15 minute ficlet: Reasons

May8

Originally posted here in response to the Lyrics Prompt “I don’t need your reasons – I know you’re good.”

“I don’t need your reasons.” Junji took the photo from the too-thin, too-blonde woman. “I’m here to do a job.”

“But…” She gestured with manicured hands, fruitlessly.

“But?” Junji shrugged, studied the picture, and handed it back. “You have something you need done, and you’re willing to pay for having it done well. Right?”

“I know you’re good… I mean, I heard you were good,” she faltered. “You come really well recommended. And,” she muttered, “no one else would take the job.”

“Well,” Junji shrugged philosophically, “it’s that sort of job. That’s what I get called in for.”

“You don’t mind?” She seemed to be saying I’d mind.

“Why should I?” She didn’t answer You learn to stop caring. “It’s money they aren’t getting, and I am, and after all…”

“A girl’s got to do what she’s got to do to survive.” The blonde nodded, understanding. “Even if you have to take the jobs no-one else wants.”

Junji eyed her, beginning to understand the client. That wasn’t good. She didn’t like the kinship-feeling. She didn’t like thinking of her clients as people, or her targets. They were money-in, money-out. They were what she had to do to survive.

Ack. She looked at the picture again, studied the way his nose tilted just to one side, the expensive suit that didn’t actually suit him, the very very charming blue eyes. “Not your son. Not your husband. Not your ex, or your lover.”

“The boss’s son,” she murmured, gratified and embarrassed all at once. “I’m divorced, single, and my daughters live with their father.”

“And he’s…” Not a rival. Too far above her in the hierarchy to be that, and too young. They were on different tracks completely.

“Really, really good with his tongue,” the woman whispered, her blush suggesting the blonde had once been normal.

“Ah.” It helped, Junji was surprised to find, to know something about their reasons. “I’ll deliver him to you tomorrow, as per our agreement.” And probably not take the opportunity to try out that tongue herself.

“I know you will,” the woman smiled. “You’re the best.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/40612.html. You can comment here or there.

Well. Drabble. Moonlight Outing

May2

From [community profile] dailyprompt: “not quite like that”

and

“wearing someone else’s clothes”

and

“together, they fight crime!” It all fell together from those three, but Ascha still managed to surprise me. Might be fae apoc.

“So when do we get to meet this mystery woman?” Kendall teased.

“It’s not quite like that,” Ascha protested weakly.

“I suppose it has to be different,” he conceded. For a moment, she thought she’d somehow dodged the bullet (why were metaphorical bullets so much harder than the real sort?) but he persisted, “I mean, you’ve brought every other boy, girl, and alien you’ve dated home for dinner at least once. Sometimes more than once, when Javari was living with us. But that’s ‘dinner,’ I guess.”

“There was only the one alien,” she complained weakly. “And, really, you make it sound like I have a revolving door on my bedroom. I’ve lived with you for five years, Ken.”

“I know, I know,” he said, rushing to placate her, and, for a second time, she thought she’d derailed him. “Five years, six months, and three weeks. And in all that time, there’s been six people, including the alien. So, no. Next to me, you’re a nun. Next to Corinne, you’re… well, not a nun. But that’s because she is.” He flapped a hand impatiently, clearing out that conversation. “The point is, have you ever not brought one home before?”

“I have still brought home every being I’ve dated, and even the stray cat I picked up that turned out to be sentient.” And maybe that would distract him? Please?

“Aah, Tabby. What happened to her?”

“She got her own talk show, eventually. Now she’s writing self-help books and owns her own house.”

“That’s gratitude for you.”

“Yeah. Teach me to pick up strays.” Not that Tabby hadn’t sent her a couple fat checks, but she’d long since learned to keep money away from her roommates; they had a habit of devouring it.

“Ascha, you’re never going to stop picking up strays. Like your mystery girl. Come on, A, after the alien, is there really anyone you couldn’t bring home?”

“Damnit, Ken-doll…”

“You know, you’re not making it any easier on yourself, stalling like this. Dish, A.”

She sighed , turning her back to him and packing up her bag for work. “She’s not a lover. She’s a friend, mostly. I’m not even sure she likes girls.”

“I’ve never known you to spend this much time alone with a ‘friend’ who wasn’t someone you could bring home for beers,” he complained.

“Yeah, well…” She sighed. “We’ve got a thing, but it’s kind of fragile. I tell you what, I promise I’ll bring her home as soon as I think it won’t blow up in my face, okay?”

“I’ll take what I can get, I guess. Go on, you’ll be late for your date.”

“It’s not…” but he was already out the door. “…quite like that,” she told his departing back.”

“I was beginning to worry,” Heather commented.

“Sorry, my roommates were getting on my case. They want to meet you.”

“Your roommates?” Heather shrugged into her vest and straightened her sleeves. “Is that the incubus you were telling me about?”

“Nah, Javari moved out. So mostly just garden-variety freaks.” She grabbed her uniform from the shelf. “They think we’re dating.”

“You don’t want to tell them the truth?”

Putting on the leather pants and tight-fitting armored shirt still felt like wearing someone else’s clothes. In a sense, she was, she mused, as she pinned her short hair up under the hood that masked her features, leaving only her eyes visible. Ascha stayed at home. The Bronze Sword went out – and the Midnight Maiden.

“Do you think they’d believe the truth?”

Heather – no, the Maiden – settled her weapons into their sheathes and checked her veil. “I don’t know. Some people would probably rather we were risking our lives fighting crime together than snogging in the back seat.”

“Some people, probably,” the Sword agreed. “Mine flip out about a paper cut.” She stepped into the elevator with her partner. Someday soon, maybe, they’d have a proper fortress, but this did for the time being.

“My family would flip more about the snogging,” the Maiden admitted, so quietly that she was nearly drowned out by the creaking of the ancient lift.

“Well,” the Sword offered, before Ascha could shut her mouth, “perhaps there’s more than crime to fight tonight, then.”

She resisted the urge to slap her hand over her mouth as Heather turned slowly to look at her. It would only make it worse.

“Perhaps,” the Maiden murmured, in her moonlight and whisky voice.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/38979.html. You can comment here or there.

Drabble: Collateral Damage

Apr29

From dailyprompt: “Stunt Double.”

and

Three Word Wednesday,
foolish, mercy, relish.

Fae Apoc.

“Do you think we were unwise?” Jackie twisted to look at the unconscious man-boy in the back seat; shirtless, rain-drenched, unconscious, he looked even younger than he had cowering in the corner.

“That sort of mercy is always foolish,” Anne answered, but, seeing the expression on her sibling’s face, relented a little. “But I’m sure we can work something out for him. He’s kind of a nice little rabbit, isn’t he?”

“Mm, more of a ferret?” Jackie mused. “Or a mink.”

“He does have sharp teeth.” Anne rubbed her arm ruefully. “But I thought we weren’t going to skin him.”

“Otter, then.”

“Good, I’ll throw him in the water. So, basically, you think he’s a weasel. And yet you saved his life.”

“Well, he’s a cute weasel. Not quite a weasel. Marten. Like that pine marten we saw last week. And it wasn’t his fault, really.” She glanced back at their captive again. “Okay, the biting was his fault, and he really seemed to relish it when he kicked me in the shins, but I guess I can’t really blame him.”

“I can,” Anne muttered. She glanced in the rearview at the boy, and then further back. “Is that a tail?”

“No, they just pulled on at the last exit. Just an asshole.”

“Throw a blanket over the kid anyway, would you? I don’t want someone calling the cops.”

“I’m sure the cops are already looking for us.” She tucked the blanket around the unconscious boy anyway, trying to ignore the double twinge of maternal-like concern and assassin-like homicide. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that the target had had a stunt double. It probably wasn’t even his fault that he’d attacked them; he had a bit of a brainwashed look to him, conscious. But he did look exactly like the man they’d left dead in Detroit, down to the mole on his cheek and the way the dyed-red curl in the front hung enticingly over his forehead. Someone had to have shifted him at some point; even twins didn’t look that similar.

“We almost killed the wrong guy,” she muttered.

“We almost killed an extra guy,” her sister corrected. “Do you really think we would have failed to notice when he fell over with lead bullets and didn’t get back up?”

“If he did,” she countered. “Are you sure he’s human?”

“What makes you think he’s not?”

“The way he went catatonic when we killed his Keeper.”

“Keep… oh.” It was rare she got to see Anne taken aback; she relished it a little bit even while making sure the guy behind her was, indeed, just an asshole. “You think he’s an Owned halfbreed?”

“He certainly was acting like it. I mean, enough mind control could do it, too, so I guess we’ll have to wait until he wakes up.”

“Speaking of which, he’s not likely to do so before we get to a safe house, is he?”

“Nah.” She tapped the boy’s forehead lightly. “He’s out. Human or fae, he won’t be waking up until I want him to.”

 

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/38194.html. You can comment here or there.

Designing a towel shawl @inventrix

Apr29

Okay!

So, from what I recall from my Douglass Adams, the nice thing about a towel isn’t just that you look like a respectable creature, but that it serves as:
* clothing
* blanket
* and, of course, a towel.

So a towel shawl should be of appropriate dimensions to be minimal clothing and blanket. On me, that’s about 5 foot by 25″ (chin-to-floor by half shoulder circumference). It needs to be towel-absorbant, and not a lacy pattern, or at least not primarily lacy, although one could probably get away with a pattern down the center.

This looks like a good base to work from
(pdf)
http://media.wiley.com/assets/1320/76/TYV_Knitdesignp17.pdf
52×18

I’m picturing a wide seed stitch border around all 4 sides, fringe on the narrow ends, and possibly a lace or texture pattern down the long center for knitting and visual interest.

Now! Rainbow. The easy way I can see to do this nicely is wide stripes of color transitioning in Fibonacci narrow stripes to the next color.

Yarns, quick options:
http://www.elann.com/Commerce.Web/product.aspx?catID=30&id=126172&tid=7
http://www.elann.com/Commerce.Web/product.aspx?catID=30&id=118533&tid=7
http://www.elann.com/Commerce.Web/product.aspx?catID=30&id=126501&tid=7
http://www.knitpicks.com/cfyarns/yarn_display.cfm?ID=5420162
http://www.knitpicks.com/yarns/Simply_Cotton_Worsted_Yarn__D5420199.html
http://www.yarnmarket.com/yarn/Tahki_Yarn-Cotton_Classic_Yarn-2489.html

3 Weeks for Dreamwidth, aka “where’s the stuff?”

Apr29

Dreamwidth is doing a three-weeks-for-Dreamwidth thing, so there are a few posts that will appear only on Dreamwidth, on purpose, rather than being xposted, as I normally do.

Those posts can be found here:

http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/tag/3+weeks+for+dreamwidth

Now, mind you, I’m also just having a slow week, so there’s not a lot there, either; there’s just not a lot of stuff in general coming out of me this week. Not *writing* stuff, at least.

Drabble: Keeping a hold on things

Apr28

From [community profile] dailyprompt: “knowing where your towel is.”

Autumn/Stranded world, goes along with Enclosed

“The shawl is a new look for you,” Anja commented over tea.

Autumn plucked the edge of the rainbow-hued garment in question, tucked around her hips like a skirt. “Always know where your towel is,” she explained cryptically. “Besides, Aunt Happy knit it for me.”

“Aaah.” Autumn’s Aunt Happenstance making something was reason enough to hold onto it; she was a Weaver. But Anja still tilted her head. “Hitch-hiker’s guide? I didn’t figure you for a fan – and, besides, your towel’s a bit prettier and a bit more handcrafted than Ford’s.”

“Well, it’s also more socially acceptable.” She smoothed the cloth, feeling she owed her old friend more explanation. “The book has a couple good points, even if I’m not a fan. And, face it, I live an essentially itinerant lifestyle. A multi-tasker that I never have to leave behind is a pretty useful thing to have around.”

She should have left it at “Aunt Happy.” Anja, no fool, raised one questioning eyebrow. “Autumn, what happened?”

She slumped a bit in the patchwork Queen Anne chair. “Someone stole my van last month at Rhinebeck.”

“Oh, god, the poor thing! What did you do with the body?”

Autumn glowered over her scone at her friend. “An, my van does not eat people.”

“No, no, of course not, but it’s been known to chew on them.”

“Only a little, and only when they really deserved it.”

“So, I repeat, what did you do with the body?”

“I drove him to the hospital,” she admitted in a mutter. “But it took me three days to find him – and the van.”

“Aaaah.” And the lovely thing about friends like Anja was that they really did understand. “Thus the sudden connection to portable belongings. Where are you hiding the tent?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/38140.html. You can comment here or there.