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The Prisoner Would Not Relent, and he Would Not Speak (a ficlet)

Oct9

Content includes unwilling capture, allusions to violence, broken bones, blood, and gore.

In the end, it took three guards to hold him down and two more to force the collar around his neck. He broke seventeen bones, only one of them (a pinkie) his own, knocked one of the guards unconscious, and came within a hair’s-breadth of killing a second – and that with his teeth.

Once the collar was on, however, he seemed strangely docile. He stopped fighting the guards at all, allowing them to put on the manacles and shackles, to take what was left of his clothing, and to lock the chains binding him to a loop in the floor. He spoke, quietly and constantly, from the moment the collar locked around his neck, in a language foreign to most of those in the cell.

“Leave us.” One woman had stayed distant from the act of binding him and thus remained unscathed, although a long splatter of blood decorated her robe. “Count to three hundred,” she aimed this order at the sole uninjured guard, “and then send in the attendants.”

The cell door closed behind the last guard. She took the prisoner’s chin in her hand, heedless of the tangle of beard or the trickle of blood. In a voice that would not carry and yet still filled the entire cell, she spoke back to him in the staccato syllables of his own language.

There was no-one to record the conversation, and neither of them would ever speak of it. But when the bath attendants came in with their basins and their scented soaps, they heard him say six words, the only words anyone had ever heard him say in their language.

“My life is in your hands.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/991739.html. You can comment here or there.

The Invasion of the Kaa-Tah

Sep25

The Kaa-tah arrived in early Spring, as the snow was melting. They came down in unsettled areas, their small landing craft hiding easily in forests, in deep grass, in rolling hills. They were picked up on radar, but even so, falling a few a day, all over the globe, it took the world’s authorities too long to recognize the invasion for what it was.

The Kaa-tah did not immediately engage local populations; instead, they put the robots and tools they had brought to good use, building structures, setting up small, isolated settlements and beginning to manufacture more tools, more advanced robots.

The first humans to discover Kaa-tah-eh settlements were gently rebuffed, sent away with a light smattering of weapons fire. Continue reading →

The Invasion of the Kaa-Tah, a story for Patreon free for all to read

Sep24

The Invasion of the Kaa-Tah

The Kaa-tah arrived in early Spring, as the snow was melting. They came down in unsettled areas, their small landing craft hiding easily in forests, in deep grass, in rolling hills. They were picked up on radar, but even so, falling a few a day, all over the globe, it took the world’s authorities too long to recognize the invasion for what it was.

The Kaa-tah did not immediately engage local populations; instead, they put the robots and tools they had brought to good use, building structures, setting up small, isolated settlements and beginning to manufacture more tools, more advanced robots.

The first humans to discover Kaa-tah-ah settlements were gently rebuffed, sent away with a light smattering of weapons fire…

read on…

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/985037.html. You can comment here or there.

The Pipes

Sep4

“Colburn! New Girl! The pipes on floor Seven-A-iii are clogged again!”

It was Georgia’s first day on the job, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. “It’s Georgia, ma’am, Georgia Fredrickson.”

“I don’t care if it’s Queen Anne III, the pipes in 7-A-iii are clogged and they need to be unclogged.”

Colburn, Sandra of the first name, grabbed Georgia’s arm. “We’ve got it, Madam Tomlinson, ma’am. Sorry about New Girl.”

“She’s new. She’ll learn or drown. Take her down to the dungeon, then, and shake Manster’s cage. Tell him he’s got to get the clog out, or the priest’s start screaming, and you know what that does to the sisters-and-brothers.”

Dungeon. Cage. Priests. The Facility had a language all of its own. Georgia could only let the water carry her along and hope that she could stay afloat.

“Come on, new girl.” Colburn grabbed Georgia’s arm. “I get to show you the dungeon, lucky me. Which means I get to show you the slide.”

“…Slide?” Keep afloat. Just keep afloat. The Facility paid better than anyone else in all of Compton. They also had this way of… leveraging people who didn’t work for them. Carrot, stick, all Georgia had to do was keep floating along until she knew what was going on. “Colburn, what are the pipes?”

“Heating, cooling. Cooking. They carry steam and… other things… all through the Facility. But, uh, the other things. They clog sometimes. And then they have to send the weasels in. It’s complicated.”

“…Weasels. Sandra, tell me honestly.” Georgia was a hand taller than Colburn and she was having trouble keeping up. “How long does it take for this place to make sense?”

“Oh, not long.” Colburn pulled open a sliding door hidden in the metal-paneled walls. “You just have to get your brain around the fact that everything is different here than is it in Compton.” Inside the wall compartment, a slick-looking ramp led downwards into the dark. “Hold on here and here, then let go all at once. Like this.” Colburn stepped onto the ramp, sat down, and let go. Immediately, she was transported downwards. The sounds of whooping trailed upwards.

Feeling as if the water was closing over her, Georgia followed suit. The ride downwards was smooth, terrifying, and rather short. She had, she realized, no idea how far she’d come.

Colburn was alreading bouncing in place as Georgia found her feet at the bottom. “Come on, the dungeon’s right over here.”

Georgia had been expecting a basement office, a dark place, perhaps, or a gloomy place. What she had not been expecting was the guard, with a pike, no less, the barred doors, the cage hanging in the middle of a mess of pipes. Weasels swarmed in and out of the cage and climbed up the outside of pipes, sometimes seeming to vanish.

And in the middle of all that, a small man with a very large beard was working on a pipe, his wrench nearly as big as he was.

“That,” Colburn explained unnecessarily, “is Manster. And his cage.”

Keep floating? The water was most definitely over Georgia’s head.

This is written to yesterday’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/979647.html. You can comment here or there.

Flash! Friday ‘s Warmup Wednesday: Secrets

Aug19

“Thalia? What are you doing?” Clio wiggled closer to the secret passage, whispering loudly. “It’s my turn.”

Her twin squeaked. “Coming!” Thalia shot out of the hole far faster than she’d gone in. “All yours. Enjoy.” She pressed the flashlight in Clio’s hand.

Well now, she had to go. Clio slipped through the tiny door, shining her light over the passage.

A face looked back at her. Clio swallowed her own squeak and continued moving the beam. Face after face… “Death masks…” Nothing terrifying.

Until her light settled on a face more like her own than even her twin’s visage.

written to Flash!Friday’s Warmup Wednesday prompt.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/973681.html. You can comment here or there.

Patreon Posts in July!

Aug4

July’s Patreon Theme was “More, Please;” the prompt call covered anything my $5 readers would like to see continued.

A Rescue in Kind, a story of Daxton-and-Esha continued
The Hunt Continues, a story of fox hunting in Tir na Cali continued
Down, Down, Down, more of Doug and the Basement – free for all to read!

I also posted a couple other stories on Patreon:
Last Bid, a story of a worried slave in Tir na Cali
The Queen’s Councillor, a story also of Tir na Cali and a Queen worrying her people.

Check them all out here!

Not a member yet? For $1/month, you can read all patron-only stories.
For $5/month, you not only get access to the prompt calls, you will put my Patreon over the next Milestone Goal and open up a monthly serial!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/967026.html. You can comment here or there.

A Rescue in Kind posted on Patreon

Jul27

A Rescue in Kind

a story of captivity, continued: the ongoing story of Daxton and Esha, begun here:

Daxton was captive again, struggling not to take it in ill grace. This time, it seemed unlikely that Esha could rescue him…

Want to read this and many other stories? A Patronage of just $1/month will give you access to everything posted on Patreon.

Want input into the story prompts? A Patronage of $5/month lets you prompt in the monthly prompt calls. For $15/month you get your own personal story!

Check it out!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/962275.html. You can comment here or there.

A Rescue in Kind – Patreon Story

Jul27

This is written to Clare K. R. Miller ‘s request for More Daxton & Esha.  The Daxton/Esha story to date can be found at this tag and it begins with A Rescue, of Sorts.

~~

Daxton was captive again, struggling not to take it in ill grace. This time, it seemed unlikely that Esha could rescue him.

It was a captivity far more posh and sometimes far less comfortable than his time in the Red Queen’s dungeons. Nobody, as far as he knew, was dying because of him, which was very pleasant. He had his own bed to sleep in, baths as often as he wanted them — and then some — and very nice food, occasionally in excess of what he could either want or need.

It was beginning to seem, however, that he’d had more freedom when chained in the dungeon. For one, the Red Queen had often left him alone — sometimes for days on end. For another, although there had been a script to follow with the Queen, it had been an easy one, and involved very little actual lying. It had helped, too, that he hated the Red Queen.

Daxton didn’t hate his parents, and he certainly didn’t hate their staff or any of the other people complicit in this captivity. There were courtiers, hangers-on, and installations, people who might as well be furniture for all they could budge, that he felt less than entirely fond of. But even the worst of those, bumps on the log of his parents’ court, Daxton did not hate. In his life, he’d only truly hated the Red Queen and sometimes, on bad days, her guards. Continue reading →

Invisible People, a continuation of a thing.

Jul10

First: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/958781.html

“You are not what I bid on.”

The sub shop had delivered Steve as per their standard issue, hooded and bound. The gag was extra, but Steve understood why they’d added that part.

He looked up at the speaker — she’d said kneel and he’d knelt, not because he was feeling particularly obedient, but because he wanted the hood off — and tried to communicate his frustrated scorn by eyebrows alone.

She looked down at him with something that could have been irritation. “The Silver Quill has a very good reputation. They shouldn’t have mixed something like this up.”

Steve worked his mouth around the gag, trying to make his displeasure with being something like this as clear as possible. The sooner she worked through her little complaint-fest here, the sooner he could be out of these bindings and…

…he really didn’t know what came after that. He sat back against the bindings and waited. She’d come to her conclusion, or call the Quill, or something, eventually. All he could do was —

“Do you know what happened?”

Steve blinked. Him? She was looking at him, not at anyone else, not at a phone.

“You,” she agreed. “Did you overhear anything?”

He considered that. Those were two different answers. After a moment, he decided he could answer yes to both, and nodded.

“Okay, good. I’m going to take the gag out. It’s easier than playing twenty questions.”

Steve nodded again. What was he going to say? What could he say?

The gag coming out felt strange. The Quill had not really wanted to hear Steve, and so he’d been muzzled for most of the last week. He waited until she sat down in front of him, and then until she cued him to speak with a hand gesture.

“They wanted to get rid of me, as quickly as possible. Mistress.” He bowed his head carefully. It pulled at his bonds in several places. “And they said — that is, I overheard them saying you seemed like the sort that wouldn’t complain.”

Steve risked a glance at her. Her eyebrows were up and her lips were pursed. “Well, then. I suppose I ought to prove them wrong.”

Steven swallowed hard and thought harder. “Please don’t. Look. Please don’t send me back.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/959397.html. You can comment here or there.

Jumping Sharks, a dystopic story bit for Thimbleful Thursday

Jul9

The new TV shows were stretching further and further, going more and more extreme in their desire to get the viewer’s attention. First it had been the Extreme Games. Then it had been the Survivor Shows. Now… Now it was this.

Aisleigh left the television on as she tidied the house. She was an honest citizen in good standing, and so her home wasn’t monitored, of course. Still, it was easy to track viewing practices, so she left the TV going.

The bookshelves needed a good dusting. Not only did that make the place look sharper, Aisleigh often found things she’d mislaid, and, less often, bugs someone had intentionally hidden. If they thought she never moved The Lesser Uses for Goldenrod, well, then obviously they weren’t studying her all that hard.

“Today, here on The Biggest Challenge, we have a brand new obstacle! Stay tuned to see our contestants struggle to stay on their skis as the tow boat executes turn after turn. Will they make it? Just how skilled are they?”

The announcer’s voice dropped deeper and softer. “The station and the Enforcement would like to remind all of the viewers that theft, murder, and rape are crimes. All criminals will pay restitution to their victims and to the state. And we all know –” now his voice rose up into his dramatic near-shout “–what happens to those who cannot pay!”

The audience behind him shouted happily. “They dance the dance!”

It was, Aisleigh thought, one of the worst slogans: Those that can’t pay the fiddler must dance the dance. But it certainly kept the reality shows stocked with “actors.”

“Today,” the announcer declared, “triple-murderer Shaun Cortwright is going to face an even more exciting challenge. Today, he is going to have to jump a shark! Let’s see how long he can stay on the skis while the hungry beasts swim below him!”

Somewhere in a planning meeting somewhere, Aisleigh was certain, someone had uttered the phrase “jump the shark” to a director. And someone had said “that’s it!”

She turned off the television. Criminals couldn’t pay their restitution if they didn’t bring in the ad revenue. Certainly, people would watch. Bloodsports always garnered attention. But maybe, if enough people turned off the tv, someone would explain exactly what “jump the shark” was supposed to mean.

written to Today’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/959052.html. You can comment here or there.