In Mr. Ting’s
For @inventrix’s commissioned continuation of Burning Summer Quest (LJ); Part 1 of ?
“Mr. Ting knows what you need.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting. Okay, no, I know what I was expecting – Mr. Miyagi from The Karate Kid, or Egg Shen from Big Trouble in Little China, or Lu-Tze from Thief of Time. In short, I expected a sterotype.
I know better. But it was really, really hot, and my brain was frying like an egg.
So into Mr. Ting’s we went, feeling a little jittery, a lot sweaty, and a tiny bit hopeful. If he didn’t have what we needed (despite the sign), well, we were down to leaving the fridge open or buying ice in giant bags. Or dousing everyone in water every four minutes. I didn’t think the cats would like that.
The store windows had been covered over with paper, so walking in, we were going in blind, accompanied by the sound of loudly jangling windchimes hitting the back of the door. Jordan headed in first; I took up the rear, nervously-if-ridiculously checking to see if we were observed. We weren’t; nobody else was dumb enough to be out in weather like this.
So at first, all I could see of the store was Jordan’s paused, tense shoulderblades sticking to the thinnest T-shirt possible. I wondered if we were going to have to make a hasty escape, and grabbed the door handle in preparation. I wondered if someone was going to shoot at us. Like I said, my brain was fried and I was feeling rather silly.
Then I noticed that the store was comfortable. Not freezing, like a lot of stores, but a nice pleasant temperature, just cool enough that we weren’t dying. And Jordan still wasn’t moving. We were getting to the shoving stage.
“Come in, come in, kiddos, let me pour you some lemonade. Take a load off your feet.” That was, I presumed, not Mr. Ting. For one, the accent was local. For another, the voice was female, or, at the very least, in a traditionally female register.
“What…” Jordan finally managed, and stumbled forward one step. Not enough for me to do much except look at the floor, which was blue-and-white tiled and prettier than anything else in the neighborhood except, possibly, one of our roommates. But Taylor was a special case. “What…” again. Broken record time; I gave a little shove.
“It’s all right, kids, I know, it’s hotter than hell outside and you’re got to be dehydrated. Here, have a skirt, dear, and here’s a vest for your friend, and there you go.” She bustled around Jordan, and then me, playing dress-up like we were dolls, and I finally got a look at her.
She was maybe late-fifties or a very nicely preserved late-sixties, her hair dyed improbably red, her eyes almost black. She had a lean figure not in keeping with that mother-of-the-world voice, and a lipstick smile the same unbelievable color as her hair. She caught me looking, and winked.
“Mr. Ting is out for a moment, so you two just have a seat, have some lemonade, and wait,” she insisted.
Continued: Mrs. Gent’s Lemonade (LJ)
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Cleaning Up, More of the Story of Addergoole Post-Apoc (@inventrix @cluudle)
After: Separation Anxiety (<a
href=”http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/381004.html”>LJ) Boom!/RP timeline/ Cynara
Parting Advice, and Mother Bears (<a
href=”http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/384190.html”>LJ)
Mother-Son Bonding (<a
href=”http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/388716.html”>LJ)
Kept du Jour/a> (<a
href=”http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/390514.html”>LJ)
“Are we killing this one?” (<a
href=”http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/391532.html”>LJ)
Meeting the Family (LJ) (a chat log)
and
Roleplay Log (Cya/Cabal, posted by cluudle); about one month after the beginning of this story.
Content warning: implied neglect-style abuse.
“Cya? Protect your Kept.”
She sighed, and headed out to the barn, the echoes of her conversation with Cabal still ringing in her ears. He was right, of course. He was usually right.
“So you show your son that you’re a Keeper who lets their Kept be-“
No. No, she had never been that sort of Keeper. Cabal knew that; he’d been her first Kept. She’d always taken care of what was hers, of who was hers. And Panlong should be no different.
”Yoshi wants him here so he can deal with him.” She had to let her son grow up, sadly, and part of that was letting him deal with Pan on his own. She couldn’t keep solving his problems forever.
“Come here.” The boy looked filthy, tired, and hungry. He’d been cleaning the stable for… hunh. Probably too long now. She knew better than that.
“Mistress?”
“Cynara,” she corrected, as he walked hesitantly over to her, his shoulders slumped. Yep, he stank. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised. She grabbed his shoulder as gently as she could force herself to be, and steered him out behind the barn.
“Cynara?” he squeaked. There was a hose around here somewhere, and a drain…
“Strip. We’ll burn those clothes if they can’t be salvaged.”
He looked like he was considering running, but none of her Kept tried that more than once. Having a Keeper who can Find you anywhere had to be a bit disheartening, she supposed. “Strip?” he repeated, even as he did so. This is not being gentle, Cya. She knew that. She also knew she was going to have to work herself up to gentle.
The slow nervous trickle of urine running down his leg suggested that perhaps she would have to work up to it more quickly. “Am… are…” he stuttered.
She picked up the hose, noting someone had left it in the sun. Good, the first spray wouldn’t be horrid then, and it was late July. “I am going to wash you off,” she told him, trying for gentle and at least managing calm. “And then I am going to take you inside and give you a proper bath, and you and I are going to have a conversation.”
“Okay?” he squeaked, uncertain whether or not to be relieved.
“And Cabal is not going to shoot you,” she added helpfully.
“Good?” he gulped, as she started the hose.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/252547.html. You can comment here or there.
Meeting the Family, More of the Story of Addergoole Post-Apoc (@inventrix @cluudle)
This is actually a storified chat-log from a chat RP with @inventrix after
Separation Anxiety (LJ) Boom!/RP timeline/ Cynara
Parting Advice, and Mother Bears (LJ)
Mother-Son Bonding (LJ)
Kept du Jour (LJ)
and
“Are we killing this one?” (LJ)
Content warnings: implied past abuse.
“Idu Intinn” is a, um, magic spell meaning “Know Mind;” in short, surface telepathy.
By the time they reached the Ranch, Panlong was collared, nervous, and very confused-seeming, in part, Cya was sure, because Yoshi couldn’t seem to settle on a way to treat the older boy.
Leo, shirking chores, appeared next to the car as if summoned to help unload, half-Masked as he tended to in fuzzy-antler season, his ears and tail showing but not his antlers. Cya smiled at him as she got out of the car and popped the trunk; Yoshi, still Masked, and Panlong, still un-Masked, followed her out of the car, looking various shades of unhappy.
Leo stopped dead in his tracks, and Cya’s heart sank. She’d expected some reaction, once she told the crew. Not on sight. She did this every year – didn’t she?
Leo glanced between Pan and Cya, looking super-suspicious. “Who’s this?”
“Leofric sa’Lightning-Blade this is Panlong oro’Cynara,” she introduced them formally. “Pan, Leo.” At some point, she’d need to learn the Name Pan had earned. Not today.
Leo, still watching Panlong warily, inclined his head in a brief greeting. He then, pointedly, said nothing to him, instead turning to Yoshi as they unloaded the car. “So, how’d it go?”
Panlong was clearly fighting his instincts with his terror and common sense, and did not turn his back on this bigger buck as he moved as Cya directed. She kept both eyes on him and muttered a quick Idu Intinn, just enough to let her follow the conversation from beyond normal earshot, reading the conversation from Yoshi’s ears and eyes.
“It went,” Yoshi answered carefully.
“…I see.” Leofric was clearly not pleased with this answer, but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he made a tense gesture at Pan. “Friend of yours?”
“He was in a crew with my Keeper,” he answered slowly. “I thought Mom might like him.”
“Oh.” Leo managed to put enough hostility into that one syllable to level a small country. “Well. It looks like you were right.” The boy is still here, after all. For the moment.
Yoshi winced a little bit. “Mom probably wouldn’t like it if you did permanent damage to him,” he muttered sotto voce…
Cya was conveniently in line of sight, still, but not in earshot. Panlong, on the other hand, hovering between her and Yoshi, could hear just fine. She noted the way he flinched forward and deemed it an acceptable level of twitchiness. He deserved some nerves for what he’d done to her son.
“Only permanent?” Leo kept his voice down to the same level and looks up at the kid, grinning. “That’s easy.”
Yoshi shook his head. “I know why I don’t like him. Why don’t you?” This time, it was quieter, quiet enough that a slowly-sidling-away Pan could only hear that SOMETHING is being said.
Cya was glad for the Idu, wanting to know the answer. She moved closer to Pan, to put a hand on his shoulder, and pointed out where he needed to put things – Yoshi’s things in his room, Pan’s things…
“Hunh. Hallway closet for now.” She was not going to be sharing room or bedspace with this one. Certainly not right away.
Outside, Leo considered the question thoughtfully. “It’s complicated,” he finally settled on.
Oh, good, Leo. Complicated. Cya sighed again. This was going to get messy.
And then Yoshi made it messier. “I’m all for more reasons to hate him. Is it ’cause he kinda looks like you? I mean… Mom’s brought home your half-brothers before.” Yes, dear. About fifty percent of the time. Or nephews, or great-nephews.
Leofric tensed and shot Yoshi a sharp glance. “Why did you think Cya would like him?”
There was a pause while her son considered her answer. Cya studied the boy, antlers, blonde hair, that chin she knew so well, while waiting. He shoved his suitcases in the hall closet, and looked out at the car like it was a war zone.
“She has a type.” Two types, thank you. Possibly three. “And, well, I wanted to fuck with him. Getting him under Mom’s collar seemed a good way to kill two birds with one stone.”
Cya chuckled, and then had to make it a cough.
“Go on,” she snapped at Panlong. “Keep moving.”
Leo’s fingers twitched in a barely-repressed reflex. “What did he–” He cut himself off mid-sentence and exhaled loudly. “If you feel like talking about it…”
Listening, Cya felt her glare at the boy deepening. What did he do, indeed.
Yoshi’s breaths were getting shakey. “Not yet. Thanks, Uncle Leo.” He smiled uncertainly. “Pan wasn’t the worst of it, but Mom doesn’t ever Keep girls.”
Oh. Oh. Some bitch was going to die a messy, bloody death. A slow one. Pan, seeing the look on her face, backed up slowly towards the closet.
Leofric looked like he was going to say something, then just smiled crookedly. “No, she doesn’t.”
Oh, dear. Cya wished, momentarily, for a deeper Idu, but she wouldn’t do that without his permission.
Yoshi’s face twisted in worry. “Uncle Leo…?” he asked nervously.
“It’s okay.” His smile looked a bit forced and uncertain to Yoshi’s eyes, like he wasn’t sure it was the right response. “You talked to your mom about it, yet?”
Hardly. She frowned, and resisted the urge to shove the boy in the closet.
“A little. I mean, Pan was in the car, so there was only so much. And… she’s my mom,” he adds uncertainly. “She sounds like she gets it, but can she, really?” He sounds like he’s not sure he wants to know.
Oh, son. She bit her lip and went for the next load of luggage.
“Yes.” It was a very definite yes. “She does.”
“I’m not sure I want to think about how Mom knows that sort of thing.” Yoshi squirmed uncomfortably; listening in, Cya did, too. “She said you might… get it?”
Leofric glanced away, looking conflicted. “…I might. If…” He trails off. “Whenever you want to talk about it, I’ll… try.” It was time to break this conversation up. She grabbed Panlong and steered him towards the others with another chest.
She paused by the pair, son and beloved, meeting Leo’s eye. He gave her a twisted half-smile, almost apologetic, then gave himself a shake and inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. With that, he was back to normal-for-Leo. He smiled at her again, a real smile but with an edge. “How’s the new boy doing?”
“Terrified. Rightfully.” She kept looking at him for a moment. “Don’t kill him, Leo.” It was almost a request, almost a plea. And then she couldn’t stand it anymore, and hugged him, tightly, fiercely.
He hesitated, then hugged her back carefully “I won’t kill him.” And, as an afterthought; “I won’t let Zita kill him, either.”
“Thank you, Leo.” She pretended not to notice the death look he sent the boy, and added, instead, “if I thought he was un-redeemable, he never would have survived the drive home.” And that, she made sure Panlong heard.
For a moment, Leo’s smile looked almost bitter. “I figured.”
“Are you mad at me?” she whispered, confused by the bitterness.
“What? No, of course not.” He was obviously confused by the question, so she tried to explain.
“You’re getting that way where I don’t know where you are again,” she muttered in his pointed ear.
“Where…? I’m…” He trailed off, then glanced at Yoshi and away again. “Sorry.” It was just barely audible. “But I promise, you haven’t done anything wrong, and I’m not upset with you. Okay?”
Looking at his face, she knew it was going to have to be enough right now. She nodded, and then, still up against his ear, she whispered, “I love you, Leo. I always will.”
His arms were warm around her for just a moment. “Anything else need to be brought in?”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/252178.html. You can comment here or there.
Memmmmme
Stolen from ![[personal profile]](http://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morrigans_eve who stole it from hiddencait
I’m running a test to see who’s reading my posts. So, if you read this, leave me a one-word comment about your day that starts with the last letter of your LJ USERNAME. Only one word please. Then repost so I can leave a word for you. Don’t just post a word and not copy – that’s not as much fun!
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/251981.html. You can comment here or there.
Delving in History, a continuation of Fae Apoc for the Giraffe Call (@inventrix)
For The inventrix‘s commissioned prompt, a continuation of Scrounging for History (LJ), and Digging through History (<a
href=”http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/391242.html”>LJ) Part 2 of… probably 7.5
Fae Apoc has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ
The stairs seemed to go on forever. Karida hated places like this, going into the dark, not knowing quite what was there. She couldn’t imagine doing it “blind,” like a normal human, not knowing if the stair under you would crack or not, not knowing where the walls were. She couldn’t imagine doing it at all if she didn’t know if something lurked in the corners. Not knowing what was lurking was hard enough, nightmare enough.
She hit the bottom of the stairs, reaching for her senses to reassure her that Dor was right behind her, Amalie up at the top looking out, or at least there, if not actually watching. And the something was still there, hiding in the back corner. Waiting for them? Aware of their presence at all? She did not have the Words to know, and Amalie’s Workings were too unreliable (like everything about her, except her song). She kept walking, feeling her way, avoiding the detritus on the floor and sweeping what she could out of the way for Dor.
They were not silent. There was no point in silence, and much more point in being safe. They could trip and fall in stealth, and then both their quiet and their tactical position would be ruined. So instead, they moved forward, hoping it was a wild animal, hoping to spook it out instead of spooking it into attacking them.
Three more steps. Four. The something in the back corner hadn’t moved. “Light,” she murmured to Dor, and he lit the lamp with its small share of oil. A door hung half-off its hinges, a small room defined by broken walls, one hung with pegs. Anything that had hung on the pegs had long since been taken, except one tiny wrench hiding in a corner. Karida pocketed that, pocketed the three remaining pegs, and pushed aside the broken door.
It had been – she wasn’t sure. The ancients had rooms for things she, wagon-born and raised, could hardly imagine. Maybe a storage room? Half-broken crates lined the walls, a few of them, near the bottom, looking intact. They would deal with those later. Hiding, nearly in the crates, in the back corner….
The thing hissed and jumped out at them as Dor swung the light towards Karida’s gesture. Thing, no, not a thing, “flat, Dor, flat,” she called, and tried to take the small woman down with her staff. Two quick thumps to non-vital parts, a third and fourth from the flat of Dor’s wakizashi, and their attacker lay sprawled whimpering at their feet.
“Do you think she’s feral?” Dor murmured. If she was, there would be no reasoning with her, no bargaining. The kindness would be to leave her to her wildness.
“Lee-mee-lone,” the woman muttered. Girl, Karida realized, filthy but with some effort to tidy herself. No older than Amalie.
“No,” she answered slowly. “Or… at least not entirely.” It might have been better if she was.
Next: Bringing Home History (LJ)
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When the Gods Attacked, a story of Fae Apoc for the Giraffe Call
Faerie Apoc has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ
It has a very very rudimentary wiki beginning here
Maggie went through her Change as Marduk declared supremacy over the capital of New York State, presumably because the bigger gods had already invaded New York City and the Polish & Russian gods taking over Buffalo were more than a little terrifying.
She was walking home from classes with her friend ‘Cray when the strafing began, dragons flying low overhead, lighting buildings on fire at seeming random. They started running, feet pounding the pavement, every beat seeming to be not enough not enough, not enough, and as they ran, her ten-inch height advantage over her friend seemed to grow, and her feet were burning, screaming in pain, her heels feeling like they were moving. She kept running – there was something like a dinosaur lumbering down the street, and they had to get off the roads and into a house, preferably a stone house – until she couldn’t walk anymore, and found herself pulled into a building. There, the pain finally took over, and she passed out.
She came back to consciousness a few minutes later to the smell of ‘Cray filling her nose, thick and feline and worried, like a tom-cat ready to kill something, stronger than she’d ever known him. She opened her eyes, slowly, to find him hovering over her, his now-very-pointed ears pointing at her. A low giggle escaped her. “McCrae, I always said you were a tomcat.”
“And I always said you were a fox. I think I was a little off,” he noted. “Dodger says thylacine, and, more importantly, says we need to leave the city before the fighting really starts.”
“Dodger?” The only Dodger she knew was the bum who played violin for spare change.
“Dodger,” a voice behind her agreed; the bum’s voice, but richer, heavier, and more musical. “There’s a lot to explain, including why I was watching over the two of you, but the TL:DR version is this: Marduk has moved into the city with a crew of about seven smaller fae and a double dozen really nasty human and human-like warriors. The good guys are on their way, and they’re going to do their best to stop him, but everyone and everything will be on the lookout for kids like you, Changed but with no sense yet. Don’t promise anyone anything, don’t tell anyone your names, and by all that’s holy, don’t get into any fights with anyone.”
He was standing over Maggie by the time he finished this, revealing himself to be, well, himself, but with a shaggy tail and perky collie ears, and a much cleaner trenchcoat than she normally saw him in. There were gods attacking the city, so she avoided commentary about Crime Dogs, and simply nodded. She was pretty sure he was trying to save their lives.
“Where do we go? And how?”
He pressed a key into her hands, and another one into ‘Cray’s. “There’s a van outside. There’s a map with a route highlighted on it in yellow. Cray drives. You have the cabin key. Wait there for me. If I don’t come in a month… you’re on your own.” He helped her to her feet and gave them a gentle shove. “Go. There’s a war on, and you’re not ready to be enlisted.”
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Moving on
After Witness (LJ Link)
Three-Way (LJ)
In the Audience (LJ)
Just Be Yourself (LJ)
Addergoole has a landing page here (here on LJ)
This probably needs a trigger warning for magical thinking
Basalt was, Ahouva was learning, not as hard to work around as she’d feared. He didn’t appear to have a temper, certainly not on the lines of Kendon’s, and he had a great deal of patience with her while she fumbled around, trying to figure out how to make him happy.
She was not sure she liked this list that he insisted on – “write down everything that makes you really happy, and everything that makes you unhappy” – but it had become a kind of meditative exercise, a minute after each class where she let herself just think about herself, and how she felt. Sharing it with him every evening – that was less comfortable. It never failed to get a frown, and it never failed to get a “good girl,” until she was finally, today after her magic class, adding “talking about this list” to her list of things that made her unhappy.
Thoughtfully, and because she didn’t like him frowning, she added “Kissing Basalt” to the list of things that made her happy. It was honest – he’d insisted on honesty but, thankfully, not complete honesty – and it would make him smile. She liked it when he smiled.
She closed her notebook and headed out into the hall. He’d be waiting for her; he always waited for her after her last class. It could be kind of romantic, like he was some 1950’s boyfriend, if she didn’t think he was afraid Kendon would get his hands on her. That… She paused in the doorway, and wrote “thinking about Kendon” on the list of things that made her unhappy. Thinking about Kendon terrified her.
“So you have Kendon’s little toy now, ‘Salt?” She paused in the doorway. Kendon’s toy. That was her. Not anymore… but that was her. What would Basalt say.
“I Own Ahouva,” he confirmed, slowly. “Why, Calvin?”
Calvin! She knew him! He’d been all over Timora for the first couple weeks, and then… nothing. And Timora had come out of Hell Night with Arundel, and not speaking.
“Getting’ kind of bored, thought you might want to exchange… favors. She’s a cute little thing.”
“You don’t have anything I want.”
“Are you sure?” Calvin’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Ahouva’s heart dropped. Slowly, she slunk back into the classroom. She could hide. She could… something. Run away? She could run away. Somewhere. Slowly, she sidled out the back door.
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Tea with /HER/, further continued, a story of Tir na Cali for the Giraffe Call @dahob
A continuation of… Tea with HER (beginning) (LJ)
Tea with HER (continuation) (LJ)
Tea with HER (continuation 2) (LJ)
Tea with HER (continuation 3) (LJ)
Tea with HER (continuation 4) ()
I was very busy for several weeks after the mourning period. While I’d been running the Barony by proxy for almost two years, there was a marked difference between “by proxy” and “in fact and law.” Mostly, ceremony. Lots and lots of ceremony.
When I wasn’t being draped in ceremonial whatnots, mouthing ceremonial words, or signing ceremonial documents, I had my new slave to train.
He wasn’t Michael, and, though I tried not to drive that home to him too much, I’m sure it came up more than it ought to. Probably about the seventeenth time I slipped and called him “Michael” instead of “boy” and he found an excuse to leave the room and vanish for four hours.
I didn’t even punish him for that. How could I? It was so much like I’d felt. I did, finally, sit him down and ask what he’d been called, back home.
He had to think that one over, checking, I think, against the Countess’ orders. I made a raspberry noise before he got to an answer. “First things first. Who do you belong to?”
“You, Mistress.” That part was easy, it seemed.
“Very good. Whose orders do you follow?”
“Yours, Mistress. And… and your Chief of Staff.”
“Very good. But you follow Ander’s orders only because I ordered you to. What this means is whatever orders She gave you are no longer in play.” It felt so very, very, VERY good to be able to say that. I think I was grinning as I said it. “You are mine, and not hers.” Although I might be tempted to brand him.
“I’m yours,” he repeated. “Yes, Mistress.” Finally, what I was saying sank in. “My name was James. James Markson.”
“James.” Conveniently, it sounded nothing at all like “Michael.” I smiled at him, very happy. “Then I’ll call you James.”
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And Before That?
Casey woke up, showered, got dressed, went to work, stopping for a breakfast pastry and a hot drink on the way. Worked for ten hours, with a half-hour break for lunch, went home, cooked dinner, went to sleep.
Nine days out of ten, with a break on the tenth day – and on the tenth day, Casey went to the park, and lay out in the sun, reading a book, enjoying the cacophony of the other 10% of the population taking their day off. The sun was warm, the rain had fallen early in the morning, and the cheap paperback was entertaining, if one Casey had read before.
“Have you ever wondered,” the girl on the next blanket looked a little nonuniform, her hair wild, her tunic trimmed with bright embroidery. Maybe an artist? They had more leeway in such things.
“Wondered?” Casey didn’t wonder.
“What you did before?”
“Before what? Yesterday, I worked. Last week, I came here and read a book. Before that, I worked.”
“And before that?” she prompted, leaning forward, encroaching on Casey’s blanket.
“Before that? The same as…” Casey trailed off. Was life really that boring? Was every day so similar that there really was no memory of the past? “The same as every other ten-day.” But was it?
“You see? I am thirty days into a mural. I will be done in thirty more. But I cannot remember any other mural I’ve ever worked on. And neither can anyone else I talk to. It’s as if we have no history beyond thirty days ago.”
Work, sleep, eat… Casey tried to remember further back, and could not. “That’s impossible.” But was it?
“I think we’re past that stage,” the artist said dryly. “I think now, we should be on to ‘why.’ And, of course… ‘how.'”
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