeper wanted.”

Valla didn’t know what to say to that. She ducked her head and looked abashed and hoped that was enough.

“Sweetness, Valla… that wasn’t a criticism. Look.” He touched her cheek as lightly as he’d touched her collar a moment ago. “I’m serious, okay? Is anyone doing anything you don’t like?”

Valla swallowed. He was worried, he was really worried, about her. No, about… “What happened to the other one, sir? Your other Kept?”

“She…” He frowned; he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. “She attacked the, the guy, my crew-mate, who’d been hurting her. And he fought back, really hard. She survived, but it was a close call. When she was healed up, I freed her. I found her a place to stay and all the supplies I could afford. But I couldn’t, well, he attacked her with hawthorn.”

Valla swallowed. “I wouldn’t attack a crewmate.”

“I know. I do. But then, well, I’d never know if something was wrong, either.” He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “Is anyone doing anything you don’t want them to?”

“I don’t want to be collared. I don’t want to be a slave.”

She wanted to cover her mouth, but he was still touching her, and she didn’t want to knock his hands away. Valla flushed, though, and let her eyes slide away, looking off into the distance. He was going to punish her now. He was going to have to.

He laughed. The sound was startled and startling, pleased and confusing. “All right, I asked for that one. I got that, believe it or not. And I understand it. I’m not going to free you right now. I’d apologize for it, tell you I was sorry, but that would be kind of hypocritical. So… here, Valla, please look at me.”

Please or not, that was an order. She looked into his hazel eyes. He looked serious. He looked gentle. He didn’t look the least bit annoyed or angry. “I know you don’t want to be collared. But…” He frowned. Valla tensed and tried not to pull away.

“It was a dumb thing to say. I’m sorry, sir.”

He sighed yet again. “All right. I’m not a big fan of words-unspoken sort of orders, but I’m going to give one. For the next week, Valla, you’re not allowed to call yourself dumb, or stupid, or any variation thereof. And I’d rather you not apologize for being unhappy, but that’s not an order.” He put his big hands on her shoulders. “If you can be happy here – and it’s possible, I think, that you could be – then you’re going to have to help me find things that you do like doing, and help me avoid some of the things you dislike the most. All right?”

Valla offered him a cautious smile. “Is that an order, sir?”

“Will it help you do it, if it is?”

“I… um. Yes? Things are definitely easier to do if they’re orders?”

“Then yes.” He kissed her cheek. The touch felt strange, pleasant. It was a chaste kiss, and yet Valla found she liked it. “Yes. That one’s an order. Find things you like doing, Valla, and tell me what they are.”

It would make him happy, she realized. He would be happier – and happier with her – if he knew she was doing things she could enjoy. “Yes, sir.”

She still didn’t know what he was up to, but maybe she wasn’t quite as boned as she’d feared.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1197981.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Black Pawns, an AU story of Cya, Leofric, and an Army

A double-crack alternate universe in which Leo gets an army and then takes over the northwest.

comes tangental to:
Black Knight and White Queen from the 9th and White Knight from yesterday.


It was possible, Cya admitted, that Leo was getting a little bit carried away.

She watched him in front of his army; she watched him in front of his newly-conquered cities and villages and small states. He was soaking it in, reveling in it; he was glowing with the power and the pleasure of their worship.

She watched as he seemed to get taller, as his antlers seemed to get wider. He wasn’t growing, but his image was. They doted on him; they loved him. They praised him and expected him to fix their problems.

It was more than a little possible that he was becoming a god.

It was nearly certain that she ought to stop him. The Council would notice. Addergoole would notice.

She stepped up behind him and began the paperwork and bureaucracy of bringing another town under the Cloverleaf banner.

She wasn’t going to stop him yet.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1197318.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

White Knight, an AU story of Cya, Regine, Mike, Luke, and an Army

After This Story and this story from yesterday, which read first, because Au.

“Just do it.” Luke knew his voice was shaking, but he held out hope that Regine wouldn’t notice. “Regine. Mike’s right. She has the cards here.”

“Luca, I am not going to leave you to be Kept by this, this… woman.”

“I don’t see why not.” He found himself chuckling a little bit. Regine would not understand. Hopefully, Mike would, and he’d be able to explain it. If not, well, Regine could hold a grudge for a very long time. He’d have plenty of time (he hoped) to explain himself later. “Look, Regine, we’ve been letting her Keep Addergoole graduates – and by that I mean not stopping her, let’s be honest – for decades now. What’s wrong with letting me see what my students went through?”

“You are not a student.” Regine was livid. This was not going to help matters; Cya could see that sort of opening and she wouldn’t hesitate to take it.

“No. But neither are they when she Keeps them. Look, Regine. Take the offer.” He stretched his wings carefully, feeling the place where things were still healing. “She’s got you — us — in a tight place, and it’s not going to get any easier by you huffing and puffing.”

“I am not ‘huffing and puffing.'”

“…Much,” Mike muttered.

Luke snorted. “Regine, I know you.” He was tired. His brain was clouded. He tried to make his voice gentle anyway. “I know what you do. Take the offer. I’ll get back to you when I can.” He snorted again. “We live forever, ‘Gene, and you’ve got my kid there with you. You’ll be fine for a couple decades.”

Cya cleared her throat. He could hear the difference between her a-hem and Regine’s. “You have four years to find a replacement for him, Director Avonmorea. Whatever deal I make with him, it will give him the time to teach for the next four school years. That should let him clear his current roster of cy’ree.”

Luke stared at the phone as if he could see her expression through it. What was she doing? Why was she doing it? “That’s very generous.”

“Leo is very fond of you. That buys you a lot of leeway.”

His wings twitched in frustration. He knew why she irritated Regine so much. But he wasn’t in a position, at the moment, to indulge himself.

You put yourself in this position, he reminded himself. He cleared his throat and looked at the phone again. “Thank you.”

“Luca, you can’t mean to…”

“Luke, come on, we need you…”

Luke sat down hard on the divan. “‘Gene. Mike. I’m not going that far away. And you’ll be fine without me, and so will the school. It’s been a long time.” He was so tired, and he didn’t think it was just the injuries and the hawthorn. “You have lots of students of mine who could take my place for a little while.”

There was a moment where nobody spoke. Luke imagined Regine attempting to stare Cya down. He imagined the way she’d looked when she’d come up to them, Leo laying bleeding out on the ground. He remembered that look. It was more frightening now than it had been her first year of school.

Regine cleared her throat. “Very well. Luca Hunting-Hawk, I release you from all oaths you have sworn to me. I release you from your oaths to the school. I release you from your promise to the crew. You are free of your ties to me, Hunting-Hawk.”

Mike’s voice came in the rushing of Luke’s ears. “Luke… I release you from your promises to me. You are free of me, Luke, Hunting-Hawk.”

He did not so much lay down as he fell over. There was weight lifted from his mind he hadn’t known was there. He gasped, and again, but the pressure behind his eyes was too much.

Unconsciousness took him.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1197224.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

White Queen, an AU story of Cya, Regine, Mike, Luke, and an Army

After This Story from earlier today, which read first, because Au.

Regine, Again

She did not want to be here, sitting in Cya Red Doomsday’s office like a petitioner. But Luke was in danger, and Regine would not have it said that she did not value her crew.

Michael was with her. She didn’t know how Linden-Blossom felt about this, but she knew that the Daeva loved Luke, and she knew that she would not walk alone into the den of her enemy if she could avoid it.

“Lady of the Lake. Sa’Linden Blossom.” Cya bowed politely to both of them.

“Jae’Red Doomsday.” Regine was not in the mood for games. “I will meet with Luca before we discuss
anything.”

“No. You won’t.” The woman leaned forward, hands on her desk. “We meet and sign an agreement first.”

“I don’t think you understand your position–“

“My position?” Cya raised her eyebrows. “I have Leo, Leo has an army, and we hold the northwest. I have twenty Addergoole grads, in addition to Boom, all of them 11th Cohort or older, who have plenty of reason to hate you and more reason to be fond of me. Possibly of more relevance to you, I have Luke in a hawthorn cell. What’s your position, Director?”

“You will let us meet with Luca before this meeting continues!”

“No. I won’t. And if you continue to push the issue, you’re going to be leaving here without discussing anything.”

“Regine.” Michael cut in with a quiet, diplomatic tone. “She has the cards here.”

Regine sighed. “Very well.”

“I will, however, allow you to speak to him.” She pulled an ancient phone out of her desk and dialed a number. “Put him on.” A moment later, she continued, “sa’Hunting Hawk? Please hold for the Lady of the Lake.”

She pushed a button, putting the phone on speaker. Regine glowered at the indignity of it, but Michael had a point. “Luca?”

“‘Gene?” Luca sounded tired and strained.

“Luca, we’re going to get you out of there. Is everything all right?”

“It’s not the Hilton. But they’re not treating me poorly. Regine… don’t goad her.”

“Too late,” Michael murmured. Regine ignored him.

“I… I won’t, Luca.”

“And don’t let her goad you.”

“Too late,” Michael repeated.

Luca sighed. “Regine… just be careful, all right.”

“So.” Cya leaned forward over her desk. “These are my terms. sa’Hunting Hawk serves the same as anyone else who attacks me and mine: one year under the collar. All three of you swear oaths never to attack my city or my people again.”

“Preposterous!” Regine sputtered.

“Or,” and here Cya smiled, a slow and humorless expression, “you release sa’Hunting Hawk from any and all oaths he has sworn to you, and he pays the fine for his attack on his own. That would be more than a year, of course, because I, Director Avonmorea, am not an idiot.”

Regine raised her eyebrows. “Out of the question.”

“Then I suppose you don’t want him back too badly, do you?” Cya looked amused. Regine wanted to banish that expression from her face. “There are other ways, of course, but here I thought you’d be open to reason.”

The nerve…! Regine quirked her eyebrows at Cya. “You ask for quite a bit when you have an army at our door.”

“Technically, it’s at my door, at least at the moment. And no. The point isn’t the army. The point is that your man attacked my man and, well, that can’t stand. So. Release him and let him pay the penalty, or sign off on the whole not-attacking-us thing and let him pay the penalty.”

Regine stared at her. “You don’t seriously think–“

“Regine,” Luca cut her off, “just do it.”

Next: White Knight

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1196975.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Black Knight, an AU story of Cya, Leofric, Luke, and an Army

The AU is Cloverleaf-Era, and Leo has gathered an army around himself and is, uh, taking over the northwest.

Luke is sent in to deal with it, but underestimates Leo’s style of fighting and has to nearly kill him to get him unconscious….

…all while Leo’s army watches.


The messenger had been pounding on her door for nearly a minute before Cya made it down the stairs. She’d been taking a bath, the sort of long, quiet luxury she only did when she had a full hour or more to herself, and she hadn’t been in the mood for company.

He took a long moment to catch his breath when she yanked the door open. She recognized his uniform – one of Leo’s, with the blue and the lightning-bolt – and she recognized the look on his face. “Slow,” she told him. “Single words.” It wasn’t good news. It wasn’t good news at all. She drew herself up a little straighter.

“Lightning-Blade,” he gasped. “Short guy, Mara-wings. Fight.” He swallowed and took three careful breaths. “sa’Lightning Blade found himself in, in single combat with this Mara. Both alive. Lightning-Blade down.”

“Take me there.” He wouldn’t be at her door if he wasn’t a teleporter.

“Ma’am, sa’Red-Doomsday, your robe?”

She was wearing one of Leo’s kimono. “It covers. Take me.”

“The army…?” He had a point. She hated that he had a point.

“Come in, bedroom, now.”

He obeyed. He was too good at obeying, but she’d worry about that later. She threw off her robe, threw on her best red dress – which, conveniently, was nearly as easy-on as Leo’s kimono – and held out her hand to the teleporter.

He was blushing brightly. It was a good look on him. She might care, later. Then they were twisting through the void, and there was no room for such things.

Some day, maybe when she was 200 or 300, Cya might get used to the feeling of being teleported, except it was different with every teleporter. This one seemed to bend space by folding his passengers up.

When Cya had been young, before the world had ended, there’d been a book called Flat Stanley, about a child who had been flattened and learned to live that way, including being mailed to relatives for a visit. Cya felt like that right now. It did not add to her general mood in a positive manner.

The teleporter dropped them out of his folded-space between Leo – on the ground, breathing, unconscious, missing an arm, bleeding badly, one ear gone, attended by a healer in the Leo’s-Army uniform – and Luke (the short guy, the Mara) – missing three fingers, half of a wing, and, it looked, three teeth, bleeding, but conscious, “restrained” between two army guards.

It took Cya less than a heartbeat to assess all that. She spun around while those on the ground were still realizing that she was there and punched Luke in the uninjured side of his face. “You fucking asshole,” she spat. “I had it handled. And you had to… abatu eperu. You fucker.” She waved at the ground and it opened up, her Working leaving a hole just about the size of Luke and 20 feet deep as she Destroyed the dirt and stone under him. “You fucker.” She turned to Leo and dropped on her knees. “And you, you bleeding idiot, what made you be such a fucking ridiculous man? Why on earth would you keep fighting? It’s Luke, he wasn’t going to kill you, you bastard.” She touched his shoulder, the one that still had an arm attached, and raised her voice to a bellow. “Where are the rest of the healers? If there are not two more healers here in the next five minutes, I’m going to start burying people. Come on, you assholes, he’s your general!

The healer shot her an insulted look. She returned it with a calm and un-budge-able expression. “There’s more damage than anyone but a god can repair quickly,” she murmured, quiet enough that only the healer and the unconscious Leo could hear it. “And if I know Leo — and I do — there’s a whole lot more unseen damage. You’ll need back-up.”

She stalked away before she pissed off the person saving her beloved’s life. She stared down the hole at Luke, who did not appear to be inclined to argue with her. “You asshole,” she muttered. “This is going to fuck everything up.”

Luke didn’t answer, simply stood there, damaged wings folded tightly in the cramped space, and bled.


Flat Stanley: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flat_Stanley


Cya

Cya was not talking to Leo, nor was she listening to him.

The good thing — not the only good thing, but at the moment the most useful thing — about Leo having sworn to obey Cya was that, when she was furious with him, she could ground him.

Right now, he was grounded, while the healers continued to work on repairing all the damage to his body.

The fact that she had grounded the general who had won the northwest did not escape Cya, but neither did she particularly care. He had been bad (never mind that Luke had started it), and until she calmed down, he was going to be grounded.

Hopefully, unlike her more mischievous sons, Leo didn’t try to climb out the window.

Luke

Luke had, at one point, wanted to see the cells Cya kept beneath her city.

He had not wanted to see them quite this close-up.

He’d surrendered as a gesture of goodwill, but now, locked into a hawthorn-lined cell, cut off from his magic and with his mind tingling with the effects of being surrounded by that much poison, he was beginning to regret the choice.

He sat gingerly on the provided divan. His wings had been mended, but he was still more injury than not.

He’d underestimated Leo. He’d underestimated both of them.

Regine

The letter was short, and she recognized the handwriting.

It had been delivered to her by a courier she didn’t recognize, in a uniform she was beginning to hate — blue, a lightning bolt, a sword.

Director Avonmorea, Lady of the Lake,

You have misplaced your Mara. I have him here — alive, and injured only by his attack on my people.

Meet me at the Tower in Cloverleaf to discuss terms.

Cya Red Doomsday


Next: White Queen

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1196306.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Spotlight Story: Addergoole

A story written to showcase the Addergoole setting. If you find terms that I missed that are not accessible to the non-Addergoole reader, please let me know.

The halls were black, with only the faint red glow of the emergency lights illuminating them. It was early, and the only sounds were haunted-house spooky: the wind through creaking trees whispered down the passage, two stories underground where there were neither trees nor wind; the whispers of ghosts that probably didn’t exist, speaking in strange languages about deaths that probably hadn’t happened; the thumping of some giant that seemed to shake the whole compound.

Keely took notes. The sounds were a nice touch, and new; the thumping of the footsteps wasn’t new, but he still liked it. The cobwebs that seemed to brush across his face in the corners were an interesting touch, and there, at an intersection that went straight to the stairs, a deep puddle appeared to block the route. An exposed pipe (normally all plumbing was discretely hidden) dripped dark sludge into the puddle.

It looked as if the school was falling apart. On the other side of the intersection, the wall itself was leaking some green, glowing goo. The floor shook again; Keely steadied himself and kept going.

He was being herded. The puddle meant he couldn’t take the stairs; the thudding behind him meant he wanted to go forward. He went forward. Right now, that was where he wanted to be anyway. He stuck to the center of the hallway, avoiding the cobwebs and the strange discharges from the walls, the way the paneling seemed to bulge out in the shape of a human every so often; the way doors and passages seemed to vanish as he went past them.

A little music played somewhere, just below the conscious hearing range, the increasing chords of a horror movie. Keely watched a girl run by, her baseball bat clung firmly in her hands. He grinned approvingly at her fleeing back. It might not stop the monsters, but it would slow them.

A passage that had disappeared suddenly flickered. Keely took shelter behind a bulge in the wall and murmured a quick line of magic, disguising himself, painting the illusion of woodgrain over his own skin and clothing until he, too, was nothing but another lump in the wall. This was where he’d been headed: Pod 8. A head poked out, and he stifled a sigh. Not her. Had he missed her?

“Looks clear,” muttered the head — it belonged to a first-year student, a guy whose name Keely hadn’t bothered to learn yet. “We should move.”

The guy stepped out of the passageway, followed a moment later by Keely’s target. Kjellfrid; a first-year girl in Keely’s History, PE, and Literature classes. She had a smile like sunshine in this underground bunker and a way with words like a rapier. And today was the day for catching the underclassmen.

Keely stayed hidden for the moment. He’d seen a shadow move, and down the hall the goo was dripping into a humanoid shape. He’d have to time this right, if he was going to get what he wanted out of today.

The two first-year students moved cautiously down the hallway, the unknown guy sticking close to Kjellfrid’s side. She, in turn, was running her fingers along the wall, muttering at something. She wasn’t doing magic, was she? Keely frowned. The first-year students weren’t supposed to know magic yet.

Keely muttered a little spell of his own, keeping his voice as quiet as he could and still have the Words take force. He moved the air to his ears, amplifying her voice.

“Frickin school of fricking would-be monsters, goblins and ghouls and frickin demons and all of them thinking they’re so full of themselves. Haunted house. Of course there’s a haunted house. What else would there be?”

Definitely not some sort of magic Working. Keely relaxed and turned his attention to the other problems: the shadow that was about to move past him, intent on the first-years, and the goo that had almost completed its shape.

The shadow was the easiest. He stepped back a few feet, ducking into an entryway hidden by illusion, and muttered another Working under his breath. He couldn’t hold it for long at all, but for a minute, the whole hallway would be flooded with light – not just the electric lights, but fake sunlight and the equivalent of a spotlight pointing down the hall in both directions.

The swearing he could hear from the hall wasn’t just Kjellfrid and her friend’s. Some shadow-figure didn’t like light. Keely grinned to himself. He pulled a Working of Invisibility around himself and slid back out into the hall. Kjellfrid and her friend were making good time in the bright mid-noon daylight of the hallway, laughing with each other.

There were no shadows to keep to at the moment, but Keely’s invisibility Working was one of his best spells. He paused for a moment to gloat, silently, at the former shadow-figure, now revealed to be a very unhappy 4th-year student. Luces. He’d been doing the same thing last year. He’d almost caught Keely, that time.

Not this time. The light was already starting to fade. You couldn’t just turn the power back on, not when the whole school was rigged for this horror show. You had to play the game with the rules as written.

Lucky for Keely, one of the rules was “cheat”.

He was pretty sure the goo wasn’t actually a person, but it was directly in front of Kjellfrid and her friend now. He could let it take the friend, he supposed. Keely wasn’t all that in to guys or anything, but a lot of the fourth-year students were a lot more non-discriminating.

But he had to keep Kjellfrid away from whoever thought the plot of the original Ghostbusters was a good idea for Hell Night pranks. Keely waited until Kjellfrid shouted and whispered his Working under her noise, looking for the source of the goo. It wasn’t a plant, technically; it wasn’t an animal. What that made it… Well, he’d always been good at working with flesh-and-blood.

He found a nice, deep, shadow — it might have been his imagination, but as the light faded, he thought the shadows were getting darker — and waited until Kjellfrid friend yelped in surprise-and-distress.

Surprise-and-distress, Keely snorted to himself. The mating call of Addergoole. He shot a Destroy Working at the goo, throwing in a Dismantle just in case. He was better at Dismantle…

The goo fell apart in a puddle of water and yellow ooze. Kjellfrid shouted in dismay; nearby, another shadow swore angrily.

Evgenia. Working with Luces, then, and fuck them. Keely was pretty sure he hadn’t been seen yet. He muttered an elaborate Working, one he’d been practicing for months.

The shadows erupted in shouts, and Luces, Evgenia, and two other upperclassmen erupted out, swearing and shaking their feet, their hands, their tails.

Smirking to himself, Keely slid on to another shadow, watching Kjellfrid and her friend make their way to the back stairs. They weren’t quite in the clear yet, but they were past the worst of this. And if they made it past Hell Night, this ridiculous farce of a hazing ritual, then they were past the worst of the school year.

Kjellfrid might not know Keely was watching out for her, but he was going to keep on, anyway, even if he had to stay hidden in the shadows until June.

An angry, panicked shout echoed down the stairs, and Keely slunk upwards, ready to fend off more trouble.

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In Which Amrit Makes a Run for It- a continuation of BeeKeeper.

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which Amrit and Mieve Share a Little.

His “owner” was in a foul mood when she chained him to the bed. Still, she’d given him time to brush his teeth and use the john, and she made sure the chains weren’t cutting into his skin.

Amrit couldn’t quite figure her. She didn’t like him. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t want him here – hell, they agreed on that, at least. She got pissed fine when he taunted her, but then she tucked him in like she was gonna give him a teddy bear and a bedtime story.

He pulled on the chains holding him. He wasn’t going to get out of them, not short of destroying his hands. He’d wait. Eventually, he could cut the shackle she used when he was working. A quick dash for the trees, and he’s never have to think about this place again.

The pie’d been good, though. All the food was good. The bed was comfortable. The gag was even comfortable, even it it sucked. The truth of the matter was, even with hard work, even with chains and a gag, she was giving him a better berth than anyplace he’d been since the world ended.

But there were chains. And a gag. And he really didn’t like being a slave.

“Uggit,” he muttered around the gag. He’d be gone as soon as he could. Someone else would give him a berth in return for food. Somewhere.

~

The next three days passed in relative peace. Amrit did the work he was offered – plowing, chopping down trees, splitting firewood, He worked hard, and earned his hours without the gag in every evening.

She didn’t have much to say to him, after the first night, but the food stayed good and she kept her word.

He slept hard, chains or no. She was working him to exhaustion – he’d wonder if it was on purpose, to keep him docile, but she worked herself every bit as hard as she worked him, and then some. Amrit looked for openings to escape all day, but at night all he did was sleep.

Finally, four days after their first conversation, he had a moment where she was communing with her bees. The axe went down hard on the chain and split it in two strikes. Amrit started running the moment the chain split, leaving the axe where it had fallen.

He was out of practice, running, but it hadn’t been all that long that he’d been in chains. He stumbled once, caught himself, and was off again, as fast as he could move and as silently as he could make that speed. She was way on the other side of the clearing; he ought to be able to make it to the trees before-

He ran into a wall and fell backwards, sprawling. He pulled himself up to his feet and moved cautiously forward. There was nothing there, nothing visible, at least. But when he reached out his hand, just before the treeline was a wall as hard as rock.

He felt the grip around his neck before he noticed she was coming towards her. He held up both his hands in surrender.

“You’ve got an impressive swing. But you know what comes next.” She pulled him towards her as she walked to him, tugging on the invisible tether around his throat. “I warned you.”

She looked sad. For a moment, Amrit almost felt guilty. But she had … shit. His leg. And she was picking up the axe he’d dropped. Amrit bit hard on the gag. This was going to suck worse than getting kidnapped had. She was lifting the ax already, getting ready to swing.

The back of the axe was going to shatter his leg into pieces. Even with his healing, it was going to be a bitch to put it all back together, and it might never heal properly. She didn’t look like she liked the idea. She looked like she was steeling herself as much as Amrit was.

He took a gamble and held up both hands, grunting out the closest to wait he could manage.

She set the axe down. “I warned you what would happen,” she repeated.

He nodded. “Eh. Uh…” He whined in frustration. Making himself understood through this thing was frustrating in a good situation, and this didn’t count as good. He tapped at the gag. “Eee?” he pleased.

She frowned. “All right,” she allowed. Her telekinesis was still holding him firmly, and Amrit wouldn’t have tried moving even if it wasn’t, but she still circled him carefully, as if afraid he was going to attack.

He supposed it was a reasonable concern. Amrit held very still and tried to look as nonthreatening as possible.

“This is not the time for anything stupid,” she warned him, as the gag came out.

“No, I know, I won’t.” Amrit stayed still. “It’s… I heal fast?” he offered with a sigh, “so things heal bad really easy. And if you, well, here,” he held out his hand, where his pinkie finger had healed wrong years ago. “An axe, a hammer, anything, it’s going to be awful.”

He held up his hands to forestall whatever she was going to say. “Look. You said it, I did it anyway, I don’t mind taking my punishment. I’ll even fix the chain, if you want me to. But uh, I can break it. With a Working. And it’ll still be broken and it’ll still hurt like hell and… it won’t hurt for the rest of my life, is all I’m saying.”

Her face had softened, a bit, until he said Working He’d feared that would happen. “And if it’s a trap?”

“Then you knock me unconscious with your power there and smash my leg. Or both of them. You’re the boss. But it’s not. It’s really, just, I get freaked out by things like that because when they heal bad, it really sucks.” He rubbed at the side of his mouth surreptitiously.

Not subtly enough. She winced. “The new gag…”

“The new one’s nice. It doesn’t cut at all. The old one, that was bad.”

“If this is a trick, any sort of trick, then I am going to break both of your legs.” She looked him in the eyes. Amrit was suddenly glad that it wasn’t any sort of trick. “But you can do it.”

“Thank you.” He sounded a little pitiful. He was okay with that. “Can I, uh, may I sit down?”

“Yeah… yes. go ahead.” The TK she’d been holding at his throat loosened.

Amrit sat gingerly and stretched his left leg out straight in front of him. He said the Words carefully, so she didn’t have any question what he was doing: first an Idu, a Know, so he knew exactly what he was doing, and then a Tempero, shattering the bone in two places.

He got through the Working before he swore, loud and without shame, a long line of ”Fuuuuck, fuck fuck fuuuuck.” He slammed the ground with both fists and leaned back, trying to find a position where it didn’t hurt.

“Can you set it?” She was crouching in front of him, her hands near but not touching the break. “Or do you need me to?”

Setting it, shit. “I… Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck… yeah. I can…” He gritted his teeth, pulled himself together, and did another Tempero Working to set it in place. “‘Bout… five days,” he told her through gritted teeth. “If it’s splinted or held together somehow. Longer if I jostle it.”

“Okay. Here, hold it still for a minute.” She picked up two boards from a stack near the door and muttered a Working on them, then shaped them around his leg as if they were putty. In two minutes, she’d entirely immobilized his left leg. “You really thought you could make it? Or you wanted to see if I’d do it?”

“Thought I could make it. You were… unh. All the way on the other side of the clearing. Talking to the bees. You go all not-there when you’re talking to them.” The splint took a little pressure off, and his body was already trying to repair the damage. “Gods. How’d you even see me?”

She stood off, brushing her hands off. “You’re going to need crutches… I didn’t. See you, that is. You’re right. I got buzzy when I’m talking to them. One reason I don’t talk to people much.”

“…You didn’t?” She was already Working some wood into a pair of crutches. He noticed when she faltered halfway through the Working, and put two and two together. “Have you been keeping up some sort of…”

“Shield. Here, try these for size.”

“That’s nuts.” He took the crutches and began pulling himself to his feet. It hurt; he bit his tongue and hissed. “…That’s fucking nuts.”

“You weren’t exactly cooperative.”

“No, I mean. Well, I mean it’s nuts. I wasn’t cooperative, sure, but you had me chained.”

“And you broke the chain the minute I stopped paying attention.”

“Well, yeah, but… how much energy have you been pouring into that?” He got himself onto the crutches and tested them with a couple steps.

“It doesn’t seem all that wise to tell you that, now does it?”

“I mean… this is a good height on the crutches. Shit. Okay.” He leaned against the woodpile to get his weight off his leg. “I, uh. Well, I can’t go anywhere for a few days, but for…. the next month, I promise not to leave the clearing without your permission, okay?”

She stared at him. “What? Why?”

“Because you’re swaying on your feet from a minor Working and that’s dumb! And, uh. I don’t want to be here, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not going anywhere until I heal up anyway.” He looked at the woodpile. “I guess you can put the gag back on me and I can try splitting some more wood.”

She hadn’t stopped staring at him. “All that fighting and you just agree, like that?”

“Well…” Amrit glowered. She wasn’t going to stop talking about it. He was going to have to explain.

He really missed living out in the wilderness. Alone. In the cold, with the bugs and the rain. “I lost, right? You won. I’m stuck here. And I even did it to myself.” He shrugged shortly. “And you need your energy. That’s why you were looking for a Kept, right? Because you need more energy than you have in a day?”

“Yes, but…”

“Right, I don’t care.” He raspberried. “I don’t like being bought and sold. But I’m not a total asshole, all right? You feed me, you shelter me. Eventually, I’m going to escape. But until then, I mean, why should I be an actual drain on your resources?”

Was that enough? She was still frowning. Amrit shut up and hoped she’d accept it.

“You… have an interesting way of looking at the world. I accept your promise. Want to throw in one about not attacking me, and I can leave the gag off?”

He studied the gag, studied her. “Hrmff… put the gag back in for now. I’ll think about it tonight.”

She didn’t look disappointed, which was interesting. “All right.” The gag went back in, with the now-familiar mouth-stretching feeling and the slight sensation like he’d eaten too much. “Take a break for the rest of the day. Give your leg a little time to heal before you try to chop wood on it.”

He wanted to complain, but he’d already let her put the gag in. He gestured, to the gag, to the woodpile.

“You heal in record time,” she pointed out. “There has to be some punishment to trying to run away.”

Amrit huffed and agreed, or at least nodded at her.

“Find a place to sit down. Have no fear, I’ll have enough work for you once you’re healed up.”

Fuck you, Amrit thought, but he didn’t bother to vocalize it this time.

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1201394.html

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Amrit and Mieve Share a Little – a continuation, once again belated, of BeeKeeper.

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which Amrit & Mieve have a quiet evening .

Fae Apoc, approx. now.

Content Warnings: This setting, although not this ficlet, contains rape, mind control, and dubious consent situations.

This particular story contains kidnapping and slavery, bondage, violence, and will eventually contain Stockholm Syndrome.

Mieve

Her captive — Amrit, his name was Amrit, and how her fingers were itching to get to her dictionaries and her baby name books, to see what that name could hold in store for her — Amrit was quiet now, looking rather thoughtful.

Mieve was not stupid. She didn’t think this was more the the calm before the storm, but she had had too many storms in the last few months. She’d take any calm she could get.

“The first one was a bit of an accident,” she offered after a while. “After school, I didn’t think I’d ever Keep someone again. I didn’t really mean to. But I recognized him — he’d been at school with me, four years after me — and I, I don’t know, I felt like I had to get him out of there. I couldn’t leave someone I knew in the slave market.”

“You went to a school with other fae?” He worked his mouth again, like he was feeling at the edges where the gag had rubbed. She wondered if he knew she’d noticed how fast he healed, now that the poison of the hawthorn was getting out of his system.

“I did. A boarding school for Ellehemaei. It — well, like your Mentor, ours set us up with practice Keepings. But ours weren’t just for a month. The school year, usually.”

“Sounds like a hell of a school.”

“Well… It taught me enough that I’m still here. I found this place when I was running, and for the first two years I just kept waiting for the owners to find it. I guess they never made it out.” She was still both sad and relieved about that. “But I had to stay alive long enough to get here. And then, once I was here…”

He nodded. “Lots of people died, yeah? Couldn’t hack it, couldn’t figure it out.” He shrugged jerkily. “I probably wouldn’t’ve, but I’m tough.”

“I’ve noticed. And then, what? The slavers…?”

His face tightened. “Yeah. Caught me in my sleep, fuckers. And then you bought me.” He tugged on the chain. “And here I am. Chopping firewood.”

“The pie’s ready. Can you smell it?”

He sniffed the air, caught off-guard. “Yeah. Yeah, it smells good.” He leaned forward in his chair. “You’re really gonna give me some?”

“I’m not going to offer you something and then take it away.” She was a little offended, and then a little amused at herself for being offended.

“Don’t see why not.” The more he talked, the younger he seemed. She wondered if he’d even been Changed when the world had ended. “Lots of people do.”

“That’s not who I want to be.” She unlocked his chain. “Come on.”

“It’s gonna get pretty tiresome, leading me around on a leash all the time.”

“Oh, it will. I imagine it will get pretty boring being led around on that leash, too. Give me your word not to run away?”

“Yeah, right. Leashes can break.” He sneered it at her, even as he was moving placidly enough to the table. “Promises can’t. I’m not stupid.”

“No, I don’t think you are. And you don’t trust me to release you from your oath, and you don’t want to put a time limit on it.”

“I don’t want to be here. Pie or not.” He flopped down angrily in his chair. “I got kidnapped, wrapped up in chains, and sold. That does not make me cooperative.”

Mieve held up her hands, even as her TK locked his tether to the bolt in the floor. “I know, I know. I’d be cranky, too. I was cranky, when it was my time. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to explore the options that don’t lead to you being on a leash the whole time you’re here.”

“Why?” He glared at the pie as she floated it to the table.

“Because it’s a pain in the ass.” It wasn’t good for him, either, but she wasn’t in the mood to have that scoffed at. “For both of us. That, the gag… not being able to trust you with Workings…”

“See? You don’t trust me either!”

“And I have you living in my house, in my hidden sanctuary.” She dished out two generous slices of pie and passed him a fork.

“Hey, you brought me here.”

“I did.” She was going to leave that slave-master with pants so full of bees he’d never be able to walk again. Maybe he was allergic. Maybe it would kill him. “And now we’re both stuck with it.”

“Just let me go, then.”

“No.” She glared at him. “Honey is worth a lot these days, and I spent a lot of honey on you. Besides, you’re not even all the way healed up.”

“Suddenly you care about my welfare,” he sneered.

Mieve sighed. She was going to have face the possibility “Eat your pie. I want to go to bed.”

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Throwback Thursday – Briars & One Sharp Mother

October 27, 2011. I was in the middle of a Giraffe Call – I often was, back then. 🙂 This one was “Spooks, Creeps, Ghosts, and Ghouls” And Rix had asked for more Baram.

What we got was Baram’s family, in their first appearance:

Jaelie was in the garden when the gods attacked. The garden, such as it was, was her territory, her sanctum and responsibility. She’d been the first to be hired, such as it was, by Baram (“bought” might have been more accurate, but the pay was good and the work not onerous, and she had little to complain of), the first to come looking for him after graduation, intrigued by the legend he’d left behind, and she’d thus been the first to carve out her own place in his haven.

Continue reading it here: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/160866.html


I really like Jaelie. I enjoyed taking Baram’s story and turning him from a cartoonish villain into someone with depth, someone who liked protecting. This wasn’t the first step in that process, but it really helped cement it: Baram was a person; he surrounded himself with people – tough people, but most definitely people.

And I still really, really like Jaelie saying ““Yield better.” 😉



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Addergoole West-Coast, a beginning of a story…

May or May Not Be Canon. Fun, though.

“…this underground place, I mean, even back then, it was the height of luxury. It was… well, it was strange, but it was safe.” Rosmarina’s mother had always ended the story there with an awkward shoulder pat. If it was her father, he might add “you’ll be safe there, when you go. There’s plenty of food, and it’s safe and warm.”

Sometimes the kids a couple years older than Rosmarina went off to join the People’s Army. Their parents looked like Rosmarina’s did, when they talked about Addergoole: proud but worried. It’s safe there. It was some strange mantra that had nothing to do with their expressions.

And then the invitation came, soft paper unlike anything Rosmarina had seen actually used, Rosmarina’s name and her mother’s name on it in careful, precise handwriting. And it hadn’t said Addergoole, it had said Addergoole West-Coast.

Her parents had hemmed and hawed over it, argued and complained, both when Rosmarina was listening and when she wasn’t, but in the end, her mother had sighed and muttered “it’s not as if we have a choice.”

That was so unlike her mother — her mother who railed against everything, shouted at the Officials, found ways to disobey every Ordinance — that Rosmarina had almost given away her hiding-place, tucked in the cupboard in the kitchen from the loose boards along the basement stairway. She’d muffled her noise with both hands, waited till her mother complained about the mice, and sneaked back to her room to wait for her mother to give her the news properly.

Addergoole West-Coast was a long ways away, five days by river-boat and two by wagon. It was further than Rosmarina had ever gone from home by almost five times, and her parents brought everything and everyone — both her little brothers, her uncle Todd, the feral cat that liked to hang around and the dog they’d adopted, everything that fit in the trunks and satchels and bags. When her father put the cat in a modified satchel, that’s when Rosmarina knew this was serious, they they weren’t ever going home. When they’d passed the borders of the People’s Lands and told the guard there that they were going to visit a friend of Rosmarina’s mother’s and would be gone a couple days, Rosmarina was sure.

When they reached the gate of the place called Addergoole West-Coast, Rosmarina began to understand why.

The gate itself was twenty feet tall, set in a wall built of old buildings, smooth stone set against rough in a pattern you could only really discern from a half-mile or more away — ocean waves below and clouds above. The gate was made of steel, thick and impenetrable, like the People’s Lands’ borders, but it opened right away for Rosmarina and her family.

Inside, more buildings built in the same style wandered in gentle curves towards a large central edifice, almost like a fairy-tale castle, with towers and buttresses and, again, the pattern of waves and clouds worked into the very stone — stone which, Rosmarina couldn’t help but notice, had a faint teal hue to it.

“You said it was underground.” It was the only thing she could think to say.

“You said it was warm,” muttered her little brother Quirin. “This is pretty chilly.”

“This is new.” Her father looked around. “This is… there was nothing like that when we were in school.”

Her mother was holding tight to Rosmarina’s hand. “Can you smell it? The water? The ocean?” There was a longing in her voice that Rosmarina had never heard, and it seemed like she was pulling against herself, holding herself from running off the way she normally held Quirin or Vahan.

“I smell it.” Rosmarina’s father’s voice was tight now. “Do you think it’s real?”

Rosmarina was confused. They had travelled many days, and in the direction of the water. If they had gotten as far as her map said they might have, then the ocean would be there… “how could it be fake?”

“Not the ocean.” Her mother slowly released Rosmarina’s hand. “The promise of it. The possibility of it. The… oh, damnit.” She shook her hands. “Yima…”

“I’ve got it, Muirenn. I’ve got it. Go.”

Rosmarina’s mother was off at a dead run, bouncing through the streets. Her father caught Vahan just as he started to take off after their mother.

“Not now, sluggo. Your mom’s got an appointment, that’s all. It’s been a while since we’ve seen the ocean.”

Rosmarina could hear longing in her father’s voice as well. She didn’t question it, not now. The building was looming too big and too close. “Dad…?”

“That’s it, I think. Well, the logo’s close enough, and I mean, not many places would look that… brazen.”

The crest on the gate had horns like a cow’s curing upwards and a fishlike tail swinging downwards, and in between a stack of three books were sailing on a choppy sea. The crest was in brass – or maybe bronze – but Rosmarina was pretty sure that wasn’t what her father was talking about.

“It’s awfully ‘look at me here I am’,” she offered.

He snorted. “It is. Regine has always been like that – though I doubt she’ll be here. She doesn’t leave the bunker. And this, you’re right, this is right out in the open.”

The gate swung open. A very tall man stood there, smiling at them with far more teeth – and far whiter teeth – than Rosmarina had ever seen. “You must be Rosmarina. And Yima, I remember you from school. Remember me?”

more coming!

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