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Character Development Meme (morning Warmup), Question 1

Nov15

As discussed here and on LJ, I’m going to do this meme for a few characters (I’m rotating seasonal sibs to not totally overwhelm myself).

Feel free to suggest another character, and I’ll work through them in rotation.

Question 2 here and on LJ.

(1) Describe your character’s relationship with their mother or their father, or both. Was it good? Bad? Were they spoiled rotten, ignored? Do they still get along now, or no?

Spring: Spring never knew her father; he died when she was still in the womb. Her relationship with her mother is at times very wild – Mrs. RoundTree has distinct ideas about where her children’s lives should be going, and, as a tangler, especially, Spring is very good at countering that. She was a wild kid, who turned to her brother as a father figure, and in a pinch, she’s much more likely to go to Winter or Autumn than to Mom for help.

Conrad: He doesn’t know who his father is, although a year and a half at Addergoole has led him to assume it’s someone in Regine’s breeding program. His mother, Maria, did her best to raise him well, with the help of her older brother and her father. He has a distant-but-okay relationship with his mother, with some small amount of resentment that he keeps very very deeply buried for sending him to Addergoole; he gets along well with his grandfather, and his uncle taught him most of the “manly” skills that come in handy so rarely at Addergoole.

Rin: She’s the seventh daughter in a family of nine, not spoiled but not ignored either. Her mother is more or less professional royalty; she’s never left Lannamer and rarely leaves the palace complex. Her father is a bureaucrat and a businessman who manages portions of the royal finances and helps to keep the roads going and the weapons heading out. Neither are particularly strong in the faith/magic of that world, and neither are of a particularly military or scholarly bent. They approved of Rin’s time in university, but are a little lost by her decision to go military. She, in turn, thinks fondly of them, but with not a great deal of respect.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/175803.html. You can comment here or there.

Thicker Than… A story of Stranded World, for the Giraffe Call

Nov13

For rix_scaedu‘s prompt, combined with ankewehner‘s prompt

This is in the Stranded World Setting, which has a landing page here (and on LJ).

Mellie’s roommate was fighting with her mother again. They could hear it from the other side of the room, easily, so the three of them had headed into the hallway.

“I’d say it gets worse around the holidays,” Mellie murmured, “but it’s hard to tell. I’d need a decibel meter to get an accurate read.”

“That’s…. pretty awful,” Bishop frowned. “How long has it been going on?”

“As far as I can tell, since the first week of school. I’m not sure what’s going on, exactly, but it seems like her mom has a new complaint every week.”

“Damn.” Bishop shook his head. “My roommate fights with his folks, too, but it’s not that bad.”

Summer pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I have an idea.”

“You always have ideas.”

“Callie’s a nice girl. And Jacob has been really patient with us all year long. I know we’re going to Melinda’s family’s house for Christmas – but the rest of the vacation. Let’s make a holiday here for them. Jacob and Callie, my roommate doesn’t really like me, but I know Basil’s having a hard time, and the Californian twins.”

“What about their families?” Melinda offered cautiously. “Won’t they be mad they’re not coming home? Family’s important.”

“Blood’s thicker than water, etc,” Bishop murmured.

“Well, they can be mad all they want. What it comes down to is that we like these people, we’re nice to them, and they like us, or at least they’re nice to us. Let’s give them a family dinner the way we know it ought to be.”

Bishop nodded, slowly, Melinda echoed it. “We can do that.”

“Yeah. The dorm kitchens should be pretty empty. We can make this work.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/173138.html. You can comment here or there.

The RoundTree Siblings Prepare for Thanksgiving – Stranded World – Donor Perk

Nov10

This takes place at least a year after the nano-book, and a bit after most of the other stories of this family. Each of the dates, except Gregor, have appeared before.

Winter:
“If it’s too much, I’ll understand.” Encountering his family for the first time was certainly something to be ready for, entirely aside from the cultural connotations of “bringing a girl home to meet his mother.” “But I would love to have your company, and my mother would love to meet Mila and Henry.” He gave Marina his best charming smile. “For all of our oddities, we’re a family of very good cooks.”

“As long as you’re certain it’s no imposition, and as long as I can bring something,” Marina decided, helped, he was sure, by the way her children were bouncing up and down and making puppy eyes at her.

“I’ll be sure to find out what we’re lacking this time. Thank you, Marina. I’m so glad you said yes.”

Summer:
“So,” Bishop said, moving chess pieces around on the back of his notebook. “We’re doing Christmas with Mellie’s family. Spring Break, we’ll spend a couple days with my family. And that leaves Thanksgiving for Summer’s family, right?”

“It’s the only holiday my family really gets together for anyway,” she nodded. “So it’s the best bet for meeting the most of them, and the most fun dates. It’s almost a contest,” she grinned. “Winter usually defaults, and Spring usually wins.”

“Are we your ace in the hole?” Bishop looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be happy about that, or mildly offended. Summer was hoping on happy; it would make everything else easier.

“Yep.” She kissed them both on the cheeks. “My beautiful aces.”

Spring:
“Do both of us a favor, okay, and don’t try to map my family.” She loosened her lover’s tie and deftly traded out his expensive-and-showy cufflinks for another pair, less showy but equally nice. Winter would notice, and her mother would appreciate them.

“It’ll upset them?” He tightened his tie again. He was overdressed for Thanksgiving, so she’d gone a little further out there to complement him.

“It will give you a headache, and amuse them at your expense.”

“Don’t tell me your entire family are tanglers?” He pulled out one of her mis-matched earrings and replaced it with the matching hoop.

“No, no, but they all work with the strands in one way or another, and getting us all together can be… messy.”

“Messy.”

“Yup.”

Autumn:
She stared at the letter for a few minutes longer than required. She’d been fairly certain her Tattercoat lover would say no, but that hadn’t stopped her from asking. Either he’d give in eventually, or get tired of her asking and leave her. Inasmuch as they were together enough for him to leave.

She picked up her phone, then, and dialed. Not Tattercoats. She knew better.

“What is it, my lovely Autumn flower? No, don’t tell me, I can read the calendar. Has that knave you call a lover let you down once again?”

“Gregor….” she protested weakly.

“You know I’m right, lovely girl. And no, I don’t have any other plans for the holiday.”

“Thank you,” she sighed.

“You know I’m always there for you, beautiful.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/169737.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Tuesday, Nano Warning!

Nov1

Today starts Nanowrimo and, as you may have guessed, I’m making a stab at it this year.

That means all other writing will slow down for the next 45 days.

Also, I may be asking for brainstorming help. If you’d like me to filter that one to a “nano-only” filter, I can do so, just speak up.

And speaking of that, I’m looking for 2-4 readers as I go along.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/165102.html. You can comment here or there.

At the Movie – Stranded Verse – for the Giraffe Call

Oct17

For Skjam‘s prompt.

Stranded World and Autumn, though I don’t know just when. Stranded has a landing page – here (or on LJ)

Commenters: 6

The little town had one of those old-style movie theaters with one viewing room, the sort that showed whatever blockbuster they could get 3 months late and stayed alive mainly because the nearest real theatre was over an hour away.

Autumn could accept that; a lot of small towns had business that stayed open that way. The weird part was – well, the weird part began with the movie on the marquis, which was an unpopular horror movie from three summers back. That everyone in the town – and that was the second weird part – seemed to be going to see, at the 3 o’clock showing. The whole town.

Autumn waited until the 5 p.m. showing, paid the bored ticket-taker, and settled in to her seat. She was the only one in the theatre, as the creepy, badly-edited film worked its way around to the first murder, and the second… and then she wasn’t. A presence settled down into a seat next to her, and the film began to change.

A girl in the theatre. A teenager, alone, hanging out in the movies because there was air conditioning there, and it was 90 degrees out and rising.

A wanderer coming through. No-one hears her scream. No-one notices that she doesn’t leave at the end of the awful movie. No-one notices she’s missing for days, and by then…

Autumn reached for the apparition’s hand. “This isn’t the way,” she told the girl. “Where…?”

Behind the theatre was an old hardware store, with a basement no one went into anymore. In the back of the basement, in a barrel full of rusting nails…

“I’ll tell them,” she murmured. “I’ll make sure they notice.”

Slowly, the movie flickered, broke, and went black. Slowly, the apparition faded away. Autumn patted where the girl’s shoulder had been, and headed out to make an anonymous phone call.

Had the town noticed, she wondered? Had they known what they were doing? Or had the girl been calling out for help, drawing them all in, without anyone knowing what was going on?

While she dialed from the town’s old-style phone booth, Autumn drew a small glyph into the crook of her arm. Remembrance. She would take the girl with her – Amy, the fading missing poster told her – she would take Amy with her in her memories, and leave her story to be told by those who loved her – with a little nudge to get them going.

“Hello? I think there’s a body in the basement of the old hardware store.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/150564.html. You can comment here or there.

Rude Roommates – Stranded World/Autumn – Giraffe Call for Prompts

Oct15

For Wyld_dandelyon‘s prompt.

Stranded World and Autumn, though I don’t know just when. Stranded has a landing page – here (or on LJ)

Commenters: 7

“No, I don’t mean walking through a ghost will give you a chill, or take ten years off your life, or any of that sort of nonsense. I mean it’s rude.” Autumn pursed her lips at the difficult man who was, of all things, arguing with her about the paranormal while trying to haggle her down on a particularly complex original piece of art. A charmed piece, at that, which suggested to her that he knew more than he was saying about both the art and the paranormal.

“Rude?” He raised an eyebrow in what had to be a studied expression of disdain. “You’re talking about being rude to the dead?”

And now she had him. She smirked at him, and set aside the artwork, which would find its proper home in due time. “Well, sir, that’s a common thread throughout many cultures, isn’t it? It’s certainly considered rude to ‘speak ill of the dead,’ for one; it’s considered proper to honor a dying person’s wishes, and we pay homage to the dead in their cemeteries, do we not?”

He could tell he’d been out-maneuvered, but he was certainly going somewhere with this.

“Well, if it’s rude to walk through them, then we’re talking about dealing with them like they’re people, right? Then isn’t it rude of them to stick around a house they no longer own?”

The dead care nothing for deeds and titles would be the easy answer, but it was not, for all its ease, honest. Autumn’s frown came back, and she could feel it wrinkling her brow. “The dead don’t ‘stick around’ because they want to trespass,” she countered. There was a piece of art for this – and she hadn’t known why she was inking it, but she’d done it, framed it, priced it, and then put it on a shelf under her workbench. She pulled it out, now, the twist of the Ways suggested with the way the trees and the house closed together. “I think you’d like this piece better than the one we were discussing,” she continued, in apparent non sequitur. “And if you wish to continue discussing spectral roommates, perhaps the nice coffee place down the road, after the festival closes?”

“Moon-beans? Certainly. Nine tonight, then?” He didn’t balk at the too-high price on the smaller piece of art, passing her his credit card without further discussion. Amos Talbot. The name suited him.

“Thank you, sir.” She nodded politely, and wondered if she’d just set up a date or an appointment for an exorcism.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/147945.html. You can comment here or there.

Spring and Autumn: Orange Juice

Oct12

To skysailor‘s prompt “Orange Juice;” this comes after Having Fun.

Stranded Verse has a Landing Page (Lj

“Orange Juice.” Autumn thumped the mugs down on the tiny table in her tiny RV, the noise causing her little sister to cringe. “Patented hangover cure: ghetto mimosas and a big pile of hash browns.”

“You are a cruel, cruel woman,” Spring complained. She was still half in the garb she’d gone out in the day before, hay in her hair and mud on her hem. It had been a long afterparty and a beautiful night – and the man had been beautiful, too, with those leather pants and the wicked way he swung the whip, never mind that he was easily old enough to be her father.

“I am a sensible, sensible woman,” Autumn replied. She had, as far as Spring could tell, quaffed her share and danced just as long as anyone, although Spring had found her alone in her bunk this morning. “Drink your orange juice and know your sister loves you.”

Spring downed the glass in one swallow, barely tasting the fizz and the vodka, the whisper of a Strand-pull tickling the back of her throat. “That’s one hell of a hangover cure,” she complained. “What’s in the potatoes? Dynamite?”

“Tabasco and penicillin,” her sister answered mildly. “I like the mule-skinner as much as the next girl…”

“I’m always careful. Well, except for about the bite marks.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/144476.html. You can comment here or there.

Autumn…

Sep25

Iconflash! Today’s icon:

Stranded World, Autumn.

Icon by [personal profile] dhamphir

This is the prequel to Love Letters and Colder Weather, and comes after this story.

Guys, I am ensaddened that Meeks’ sketch of Autumn (DW) has not yet received the 6 commentors required to get a clean-up. So, for every comment, signal boost, or donation this (or any of her sketches of my stories) get, I will write 100 more words of this story.

“Lady Fall, again?”

“You’re always wishing me ill,” Autumn answered without turning. It let her hide the ridiculously gleeful smile. “Tattercoats, I did not think to see you again so soon.”

“And if you don’t turn around, Lady Fall, you shan’t see me at all. Do you require assistance with thy booth?”

“I never require assistance, but a bit of help would be a boon, aye. I thought you were headed to points west.” She hopped down from the railing she was perched on and handed him a box of art, still not, yet, looking him in the face. If she did, he’d see how overjoyed she was to see him.

“Ah, but is not this west of where we last met?”

“Mostly South,” she countered. “Those go on the back wall, if you would, sirrah.”

“And you are determined to turn that lovely shoulder to me cold, Lady Fall. Why is that, prithee?”

Because you’re as constant as the wind, and as flighty. She busied herself with a box for a moment. “Because, Sir Tattered, you lied to me, and I am displeased. And whether you merely fudged the truth or spun a web, thy intent was to deceive.”

Thanks, [profile] xjenavivex!

“You wound me, Lady.” He smirked at her, thinking she couldn’t see him through the pile of curtains she was holding. “I swear to you, I had no intention of deceiving you.”

She stepped back on the rail to hang the gauzy strips of cloth. “I don’t believe you.” She let her voice go flat, hoping he’d catch the cue to drop the games.

Tattercoats had never missed a cue in his life. Summer would love to have him on stage with her. “Then I’m truly sorry, Autumn. But I didn’t know until two days past that I was coming.”

Thanks, [personal profile] kelkyag!

She set down her burden and studied his face. He could lie like a pro, of course; it came with the job. But… she let her eyes travel down, from his very-sincere expression to his hand, and the lace at the edges of his cuffs, sticking out of the edges of the patchwork coat that gave him his nickname. There were, if she looked very closely, strands of a charm woven into the lace. Ana-Marie of Myrkfaelinn did work like that, sometimes – but only for people who knew what to ask for, or for her lovers. Which was he?

Thanks rix_scaedu

He followed her glance, and ostentatiously straightened his cuffs, and then his coat, so she could see the lines of embroidery with strands woven stealthily into them, and the identifying glyph half-buried in mud on the hem. “You wear yours out where everyone can see,” he explained apologetically. “I’ve never been that bold.”

“Very few can read it,” she answered uncertainly, tracing the glyph twisted among her body art. “I didn’t know that you could.” What else had he been hiding from her?

“I didn’t know until just now that you were for real.” His downcast eyes were apologetic – truth? Or another lie?

Thanks [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith!

“‘For real?’” she asked incredulously. “What else would I be, wearing the mark out like this , drawing it into my art, hanging it out like a banner?”

“A tourist. A hobbyist, the sort who read about it in a book somewhere. A scholar, taking on a role for the Faire. That you wear it so obviously – I’m sorry, Lady Fall, but that’s what made me think that you were a pretender. My people, we don’t wave flags about saying that we’re Strand-Walkers. We keep the signs more private.

“Your people?” Strand-Walkers. She had heard that term before.

Thanks [personal profile] finch!

He smiled, perhaps a bit sadly. “My people,” he agreed, “as secretive as yours seem to be open.”

That rang like an accusation, and made her shoulders twitch. “You assume,” she murmured. Strand-Walkers. Strand-Walkers… ah. Yes. They shared some kinship, then, though it was a back-door-relations sort of thing at best. “Unless you are lumping me in with Ana-Marie.”

“Ana… Ah. No. She speaks in so many lies that the truth is lost among the tangles.”

Autumn stared at him for a moment, and then let the laugh bubble out. “You make it sound as if she’s the only one.”

Thanks ellenmillion!

It took him a moment, but then he echoed her laugh. “I see your point.” He bowed, one of his deep, floor-sweeping bows. “Your pardon, m’lady.” His voice sounded more serious as he continued. “You were offended by my assumption of openness on your part, or my assumption on who your people were?”

Which had offended her? She frowned at him, piecing together he own reactions.

“Neither, and both.” She hand-waved at his growing smirk. “You assume you know me. Until I read correctly the patterns in your lace, you thought you knew me. You assume again, based on what?”

Thanks jenny_evergreen!

“Based on what you have written on your skin,” he answered, infuriatingly calmly.

“Even though your first assumptions there were wrong?” All of her joy at seeing him here was gone, replaced by a desire to strangle him until he shut up. “Even though you thought I was a fake because of those marks?”

“Even though,” he agreed. “Because, if you are not a fake, then you are either a liar – and I don’t believe you are that, Lady Fall – or you know what you have inked into your skin, and what it means.”

She glared at him for his portentousness. “And what do you think it means?”

Thanks idea_fairy!

Finally, she seemed to have made him uncomfortable. He folded his hands, letting the lace fall over them – which, she noted, made certain Strands fall into a charm of some sort – and looked down at the lace. “Well,” he coughed, “we get back to the matter of keeping secrets.”

“We are still,” she shook her head at him warningly, “on the matter of your assumptions and beliefs about me. Are you worried you will tell me something I don’t already know, Tattercoats?”

“Well, I don’t know what you know,” he admitted.

“And so you assume ignorance. Again.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/132275.html. You can comment here or there.