Tag Archive | giraffecall

What You Need

Mar6

For @inventrix’s commissioned continuation of

Part 7-7.5 of 7.5

Mr. Ting was beginning to creep me out and, what was more, I was worried Mt. Jordan was going to blow any minute now. “We really need an AC unit,” I put in, trying not to stare at the silver whatsits. Or the tin with the tentacle thing on it. “An air conditioner. We have a kid at home, and cats and rats…”

“Already taken care of.” He smiled benevolently at us. “A new unit has been delivered to your doorstep. What is more, in your absence, Ashton and Taylor are installing it – and cleaning the window.”

Jordan stared at him. “You can’t know that.”

“Aaah. That may be. But what also is, is that I do know it. And when you return home, you will see that these things have happened.” He patted Jordan’s shoulder, and somehow came back with all his fingers. “And that is all right. But that is only what your household needed, no? That is not what the two of you, what J.J .and Jordan, and J.J.-and-Jordan, need, is it?”

“There is no J.J.-and-Jordan,” we both said hurriedly. The tiny man only smiled.

“There may not be a romantic relationship. You do not look at each other as if you are having a romance. But you are here together because there is a together, no? You are living in your house of complications because there is a friendship, a something-more?”

We shared a look, and it was Jordan who looked away, but me who spoke.

“There’s an us, like that,” I agreed. “Friends. Just… just friends.”

“Indeed,” he smirked. “‘Just’ friends. It is a good thing to have, ‘just’ friends, like Mrs. Gent and I. And do you believe me, J.J.?”

Did I believe him? That was a very good question. “It seemed ridiculous. It seems unbelievable. Far-fetched, at the very least – Ashton setting up anything?” I smirked at him. “Compared to that, you psychically delivering an AC to our house seems entirely reasonable.”

He bowed, like the stereotype that had been in my mind when I first walked in here. “Then allow Mr. Ting to continue to provide what you need.”

“What will it cost us?” Jordan asked again, a little less sharply.

He shook his head, and patted her shoulder again. “Mr. Ting sometimes needs things too. Actual things, mind you. Radios. Cathelyubra. Paperwork. You will come across something that it will look like the store could use. That’s the cost.”

“That’s it?” That was me, this time. “For the AC?”

“The Air Conditioner – that, your roommates paid for in cash and a third of a chocolate cake. It was a very good cake. No, you will bring things back to the store in payment for what I will give you now.”

That sounded ominous. More ominous was the sound of the building shaking and thudding again. A shelf twisted and turned, and we were on the section labeled “P.”

“You will need these.” He passed us each a rucksack that seemed loaded to the top. “And here is your exit.”

“Thank you?” I had turned to put on my backpack, and when I turned back, the little man was gone and in his place was the exit. “Well.”

“Well.” Jordan looked at me, looked at the door, and walked through. “Let’s go… oh.”

“Oh?” I’d followed her through, on her heels like always; now she stepped aside so I could see.

See the island we were suddenly standing on, see the stream meandering through, the grass purple, the water green. See the string of islands off the shore to the left, at least thirteen of them. See the creature fishing the stream, holding the pole in two of its fourteen feet.

See the door behind us close, just in time to hear it click and watch it vanish.

“…Oh.” I tried to pretend I wasn’t excited, and hoped Jordan would forgive me for this new quest.

~fin~

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/294259.html. You can comment here or there.

Re-Engineered, for the Giraffe Call (@shutsumon)

Mar6

For [personal profile] becka_sutton‘s prompt, after Engineered

“Hey, Liam, I think I figured something out.”

Cara and Alex tensed. Ever since Jason had defected, the Boss had been miserable. It wasn’t Namae Sauter’s fault, but since she’d gotten Jason’s workstation, she’d also gotten all of his blame.

(Nobody could actually do anything to Jason, short of a tac nuke, and they weren’t entirely sure that would work, either. After his roses had eaten two recovery teams, they’d stopped trying).

Liam limped over to her desk, his cane thudding the deck angrily. “What do you have, Sauter?” he snarled.

“I think I’ve figured out the formula Jason was working on in his spare time. Not the roses – they’re a mess – but the reverse-aging one?”

The Boss softened barely-perceptibly. “I wondered what he’d been doing. So what’s in the formula?”

She swirled a beaker full of a viscous red-purple fluid. “Blood of grape and juice of girl.”

“Blood of… ah, Sauter, have you been working overtime? I think you’re mixing your words.”

“Not exactly.” She opened the curtains to her greenhouse; Cara and Alex saw Liam’s flinch, but he managed to hide it from Namae. Inside, a few rose-like vines writhed, but more than that, there were grapevines.

Grapevines? They seemed to be something like fingers…

“Unknowable formulae,” Cara breathed reverently. “Alex…”

“That’s a dryad. She’s made a dryad…. a grape dryad?”

The girl in the case looked, he thought, sad. Wistful, maybe, reaching for the glass. And tapped.

“Technically, it’s sap,” Namae was saying. “She doesn’t bleed, though her fruit seems to. But the formula works on rats, and I’m ready to start orphan testing.”

“Beakers and tubes,” Liam swore. “I…”

Cara and Alex shared a look. Had their boss found an ethical limit? They hadn’t known it was possible.

“I think it might cure cancer, too,” Namae added, and, with a quiet sigh, The Boss passed out.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/293847.html. You can comment here or there.

On the Adriatic, a story of Fae Apoc Apoc for the February Giraffe Call (@Rix_Scaedu)

Mar6

For Rix_Scaedu‘s prompt.

Fae Apoc has a landing page here

“Well.”

January and Hugo stared off the bow of their boat at the sea in front of them. The Adriatic was churning wildly, the waves shaking their little craft. And, in the center of the sea, a hole seemed to be ripping open. When Hugo had called Jan up to the bow, the hole had been a half a meter wide. Now, it was three meters in diameter and growing. Worse, something… something was peeking through.

“I should get the others.” His sister slipped back into the cabin, her tail swishing unhappily. He didn’t blame her. They had been doing so well out here with their little operation, and this… whatever this was, this was going to interfere.

By the time Jan got back with Lyslotta and Abigail, the hole was about five meters wide, had stopped growing, and was causing some difficulty to the… thing… trying to get through, since that looked to be just a tad wider than the hole.

“Is that a dragon?” Abigail whispered.

“I don’t know,” Hugo had to admit. “I mean, it looks like the front end of a Chinese dragon, but I didn’t know Chinese… Dragons… existed.” He tried to make “Dragon” sound different than “dragon,” but from the giggle that came from behind him, he was pretty sure he failed.

“I don’t think it knows we’re here, yet,” Lysa added. “Are we, you know… leaving?”

“Slowly,” he agreed, shifting the sails and beginning to tack away from the monster. “Backing away slowly.”

“Hugo…” Jan was pointing, so he looked; to their starboard, another portal was opening up.

“Well,” he sighed, “there goes the end of our days of wine and roses in the Adriatic.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/293561.html. You can comment here or there.

Pantry

Mar6

For [personal profile] eseme‘s prompt.

“What do we have left?”

Henry stared at their pantry. The winter was nearly over, true, but not nearly enough, and nobody had expected that the blizzard – if blizzard it really was – would be so heavy, so long, or block any sort of travel so completely. They hadn’t left their house in three weeks. He tried not to think too hard about the neighbors. He hadn’t heard from the Kaperskis in over a week, and the last time he’d seen the Gentalis, they’d been begging yet another cup of rice off of them.

He hadn’t thought of their family as being all that prepared, but it turned out shopping the sales and buying in bulk had more advantages than saving money. They’d eaten well for the first week, decently for the second week, and now…

“We have two bottles of wine, three kinds of rice, and a can of beans. And an onion that’s starting to grow.”

“Oh, good.” Junie smiled at him. “I thought we’d eaten the last of the onions. Okay, I’ve got a bit of lard in the fridge, and the bones from the chicken. I’d say we’re good to go.”

He stared at his wife in a little bit of awe. “You can make a meal out of that?”

“Honey,” she laughed. “I could make a meal out of ramen noodles, a can of tomatoes, and a beer. We have wine. As long as we have wine, we’ll be fine.”

Henry stared at the pantry, trying not to acknowledge what he was thinking. The Gentalis, he knew, were great wine drinkers. They’d shown off their extensive wine cellar more than once…

“We’re fine for today, then,” he smiled at his wife. And maybe the snow would melt soon.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/292921.html. You can comment here or there.

A New Flower

Mar6

For Friendly Anon’s prompt.

Fae Apoc has a landing page here.

This comes after Hey you Kids get off my lawn! and Leaving Town.

Tros had a feeling she wasn’t the sort of girl you brought roses and wine for, and besides, there wasn’t any place around here to buy wine, or roses.

So he settled for helping Nila with everything he could, scouting ahead, scrounging for food, making sure when he brought down game, he gutted it out of her daughter’s line of sight.

It was puppy love, he knew. His Mentor had, more than once, accused him of that, scolding him for the attention it took from more serious matters.

But his Mentor was not here, and, it seemed to Tros, Nila was pretty much the most serious matter there was right now. She’d promised to heal him and keep him fed in return for his service; therefore, his service was the most important thing in his life for the ten days he’d pledged her.

Comfortably justified in his obsession, he spent his evening watch carving tokens from deer antler: a bunny for Susan, a small saber for Allan, and, for Nila…

That took more thought, and more time. Not wine and roses, certainly. He was unsure if, despite her two children, the girl had ever been romanced. She didn’t seem to look at him as a man, other than in that “another warrior to guard the camp” sort of way. If it hadn’t been for the kids, he would have guessed lesbian, or, like his former crewmate, just-not-interested.

The kids meant he might have a chance. So her carved her a flower, following the patterns of her ears and her markings, a Nila-flower from the remains of his kill.

Looking at it in the dim moonlight, he had to smile. That, that seemed like the perfect gift for this fucked-up new world of theirs.

Note: The views expressed by the narrator are his and his alone and are not necessarily endorsed by the writer

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/292620.html. You can comment here or there.

Feedback wanted! A roundup of feedback requests on the Giraffe Call!

Mar5

I’ve been dropping little feedback requests in between stories; here’s a roundup list if you’ve missed them!

Poll Which JANUARY Story do you want to see continued?
“Exterminator” and “The Silver Road” are tied for first place.

Reconsidering Giraffe Incentives (LJ) in light of time crunching.

Call for Call Ideas! (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/292251.html. You can comment here or there.

The Governors, a continuation of the Unicorn/Factory for the January Giraffe Call

Mar4

After The Grey Line (lj) and Productive, for [personal profile] anke‘s commissioned Prompt. Part Two of ??

Unicorn Factory has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ

“Ah, Antheri,” Giulian sighed. “It is sad but unsurprising that you think me a fool.” He could feel the foal’s presence near his ankles, but he needed to ignore that for a moment. “It is entirely unsurprising,” he repeated, moving slowly towards the man. “After all, so many of my predecessors have, clearly, been fools.”

“All of them! Even you! Soft! Unwilling to do what was needed! Unwilling to see what it was that had to be done! They are always asking, always writing, always peeking,” he gibbered, “those in the City, the owners of the factory, the bosses, the governors. They demand progress! They demand productivity! And you Administrators, every one of you, fools, blind sheep to be steered by whoever whined last!”

“No.” As long as he kept the man talking, he was unlikely to be shot. Giulian did not want to be shot today. “My position is to stand between the unreasonable demands of the governors and the unreasonable demands of the workers and find the balance that keeps everything working.”

“Your position,” the man sputtered. “Your position? What do you know of your position? Have you ever met the governors? Have you ever stood in a room with them for more than ten minutes? Have you ever tried to answer their questions? Have you ever disappointed them?”

It was a strange question. “No,” Giulian answered, wondering at the man’s grip on reality. “I was hired through the agent that worked with my previous posting. As were you. As was every Administrator and bureaucrat here. What are you on about, man?”

“The governors,” Antheri hissed. “The governors. Their eyes. Always watching. Always judging. And you, all you fools, all you damn fool Administrators, getting in the way, worried about the people, worried about the river. The river will be cleaned. The river will trickle through the fields and lose its taint. The people will live, or they will die, and there will be more. But the governors, Administrator, the governors. Their will is all that matters, irrational demands or not. Their will is All. That. Matters.” He jabbed the gun into Giulian’s stomach with each word, his eyes even wilder, spittle flying from his mouth.

And, finally, the guards stepped in, large, sturdy men Giulian had hired when the death of his predecessors began to look suspicious. They grabbed Antheri from behind, wrestling the gun from him.

“It is becoming clear,” Giulian told him, speaking loudly to be heard over the man’s incoherent screams, “that you have been affected by the stresses of the job and the crowded conditions of the Town and need a respite, likely in a quiet place off in the mountains. I will see to your transport there, Antheri, and go about the work of training your replacement.”

It wasn’t a quote so much as it was a compilation of Antheri’s reports on Giulian’s predecessors, but it was clear that the words got through to the man. He stiffened, a slow, mad smile crossing his lips.

“Then the governors will be yours to deal with. I wish you the pleasure of them, Administrator, you fool. I wish you the pleasure of them.”

Next: Right and Wrong

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/291767.html. You can comment here or there.

Poision, a story of the Bug Invasion for the Feb. Giraffe Call

Mar4

For YsabetWordsmith‘s prompt,

after:
Out of Their Minds (LJ)
All in Your Head (LJ), after
From the moment they breathed our air (Lj) after: Staying in the City (LJ) and Spooks vs. Bugs (DW)

Paula moved among the surviving bug-hosts, those that were still hosting a symbiote, those that were either too stable or too gone to reject their rider, those who simply didn’t want to, those who couldn’t bring themselves to kill another living being, even if it had taken over part of their mind.

There weren’t many left, fifteen of them out of two hundred in this camp, maybe more, in other camps. Her symbiote had stopped talking to her. She was pretty sure it was angry. But it gave her, still, these half-hours at a time when she was still herself, and she took every minute of them.

She sat down next to Fallon, who had found another bottle of vodka somewhere and was nursing it quietly. He blinked at her, human eyes replaced by bug pupils, and the bug belched and giggled.

“This stuffff,” it chittered in Fallon’s voice. “You humans. You humans, this stufffff, you poison-on-on yourselves so nicely. You poison yourselves so many waysss. How? How-how-why?”

It had asked that before. She had answered before. This time, instead, she handed it a cup of thick hot chocolate, the best she could find. “This,” she told the bug in Fallon’s body, “this thing is poison in large doses. Chocolate. Cacao. It’s a stimulant, among other things.”

Fallon’s shaking hand took the drink, while the bug’s eyes watched her. “It is good?”

“It is wonderful,” she assured it. “We poison ourselves, my friend, because it feels good. Because we can. Because we are allowed to do what we want to our bodies, and revel in that.”

Her half hour was nearly up; she could feel the presence of her symbiote crowding in on her consciousness. She took the bottle from Fallon and swallowed down a long burning gulp. “We poison ourselves…”

The symbiote took over “…becaussse their bodies are wired to accept it as good. These creatures. These creatures.”

“These creatures,” Fallon’s bug agreed drunkenly. “They cannot be defeated. Their biology has already done that.”

In the back of her own mind, forced into silence, Paula giggled. How little they understood.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/291504.html. You can comment here or there.

Trusting in History, a finale of Fae Apoc for the Jan. Giraffe Call (@inventrix)

Mar4

After
Scrounging for History (LJ)
Digging through History (LJ)
Delving in History (LJ)
Bringing Home History (LJ)
Singing down History (LJ)
Learning of History (LJ
Getting over History (LJ)
Making New History (LJ)
Part 7.5 of 7.5

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

The Nightwalker led them through the ruins of the city, her tail swishing, her whole body leaned forward. “There’s a few,” she told them, “places that never got touched, places that are almost whole, even now. There’s a few that look whole, that are traps. And there’s gardens, still growing. My gardens, now.” She ducked, almost a bow, almost an apology. “Our gardens?”

“You called us correctly,” Dor replied. He was still angry, still distrusting her. Karida couldn’t blame her. “We are scroungers. We don’t plant gardens.”

“Then whose gardens will they be? If we go… you could stay here, you three and the girl, and teach me. You could stay here, and I could feed you. Show you everything I know of this place.”

She turned to look at them, a hungry look on her face, a smile that told Karida that something was seriously wrong. “And if the land betrays you, then, I have not betrayed nor hurt you, have I?”

That was all the warning they had. Karida felt the place the road below their feet would collapse as the witch said that, felt it and threw Amalie out of danger, into Dor so they both fell clear, even as under her the ground collapsed dropping her into a sinkhole, dropping her down, down, down. She twisted, trying to find up from down, trying to land on her feet, and caught her head on something hard and metal.

She lost consciousness still falling, and never felt the impact.

~fin~

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/291164.html. You can comment here or there.