Tag Archive | giraffecall: april2013

E for Emrys – Harder than Diamonds – a story of Addergoole for the Giraffe Call

This is for, I believe, Friendly Anon’s “E” prompt, “Emrys.

It comes after/concurrent with –
Toy Soldiers
With Friends Like These…,
Cleaning Up and
this scrap (http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/398701.html)
Monsters
Mimosas.
S for Shahin

There had been any number of hard things in Emrys’ life with Shahin.

Many of them had been, in retrospect, a very soft level of “hard,” teenage drama, teenage angst and jealousy and anger.

Some of them, even some of the moments very early on… there were nights Emrys still woke with the memory of that cabin, the dragon, the monster’s knife sliding down Shahin’s pale skin. Those moments still counted as hard, diamond-hard. (“Our love is harder than diamond.” They still said that, moments when everything seemed harder than they could bear.)

Walking away from Shahin had been harder than most of those times. They had squeezed hands, kissed, and broken their vows of forty-seven years without a backwards glance. Neither of them had shed a tear. Neither’s voice had trembled. Their kids were grown and gone; their grandkids were grown and gone. Their great-grandkids would be leaving for Addergoole soon.

And neither of them were big on revealing their cards, in any case. So he walked away from his warrior wife, walked into the hands of another woman.

That had been a hard moment, sapphire-hard like the etchings in Shahin’s arms, blue-hard like the tears he wasn’t going to shed. That had been a difficult moment, but it had been what he had to do. They were warriors, and this fight was going to happen here, with these people, and not where Shahin’s path was headed.

They were warriors, and they had made their decision, hard as it had been, hard-like-sapphires and blue like misery as it had been.

That had not been the hardest moment in Emrys’ life, but this one was. Kneeling on the floor of their enemy’s camp, knowing that he had failed Shahin, that moment was harder even than diamonds. And he did not know if their love was stronger than that.


And this one is a bonus. It comes after Addergoole: TOS, at the beginning of Year 6 of the Addergoole School.

“How does it feel, not being the youngest anymore?”

Emrys rested his hand on the small of his wife’s back as they watched the new students trail in. She, in turn, leaned into the hand, so subtly that no-one but him could tell she was leaning at all.

“They look so young.” Her voice was pitched for his ears alone; she shifted to pose as a new student stared openly. Shorter even than them and ginger, he looked as if he’d never seen a goth before.

“So did we.” Emrys turned his sharpest smile on the ginger boy before he got any ideas. “Remember?”

Shahin smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her dress. “That was a century ago.”

“A year.”

“The same thing, in the fullness of things. It was forever ago, either way.”

Emrys found himself smirking, just a bit. His wife, love her as he may, was a bit of a drama queen. “And here we are, back at the beginning.”

“Back at the beginning,” she agreed. She licked her lips and turned her smile, now, on a tall blond in a cowboy hat.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/528375.html. You can comment here or there.

D is for Dungeon

For @dahob’s Prompt: Dungeon, Dragon, Demon, Dinosaur.

I could use prompts for D, G, H, and J, pls.

“I told you this was a dungeon crawl.” Drew ran her gloved hand along the left-hand wall. “There’s a demon – “

“That’s not a demon, that’s Damon.”

“Take a good look at him and tell me he doesn’t suit the role. Besides, he’s between us and the treasure.” Drew smirked triumphantly at D.D. “See? Dungeon crawl.” Joking about it almost covered the tremor in her voice.

“Okay. So allowing that there’s a Damon-demon, it’s still just a bunch of passages under a building.”

“With a dragon.”

“That’s got to be a dinosaur.”

“Neither of them make any sense.” That was what was getting to Drew. Nothing had made any sense since they’d snuck into the abandoned mental hospital.

“You’re the one that thinks this is a dungeon crawl.”

“That was supposed to be a joke!”

“But it’s looking more and more real. So, gamer girl. What’s the treasure?”

“An exit.”

“And how do we manage this?”

“Left-hand rule. I think.”

“All right. And weapons?”

“Well, there’s the grappling hook. And the crowbar.” She dug through her pack. “I don’t really want to take either one to Damon…”

“He’s not that cute.”

“He’s still a person. The dragon-dinosaur-thing, on the other hand…”

“I’m not so sure about Damon. Here, give me the hook.”

A howling sound in the distance caught both their attentions. “Forward.” Drew didn’t sound nearly as confident as she wanted to. “And remember, the Maglight is a weapon too, but only if we want to risk getting stuck in the dark.”

Somewhere behind them, a demon chuckled.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/527800.html. You can comment here or there.

I for the Interloper, a continuation for the April Giraffe Call (@Rix_Scaedu)

For Rix_Scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of I for the Individual.

The hardest part of negotiating with the elves, Irene soon realized, would be keeping a straight face.

They were so young. Not as individuals (ha), but as a unit, as a culture. They had, it seemed, no memory at all, no records at all, of the time before the Disaster. Nothing but road signs, which they had taken as icons of their new world.

Irene’s people, the Arista, were not so young, nor was she herself so young, that the time before had faded. They had records, and, more than records, they had stories.

The elves had none of that. They had no oral history, no written word at all.

(Not quite accurate, she later learned. Many of them had developed their own alphabets, often working off of the shapes on signs. But their reach for complete individuality made any organized… well, anything… difficult if not impossible.)

“Haven’t you encountered outsiders before?”

“Our beliefs forbid it.” Iancu had ended up being the unfortunate spokes-elf for the group; it was his job to take to each individual the proposals that Irene put forth and attempt to reach some consensus. Today, Irene had felt bad for him and, instead of trying to move forward on the treaty, she was instead asking him questions. Those, she thought, he could handle without a committee.

“But your beliefs didn’t stop me from walking into your grove. They wouldn’t have stopped the Arista from making war on your forest.”

“Our beliefs forbid strangers.” Iancu got that peculiar shoulder-shrug that Irene was beginning to recognize as cognitive dissonance.

It took Irene a moment to process this. “You beliefs forbid strangers.” She thought, perhaps, that repeating it might make it make more sense. It only made it odder. “How do you… what do you do?

Iancu seemed to understand her question, which was good, because Irene wasn’t entirely certain that she did. “There are caveats in our beliefs. An individual may choose to step outside of the rules and beliefs – because the individual is more than any of those things, of course-“

“Of course.”

“-and, in doing so, deal with situations which our current rules don’t handle. Normally, we find a new icon to deal with this situation.”

“So… how did you end up talking to me?”

“I was the one who met your eyes, and thus I had to put aside my belief that you did not exist, could not exist, and speak to you.”

“And the others?”

“We are working on a new icon, to handle the situation so that we can speak to…” Iancu’s hands twitched. “To people who should not exist. We should have it done, soon.”

Irene thought about all of the things that the elves had attempted to work on in tandem. “I believe that, as an outsider who does not exist, I may be able to provide a solution. Do you have supplies on which I could paint an icon?”

Iancu hesitated. Irene did not blame the poor elf; she had, after all, come her declaring war. “You could provide us an icon?”

“I could.”

“I will provide you paint. And a painting surface.”

When Irene left the grove, several weeks later, the elves were still discussing the icon she had made them: Three concentric circles, alternating red and white. In the center of the smallest circle, a tree.

Irene had a feeling the elves would prove very easy to negotiate with, in the future. It was just going to be keeping a straight face that tripped her up.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/527456.html. You can comment here or there.

C if for Creation (@dahob)

To @daHob’s prompt “creation.”

They started with the earth and the sky.

They had a hemisphere, a blank, seven miles in radius, of force-shield, set upon one of the most blasted places, where the air, the ground, even the stone was blasted and useless. They set the hemisphere there, and they sent in their radiation-scrubbing nanites and their rubble-breaking-down machines and their chemicals, until the ground was level dirt, arable and fertile, and the air in there was breathable.

The sphere had been opaque; now they made it transparent, to let in the light. They set their machines to digging up a lake and a river, creeks and streams, to funnel the water of the sky in. And they set into all these tributaries filters, so that the water would be potable.

They sent in new machines, to plant seeds, carefully-picked to imitate the land that had been here once. There were grasses and trees, bushes and flowers, so many flowers. And there were bees and other pollinators, before there was anything else.

And they allowed the rain through the sphere, so that the plants could grow.

They lived in their safe places, their towers and their bunkers, while the machines worked, and they did this not once, but seven times, because, while not many had survived, they hoped to grow again.

When the seven were ready for animal life, they began again with seven more, cleansing the blasted wasteland that had been their grandparents’ homes. While the first spheres took on wild animals, as carefully picked and cultivated as the plants had been.

A generation had passed when they allowed the first humans into the first spheres. A generation since they began, and so many generations since the war that none remembered its beginning.

They stepped into their Edens, careful places with a few careful buildings set upon their careful rivers. They set foot in their creations, and rejoiced.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/526816.html. You can comment here or there.

B for Bizarre Beetles

To stryck‘s prompt and rix_scaedu‘s prompt.

I could use some prompts for D-J, please, except E and I, which are well-taken.

“That is… bizarre. Is that a Beetle?” Bennie stared at the.. it was probably a car. What else could it be?

The thing hurtling down the highway at hair-raising speeds was the general shape of a VW bug. And it was on a highway, and it was being, presumably, driven.

But the windows, if there were any, were not visible; what was visible instead were the iridescent wings of a beetle and, coming from the front, two long antennae. No wheels were visible, either; instead it looked as if the thing were simply running on spindly legs.

“It looks like a beetle to me.” Barb was peering out the bus window, too, her tone thoughtful. “They don’t come that big, do they? Even down here?”

“Of course not… well. As far as I know.” Bennie had learned not to scoff at Barb’s questions. It only led to misery. “As far as I’ve ever read.”

“Books.” Barb, on the other hand, scoffed at will. “So what do you think it is?”

“I…” He hated admitting it. “I don’t know. Hey, look, it’s stopping.” The highway had petered out into a stop-light-ridden intersection, and the bus had stopped alongside the possibly-a-beetle-Beetle. “Hunh, even stopped, I can’t see the windows.”

“Are you sure it’s a car? I mean, yes, driving along the road and all, but still…” Barb fell silent as the thing’s wings opened up, and the beetle-Beetle launched into the air.

“Hunh.” Bennie craned his head to follow the thing’s flight. “Well, it has a muffler.”

“Bizarre.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/526518.html. You can comment here or there.

A is for Antlers, a story of Addergoole Yr41 for the Giraffe Call (@inventrix, @AlphaRaposa)

To stryck‘s prompt. Antler will always remind me of @Inventrix’s Addergoole character Leofric, and then of his son Vidrou, and so I took it out one step further to his son, by the girl in the icon.

Ce’Rilla sh’Orlaith by Accalon and Vidrou sh’Cynara by Leofric

Anyway! Forward to Year 41…

“He has antlers. Antlers, Eleri, isn’t that adorable? Well, antler buds.” Laufeia ran her hand over her new Kept’s skull, pushing his sandy hair out of the way to reveal the little nubs that would be antlers in a year or two.

He didn’t pull away, because he’d been ordered not to move. But he hadn’t, yet, been ordered not to speak. “You should let me go.”

“Oh, that’s silly.” Laufeia smiled indulgently at the boy and spoke over his shoulder to her crew-mate. “Isn’t he adorable, El?”

“He might be right, Fei. You now that there’s people you shouldn’t mess with. He could be, especially if he has antlers.” The redhead brushed her hand through the boy’s hair.

He once again did not pull away. His eyes were fixed on Laufeia. “Your grandmother and my grandfather have a history. You should let me go before my grandmother finds you.” He thought about that for a moment, and then altered his sentence a bit. “My grandmothers.”

“And what about my grandmother, mm? And how do you know my lineage?”

“I made a hobby of lineages, before I came here. And I asked my family a lot of questions.” He seemed to stretch, even though he still could not move. “You should let me go.”

“I’m not going to let you go. That would be silly.” Her laugh belied her nerves, trilling up too high. “Besides, I’m sure your parents were Kept, and their Keepers survived it, didn’t they?”

“I’m not sure my sister’s dad did, actually.” The boy sounded more thoughtful than anything.

“Fei…” Eleri was backing away slowly.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/525842.html. You can comment here or there.

Z is for Zoology Sparks, a story of the Aunt Family for the Giraffe Call

To Ellenmillion‘s prompt, with a side of stryck‘s prompt.

Zenobia is an Aunt from the Aunt Family; her stories are here. Prompting her was [personal profile] kelkyag
Zenobia was taking an interest in zoology.

She hadn’t done this solely, or even primarily, to irritate her family, although it served this purpose admirably.

It entertained her to speak to the relatives about other species that might exhibit the spark. “And what about octopuses? They have so many hands, can you imagine them reading a tarot? It would have to be a waterproof tarot, of course…”

That hadn’t been the one that had really irritated them. Zonkey, Zonkey had really gotten to her nieces and nephews. They already thought that she was more than a little zany, and, of course, she was stubborn in her refusal to die or otherwise give up her position, but zonkies? Really? Worse was when she added two to the family stables.

But there was, as there always was, a method to her madness. First, she did wish to know if there were other animals that would show what her family called the spark. There was, of course, The Damn Cat, who was clearly a cat above the rest. Were there others?

For some reason, despite his reluctance to have her look into his own past, the Damn Cat was more than willing to help Zenobia in her studies into zoology. “Stick with mammals,” he advised. “Fish are food. So are birds. And frogs…” He shuddered at the idea of frogs. “And probably stick with the females of the species.”

“Why females?”

“There is a reason your Aunties have the spark. And never mind that your Unclies have it too. Trust me.” The cat sat down on her zoology text. “The zonkies were a good start.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/525440.html. You can comment here or there.

Y is for Yoshi, a story of Boom for the Giraffe Call

2011, just as the war began. Fae Apoc, for [personal profile] lilfluff‘s prompt

They had a Ranch.

At the moment, they were a bit crowded on said Ranch. It had one old farmhouse and a small cabin, and they had all of Mom’s crew, and-then-some.

Yoshi and Viddie were sharing a tent, sometimes with Ruki, while Mom and Uncle Howard worked on building new houses – cabins, Uncle Howard called them. Yoshi thought they were awesome.

He knew, in a fuzzy way, that something bad was going on with the world. Sometimes he’d catch the grown-ups taking about it – Uncle Leo, usually, but sometimes the others. They’d talk about the gods that had come back.

He’d asked his mother, when he caught her attention between moving-supplies-around and building-buildings. “Gods? I thought we didn’t believe in gods.” She coughed and changed the subject, thus indicating to Yoshi that he was going to have to try harder.

He tried Uncle Howard next, only to get not only a brush-off but a half-hour lesson in house-building.

He knew better than to ask Uncle Leo, at least if he wanted an answer based in reality. Uncle Leo told the best stories, but they were still stories.

So he cornered The Refugee, Mom’s latest Kept. He was still new, and didn’t know, yet, how to avoid being cornered.

“So. Gods.”

“Um.” The Refugee – Gaheris, that was his name – blinked at Yoshi. “The ones in Vegas?”

“Yes. I thought gods were a myth.”

“Oh.” This one had also not yet learned to tell Yoshi to ask his mum. “Well. That’s what they’re called, because they’re old. But they’re a lot like your mom’s crew, really. Just bigger and more powerful.”

“Bigger and more powerful than Uncles Leo and Howard?”

“And smarter than your mom, and more clever than your Aunt Zita.” Gaheris nodded solemnly. “They’re very old.”

“Wow.” Yoshi wasn’t sure he believed him. He wasn’t sure that such creatures could exist. But it was something to think about, at least.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/524749.html. You can comment here or there.

X is for Xeno-everything, a story for the Giraffe Call

All of my X prompts were to people for whom I had already written all of their allotted prompts, so I mushed them all together; have something strange for free.

When the Introductory Team went to a new planet, they made sure to bring samples of their culture with them.

There were three reasons for this.

The first was the human habit of hospitality and guest-gifts; if you were going to drop in on someone unannounced, it was polite to bring a present of some sort.

The second was to test for xenophobia. A new culture’s response to common human artifacts would tell the Team a lot about the culture: did they fear the new? Did they step back from common, everyday objects?

The third reason was very related to the first and second, and was what the Introductory Team was all about, in the end.

When they landed on Cunnel Six, the Team brought three of their best xenolinguists, their xenobiologists, and their xenoempaths. They also brought their gift bag of common items – a xylophone, a box of xocolatl, knitting needles and yarn, bread, and so on – and their gift-giver.

Matthiew Ornan had done this now on seven planets. He bowed carefully to the first representative from the Xantusia people, and then, even more carefully, imitated their greeting as best as his human body could.

The Xantusia – an approximation of the words they used for themselves – looked to human eyes like large bipedal lizards; their greeting involved clasping their hand-like appendages together tightly and then turning their back on the person they were greeting. They made clicking sounds – the xenolinguist told Matthiew they were approval, and his own empathy agreed – when he did a similar gesture.

“We bring you gifts.” He paused while the xenolinguist translated. “Things from our home, as tokens of our good-will.”

He watched the Xantusia as it picked up the box of gifts, its claws tinkling over the xylophone. Early studies of their broadcasts had shown that the Xantusia had a similar instrument.

“Xinpahzian.” It tinked its claws against it. “Lii-eer.”

Matthiew needed no interpretation to recognize kin.

He bowed again, hiding a smile. If the Xantusia could be made to recognize them as kin, than the rest of his job would be so much easier.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/524123.html. You can comment here or there.

W is for Whisk(e)y

To [personal profile] thnidu‘s prompt.

“There’s a reason it’s called the water of life.”

David was drawing circles on the floor of his dorm room, linked circles around a central circle, and in the middle of it all, an open glass of whiskey. “Uisce beatha,” he continued. “Hey, Wayne, pass me that second bottle, would you?”

His roommate, who had been walking a careful circuit of the room, wanting only to get to his desk, his computer, his tequila, and his chat with his girlfriend, nevertheless passed over the second bottle. “More whiskey?”

“This one’s whisky.” He turned the label so it was visible, the missing E clearly absent, and poured out two shots, and then a fractional third shot. “No e.”

“No E. Okay, I’ll bite. Isn’t summoning demons supposed to be a weekend activity? Elizabeth got awfully pissed at you the last time you started mucking about with the forces of good and evil on a weekday.”

“No kidding. And Miranda hasn’t talked to me since that thing with the bog monster.” David poured out two more shots, drank one, and passed the other to Wayne. “Go talk to Steff. It’s fine, I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“You’re sitting there in a chalk diagram drinking whisk-no-e.”

“Yes, but I’m not going to fuck around with the forces of good and evil tonight. No demons, no bog monsters.”

“Then what in the unknowable Names are you doing?”

David grinned up at him. “Math homework.”

“Math homework?” He poured himself another shot of whisky.

“Finding e.” He drank down another shot himself. “Like I said. Water of life. This stuff is going to be a life-saver.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/523921.html. You can comment here or there.