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January 2018 Stranded World on Patreon

Hello my friends!  It has been an immensely weird month, but I did post a lot on Patreon.

Below is everything Stranded World I posted in January – some stories, some meta, a little more meta, and some links.  Winter featured heavily this month.  I find that interesting.

Free Posts

Mending Strands
The room felt wrong.  His sisters, Winter thought, might have said that it was creepy or oogy or sick, although sometimes sick was a good thing.

This Guy and Autumn could compare notes…
 5 Tips for Planning (and Surviving) a Mega Road Trip

Talk about a quest. Two years ago, Mikah Meyer set out to become the youngest person to visit all 417 U.S. National Park Service sites. Since then, the 31-year-old…

Metaphor for Stranded World?
There are not really enough pictures out there of strings of light or strings connecting people, so when I’m looking for pictures for Stranded World, I come up with some pretty interesting things.
All right, let’s talk about Summer’s clothes….
Winter’s Clothes
First, two notes:

One:  I think that Winter engages in a combination of actually knowing how to tailor his own clothing and using strand-working to make everything lie Just So, because I do not picture any of the RoundTree siblings particularly rich (Summer might be, eventually, but who knows?) but damn, the man dresses like a million bucks.

Autumn at the Ren Faire
I was playing around a little with Pinterest and Image Search today. 

Here’s some pictures that are pretty close to Autumn’s garb at the Ren Fest, although her costumes are almost always in red, orange, gold, and brown. 

The Stranded World
If you’re new to my settings, you may be wondering what this Stranded World is all about.

So here are a couple worldbuilding reposts talking about the magic of the Stranded world!

Small Town, USA
Autumn spends a lot of time in really small towns.  I mean, some of that is just that’s what she seems to like, but you’d think she’d spend more time in big cities that have big craft festivals, wouldn’t you?  I mean, she’s trying to make enough of a living to pay for the occasional inn or motel or Bed N’ Breakfast room, and those aren’t cheap.

I like small towns.

A long, long time ago
I can still remember how
Maggie’s Ell Jay made me think
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make words sing and dance
And maybe make them think, too, for a while
.♪♫♪

Ahem. 

A long time ago, M.C.A. Hogarth posted something in her LJ about tropes she’d like to see.  One of them – which I have tried more than once to write – was about the young male (it might have been a mage?) recruiting the older female (fighter?)

Everyone gets their inspiration from somewhere; every setting has its seeds in something.Stranded – well, Autumn – came out of the book Blue Highways.

According to Wikipedia, this book came out in 1982.  I don’t think I read it that early at all – I would’ve been six – but someone recommended it to my father, and I read it.  I was probably in my early teens.

Locked Posts

For a portion of every year, Autumn lives out of her van, travelling from Craft Fest to Ren Faire to City Historical Days, selling her art and sometimes solving mysteries.

The first time Byron RoundTree saw the strands, he thought he was tripping.To be fair to By, he had been partaking in some interesting substances for the last forty-eight hours in a mostly-peaceful tribal gathering of people deep in a national park.

Curtains
🎭
Winter wasn’t surprised when he came in to find the new temp crying.

Their job wasn’t the sort of place that lent itself easily to short-term or temporary help, and yet their supervisor, intent on getting caught up on her filing, kept trying.

 

Continue reading

Mending Strands

So this is… sort of a continuation of Breaking Strands? But Breaking Strands is a fanfiction and this is… not. 

Anyway, it’s Winter Being Badass, as requested.  

❄️

The room felt wrong.  His sisters, Winter thought, might have said that it was creepy or oogy or sick, although sometimes sick was a good thing.

(Having three younger sisters go through teenage-hood a couple years apart had been approximately a decade of confusion and headaches for Winter.  He wondered how actual fathers did it. )

What it felt like to him was cold, and not in his namesake way, and broken.

“I think,” his contact – no, friend.  Normal people, his sister Summer kept telling him, had friends.  And someone he played chess with every week and sometimes saw a movie with was, if not a potential SO or lover – and this one was not – a friend.  His friend in the FBI cleared his throat.  “I think that what’s going on in these situations is that someone has cut their Stands.  That’s the correct word, yes?  I read  Ernesta Roundtree – she’s your mother, correct? – I read her paper on the Strands last year.  They told me I needed beach reading,” he added with a wry smile. Continue reading

♪Glee – Auditions♫

First: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2017/11/28/glee/

Previous: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2017/12/14/glee-2/

♫♪♫

The first meeting of Glee club had at least three times the number of people Zdenka thought they’d invited, but from the looks of things, more than half of them were just there to see what this was all about.

There were a whole five people from their year, and then another five from the year before them – “tenth cohort” – including the very distracting Aleron and, miracle of miracles, Yona. Continue reading

The Threat

A story for my Apocalypse Bingo card. 

👹

The monsters were getting closer.

The survivors had created three ragged perimeters around what had been, at one point, Main Street.  They had hung the outside with cold iron.  They’d put mines on the middle perimeter.  And on the inside they’d put up the biggest wooden spikes they could manage. Continue reading

Beauty-Beast 29: Bad Change

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🔒

“He has something down in the basement of the building.”  Sal’s voice sounded tight when Ctirad came to himself.  “Here, kid— Ctirad — drink some more water.  It’s not a creature, it’s some sort of really Bad Change, from what I can tell.”

“Bad Change?”  The water cut the acid taste in his mouth but not the feeling in his stomach.

“It’s, uh.  Sometimes the things that happen to us go too far from human, that’s the best way I can explain it.  Like, we’re on fire constantly, or we give off poison gas, or our legs fuse together into a column of, like, stone-skin.  That looks like one of the really bad cases. What Ermenrich said,” he added to Timaios, “was that it was a side effect of ‘their’ power, and what it looked like was that something in the power made them fuse with – well, whatever was near, is my guess.”

“Ermenrich told me not to get too close,” Ctirad remembered. “He didn’t have to, though.  It was – it was hard being in the same room as that thing.”  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Like it was wrong, somehow.  I’m not sure.”  He was still feeling twitchy over the whole thing.  “I’m not sure if I’m missing something…”

“No, it was wrong.”  Sal sounded as sick as Ctirad felt.  “It was an abomination.  And it probably still is, because I can’t see Ermenrich get rid of something like that.  It’s probably useful.  I understand why he told you to forget it, though – and I’m not surprised your mind didn’t want to bring it back.”

“Bad Change.”  He was listening to Sal, he was, but the words had lodged in his mind.  “That’s, like.  How do we know which one of them was the one with the Change?  Imagine if you were just standing next to someone when they Changed and – urgh.”  He shuddered.

“You’ve never heard the term- no, of course you wouldn’t have.”  Timaios made a sound like a sigh.  “Whatever – no, that’s a conversation for private.  Let’s try again.  Ermenrich has something in the basement of the McCurdy Building – someone.  And he wants to own the building so that he owns that someone, because they are now part of the building.  Am I following so far?”

“That sounds right.”  Ctirad pieced through the words slowly.  “I don’t know what the thing’s power is, but I know that it – they? – it collects things that get too near it.  I don’t know how it eats, either,” he added, swallowing bile.  “It’s – someone should kill it, put it out of its misery.”

“I’m not generally in the business of mercy killings,” Timaios mused quietly, “but I’m willing to take your word on this one.  The question is, where did this demolition come in?  Was he unable to buy the property?”

“If he — if he demolishes it, he’s going to.-”  Ctirad gulped.  “I don’t think that’s good.”

“Sal, get someone on that.  Looking into the deal, seeing who owns the building, the demolition company, who we can bribe and who we can buy and who already owes us favors.   If the protesters are —”

“Got it, sir, you want the full work-up.” Sal smirked.  “All right.  You’re gonna give Ctirad a stiff drink or two and some fresh air, yeah?”

“You see how it is?” Timaios’ despair was clearly mock and played for humor and still a little weird for Ctirad.  “I’m bullied by my own staff!”

Ctirad took a gamble.  “If Sir does not wish to be bullied by Sir’s staff, perhaps Sir ought to invest in a nice sturdy paddle and engage in a bit of creative discipline.  Sir.”

“Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?”  Sal made a mock-indignant face.  “Besides, you don’t know.  We might all like it.”

“Even if Sir’s staff enjoyed it,” Ctirad continued, as if he hadn’t heard Sal, “they might find it difficult to bully Sir while being paddled.”

“And should I start by paddling you, mm?”  Timaios’ voice was warm.  

Ctirad froze.  For a split-second, he thought he’d gone further than he could up with.

“Sir is of course welcome to paddle this one, if Sir wishes.”  He’d never spoken like this, not even to Ermenrich.  It made it easier to keep doing.  “But this one would never bully an Owner.”

“Give it time, kid, give it time.” Sal chuckled.  “You’ll bully him right along with the rest of us.”

“I…”  He coughed uncertainly.  “That is, this one thinks that is unlikely, given this one’s habits and predilections.”  And then he smiled widely.  “Damn, I didn’t even know I knew that word.  ‘Predilections.’  Seriously?  That’s a bit highbrow for a grunt like me.”

“And yet it rolled beautifully off of your tongue.”  Timaios stroked Ctirad’s hair.  “So you think I should paddle my employees, mmm?”

“Only if you don’t want them to bully you, sir.  But I think you’re in the habit of, ah.  Of letting your employees and staff push back, so that you know you’re not bullying them.  So I guess you’re going to have to accept a certain amount of being pushed back at, in that case?”

He glanced at Timaios, wondering if he’d gone too far.  Sal was laughing, though.  And more importantly, Timaios was smiling.

“You’re a very observant man, Ctirad.  I like that.  And I think I’ve pushed you enough for one night.  Sal, thank you.  You have your duties – and they can wait until the morning, you should get some sleep, too.  Come on, if you’d like, Ctirad.  I think we should go to bed.”

“Yes, sir.”  Even with if you’d like, he wasn’t going to say no to that.  Ctirad waiting for Timaios to stand and then stood himself, stretching surreptitiously.  

🔒

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Bodyguard

First: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2017/12/03/negotiation/

Previous: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/01/18/purchased/

💰

“I want my daughter safe.  I want her safe no matter what.”

Leander was not the sort of guy to shiver, but something about his employer’s – Owner’s – words made him want to.  He studied the man’s face.  “You’re serious.”

“Deathly serious.  You are not my life insurance, because I’m not that vain, and because I’m old enough to look after myself.  But you’re my insurance for her.  Understand?”

“Yes, sir.  Crystal clear.  Keep your daughter alive despite herself.  Even when the shit hits the fan.”

“You don’t seem bothered.” Continue reading

After a Warm Meal

“MDom Not Asshole” continues

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
Previous: Into the Woods, Into the House

🌳🏚️🌳

When she had filled her belly with soup and her mind had calmed down a little, Mélanie looked up at her new owner.  “So. Sir.”

“Jasper.  or Fox.  Or Crazy.”

“So, Jasper.  What is it that you want me to do for you?  Since you wasted valuable stolen goods on m-”

“Not wasted.”  He steepled his fingers and looked at her  “Spent, yes. I spent maybe a quarter of what you are worth, half because I cheated the slave-monger as a matter of course and half because he had no idea what you’re worth-” Continue reading

Last Night’s Writing

Last night, I was feeling like I was running on one cylinder and running out of gas, but I play this writing game, 4theWords, and I really wanted to move up one step on the leaderboards for battles.

Which meant 4 130-word (or so) battles.

So I asked for suggestions on Mastodon, and this is what  came of it. 

Well, technically, two of these weren’t even from suggestions…

But anyway!  Words!

📝

Filling the Boots

He woke and shook out the cards. Continue reading

Exploit

Okay, content warning, I creeped myself out. 

🤖

“Kelly, he’s a person, he’s not a robot, you can’t just – Kelly, what are you doing?”

“So there’s this line of – okay, they’re not robots, but they’re programmed, aren’t they?  They’re the Zero-One-Seven line out of Detroit, and they’re, ah,  They’re beautiful, for one.”  Kelly gestured at the man in question, a handsome, tall, twenty-something dressed in a simple tunic and pants that looked too sterile and antiseptic for the city street.  He smiled back, a wooden expression that did not reach his eyes.  “And they have an exploit in them.”

“Kelly,” Susan repeated, “he’s a person.  People don’t have – they don’t have – really?”

“Really.  And the thing is, he wasn’t purchased – there’s this loophole, you can’t actually buy a person, even someone from on of the programmed lines.”

“Good!  Good, Kelly, that’s awful.”

“But indentures are still legal.”  Kelly stroked the back of the man’s neck affectionately.  He did not move, except his eyes, which half-closed.  “And what’s more, there’s this clause in the programming that is suppose to ensure obedience.  But what it ends up doing—”

“I’m going to be sick,” Susan muttered.

“Oh come on.  They sell these Programmables, they’re supposed to be — well, programmed.  It’s what they’re sold for.  They volunteer.  Anyway.  There’s this thing where they’re supposed to imprint on the person to wake them up, who is supposed to be their indenture-holder.”

“:That’s pretty horrible.”

“They’re programmables, Susan,” Kelly repeated.  “It’s not like they have feelings until they’re programmed in.  Anyway. That means that whoever wakes them up essentially holds their indenture. They can’t be re-imprinted without a full factory reset.

“You stole a programmable human?  A person.  Kelly.  How did you?”

“I hacked a Programmable, using a really obvious exploit in their system.  And those training screens they use?  They have no security at all.  I hacked him, Susan.  And now he’s mine.”

She stroked his hair again, paying no attention to the way his jaw twitched at her touch.

🤖

Written to yesterday’s Thimbleful Thursday’s prompt: Zero Hour.


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