Tag Archive | giraffecall: result

Presently, a story of #Addergoole Yr9 for the (February) Giraffe Call (@Rix_scaedu)

Mar27

For [profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt – more of “Birthday Present,” from the December Giraffe Call.

Addergoole has a landing page here

Noam has a sketch here.

He didn’t have any orders! There was nothing holding him from saying anything he wanted! Noam opened his mouth to tell Brenna exactly what he thought of “fun.”

Except, of course, as far as he knew, there wasn’t any way out of Belonging to someone except having them let you go. He closed his mouth again. Pissing her off was probably not what he wanted to do. He tugged at the ribbons a little more, though, just on principle.

Brenna’s face fell. “You don’t want to be here.”

Shit. “I didn’t say that.”

“You’re trying to get away.”

“I’m trying to get untied. Trying to get away would involve more backing towards the door and fumbling with the doorknob.” He gave her his best smile. “I’m not going to lie to you, this wasn’t my idea. Hera caught me in the halls. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think dating you would be a good idea.” Dating, please. Noam was pretty sure he could handle dating.

She touched his pectoral lightly, as if worried it would burn her. When it didn’t light on fire, she set her hand, palm-down, across his chest. “You never said anything.”

“Neither did you. I figured you weren’t interested.”

“Oh.” She looked down at their toes. At her Masked toes, he noted, even here in her bedroom, and his still in shoes. “Oh.”

He kept smiling at her. Smiling seemed good. Her touch seemed very good. “You know, if you let me go, we could date. I’d like that a lot.”

She frowned. “You’re just saying that so I’ll let you go.”

“Well, I’m hoping you’ll let me go, yeah, but I would like dating you, too.” Gods, please?

She bit her lip and shook her head. She hadn’t Masked her teeth. They were very very sharp. “Nobody stays around me long if they have a choice.”

She wasn’t going to let him go, was she? He might as well make the best of it. Noam smiled for her, hoping it wasn’t too fake-looking (Again. He was going to have to spend XP on charisma and bluffing). “Well, I’m yours.”

“You are,” she agreed. “For a while, at least. It’s not forever.”

“Well, if I had to be Owned by someone…” which he’d been doing such a good job of avoiding, thank you, “I’m glad it was you.” He gave the ribbon around his wrists a little tug. He could probably undo it now. Maybe he should wait and let her untie it instead. “What do you think about it?”

“I think…” She looked him over hesitantly, sidelong, uncertainly. “I think you’re mine?”

“Okay.” It was a starting point, at least. “And what do you want to do with me?”

She tugged on the ribbon around his neck. “Unwrap you…” Her shy look up at him was heart-rending. “If that’s okay?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/309630.html. You can comment here or there.

Setting the Table

Mar26

For Friendly Anon’s commissioned continuation of Tasting (LJ)

Liza’s restaurant opened on the shore of Cayuga Lake, in a prime spot she’d gotten by luck and networking.

She opened on the first day of Spring, an unseasonably warm day with the sun shining brightly off the deep blue water and a few daffodils already in bloom. Her tables were dressed with crocuses and spring greens, and she garnished her plates with little bouquets of the first chives of spring.

And with every dinner that first day came a free glass of her prize wine, served by a sommelier who was grinning from ear to ear, pouring with perfect grace and managing to chat up the diners through that face-stretching smile.

The restaurant’s first night was a smashing success for both of them. Lindon went home pleased. If he could manage to keep the Downside Up Vineyard at the forefront of people’s attentions, all of the money they’d begged, borrowed, or flat-out stolen could be repaid with interest, and their father’s dream would finally be realized.

If he could make the Sunny Side Restaurant succeed, he could keep Downside Up in people’s view long enough to reach their goals. So Sunny Side – and Liza – had to succeed. He could do that.

He made some phone calls. He didn’t really have any favors left to call in, but he could probably borrow from the interest a bit…

Sunny Side’s first week was amazingly successful, almost too much so. Liza found herself running constantly, on the phone constantly, in the kitchen constantly. “I need a clone,” she complained, three hours after closing Friday night, flopped against the deck railing. “Or an extra set of hands. I never imagined that it would be this busy our first week.”

The sommelier winced. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’re doing a great job with the wine. I don’t suppose you know a back-up sous-chef, do you? Or someone who could clone me? Or another greens vendor?”

“Well….”

“God, if you know someone who can clone me, I’ll kiss you.”

The sommelier froze. He hadn’t thought about it before, but the idea of a kiss from Liza suddenly seemed like a very nice idea. “Unfortunately, that’s the one I don’t know. But I can get you a back-up greens vendor, and, if you’ll trust me in your kitchen, I’m a pretty good sous-chef myself. I’ll call my brother in to pour wine for you.”

She blinked at him. “You’d do that for me?”

“I would do more than that for you, Liza. I want Sunny Side to succeed as much as you do.” Maybe more. They were already beginning to get the orders they needed to pay back their debts. If this kept up, they’d actually get what they wanted.

And if Liza was happy… The sommelier blinked at the idea. Liza was blinking at him, too.

“You know,” she murmured, her words a little slurred from wine and exhaustion, “you have beautiful eyes.”

Now was not the time. He picked her up, lifting her easily. “You need some sleep… boss. We can talk about when I start cooking for you tomorrow.”

“And maybe that kiss.”

“And maybe that kiss.” And maybe something, one thing in his life not about their father’s dreams.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/308221.html. You can comment here or there.

Sun-on-the-Water, a story of Rin & Girey for the March Giraffe Calle

Mar25

For Rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt.

Reiassan has a landing page here.

After Navigating Lannamer (LJ.

Arinya kept her uncle pinned with her gaze. Did he know she’d heard him? Did it matter? Nothing he’d said had been specifically treasonous; indeed, he could say, and likely be honest in saying so, that he had been working for the well-being of the Empire.

He kept his gaze on her, but his eyes did flicker to Girey; she could see the moment when he made the connection. She couldn’t keep him hidden forever. She’d always known someone would recognize him. But now that she’d claimed his as her own, it would be harder for them to take him away from her.

“I don’t believe I’ve met your companion, either,” she continued smoothly. The man’s qitari was expensively worked, but gaudy even by Callanthe standards, the patterns a mish-mash of currently-fashionable designs. He was, she was fairly certain, not a relative, or at least not a close one.

“Ah, yes. This is Debnet, Lieutenant Debnet of the Emperor’s Army. But I believe that I have met your companion before, Arinyanca. Prince Girey.”

“I am no Prince.” Girey’s voice was far milder than Arinya had expected from him. “Although I have often been mistaken for one.” He fingered the bracelet on his wrist, and then stroked Rin’s fingers in a clearly affectionate manner. In Bitrani, in a sentence loaded with nuance, he continued, “Although I share a name in common with the former Prince of Bithrain, I am simply Girey of Princess Arinyanca.”

Arinya held back a surprised laugh – or gasp – and wondered if her uncle would catch the meanings twisted into that sentence.

Uncle Esnees was not stupid. “I must have missed the ceremony,” he answered smoothly in the same language. “Certainly my niece would not dishonor such a noble captive with a sun-on-the-water union?”

Mentally, Rin cursed both of them for putting her on the spot. A sun-on-the-water union was exactly what she’d had planned for Girey, a promise whispered over used sheets, a union with him as untitled far-junior partner. If Girey hadn’t claimed himself as exactly that, if her uncle hadn’t pushed the issue…

She smiled brightly at her uncle and his minion. “We’ve been back in Lannamer for less than a day, Uncle. While we’re certainly excited, I don’t want any announcement of ours to overshadow Elin’s wedding. Give it some time, please. The ceremony will come when it comes.” And the look on Girey’s face was well worth it.

Her uncle recovered faster than her captive did. “Well. I look forward to hearing when the happy day will be. Do tell me if you hear where the real Prince of Bithrain is, will you?” He’s still wanted for execution.”

“Certainly,” she smiled back at him. She would need to see if there had been an Imperial order to that effect. And she’d need to find that out soon. “Have a lovely day, Uncle Esnees, Lieutenant Debnet.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/307015.html. You can comment here or there.

Trying, A story of #Addergoole Yr8 for the Feburary Giraffe Call

Mar25

After So I’ve Started Out (LJ) and Porter Needs a Girlfriend (LJ), to Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt.

Addergoole has a landing page here and on LJ.

She’d walked away the first time he’d brought it up. “The Bond takes away your choice,” she’d said.

“So does not asking me,” he’d retorted. She’d shook her head angrily, making him want to grovel and apologize, but all she’d said, maddeningly, was the same thing she always did:

“You do not understand.”

“Explain it to me,” he complained, but only after she’d shut the door behind her.

When he tried again, he went at it sideways, talking about Porter first. Porter did, after all, need a girlfriend. But, then again, so did Arundel.

“Would you like to have a boyfriend,” he asked her, “me, I mean?”

She’d been surprised, which wasn’t really a good plan – she hated, he already knew, being surprised. She pursed her lips, and he ignored his sudden urge to apologize. “Would you ask that, if I didn’t Own you? Answer me honestly.”

“I would have asked sooner, if you didn’t Own me. Like, the day I fell through your ceiling… okay, maybe not then, but pretty soon after then.”

“In truth?” Darnit, he’d surprised her again.

“You ordered me to be honest,” he pointed out, beginning to get frustrated. He couldn’t win with her. “I want to be your boyfriend. I want to kiss you. I want you to believe me when I talk to you.”

She stared off at the wall, frowning. “That could be the Bond,” she pointed out. “It makes you want physical contact, even if you wouldn’t, otherwise.”

She was going to talk herself out of it. Again. And leave him frustrated and her cranky. Arundel flared his wings, wanting to shout. Shouting was a bad idea. Shouting would only make her more angry.

“So if it’s the Bond,” he said slowly, “then you’re worried I will regret it afterwards?”

“Exactly. You’re acting under the influence. You’re not thinking clearly, cannot think clearly when the Bond is pushing at you.”

“And you’re worried that a Bond-induced need for physical contact is making me want to kiss you.”

She lifted her shoulders and dropped them again in discomfort. “The thought did occur to me, yet. I am not, normally, dating material.”

“The people that let you think that are lying to you,” he flared. “Or you’re lying to yourself.”

“I have never had a boyfriend who wasn’t… I have never had a boyfriend.”

“Well, maybe you should try?” he tried, one last time. “Look, if you’re worried it’s the touch thing, how about an experiment?”

“An experiment?” He had her attention, good.

“Figure out what you think is a Bond-satisfying amount of touch, and give me that for a week. No dating, no kissing, nothing like that. Just touch. If I still want to date you after a week…”

She was nodding. Good, nodding was a good thing. “If you still want to date me after a week of regular touch, then we can assume it’s a genuine want.” She graced him with a small smile and took both his hands in hers. “That’s a clever idea, Arundel.”

His heart soared like he was flying. “I try,” he answered in complete honesty.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/306678.html. You can comment here or there.

First Day of Work, a story of the Black House for the March Giraffe Call (@Rix_Scaedu)

Mar25

From rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt. This comes directly in order with the rest of the Black House story (see tag), about 3 days after Reality (LJ).

Content warnings: no sexual content, but definite d/s.

Her Master dressed her for her first day of work. After three days of nudity, broken only by very brief times in a thin robe, the tailored skirt suit, with its brocade corset in lieu of a vest, felt like armor and like a prison all at once. With the skirt tight around her knees and the tall, pointed heels, her walking was constrained to short steps; with the steel of the corset over her ribs and waist, her back was forced straight.

He replaced the heavy collar with a delicate chain that pressed against her throat but looked, to those who didn’t know, like a piece of fine jewelry, and hung matching earrings from her lobes. “Perfect,” he whispered in her ear. “My perfect Pretty, my perfect assistant.” She blushed and said nothing, wishing she could crawl back to her place by his bed, where she knew exactly what was required of her and knew she could do it.

She rode in the back seat of his limo with him this time, not in the trunk. When he saw her gaze fall there as he walked her into the garage, he smiled knowingly. “Not when you’re working, pretty girl. Only when we’re playing.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, feeling the heat come to her cheeks. Playing. In such a short time, playing had become her whole reality. Was it just a hobby to him? Was she just a hobby?

As if reading her mind, he stroked her cheek. “Chin up, Pretty girl. You are my treasure, in the bedroom and in my office. Remember that. I value you for both roles. And now you must be Yaminah, be my executive assistant. I need you to be that woman now, who can handle people.”

She held her chin up, allowing herself a small smile. “Yes, sir. I can do that for you.” It might end up being the longest she’d held a job. She wondered if, when her time under him was through, he’d give her a reference.

“Very good. Now do well today, and I will reward you.” His thumb stroked across her cheek again. “I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you do badly, because I do not believe you have that in you.”

“No, sir.” Not when so much hinged on it. “I will do well for you, sir.”

He smiled at her. “While we are working, as you are Yaminah there, I am Mister Krake.”

“Mr. Krake.” She chuckled dutifully. “All right.”

“And here we are.” Through the windows of the limo, she could see a seven-story building, its style an odd mix of modern and ancient, almost like a reinvention of the castle. The gate lifted to allow them through, into an underground parking lot brightly-lit and brightly-painted in sea colors. “Once you’re settled, I’ll get you your own car, so you can come here when I’m busy doing other things. You’ll park in the spot next to mine.”

“Yes, Mr. Krake.” It was getting hard to breathe. She counted, slowly, to twenty, and forced a bright, happy smile on her face. “I can’t wait to start.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/306420.html. You can comment here or there.

An Understanding

Mar25

For [personal profile] anke‘s commissioned continuation of Parent-Teacher Conference (LJ), Humanity (LJ), and Human Town (LJ)

Dragons next Door has a landing page here.

“So.” Miss Milligan looked down at her hands.

“So?” Aud asked gently. “You called us here because you believed our daughter was telling tales, Samantha, right?”

“She seemed to be having a lot of trouble with the other students because of it?” the young teacher explained nervously. “And it seemed like… I’ve had students before, who were confused between fantasy and reality. It makes the world a hard place for them.”

“But you work in a school that caters to non-human students,” Sage pointed out. “Surely your students interact with non-humans.”

“Small non-humans!” the girl wailed. “Pixies. Maybe a gremlin. Elkin. The centaurs sometimes come near the school. Not dragons. Not ogres. Not races that eat people!”

“Actually,” Aud couldn’t help but point out, “very few of even the largest races eat human or other sentient meat, and they haven’t in decades. Certainly since the [fillnamehere] Conventions.”

The teacher waved a hand impatiently. “I know, I know. I read my history. But… do you think it’s really true? I mean, I’ve heard of humans eating Harpy meat.”

Sage collected himself first. He was less prone to shock, Aud thought, after his years on the police force. “You have?” he asked quietly. Very quietly.

She’d had time to read the horror in their expressions, and looked, more than anything, confused. “Well, yes. Haven’t you?”

“No,” Aud answered. “Not outside of horror novels and bad urban myths.”

“Oh.” The poor girl squirmed on her chair. “I guess we’re back to ignorance. I didn’t know anyone willingly spent time with… with dragons. With ogres.”

Audrey didn’t know what to think. The girl had a painful level of ignorance, the sort that could cause her all sorts of trouble – and by proxy, cause the school trouble. She didn’t seem to be a bigot, or the sort of hateful people that Aud knew all too well, but she definitely had… issues. And she was probably passing those issues on to her students.

“I’ll tell you what,” Audrey said slowly, “I work as a liaisons, sometimes, translating from the non-human races to the human institutions in the city. For the sake of the rest of Juniper’s school year, why don’t I do something similar for you?”

“Liaise?” She shrank into her chair.

“Not quite liaise, but… instruct. Explain. Teach,” she added, with a smile. “Over tea?”

“Over tea?” Miss Milligan studied her empty tea cup thoughtfully. “I’d like that, yes. Please.”

“Good.” Audrey stood up. “Shall we say every Wednesday after classes, does that work?”

“Every Wednesday.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/306062.html. You can comment here or there.

Shit, Fan, a continuation of Fae Apoc for the February Giraffe Call

Mar23

For Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt, second half of the story, after Up Shit Creek (LJ) and Shit Keeps Coming (LJ)

Fae Apoc has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

The redheaded stripper launched herself at him from the stage. This was… not what Pyry was expecting. Sure, he was a generous tipper, and always tried to be a gentleman, but…

“Eee, you’re adorable. Bo Duke, what did you DO to yourself?” She straddled his lap, putting his face directly between her lamé-clad breasts, and stroked his horn.

His. Horn.

He didn’t whip his head up, because he didn’t want to poke her in anything important or expensive, but he did, slowly, look up into her face. It was a long way and a lot of freckles up to her stunning green eyes, but he made the voyage heroically. “Desirée?” he managed.

“Des, get back on stage,” the manager hollered.

“Oh, come on, Ted, there’s three people in the bar and one of them’s asleep. Besides, Bo paid me for the lap dance, didn’t you, Bo,” she grinned.

“Of course I did, Des.” He tucked the folded fifty in the side of her g-string. “Des, I thought…”

“Oh, yes,” she grinned at him. “We were talking about what you did to yourself. I didn’t know you were fae, you lovely man. What made you decide to some in with your Mask dropped after all this time?”

“I, uh.” Pyry squirmed. “Just Changed.”

“Just.” She pursed her lips. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“Yeah…?” He had a sinking feeling he’d suddenly lost his favorite dancer. He suppressed the urge to slide another fifty in her g-string, and, instead, asked merely, “you like it?”

“It’s lovely.” She petted his horn gently. “It feels good, like getting a shower.”

“It should,” he admitted dryly. “It can turn anything cleaner.”

“That’s a pretty impressive power, Bo.” She kissed the base of his horn and wiggled pointedly on his lap. “Do you have a Mentor and all that?”

“Uh…” He squirmed more. “My mother’s looking for someone.”

“Hunh.” She pressed his face into her chest as she made thinking noises. “I know someone. I know a couple someones. Who’s your mother?”

“Argh,” he complained against the freckled curves. “I’m not eight.”

“No,” she laughed, “you’re not. But there’s a way these things go, and, well, I don’t think you want me as your Mentor.”

“You?” he coughed. “I… don’t think I’d be able to focus on my studies.”

“Oh, nonsense, you…” whatever she was going to say was drowned out by the slamming of doors as three… trolls, they had to be trolls, Pyry hadn’t know such people really existed… stomped into the bar. “Shit, Nedetakaei. Stay behind me, Bo.”

“Oh, not from you, too,” he grumbled. “I’m. Not. A. Kid.” The tall stripper was already off of her barstool, though, and chanting under her breath.

“Fine, then, try not to get killed.” She tossed him a short wooden sword as it appeared in her hand, and… jumped. Landing upside-down on the ceiling.

“Nice.” He didn’t have time to appreciated it more than that, though; the trolls were going straight for him.

“Horn,” the blue one laughed. “That’ll be fun. Come on, pretty boy, you can be our new pet if you’re good.”

Pyry felt a smile stretching his lips. He was finally going to get to fight monsters! “Maybe I can take you home for my sister to play with,” he quipped… and the fight was on.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/305775.html. You can comment here or there.

Princesses, a story of the Aunt Family for the March Giraffe Call

Mar23

For [personal profile] jjhunter‘s Prompt.

A continuation of “Tell me a Story,” (LJ), “Princesses, Knights, and the Huntsman” (LJ), and The Princess and the Huntsman (LJ)

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

Rosaria sipped her tea and stared out the window at the tiny back yard. She’d moved here when she couldn’t take care of the big house anymore, leaving that to her oldest daughter and her brood. The family did that, passing houses around – this one had belonged to an elderly aunt of Rosaria’s, Estebana – much the way they passed charms, and trinkets, and power. Nothing was ever lost.

It had been Estebana, actually, Aunt Essie, and her grandmother Anselma, who had taught Rosaria about the stories. She could still remember sitting at the kitchen table – now her table, just with a new coat of varnish – learning about the archetypes.

Her cousin Adam, Estebana’s son, had been there, too. It had been his watercolors that she’d learned from, bright, brilliant paintings illustrating the forms the story-characters might take.

“This is the princess,” Aunt Essie had begun. The painting was of a girl in a flowing yellow dress with a white pinafore. Rosaria had wanted that dress so badly, and the little yellow-gold tiara, and the bouquet of flowers. “She represents a certain type of girl. She is pretty, and regal, and she will need rescuing at some point. Unless…” She pointed to one of the smaller women in the background of the picture. “If she is holding this,” this princess wore fringed buckskin, and carried a fierce-looking club, “it will be she that does the rescuing.”

That hadn’t, at the time, seemed that romantic to a young Rosaria. Now, staring out at the daffodils, she saw her granddaughter Lily, wearing a white pinafore and gold tiara, and carrying a giant war-club. It bore reflection.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/305635.html. You can comment here or there.

Shit Keeps Coming, a continuation of Fae Apoc for the February Giraffe Call

Mar22

For Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt, half of the story, after Up Shit Creek (LJ)

Fae Apoc has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.

Pyry found being their mother’s fair-haired boy – literally; all his hair had turned from sandy to golden-blonde when he Changed – nearly as uncomfortable as he’d found being the family’s whipping boy, and twice as strange.

His newfound power was, at the very least, a mixed blessing: he could turn any sort of used or rotten food back into fresh food, but that meant he spent a lot of time around shit, and his mother was suddenly bringing back the concept of the outhouse.

The human members of the family hadn’t been too happy with being guinea pigs for his new power, testing the food he horned, but they’d done it (what choice did they have? No more than he did), and it appeared that what he poked was, indeed, nutritious and healthful, and fine to eat, as long as you didn’t think about where it had been an hour ago. Pyry wasn’t entirely sure that it ought to work but so far, it seemed like it was.

Worse than spending even more time around shit, worse than the weird way the family was treating him, was his mother’s sudden insistence on finding him both a Mentor (which he was a bit old for) and, as if it was an immediate need now-now-now, a mate.

Yet even worse – if there could be an even worse, and there seemed to be a never-ending list of them – was that his mother, Svad, and Abasta still refused to let him go monster-hunting with the family. Indeed, despite his age, they seemed determined to treat him like some newly-fledged change-child. It was maddening, humiliating, and just about unbearable.

The advantage was, if there was one, that until they got him a Mentor, they didn’t know what to do with him, and the family, large as it was, only made so much manure. Pyry slipped out of the house between bouts of horn-poking, determined that he was going to do something, anything, other than sit around turning shit into apples.

He made it into the city with no problems. Of course, he’d driven into the city a thousand times before with no issue, but considering the way the family was reacting, they expected him to get abducted, murdered, and then raped every time he left the property. For his horn. Which nine-tenths of the population couldn’t see and would never be able to.

He had some money in his pocket, the family credit card in his wallet, and a chip on his shoulder when he reached the city. He parked the truck near his favorite bar, the one with the redheaded dancer on Wednesday nights, wished he had a hat that covered the horn on his forehead, and headed in for a few drinks.

As with his whole life these days, the moment he relaxed, everything went to feces in a bucket.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/305128.html. You can comment here or there.

A sequential vignette of Addergoole, Year 9

Mar22

To Friendly Anon’s prompt; a continuation of this vignette (LJ)

“So,” Porter asked, hat in hand and clearly uncomfortable, “are you going to help?”

“That’s a silly question,” Sylvia informed him. She stood up and turned the TV off. “Arundel is in my crew. Of course I’m going to help. Besides,” she added, as she would to no one save Porter, “I like him. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Porter grinned at her, giving her the impression he’d just wanted to hear her say that. “I like him too. So, what’s the plan?”

“First, we determine the situation. Then, we determine the possible outcomes. Then we determine a course of action.”

Porter nodded. “Practical.” As he held open the door for her, he added, “You’re always practical, Sylvia.”

She nodded brusquely, not sure if it was intended as a compliment, but certain it was accurate to his perception of her. It was, after all, a perception she’d cultivated.

“Let’s go get Arundel out of trouble.” She smiled, or did a little mouth-grimace that people could interpret as a smile if they tried (She didn’t like full smiles, never had, less so with her new teeth), and headed out into the world, or at least into the halls of Addergoole.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/304696.html. You can comment here or there.