Her Verdict, a continuation of Reynard

First: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/753621.html
Previous: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/777479.html

“And that’s how I ended up Belonging to a terrifying mass of muscle, ma’am.” Reynard did his best to make a bow, although the bonds of probably-hawthorn restricted his movement enough to make it only a twitch. “How I ended up Belonging to a -” he coughed. “Forgive me, ma’am, to a beautiful woman like yourself is another story.”

The woman studied him for a minute. She seemed neither be offended by the compliment nor complimented by it – for the life of him, Reynard couldn’t read a single emotion off of her face. He was out of practice working without magic.

“That is a very interesting story.” She spoke slowly. Shit, was she – differently abled? He’d never belonged to anyone slow before. “I even believe most of it.” She pursed her lips. “It definitely sounds like you.”

That again. And he couldn’t remember her at all. He coughed, and went for a completely non-committal “Ma’am?”

“It will do for now, at least.” She picked up a pair of wire cutters from her table of tools.

“Ma’am?” This time, Reynard knew his voice went high-pitched. The things you could do with wire cutters… “Ma’am, I…”

“Shhh. You belong to me, Reynard called Fox in the Henhouse. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to torture you.” He wasn’t entirely clear if the repetition was clarification or reassurance. He wasn’t reassured, either way.

“Ma’am?” This time it was a whisper. He didn’t have much choice.

She started clipping, far too near parts of him he was very fond of. “When I’ve got you out of this, we can talk living arrangements.”

Well, at least that meant he was probably going to live.

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/815558.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/786429.html. You can comment here or there.

Gonna Be a Samurai, a story of Doomsday Academy for the Giraffe Call

Aug22

Written to inventrix‘s prompt, although I didn’t get to the catboy part yet! O-O

Using Cynara (Prof. Doomsday) and Leofric (Prof. Inazuma)’s son’s icon, since I don’t actually have an icon for either of them.

Set about 5 years into Doomsday.

Austin was going to be a samurai.

He had known since he was five years old and that wandering samurai had come through town, killing the monster and rescuing Austin and his little sister.

He had known despite his mother’s insistence that one crazy man in funny armor did not mean that samurai really still existed. He had known even when his older brothers – 6 and 8 years older than him – told him that he couldn’t be anything like that, that the best he could hope for was to be a farmer, like his (not their) father. He had known despite his father spending every day of every week teaching him how to be a proper farmer, how to be a land-lord in, his father said, the old sense.

He read books on samurai, first from the local library, then, when he was old enough, he convinced his parents to let him to go the next town over on a trade caravan. They had a bigger library, salvaged from the ruins of several towns.

His older brothers went to school, but he and his sister, their parents said, were going to stay at home, where it was safe, where they could learn how yo be proper farmers. Austin kept reading – now the scroungers knew to look out for books for him – and kept learning. He was going to be a samurai some day.

When the letter came from the Academy, Austin was unsure. He was going to be a samurai farmer – what did he need with school.

His mother and father were unsure – he was going to be a farmer. What did he need with school? Besides, his mother had gotten her fill of boarding schools. And Austin was barely ten years old.

And then Professors Inazuma and Doomsday walked into their town. Looking over the blonde professor – Inazuma – in his kimono, Austin knew he was going to Doomsday.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/785910.html. You can comment here or there.

Doomsday Academy: First Day of History Class

Aug21

This is set in Cynara’s Doomsday Academy, several years after its founding. Dáirine is the daughter of Amadeus and Margherita, from Year Nine stories, and shows up briefly in Yoshi tales.

On the first day of class, Dáirine – Professor Lily – gave each of her students a small clay pot filled with dirt and a maple seed.

This year, as with every year so far, she watched the students as they looked in confusion between her and the pots.

One of them – a girl with the Aelfgar look to her, although that wasn’t saying much, around here – cleared her throat. Gróa, that was her name, poor thing. “Miss – Professor Lily? We already had science class.”

Brave girl. Dáirine smiled at her. “Yes. I know. But there are more things to be learned from a seed and a pot than, say, photosynthesis. Now, humor me, if you will. Plant your seed, then pass around the water.”

She showed them by example, planting her own seed in its little pot. “Very good. Now, this tree is going to be with you until you graduate from Doomsday-“

“What if it dies?” The young man had a curly mess of red hair and more freckles than any three people ought to have. Sawyer, his name was.

“Well, then, we’ll learn something from that, too, and you’ll get another seed.”

“So… it’s meant to be a metaphor?” Gróa leaned forward. “Sort of?”

“Very good.” Dáirine used her best you-clever-person-you smile. “Many metaphors. The first of which will be – that which you nurture, survives.”

She sat down on her desk and looks around. “So. What do you think that the survivors of The Great Mess nurtured?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/784272.html. You can comment here or there.

Protected: I don’t know if I like this at all but it’s nother test-go at gender-funky characters

Aug20

And We Are Not Monsters

Aug19

First in this story: Unwelcome Guests
Previous: The Clean-Up

1016 words, to Rix’s commissioned continuation.

“Come.” Viatrix led the her new Kept into the back yard, murmuring what she thought of as “Addergoole Standard Kept Rules” as she went.

She didn’t look at the girl until they reached the stone circle that, in some other owner’s time, had been a back patio and outdoor kitchen. She didn’t need to; the way the orders were spun, there was little the girl could do.

When she reached the center of the circle, then, she turned. “Kneel.” A Word awoke the fire in the grill. “Give me your wrists.”

Her Kept did as she was told, although she was clearly fighting it. “Mistress… bitch.” She forced the word out with a snarl.

Viatrix found herself grinning. “Yes. Both of those. What name are you called?”

“They Called me Red Mage, but my father named me Rohanna.” She held her wrists out, but her hands were trembling. “What are you going to do to me…. you bitch?”

The swearing was twisted out of her mouth, forced out around heavy breathing and eyes that were wider than they ought to be. Via grabbed both wrists in one hand.

“You’re Mine for the next year. I want to be sure you don’t forget it.”

She could see the moment the girl’s eyes landed on her own wrists, on brand she had never bothered to heal. “You…”

“We’ve all done our time.” She muttered a Working that would shut off the pain, and made the branding in one quick motion. “And we are not monsters.”

~
“This way.” Baram led the boy into the house, pausing only to knock the safe-knock on the basement door. Aly wouldn’t thank him if he didn’t let her out of there as soon as possible. She was almost as good with kids as he was.

“My room.” He had the biggest room in the house, the biggest bed. It was, after all, his cave. “Yours, for six months.”

The boy fell to his knees again, his hands tucked behind his back this time. “Sir.”

It reminded Baram, uncomfortably, of the people in the trap-basement, of the time at school. “Get – no-.” He sat down on his bed with a thump. “I don’t need you kneeling. I don’t need you sirring me.”

“Sir?” The boy’s eyes went wide & he slapped both hands over his mouth. His “sorry” was muffled, what showed of his expression terrified.

Baram growled. “Come here… shit.” The boy was skittering over without getting to his feet. “Fine. Damnit.” He looked down at the boy, who looked terrified. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The boy glanced up, swallowed, and looked back down at the floor. “Sir?”

“I didn’t take you to hurt you. I took you to hurt them.”

“Sir?” This time, it was a squeak. Baram grumbled. Words were hard. Orders were harder.

He scooped the boy into his lap instead, and, as if he was touching a newborn, ran his fingers down the boy’s back. “You have a name?”

“Lots – lots of names, sir.”

“One of those, hunh?” It was an effort to remember how to be gentle, to be that careful. Baram’s girls were so tough, so thick-skinned. He set one hand over the boy’s hip. “My name is Baram.” Start with the simple things. “This is my house. The girls – they work for me.”

The boy looked at him, and swallowed. “The Black ‘Blazers called me Tommy. But… but my mother called me Kavan and my Mentor called me Wild Eyes.” He ducked his head suddenly. “Sir.”

“I can call you Kavan.” He patted the boy’s back. “So, you’re an adult?”

A snort of laughter, surprised, escaped before Kavan slapped both hands over his mouth. “Oh gods. Sir… sorry. Yes. Yes, I’m an adult. Nearly fifty.”

Baram barked out a laugh. “Older than me. So, old enough to understand.”

Another swallow, and a peek through those fingers. “Sir?”

“That there are monsters in the world.”

“Yes, yes sir.” There was no where for Kavan to go, perched on Baram’s lap and trapped, Baram’s hand on his hip holding him there. But he looked like he was trying to shrink away to nothingness.

He wasn’t a child. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t fragile, did it?

“And there are people who aren’t monsters.” He tried to sound gentle. It was hard; he had to sound like he was whispering, mostly. “And we are not monsters.”

“There are things you need to know about us.” Jaelie sat perched on the top stair of the trap-basement, Aloysius standing guard behind her. Their “guests” couldn’t make it out of the trap, not the way it was set up, but that was no reason to be incautious.

“Do I like I give a shit about your things?” The woman, Delaney, was snarling, fierce like a wild thing. Jaelie was glad she’d gone into the trap calmly, because fighting her would have been interesting. “Let us the fuck out of here and let us talk to Baram.”

“If the boss doesn’t want to talk to you, there’s nothing I can do about it. There are things you need to know about us.”

It wasn’t the first time Jaelie had given a speech like this one.

“I told you, I don’t give a-”

“Del.” The other one, Ardell, was soft and slick of voice. “Please continue, jae-”

“I’m called Briar Rose, sa’Diamondback. The things you need to know start with this: we are not on the side of angels.”

The woman, who had fallen silent for a moment, burst into laughter, fake and bubbly. “Who is, these days? I didn’t see them coming down for the war.”

Jaelie grinned, not because it was funny, but because the woman hadn’t realized she was in trouble yet. “We’re not on the side of devils, either. We’re on our side.” She met the man’s eyes, because he seemed to be paying attention.

He nodded slowly. “That’s the first thing to know. What’s the second?”

Now Jaelie was grinning. “That we are not monsters… and this isn’t where the monsters live.”

Next: There Are Always Choices.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/781908.html. You can comment here or there.

Where the Stars Went Out, a ficlet of Fae Apoc for the Giraffe Call

Aug19

Written to alexseanchai‘s musical prompt, and set in my Fae Apoc verse, round about the apoc.

There was a week where the stars went out, and that may have been the most terrifying week in any of our lives.

Except the Captain, of course, because nothing scares her.

But I’m starting in the wrong place. I do that. The Captain says it’ll be the death of me, though I can’t see how.

The place to start, if you ask me, would be back when the city flooded and they started the lynchings.

I can’t really say I blame them – I mean, the city was flooding, and it was the fault of monsters, if you look at it a certain way.

On the other hand, it wasn’t us that did it, and it was, or had been, our city too. And it’s hard to be sympathetic when there’s hemp around your neck, if you know what I mean.

There were five of us on that platform, all of us suddenly finding our Masks that hid us from humanity not as, well, mask-like as they used to be. Something about the returned gods – but what it meant to us wasn’t godly, unless hemp is sacred now.

Is hemp sacred now? That would suck.

And we were about to – well, probably die, maybe just be really, really uncomfortable. I’m not sure. There was the satyr and the fishie girl, the selkie and banshee and me, and only the gods know if it would’ve killed any of us – and they’re too busy making chaos to share any information.

And up the river comes this ship, this beautiful beautiful boat – I mean ship, it’s a ship – with Maidenhead painted on it, and at the helm was this beautiful kitsune lady.

Ever been rescued from a lynching by a fox girl? I have!

And when she had swashbuckled us all onto her boat, she gave us all an offer: Sail with me, because the land is no longer safe for our kind. Sail with me, and we’ll rule the seven seas.

Well, who can say no to that? (The banshee, that’s who. But that’s okay). We sailed with her (everyone but the banshee…) and it was beautiful and fun.

Until the week where the stars went out…

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/781057.html. You can comment here or there.

Reynard’s Story in Reynard’s Words – a continuation for @Rix_scaedu

Aug15

First: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/753621.html
Previous: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/767819.html
This to Rix’s commission

Reynard loved telling stories. He had, in more than one town, earned his supper (and, more often than not, a place in a bed or three) telling tales – fairy tales, sometimes, tales of the days that had been, horror stories of the war.

He told them all the same, fiction and truth – he told them as prettily as possible, made them as engaging as he could, and embellished where he needed to to make the story flow.

He thought, perhaps, in this situation, he ought to keep the embellishment to a minimum. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make the story interesting.

After all, he wanted this woman to like him, didn’t he?

And I’ve had fun in those moments where they find out that that is most definitely not the case. Quite a bit of fun, actually. I’ve even had fun – perhaps the most fun – running from the scene of the crime with my pants in one hand and my sword in the other.

Ah, I’ve done that a few times.

I’ve run a few cons in my time, but, for the most part, my crimes have been of the more sensual nature – who am I to say no, if a lady or a gentleman wants me in their bed for the night or the week? The nights are cold, and the road is hard.

So when I moved into that town – I don’t remember the name. It had a wall around it, but most towns do these days, don’t they? It had doors painted in wild colors and houses painted in grey. And it had the prettiest mayor I’ve ever seen, a dark-haired lady with warm brown skin and a laugh like you wouldn’t believe.

She wasn’t married, and it wasn’t one of the Super Christian God Will Save Us From The Fairies places, so I didn’t see any problem with sliding into her henhouse, if you’ll forgive the metaphor. And that was actually going quite well for me for a while.

And then there was this boy, the town cobbler. He had the big wide shoulders and the big strong hands… and he was quite a bit of fun with his shirt off, too.

And he wasn’t married either, and, like I said, it wasn’t the most Christian town in the world, so I didn’t see any problem. And that was actually going pretty well for a while, too.

And then there was this young lady, with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, and she was engaged, but he didn’t pay her much attention and she had plenty of love to go around.

So that was about a month in, and then there was this gorgeous blonde woman who came to town in a wagon with about seven other people – a travelling caravan – and there, somewhere in there, I missed a step or someone threw a monkey wrench in my dance.

One way or the other, the mayor found out about the blonde lady, and she found out about the cobbler, and he found out about the blue-eyed girl… and this peaceful little town was all over shouting and yelling.

I like shouting and yelling, I admit it. I like the chaos – some say I thrive on it. It’s fun.

(Here he ducked his head and smiled, hoping it was sweet and innocent.)

And so everyone shouting was just as fun for me as all the love-making and bedroom games. Quite fun. And so I would talk to one and then talk to another, fueling the flames, and maybe I let them catch me in the middle of a delicate situation with the baker’s son. And it was all, let me tell you ma’am, far more fun than maybe ought to have been.

So I kept it going and kept it going – and then this pretty – no this gorgeous thing, redheaded woman with, you know, the way you can’t tell with fae if they’re twenty or a thousand but she was solid iron under her freckles.

And she said to me “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but we can’t have this sort of nonsense right now.” That’s all she said. I mean, I asked questions, and I denied it, and I played innocent. I’m very good at playing innocent, ma’am.

But that’s all she said to me. The rest was her guy. She stepped aside, and he…

…ma’am, I’ve been beat down, and it was never like that. I’ve been punished, and it was never like that. I’ve gotten in fights, hell, when I had to, or when I felt just that chaotic.

This guy destroyed me. And then he got me on my knees, and he gave me a choice.

He looked up at her and tried to swallow. “And that’s how I ended up Belonging to a terrifying mass of muscle, ma’am.”

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/786429.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/777479.html. You can comment here or there.

Boom Town: Center Street

Aug14

I’ve been working on the map for Boom Town lately…

Boom Town has three Center Streets, down the center of each circle, wider and with broader sidewalks than the side streets.

Walk down any one of them within the first two years of the city’s founding, and it will be strangely Oz-like: here you are, walking down a broad boulevard, waving wheat to one side, then cotton, corn to the other, then hay. Ducks and chickens wander, their coops barely visible as little roofs above the grain.

And straight down the road, you can see the tower, twisting towards the sky, and a tiny cluster of buildings at its feet.

Walk down the roads four or five years after the city’s founding, and it will seem a bit more odd, perhaps. The road still goes straight to the tower, and the buildings near the center still rise up against the walls as if trying to reach that edifice. But the closer you get to the center, the more houses you can see, just a block away from Center Street, gathered in blocks amongst the grain.

An inn greets you at the gate and, across the street, a restaurant. Closer to the tower, merchants clamor for your business. It’s almost alive.

Six, seven years after the city’s founding, it’s harder to walk straight down Center Street. Wagons, horses, foot traffic, and the very rare automobile clog the road and the sidewalk.

Both sides of the road are lined with businesses – store fronts, restaurants, markets, and service providers (massage, hairdressing, sex…) – and down the side streets, one can see houses far more frequently, almost every other block.

Down the road towards the tower, the traffic is thicker, the storefronts fuller, and the noises and sounds of production, machines clanking, can be heard over the crowds. It’s turning into a city.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/775497.html. You can comment here or there.

The Clean-up

Aug13

First in this story: Unwelcome Guests
Previous: Kicking Out Unwelcome Guests

I have more planned, but this was a good stop point for this part. 673 words.

“Your target was never here.” Baram punctuated his sentence with a sharp kick to the bikers’ leader’s ribs. The woman grunted, and, on the other side of the field of battle, the nearly-dead tank made a pained noise.

Interesting.

Worry about it later. Baram picked up the boy. “This one stays with us. And your flamethrower.”

“Keep the girl, we need the boy.”

Even more interesting. Baram shifted his weight to his back foot, Jaelie’s cue to pick up the negotiation. “If you need the boy, even more reason we should keep him. You were the ones who were dumb enough to attack us on our home territory.”

“We were hunting down a target the boy said was here.”

“Then he’s not that good, is he? Both stay.”

“If we swear that our gang will never bother you or yours again…”

“Then you’ll be making reasonable precautions to stay alive.” Jaelie relented, just a bit. She shifted forward. “Look, we’ll keep the boy for six months. Come back then, and you can have him.”

“And the girl?”

“She’s ours. Come back in two years and we might – might – talk abut it.”

“You could-”

“We could kill you. I wouldn’t even have to get my hands dirty.” Baram admired, silently, the way that Jaelie made it sound casual. She was tough as nails. All of them were. “The tree will do it for me.”

“Six months on the boy. He’s yours until then. Two years on the girl. She’s her own woman, good luck holding on to her.”

“We’ll hold on to her.” Via jumped down from the wall and grinned. “One way or another. You get on down the road before we change our mind.”

Baram put a foot on the fire-thrower’s arrow-pinned wrists and nodded to Jaelie. She grabbed the seer boy and hauled him to his feet, pushing him against the wall.

The trees let go of the biker boss, and what was left of her merry band managed to get themselves onto their bikes and onto the road.

That left Baram and the girls to deal with the prisoners. “You.” He toed the girl on the ground. “You belong to Viatrix for the next year.”

The girl grunted. “Or what?”

“Or I let the trees have you.”

She twisted to look at the trees, which were reaching out to her with greedy arms. “I Belong to Viatrix for the next year.”

“Yes, you do.” Via pulled out the arrow with a yank, and the girl screamed. “Come with me.” She shot off instructions as she walked, and the girl pulled herself to her feet.

If she stayed that rough, Baram would have to talk to her. Hopefully, it settled down once she had the girl under control.

“Do you want me to get Aly, Boss?” Jaelie manhandled the boy over to him. “I mean, I already have Wish, and he’s enough for any two normal people…”

Baram showed his teeth. He’d meant it to be a smile, but Swish made him snarl. “No. No, this one’s mine.” He poked the boy in the chest. “Six months.”

The boy squirmed, and couldn’t quite look Baram in the face. “Six months.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to clear his throat. “I Belong to you for the next six months, sir.” He dropped to his knees and offered up his wrists. “I come to you with nothing, and everything I have will come from you.”

Baram shot a glare at Jaelie and Via, because he couldn’t very well glare at the kid, could he? He wrapped his hand carefully around the boy’s outstretched wrists. “You Belong to me,” he agreed, “for the next six months. To…” Aly or Jaelie would have done the words better. “to use and to protect. To shelter, to command. Yes?”

Now, the boy looked at him. “Yes.”

They still had two former “friends” in the basement to deal with. But Baram figured their actual prisoners of war might come first. “Come, then. Be Mine.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/774557.html. You can comment here or there.

Bad Reception

Aug12

From dailyprompt, 014-08-12: “bad reception”

“I don’t know.” Kylie thumped the radio down on the desk. “I’m getting pretty bad reception here.”

“Are you sure it’s the radio?” Jacob finished weatherstripping the last window and moved on to the door. “The news has been spotty for weeks.”

“Spotty, yeah, but not static-y” She set the radio down as it found a station it could stick to for more than a second. “There.”

“…god help us I don’t know what’s coming but it’s almost in here. I’m hiding under my desk but I don’t think that will stop it. Oh please, help…”

The radio cut back to static. Kylie and Jacob shared a glance.

Slowly, without taking her eyes off of Jacob, Kylie turned the radio off. After a moment’s consideration, she removed the batteries.

“Bad reception.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/772728.html. You can comment here or there.

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