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The Hidden Mall: Circles 🔘

First: The Hidden Mall – a beginning of something
Previous: Normal

The Hidden Mall has a landing page here: http://www.lynthornealder.com/verses/the-hidden-mall/

🔘

“One minute.  Just one minute, and then we can run.”  She was being ridiculous, and she knew it.  No, she was being suicidal.  But she had to know.

She pulled the bag from the skeletal hand and passed it to her Liv, who took it as it it was on fire, holding it with two fingers by the end of a strap.  Then she pushed aside a bunch of the vines in one rough shove.

The vines wanted to crawl back in, pulling back around the body, pulling back around Abby, but she grabbed what she was looking for – the chain of the necklace around the corpse’s neck – and pulled hard. Continue reading

Purchased

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

Previous: http://www.lynthornealder.com/2018/01/07/purchase-agreement/

There was paperwork, or at least the sort that involved moving small pieces of green paper between people.  It wasn’t like this place wanted a trail.  

And then there was the woman who had trapped him originally passing his ownership over, and then there was the matter of removing the shackles, the leather belt, the ankle restraints, and the thick steel collar.  The woman paused for a moment, raised her eyebrows. Continue reading

X-Factor

“We’ve studied one million samples.”  Professor Georges was very solemn.  It didn’t keep Professor Osborne from scoffing at him.

“There aren’t a million people in this part of the world anymore.”

“We have been studying for a long time.  At approximately fifty thousand people a year for the first one hundred fifty years, and then a much reduced rate.  The last five years, we took samples from merely a thousand people.”

“So your rate of testing decreased over time.”

“The population decreased over time, and the methods became, by necessity, more circumspect: we could no longer use blood tests overtly.  Also, our own population was badly hit by the Disaster.”

“Yes, of course it was.  What did you determine?” Continue reading

Small Town, USA – a blog post on Stranded

Originally posted on Patreon.

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.

I grew up between three small towns, out in the middle of farmland (literally: My parents built their house on land my grandfather and his father before him had farmed, on a road my grandfather literally built as a high school summer job).  I grew up with a small-town library where the librarian knew me and I knew her, in the sort of place where a party really is a bonfire in someone’s backyard because, really, where else are you going to  go?  My parents grew up in small towns.  Pretty sure at least two of my grandparents did, too.  We’re small town people, rural people.

I have to admit, some stereotypes of small-town living (Everyone knows everyone, for instance) I never really understood.  I mean, I knew my neighbors, but in farmland, that isn’t all that many people.  And small towns these days often have housing tracts tacked onto the sides of them, apartment complexes, trailer parks.  So they’re not that image of small-town living that seems to permeate the media (And, to look at another setting for a moment, Regine’s vision of a small town with The Village outside of Addergoole)  The houses go back layer after layer from Main Street.  You go over the canal (in many cases) or the railroad tracks and you’re almost in another neighborhood.  But you’ll still run into people you know at the grocery store, at the Fireman’s Carnival (I haven’t written a story about anyone at a carnival yet, have I?), at the Canal Days Craft Festival (Where Autumn really ought to have a booth…)
Continue reading

Into the Woods, Into the House

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
Previous: Crazy Like a Fox

The return of “Mdom not asshole”.  I cannot find that I posted this first part, but if I have, I apologize. 

🌳🌳🌳

The gate was still terrifying. Mélanie felt far too relieved by Jesper’s hand on her leg and the warmth of him pressed against her side. She needed it; she was fighting against panic with every step the horses took.

The horses didn’t seem to mind at all. She found that reassuring. They walked through the creepy, terrifying gate, waited placidly while Jasper closed the gate behind them and locked it, and headed cheerfully towards what seemed to all appearances to be a half-collapsed stone stable and carriage house. Continue reading

Beauty-Beast 28: Power

FirstPreviousLanding PageNext

This chapter comes with an additional content warning:
While I’m dancing around it quite a bit in this chapter, there is body horror in what Ctirad and his former Owner find in the basement.

🔒

Ctirad leaned against Timaios again and focused on his breathing.  “Can I…”  What was he doing.  “…Sorry, nothing, sir.”

“You may ask for anything you want without punishment, Ctirad, especially while you are here, alone in my room, and someone is doing something as intimate as searching your memories.”

“It’s all right, sir. It’s nothing.” Continue reading

A New World: History is in the Eye of the Beholder

First: A New World
Previous: Made In the Ikitem Peninsula

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A map.  She wondered if there were maps anywhere in this place.

The next couple floors proved not so helpful – informative, but not for what she wanted at the moment.  There was a diagram of what a typical house would look like in the time of  Kaelingrade Torrent-Step, which was remarkably accurate but made her wonder what people lived like in this day and age.  They even had a couple different rooms mocked up.  She was pretty sure the bedroom had come from Joaon’s home, the place he had lived before she had taken him in.

There was an explanation of potion-making that relied a little too heavily on the mundane properties of some of the reagents but explained, in detail she would need to go back and read, how certain inventions of the modern world had build off of the foundation of potion-masters like herself.

It was strange to walk up floor after floor of what she had built as, essentially, a barrier against the world and see her whole world laid out in details.  What people ate.  What people wore.  What people did. Even what people defecated in – which was an interesting one, and she was going to have to discover that sooner or later.  

This tower, she realized, had been set up as a monument not just to her, but to her whole world.  It was an explanation of what had come before.

“That can’t be right.”

A voice on the stairs sent her moving for a hidden passage that appeared covered by a display on pottery.  She moved as quickly as she could, finding the display pivoted the way the cabinet she had once had her did.  

“It’s a museum, Halsey, I don’t think they’re just going to lie to you.”

“Not lie, no, but they might get something wrong.  I mean look at this.  That has to be some sort of error.  Think about what they said in history class.”

The two voices sounded pubescent, one male, one female.  Halsey was the female voice, the one who thought the displays were wrong.

Kael should get up to her potions room, but she stayed a moment to see what was “wrong” about the displays.”

“You know what Mr. Catalon thinks about the natives.”

“He’s a history teacher, Corin.  He can’t go around lying about history!” What if I was wrong?

“I don’t see why not.  History is in the eye of the beholder, right?”  The translation spell was still working, because Kael heard a whispered take the bait.  Corin, it seemed, was trying to prove a point?

“That’s beauty.  History, what is it… oh, yeah, written by the winner.”

“That’s right!  And we won the invasion!  Right?” Come on, come on, don’t make me use the big stick…

“It wasn’t an invasion…” Halsey sounded uncertain now, a why wouldn’t it be?  They were savages, right, but… lingering behind her words.

“We came in, we took their land, we set up our own government.  So uh.  We probably wrote history to suit us.”  Now even Corin sounded unsure.  “They didn’t have anything interesting, so they needed us, that sort of thing. You know.”  

Kael knew all too well.  Her own people had done that twice in her lifetime – in her first lifetime.  The second time had been the reason she had retreated to a tower in the wasteland .

“Yeah.”  Halsey’s tone was thoughtful now.  “Do you think… do you think it’s really all lies?  What else do you think is lies?  I mean.  If they lied about this, then they don’t really have to tell us the truth about anything, do they?”

“That’s, uh, that’s a little extreme, Halls.  I mean.  Yeah, they probably lied about the Red War, too.  I mean, wouldn’t you?  But that doesn’t mean, like, they’re making up presidents or anything.” What have I done?

These two, if they made it as far as her potions room, were definitely going to be interesting.  

“Okay, so.  Let’s look at this again.  They’re not making up presidents here, they’re just saying how these people lived.  So why’s it wrong?”

“You sound like Mrs. Hosmer,” Halsey complained.  “Okay, so they didn’t have the sort of technology to build stone buildings.  They lived in mud huts and they weren’t using steel or even iron tools yet.  No mining, we’ve never found any mines.”

What?  Kael should get upstairs.  But she stayed to listen, wondering what other lies these children had been taught.

“So we haven’t found any mines.  What about metal tools?”

“I… haven’t heard of any?  There weren’t any found in the Kasfour dig, I know that.  Some stone tools and some really nice glasswork.  They were really good with glass.”

Kasfour?  She needed a map.  Why hadn’t she asked the nice young man down in the gift shop for a map?

“Okay, so that’s a start.  We don’t know if they had metal tools.  But isn’t this tower supposed to be pre-colonies?  And it’s definitely stonework.”

“By magic.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

“So?  What’s wrong with doing things by magic?  The warships and colony vessels we sent over were magic, too, weren’t they?  And we had the mages.  They just had potions-masters.  I mean… How do you build a tower by potions.?”

Very, very carefully.  Kael had far too much to do.  She was going to need to find a way to leave the tower without risking getting “fired.”


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Under Water

This comes from a conversation I had with Inspector Caracal & Lilfluff on Mastodon. 

Content warning: Attempted murder.  

🏊🏼

The school pool was empty, which meant, technically, Aelia should not have been in it.

She needed to swim off some stress, though, and she needed to make sure she was in decent shape when the match came.  They’d lost against Rotterville-Hampton the last three times, and that was just not happening again. Continue reading

Young at Heart

Written to the Thimbleful Thursday Prompt from yesterday, of the same name. 

🖍️

“It’s a cloned heart, freshly made in our lab.”

Dr. Hischa was very proud of the heart in a box. It was displayed like the crown jewels, held up for the cameras and, more importantly, for the patient. “This heart isn’t the heart of a donor. Nobody had to die for it.  It’s your heart — but your heart as it was when you were a teenager.”

The patient, a woman in her eighties, coughed out a laugh. “Hopefully early teens.”

“Had wild teenage years, did you?”  Dr.Hischa remained jocular, but a very observant viewer might have noticed a slight twitch.

“That’s a good word for it. Wild.” The patient chuckled.  

“Well, now you can be young at heart, ah-ha-ha, again.  Won’t that be wonderful?  Now, let’s just…”

Prepping included reams of paperwork; recovery included weeks of testing and physical therapy.  When the cameras once again turned on Ms. Palorin, she was lounging sideways on a chaise, her children and grandchildren eyeing her uncertainty.

“So, Ms. Palorin-”

“Oh, call me Milly.”

“So, Milly.”  Dr. Hischa’s smile was strained around the edges.  “How are you feeling?”

“I have to say, I haven’t felt this good since I was a teenager the first  time.  I feel great.  This is the bee’s knees.  I can run up stairs.  Want to see me do a cartwheel?”

“Mom!”  Her eldest daughter, sporting pinched face and frown lines, threw up her hands.  “Mother, you can’t!  Act your age—”

“-not your shoe size, nyah, nyah.  I know, Catherine.  But right now I feel like acting six.  Or maybe sixteen.  This new heart is wonderful, Dr. Hischa!”

“It’s wonderful that you’re feeling capable of being more active again, Ms. Palorin.  Now, of course, the rest of your body will still require some care.  I do recall from your chart that your broke your hip two years ago, so cartwheels might be a little over the top…”

“Pshaw!  Besides, I said call me Milly.  ‘Ms. Palorin’ sounds so old, and Mr. Palorin has been gone for thirty years—”

“MOTHER!”

“Oh, Cathy, it’s not like it’s not true.  Anyway.  I’m having a blast with this new heart.  I think I’ll go out and see what the kids are doing these days.  What do you say, Susie?”

Her granddaughter, of about the age to be called “kids these days” grinned widely. “Of course!  I can show you the new dances, too.  It’ll be wild!”

“Ms. Palorin, your hip—”

“What? It’s not like you can’t just clone me a new one. And then,” Milly laughed, “I can be young at hips again, too, and think how much fun that will be!”

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