Tag Archive | giraffecall

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.

Frog Pancakes

Mar21

To [personal profile] kelkyag‘s commissioned prompt, after Big, Bad Witch

“So.” Eva stared at the boy over her orange juice for a moment. “Pancakes, little kid thing?”

“Are they in the shapes of dinosaurs?”

She smirked. “I only do that for kids that are still shorter than my knees. They’re safe, normal round things.”

“Will they turn me into a frog?”

“I don’t know anything that can do that, legends aside… so probably not.”

“Then I guess I’m probably not too old for pancakes.” Was he flirting with her?

“Good,” she answered while she tried to figure that one out. “Because they taste horrible the second day and there’s way too many for me to eat on my own right now.” She passed him a plate and a glass of orange juice. “So. You thought I was a witch?”

“You still haven’t said if you are or not. And sometimes your family says stuff, you know.”

“I’m sure they do; everyone’s family says stuff. I just have a really big family.”

“Mmn.” He stuffed his mouth full of pancakes for a minute, eating like every teenage boy she’d ever seen, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

When she thought he might be able to breathe again, she added, “what sort of stuff, in this case?”

“Hunh? Oh, your family. Just… ‘Aunt Asta died, Aunt Eva’s The Aunt now.'” He dropped the caps in melodramatically. “If you don’t get a boyfriend, Beryl, you’re going to end up The Next Aunt.” He shook his head. “Like it’s a thing.”

“For us, it kind of is,” she admitted, gambling on honesty. “Sometimes we have more than one in a generation, but yeah.”

“So you really are a witch?” He looked down at the pancakes thoughtfully. “At least they’re not gingerbread.”

“You’re not running screaming in terror?”

He grinned at her, another one of those expressions she was pretty sure made Beryl go “:X” “I could feel it, you know? In my toes. I was just waiting for you to decide to tell me.”

Older Witches (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/304427.html. You can comment here or there.

Silent Song

Mar20

To Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt and @Inventrix’s request, the second half of a continuation of Porter Needs a Girlfriend (LJ), after Siren Song (LJ).

Porter fell.

He’d been pretty sure he was going to, but knowing you were going to and suddenly falling were different things.

He flailed, kicking his legs and shouting. The floor seemed a long way down. Why were the levels so far apart in this school? What if he broke something…

He landed while he was still worrying, both feet hitting the floor by some freak chance, and stumbled backwards until he fell into something.

He was… on a soft carpet, surrounded by bookshelves. In the Library, then? He slapped both hands over his mouth. He’d been shouting in the Library! He was going to catch hell for sure!

What was worse… he’d fallen into the Library. In the middle of the Library. If someone didn’t find him, he was going to end up late for dinner. Late for Timora’s mystery dinner date with hopefully-a-Ninth-Cohort.

And, really, to be pragmatic, he could be trapped in here forever, or until he found a door or a Door that got him out. Priorities.

A sign appeared in front of his nose. Please remember to remain quiet in the Library. The font was frilly, and the little sign was bordered with little purple flowers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just…”

The sign vanished, and another appeared. Please refrain from lewd activity in the Library.

“Wait, what?” he asked in a hurried hiss. “I…” He was leaning against something, wasn’t he? He twisted to look behind him. “…Oh. Sorry.” The statue in whose embrace he’d been cuddled looked as embarrassed as Porter felt. “You should get her some clothes. Look, um,” the signs were from the Librarian, right? “Um… sa’Librarian?” That might work… please? “I didn’t mean to drop in like this, but I’m a little lost…”

A third sign appeared. Please refrain from becoming lost in the Library.

“I’m trying, I really am, but there was this Siren, so I dove overboard, and overboard happened to be here…” He flailed. “I open Doors, you see. But this place doesn’t come with a decent floor plan.”

The next sign that appeared was hand-written, still florid but without the decorations. “You open… Doors. Show me. This way.” And then a sign with an arrow.

“I, uh…” His dinner was getting further and further away. “Yes… ma’am? Sa’Librarian. What do you want me to show you?” He wandered in the direction of the arrow, avoiding the eyes of the statue. “Hunh. History. I’ve never found this section before.”

A sign appeared: a flower-wreathed stop sign. Porter stopped obediently, hoping that, somehow, this would lead to dinner. Somehow.

He was standing in front of a section of blank wall, about the size of a doorway, something he’d never before seen in the Library. The arrow appeared again, pointing at the wall.

“You want me to open this? All right, I can do that. I hope,” he added in a mutter. “But do you know what’s on the other side?”

The arrow simply pointed again and, sighing, Porter opened a Door and stepped through.

Next: Iridium Hole, LJ

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/303624.html. You can comment here or there.

Reality, a story of the Black House for the March Giraffe Call (@rix_Scaedu)

Mar20

From rix_scaedu‘s prompt. This comes directly in order with the rest of the Black House story (see tag), right after Orientation (LJ).

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

The girl who had been Yaminah, On-Time-Chime, who was now Pretty oro’Gregori, had heard stories, all through school, of her new Keeper.

She had heard about the Kraken, about his tentacles, about the way that he had, his first year of school, held off three older attackers and ended up walking away from Hell Night having almost killed someone three years ahead of him in school. She’d heard second-hand stories, stories Damaris had told Ackerly. “This is how a Kept is treated. This is how my Keeper’s Keeper treated her.” She’d heard the way the teachers said his name – half anger, half awe.

Nothing had prepared her, any more than any situation that her power had gotten her in had, any more than being Kept by Ackerly had, for the reality of being in his house, in his possession – or in his arms.

He was gentle, for one, as inexorable as his hold was, stroking her back, comforting her. “It has to be frightening,” he murmured, when the sobs had calmed enough that she could hear him, “to have a power that takes you over like that. To be out of control of your own life.”

“Sometimes?” she admitted weakly. “Sometimes it’s useful. Sometimes I end up knowing things, getting things I wouldn’t, otherwise. But I miss my children.” She slapped her hands over her mouth, mortified, and peeked at him, only to find him smiling.

“I don’t blame you. I miss mine, too.” He smoothed her hair gently. “And your power thinks you will be safe here?” He set her down on the carpet. “Come. Let’s get to the bedroom.”

She waited until he stood, then followed his heels down the hallway. “I wonder,” he mused, “what it is your power wants me to protect you from?”

Next: First Day of Work (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/303541.html. You can comment here or there.

Graduation Plans

Mar19

For Friendly Anon’s prompt.

Addergoole has a landing page here.

This story comes after Love and Hospitality (LJ)

Followed by Good Bones

“It’s like my whole life is here. In boxes.” Nydia stared at the luggage rack full of things, as Luke loaded them into the back of the school SUV, next to Wren’s stack of boxes.

“I know the feeling.” The older girl patted her arm. “I’ve got everything all set up; we’ll be okay. Lady Maureen helped me find us a nice apartment, so that’s waiting for us. I bought beds but nothing else; we can pick that all out together… or find someone to pick it out for us.” She winked at Nydia cheerfully.

Nydia, for her part, was even more overwhelmed by her friend. “You got that all taken care of?”

“I had time on my hands, and my Mentor and yours to help,” Wren assured her. “Remember, we want to be planners!”

“I know, but… wow, Wren.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty to do, too.” She held up a thick sheaf of paper. “I have contacts from Lady Maureen and DJ for us to get in touch with, storefronts for us to look at, and three houses for us to consider. Aaand….” She held up a second set of papers. “Doms to interview.”

Nydia squirmed. “Wreeeeen, in front of Luuuke,” she whispered.

“Not in front of Luke,” the PE teacher agreed, as he came around the SUV. “Except that I’ve met most of those young men already, and those I haven’t, your Mentors have.”

“What?” Nydia squeaked. “You…”

Luke smiled gently at her. “You two were very good students. I want to be sure you’re safe out in the world, too.” He patted her shoulder. “I can’t be there to watch over you every minute, out there. This is the best I can do.”

“…Oh.” Nydia looked at the boxes in the back of the car, and at the piled lists Wren was holding, and then back at Luke. The future felt a little bit safer. “Thank you.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/302633.html. You can comment here or there.