For @dahob’s Prompt: Dungeon, Dragon, Demon, Dinosaur.

I could use prompts for D, G, H, and J, pls.

“I told you this was a dungeon crawl.” Drew ran her gloved hand along the left-hand wall. “There’s a demon – “

“That’s not a demon, that’s Damon.”

“Take a good look at him and tell me he doesn’t suit the role. Besides, he’s between us and the treasure.” Drew smirked triumphantly at D.D. “See? Dungeon crawl.” Joking about it almost covered the tremor in her voice.

“Okay. So allowing that there’s a Damon-demon, it’s still just a bunch of passages under a building.”

“With a dragon.”

“That’s got to be a dinosaur.”

“Neither of them make any sense.” That was what was getting to Drew. Nothing had made any sense since they’d snuck into the abandoned mental hospital.

“You’re the one that thinks this is a dungeon crawl.”

“That was supposed to be a joke!”

“But it’s looking more and more real. So, gamer girl. What’s the treasure?”

“An exit.”

“And how do we manage this?”

“Left-hand rule. I think.”

“All right. And weapons?”

“Well, there’s the grappling hook. And the crowbar.” She dug through her pack. “I don’t really want to take either one to Damon…”

“He’s not that cute.”

“He’s still a person. The dragon-dinosaur-thing, on the other hand…”

“I’m not so sure about Damon. Here, give me the hook.”

A howling sound in the distance caught both their attentions. “Forward.” Drew didn’t sound nearly as confident as she wanted to. “And remember, the Maglight is a weapon too, but only if we want to risk getting stuck in the dark.”

Somewhere behind them, a demon chuckled.

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To stryck‘s prompt and rix_scaedu‘s prompt.

I could use some prompts for D-J, please, except E and I, which are well-taken.

“That is… bizarre. Is that a Beetle?” Bennie stared at the.. it was probably a car. What else could it be?

The thing hurtling down the highway at hair-raising speeds was the general shape of a VW bug. And it was on a highway, and it was being, presumably, driven.

But the windows, if there were any, were not visible; what was visible instead were the iridescent wings of a beetle and, coming from the front, two long antennae. No wheels were visible, either; instead it looked as if the thing were simply running on spindly legs.

“It looks like a beetle to me.” Barb was peering out the bus window, too, her tone thoughtful. “They don’t come that big, do they? Even down here?”

“Of course not… well. As far as I know.” Bennie had learned not to scoff at Barb’s questions. It only led to misery. “As far as I’ve ever read.”

“Books.” Barb, on the other hand, scoffed at will. “So what do you think it is?”

“I…” He hated admitting it. “I don’t know. Hey, look, it’s stopping.” The highway had petered out into a stop-light-ridden intersection, and the bus had stopped alongside the possibly-a-beetle-Beetle. “Hunh, even stopped, I can’t see the windows.”

“Are you sure it’s a car? I mean, yes, driving along the road and all, but still…” Barb fell silent as the thing’s wings opened up, and the beetle-Beetle launched into the air.

“Hunh.” Bennie craned his head to follow the thing’s flight. “Well, it has a muffler.”

“Bizarre.”

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For itsamellama‘s prompt; after Time Travel Does Not Exist.

“So that’s where that went.” June flipped through her notebook. “Something’s still missing, though.” She glanced from her notebook to her machine, a closet-sized device that was covered all over in clockwork. Stepping inside was like getting into the middle of a time-piece, with the slightly threatening feeling that something was about to grind just the right way and crush one.

But it worked – it worked mostly, and with a tolerable amount of precision. Forwards and backwards, the machine worked very well enough. But it should be able to go sideways, as well.

She read her notes again. Still, she needed… hrrmm. “Well, then.” She stepped into the machine and began turning the crank. The mechanisms whirred to life, as June cranked with one hand and flipped toggle switches with the other.

An unbiased observer would see that, moments later, the machine vanished from June Heruon’s living room.

clicky

June stepped out of her machine into her living room, a sheaf of notes in her hands. She and Daniel had reached a critical realization, just as they were realizing, also, that they could not stay in love with each other with their daughter gone.

She stepped into her machine again, and popped back to the university. While Dr. Guddenkind had his back turned, talking to a young woman with brown hair and a red sweater, she swapped notebooks. With this piece of information, she and Daniel would be able to get sideways time travel right.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/522101.html. You can comment here or there.

For moonwolf‘s prompt, ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt, and stryck‘s Prompt. I feel like it needs some polishing to get the point across better.

In a few generations, they ended up calling it the Queen’s Quilt, when they remembered what it was, what it had, once upon a time, been, and who had created it.

A few generations after that, they remembered nothing but that the stars had been gods once, and not how the latter had become the former, or why, or by whose hand.

And a few more generations past that, they remembered only the names, and thought their ancestors had been fanciful. Qat, who created the world. Quaoar, the force behind Qat. Orion, the hunter. Ursa, the mother bear. How shiny and creative were our ancestors, how credulous, to believe such absurd things.

A few generations beyond that, they learned what had really happened. But that is beyond the scope of our story.

The Queen had a problem.

The world was not young, not by any means, although history would pretend that this was a Dark time, a muddy and deadly time. Certainly, humanity had already risen and fallen more times than anyone was allowed to recount, than anyone could recount, if they spent their entire life counting.

And while Europe, or much of it, sat in muddy unhappiness, on a few special places, people had risen to amazing prominence, to brilliance and strength and magic unknown elsewhere in the sloppy world.

Risen enough, indeed, that when they visited other places they were hailed as gods.

And they were bored.

They were creating islands now, and a small mesa in what would at some point be named North America. And they were creating animals, and people, because they were bored, and then hunting them. They had conquered sickness (Again, although they did not know they were not the first). They had conquered old age (again). Boredom, however, they had not yet beaten.

And they were creating, on top of everything else, wars. And that was where the Queen had a problem. The others who had become enlightened would tolerate making islands. They would tolerate playing at Gods. But they would not, in the end, tolerate bringing down the muddy people, the ones who didn’t have the high hand this time around.

It was considered cheating, in the long, long game of enlightenment.

So the Queen pulled together all her best minds, and all her troublemakers. She drew the lines on the ceiling of her observatory, and she pointed. “There, you, Qat. Take one hundred men, and this ship I have built for you. Light up the sky for me, Qat.” And he went, out to the sky. “There, Quaoar, out there. Take one hundred men, and find me something brilliant.” And it went, out into the sky. “There, Orion. Go and find me something new to hunt.” And he went, out into the sky.

They called it her quilt, for the lines of stitching drawn on her observatory: not just those three, but all who were difficult. The lines where they left, and then, the lines where they landed, like patches in the sky.

What happened to Orion, they did not know, save that the sky exploded with his sign, and he never came back. Quaoar went further and further, and never came back, save to send a message that he had found the brilliance.

Nothing at all was heard of Qat, not for generations and generations, not until the Queen had been forgotten entirely.

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To ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt, as well as moonwolf‘s prompt, with help from several others.

Ordination into the Open Order was not as easy a thing as it would seem from the name.

The Open Order, after all, was not Open to all comers. It was not an catch-all, a dumping ground, a wastebin, no matter how much some of the other Ordinal Orders might think it so.

Certainly, all who found their way there were welcome to sit and pray in the Open Order’s clerestory prayer racks. Many did, although the wide open (of course) windows meant that few stayed for long, despite available food and water, warmth and shelter.

That was the first test of Ordination: to, unknowing that it was a test, pray or at least sit quietly in a prayer rack for a double handful of days, sleeping in the tiny warm pod for ten nights.

The zeroth test of Ordination was, of course, to find oneself in the Open Order’s cathedral to begin with. Where it stood – between possibilities, next to probability, open to everything – that was less easy than it would seem. And less hard, as well, since, as mentioned, the other Ordinal Orders saw it as a waste-basket for those who did not fit in their directions.

Old Tyler had slipped between notice and mention and found himself hobbling up the stairs. For ten days and ten more, he sang to the open winds.

Onyx-Black had slipped there between school transfers. She had huddled in the back of the prayer rack until the wind called to her and then, for eleven days, she had sat with her feet dangling, telling stories to the wind.

J-alpha-7 had lasted five days before she went exploring, got lost, and finally ended up back in the BAELZ.

Others came, and lasted or didn’t, asking for release or diving out the windows, seeking for a new world. The Ordained of the Open watched, and waited, for those who would move on to the second test.

Ordination into the Open Orders had Nine tests, although some whispered that there was, in truth, no end to the tests, simply another step along the way to true Openness.

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