Tag Archive | prompter: thnidu

Beekeeper bonus interlude: In Which there is a Kiss

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which Amrit Explains Something..

🐝
She was doing it. She was really doing it. She was…

Her lips touched his and her hand went around his back to steady herself — when had he gotten so tall? Was that part of his power? Magical healing, grow an inch every time he broke a bone?

His lips were chapped, but after a moment, that didn’t matter. His hand found her back and splayed there, fingers leaving five warm places just below her neck.

He kissed like he was going to fuck her, rougher, more intent than anyone she’d kissed in a long time, maybe ever. He kissed like she was the only thing in the world, and, for a few moments, he was the only thing in hers.

She pulled back ruefully only when her toes complained. “You,” she murmured affectionately, “are far too tall.”

“I could be shorter,” he offered. “But I like being tall.”

She chuckled and, much to her surprise, hugged him, arms around his waist, pulling him in as tight as she could. He grunted once and then hugged her back, not loosening his hold until she released hers.

“I think,” she whispered, “I like having you here.”

“I think,” he admitted quietly, “I like being here.”
🐝
Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1248891.html
🐝

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January By the Numbers Seven: Silly Sausage Sellers (Fiction piece)

January by the numbers continues (just a day off~)!
From [personal profile] thnidu‘s prompt “Seven silly sausage sellers swilling snazzy sodas;” a story of… maybe Things Unspoken?
.

It had been a good day for Dayuved Yura’s sausage-vending franchise. The central square and the park that ran two blocks south of it had been packed with people; the road in between had been busy with people hurrying back and forth between the two places; the bicycle-taxi peddlers were hungry, too, and snatching sausages in their brief breaks between customers – sometimes, they even stopped with a cab full of people, often meaning the passengers all bought sausages, too.

(Bicycle-taxi peddlers always got a discount at Dayuved Yura’s places, and in these situations, his sellers were instructed to quietly refund the peddler the full price of their sausage under the cover of “giving change,” as long as the passengers bought at least two meals. It kept the peddlers coming to Dayuved’s cards, and not to someone else’s inferior meat-in-a-bun wagons.

Now that the sun had set and the nighttime shift had taken over, Dayuved and his six daytime workers gathered ad Amincob Kote’s soda stand to marvel over the day.

“That dancer-” Dayuved started. “Did you see those feathers?

“Those marchers, with the twirling sticks,” put in his second-in-command. They had the best places in the central square, but today, everyone had been in a good place.

“The heralds,” murmured the most junior seller. “They blew those horns, and it was like everyone was on strings.”

“The woman,” an old man on his fourth job whispered. “She was…”

“Yeah,” everyone murmured. There was little else that needed to be said. But someone, the quiet one, managed anyway.

“Her companions… so shiny. So tall.”

“Who was she?” breathed one of the young ones. But all the old ones shook their heads.

“She sold sausages for us. She made smiles on their faces. She went to the place on the hill. That’s all we know, that’s all we ask.”

“But that’s… that’s silly,” complained the young one again. And the old ones just smiled and sipped their sodas.

“Silly, son, keeps the gold in the cash-box and keeps our heads on our necks. Silly sells sausages.”

“Silly sells sausages,” they all agreed, leaving the young ones feeling that “silly” was some sort of cynical cipher for sensible.

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Pieced, a continuing ficlet of early pre-Arlend

After Shattered, written after [personal profile] thnidu‘s tip.

Having the ghost of a cat following you around was not something to be talked about, certainly not in the current climate.

Having a ghost-cat who could mend things, well, that was nearly worse. Certainly, it would be looked at almost like hoarding, if anyone ever found out that Hannah had been hiding an ability to repair broken goods.

They had so very few goods these days. It had taken almost twenty years to get any sort of manufacturing back online, and, once they had, it had all gone to the war effort. Certainly, those guys next door had something we wanted – as it turned out, they had minerals and metals that didn’t currently exist in the borders of their fractured city-state. Mugs, plates – if you couldn’t scrounge it or make your own from back-yard clay, you were Sure Outta Luck, as Hannah’s mother had liked to say, those times she’d noticed Hannah was listening.

Besides, what if nobody else could see Buster? If she really was going nuts, Hannah didn’t want anyone to know. Some people had, from the fumes, from disease, from – well, they called it Plague, back then, but the only symptom appeared to be closer to the screaming meemees than what was traditionally considered “plague”. Seeing things was enough for some of her neighbors to waste a bullet on her. It might be enough for other, more kindly or more parsimonious, to commit her.

Hannah had seen the inside of the sanitarium once, on a charity visit. She never wanted to see it again.

She went four weeks without anyone finding out. She learned that Buster would, if bribed with petting and sweet words, fix things that had been previously broken, but that he preferred new damage. She learned that the more “made” a thing was – plastic was great, plates made in a factory were wonderful – the better Buster could make it look. He couldn’t – or wouldn’t – fix the apple tree outside when a hailstorm damaged it, but he did fix a wooden spoon she’d left too close to the flame.

She’d just gotten used to the feeling of having the cat in bed with her – he might be twice as large as he had been, but she was a lot bigger than she’d been, too, and they still seemed to fit – when she learned that other people could see him, too. It was early morning, and she was weeding her garden, a hobby Buster liked to “help” with, mostly by batting around the weeds. Usually, nobody was out this early, but today, of course, Lacey from down the street was walking by, head in the clouds and not really paying much attention.

Until she saw Buster. Lacey froze in the middle of the sidewalk, staring. Buster stared back, tail high and proud as anything, never mind that you could still see the tomatoes through him.

Lacey shook her head and walked on, saying nothing. For a brief while, Hannah thought maybe she’d gotten away with it. Lacey hadn’t been right for a long time, but, like Hannah, she stayed just right enough to stay where she was. She wasn’t going to tell stories; any stones she threw could bounce back far too easily on her.

It was all going to be okay, Hannah told herself. You got away with it, she told Buster.

And then one night, after dark, after curfew, they came knocking on her door.

Lacey. Gerald the grocer. Tammy the hunter. Desi the Librarian. All of them, sneaking in, hiding in the shadows. All of them followed by the shadows of animals.

Lacey had a mastiff bigger than a pony. Tammy had a hawk whose wingspan filled the room. Gerald had a badger, which amused Hannah, although she tried to hide it. And Desi had a snake.

“We thought maybe you would,” Lacey admitted. “We thought you were the sort. But you never let on. You never showed anything.”

Gerald snorted. “Didn’t want us to think she was crazy, probably. Same as you. Same as us.”

“So…” Hannah looked around. “What does this mean?”

Gerald laughed. “Damned if I know. Damned if I know,” he repeated slowly. “But I don’t think it’s good.”

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Awakening, Accompanied – a continuation of Fae Apoc

This is written to [personal profile] thnidu‘s commissioned continuation of Shedding Skin and The Nightmare Sated

She woke to find a trembling body next to hers. Before Akazha opened her eyes she sniffed the air and focused on the pressures on her skin, taking in the situation. Her body was back to its humanoid shape, her fingers still feeling twitchy where the claws had slipped away. She felt no metal on her, no hawthorn or rowan. They hadn’t chained her down while she was comatose, then.

The ground beneath her was hard and cold. Something soft covered her from her feet to the shoulder — a blanket? Her clothes would have torn in the shifting, they always did. The teddy bear was still pressed under her hand, and there was not one but two bodies, a small one in front of her and a larger one behind her. The larger one was trembling.

Akazha let out a sigh and opened her eyes. A toddler lay pressed against her, looking out at the world. Not far away, she could see chair legs and booted feet. Behind her, the trembling body shook more.

“Well.” She recognized the voice of the town’s mayor. “You’re awake, and the citizenry of the town has declared that we cannot kill you. So… having ‘rescued’ us, what do you want?”

“Food.” The answer was out of Akazha’s mouth before she could recognize the tension in the mayor’s voice or pick a suitable, safe answer. “Food, please.”

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Planning Rescue, a continuation of Daxton and Esha

This is the next post in the ‘Rescue, of Sorts’ storyline, which can be found at this tag: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/tag/character:+daxton

It is written to a donation by [personal profile] thnidu after Rescued Indeed…

It took them a week to escape the castle, although their eventual bid for freedom was far less dramatic than the first time they’d met. “Just want to scout the countryside,” Daxton assured his parents, and, “they want us to rule something, we ought to see what we could rule,” Esha told her captain.

Nobody believed them, of course. The beauty of it was that it worked whether it was considered truth or lie — let their friends and family think they were off working on the next generation of Ducal heirs. In a sense, they were.
The manor house they found had been carved from a mountainside and built outwards from the stone they’d pulled. Aside from a population of wild mice and some small mountain foxes, it hadn’t been tenanted in a while, but the walls, built when the world was a stronger, stranger place, were still true and strong.

There was a barracks on site that, with some work, could house a mercenary troop in far more comfort than they were used to. And there was a village nearby that could use the protection of a strong force so close.

“It’ll take work,” Esha pointed out. “A lot of work.”

Daxton’s smile was crooked, more amused than pleased. “Still better than a dungeon.”

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The Nightmare Sated – a continuation of Fae Apoc

This is written to [personal profile] thnidu‘s commissioned continuation of Shedding Skin.

It had been a long time since she’d been visible like this. Akazha did her best to ignore the people in the village; she was going to save them first and deal with them later. She rolled her shoulders and felt her second arms appear. She shifted from foot to foot and felt her tail unfurl.

In this form, she was a good three feet taller than in her human shape. In this form, she had some weaknesses that were nearly mythical, but the rest of her was pretty tough.

In this form, she looked like a nightmare come down to earth. She was ready to shake this monster until she was in all of his bad dreams, from now forever after.

She could hear some of the humans screaming behind her. Akazha shook her head, her crest waving in the wind. The monster in front of her took a step backwards, pulling two children with him.

“What are you?” he snarled.

Akazha smiled. “I am the thing which awakens with pain,” she told him. “Step away from the children.”

“They’re mine,” he snarled. “This is my town and these are my people.”

“Step away from the children,” Akazha repeated. She stepped forward, massive feet thumping loudly on the broken pavement. “Or I will remove you.”

“You can’t take them away. They’re mine, and what are you, some Nedetakaei bastard dragon?”

Akazha found her lips curling upwards, all of her sharp teeth showing. “That’s about right. Bastard of a dragon.”

He’d meant it as an insult, and she could tell that her smile disturbed him. He stepped backwards again. This time, he pushed the children towards Akazha. “Take them! Just leave me alone, and leave my town alone.”

Akazha stepped forward again, past the children, who were stumbling towards their parents. “I don’t think you understand.” Her claws were so long in this form, and they glinted in the light. “I have been awoken.” It was not the least creepy of lines, but it had done her well in the past. “And now someone will pay.”

“Take them! Take all of them!” The monster scrabbled backwards now. Akazha strode forwards, each step of hers more than twice one of his. “They will pay your price! Just take it, take them, and leave!”

“Not how it works,” she rumbled. She lashed out with her claws, but he had turned around, fleeing like the creep that he was. She opened his back to the bone, once, twice.

He fled. He might die, but it was more likely he would live, forever marked as a monster and a coward.

The blood did as it always did, staining her claws black, bringing a quick exhaustion to Akazha. She dropped to her knees, and then to the ground. She would sleep. And when she woke… then she would know what the villagers would have of her.

Her last waking sight was a toddler tucking a teddy bear between her dark claws.

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More people might want to… a continuation

This is a continuation to Some People Just Want To… commissioned by [personal profile] thnidu

The news channels tried to cover it up, but the people were clamouring for news, and what the media would not cover, gossip would take care of. Yolanda was surrounded by it: the mad scientist. The murderer, hoist by his own petard.

The mystery formula that could make war impossible, if only…

The potential scientific benefits of Dr. Fidelli’s formula, if only…

The ways it could be modified to make a better execution drug, if only the formula hadn’t vanished.

He had to have written it down. He had to have kept it somewhere.

Yolanda tried not to flinch, tried not to smile, tried not to shout. She spent a lot of time hiding in her favorite bar, thinking about anything but biological systems and acidic toxins.

“Yolanda Giana.” A well-dressed man — far too well-dressed for this bar — sat down next to her, his body shielding her from the rest of the barflies. “I have a proposition for you.”

all funds now going to repair or replace the tablet I use to write on the bus: just broke the glass today

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Deep in the Tesznerov Forest, a short vignette from an old Giraffe Call (random Fic)

Written to [personal profile] thnidu‘s prompt from 2014. here. New setting. Might be part of something else.

The Forest of Tesznerov gave the impression of being a monolith of green and brown, a forbidding wall that slowed and even stopped progress.

But if you could get past the obstructions and into the forest itself, it was bright and sunny, with patches like meadows almost half an acre large. And if you got even further in, near the top of the hill called Thistle Mountain, you might encounter the Cheramia.

Oostely had been that – not lucky, to call it luck was an insult – skilled, the first in a century to get that far and (one hoped) live to tell about it. She perched on a stump and waited, listening, until a chermiach settled down in front of her.

It chirruped out a greeting. In return, Oostely bowed deeply and responded in her own tongue. The Cheramia were one of the truly foreign creatures to be found within the technical confines of the nation, but if she had to try to describe one, Oostely might do as her great-great-grandmother had done and say “a flying cat-snake with some sort of squirrel tail.” They might be as long as the distance between her ankle and hip, but they preferred to coil up like a spring, so they peeked at her through the fluff of their tail.

The chermiach whistle-popped a sound that could be a question, and then squeaked out what sounded like a human word. “Greeeeet,” it clucked.

“Greetings,” Oostely responded. She could not help but notice how sharp the chermiach’s teeth were, or how longs its claws were, or how close it was. But her great-great-grandmother had met one and lived to tell about it, so Oostely chirruped out what she hoped was the word for peace, and prayed it would work.


(the tip jar is a kitty for reasons)

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Through the Forest

This is [personal profile] thnidu‘s commissioned continuation of In the Forest.
He was still following her. Keita didn’t know how that was possible, but every time she paused, moments later, there he was.

He was far too comfortable with the woods. People had tried to come after her before – first before the world started getting strange, and then later, their reasons less clear but their hunting no more skilled. None of them had moved like he did.

His feet fell with no noise. He broke no twigs. He left – when she double back – almost no track at all.

And he was still following her.

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Lexember Day 19: “I made a sentence”

[personal profile] thnidu responded to yesterday’s post by asking me to create the sentence “I made a sentence”. So!

laar, I

taar, you, subject

taarte, you two, and so on.

baar, he/she (person pronoun)

baarrte, those two, and so on.

archaic: baan, baante and so on (she, a group of only women).

gaan, it (animal/thing pronoun)

laanaan, me

taannan, you-object (taannante, you two and so on)

baarnan, her/him

gaanran, it-object.


Okay, phew, there’s pronouns, so.

I made a sentence

Make, to create, to craft: Tair (this word, from an old word meaning “skill,” which can also be seen in -tairook, “with care” or “with practiced care. Throwing something together or making something that isn’t perceived as needing skill is died, from diedie, toss, this from the same root as dudiedah, tumble, from the loss post.)

Sentence!

we start with

iekiek, this exists (See also iekiekyent, a known fact.)

tel-, that which voices

teliekiek, that which give voice to an existing thing

telkiek

Need a break for some tea…


(This is the part where I need a punctuation to suggest the beginning of a sentence in my con-script, since I don’t have capitals.)

Laar telkiek ezhtairak: I sentence (past tense)-make-(subject agreement)

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