Tag Archive | yr9

Trojan Gift, a story of Addergoole Yr 9 for the Giraffe Call

Dec19

For [personal profile] wyld_dandelyon‘ prompt. This is set in the Addergoole ‘verse, whose landing page is here on DW & here on LJ, in year 9. Sylvia the Otter-girl is the character in the icon, by @Inventrix, shown here:
.

Third week of year 9 of the Addergoole school.

“You’re going to need this.”

Gar had no idea where the girl had come from; he’d been walking down a back hallway when she’d stepped out of nowhere in front of him.

He knew her from a couple of his classes, a slender, quiet girl with whiskers and paws that reminded him of an otter. Sylvia. She was pretty, but in a room full of aggressive beauties, she’d always faded into the background.

Garfunkel knew the feeling. He was, to quote his ex-girlfriend, “just a guy.” Just a guy, now, who seemed to shoot off crags of red stone when he got upset, like a particularly rocky porcupine version of the Hulk. Just a guy who, he was told, was very good at some odd magical words that made his tongue tingle.

And who, at the moment, was being faced with an otter-girl with some sort of necklace, no, collar, some sort of collar in her paw.

He shook his head, backing up slowly, holding up his own why-did-he-have-paws. “No, no thank you,” he said hurriedly. “I’ve seen all the collars around since, whatdy’acallit, Hell Night. I’ve seen everyone all hangdog and upset. I don’t need to join their ranks.”

“This is different,” she insisted. “It’s still a collar, but it’s different.”

“And why should I believe you?”

“Because I don’t lie, and I promise you I’m not lying to you. You are going to need what this collar gives you. I have a very strong feeling about that.”

“I have a very strong feeling about not becoming a brain-washed zombie,” he answered dryly.

“You won’t.” Sounding hurried and a bit irate, she added, “just put it on. It doesn’t mean anything without the words.”

“The words?” Her stare was rather unnerving; despite himself, Gar found himself taking the collar-thing from her and putting it around his neck.

“’With this ring…’ that sort of thing, the words your hang-dog friends said,” she hedged, and then, in his mind…

I Belong to You. The Fourth Law of Keeps states that one Ellehemaei –

Elle-?

Ellehemaei, the people of Ellehem, of the land that is not Earth. The fae, the Fair Folk, the Departed Gods. You.

Departed?

The answers flooded into his mind as the questions appeared, images and explanations, a tone in the mental voice that sounded like the otter-girl. When he opened his eyes, finally, there was one phrase on his lips. His mind full of what it meant, he still couldn’t help but say it.

“I Belong to you, Sylvia.”

“Yes,” she smiled, looking pleased. “You do.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/201427.html. You can comment here or there.

Wolf at the Door

Nov25

First Saturday Dance, Year Nine:

Ciara had been talking in a corner niche with a couple of upper-classmen with whom she shared her Chemistry class, but they, being a couple, had moved onto the dance floor when the song went to a slow, romantic tune.

She hadn’t found anyone that she was interested in being romantic with (except the guy she’d just been talking with, but that was clearly not going to work out), but that was no reason to mope in the corner. She turned to go find some of her classmates, and found herself face-to-face with a bicep.

“Dance with me.”

The voice attached to the bicep was deep and rough; the bicep itself was covered in a deep red shirt. Looking up, she saw a black tie, with a tiny woven design of swords. Further up revealed a predatory smile; to the top showed shaggy black hair covering sapphire-blue eyes.

“No, thank you.” She ducked under his arm, and moved quickly without running to the bar, where the light was better and she knew more people. She didn’t look back. It didn’t seem like a good idea to look back.

Second Saturday, Year Nine:

Ciara opened her door, looked outside, and closed her door again. She’d been hearing rumors, a whisper, a murmur, a sideways threat. She knew that something was up, or going to be up. The creepy noises, the dim red lighting, the screams and haunted-house noises in the background – all any of that did was confirm her suspicions.

Her upperclassmen friends had said they might stop by, and it was still early. She passed the time making cookies in the tiny dorm oven, batch after 10-cookie batch, until someone pounded on the door.

She opened it carefully, holding on to the doorknob as she peered out into the darkness.

Into a mouth full of sharp, very white teeth. “Come out and play.”

“No, thank you,” she answered politely. “Would you like a cookie?”

“Cookie?” It confused him for long enough that she could shut the door without hitting him, and that was all, at the moment, that mattered. She slammed it, wishing this place wasn’t so damn literal. Wolf at the door, indeed.

Mid-October, Year Nine:

She knew his name by now. He almost never wore his Mask down, showing those feral teeth and those creepy, creepy eyes, but he liked to show up to the dances that way, so she’d managed to put the two men together into one wolfish upperclassman.

He knew her name by now, too. That was a bit less on the positive side of the ledger. Creepy enough to have him pop up unexpected. Creepier to have him drawl out her name like he was tasting it, licking it.

He was out in the halls after her Hiko class, following her from the gym down towards the suite she’d moved in to. “Keeee-aarrrr-uh,” he growled. “Come and play with me.”

“No, thank you, Amadeus,” she answered politely.

“Call me ‘Deus,” he retorted, stepping in front of her. “Everyone else does.”

“I’m sure they do, Amadeus. I’d rather not play with you.”

“It could be a lot of fun.”

“For you, I’m sure,” she agreed. “Please let me by.”

As always, the politeness seemed to work, and he let her flee.

Mid-November, Year Nine:

This time, it was Tlacatl class she was leaving, and a long conversation with Dr. Caitrin (after some very educational conversations with the girls Amadeus had Kept in years Seven and Eight) had left Ciara determined, if frightened, and a little bit angry.

“Keeee-arrrr-uh,” he called out, coming around the corner. He wasn’t always there, not enough that she could plan for it, and he was never outright violent, not enough that she could feel justified asking her crew to walk along with her, but there was always the threat that he’d be there, like he was today, taunting her. Asking her to play.

“Come home with me tonight.” As he had the last few times, he grabbed her arm, holding her firmly.

“No, thank you, Amadeus,” she answered, as politely as she always did. “I have plans tonight.”

“You always have plans. You ought to come home with me instead. We could have some fun.”

“I’m sure you’d have fun,” she answered. “Please let go of me.”

“I don’t want to.” His grin was sharp. “Nobody’s ever said no to me before.”

“I’m sure they have. I’ve asked.”

“Not like you have.”

“And yet you keep asking.”

“If I ask long enough, eventually you’ll say yes.” He tugged on her arm, this time, pulling her towards him. He was escalating.

She shook her head, out of clever retorts. “Amadeus cy’Valerian, I challenge you.”

“…what?”

Next: Wolf in the Circle

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/185593.html. You can comment here or there.

A Vignette of #Addergoole Yr9 for @inventrix’s art and @dahob’s ideas

Nov20

@Inventrix posted these two sketches:
of Porter
of Sylvia; Porter, Sylvia, and Arundel are a crew of upperclassmen in Year 9; Porter and Arudel we met in Timora’s Hell Night stories.

This scene takes place very very early in the school year, possibly the day before the new students get back.

“Um, Sylvia?” Porter stuck his head through the suite door – the actual door, for once.

“What is it?” Normally, the boys didn’t bother her when she was watching TV; they knew it made her uncomfortable, so left her that hour in the common room by herself. But Porter’s ears were a-kilter and his tail was swishing uncertainly, so she muted the TV and let him talk.

He got himself all the way in the room and the door closed before he continued. “Ghita challenged Arun.”

“What?” She blinked. “Margherita? Our Arundel? Whatever for? She’s barely back from summer vacation; they haven’t had time for a disagreement.”

“I – Arun doesn’t want to talk about it, he’s getting all the way he does, you know, with his wings over his ears?”

Sylvia couldn’t help but chuckle. Both of the boys in her crew could be toddlers when it suited them. “I do know. So there’s something outstanding there, and she’s challenged him over it. I assume the terms aren’t anything horrible, right?”

“Right,” he gestured impatiently. “It’s one of those favor-and-get-to-say-you-won sort of deals, not some sort of really bad one where he could end up Belonging to her or Owning her. I’m pretty sure neither of them are willing to risk that.”

“Arundel’s a smart boy,” she reassured him, “and my impression of Margherita was that she was bright, too. Of course she’s not going to set terms she won’t want to follow through with. It’s fine, Porter. People challenge people, whatever the reasons.”

“I know, I know.” He flopped down unhappily on the floor. “But I think she’s going to cheat. And I think he’s going to get really badly hurt if she does.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Well, that’s another matter.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/181528.html. You can comment here or there.

Creeped Right Out

Nov19

From rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt.

A continuation of Creeped, originally posted here and on LJ

Faerie Apoc, Addergoole Year 9 – landing page here (or on LJ)

Ceinwen scrambled for a handhold, anything to grab onto, her fingers finding nothing but water and more water, her feet finding nothing at all, even though she’d been on solid ground just a second ago. A pond. A sinkhole? This was ridiculous. She scrambled some more, flailing and trying to keep her head above water. She couldn’t see anything except the water and, what looked like a long way away, the hall. She couldn’t see the man like a tree at all, even though, even now, she wasn’t sure she wanted his help.

A strong hand, nothing like branches at all, grabbed her wrist and pulled her out. She flailed, trying to get her other hand around the wrist, managing just as she felt as if her arm would pop out of its socket. Thus hanging from a very strong-feeling wrist, dripping, over the impossible endless pool, she looked around.

She knew the guy holding her. Unlike everyone else around here today, he still looked human, normal, for a certain definition of normal; Thorburn was a big guy, especially for someone still in school, tall and broad-shouldered. In a school with sports teams, he’d probably have been a football player. Right now, he, dressed in a long-sleeved button down rolled up past his elbows, appeared to be playing fisher, with her as the fish.

“Easy, easy,” he murmured, pulling her to solid ground and setting her down next to him. Paying no attention to how wet she was, he held her against him, his hand settling across her lower back. “The halls aren’t safe during Hell Night.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” she panted. The guy with the pine needles was coming closer, walking around what looked like a very small sinkhole. Just small enough to nearly drown her.

“She looks tasty, Thorburn. Let us have a nibble?”

“Come on, Curry, you’re a herbivore. You’re not gonna chew on the girl.” Nevertheless, he was holding her tighter.

“I never said I’d eat her, but I might like a bite. She looks tender…”

“I’m not dinner,” she protested angrily, glaring at the guy… tree… thing.

“You’re already marinated and everything,” he leered. “Good thinking, wearing white.”

“Oh… Oh!” She clutched her arms over her chest, blushing, backing against Thorburn’s safe, human warmth.

“She does look good enough to eat.” And this was another voice altogether, gravelly, rocky… yes. She glanced up to see another big guy, and didn’t this school have any nice, skinny, small guys? She’d seen them, in her classes; they couldn’t have all Changed into monsters. She shrank further into Thorburn’s big-but-human strength as a walking statue, rough-cut of some black stone, thumped towards them. “Come on, Thorburn, cut us a piece.”

“No.” His voice was so very loud, this close to his chest. “No. Ceinwen is mine.”

“I’m what?” She twisted to look up at him; he was looking down at her very solemnly, very seriously. “Um… Ceinwen is Ceinwen’s.” Ug smash. Barbarian take girl. No thank you.

“You heard the girl,” the tree-man urged. Was that really Curry? He hadn’t seemed that nasty before. She stepped carefully away from Thorburn – the water was still right behind her – and glanced at the other men. Creatures. Maybe their nastiness was just hidden along with their weirdness.

“Yeah,” the stone guy agreed. “You heard her. If ‘Ceinwen is Ceinwen’s,’“ he quoted with a sneer, “then Ceinwen is fair game.”

“Fair game,” Curry echoed. “Come here, pretty girl. I wanna show you my cones. Then Basalt can show you his stones.” He giggles as if the horrible rhyming pun was the cleverest thing he’d ever said. Maybe it was.

“Um, no.” She stepped back towards Thorburn, just a little. “Not interested. Not big into the landscape features thing, sorry.”

Thorburn pulled her close again. “She’s mine, guys,” he repeated. More softly, he murmured to her, “It’ll make them go away. They’ll leave you alone if you’re mine.”

Basalt laughed loudly. “She doesn’t want to be yours, big guy. She wants us. She wants a real hard man.”

“A real guy,” Curry echoed, “not some cy-” the second man’s hand hit him hard across the jaw. “Ow, goddamnit! A real man. Send her over this way, big guy.”

Basalt glared at his friend for a moment, then turned back to Ceinwen, leering, beginning to come closer. “You’d have fun with us, pretty girl. And when we were done with you, well, there’s plenty of creeps wandering the halls. Plenty of guys who’ll want to have fun with you.”

“And some of the girls,” Curry leered, moving closer and closer, reaching out for her with an arm that seemed to grow.

“Leave her alone,” Thornburn rumbled. His hands were heavy on her shoulders. “I’ll take care of you, Ceinwen. Protect you from these creeps. From all the creeps.”

She turned to look at him, putting more distance between herself and the encroaching monsters. “Yeah?” she asked nervously. “You won’t let them touch me?”

He stepped forward, not sheltering her, but putting himself between her and them. “You’re mine,” he murmured. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Aaw, don’t do that,” Curry whined. He was just a pine-needle away from her now; she backed up, scrabbling away from him, and found herself between Basalt and the water. Her foot slipped, and Basalt and Thorburn both grabbed for her.

Pulled between their two arms, she swung, scrabbling, over the pit. “Come on, pretty girl,” Basalt leered through a face like a landslide. “Come play with us.”

“She’s mine,” Thorburn yelled. “Let her go, Basalt.”

“I don’t hear her saying that.” Basalt tugged a bit, pulling her arms wide apart. Ceinwen bit back a whimper. “Come on, Thorburn, let go. Let us have our fun. You can have her when we’re done.” He licked his lips, even his tongue black and rocky. “Unless someone else outbids us.”

She lost control of the whimper, and it slipped out of her lips. “You’ll really protect me from them?” she asked, in a tiny voice. This was the twenty-first century; she wasn’t supposed to need a freaking chaperone. “I mean, I should be fine after today, but I’m… ow… sort of stuck.” She bit her lip, humiliated.

“I’ll protect you from all the creeps,” he assure her. “You’re mine.”

“I’m… ew. Ug Tarzan, me Jane.”

“You can swing from my vine,” Curry sniggered.

“Nothing like that,” Thorburn assured her. “Just… you know, think of it like an upperclassmen taking care of a younger student. Sort of a big-brothers little-sisters program.”

“Yeah, I’ll.. nevermind.”

“It’s not brotherly you’re looking for,” Basalt laughed. “But we sure as hell aren’t looking for a sister sort, either.”

Ceinwen, her arms beginning to go numb, looked between the two of them. “Thorburn,” she gasped, feeling his grip on her slip and fail. “I’m yours!”

Basalt swung her into his arms with impressive strength and surprising gentleness, her feet barely touching the water. Just as gently, he passed her over to Thorburn. “All yours, bro.”

Thorburn gathered her into his arms. “Now,” he murmured, “let’s you and me go have a talk.”

“I’d really like to eat first,” she protested. “I appreciate the rescue and everything, but breakfast…?”

He smiled gently, but it seemed to have an edge to it. “Shh,” he warned her, and put a finger over her lips. “we’ll talk, and then you can have lunch. But there’s some things you need to understand first.”

“…” It looked like she really did. Her mouth wouldn’t open; sound wouldn’t come out. She struggled upwards in his grasp, staring at him, gesturing angrily: what the hell?

He patted her arm. “Calm down and stay still until we’re in my room. You’ve said you’re mine. Now I have to explain to you what that means, and what it will entail.”

She calmed down, her lips still pressed together, and settled in his arms, still. Her mind was running in little circles, but they refused to be even all that upset of little circles. He had told her what to do, and she had done it. There hadn’t been any choice involved. There hadn’t been any… anything involved. She was… his? What the hell did that mean?

Two of the older students had been having a talk the other day, just them and her in the beginning of a class. The words “be careful what you say” had come up no less than four times. At the time, Ceinwen had thought it odd. Now, she wondered if it had been a warning.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/180816.html. You can comment here or there.

“Just Be Yourself”

Nov9

From rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt.

A continuation of the Three-Way story.
3-Way originally posted here and on LJ, continued here (LJ) and then here (LJ and then
Here (Duet) and Here on LJ – and then here: Preferences (LJ) and here (and on LJ).

“I was hoping you’d be my girlfriend.”

Ahouva stared at Basalt. “You ripped out Kendon’s guts because you wanted a girlfriend? There’s got to be an easier way.”

“That was Jeremiah,” he demurred. “I beat them down until they yielded to rescue you.”

“I didn’t need rescuing!” More quietly, she added, “I was doing fine. I’d finally gotten to the point where I could make Kendon happy, where he didn’t yell at me much at all.” Now she was going to have to do it all over again with this guy. More subdued, and a bit nervous, she added, “you’re not going to be like Thorburn, are you?”

“Like him how?” he asked carefully. His knees were still touching hers. She should pull away, but she didn’t really want to.

“I’ve seen Ceinwen crying, when she doesn’t think anyone was looking,” she muttered.

“I’ve seen you do the same thing,” he countered, and she winced.

“Sorry! I don’t mean for anyone to see me; I’m just overreacting.”

“And you don’t think Ceinwen was?”

“Should I?” she asked nervously. “She seemed so level-headed, not a mess like me.”

He shook his head. “Damn. All right, this is going to tricky, isn’t it?”

“You could give me back?” she offered timidly.

He shook his head. “No. No, I’m not going to do that. After this, Kendon’s going to be worse than ever before.”

She winced, swallowing a comment. He’d just made things worse, no matter how you looked at it. “Then… tell me what you want from me?”

“Hold on, I’m still on your last question.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m kind of slow, so you have to be patient with me, okay?”

She nodded, not certain if the “hold on” meant to be quiet or not. That got her a real smile from him – he had a very nice smile, when he tried – and then a thoughtful sigh. “Okay. The short answer is, Thorburn and I took away different things from being under cy’Linden last year. I don’t know what he’s doing to make Ceinwen cry – I hadn’t known she was crying, though that explains some of the things Penny’s said – but I don’t want to do anything to make you cry.”

She stared at him. Kendon hadn’t liked her crying, either. “I can try not to cry…” she offered. Obviously she had to get better at hiding it.

He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean, Ahouva. I mean – you asked if I was going to be like Thorburn. And I’m telling you no, I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to be like Kendon, either.”

“Okay?”

He frowned, and she, wondering how she’d managed to upset him already, cringed. That just made him frown more deeply.

“Every evening, I’m going to ask you if I have done anything to upset you. I’m going to want – and order –to know everything, so if you have to write it down in a notebook to remember it at the end of the day, do that.”

“Okay?” This sounded like an excuse for punishment waiting to happen, but maybe she could change her definition of “upset?”

“If something bothers you badly enough that you want it to stop right away, tell me right away. Right then. Even if we’re in public.” He touched a finger to her nose. “I do not want to be upsetting you.”

She winced again, and nodded, because he seemed to want her to agree. “Okay? I mean, yes, sir.”

He sighed quietly. “Okay.” He seemed to be willing to let it go, at least. Maybe she’d be able to work around it. “On to your second question.”

She was getting lost. “Okay?”

“What I want from you.”

Oh, that one. She nodded, eyes down. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s Basalt,” he corrected gently. “I’m really not fancy enough to be sir for anyone.”

“Yes, Basalt.” She peeked up at him. “Not ‘master’ either?”

“Does it – be honest with me – make you happy to call someone master?”

Yes. No. Yes? “Maybe?” she offered carefully. “When I called Kendon master, sometimes it made him happy, and sometimes it made him angry.”

“But what about what you like?”

“I like having my owner happy with me!” Why did he keep asking what she liked? Why wouldn’t he tell her what he wanted out of her. “I like knowing what the right thing to do is!”

He sat back, lips closed tightly, and Ahouva quailed. Now she’d done it. Now he was going to be mad at her, and he was going to … what was he going to do? She peeked at him cautiously. She didn’t know what came next with him.

He had his face in both hands. “This… is going to be interesting.”

“You can still give me back.”

“No. I won’t.” He dropped his hands. “When you came here, you were a mouthy, bright, clever new kid. I liked you like that.”

“Nobody else did,” she muttered.

“Even if that’s true, which I doubt, they don’t matter, do they?”

Now he was on ground she understood. “No, master.” She smiled cautiously at him. “What you want is what matters.”

“Exactly. Good girl,” he added, saying the words very carefully. She shivered at the good feelings his words sent through her, as condescending as they were. He was happy with her?

He patted her shoulder gently. “What I want is you to be yourself. And I think that’s going to be trickier than I originally thought.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “How will I know what you like, then?”

“Mm. If you really bug me, I’ll let you know. But look, Ahouva, I’m really not that bright, and you are.”

“I’m not that clever. Kendon had to correct me all the time.”

“That’s because Kendon is an asshole, not because you’re not smart. When you came here, you thought you were pretty bright, didn’t you?”

She dropped her head. “I was stupid. I didn’t know how the world really was.”

“You were smart – are smart. You just didn’t know how to handle this place.”

“Kendon was teaching me.”

“Kendon was teaching you how to be a good little pet.”

“Isn’t that what being Kept is?”

“Only if that’s what your owner wants. What I want, as I said, is a girlfriend. You. Smart, mouthy, and clever.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him uncertainly. “What if I can’t be that anymore?”

He sighed, and, before she could say anything else, pulled her into his lap and cuddled her against him. “Then we’ll have to figure that out together.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/169433.html. You can comment here or there.

9 Things I Hate About…

Oct31

From rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt.

A continuation Three-Way, Preferences.
3-Way originally posted here and on LJ, continued here (LJ) and then here (LJ and then
Here (Duet) and Here on LJ – and then here: Preferences (LJ)

She felt as if she’d kicked him, which made her feel bad, made her want to curl up in his lap and tell him everything was okay. She sat on her hands instead, shifting until she was sitting cross-legged, straight-backed and looking him in the eye. “Is this really about what I want, Thorburn?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?

“Because, up until now, you haven’t shown much interest in what I wanted.”

“I told you I wanted your honest assessment.” The hunched-unhappy expression was vanishing, replaced with growing irritation. “If you don’t want to tell me, you can just say that instead of bitching at me.”

“I’m not bitching,” she answered, as calmly as she could through her growing tempest of mixed emotions. “I’m…” She struggled against the urge t make him feel better and lost. “I’m just confused, Thorburn. Why now?”

“You’ve never said it wasn’t what you wanted before.”

She blinked at him. “I told you I hated you. I told you I didn’t…” She shouldn’t there. Something was wrong with him and sex. “…didn’t like the collar. Wanted clothes for sleeping. Wanted…” Well, if he took many more of her things away for complaining, she’d be left going to class naked. “That I wanted my stuff.”

His expression was a bit puzzled. “There’s a level of complaining that goes along with being Kept. I could have stopped you from complaining, or punished you more for doing it, but I thought it was better to let you get it off your chest. But you’ve never come out and said you weren’t happy with me… so I thought you were just uncomfortable being Kept.”

“Is…” Yes, there was a difference, wasn’t there? “So… ‘stop treating me like a possession’ doesn’t help, because the stupid Law says I am a possession.”

He nodded. “Exactly. And it takes a little while to get used to that. I didn’t want to overwhelm you, but you need to understand that, or you’ll cause trouble for both of us.”

“I don’t want to cause you trouble.” She was already in enough trouble herself.

“I know you don’t.” He smiled sadly at her. “You’re a good Kept.”

The praise sent an uncomfortably nice shiver through her. He thought she was good. He thought she was a good… slave. Well. “Thanks?”

He studied her. “You were saying,” he said, more gently than his norm and clearly a bit uncomfortably, “that I didn’t treat you the way you’d prefer.”

She nodded, nervous all over again. “I was. That… is not something a good Kept would say, is it?” She frowned at him, a spike of anger pushing through her desire to make him happy. “But it’s true.”

“But you think I’m nice to you?”

She sighed. They were sort of going in circles. “I do. You said you didn’t think I had context, but I’ve been watching. I’ve been listening. Talking to people, when they’ll talk to me.” Penny, mostly, and a couple other Sixth and Seventh Cohorts who were un-worried about Thorburn’s ire. “I watched Ahouva with Kendon… she’s my friend, you know. Or she was starting to be, before he got her.” She took a deep breath. This part was harder. “You’re gentle with me. You hold doors, and carry my tray in the lunchroom. You don’t yell at me, even when you’re obviously angry, and you’ve never hit me. No matter what Curry says, you’ve never let one of your friends… touch me… and you’ve protected me when someone’s gotten too close before. You take good care of me… and I know that not everyone does.” And she was beginning to believe, whoever had Kept him before, they hadn’t been nearly as kind.

He nodded, agreeing with all of her points, watching her carefully. “But it’s not what you’d prefer.”

She flinched. He was being very nice, but she still worried that there was a trap beneath the surface. “That part’s fine. I don’t mind being taken care of… I mean, it’s a little old-fashioned, but I can live with that. And I know that there really are jerks and monsters here, and that being protected isn’t a bad thing.” She trailed off, studying his expression nervously. “It’s not an either or sort of thing, is it? I mean… does the nice stuff go along with the stuff I don’t like?”

“What?” he frowned at her. “Well, that would be stupid. ‘Here, have a cookie and hold still while I beat you?’ No. I’m not that sort of asshole, Ceinwen.”

She relaxed. “Sometimes it seems like everything around here is a trap,” she explained and apologized all at once.

He seemed about to argue, and then nodded, with a rueful smile that she was fairly certain had nothing to do with her. “Okay, that’s fair.” He took her hands. “No more hedging. I promise I won’t punish you for it – now tell me what you don’t like about the way I Keep you.”

The air-twist of the promise slammed hard into the direct order, and Ceinwen spent a second trying to catch her breath, as the urge to answer pressed harder and harder on her. “The orders,” she spat out, just to make the pressure stop, and then flapped both hands at him, hurriedly. “No, no, I know that’s stupid but sometimes they make my head hurt, that’s all. I, Thorburn, sir, it’s really hard to be polite when you make me say things, I don’t like that you took all my stuff away. I don’t like sleeping naked. I feel helpless that way and you said I’d have to earn my nightgown back and then you never told me how to, so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

She took a long breath, but the order was still pushing her on, despite the stunned expression on Thorburn’s face. “And my stuff. And this collar, which I suppose goes with the stuff, because it’s very pretty and only matches the clothes you bought for me or picked out of my clothes.” She shook her head. “That’s kind of petty, but it’s there, anyway and Thorburn could I please stop now before this gets really, really uncomfortable?”

He already looked pretty uncomfortable. He nodded, and squeezed her hands. “You can stop. But, tell me this – there’s more?”

She nodded mutely. Please don’t ask…

“You didn’t complain about the curfew, or not having time with your friends.”

She bit her lip. “Most of my friends are Kept anyway. I’d like to see them, I mean… but there’s classes? And I guess… isn’t that part of being Kept?”

He nodded, thoughtfully. “And there’s something that’s really bothering you, more than anything, that you were talking around the whole time.”

She gulped. Oh, no… She was nodding, though.

“Something you think will be even more uncomfortable?”

Another nod, her lips pressed as tightly as she could. Tears were already falling, but she couldn’t wipe them away. He was holding her hands too tightly. His face was doing something she couldn’t quite read, but it didn’t look good.

He took a deep breath of his own, looking more than a little worried. “All right.” He released her hands and tugged her against his chest in a massive bear hug. “I won’t ask. And when you’re ready, you can tell me. But for now – well. I think we have some room for negotiation.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/164703.html. You can comment here or there.

Frying Pans, etc.

Oct28

For The [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s commissioned prompt, a follow-up to Fae-Bane (LJ)

Faerie Apoc, Addergoole Year 9 – landing page here (or on LJ)

Commenters: 0

Timora had two little brothers and an older stepbrother. The moment the hand covered her mouth, she did what had worked so many times before – she licked it.

“Ew!” The hand pulled away, giving her a chance to turn around and see her would-be assailant. The boy held up both hands defensively, then quickly dropped one to wipe it on his pants. “Just… be quiet for a minute, okay, and come here in the shadows. I swear I mean you no harm today.”

Today. She nodded uncertainly, and let him tug her deeper into the shadowed hallway, trying not to stare. It was hard; even in the dim light, his eyes gleamed green – and slit-pupiled, like a cat, which, given the tiger-like ears sticking out of his hair, made sense. She reached out to touch one, wondering if they were on some sort of headband. She’d seen some of the upperclassmen with – Calvin said it was a Mask, like a glamour out of a fairy tale – with their glamour down, but she hadn’t been brave enough to touch. Now – well, he didn’t look scary at all. He looked, if anything, like he was afraid of her.

His ear twitched, and he chuckled nervously. “They’re real,” he assured her. “Now… please don’t scream, okay? I can’t protect you if you make me run away.” He gestured dismissively to a complaint she hadn’t voiced. “Okay, okay, you can do pretty well making everyone else run away too. But… you’ve noticed some weirdness?”

Timora pinched his ear pointedly. Weirdness, said the boy with cat ears. Siberian tiger ears, she was pretty sure. And oddly familiar, although the stripes were throwing her off.

“Ow! Yeah, okay. And some of the strangeness is… inhuman…?”

She didn’t pinch his ear again, much as she wanted to, instead wiggling all her fingers at him: oooh, scary woogy stuff.

“Yes, that, exactly. All right. So, did you wander the through the Hallway of no Sound?”

Hallway of no… She shook her head, then nodded it, hoping he got the point – she understood. Would her voice really scare people away? Or was this another stupid prank? “Calvin…” she began, and stopped when the boy’s ears went flat.

“Calvin ran away when you screamed. Ass that he is, he was probably waiting to trap you.” He shook his head – more and more, she thought she ought to know him, if only he weren’t so catty – and kept talking before she could try voicing another objection, or the oh, god, I made him run away, now he’ll never go to a dance with me. “I know he seemed nice, Timora, but a lot of people are really nice around here until Hell Night.”

“How…” Was she going to have to go through life mute? She pressed her lips together unhappily.

“Oh… sorry.” He made a complex hand gesture, and then, from behind him somewhere, produced a fedora. The hat went on his head – and the stripes and slitted eyes vanished, revealing a boy she’d sat behind in Lit and next to in History for two weeks. “I’m Porter.”

She mimed “Oh,” figuring that was safe enough, and gestured out into the hall and back to their hidey hole: What are you doing hiding here?

He was really quite good at charades. “The same thing as every other upperclassman on Hell Night,” he told her sadly.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/161126.html. You can comment here or there.

Creeped

Oct20

For The Cluudle‘s prompt.

Faerie Apoc, Addergoole Year 9 – landing page here (or on LJ)

Commenters: 4

Hell Night, Year 9 of the Addergoole School

“Hey, pretty, pretty, whatcha doing out all alone?” The man against the wall – “man,” because she still hadn’t come up with words that fit for the weird creatures she’d found herself in school with – smirked unkindly at her, and waved his hand at the ground, causing it to buckle and warp under her feet. Ceinwen gritted her teeth and kept walking, trying not to show any fear. It was like getting off at the wrong bus stop – although the people in the numbered streets had been humans, and this guy with the yellowish wood-grain-looking skin and the hair like pine needles didn’t really seem to qualify.

What was she doing out all alone, indeed. She’d lost Ahouva right away – Kendon had grabbed her, told her he had something special for her, and off they’d gone. Jovanna and Æolind had gotten separated in a corner of the hall that had gone all black and inky, and turned Ceinwen and Kay around into a corridor they’d never seen before.

Kay had, as far as Ceinwen could tell, run off through a brick wall. She was still trying to figure out how that had worked, but right now, what she knew was that it left her alone, with creepy yellow guys taunting her, and the hall slowly filling with water.

Water? That was a new one. The stuff around her toes looked like brackish water, though, and it felt like the carpet was water-logged, although it was hard to see it through the greenish liquid. The call-it-water was rising, too, lapping around her ankles. Ceinwen hurried on, trying to get away from wood-boy without looking like she was trying to get away.

“Come on, honey. You don’t want to go swimming, come play with me instead.” He held out a branch – hand, it was a hand – to her, even leaned off the wall like he was going to walk her way. “I can be a lot of fun.”

“No, thanks,” she answered – no need to be rude, it’s possible he was just being friendly, friendly in a creepy way – just as her foot slipped down, down, down, pulling her underwater.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/154523.html. You can comment here or there.

Brief Apperance notes on Timora

Oct20

Timora, from Fae-Bane

Her photoref pre-change is this; I’m still chewing on her Change.

She’s on the part of the family tree that involves Smitty http://pics.livejournal.com/aldersprig/pic/00044hd5 – who is a kelpie – and several non-canon characters. I *know* her change involves water/water spirits – I’m thinking a semi-water-horse-faun thing?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/153952.html. You can comment here or there.