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Captured by the Night Witch, a continuation

May8

First: Captive of the Night Witch

For the “Do up whatever story/stories suit your fancy or for whomever most wants/needs ’em.” commission and the poll here.

The minions had all been chased off. The guards had been sent to guard, to lookat some place that was not here. The Night Witch had set wards, and then warded the wards.

Candor had waited, although his entire body had ached. He had held still, although the chains were digging into his skin. He had been silent, although that was less by choice than by gag.

When all that was done, the Night Witch stood in front of Candor. “You might as well stand up.” She had overcome her shock, it seemed. At least, now she sounded far more amused than concerned.

Candor found he was far more cramped than he’d planned for. He had to flex against the chains and then pull, letting the cheap metal cut into his skin, before he could manage what she’d suggested, and stood.

She looked the same as he remembered. Her outfit, blood-red robe over white kidskin, was a new affectation, but she’d always been pleased by playing dress-up. Her smile, a bitter little thing that held little warmth, that he remembered very well indeed.

He knew she was getting a similar look over him. Hard to see his smile with the gag still jammed in his mouth, but they’d brought him naked, cutting his clothes out around the chains.

He was muscle and scar, tattoos and piercings and a red mohawk of hair that fell down his back like a mane.

“Hello, darling.” The Night Witch smiled at him, the hero. “Have you come to kill me?”

Candor took a moment to stretch, letting everything settle into place. It wouldn’t hurt her to be a little nervous. She had always been so damn certain of everything. He took his time working over the buckle on the gag. That part hadn’t been his idea. Let her wait.

“You’ve racked up quite a reputation here.” He let his eyes slide over the bone-powder road, over the twisted edifice rising behind her.

“I have.” She let her hands settle loose at her sides. He recognized her combat pose, even after all these years. “It keeps trespassers away, and it lets me get stuff done without interference. You’ve racked up your own reputation, too.”

“I have.” He rolled his shoulders. “It lets me get stuff done without interference. Until some sorceress’ minions take me captive.”

“They thought I’d enjoy the present. It seems some of them buy into my propaganda a little too much – or maybe it’s just all those would-be heroes that come to try to kill me.” The fingers of her left hand twitched. “Have you come to kill me, Candor?”

He had never been very good at deception. That was her purview. “No, Guile.” He shook his head slowly. “No. There are many things I came for, but none of them were to kill you.”


If you want more – and I’m pretty sure I could make more of this – drop a tip in the tip… handcuffs 😉


This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/936184.html. You can comment here or there.

Hurt/Comfort Meme Answer 3: Regine and Ghosts

May7

To wyld_dandelyon‘s prompt to my H/C prompt here

Mid-Autumn Year 8 of the Addergoole School.

Regine looked at her files again, hoping for some other information than what she was reading. She flipped through, pulling older files, staring at the information before putting those files, too, aside.

“Auriel–” she began, and stopped herself. Her throat was tight.

Mike took her hand. “Auriel died young, Regine. We don’t know what would have happened.”

“He lived to be twenty.” Her first son have lived long enough that they had known he would not Change.

“Maybe it comes with the Change.” Mike fingered the folders gently. Liliandra was his daughter, too. And while Agatha was… something… there was absolutely no denying that the girl who called herself Lolly was insane. “What are you going to do?”

Auriel wasn’t insane. But she couldn’t hope her children wouldn’t Change. “I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/935443.html. You can comment here or there.

Posted on Patreon: The Storm Prince of Death, a story of Doomsday/Fae Apoc

May7

Posted here.

This is a story of Doomsday and Fae Apoc, written much-belatedly for January, whose theme was “I’m writing a lot of Doomsday.”

The village Damson had grown up in had three scars which were never painted over, never repaired, never hidden, and it had four portraits in the Village Center which, unlike the portraits of Mayors and short-term heros, were never moved or rotated to less prominent positions.

read on!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/935180.html. You can comment here or there.

The Storm Prince of Death

May7

This is a story of Doomsday and Fae Apoc, written much-belatedly for January, whose theme was “I’m writing a lot of Doomsday.”  Posted to WordPress as part of my ongoing “cross post everything to WordPress for archiving” project.

~~

The village Damson had grown up in had three scars which were never painted over, never repaired, never hidden, and it had four portraits in the Village Center which, unlike the portraits of Mayors and short-term heroes, were never moved or rotated to less prominent positions.

Damson had grown up with the stories: the Warrior That Comes With the Wind, the Storm Prince of Death, the Judgement On the Lightning. He had grown up with the old fighters – Galston and Tamera, Corby and Rodin – and their scars and their stories. He had taken classes in the Village Center, under the shifting and changing face of the Demon Prince, the the devil’s own smile constant,  the rest shifting with the painter and the era.

And he had grown up with the deep scar across the town square where lightning had struck, the bite out of the outer wall where a dragon had landed, and the long scorched line of fire across the general store’s front. “The Storm Prince fought here,” he’d heard, more times than he could count. “Four times he has visited – one in his aspect as the Harbinger of Doom, the Woman on the Wind. Four times he has visited. And, while he has pulled our bacon from the fire many times, he has found us wanting many more. Beware the Storm Prince, because he will see the sin in your soul and scourge it clean.”

There were bodies in the local graveyard, too, Damson knew, who had been found too wanting by the Wind-Warrior. Those were graves with small stones and apologetic epitaphs. There were families who cursed the portraits of the Demon Prince – and Damson’s widowed mother and grandmother were among them. You had to whisper your curses, but Damson had picked them all up nonetheless.

And now he was standing in the center of the much-vaunted Doomsday Academy, in Cloverleaf, the City Built from Dirt. And he was staring up at the chin of the Demon Prince, while Professor Doomsday introduced him.

“And this is Leofric, Professor Inazuma. He teaches science, math, and combat. Leo, this is our newest student, Damson…”

Damson kicked the Demon Prince square in the knee and took off, running as fast as he could.

Shopping, a story introduction in Fae Apoc

May5

Content Warnings: Fae Apoc. Slavery. Caging. Implied abuse of many sorts. Keeping, non-consensually.

This is the beginning of something inspired by two sources: a Leverage OT3 fanfic I read once & loved & will find again (Parker/Eliot/Hardison, though I may have them in the wrong order) and a handful of really good Falcon/Captain America/Winter Soldier fics. However, Tony, Henri, and the slave are neither Parker, Hardison, and Eliot, nor are they Cap, Falcon, and the Winter Soldier.

…Though I really ought to have made Tony blonde…

“I don’t see why we need someone else. We do perfectly fine the way we are. Why would you want to buy a slave?“ The tall, angry man managed to make the word sounds somewhere below worm. “Also, this place is disgusting. It’s all muddy here, and it smells. It smells like a stable. No, no, it smells like the inside of a pig pen. And do you know why? Because these slaves are treated like nothing more than animals—”

“Henri, please shut up.” The ground was very muddy. The place did stink. And the slaves in this “dealership” were kept in cages that, in some cases, had once housed animals. Even animals would notice the sound of that much complaining. These slaves both noticed and understood it. Their eyes were following the show. Their bodies, caged, some bounds, were still and tense.

“I’m just saying—”

“Yes, and you’ve been saying it for a while. The truth of the matter, Henri.” The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper, but not so quiet that the nearby slaves could not hear her. “The truth is, we nearly died twice in the last two weeks. Brilliant you may be, but you are not a fighter and neither am I.”

“I could be! If I wanted to, I could do all the fighting. I’m tough!”

The slavers, too, were watching them bicker, every single seller and handler and guard in the place. She was tall, dark, and beautiful, dressed in a fashion that suggested affluence, especially twenty years after the end of the world. He was taller, darker, and stunningly handsome, dressed just as nicely – and wearing a collar. A collar so very nicely made, crafted of gold inlaid with silver, that it had to be pre-apocalypse manufacture. They looked rich. And, while rich people did buy slaves, these rich people looked utterly out of place in this slave lot.

She was browsing while they bickered, her leather-clad toes leaving a very deliberate pattern down the rows of cages. And he was flailing, his hands never moving and his voice never slowing, while she shopped this stinking pit like it was a boutique in Paris. Not that botiques – or Paris – existed anymore.

“I just – oh, hell, no.”

The cage in front of them was smaller than the others, more like a dog kennel. This place, however, it didn’t deal in dogs.

Some of the cages held two, three, as many as five captives. This one was not big enough for more than one; it was hardly big enough for the man in it. The cage’s single resident was sitting on his heels, muzzled, collared, and bound. His dirty hair – impossible to guess the color through the filth – was falling in his face. His blue eyes were not looking up at them; they were studying the woman’s toes and her leather shoes.

“No, just no.” The one called Henri shook his head again. “Tony, come on. You want to get a maid, someone to play hide-the-duster with, that’s fine. But this is just – no. Come on. Joke’s over?”

“If you want a maid, certainly.” The head slaver had come up beside them while they were talking. “We can sell you a maid. But if you need a guard dog, this one is very obedient, very strong, and very… quiet.”

“Why is he muzzled, then?” The woman knelt down. The man in the cage continued to look at her feet.

“Ah, well, he does like to bite. You just have to remember to give him an order about that.” The slaver rubbed his wrist surreptitiously. Both of the tall, dark people — both Tony and Henri — pretended not to notice.

“And is he obedient?” Tony’s voice held questions she wasn’t asking, some complex cypher nobody here except perhaps her slave could decode.

The slaver coughed. “Ah, well. All slaves are obedient. You simply have to know how to talk to them.”

“Mmm.” Behind her, Henri shifted from foot to foot. The caged man darted a glance upwards – not at Tony, but at Henri – before returning to staring at his feet. “Well, he’s filthy. And he bites. I’m sure you’ll give me a discount for that.”

The slaver coughed. “He’s an obedient, well-trained attack dog that understands English and – at last count – seventeen other languages, including three that I thought dead. He is worth every penny I’m asking for him.”

Nobody paid in pennies anymore. Nobody knew what pennies were, anymore. Tony pointedly pretended not to notice. Henri scrupulously studied another, cleaner, larger cage, in which three slim, pretty people waited.

“You know, we really could do with a maid…”

“Maybe we’ll get a maid the next time we go shopping. Sir, I’ll give you…” She unclipped a heavy gold bangle from her wrist. “This, for the slave and two changes of clothing for him.”

The slaver looked her over, weighed the bangle in his hand, and looked her over again. “That and one of the gold earrings your boy is wearing.”

“Henri.” She held out a hand without looking.

“What? No. No, no way. These earrings, these were gifts. Gifts!”

“I know, Henri. I gave them to you. The little one, with the diamond stud.”

“Come on, this just is not fair. You’re taking my earring to buy this – this – no.”

“Throw a muzzle in?” Tony was asking the slaver, but the question wasn’t for him.

The slaver, too stupid to notice that, beginning to relax his posture. “Certainly. I have any number of very nice pieces. It depends, of course, on if you want him to be silent or just to have his mouth… occupied.”

“All right, all right. All you had to do is ask nicely, you know.” Henri held up his hands in mock-surrender. “I’m shutting up now. See me shutting up. My mouth is zipped.”

“I’ll take a muzzle as well. The slave, two changes of clothing, and a muzzle.” Tony held out her free hand.

The slaver shook it. “Glad to be ri- that is, I’m sure he’ll be very useful for you. Come on out of there, boy.” He unlatched the cage; the slave shuffled out. “You belong to her now, you understand?”

The slave’s eyes darted up to Tony, and he nodded, short and sharp, before looking back to her toes.

She took his chin in her hand, her fingers pressing against his throat, tilting his face back up to hers. “You belong to me,” she repeated, “and I accept you into my care. Those things, sir? And then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Yes, of course ma’am. Yes.” The slaver hurried off to his supply tent.

“This isn’t happening,” Henri sulked. “You’re not really going to bring this – this guy into our house? He’s probably not toilet trained.”

“Henri.” Tony’s voice lost all of its humor. “That is enough.” Her fingers pressed a little harder against the slave’s throat. “All right, darling, you’re with us now. Don’t attack me, don’t attack Henri here, even though he probably deserves it. Don’t bite either of us, mmm, and don’t run off. Do you understand?”

Understanding was important. The Keeping would take care of the obedience, but only if he understood the orders. The slave hesitated, and then nodded, pressing his throat harder into her fingers.

“Good boy.” She left her hand exactly where it was. “Henri, get the muzzle off of him. Gently, love, gently.”

“I still think this is a bad idea.” Henri’s complaints kept flowing, even as he moved to do what he was told. “It’s just a bad idea. This place. This…” Deft fingers unlocked the muzzle even without a key. “We’re not keeping this, are we?” For the first time, Henri’s voice had a bit of a plea in it. And when Tony shook her head no, he dropped the muzzle in the mud as if it were on fire.

Her eyes were on the new slave, her fingers still pressed against his throat in gentle pressure. “Do you have a name?”

His mouth worked. His throat worked. After a moment, he produced a sound that could have been a word. He ducked his head, pushing his throat against her fingers again. Behind him, Henri worked on unbinding his ankles, still muttering to himself.

Tony moved her fingers down until they were only lightly pushing against the slave’s adam’s apple. He worked his throat again, and this time managed a word. “Dog.”

“Dog.” Tony repeated the word very quietly. “Very well then.”

“You see!?” Henri complained. “You see! This is a bad choice.”

“Nevertheless, I’ve made it. Come on… Dog. Henri.” She took the supplies from the slaver without looking at him. “We’re going home.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/933470.html. You can comment here or there.

Crushes, a drabble of Doomsday for @inspectorCaracal

May3

Transcribed as best as I could manage from talking-to-myself on the way home last night. All new students.

“Well, I’m going to be cy’Lightning. It’s obvious I’m meant to have Professor Inazuma as my Mentor.” Hadley leaned forward, her elbows on her knees.

Her friends were not quite as charmed.

“Because you want to stab people with sharp things?” Farina giggled at the idea.

“Because you’re going to be really good with lightning?” Aquilo raised sculpted eyebrows.

“Because you’re really fascinated by Old-Japan history?”

“No!” Hadley sulked. “No, because he’s lovely and I am destined to be closer to him, that’s why.”

“Oh, come on.” Aquilo tsked, smirking. “It’s obvious he’s gay.”

“You don’t know that! Just because you like him…!”

“No, he’s not my sort. And come on, it’s – you know. You know know, when you’re gay.”

“Oh, good. More of your magical gay powers.” Farina grumbled. “Next thing we know, you’re going to be levitating the professors.”

“Well, I might,” Aquilo tsked. “I haven’t Changed yet. But look, he’s gay.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Keala shook her head. “Haven’t you seen him with Professor Cynara? They’re obviously together.”

“No. They’re not. He’s gay.” Aquilo sighed irritably. “Why can’t you accept that?”

“Haven’t you met Maihallr? She’s Professor Inazuma’s daughter with Professor Doomsday. And it’s not like Sweetbriar is quiet about her family, and she’s Professor Cynara and Professor Inazuma’s granddaughter. They have two generations of children together. Two Generations. They’re obviously in love.” Keala shook her head, as if at everyone’s idiocy.

“Uh! What does this have to do with me being cy’Lightning? I mean, come on. It’s not like the rest of you don’t like professors, too.” Hadley threw herself backwards in the chair in frustration. “Come on, Farina. Admit it.”

“Well… I mean. Yeah. Professor Chthon. Have you seen him? Or heard him?”

“Mmm.” It was a group sound: Professor Chthon was gorgeous, with a deep, throaty voice.

“And Aquilo?” Hadley pushed.

“Oh, you all know. Professor Aegislaw.” He shook his head sadly.

“But isn’t he…” Farina’s gesture was unclear, but everyone knew what she meant.

Aquilo sighed. “Yes. So very very straight. But that doesn’t mean I can’t lust after him. I mean, come on, it’s not like either of you have a chance for anything serious, either, with the Professors – even if Professor Inazuma somehow isn’t gay. Or in love with Professor Doomsday.” He shrugged defensively and flailed in the only direction left. “What about you, Keala?”

“Not a professor.” She hunched her shoulders. “Not into that. Too old. I mean, come on, you said it. Professor Inazuma and Professor Doomsday have two generations of kids. They’re a bit older than we are.”

“Then who?” Hadley was still sulking, but she was leaning forward again. “Come on, Kee, everyone else told, and you always keep so many secrets. Come onnnn.“

It was Keala’s turn to flop back in her chair. “Ejnar,” she muttered under her breath. “Ejnar cy’Underground.”


[personal profile] inventrix wrote this piece “as a thematically similar partner” to the above story. 😀 😀 😀

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/932438.html. You can comment here or there.

April A-Z Blogging Challenge: S is for Sky

May1

The Meme Master Post

S is for the shore, and the sky, and the storm

I was going to do another piece of Things Unspoken for this, but:

a) I just posted one, and I like to wait for feedback before posting the next.

b) I’m waiting for a city name and it seems weird.

c) I’ve written about Nereids and Octopi and am a bit tapped on oceanic things

d) Sea-and-sky will always be Kailani to me.

(I am writing this in Written Kitten Sky, and this is the pic as I begin)

So I’m going to talk about Addergoole and Kailani.

Kailani was, as far as I can recall, the first character I came up with for Addergoole. Her name was almost certainly the first – it means “sea and sky” in Hawaiian, a name picked to suit her perfectly.

In the world Addergoole is set in – the Faerie Apocalypse – the names fae fathers give their children have, or are supposed to have, great meaning and significance. Every father spends some time in meditation – some take this duty far more seriously than others – contemplating their child’s future. Even those who have not a bit of foresight will often gain some insight during this ritual, and those who take their duty seriously will use that insight in naming their child.

(Some don’t. Aelfgar, for instance, who names his children things like “Elf-gift” (Aelgifu); Shadrach, who named his first two children after himself: Chander, Chandra).

Kailani’s father knew what he was doing with her! Sea and Sky is a perfect name for this relatively stormy personality. She has a strong affinity for the water and the wind – both in terms of personality and in her magic. Her physical skills – dancing, fighting, riding – have a fluidity about them given to her by the water and the wind. And she will see calm at first, utterly laid-back, and then the storms will roll in and she will blow her top.

All of the main characters – and most of the background characters – in Addergoole have some story behind their name, but I’m the fondest of Kailani’s, even now.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/931613.html. You can comment here or there.

In Which Reynard does not have a Collar

Apr20

First: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/753621.html
Previous: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/815558.html

The woman named Elle – who, it seemed, owned him now – was slowly cutting hawthorn off of Reynard.

His life had not gotten surreal so much as it had gone back to a weird sort of reality.

“You were taught by Professor Valerian?” he tried. “And…” he spoke slowly. “You remember me.”

“You were several years ahead of me. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me.” She patted the top of his head idly. There were no hawthorn branches there, at least. “You may have spent a lot of time in other henhouses, but you didn’t ever, as far as I know, directly poach.”

Poach. Very carefully, he tilted his head so he could look her in the face. “You were Kept.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

He didn’t shrug, because she’d asked him to hold still. “It would seem so.”

“Surely this can’t be your first time under the collar.” Snip, snip went her clippers. The metal brushed against his skin, and he tried not to shiver.

“I don’t seem to be wearing a collar yet, unless you count the hawthorn wrapped around my throat.”

She chuckled, as if amused by his hedging. “I’ll fix that soon enough.”

Sometimes inside Reynard chilled. “Where are we? I mean… mistress, if it pleases you, where are we?”

“I told you already.” Snip, snip went her clippers. Reynard tried to remember. Snip, Snip. Damnit, why hadn’t he been paying attention? Snip, snip. “New Buffalo. It’s-”

He swallowed. “Please tell me it’s where Buffalo was. The irony would be so thick. I might choke.”

“And why’s that?” She pulled ropes of thorny vine away from him, the needles pulling out of his skin with unpleasant pops.

Reynard coughed. Well, he belonged to her, however that worked. “I came from Buffalo. Well, Grand Island. And then I went back after school for a couple days. It was a mess, though. Almost nothing left standing.”

“It’s still a mess. But we’re rebuilding it slowly.” She pulled the last bits of hawthorn off of him. “Don’t attack me, don’t wander off, and don’t do any Workings without permission.” She ran gloved hands over Reynard’s chest and arms, pulling a shiver out of him. “We’ll have to clean all these wounds, but we can’t do that here. Can you stand?”

Reynard hesitated. “May I move?” She’d thrown off the orders casually, way too casually for the force with which they’d hit him.

She nodded, hesitated, and nodded again. Reynard, watching her face, couldn’t guess what was going through her mind, so he worked instead on what she’d asked of him. “I think so? I think I can stand… mistress.” He shifted his weight, testing legs he couldn’t feel at the moment. He made it to his knees without wobbling, but with nothing to brace himself on, he wasn’t sure he could get further.

“Here.” She planted her feet firmly and offered him her hands. “I don’t know how long you’ve been in the box. There’s no shame in accepting help.”

Reynard swallowed a sudden lump of panic and took her arms. With her help, he levered himself to his feet. “Yes, mistress.”

“You know…” She slid her arm around his waist, steadying him. “I think you can call me Elle.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/923397.html. You can comment here or there.

Into the History of Addergoole

Apr18

Written to Clare’s commission for “More Doug.”

Nineteen-sixty-nine (or so, as canon suggests)

“This is the place.” Luke twitched his shoulders in the way that meant, somewhere under his Mask, his wings were flapping. “There’s the village, over here. We’re still building the houses. Regine calls them cottages…”

“I thought there was going to be a school.” From where they were standing, what Doug could see was a barn and a wheat field. The gesture his father had made indicated, as far as Doug could tell, more wheat field.

“There will be. Here.” Luke started towards the barn. Doug sighed, because what else did you do when your centuries-old father decided to be laconic, and followed, because he’d come this far; he might as well hear the old man out.

The barn, inside, looked like other barns Doug had been in. The sunlight poured in through the cracks. The smell of old hay permeated the air. And, hidden behind a half-wall of cracked, grey wood and under a hidden trap door, a long stairway led downwards.

The trap door, Doug noted, was only wood on the top; the underside was steel, and heavy steel at that.

“Regine bought this place from the U.S. Government. It’s a mess, still, but we’re working on it. The nice thing is – it’s built to withstand bombs. It’s also built to withstand fae.”

The grey concrete stairs suddenly seemed far more ominous. “The U.S. Government is fighting fae?” He paused. “We’re fighting fae?”

It might as well be we, since if his dad was fighting things, Doug would end up fighting them, too. His mother & grandmother would never forgive him if he didn’t.

“I don’t think they were fighting fae.” Luke turned on the stairs to look at Doug. “We’re not, either. But it’s always good to have a fortified location.”

Yes, Dad. Doug was old enough not to roll his eyes at his father. It didn’t mean he didn’t want to. “So you have a government bunker designed to withstand fae, under a wheat field. I thought this was going to be a school.”

“Said that already.”

“Still waiting for an answer.” The trap door closed on slow hydraulic lifts, and, as it did, lights came up. They were walking into a warehouse, metal shelves lining the walls, crates filling the shelves.

“We want it fortified, because building a school for fae kids is like putting a target on your building and asking the Nedetakaei to show up.” Luke walked into the warehouse. “We want it hidden for the same reason. And… there’s the other problem.”

“Other problem?” Doug knew, or, at least, he was pretty sure he knew. He was hoping he was wrong. He’d been hoping his father had gotten over that particular bit of stupidity.

“The Return.” Luke’s wings were Masked, but Doug could tell from the sudden breeze that he was flapping them. “It’s going to happen sometime in the next century.”

The same stupidity. “Dad, precognition is unreliable. You taught me that.”

“I did. I also taught you to be prepared for the worst….”

“…and ready to enjoy the best. What sort of enjoyment is there going to be in here?” He gestured at the crates lining the walls. “I’m depressed just walking in here.”

“We’re still working on it.” Luke was smiling. Doug mistrusted that smile. “Regine’s been spending money like it grows on trees.”

“She’s a Grigori; don’t they do that in their gardens?” The question came out sour; Doug wasn’t the least bit sorry. Regine had dragged his father away from home for most of Doug’s life.

His father barked out a humorless laugh. “They might. Come on.”

Doug followed. The hallways were concrete, the walls cement block, the closely-spaced doors steel with wire-reinforced glass. “Look…” He meant it as a joke, but it came out sounding nervous. “I know we don’t get along, but you don’t need to institutionalize me.”

“That’s what they were doing.” Luke swung open a door. The room on the other side was small and dark, shadows lingering in every corner. Doug noticed immediately that there was no handle on the interior of the door, and nearly as quickly saw the chains hanging from the far wall. “We don’t know yet what they kept here. There’s a lot of paperwork to go through, and Regine and Mike have only just started.” He closed the door. “They’re all like that. There’s a whole bunch of ripping out of walls to be done, first, and I called in some favors to get the place re-wired.”

“You know electricians?” Under his Mask, Doug’s broken winglets shifted uncomfortably. This place was too tight and too open. “Can we rip out some walls now?”

“Let me give you the full tour, first. There will be plenty of time to rip out walls, but you have to know what you’re looking at first.”

It was fair. Doug didn’t want fair. “Why are the halls so big?” Luke could spread his wings comfortably in here.

“Gurneys.” The word was clipped, almost spat out. Doug didn’t pursue it further, and Luke took the opportunity to change the subject. “We’ve already ripped out a few walls. Down here, we made a gathering room. We need someplace to… heh. Gather.” He shifted, rolling his shoulders. “Right down here.”

It seemed like they were hurrying, but Doug didn’t mind at all. The floors echoed. The doors seemed to stare at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something moving. It made him want to bolt, or to hit something. Neither reaction was very useful right now.

When Luke opened the doors to the “gathering place,” Doug could tell immediately that other people felt the same way about the concrete halls. They’d started the renovations here. Wood paneling lined every wall to chair height; the walls above the paneling were painted very pale blue. The dangling fluorescent fixtures had been replaced with indirect, hidden lighting. A few tables were scattered about – wooden tables, with stout legs and comfortable chairs. The floor itself had been carpeted in soft, plush stuff that felt like early-summer grass underfoot.

“A break from the institutional?” He could smell food cooking, and surprised himself by having an appetite.

“The whole place will be like this – eventually.” Luke scuffed at the carpet with one booted toe. “Carpet’s easier on hooves, they tell me. And it softens noises. Workings for that, too. So it won’t echo like a cave.”

Cave was a nice word for it. Doug took in the gathering room. “It’s like a different place.”

Here, he could imagine kids being happy. Bouncing around, throwing things, getting the carpet dirty, laughing. They’d get a chance to act human. He coughed. “A school?”

“Something between a high school and a college, the way they figure things now. And being Mentored. If the Council doesn’t shut us down-” Luke shifted his weight. “If they don’t shut us down, it’s going to be -” Doug watched his father choose and discard words. “It’ll be interesting.”

Doug looked around one more time. “Yeah,” he answered dryly. “‘Interesting’ is gonna be a word for it.”

After Year 9

To say the sub-sub-basement was a mess was not remotely covering it. They had – Doug was fairly certain – gotten all the students out. Now it was him and his father, looking around the wreck.

Doug’s shoulders twitched. “This is…”

Luke snarled. “How did they hide this? Unless…”

They both knew how he was going to finish that sentence. Unless Regine knew. Unless Regine had willingly built her school on cages full of… something.

Doug shook his head slowly. “No.” It nothing else, it had disrupted learning far too much – and, more than learning, breeding. Regine did not like disruptions.

Something whimpered far away.

Doug checked his weapons and rolled his weight forward onto the balls of his feet. “Still something left down there.”

“It’s disturbing.” Luke strode forward. “The set-up to keep those… things alive. It stinks of Workings. Not just the Workings we put on the place. Old Workings, and technology that didn’t exist in the fifties.” The breeze in the hall was sudden and ended just as quickly.

That’s what you think is disturbing? Doug raised his eyebrows at his father.

Hunting-Hawk twitched his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. The whole thing is a mess. And there’s shit we haven’t found yet.” He gestured in the direction of the whimpers, which were growing louder.

Dough checked just his machete and his pistol and nodded sharply. “Let’s clean.”

The cracked tiles were uneven under their feet. The walls, once painted an institutional off-green, were scorched, the paint bubbling, the cement block underneath chipped. The foundation pillars were still strong – reinforced by Working after Working, these would hold up to an apocalypse. But everything else was in ruins.

They had cleared the fourth floor already. Now, they were in the labyrinthine mess beneath that. The halls were wide, too wide. “Gurneys,” Doug muttered. Under his Mask, the stumps of his wings twitched.

the below cut for author snidieness.

Continued in Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/creation?hid=2846820&rf=200475

If we’re being honest, this story was in part to thumb my nose at a “volunteer critic” who tried to take me to task for this line: “‘This place used to be some sort of government facility,'” here.

“You can’t just put this sort of line in here without thinking about it,” to paraphrase.

I have always resented the implications: 1) that I didn’t think about that line when I wrote it.

2)That I couldn’t backfill backstory whenever I wanted.

So, to that person, I say nyah, nyah, nyah.

And I thank my readers for letting me nyah a little. 😉

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/922979.html. You can comment here or there.

You’re… Welcome?

Apr9

In response to [personal profile] inventrix‘s piece Thank You, & will make much more sense if you go there first. Cya/Leo, Doomsday era.

There were things Cya had always known, and never, ever thought about concretely enough to put into words.

There were other things she had put into words merely to stop thinking about them.

Thus: She might have said a thousand times, a hundred thousand times, that “I’m just around to keep you guys alive.” She had said it, smiled affectionately and reminded Leo of this responsibility or that facet of reality, and moved on to the next task.

But never, never in decades of saying “I’m here to keep you alive,” or “get back here before you get your stupid ass killed,” or any of the other exasperated things she’d said, never had she thought Leo was listening, and never had she allowed herself to really think about the words.

To think about Leo not coming back.

To think about him going down a path she could not follow.

She caught a sob before it came out, but the second one was too quick. “I…” She didn’t want to cry in front of Leo. She didn’t do that, she didn’t cry where anyone could see her.

She was crying. Still, she met his eyes. “I… I’ll accept your thanks for that,” she managed. He was watching her with worried eyes. She tried to pull herself together. “I -” She had known this man for almost her entire life, and she was flustered beyond belief. She sat down slowly. “Leo, you’re welcome… but.” But what? “But giving you a teaching job here…” She managed a smile. It was anemic, but she was smiling. Smiling was good. “You know I like having you around, right?” She flapped her hand, dismissing all the petty things they could say. “I like having you around. Giving you a teaching job – well, it just killed two birds with one stone.”

It turned out kill was exactly the wrong word to say to herself right then. She choked on a sob, mortified, peeking up through her lashes at Leo like they were teenagers again.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/920361.html. You can comment here or there.