Tag Archive | giraffecall: 010214

Day three of the Fish Call!

Good morning!  It’s early in the morning and I’m not leaving my parents’ house (Where I have been doggo-sitting and using their wifi) until at least 2 in the afternoon, aiming for about 3:#0

Which means I still have hours to go of writing (there’s a zoom conference, a shower, repacking, and cleaning up everything in there too, but more or less, hours of writing (and a little minecrafting) – and you still have hours to prompt – or to comment!  C’mon guys, Kelkyag is carrying all the weight here!  And I will remind you that the first two posts to reach five reader comments (then the first to reach 7, and so on) will get a continuation/sequel written.

I’m dying to use this image.

comments: 9

but so far mostly it’s

comments: 1


My Prompt Call is open here – http://www.lynthornealder.com/2020/08/04/summertime-prompt-call-gone-fishin/ – and I’m hoping for many more prompts!

Written Yesterday:

Clean…?  The plant offered clean energy.  Cleaner might’ve been more accurate.  The fish living downstream of the runoff might’ve said something different entirely.   This is set in the universe/city/power plant featured in Saving the Cult (If not the World), a ‘verse tagged Organization.

Seek And…?  Long long ago, I began a story about a woman lost in a blizzard and ending up in a different world. This story peeks in on her life, as she fishes for answers and is caught in turn.

Fresh Fish  The city of Scheffenon, on the North Sea high on the edges of the Empire, is known for many things.  But one thing that it is not known for – at least in modern times – is fish, or at least fish pulled from the North Sea.  They do not fish, not as such, on the North Sea. (Things Unspoken ‘verse)


Written Wednesday:

Unplumbed Depths – Fishing in Minecraft can get you some strange results.  This fictional view of the fishing strips out a lot of the blockier elements but does leave a fishing pole with, perhaps, a little too much Luck enchanted into it.

…A Break…? – Jess works security at The Facility, a place where science which nobody calls mad (in the hearing of the scientists) is perpetrated.  It’s a really good job.  But sometimes, your friend up in the top end of things asks for a favor…

A Start, a story for the Orig-Fic Bingo

This is to [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt to this January card for [community profile] origfic_bingo.

It fills the “love at first sight” slot, and is in no established verse – although Holly MIGHT end up being in my Episodes ‘verse

They first ran into each other at a tiny regional sci-fi con. Holly was doing her favorite Bleach cosplay; Grace was wearing an extravagant medium-length dress and a pair of knee-high boots. She had an overcoat atop, the yellow frogs standing out in stark contrast to the black of the rest of her outfit.

They observed each other for a moment between the roleplaying-book booth and the tinted-contacts table. Grace spoke first, a little frown creasing her white-powdered forehead.

“Yoruichi Shihōin, right? From… Bleach.”

“Right!” Holly found herself grinning.

Grace made the gesture equivalent of a flourish. “My roommate loves anime. And thus, because it is a small room and a loud tv, I have begun to learn to love anime, too. Have you seen Death Note?

“Have I? Have I…!” And thus, they were off and running. Cons were little pockets of existence away from reality, and so it was easy to talk to a stranger, easy for Holly to invite Grace to breakfast so they could keep talking

IRL was trickier, but there was always gchat and twitter and soon they were talking every night, @GraceFired, what do you think of this idea for the next con; @TheBerry, OMG, I found a new lipstick that mimics the color of corpse lips.

It was late one night, on gchat, 100 times more private than twitter even if Google was reading everything, when Holly finally was brave enough to say “Gray… I think I love you.”

She stared at the words for a moment, and then typed hurriedly below that “I mean, not, not in a … I don’t want to… shit.”

“Chill, Hall. <3 I get it." There was a pause, the little grey line that said "Grace is typing…" And then, as if Grace wanted to whisper it: "I love you too."

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/697566.html. You can comment here or there.

Unwelcome Guests, Part the Third

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of Unwelcome Guests & Unwelcome Guests, Part II

(I should pay a little more attention to my list; this was for longfic)

Baram and his family are part of the “Baram’s House Elves” sub-series of the Addergoole ‘verse, which can be found here; Baram is also a background character in Addergoole.

“Girls.” Baram nodded at Via and Aly the second he heard the “basement” door shut.

“On it already, boss. Jaelie’s down with the kids and Aloysius. And Aly’s been waking up the rest of the defenses. Now she can swap with Jae and Jae can get the trees ready.”

“Good.” Baram paced out onto the front walk. There wasn’t much to pretend to do here, but he could still pace.

Behind him, the girls moved. This was not their first attack, not by far. They knew what they were doing.

The walls shifted. They weren’t awake, whatever Viatrix had said, but they were ready, braced, and stronger than they normally were.

“Precious cargo tucked in.” Jaelie touched Baram’s shoulder. “Aloysius has rear guard.”

“Good.” Baram didn’t have to like the useless thing to admit he could come in handy. “Trees?”

“They’re good trees, aren’t they?” She stroked the trunk of one of the front-gate flanking plants. “My favorite trees.”

Baram suppressed a shudder. Hawthorn trees weren’t supposed to be that big, and they were not suppose to /purr./ “Good trees,” he agreed. “Almost here.” The dust was rising on the horizon. “Inside.”


“Inside. Might not be a fight, best to find out.”

She sighed. “Inside, yes, boss.” She slipped out of sight just as the motorcycles roared into view.

Baram did his best to look casual. There was a bolt that needed fixing on the gate, anyway.

There were six of them, four males, two females; four warriors, two bitches, if Baram was reading them right, but they didn’t split along gender lines. They were wearing leather, which might mean they were young – or might mean they were pragmatic. Baram had met Aelfgar and his soldiers; Baram sometimes remembered, in dreams, flashes of being a soldier.

Take nothing for granted. They could even, he supposed, be just wandering through. Since the world had started ending, they had definitely seen odder things.

“Afternoon.” He nodded at them, doing his best to seem normal-and-human. Normal-and-human was not an easy setting for him, but these were people riding large motorcycles and hung with weapons. Their bar was a little lower than people in suits in glassy offices.

“We’re looking for a pair.” The leader – probably female, hard to tell, didn’t matter much in this case anyway – snarled it out without even bothering with the pretense. “One male, one female, skinny. They came this way.”

Baram shook his head. “Haven’t seen anyone like that.”

The leader narrowed her eyes and glanced, briefly, at the man Baram had tagged as her bitch. He paled, closed his eyes, and murmured incoherently.

“They’re near. I promise it, I swear it.”

“You lie.” It wasn’t clear whether the woman was talking to the man or to Baram. It didn’t matter; she was drawing a weapon. “You. Tell me again. One man, one woman.”

Baram shook his head. “Bad idea. Ride away now.”

“You, you are not going to tell me what to do.” She dismounted, and took steps towards the front gate. “Tell me. One man, one woman. And I might let you live.”

“Last chance.” He still hadn’t drawn steel. He didn’t need to. “Ride away. Now.”

“You fucking deaf or just stupid? Give us our prey and we’ll let you live.”

Baram found himself roaring, just as the trees by the gate found they could reach the woman. “This. This is a Safe. House.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/681233.html. You can comment here or there.

Sporting, a story of Fae Apoc for the January Giraffe Bingo (@Rix_scaedu)

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s prompt to my January orig-fic card. This fills the “Sports & Games” slot.

This is probably in my Fae Apoc setting; its landing page is here.


She hissed it in his ear, and the man had no choice but to run.


She called it after him, and so, of course, he fled. She’d given him pants, at least, a shirt, and shoes, although all were too thin for this forest, for the trees that lashed at him and the rocks that caught his feet.

“Escape!” It echoed through the woods, an order; it echoed through the man’s body and self, an imperative. It echoed in her dogs’ barks, a taunt. It echoed in the pounding of his feet, a song.


His feet hit the ground, hit the ground again. He could run quickly; when there had been tracks, when he had had a name, he had been a track runner, a good one, a prize-winning one. Now, he was nothing but the running, and so he did it with every ounce of his being.


Behind him, the hounds were baying. Behind him, the chase was beginning. A little bit of a head start, of course; it wasn’t sporting otherwise. And then they would come after him. They would chase him, unless he could flee.


Somewhere, deep inside him, the man knew what happened to the runners. He knew he wasn’t the first; he knew that most of them never came back, and those that did never came back more than once. This was his third run. He had to escape. He had to find a way out of here.

Run. Flee. Escape.

The man’s feet caught on a vine and he stumbled, but there was no pause, no option but to keep running.

A branch hit him in the face; a thorny vine ripped at his shirt. His lungs burned. He kept running.

Sun shone through the forest ahead, sunlight; he had not seen sunlight in his memory. Sunlight meant freedom. He kept running.

Run, flee, escape.

The woman followed, the hounds followed. The man kept running.


Feet pounded.

Feet bled, and kept pounding.

Feet shuffled in a run that was mostly stumble.

The man tripped on a root and fell, hanging at the edge of a precipice.


This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/678670.html. You can comment here or there.

Unwelcome Guests, Part the Second

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned A continuation of Unwelcome Guests.

(I should pay a little more attention to my list; this was for longfic)

Baram and his family are part of the “Baram’s House Elves” sub-series of the Addergoole ‘verse, which can be found here; Baram is also a background character in Addergoole.

Delaney snaked her way in front of Ardell, grinning, all sweetness-and-light and innocence. Baram didn’t budge, and he didn’t miss the three weapons she was carrying openly. Spear, sword, gun.

“We heard you were running a safe house, Baram. We heard you had some Addergoole girls working for you. We heard you had weapons, had food.”

Ardell slunk to the side of Delaney. No smile, more weapons. He often pretended, but he wasn’t pretending to be sweet, at least. “We heard you were living the sweet life here, surrounded by pretty things. Like the girl who answered the door. And we figured we’d pay an old friend a visit.”

Baram looked at the two of them. He glanced over his shoulder – very briefly – at Alkyone. He looked back at people who had been, if not his friends, his allies.

The next words came easily to him. “Who are you?”

They shared a look. A look, and then Delaney’s shoulders shifted, and Ardell took a step backwards. “We’d heard…” Ardell frowned. He looked actually bothered. “We’d heard you forgot things.”

“Did you really forget us?” Delaney did a believable pout. “After everything we went through together?”

Ardell picked up on the cue. “Yeah, man, all that time together in school, we were like crew. We were solid friends. And you forgot all of that?”

How much of it did they mean? Baram shrugged. “Forgot most things. Jaelie remembers for me.”

“This is Jaelie?” Delaney waved her fingers. “Hi. We’re old friends of Baram’s, like we said.”

“No.” Alkyone’s voice was hard. “I’m Alkyone. Jaelie is elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere.” Delaney sneered the word out. “Aren’t you cute? And I bet you think you’re smart, too. Move over, chica. We’re here to visit our old friend, Baram.”

“Alkyone is a new friend.” Baram spoke slowly, the way he could remember talking, sometimes, when he was having a bad day, “one of those episodes,” Jaelie called them. “Alkyone lives here.”

“Well, of course she does.” Ardell took Delaney by the shoulders and pushed her out of the way – carefully, Baram noted; there was no violence in the way they handled each other. “And you do, too, right, buddy? Remember how we said we’d always open our doors to each other?”

“Don’t remember you.” He remembered the conversation Ardell was talking about. Ardell and Del, Ib and Rozen and Baram. Baram remembered saying nothing, shaking no hands, just sitting back with someone pretty curled on his lap and watching them talk.

Baram wondered how much of the rest of his Addergoole experience he remembered differently, like the spider-girl and her horrified memories of him. But this was different; this was lies.

“Of course you remember us.” Ardell’s voice was getting sharp. “Of course you’re going to let us in. Baram, come on, think of all the things I’ve done for you. How much fun you had with my Kept over the years. How much fun you could have with my Kept now.”

“You have Kept?” That was a different matter.

“Boss. Trouble on the horizon.” Viatrix came up on Baram’s other side. “Looks like bad trouble, too. The alarms caught seven.”

The alarms had been the girls’ idea and mostly their implementation; Baram’s house wasn’t the only group of people still living here, but they were the most combat-ready and, in other ways, the most vulnerable. Kids made you weak, but in weird and strong ways.

“First alarms?” The first alarms were four miles out. Plenty of time.


That was harder; the second were two miles out.

A glance back at their unwelcome guests showed Ardel’s shoulder’s tense and Delaney trying to press herself as close to the threshold as possible. “Come on, Baram, you’ve got to let us in. For old time’s sake. For when we were friends.”

“Boss. They’re trouble.” Alkyone’s voice held warning. “And they’re bringing trouble here.”

Del’s voice shifted to nasty again. “And do you think they’ll care if you have actually helped us? No, they will take you down one way or the other.”

“You brought enemies to our door?” Baram didn’t need to look to know that Via and Alkyone were now holding their weapons. Via’s voice told him everything he needed. “You brought hunters here, to our safe haven?”

“It’s not yours, bitch.” Ardel had lost the last semblance of courtesy and niceness. “It’s our friend’s. Baram’s.”

“I think you’re under a misapprehension-” Alkyone began, but Baram had had enough of the back-and-forth, especially with potential hunters on the way.

“Their house, my house, our house. Not yours. Get in back. Basement doors by apple tree.” Baram pointed. “Stay there if you want to live.”

“So you remember us, buddy?” Ardel’s smile was back as fast as it had left.

“No.” Best to keep up the lie. “Get in basement. Fast.”

The door by the apple tree didn’t lead to the house basement, but the hidey hole there was safe, protected by Baram’s threshold…

…and a bit of a trap. Another thing Ardel and Delaney didn’t need to know until they were in there.

Luckily, nobody expected that sort of thing of Baram. They moved – fast.

On the horizon, Baram was beginning to be able to make out an oncoming enemy.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/675139.html. You can comment here or there.


To [personal profile] eseme‘s prompt to my January orig-fic card. This fills the “Outnumbered” slot.

Nila, Tros, Allan and Susan are part of my Fae Apoc setting; its landing page is here.

They’ve shown up in Hey you Kids get off my lawn!, Leaving Town, A New Flower

“Asset count.” Nila stepped back against the cliff, putting her children behind her.

“We have a cliff,” Allan offered. “And you have your spear and your gun and Tros has his sword and knife. And I have a stick.”

“Good, kiddo. And they have -”

“Twelve people and a truck.”

“Very good. Now, can you see anyplace for you and your sister to hide?”

“There’s this little cave back here.”

“Atta boy. Take Susan, there you go.” She made sure her kids were wiggled into the cave, then looked over at Tros. “Well.”

“I promised to help protect your kids and watch your back. These people don’t look like they’ll be nice to your kids.” He was trying to sound brave, but she could see the way his knuckles were turning white as he gripped his sword.

“This wasn’t in the deal. I’ll release you from your promise, if you want.”

“No.” His retort was sharp. “I promised. And you healed me. So… what’ve we got?”

“A cliff, a sword, and two small children. And they’re coming.”

“Right. Back against the cave and here we go.” She started chanting. When in doubt, her Mentor had taught her, hit them as hard as you could before they knew you had a fist.

Nila was a healer and a gardener; Tros was a wood- and stone-worker, an artist. Neither of them had trained primarily in combat. The team in front of them looked paramilitary, headed by someone who wasn’t bothering to Mask, and with two other obvious fae in the team.

Healers could do some pretty terrifying things with bodies, and with two people Working wood in their group, they had quite a bit of control of the fae-poisons of hawthorn and rowan.

The hedge grew up around their attackers in a split second, and kept growing, taller and tighter and most of all thornier. Blood spurting from the attackers fed the hedge, which only grew hungrier.

It didn’t stop them all, of course, and more seemed to keep coming, attack after attack. But Tros was better with the sword than Nila had expected, and she was getting very good at cutting the enemy’s feet out from under them.

“You cheat.” The soldier was missing half of his body, but it didn’t stop him from fighting. Nila danced out of his way and poked at him with Allan’s stick.

“We were outnumbered six to one. Now… we’re not.”


This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/668520.html. You can comment here or there.

Nightmares, a story for the January OrigFic Bingo

This is to [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt to this January card for [community profile] origfic_bingo.

It fills the “nightmares” slot, and is in no established verse.

Warning: nightmares.

Sleep falls. It’s not been something I greet as a friend in quite some time, but even out here, once in a while a body needs to sleep. So I give in to it – no drugs, the drugs only make it worse.

(The things back home helped more, but the things back home lost me my job and the house and got me on this ship. So now I do without.)

I let sleep overtake me, not fighting it, not trying to steer it. There was a guy here for a while, tried to teach me lucid dreaming. It just made it worse.

Seems like almost everything makes it worse. Wonder what that says about me.

The nightmares come first; they almost always do. The train is on fire again, and the Beasts are coming one way and the soldiers are coming the other way and I know, just know, that there are still people on the train, but I can’t move.

I struggle and fight against it but I know it won’t do any good. There’s this sense of horrible finality as I watch the face press against the glass of the train and then, only then, does whatever is holding me (not whatever I know what but dreams work in allegory, not memory) release me and I go running for the train, just in time for it to explode in my face.

And that is both allegory and real, I can still feel the scars.

I don’t wake. If I woke then I could stare at the ceiling until my heart stopped but instead, damnit, damn it by whatever gods still care, blast it into space, I fall into the other one.

The one where you’re alive, holding my hand. Where you sit with me in the hospital and tell me it’s okay.

I had that dream so many times, so long, while I was healing that when I woke up for real and they told me you were dead…

…well, that’s when the pills started.

But it won’t let me go. You won’t let me go. You’re there every night, tracing my scars and telling me it’s all right, it’s going to be okay.

And I wake, damnit, blast it out the airlock, once again I wake, alone in my bunk in this fragging ship and you’re dead again.

I’d rather have the nightmares.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/656166.html. You can comment here or there.

Exhaustion, a story of the Aunt Family for the Bonus Round/Bingo

This is to [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt to my [community profile] dailyprompt here.

This fills the “exhaustion” square in the January Bingo Card.

This is either a different branch of The Aunt Family or an earlier/later line.

Warning: death.

Olianda died.

This was not, generally, a quick process, and in her case, it was further complicated by any number of problems.

The first problem was, of course, the simple physical act of dying. The family to which the Aunts were adjunct was, by virtue of their nature, a particularly hearty lot, and they did not grow frail quickly or easily. Olianda’s spirit was tired – weak, one might say – long before her flesh stopped being willing.

At one hundred and seventeen, she was finally ready to die, body and soul.

Now, she had to convince the family to let her go, the house and its attached role to release her, and her successor to take up the mantle.

“Aunt Olianda.” The woman holding Olie’s hand was the daughter of her niece’s daughter, but in this family, ‘Aunt’ was always the appropriate honorific. “Please don’t go. I don’t know what we’ll do without you.”

“You’ll thrive, of course.” Her voice was barely a squeak anymore. “You’ll be fine. Enid – you are Enid, right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m Enid.” The girl blinked at her. “I only have brothers, you know.”

“And you’re pregnant, which was a swift move on your part. Child, tell your children this – they cannot make you take the role. No matter how long they push, how hard they complain, the role is the role.” She patted the girl’s arm. “You’re safe, besides. Brett will be my successor.”

“But she’s…”

“I know. Now be a dear and give me a hug. Your Aunty is tired and wants to rest.”

She waited until the girl was out of the room. ::You understand?:: she asked the house.

The house rumbled in reply. A cupboard creaked. A statue shifted.

::I have been training seven of them as long as they have been alive. You will not be alone.::

The house groaned again. It needed more reassurance.

::Besides… I will be here with you.:: And Brett would take the mantle gladly, once she understood.

The house settled. Olianda closed her eyes.

In the house, in the neighborhood, in the county, in the world, her family sighed, absorbed the loss, and shifted the power amgonst themselves. Seven heirs felt the strength touch them, and stretched, and took it in. The house cradled the consciousness, the family the power, the world her spirit, until all that had been Olianda was exhausted.

Olianda, having done what she must, died, and the era of a new Aunt began.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/650776.html. You can comment here or there.

Through the Glass

To [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt to My January Giraffe Card. New setting, new characters.

This fills the “innocent” square.

Content warning: this is depressing and it even creeped me out.

The city was surrounded. For three weeks, nobody – nothing – had gotten in or out.

Except radio signals. They had actually tested those, but there didn’t seem to be any carryover of the contamination into radio, and so radio signals were allowed to escape.

Escape. Colonel Techwin looked down at her notes and shook her head, again. She had started to think of everything in, out, and from that city as sentient, the radio signals escaping, the air and the direct sound waves trapped.

It had taken them some doing, but they had sealed up the city entirely – a dome, which had seemed funny at first, something out of a cartoon, something out of a parody. “We’re going to stick a dome on it and trap the contamination inside.”

The problem was, there was more than contamination in there.

Colonel Techwin levered herself out of her seat, hobbled out of her tent, and made herself walk to the edge of the dome. She did so every day; she had done so for five weeks now.

“How long do they have?”

Her aide-de-camp was not far behind her; Petlun was almost always behind her. “Estimates say between seven and ten days longer, ma’am.”

“How much longer will the dome hold?”

“Estimates say between eight and nine more days, ma’am.”

She didn’t need to ask the rest. Before they had installed the dome, the contamination rate had been tracked. By sound, one being every hour. By breath, ever half-hour. When you got into direct contact, it got worse.

She put a hand on the dome. That, they had determined, was probably safe. “Have we discovered…” An antidote? A cure? A vaccine?

“No, ma’am. They say they’re close… Also, ma’am, approximately ten percent of the city is still un-contaminated.”

Techwin ran her hand down the glass. “And yet, if we release them to study them…”

Within days, the human race would all be contaminated. Every one of them. Within a month, most would be dead, according to current estimates.

On the other side of the glass, a child, white-eyed and bloody-mouthed, ran her hand down the dome, mimicking Colonel Techwin. The Colonel sighed.

“Tell the scientists they have seven days. At the end of the seventh day…”

Petlun nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Neither of them looked at the child. They were both staring at the mother, clear-eyed and weeping, mouthing soundless pleas through the glass.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/648249.html. You can comment here or there.

Older Witches, a continuation of Aunt Family for the Dec. Bingo Card

For [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt to my December Bingo Card – it fills the Free Square.

Aunt Family has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ

Evangaline modern-era. After Unexpected Guest, Followed Me Home (LJ), In the Cards (LJ),
Big Bad Witch (LJ), and Frog Pancakes (LJ)

“I could feel it, you know? In my toes. I was just waiting for you to decide to tell me.”

Eva studied the boy in front of her for a few minutes.

“You’ll be eighteen in June.”

“That’s what being a witch tells you?” Having it out in the open seemed to relax Robbie. He was smiling, at least.

“No, that’s what having an extended family of snoops, busy-bodies, and gossips tells me.”

That, on the other hand, made him flush, frown, and turn away. “Chalce is your niece, isn’t she?”

“So is Beryl. And Stone is my nephew.” She could guess, from Chalcedony’s message, what Robbie thought she’d learned from her family. “Among others.”

His shoulders didn’t release any tension. “So you know I’m a punk. Mrs. Cunningham, she’s one of your cousins, isn’t she?”

“She is. But I grew up with Eliza, Robbie, which means I know when she’s full of shit, too.”

He peeked up at her through a fringe of hair. “So…?”

“So.” She folded her hands. “So, you’ll be eighteen in about six months.”

“At which point, what, you’ll turn me into a frog?” He found his smile again. “Yeah, I’ll be legal, then. Is that what has you worried?”

She tilted her head. “Well, I’ll admit it does complicate things. Single woman, single older woman…”

“You really don’t count as older.”

“And you’re sweet to say that.”

“No, I mean it. You’re, what, twenty-two?” He leaned forward. “Besides, nobody cares about that.” Just as quickly as he’d leaned forward, he pulled back, staring at her. “Wait. Wait, are you seriously considering…”?

Eva found herself smiling. “Well, were you?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you’re hot, you’re single, and you’re a witch. How cool is that?”

“Flattering.” She sounded, she knew, like her Aunt Rosaria. She thought Robbie might deserve it.

His face fell. “Well, and you were nice to me. Shit, you weren’t, were you?”

Eva licked her lips. “I was. I am. However…”

He sank even further back into his chair. “You can’t send me back. You can’t. I was going to run, you know. I am going to run. Just needed a place to sleep for the night.”

“In June…” She knew it wouldn’t work, but it was the first solution.

“I won’t make it till June. And if I did, what does a calendar date mean?”

“It means me not getting arrested. All right.” Eva leaned forward. “This is what we’re going to do.”

After all, if she couldn’t use her power, what good was it being a witch?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/647129.html. You can comment here or there.