Did you know I STILL have a Giraffe Call open (#Promptcall)

Aug22

It’s open here, and the theme is Animalia.

Centaurs and fauns, bull-boys and fox-girls, talking cats and telepathic pink horses. Transfurry things and sentient animal things, moddies and Changes and animal-shaped aliens. If it’s somehow an animal/person, it fits in this call. 

It will be open through 1:30 pm (EDT, UTC -5) 8/25/14; prompting is free, tipping is vastly appreciated (and gets you more words!)

Closed!


Stories written so far include:
When the Stars Went Out
Kittens

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It’s You

Aug21

From [community profile] dailyprompt, 2014-08-21: “it’s always you.”
For #FridayFlash – it’s Friday somewhere!

It’s you. It’s always you.

I stand up, I answer the door. I don’t bother to look through the peephole anymore, because it’s always you.

4:35 p.m., every day. I get up, I answer the door. I take the package, I mutter thank you, and I close the door. There’s always a package. There’s never a conversation.

I open the package, of course. It’s from you, and it wouldn’t do to ignore it. Flowers, food, socks. I unpack it all carefully. Blue socks, because it’s me, tie-dyed and organic, because it’s you. It’s very you.

It’s always very you.

I put away all the presents, very carefully. I eat the food, slowly, savoring every bite. I put on the socks – my feet are cold, so cold. You always know what to get for me. That’s very you, too.

When I’m done, I throw out the packaging. It wouldn’t due to leave it sitting around. I make sure to put the box in the recycling. You’d like it better that way.

I try very hard not to notice that yesterday’s box isn’t there. Recycling, I tell myself. Like my feet are cold because the socks were missing this morning. Like I have a vase for the flowers, even though I only have one vase.

The doorbell will ring again tomorrow, and I’ll answer the door. It will be you. It’s always you.

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Doomsday Academy: First Day of History Class

Aug21

This is set in Cynara’s Doomsday Academy, several years after its founding. Dáirine is the daughter of Amadeus and Margherita, from Year Nine stories, and shows up briefly in Yoshi tales.

On the first day of class, Dáirine – Professor Lily – gave each of her students a small clay pot filled with dirt and a maple seed.

This year, as with every year so far, she watched the students as they looked in confusion between her and the pots.

One of them – a girl with the Aelfgar look to her, although that wasn’t saying much, around here – cleared her throat. Gróa, that was her name, poor thing. “Miss – Professor Lily? We already had science class.”

Brave girl. Dáirine smiled at her. “Yes. I know. But there are more things to be learned from a seed and a pot than, say, photosynthesis. Now, humor me, if you will. Plant your seed, then pass around the water.”

She showed them by example, planting her own seed in its little pot. “Very good. Now, this tree is going to be with you until you graduate from Doomsday-“

“What if it dies?” The young man had a curly mess of red hair and more freckles than any three people ought to have. Sawyer, his name was.

“Well, then, we’ll learn something from that, too, and you’ll get another seed.”

“So… it’s meant to be a metaphor?” Gróa leaned forward. “Sort of?”

“Very good.” Dáirine used her best you-clever-person-you smile. “Many metaphors. The first of which will be – that which you nurture, survives.”

She sat down on her desk and looks around. “So. What do you think that the survivors of The Great Mess nurtured?”

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Musing about Identity online – in which I talk about people as cartoon figures, but only at the end

Aug21

This is going to be a bit disjointed, apologies in advance.

I was thinking about identity online this morning (In part because a friend posted a comment which made me think their account had been hijacked).

We rely so much on that little icon to tell us who’s who – or the name at the top of the chat window. And, while I could probably imitate with some success the typing voices of my top 5 online friends, there is still a matter of trust – that when I’m talking in the comments to, say, Kelkyag, that it is actually the same person every time.

I get ~freaked out~ when I find out someone is talking to me on someone else’s account. It’s like… they put on a Friend One suit. At first, Friend One is just acting a bit strangely. Then, Friend One says something out of character, and by this point I’m starting to panic. Then Friend One says Ah ha ha ha no, this is Friend Two (Or Friend Ones’s Girlfriend)…

…and I get furious.

But *cough* that could just be me.

How do you deal with identity when your “mental image” of the person comes from a cartoon icon?

(Speaking of which, I’ve MET @inventrix in person, & I still picture her as her icon (not @capriox, though :-P).)

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Tomato Season!

Aug20

This is my favorite time of year for garden-eating, because I get to eat Tomato Everything.

Fresh Tomatoes on Pizza.

Grilled Cheese & Tomato Sammiches.

And homemade Tomato Soup.

We made this the other day – it’s one of my favorite non-recipes.

More or less: cook a hot sausage (we used chorizo) in a deepish pan. Once it’s rendered some fat and is cooked, pull out the sausage and put it aside. Toss in two onions and plenty of garlic, chopped roughly. Cook until tender, then add a bunch of fresh tomatoes.

Add some fluid – usually water – and maybe a bit of bouillon – or just stock, but we have bouillon around, not stock, so.

Let cook until the tomatoes are stewy and the soup is red all the way through. Add the sausage back in, and add fish sauce & molasses to round out the flavor.

Stir a little cream in at the table & enjoy.

Aah, summer.

(bonus? It’s so cold this summer, we can actually enjoy soup).

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Temporary Add-On Landing Page for One-Off Stories

Aug20

Stories for which I have no setting

Main Landing Page here

T is for The Impossible (LJ) – part of a time travel story
People Talk (LJ) Modern World/realism
“I can Write 150 more words.” (LJ) (Fluffy not-yet-porn)

Sci-Fi

Supply Exhausted (LJ) (sci-fi-ish)
Not the Man (LJ) On Identity (modern/Sci-fi)
B for Bizarre Beetles (LJ) Bugs and Bugs – Scifi-Modern

Horror

Through the Glass (LJ) Horror
Sharp Bits (LJ) horror?
Hard Choices (LJ) Horror

Fantasy and Fairy Tale

The Three of Guldenton (<a href=http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/861314.htmlLJ) Fairy Tale
Trade (LJ) Prince/Pauper, modernized
Q is for the Queen’s Quilt (LJ)
The First Step (LJ) Don’t venture off the path.
Time of Testing (LJ) Testing for Witches
Omens and Ill (LJ) (Might be in the same world as the oracle whose god got irritated. (here))

Stores and Doors

Gone Rummaging (LJ)
Through the Door (LJ) 2-part story involving magic portal

Closing Up (LJ) An Antique Store closes

O is for the Open Order (LJ)

Modern/Urban Fantasy
Romance was never this convenient to handle (LJ) High school and magic don’t mix well
He Couldn’t Fail (LJ) Urban Fantasy
Except (LJ) The one who doesn’t fit in
D is for Dungeon (LJ)
Talking To… (LJ) …oneself?

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Kittens, a story for the Giraffe Call

Aug19

Written to [personal profile] anke ‘s prompt.

 "I miss my kittens."

 
"I had kittens once, and it was no fun."
 
Ocelli leaned back in her chair until it nearly toppled and stared at the ceiling, because if she stared at Group, she would laugh, and then there would be the meds again.  
 
"Would you care to clarify, Celia?"  The doctor had the warning voice on, the one that meant she wasn’t Cooperating.  Good Girls Cooperated. 
 
"It’s Ocelli. I got it changed legally and everything."  She thumped her chair back onto the ground and glared at the doctor.  "Ah-chell-lee."
 
"Like an Ocelot, you’ve said.  Wouldn’t that be Ah-seh-lee, then?"
 
"It’s my name. I can pronounce it like I want to and you could do me the same courtesy, Dr. Wordstrum."  The mood shifts weren’t what had landed Ocelli in here, but if anyone had actually been paying attention, maybe they should have.  She wasn’t stifling laughter anymore, now she was nigh-on snarling at the doctor, her hands flat on her lap.  She would not attack the doctor.  She would not attack anyone.  She would not…
 
"Your given name was Celia, however.  And I believe that this new name is a symptom of your disease.  Thus, we try to bring you back to Celia,  to…"
 
Ocelli stared at the ceiling and counted to twenty.  It wasn’t her fault the damn doctors couldn’t see. It wasn’t her fault they were Blind. 
 
"I had kittens once."  She fixed her gaze on the one who missed her kittens.  "It was no fun at all."

Writer’s note: I know that the doctor is being horrible and running group very badly. 
 

 

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