March Giraffe Call: Spring Cleaning Lyn’s Queue!

Mar17

The call for prompts is now OPEN!

I am now taking prompts on the theme of “Weren’t you going to write…?” Leave one or many prompts, and I will write (over the next month) at least one microfic (150-500 words) to each prompter.

This month’s theme is a little different; it’s an attempt to knock some of the balls out of my rafters (where they get stuck when I have too many balls in the air). Did you hear me say “I want to write about…?” or think I should write more on a story? Now’s the time to bring it up.

Need ideas?
More-Please tag
This discussion of my queue


Prompting is free! But Donations are always welcome.

If you have donated, I will write to one extra prompt of your.

In addition, for each $5 you donate, I will write an additional 500 words to the prompt(s) of your choice.

If I get two new prompters or one new donator, I will write a setting piece (setting chosen by poll).

At $30 in donations, we’ll get take out. Reached!

At $40 in donations, I will post an additional 1000-2000-word fic on the subject of the audience’s choice.
Reached!
At $50, anyone who donated $7.50 or more will have a copy of “Alder by Post” mailed to them if they wish

At $70, I will write two extra 500-word continuations – chosen by prompters picked by random number generator

At $75, we will upgrade our wheelbarrow to an AWESOME CARD

At $100, I will write three extra 500-word continuations – chosen by prompters picked by random number generator

At $130, I will record a podcast of an audience-choice story and post it for everyone to read.

At $150, we’ll upgrade the awesome cart to awesome-cart-with-sides and be able to haul EVERYTHING!< Also I will release an e-book of all of the fiction written to this call.

If I reach $200, I will hold a mid-month Call on a single setting of the readers’ choice. Everyone who tipped will get wordcount-and-a-half

For more information on Giraffe Calls, see the landing page.


Donate below

Art by Djinni!
I also take payment by Dwolla

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/300617.html. You can comment here or there.

Siren Song

Mar16

To Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt and @Inventrix’s request, the first half of a continuation of Porter Needs a Girlfriend (LJ).

Other than 4500 words on Addergoole-proper, this is all I’ve written in days. It feels weird. O_O Yeah. I’ve been THAT sick.

It wasn’t that Porter minded his friends’ “help” in getting him a girlfriend. After all, he knew that he’d need to get a girlfriend, or at least someone cooperative in baby-making, sometime in his four years at Addergoole. Possibly twice, even.

It was just that they – although he suspected Timora, from the amused, wicked looks she was giving him – kept picking such imposing girls, girls that didn’t seem to smile much, girls that, in some cases, didn’t really seem to even like guys.

He was pretty sure that Timora was trying to mess with his head, he just didn’t know why.

He was also hopeful, because it looked like these dinner dates were working their way down through the Cohorts, which meant, if he was going to have a “surprise” date tonight, it would probably be a Ninth Cohort. And, aside from Timora, none of the Ninth Cohorts he’d met were really at all scary.

“Hey, Kitty, Kitty.” Too late, Porter looked up, realizing that, lost in thought and hurrying to get home for the theoretical Ninth Cohort Dinner Date, he hadn’t been paying attention.

Lots of people called him Kitty. Only one person did it in that unctuous tone of voice, like she was grooming his name.

“Tess.” And because she and her crewmate were never far apart, “Lucian.”

“Hey, Kitty.” Lucian leaned against the wall behind Porter. “Have you had a chance to think about our invitation?”

“Your…” He looked between the two of them, Tess’s green eyes boring into him, Lucian’s close-winged pose deceptively closed, making him look harmless. “Oh,” he smiled, and choked out a little laugh. “I thought that was a joke. I mean, I already have a crew…” And even if Sylvia runs everything, I trust her.

“Ah, but we could really use your power, pretty kitty.”

“So you want me for my doors, not my drawers.” In a way, he was relieved. Tess was a very frightening woman when she wanted something, and Lucian was little better.

Like that laugh. He chuckled throatily behind Porter. “We wouldn’t mind both, would we, Tess?”

Eep. Feeling like he was being eaten with their eyes, he cast around for the quickest Door surface. There was under his feet – but that could have unpleasant consequences. You never knew how far away the floor would be, for one, and it was hard to close the door after yourself.

“Mmm. There’s not much I’d mind with him,” Tess agreed. A quick glance told porter that the scales running down both sides of her neck were shifting color, from “safe” white-and-green to deep red. Her voice was taking on that funny tone to it, like she had a reverb going, and Porter knew what that meant.

“No,thank you.” Sailors of legend had dived over the sides of ships to get to sirens. Porter dived through the floor to escape this one.

He pulled the door upwards, grabbed the handle that was created when he did that, and swung down onto the third floor by the handle, yanking the door shut with his weight.

And then, of course, the doorknob vanished.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/300341.html. You can comment here or there.

State of the Lyn… sick, sick, sick

Mar16

(Sick – first thing that came to mind when I typed that – Yay, Paypal/Smashwords reversed their censorship, now I can go back to selling dubcon incest with people with animal bits!)

That aside!!! I have been sick since probably-Saturday definitely-Monday and am just worn. the heck. out. I have done almost no writing at all – just enough to start working on the next book of Addergoole, and something like 100 words of Porter. I’m drooping.

I have THINGS to blog about in terms of house; I’ll try to get up the energy later today. But Not Dead Yet, at least.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/300052.html. You can comment here or there.

Sick Day from Writing

Mar13

Declaring this week a sick week from writing. I’ll get done what I can, but no promises on anything.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/299800.html. You can comment here or there.

Reaching out for the Congregation

Mar12

For flofx‘s commissioned prompt, a continuation of

⛪
The kirkevaren was watching Mirandabelle.

It made her uncomfortable. It made her skin crawl. It made her fingers itch and her shoulders twitch. It made her want to cry.

But she went by the church every day. Every single day, after school, before work, after partying, before she went to bed. Twice some days, three times some days.

She went by because her mother had told her what had happened; because her grandmother had told her mother what had happened. She went because she’d heard the stories and, while this kirkevaren and this priest were innocent – she could see their innocence hanging over them like a halo, like an aura, like a crown – but the church itself, new and hallowed and blessed, the church was not.

She walked the edge of the fence, because the kirkevaren could not stop her from doing that, and she kissed the iron spikes, brushing her snakebite piercings against the metal and accepting the brief burn as her penance.

“Florence Carter,” she whispered to the first pike, “Benjamin Tomes,” to the third. She looked up at the kirkevaren as she said the third name, “Juliander Tempest.” Juliander had been her mother’s mother’s mother. She had died here, died when the church still hunted the fae.

The corpse-lamb stared at her at that one. Every time. Every time, with its dead blue eyes. With its protective gaze.

“My kin died here,” she told it. “My kin and my kind.”

Every day. Every night. School uniform. Club clothes. Work uniform. She looked like a normal kid. She looked like a human kid. But the kirkevaren knew. The corpse-lamb had been guarding the church from fae for centuries, and it came to the work easily again this time.

“My kin died here. My grandmother’s mother. My best friend’s great-uncle. The one they called the Grey Cat. The one they called The Nose. They died ere. They weren’t buried here, no. They weren’t put under your guidance. I won’t be buried under your guidance.”

She told the lamb that every night. Every day. It was three months before she got an answer.

“I can not stop what has already been done.” It wasn’t the lamb, and she nearly bolted when she saw the new priest, Father Nehemiah, standing in the shadows. “I cannot heal the old wounds… it’s Mirandabelle, right?”

“Some people call me that,” she allowed.

“Then I will call you that. Mirandabelle, I cannot help your grandmother’s mother, save to pray for her. I can’t help those this church once failed. But miss, I am not the priest who once stood here, and this church is not the church that once stood here.”

“The hallowed ground is hallowed ground,” she spat. “The land and the blessing was there, and it’s here now.”

He shook his head. “Yes. Yes. But the land has been re-blessed, Mirandabelle, and I would like to re-consecrate our relationship with the fae again as well.”

She ran a finger over the iron posts and listened to the faint sizzle. “With iron and blood?”

“No.” He swung the gate open. “With open doors and a handshake.”
⛪
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/299183.html. You can comment here or there.

Hunting Junie, Part II (A story of Dragons Next Door) (@rix_Scaedu)

Mar12

After this story and this story, part one of three as part of a fixtion exchange with Rix_Scaedu

Kelkathian watched Azdekious swing over to the other car with bitten-lip worry. Kel knew Az was steady-ready for the job, but these people were unlike anything they’d dealt with in years, decades. They were bound and determined to catch something, anything, a dragon baby or a dweomer child, a harpy egg or a centaur foal.

Kel thought they were government, but it wasn’t a certainty. Mirroshades and black suits could be bought off the rack, after all, whether you were human or gremlin.

Kel put on a tiny pair of mirrorshades, just to illustrate the point, and scanned the area again. Azdekious had Team A well in hand. The Harpies still hadn’t shown up, and neither had Team B, but there was Team C, slinking up the side like they thought nobody was going to notice them being sneaky.

And no muscle in sight, and Kel couldn’t leave Junie’s backpack while Azdekious was out there, doing what have you. It was time to get clever.

Junie had a phone in her backpack, a small pre-paid-plan one for emergencies only. Kel danced on the keys, pulling a little gremlin magic to connect to the hunter’s cell phone and disable caller ID. If luck was holding, he… yep. The jerk jerked like he’d been shocked, and picked up his phone.

“Busy here,” he snarled.

Kel did a few minor tricks to the phone and used a voice simulator they’d dreamed up for pestering telemarketers. “Got some problems…” The phone fuzzed and spat static. “…back right away… real issues… now.”

“Damnit.” The hunter stared at his phone as it disconnected. Kel watched from the back of Junie’s backpack, hoping that would be enough.

Over Kel’s held breath, the hunter packed up his phone, shouldered his backpack, and headed for his car. “Better be good,” he muttered. “Better be really worth it.”

Kelkathian sniggered, but the laughter covered more than a bit of worry. That trick would only work once.

Next; http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/302848.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/298803.html. You can comment here or there.

Inter-cultural relations, a continuation of Dragons Next Door for the January Giraffe Call

Mar11

For the January Giraffe Call’s donor-perk continuation, after Exterminator (LJ)

The client stared at Steve, stared at the Tiny, and screamed.

She had a window-shattering caterwaul that would make stronger men than Steve wince; he sheltered the Tiny man under an insulated cup and waited for her to be done.

“Kill it,” she screeched, “kill the horrid little thing, what is it, don’t show it to me, no, just kill it!”

He stared at her. The Tiny stared at her. He was pretty sure the cat was staring at her. Cats did that, though. “Ma’am, this is a sentient being. Tinies are covered under the Finch-Thompson-Harris Convention.”

“The what?” She’d come down to a low yowl by this point, but she still couldn’t bring herself to look at the Tiny.

Steve boggled. “You really haven’t heard of the FTH? The Convention of 1949 that dictated the direction of human-nonhuman relations? The laws that state that, for instance, killing a dragon has the same legal consequence as killing another human?”

“Or a Tiny,” the Tiny man piped up.

The woman stared at them. “That piece of toilet paper? You can’t seriously expect me to know that shit.”

“Mrs. Anderson,” Steve replied, as patiently as he could make himself be, “the FTH is one of the most important documents in the world. And, if you don’t expect to follow it, then you can’t very well expect the ogres and dragons to mind it, either, can you? Did you know that, before the FTH…”

“Are you a history professor or an exterminator?” she interrupted. “Look, I hired you to deal with the problem in my walls.”

“You hired me to kill bugs. These are not bugs.” He set the Tiny man down near the entryway to his home. “They are sentient species. At the worst, they owe you rent, or you can move to evict them for non-notification. Sorry,” he added to the Tiny man, “but that’s the law.”

“We notified,” the man squeaked. “My grand-dad notified, he did. We have a hundred-year lease, as is standard.”

Mrs. Anderson sat down in her overly floral settee with a thump. “They have a lease? The crea… they have a lease? There was nothing about that in the paperwork when we bought this house. What can we do about that?”

Steve shook his head. “Ma’am, you need a lawyer, a good one. And, like I said, a co-habitation councilor or a cross-species translator. And maybe a read up on the FTH.”

She looked over at the Tiny man. “My father… I really shouldn’t say that, should I?”

“Probably not,” he agreed. His job was clearly done here; he began packing up his tools.

“Ey,” the Tiny called up to him, “ain’t you gonna help?”

“I’m an exterminator. There’s nothing to exterminate, is there?”

“What, like bugs or mice? No, we don’t tolerate that kind of shit in our walls. Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

“No offense taken,” Mrs. Anderson answered weakly. “You really have a hundred-year lease on my walls?”

“Just this wall. There’s another family living over by the bedroom.” The Tiny man leered at her. “Pricey land, Upstairs. My grand-dad couldn’t afford all that.”

Mrs. Anderson looked like she was going to cry. “There’s more creatures… in my bedroom?”

“In your bedroom walls,” Steve corrected. “It’s fairly common practice. I have three clans living in my house.” He smirked, amused at himself. “They like the quiet.”

“It’s not all that quiet here,” she offered weakly.

“Nah, but we’re willing to overlook a little bit of shoutin’ now and then on account of the low rent.”

That got Mrs. Anderson’s attention. “Rent?”

“Well, of course. You don’t think we just freeload, do you? Now, there are those that do, but they’re not what you’d call respectable Tinies. No, no, We pay rent, first of every month, have since my granddad’s time.”

“To whom?” She stood again, pacing. “I would have noticed, I think. If the man who sold us this house, that horrid creature, has been collecting rent all these years after not telling me there were ‘Tinies’ in the walls, I will take him to court and not stop until he hasn’t a single red cent to his name.”

“Hey now, hey now, no need to get nasty again. Maybe he thought you knew? There’s Tinies in every house in the neighborhood. We have a carpool.” The small man smiled hopefully up at Mrs. Anderson. “We can move out, if that’s what you want, but it will be hard for us to find a place as nice as this one.”

She sat back down, and then sat further down, on the floor, so she could look at the Tiny. “You think my place is nice? My walls?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s ancestral land in there, which helps, but you have a lovely set of walls here, ma’am. We’d hate to move.” The Tiny paused. “And about the rent. We been dropping it in the drop box all these years. You never went to look?”

“The drop box?” She shook her head slowly. “No, I never knew of such a thing.”

“Well, then, I oughta show you.”

Steve stood up, content that his work was done. “I won’t bill you for the trip, Mrs. Anderson, if you can promise me you’ll work things out with this nice man and his family.”

She stood, shaking his hand. “Oh, no, at least let me pay your mileage. They pay rent,” she added, “that’s hard to find these days. And he thinks my walls are nice.”

“They’re very nice walls,” Steve agreed. He wasn’t going to work too hard at turning down money. “I’ll send you the names of some good inter-species translators. I know a gremlin who does good work.”

“I’d appreciate that. And, Mr. Canson… Thank you.”

Steve felt a grin spreading across his face. This one would turn out good, he knew it would. “The pleasure was all mine, ma’am. The pleasure was all mine.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/298552.html. You can comment here or there.

Detente

Mar11

For Rix_Scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of Damn List (LJ).

Addergoole has a landing page here.

I should really get around to figuring out what Ahouva’s Changes are.

Basalt sat down under the shade of an apple tree, at the edge of a beautiful little orchard, and patted the ground next to him. “So, that list. Let’s talk about it, okay?”

Ahouva sat down where he indicated, smoothing her skirt under her. A little dirt would come out in the wash, and she didn’t want to make him any unhappier. “Okay?” She wished she could just burn it. She wished he’d never ordered her to write the stupid thing.

“Let’s start with that last one.”

She winced, and pulled her knees to her chest. “I’m sorry! It’s…” It wasn’t fair, forcing her to be honest like that. She could do so much better if he let her keep things to herself.

“It’s fear. It’s a natural emotion, but it’s not exactly a fun one. And I can’t blame you for not liking it.” He took her notebook from her and looked at that last item again. “‘I don’t like being scared of my Keeper.’ I wouldn’t, either, Ahouva.”

She peeked up at him. He didn’t look angry. Yet. “I can’t imagine you scared of anything.”

“I was scared when I was Kept. I wasn’t scared of Brydan, but I was scared of not having any control over anything. I get angry when I’m scared, though.”

She nodded, gulping a little bit. “I just get worried.” That was almost true, at least. She could remember, Before, getting angry about it. But that was another world.

“I don’t blame you. So…. how can I help you not be scared?”

“You could order me not to?” she offered in a tiny voice. The don’t-feel-this-way orders were the worst. But it would stop the problem, right?

“No, honey.” He was frowning, but it was gentle somehow. “I mean, why do I frighten you?”

“Oh.” She quailed, but the truth bubbled out. “Because you’re scary!” When he didn’t yell at her or even frown, she hurried on. “You’re big and you’re stronger than anyone I know and I have no idea what you’re going to do or when this kid-gloves thing is going to be over and Basalt, I don’t know what you want!”

As soon as it had been said, she regretted it, slapping both hands over her mouth and flinching back. But he, he was smiling.

“Okay, that’s fair. I’m kind of big and rock-headed, I know that. Hunh. If I promise that I will tell you if you are doing something wrong, and give you a chance to fix it, before grumbling, will that help?”

She moved her hands away from her mouth, peeking at him. “You’d do that?”

“Honey, if it will help you relax, I’d promise a lot more than that.” He patted her shoulder. “I don’t like making you scared either.”

She relaxed a little, feeling as if she’d managed another hurdle. “Okay. Okay… yes? Yes, please?”

“I promise,” he smiled. “I’ll tell you and give you a chance to fix it if you’re doing something wrong, before I get angry with you. Okay?”

She blinked at him, feeling as if a giant weight was lifted off of her chest. “No secret mistakes? No tests?”

“None. I’m not bright enough for that.” He offered her an arm and, relieved, she cuddled into it, pressing against him, thinking her new master might be a lot brighter than he thought he was.

She relaxed, there, snuggled against his warmth for a bit, thinking maybe he’d stop there. And for the nicest five minutes she’d had in weeks, maybe months, he did. And then…

“So, the rest of the list.”

“Um?” She peeked up at him. “I’m fine.”

“I know you don’t like talking about it. Can you tell me why?”

“Because you don’t like it,” she answered quietly. “You’re always frowning.”

“Oh.” He frowned, and then, catching himself, made a gruesome grimace, and then another, before settling on something like a smile. Catching sight of her expression – she couldn’t tell whether to laugh or be terrified – the smile turned real. “That’s the face I make when I’m thinking, Ahouva, that’s all. And you make me think, a lot.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “That’s a good thing.”

She nodded, blushing. “So…” she offered, as he moved his finger away, “you aren’t angry when you do that”?

“No,” he shook his head. “No, not at all. I’m trying to figure out how to get to a place where we’re both happy.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him. “You could tell me what you want. That would make me happy.”

He laughed. “I want you to be my girlfriend, Ahouva. I don’t want you to just do what I want all the time.”

“Then let me go.” She slapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late, the words were already out. And he… She peeked over her hands. He was smiling. Grinning.

“Atta girl,” he laughed. “That’s my Ahouva back. C’mon, let it out.”

Let it out was a very vague order, so, since he was smiling, and since he’d promised to warn her before punishing her, she poked him in the chest. “If you want me to act like myself, you can’t order it. Ordering is all about being a good pet. Being an obedient Kept. Ordering me to think about myself is counter-productive and it’s confusing.”

He looked startled, but he didn’t tell her to stop, so she didn’t.

“If you want me to be myself, Basalt, stop worrying about being a good Owner and just be a good person around me. You want to date your Kept… date me. Or something. Talk to me like a person and not a project. I’m not a broken window.” She wrinkled her nose, as her brain caught up with her mouth. “Or just Keep me,” she added, flinching a little bit, “but not like… ordering me to be honest. It sucks.”

He blinked. “Brydan…” He shook his head. “Right. That was different. And you… all right, Ahouva. I’ll try. May I kiss you?”

That seemed like a nice start. “Can I stop letting it out?” she countered, feeling more like herself than she had in a long time.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/298440.html. You can comment here or there.

Humanity, a continuation of Dragons next Door for the January Giraffe Call

Mar11

For [personal profile] anke‘s commissioned continuation of Parent-Teacher Conference (LJ). Have no fears, there is twice this again in the queue to write!

Dragons next Door has a landing page here.

Audrey watched the woman’s expression, her hands, the way one long curl of her hair was trembling like a seismometer. She waited for a count of three, and then, because she wasn’t sure she trusted her own voice, she counted to three again.

“You seem to be under the impression that Juniper is completely human.” She used “completely” not for clarity, but because it clouded the issue. There were many human-hybrids out there, not many by percentages, perhaps, but enough that 20/20 had done specials on them, enough that most people had heard of someone who had met one.

In her line of work, Audrey had met more than one. Possibly more than a hundred; there were some she wasn’t sure of. Whatever the tv shows liked to suggest, one couldn’t always tell that someone was non-human by looking at them.

“And how would you have come to that impression, mmm?” Sage asked, seeming to, as he often did, read Audrey’s mind.

“She looks human,” Miss Milligan whispered. She stared at her tea in concern. “She looked like a normal little girl.”

“Except the overactive imagination,” Audrey pointed out sweetly. “Now, Juniper is a very imaginative young lady. She enjoys flights of fantasy and make-believe as much as the next child. But, Miss Milligan, there is a difference between that and making up stories.“

The teacher looked up at them with a bit of steel. “Are you telling me, then, that your daughter has actually had dinner with ogres? That she babysits a dragon?”

“Yes, and yes.” Audrey raised an eyebrow. “Did she tell you about the time she slept over with the Harpy hatchlings? Smokey Knoll is a diverse neighborhood, Miss Milligan, as you clearly already know.”

“Yes, yes,” the teacher frowned, leaning forward. “I do have students here from some of the more… easily integrated races.”

Audrey smirked, reading “easily integrated” as “fits in a student-sized desk.” “I’m aware. So why the surprise? We’ve told you we live in Smokey Knoll.”

“You let your daughter spend time with ogres!” the woman exploded. “They are one of the most dangerous races around, and you willingly brought your daughter within their grasp! If Juniper was human – and I don’t entirely believe you that she’s not – I’d be calling child protective services on you! Babysitting dragons, indeed. Are you trying to get her killed?”

“There are plenty,” Sage answered quietly, “that would willingly do that. And plenty who protect her. The Smiths – those would be the dragons – as well as the tribe of ogres, the Euton, who used to be our neighbors, and, more than once, the harpies down the road, have each stopped or put off a hunter who was seeking to harm one of our three children.”

Audrey picked up the thread. “I can’t think of a safer place for our children to be than in the protection of the dragons next door.”

The woman shook her head, clearly out of her league. “It doesn’t seem right. But then again, none of this does.”

Audrey raised an eyebrow. This might prove interesting. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I used to know,” Miss Milligan sighed, “what was real, and what wasn’t. Now I don’t have a clue.”

“Well, then,” Sage smirked. “Ignorance is a good first step.”

Next: Human Town (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/298029.html. You can comment here or there.