The Haircut – Patreon

Sep15

“Are you sure?” Cyan ran shaking hands through the new hair-cut. It was short, shorter than Cy had ever dared before, but just long enough, or so Mary assured, that it could be made girly when the urge or the need arose.

“Cy, with your folks, nobody can ever be sure of anything. But, in a normal world, yes. If they’re being stupid, you can show them how it curls up so cutely when you want it to. And if they’re not, you can slick it back and do the manly thing when you want to. Days you’re feeling middle-of-the-road, the curls are easy to tame down once you get out of the house.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Look, everything will be easier when you can get out of the house – but this, this is hair. It doesn’t have to be hard or anything.” Mary fluffed the back of Cy’s hair. “This should be fine.”

“Psst.”

Cyan and Mary both ignored the voice coming from the alley. It didn’t do to talk to strangers, not in this neighborhood.

“And besides,” Mary continued, “your mom when through her pixie cut stage, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, but my dad-”

“You want easy?” The voice in the alley was not to be ignored. “I can make you look the way you want to, kid.”

“-my dad hated it. My dad hates everything.”

“Come on, someone transitional like you, wanna be red one day, green another.” Now the alley-way voice had resolved itself into a shadowy figure. “I got what you need.”

It wasn’t going to shut up and it wasn’t going to go away. Cyan looked directly at the shadow. “I know better than to make deals with fairies.” The haircut would have to be enough, for now.

Icon Flash: Trees

Sep14

“It’s perfect.” Ce’rilla looked around the old hotel. “It has an atrium, it has rooms, and everything else can be fixed.”

“Mmm.” Her sister – “sister” the way her family did family ties, at least – regarded the place thoughtfully. “I thought you wanted trees.”

Ce’rilla regarded the building. Once upon a time, it had been a highway-off-ramp stop. But the world had ended when ‘Rilla and her sister were barely children. Now it was abandoned, and the highway was not exactly well-used. “I see trees over there.”

“‘Rill, the trees are like a mile away.”

“Mmm.” Ce’Rilla stretched, and then stretched. Talking to trees was easy. “But they’re going to come here.”


Ce’Rilla is a character in Addergoole (Second generation), as is her sister.

Addergoole has a landing page here

Written in a quest to write a flash to every one of the icons djinni has drawn for me.
a smiling girl with branch antlers

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/810844.html. You can comment here or there.

Family Secrets and Cat Secrets, continuation of the Aunt Family for the Giraffe Call

Sep12

This is wispfox‘s commissioned continuation of Cats & Grannies. and Cat’s in the Attic.

Radar appeared to approve of the center box of the nine – although, perhaps out of consideration to Aunt Bea, he wasn’t talking. Beryl, armed with the gloves the cat had suggested and a scarf tied over her nose and mouth, moved everything with the care usually taken by museum archivists.

(She wondered, very briefly, what a historian or archaeologist would make of the family archives, such as they were. Had anyone in the family ever studied archeology?)

“Aunt Bea…” Her voice was muffled by the scarf, but Aunt Bea’s hearing was still sharp. “Do we have any historians in the family?”

“Oh, the family doesn’t tend to go that way.”

“Aah.” Beryl noted the tone, and wondered what Aunt or pushy Granny had inculcated that idea into the family. “I think it might be fun to do a study of all this, that’s all.”

“Well, but who could you show it to?”

“Aunt-” She hefted the box out of its spot and set it, carefully, on a clear patch of attic floor “-Evangeline. Or maybe one of the cadet branches – hey, how come they’re the cad… never mind. Thanks for letting me take this, Aunt Bea.” That was Dangerous Territory. People Beryl’s age weren’t supposed to worry about Dangerous Territory.

“Don’t worry too much about the politics, honey. It’ll sort itself out, it always does. And be careful with what’s in those boxes – I mean, tell Eva to be careful.” Was that a wink, or just a trick of the light?

~

Beryl had earned the privilege of a locked door with her fourteenth birthday, and was very grateful for it as she and Radar sat down with the box. Not that she thought her mother would exactly object, but her mother would talk to her sisters, and her cousins, and they’d talk to their mothers, and their aunts, and so on, and soon Beryl would find herself buried in Grannies again.

She turned up the music nobody else in the house liked – just loud enough to be audible if one stopped to listen, not loud enough to get her yelled at by anyone else – triple-checked the lock, and made sure The Necklace was wrapped in silk and locked in a stone box. “All right, Radar.” She popped the lid and stared inside. “What am I looking for?”

“It’s going to be a journal.” Radar jumped into the box, growing smaller as he did in a show of power he almost never exhibited. The kitten-size fit much better among the paperwork. “If I recall, it was bound in leather – brown and green – and wrapped in ribbon.”

“There’s so much stuff here.” She lifted out a folder labelled Family Photographs, 1910. The handwriting was a long, spidery script she’d seen more than a few times before. “And what’s dangerous about photos?”

“In your family? Everything.” The cat pushed aside a yellowed book of sheet music; Beryl had never heard of the composer, but she could smell the magic still coming off of it like dust. “Here it is. Careful, girl, it’s old.”

Old didn’t begin to cover it. Beryl stared at the cover of the book, with its flaking gold-embossed name. “Is that…”

It had to be. The family, for reasons of clarity, did not repeat names. But she had to ask again, anyway. “Is that…”

“The secrets have been lost for a long time indeed, child. Take it.” Radar pushed the book towards her. “You’re going to need it.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/810539.html. You can comment here or there.

Icon Flash: Order

Sep12

“You’re totally OCD, you know.”

Winter’s new co-worker sprawled on the edge of Winter’s desk, poking at the pens Winter had lined up parallel to the edge of said desk. “I can see why you work in a law library.”

“I like order.” Winter moved the pens back into line and allowed himself to look the new co-worker in the scruffy face. “It helps with my work, yes.” He noticed the twitch above the man’s left eye, and the nick where he’d likely cut himself shaving. “And why are you working in a law library, Darrel?”

Useful setting information: The strands, in this ‘verse, connect everything, and are created by connections between people or between things.

Want more Stranded World? Check out the landing page here.

Written in a quest to write a flash to every one of the icons Djinni has drawn for me.
a man with a white ponytail, a suit, and a frown.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/810315.html. You can comment here or there.

Bunking Arrangements

Sep12

This follows after: Taking Chances, Betting on it, Betting Time, and is before Accidental.

It fills the “Sleeping arrangements” square on my [community profile] ladiesbingo card and was prompted by [personal profile] kelkyag.

559 words by MSWord.

“There have been, ah, some changes in arrangements.” As openings went, Genique had done better. But this was the Quartermaster. “I need to change my bunking arrangements, that is.”

Genique was growing familiar with all of the officers on the pirate ship, but she had not yet entirely figured out Marist Irio, the Quartermaster.

For instance, the way the woman was looking at her now, on Genique’s home planet, would have been a leer. But there was something about it that seemed almost innocent, compared to the way, say, Genique’s older brother had once leered about a gentleman caller.

“You know, you are my type, but I didn’t think I was yours, cougar-lady. But I do get a nice plush bunk as Quartermaster.”

Ah! Genique ducked her head and hoped she wasn’t blushing as badly as she thought she was. “Marist…”

“Relax, relax! I wondered what you’d do with that. Farm folk, land folk, can be…”

“Prudes.” Genique forced herself to meet the woman’s gaze. “Yes, they can. But I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m a pirate, now.”

“Or at least a pirate’s accountant. So, who’s the lucky pirate?”

“I don’t know if he really counts as lucky…”

“Listen, pretty cougar-lady, he’s shacking up with you. I wasn’t kidding about the offer of my bunk, even if I was trying to get a rise out of you.”

Genique studied the woman, head tilted. “I’m ‘normal,’“ she reminded her. “Boring.”

“Normal’s different than boring, kitten.”

A month ago, Genique would have swallowed the pet name. Now, she shot the Quartermaster a smile she’d copied from the First Mate Clyd. “’Cougar’ is fine. ‘Kitten’, however, not so much.”

Marist Irio simply grinned at her. “Go you, cougar, you’ve got spine. Now. If you’re not looking for a room with me, are you going to tell me who it is that you’re asking to bunk with?”

“Well, I was hoping you’d tell me what the procedure was.”

“And, what, have you try to bypass it?” The Quartermaster was still grinning. “Gossip is gossip, cat-lady. And if I’m going to give you a bunking form, you’re going to tell me why you need the form, and the bunk.”

Genique looked at the wall behind the Quartermaster’s head and gathered her thoughts. “Okay. You still have a box of forms that needs detangling. I need a copy of – hunh. Do you not GET bunking change forms? I haven’t seen one yet.”

“They really don’t come up all that often.” There was something weird about the way Marist Irio wouldn’t quite look at Genique, but then again, there was something a little weird about everyone here. “It’s form Q12-18. Maybe when you’re done in the Pit we should have you redo our forms, too.”

“I’d like that.” It would make sorting out the next mess so much easier.

“You really would, wouldn’t you?” Marist shook her head. “If Basi had only known what he was grabbing…”

“Well, that doesn’t matter now, does it?” And why was she a what, anyway? “Can I have the bunk-change form?”

“If you tell me who it’s for.” Marist reached behind her, hands on a stack of forms.

“Marsey Wilswoodronny.” There couldn’t be any harm in telling, could there?

The Quartermaster’s hands moved down a form. “Ah, I see. Here’s your form.”

“Thank you.” That hadn’t been that hard.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/810013.html. You can comment here or there.

The Week In Alder

Sep12

The Highlights

Edally Academy has its own website!

Some Stories
Beating Around the Idiom Bush
Gender Funk Test story-beginning (two stories of Spaaace)
Trek-Style Geek, for Three-Word Wednesday

Feedback Requested
Prompts Wanted: Demifiction for Circled Plain (Inner Circle)
Edally Academy is on Muse’s Success! Please review!

My Serials
Edally Academy Chapter Nine: To Our Successes, May they Be Written Forever
Jumping Rings Chapter Six: Valran

My Life
Timehop of my own: 4 years ago today
Recipe try-outs: a quick review

Other People
Now Available: Not in Need of Quests, a Men in Fantasy Coloring Book! by M.C.A. Hogarth

Feedback Requested
Edally Web Page Up & Suggestions Wanted
Edally Web Page: I need your help!

Stories stories Stories
Aunt Family
Cat’s in the… Attic, after Cats & Grannies

Clockwork Apoc
A prelude Drabble to clockwork apoc>

Spaaace
A Heritage Earned, after The Heritage that Wasn’t (Kitsune in Space)

Reiassan
Goatback or Not, a continuation after With the Goats

One-Off
And Ahead of Me… for Friday Flash, DailyPrompt
Flying Squirrel: Frying Pan, Fire?, after Flying-Squirrel’s Freedom (or Fetters)

Thank you Everyone!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/809735.html. You can comment here or there.

Goatback or Not

Sep12

After With the Goats

Liegya hadn’t meant to be a census-taker.

She’d meant to be a show-rider, a fancy-goat-dancer, a parade-trick-acrobat.

And she was good at it, good with the goats, good with the acrobats, good with the showmanship.

She still was. But parental push had been harder than she’d expected, she’d gotten very good marks in counting and accounting in school, and the position in the census bureau had come with a very nice salary and a house she only saw once a year.

And it came with her pick of goats, and being with the goats 9/10 of the time, even if she’d rather be counting other people’s goats than the people themselves.

When the villagers told her about “oh, Lazhman, probably out with the goats…” She had to go look. At the goats, of course.

And maybe at another soul who’d rather be with the four-legged than two.

Reiassan has a landing page here (and on LJ).

Want more words, or just really like this post? Drop some money in the tip jar!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/809674.html. You can comment here or there.

Recipe Try-outs: A quick review

Sep12

So, we bought “PBFit,” powdered peanut butter, because we had a coupon at BJ’s club (A big-box/buy-in-quantity style-store) and wanted to try it.

And I was craving peanut butter cookies, so I did some googling, and found this:

http://www.sheknows.com/food-and-recipes/articles/1026723/how-to-use-powdered-peanut-butter

If you scroll down, there’s a recipe for “Easy chocolate chip peanut butter cookies recipe.”

It’s a bare modification to the (halved) Tollhouse recipe – 1/8 c less flour, 1/4teas less salt, and then add powdered PB (yes, I have the Tollhouse recipe memorized).

It tasted… good. Not peanutty enough, although replacing the chocolate chips with pb chips might have helped. Not quite the right mouthfeel for peanut butter cookies, though adding a bit more pb fit might help.

Short sum: tasty, will cook again, but will modify next time to be tastier.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/809277.html. You can comment here or there.

Links of Awesome, Friday Edition

Sep12

The Kitchn: Advice for Eating on a Very Tight Budget

(we ate lots of rice and beans, and “splurged” on condiments when they were on sale. To this day you can see that echoed in our condiment selection, which is, ah, extensive).

Via M.C.A. Hogarth: Russian Scientists Build Monument To Honor Lab Rats

Now I want to read Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH again…

And FROM MCA Hogarth: Now Available: Not in Need of Quests, a Men in Fantasy Coloring Book!

You have GOT to look at this! It’s beautiful!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/809067.html. You can comment here or there.

And Ahead of Me… a story for #Fridayflash, DailyPrompt

Sep11

I woke alone, I woke blind to the world, and I woke scared.

Those are the things I know about when I woke, and only those, not when nor where nor why I was, or even who I was. I was against a wall, the floor was cold, and I could not see.

And you were not with me. Of course: I was alone. But more than the absence of other breath, other voices in the room was the absence of you.

I found my feet, somehow. I found a stick, a cane, somehow. My body knew the way. I found a door – that was harder – and the sun on my face told me travel west.

But the ache in my gut told me travel east, so east I went.

The bus was going North, so I walked. The police officer that stopped me wanted to take me west, but I talked him out of it. The punks that wanted my money, when they found I had none wanted to take me to their home.

But their home was to the south, so I kept walking anyway. I didn’t know where I was going – how could I, when I didn’t know even who I was? – but I knew you were there.

“There’s nothing to the east,” the taxi driver told me. “You can’t go there like that.” I say taxi drive, like I said punks, because he asked if I needed a ride and told me a price, like the punks grabbed me with hard hands and then handed me back my cane with soft words.

The sun’s warmth was gone before I reached my destination, but I could feel the edge of the road with my cane, so I kept walking. Cars would rush by, a gust of wind and a blast of sound, but I kept walking. They’d honk or shout or both, but I kept walking. The night grew cold, but I kept walking.

I didn’t know how far I had to go, and I could not see the signs to read them, but I knew you were ahead of me still. There was nothing to do but keep walking, keep walking.

The sun was warm on my face again when a car pulled alongside me. “You can’t be here,” the woman told me. “The signs say so.”

“I’m almost there,” I told her, and by that I knew that I was nearly to you. “Only a little longer.”

“But you can’t be here.”

I kept walking. There was nothing behind me, after all, but the dark. And ahead of me was you.

To [community profile] dailyprompt, 2014-09-10:
If I was blindfolded
If my memory was erased
If every sign pointed
to another place
I’d still find you
For #FridayFlash.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/808735.html. You can comment here or there.