To ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt, as well as moonwolf‘s prompt, with help from several others.

Ordination into the Open Order was not as easy a thing as it would seem from the name.

The Open Order, after all, was not Open to all comers. It was not an catch-all, a dumping ground, a wastebin, no matter how much some of the other Ordinal Orders might think it so.

Certainly, all who found their way there were welcome to sit and pray in the Open Order’s clerestory prayer racks. Many did, although the wide open (of course) windows meant that few stayed for long, despite available food and water, warmth and shelter.

That was the first test of Ordination: to, unknowing that it was a test, pray or at least sit quietly in a prayer rack for a double handful of days, sleeping in the tiny warm pod for ten nights.

The zeroth test of Ordination was, of course, to find oneself in the Open Order’s cathedral to begin with. Where it stood – between possibilities, next to probability, open to everything – that was less easy than it would seem. And less hard, as well, since, as mentioned, the other Ordinal Orders saw it as a waste-basket for those who did not fit in their directions.

Old Tyler had slipped between notice and mention and found himself hobbling up the stairs. For ten days and ten more, he sang to the open winds.

Onyx-Black had slipped there between school transfers. She had huddled in the back of the prayer rack until the wind called to her and then, for eleven days, she had sat with her feet dangling, telling stories to the wind.

J-alpha-7 had lasted five days before she went exploring, got lost, and finally ended up back in the BAELZ.

Others came, and lasted or didn’t, asking for release or diving out the windows, seeking for a new world. The Ordained of the Open watched, and waited, for those who would move on to the second test.

Ordination into the Open Orders had Nine tests, although some whispered that there was, in truth, no end to the tests, simply another step along the way to true Openness.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/518307.html. You can comment here or there.

For eseme‘s prompt, along with quite a few others.

The Department of Never had left a Notice on Neil’s door.

He ignored it the first day, tired from work and grocery shopping, foot-sore and soul-tired. The second day, there was a a second Notice stapled above the first.

His eyes glossed over it, found it pink, and ignored it again.

The notice the next day was a slightly darker shade of rose, with larger letters. Neil had a late-night poker game with his friends, and ignored it. If the Department, the Nonesuch, the Agency of No really wanted to talk to him, they could come in and talk to him like normal people (not that they were normal. Not that, if rumor were true, they were people at all).

The days passed. Neil had a busy work-life and almost as busy a home-life (not that it happened at home. Usually; his home-life happened at other people’s homes, in their man-caves, in their dens. Or in bars, including the Nevermore and the North Pole, and quiet seedy clubs)); he ignored quite a bit, not just the Notices from Never but the menus from Number One Chinese and Mark’s Pizzeria, the angry notes from his landlord about why he never attended the floor events, and, sometimes, phone calls from his mother.

(Bills were paid automatically, so that he didn’t ignore those).

On the ninth day, the Notice on his door was red, and Neil finally read it.

FINAL NOTICE

For a moment, he thought that was all it said. He squinted at the letters, black on bright red text.

The Non-Division wishes to inform you that there has been a change in the scheduling of this sector, 9-5-9-8, subsector 9. As of the Ninth of November, Yr 99, we are cancelling nighttime.

Neil looked at his watch, which told him the day was the eight of November. He looked at his scheduler, which told him that he had plans for the next nine nights, most of which were, to put it succinctly, night-life sorts of plans.

He sat down in front of his door. “No. No.”

The Department found him there when the sun rose for the last time, still nattering on, no, no, no.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/518063.html. You can comment here or there.

To inventrix‘s prompt. With more than a little nod to
Gregory Maguire’s Wicked series, which I have been reading.

The court-yard was turning quickly into a barn-yard.

It was intended to allow for Animals, of course; that was why it was outdoors. But it had been intended, by the worthies who had designed it, that there would be, perhaps, an Animal plaintiff or defendant, in a court otherwise composed of Humans of one ilk or another.

Not… this.

Judge Dernbian Occut stared at the court-yard. Stared, and then closed his eyes, which did not help, because he could still hear and smell the whole thing quite well, thank you very much. There was a bleating over there, and a complaining over there, and one rather young and incontinent Sheep had lost itself all over the pavers.

And the lawyer. The lawyer for the Prosecution – and all of its clients – were Llamas. At least, Judge Occut hoped they were Llamas. He had only, so far, heard bleating.

He banged his gavel and glared at his bailiff, who should have known better and, somehow, made this go away before it happened. “This court will come to order.”

The Bailiff, who was nominally Human but had, Judge Occut was sure, Bulldog blood in the lines somewhere, barked out at the crowd. “Silence! Silence! The Court of the Honorable Judge Dernbian FitzeGondalf Occut is now in session! Sit down if you’ve got it. Stand quiet if you don’t!”

A moment, a blessed moment of silence. Then the attorney for the defense wheedled forward. “Forthright Estiman, your Honor.”

“I know you.” The sleaziest sort of barrister, Forthright Estiman.

“I move that the charges against my client be dismissed. After all, the plaintiff, your Honor, is a Llama.”

The Llama stepped forward, and bowed, deeply, and very impressively. “If we could bring the Court’s attention to the case of Morinda v. Werwin, or the case of Lucy the Red v. the Sheep Satire, there is more than sufficient precedent for an Animal bringing suit. And as we are bringing a financial suit against one Kaber Bennidict, who has been more than willing to take Animal gold, I cannot see why he would suddenly think that an Animal is not worthy of his presence.” The Llama nodded toward the defendant’s seat, noticeably empty. “The charge is fraud and corruption, your Honor. Surely the esteemed Sir Bennedict could bring himself forward for that charge?”

Judge Occut cleared his throat, rather than sighing visibly. “Motion to dismiss denied. Forthright, you have ten minutes to produce your client, or I’ll pen you both up in contempt of court.”

It was the first time the Judge had found himself in sympathy with an Animal, but, then again, Forthright always could sway your sympathies against him.

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To cluudle‘s prompt

“I’ve just has some prime beachfront property open up. I’ve got a quaint one-bedroom bungalow on a cozy property that faces on the ocean…” Gilly had been one of the best realtors in the business. She could sell anything to anyone and had, at one point or another, sold everything.

That was Before.

“It’s in Tuscon. Hello? Hello? Damnit.” Gilly hung up and dialed the next number. “Sarah! Hi. I’ve got an adorable little beach front place down in Tuscon… Damnit.”

By six p.m., Gilly was just about to throw in the towel. It wasn’t her fault that it was the oldest scam in the book. It wasn’t her fault the ocean had devoured Central America. It wasn’t her fault she was stuck trying to sell… yes… oceanfront property in Arizona.

“And if you’ll buy that,” she finally added in desperation, “I’ll throw the Golden Gate in free.”

if you’ll buy that.

Ocean Front Property, George Strait

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