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The Reveal

Set in Year 19 of the Addergoole School.

“As I told you all on your first day here, Addergoole is an experimental school.”

Urania had found herself a nice corner of the dining hall where she could see everyone. Today, she was sharing the table with a Sixteenth Cohort, Hroderich, an Seventeenth Cohort, Bracken, and two other nineteenth Cohorts, one of whom refused to give a name but was skinnier and hungrier than Urania and one of whom looked far too clean, far too smug, and far too well-fed and called himself Kameron. She hadn’t meant to share her table with any of them except the underfed feral one, but they just seemed to gravitate to her table.

She was trying to eat, without looking like she was stuffing her face – one of the advantages of having the feral one there was that he made her look tidy and well-fed by comparison – but the Director had decided it was a good day to start lecturing.

“…there will be a number of things that will seem very strange to you. Now that you’ve had a chance to settle in, things will be getting progressively stranger over the next week or two.”

Urania set down her drink and raised her eyebrows, not that she thought the director would actually notice.

“She means it,” Hroderich assured her.

“This is an underground facility in the middle of nowhere that just happens to have food and electricity.” Urania kept her voice low. Hroderich was sitting right next to her, way within her personal space, the way he seemed to like to. She barely needed to raise her voice at all. “It’s pretty freaking strange already.”

“It’s going to get stranger.”

“…don’t let anything you see or hear alarm you.”

“Hrod, I saw a demon from hell rip apart my jr. high. Do I really look like the sort of person who is going to be alarmed by…” She trailed off, shoving her chair back as far as it would go. “No. Oh, fuck, no.”

“Ninteenth Cohort, if you have any questions, please feel free to…”

Urania wasn’t listening anymore. She grabbed skinny kid’s shirt and pulled him backwards with him. She wasn’t sure if she was using him as a shield or getting him out of there, but both had merit.

Every single upperclassman, every teacher, even the freaking cafeteria lady. They were all monsters. Horns, tails, wings. She hadn’t seen this many of the creatures in one place since they burned down her school. Hell, even there there had only been twenty or thirty.

Someone’s hand landed on her shoulder. Urania pushed away. The door was right there, and it might be closed but closed doors hadn’t stopped her before. If it didn’t open, it could be made to open. She got a better grip on the skinny kid, who either didn’t feel inclined to argue or was just as intent on getting away as she was. “Ready?” she muttered. “On three. One, two…”

On three, there was a demon in the doorway, those wide, awful wings blocking the way. Urania ran straight for his left wing. Membranes, she had learned back in jr. high, tore quite easily.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1016636.html. You can comment here or there.

Addergoole In the Apocalypse – give me a few ideas?

apocalypse.jpg

It’s 2013, 2013, 2014, 2015. The world started going to shit in 2011.
Now, our characters are coming to Addergoole… or trying to get there.
Or running away from it. Or just graduating. Or..??

It’s a pretty specific prompt-request, but have at it:
Prompts regarding Addergoole students just after the apocalypse.

I’ll keep writing to them as long as you keep ’em coming!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1015858.html. You can comment here or there.

Give ‘Em an Apocalypse, a story of Fae Apoc

Written to jeriendhal‘s prompt and set very early in the Faerie Apocalypse, maybe late 2012.

“Seriously, Ann?” Ted let his eyes trail over the concoction of leather and rags in front of him and the corresponding leather and rags set in two piles in front of him. “There was a major war. That’s all.” He picked up the shirt-like item, which looked like it had been mistakenly rescued from the rag bin, or possibly from a mechanic’s back pocket. “Sure, things fell to crap. That doesn’t mean we have to dress like extras from a Mad Max movie.”

“Hear me out.”

Ann and Ladry had been Ted’s crewmates back in Addergoole. They’d shared a room – and a few other things – for a couple years, but once they’d graduated, they’d split.

He’d woken up a week ago to find Landry on his doorstep, and this morning Ann had appeared, carrying duffle bags in which, it appeared, she’d stashed the entire costume department of several post-apoaclyptic movies.

Some part of Ted, some part of him that didn’t want to think too hard about this whole thing, acknowledged that in an outfit that was more straps than shirt, Ann looked really good. Better than she had in school. Better than she had when they’d first met, on the plane, back when there were planes. Better than she’d looked that one time he saw her in college.

The rest of him wondered how long she’d been insane, and how he’d missed it. And how she’d flipped, when they’d all always figured it would be Landry. Landry, who had been almost done with a doctorate when the colleges stopped holding classes and had, to all appearances, stabilized completely.

Whereas Ann..

“No, really, hear me out.” She sat down, the stiff leather of her pants moving far more easily than it ought to. “I know the world didn’t really end, right? There’s been a few problems, there’s some supply line issues right now. It can all be straightened out. But everyone’s panicking. Everyone’s completely and utterly out of their element. But I thought, well, what if we gave them something they understood?”

She gestured outside, where she had what looked like an ancient RV with armor riveted all over it. “So I figured, let’s make it like the end of the world everyone grew up expecting, right?”

Ted picked up the rags of his T-shirt again. “Complete with costuming.” He glanced over at Landry, who had been studying the “clothes” rather too intently for his liking.

Landry looked up, looked out at the RV, and looked back at both of them again. The smile, that smile, that had been the look on Landry’s face the day they’d all gotten free of their Keepers, the day Landry took over their crew.

“Cool.”

Ted sighed. He’d never been able to win when the two of them had agreed. “I’ll go dig out my hair gel.”

Want more? I’m open for commissions!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1009925.html. You can comment here or there.

The Great Dragon, a story for Patreon Patrons

“And up on that peak, that’s where the great dragon lives.” The Mayor of Mount Pleasant gestured upwards for her visitor. “You can see her outline there, on that ridge. She circles three times around the peak, there, there, and there.”

His visitor eyed her with some skepticism… (read on…)


For just $1/month, you can read all the Patreon stories!
For $5/month you can prompt me AND vote on the serial topic!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1008952.html. You can comment here or there.

A Presentation to the Honored Grigori, 2111

It was 2111, and Regine was using Powerpoint.

She found that amusing.

Certainly, computer programming was not a skill in high circulation at the moment – it seemed limited to a few sad enclaves still trying to hold on to the old world – and so there were few new options. But more than that, it was such a Grigori thing to do, to use antiquated technology decades past its prime.

Regine hoped there were Grigori in the audience young enough – or flexible enough – to appreciate the humor in this. She was going to need every advantage she could get today.

She did not clear her throat; it would considered an unnecessary and thus useless gesture by this crowd. Instead she stilled her posture and waited for silence.

“I am here today to state unequivocally that the terms ‘pure-blooded’, ‘half-breed’, and ‘Faded’ are outdated terms based on an archaic understanding and, as such, should immediately be dropped out of usage by Grigori.”

This was a Grigori meeting; there was no shouting. There were, however, murmurs and lifted eyebrows, shared glances and worried expressions. Regine catalogued them all. Michael would want to know about them.

She waited just long enough to allow the hubbub, such as it was, to die down, and then she began to present her proof.

She started with what Mike called her Jamian Point, because Jamian had been her first success. She brought up pictures – un-Masked pictures: “This is a Faded. This is a half-breed.” And then a picture of Jamian and the others. “This is their ‘full-blooded’ child.” Pictures of the next generation, both full-blooded and half-breed. “Their children with various other parents.” And the next generation, and the next. And then, because it was important, her ‘success children’s’ half-siblings. “These are other children from the same original parent groups, but in different combinations. The selection we call ‘full-blooded’ are merely a specific combination of genes which can be replicated with no recent ‘full-blooded’ ancestors.”

She raised her voice over the growing murmur. “Copies of all of my data are available for those who doubt my methods.”

She waited, as Michael and Ambrus had suggested, for silence to reign again before she began the next part of her speech.

“The ‘full-blooded’ Changes represent three combinations that occur commonly in bloodlines. They are not the only patterns to occur in bloodlines, although they may be the oldest. Putting weight on those above others handicaps us.

“Because of ‘half-blooded’ precognitives, we were able to correctly predict the return of the so-called gods and thus be better prepared to meet them. Because of ‘half-blooded’ space-shapers and time-movers, if you will pardon the casual term, we were able to face the ‘gods’ in manners and in places they were not expecting.”

Slide, slide, slide. Photographs of people who were very clearly half-breeds: Shira Pelletier. Porter, Shiva. Rohanna. Scenes of combat, some of those taken from mid-air in the middle of a teleport jump. Scenes of half-breeds beating down Hunters and Mara.

“They were older than us, on average. They were more powerful, on average, than we were. And yet we beat them. The world is bent but not broken, and it is still, after everything, ours.” She raised her chin and glared out at the perfect room of perfect people. “Will you tell me that any one of those who saved the world is worth less than you, because of a simple change in gene sequence?”

A pause. They wanted to say yes. They were so very comfortable with being on top.

“It’s a new world, honored Grigori. Let’s act like it.”

Open to more properly scientific terms for “The Jamian Point” and “space-shapers and time-movers”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1005842.html. You can comment here or there.

Priorities

Laurelia was in the library when the lady found her. She was deep into the science section, reading up on botulism and how to avoid it when your only food source was Mystery Cans Of Food From Before The War, taking notes and wishing (privately, because she’d never admit it out loud), that she’d paid more attention in class before the school blew up.

The polite clearing of a throat was so out-of place, she didn’t register it as real at first. It was her imagination, a librarian who was offended at her note-taking or the way she’d made a nest out of the books. It was that teacher she’d been ignoring back in classes – Mrs. Enil.

The second throat-clearing made her look up. There, in clothes that were clean and tidy – brown pants and a white silk shirt, boots and a jaunty hat – with her hair pulled back in a low bun and even her make-up perfect, was a librarian, offended at her note-taking.

Laurelia went back to her book. Clearly, she was going nuts.

“Laurelia Dziedzic, daughter of Amie Sanchez-Dziedzic?”

“Hallucinations are not supposed to know my name,” she informed the librarian. “Much less my… do you know where my mother is?” If it did, she could forgive it being a clean and well-dressed hallucination.

“I’m afraid not. However, your mother, when you were born, signed you up for an exclusive school some distance away from here, and, as fate would have it, the school is still intact.”

She looked up at the hallucination. She might not have imagined a librarian with such a wild look about her, just held in by the professional outfit. She might not have imagined an exclusive school. “Slavers.”

“I promise you, there are no slavers working for or employing my school, nor working with them.”

Promises were important. “Is there food?”

“There is good food. Safe food.” The librarian looked both amused and concerned. “Will you come with me, Laurelia?”

“You promise on the food?” She was already shelving the book on botulism.

“I promise there is good and safe food where we are going.”

“Then let’s go.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1002799.html. You can comment here or there.

(Sha-la-la-la-la-la) Don’t be scared, a ficlet of Doomsday Academy

She’d been doing well enough at hiding for so long. It seemed unfair.

Ruth had been at Doomsday for five years and was working on her sixth when the “transfer student” arrived.

Everyone else seemed to have seen the new girl before Ruth did. She heard the whispers in her first-hour class, straight-out speculation by third hour, and brand new rumors by lunchtime.

It wasn’t until her last class that she saw her, though. Tall and lovely, dark skin and full lips and little horns sticking out through her long dark hair. Tófa. Ruth smiled and shook her hand, bowed and welcomed her to Doomsday. Those were the polite things to do. Those were the right things to do. Not… not what she wanted to do.

Doomsday had been an adjustment for her, right from the first. There were fae everywhere, tolerated and – more than tolerated – accepted. The woman who ran the school was a fae! Almost all their teachers were fae! Her mother – who had moved to Cloverleaf to be near Ruth – had told her to “be patient, and all will be revealed in the fullness of time.”

…and the fullness of Tófa’s lips…. no. No.

Doomsday was far more open than her home, as was Cloverleaf. Her mother seemed to adjust quickly to the permissive culture: The women and men working in the same spaces, the lack of chaperons or morality-guardians or even just priests. Ruth had felt quietly ashamed for weeks as she learned she not only would have classes with boys – and taught by male teachers, male FAE! – but that she would dorm with them, in the same big room.

But it wasn’t boys that were the problem. If the morality-guardians knew what she was thinking now…

Her own Change, painful and slow and butterfly-beautiful, had not been so shattering as the thoughts she had kept quietly to herself. She knew she was wrong, but it didn’t feel wrong. She couldn’t go home again anyway, not like this. Not fae. She wasn’t sure she would choose to go back to the priests and the chaperons, even if she didn’t look like the demons in their books.

And if she was never going home, the morality-guardians and their nightsticks would never be a problem. And her mother… her mother was becoming far more tolerant, living in Coverleaf, than Ruth had ever thought possible.

But her teachers, her peers… Ruth swallowed and looked around. They allowed so much, but would they allow…. would they truly allow her…

“Well, what are you waitin’ for?” Professor Sweetflower leaned over Ruth, whispering in her ear. “Kiss the girl, darlin’.”

Doomsday is part of Fae Apoc and has a landing page here. Ruth and Tófa are new characters.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1001058.html. You can comment here or there.

Being Not Human, a ficlet of the Fae Apoc

Set in the middle of the apocalypse.

Warning: it’s a bit dreary (It’s set in the middle of an apocalypse), and involves discussion of violence and violent death.

In the wreckage of a building, someone screamed.

Tasha pulled her hood up and kept walking.

She could help them. She and Arden had been helping people, and then someone had grabbed Arden. They’d tried to get him away, but the grabber had a gun, and all they had was…

She looked down at her fingers. They seemed to flicker: fingertips, claws, fingertips, claws. One claw was ripped clean off, and both fingertip and claw looked bloody.

She’d tried to help someone else, after she’d lost Arden. She’d lost control of her illusion-thingy for just a moment, just a heartbeat, and her would-be rescuee had flipped out. She’d gotten them mostly-unburied anyway, because she was trying hard not to be a monster.

Monster. Tasha looked back down at her claws. She’d watched another teenager like her – just another girl, maybe fifteen – start panicking when one of the invaders started throwing some sort of fireballs. It was panic-worthy, Tasha had to admit. The first one she’d seen shooting lightning from their fingertips had freaked her out.

And, just like had happened when Tasha saw the lightning lady, the girl’s body started changing. Horns, tail, and the girl was screaming in pain. That stuff hurt.

But Tasha had been in the wreck of her classroom, alone. This girl had been in the middle of a crowd of humans.

Humans. They’d killed her in seconds, beaten a girl to death while she was scared and confused. Humans.

The scream sounded in the wreckage again. Tasha hesitated. She couldn’t save them.

She couldn’t not save them.

She was trying hard not to be a monster.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/999295.html. You can comment here or there.

A Meme and a Writing Game – ask my characters things!

Okay! I stole this from [personal profile] balsamandash, whose post is here; they stole it from [personal profile] thebonesofferalletters, whose post is here. And because October goes up to 31, I have 31 characters. The characters are from 15 different settings (Counting Fae Apoc, Addergoole, & Doomsday as separate…) so there’s a good chance your favorite setting is on here.

Here’s the game. I have a set of characters numbered from 1 to 31. You may ask them any questions you’d like, and you can keep the conversation going. You can ask them ICly or just as yourself. They will respond with an honest* answer and as people ask questions, I will update the post with who correlates to what number.

* they might lie!

You can:
ask multiple questions to one character.
ask questions of as many characters as you’d like.
ask the same question to different characters.
ask more questions of characters that have already been revealed.
ask additional/clarification/tangential questions in response to answers.
jump in on another answer/conversation if the subject sounds interesting to you and/or your character.
use original or fannish characters to ask/comment
leave your own character for people to ask questions to if you want, be it as a list form or as a singular character who you would like to play with.

1. Tess – The Planners
2. Rin – Reiassan/Rin & Girey
3.
4. Aoife – Vas’ World
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13: Basimontin –Space Accountant
14. Aquilina – Doomsday Academy
15.
16. Reynard – Fae Apoc
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29. Evangaline – The Aunt Family
30. Edora – Things Unspoken
31.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/989105.html. You can comment here or there.