Tag Archive | yr9

Changes!

Aug22

So, I have these two characters. Ceinwen and Thornburn

Ceinwen’s name means “blessed and beautiful,” loosely. She is a maternal cousin of Aelgifu – that is, she comes from the side of the family that provided the glowy light bits but not the horns. She looks loosely like the Meez in the DW icon.

Thornburn was apparently a typo *headdesk;* THORBURN comes “From the Old Norse name Þórbjörn, which meant “Thor’s bear” from the name of the Norse god Þórr (see THOR) combined with björn “bear”.” http://www.behindthename.com/name/torbjo12rn

I know about him that he is generally brown, and well-spoken. Also, taller and broader than Ceinwen.

They need Changes. Ideas?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/115830.html. You can comment here or there.

Bowen, expanded.

Aug13

Yesterday, I posted a piece on Bowen over 6 years, in response to rix_scaedu‘s prompt “Fridmar and Bowen…” in this flash-fiction meme (LJ).

It didn’t feel like enough, but it was already over 250 (270, not counting date/time tags).

Then Rix sponsored more.

This is the whole story again; the new part is the 300 words in the middle.

Year Five, Week Six
Bowen sat uncomfortably in his Mentor’s office, fiddling with his collar. He had orders about what he could say and couldn’t, but going up against the edge of his orders was sometimes enough; his face twisted and his ears went flat, and people seemed to understand what that meant.

“There’s got to be a way,” he said quietly, not quite begging. Professor Fridmar shook his head slowly.

“Being Ellehemaei about being strong,” he said, in his thick Russian accent. “What doesn’t kill you, et cetera. Find ways to be stronger.”

Year Seven, Week Eight
Professor Fridmar frowned over steepled fingers at Bowen. “Shira has been talking to me.” His tone suggested he didn’t like Professor Pelletier talking to him about anything; Bowen could already guess what this was about.

“Yeah?” Never show your cards.

“She says Adannaya has seemed strange lately. The girl is not complaining…” His look said what they both knew, that Ada wasn’t going to say anything against Bowen. “But Shira does not think she is happy.”

Bowen met his Mentor’s gaze evenly. “What doesn’t kill you, et cetera,” he quoted.

Year Seven, Week Eight, Three hours later
Fridmar had let him go. What was he going to do?

He lay in bed next to Adannaya, tracing fingers over her fear-rigid body. Her face was blank, eyes closed. “The Professors say you’re unhappy.”

She shuddered, swallowing a sob. “I didn’t say anything. I swear.”

I didn’t say anything, Aggie. I didn’t ask for any help. His remembered shudder echoed Adannaya’s. “I know you didn’t. I ordered you not to.”

I know you didn’t tell them anything, Bowen. You’re a good boy. You wouldn’t want people to think ill of me.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

Year Seven, Week Eight, Saturday
Bowen was a bit surprised to find cy’ree-mate Penny knocking on his door, but not at all surprised to find she was carrying food. “Ada’s seemed off her feed in the Dining Hall. I thought my shepherd’s pie might cheer her up.”

He eyed the tasty-smelling pastry. “No mutton?”

“No mutton. May I come in?”

He couldn’t turn her down; she’d know something was up. And the pie smelled very good. “Come on,” he grunted unwillingly. “Ada’s in the bathroom.”

“Crying.” She set the pie down in the kitchenette and began serving it out.

“What? No…”

“She’s always crying, Bowen.”

Year Seven, Week Nine, Sunday
Reheated shepherd’s pie made a decent breakfast. Bowen sat watching Adannaya, struggling with himself.

“You’re mine,” he rumbled, as much telling his suddenly-guilty conscience as her. She twitched, and nodded.

“I know,” she whispered, setting her spoon down.

“I can do what I want with you. No one will stop me.” Aggie had cut his tail off, starved him. Nobody had stopped her.

“I know.” Her voice was flat.

He took a deep breath. Power was strength. Power wasn’t kicking rabbits.

“That doesn’t mean I ought to.” He watched her jerk as if he’d hit her. “Or will. I’m sorry.”

Year Twelve, October

Bowen was unsurprised to find his old Mentor standing in his living room. They all knew, by now, that the professors stopped in on their former students, “to be sure they were all right.”

Sibil had let him in, pretty, doll-like Sibil, who ran his house. The Professor was sipping the tea Talitha had brought him, and studying the two women thoughtfully. When Bowen walked in with Kate, one bushy eyebrow rose.

Bowen couldn’t help but grin. The girls were happy, with or without orders. “Stronger,” he laughed. “And better.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/109021.html. You can comment here or there.

Prevention v Cure, Year 9 Penstemon

Aug2

This is a short story in response to rix_scadeau‘s commission: Penstemon giving birth, after this story(LJ) and this one (LJ Link)

Penstemon is Rix’s character; for more on her read her fanfic adventures, starting here.

Icon by djinni on Rix’s request, duplicated here for LJ users (sooo many less icon slots than DW…

Luke hated having pregnant students in his class.

He hated having girls in his class – he wasn’t his son, to collect the young woman warriors – but there was nothing to be done for it and, besides, some of the young amazons were far stronger than their male counterparts.

But the pregnant girls were harder to work around, harder to include, and everything in his being wanted to protect them and wrap them in blankets and padding (four children of his own by three mothers had not come close to breaking him of this habit, anymore than eight years as a teacher at Addergoole). Just as bad were the badly-Kept ones; no matter how much rot they cleaned out of the school, there always seemed to be some new monster popping up to torment their Kept. Luke was almost glad for the stupid ones, the overboard ones; those they could catch and stop before their victims were too broken.

He had one in his class he thought likely to turn into that sort of moron, two he wasn’t sure where they were going, and one pregnant girl. Penstemon. His wings flared just thinking about her; heavily pregnant, carrying twins from the Nedetakaei rapist she’d killed, and still every bit as fierce (and, his tapes told him, as protective and hearth-mother) as she had been in her first year here.

He had her walking laps, and had herded the possibly-a-moron to keep an eye on her. This close to term, she could pop at any minute; he just hoped she decided to do it in Shira’s class or Laurel’s, not his.

“Uh. Sir?” That was the maybe-moron. Basalt. What were these people thinking, naming their sons “rock?” Especially “airy rock.” Currently, the rock in question was panicking. “Sir, she says…”

“It’s time.” Penny’s voice was far louder and far firmer than her cy’ree-mate’s voice; she was clenching the boy’s bicep hard enough to leave marks. Her feet were skidding a bit on the floor…

“Shit,” Luke muttered. He looked around his classroom, suddenly missing the Thorne Girls, and took assessment. “Willow, you’re in charge. If anyone acts out, you have my permission to do your worst short of killing them.” That ought to give them pause, at least. “Basalt, time to show you have as much muscle as you think you do. Pick her up and come this way.”

“But sir…!” the boy complained.

Penny seconded him. “Sir, that’s really not necessary.”

“Penstemon,” he grumbled, “there are times in your life where you really should shut up and let the menfolk be protective.” He ignored the momentary twinge; he’d said much the same thing to Will, once. And the girl deserved her own man, some day. “Basalt, if your objection is ‘she’s wet,’ suck it up and pick her up.”

“Sir, why can’t you?” He was, it turned out, not without practice at picking girls up, or at least he made it look rehearsed; Luke had a suspicion Penny was helping him out, maybe with a Working.

“Because I told you to. Brace yourself, kid, she’s going to have a…”

“Uuuuuunh!”

“…contraction.” Penny had gripped down on Basalt’s arm and shoulder with a hold that should have broken the kid’s bones.

Must have been more than lack of creativity to that name; he barely flinched. “Damn,” did escape his lips, though it was quiet, and followed quickly with “beg your pardon, ma’am. Miss. Ow.”

“Get moving then,” Luke snapped, to avoid laughing. He wasn’t sure which was more amusing, the look of outrage on Penny’s face or the nerves on the much-bigger Basalt’s.

They got her to Caitrin’s quickly – good planning more than good speed, as the doctor’s office was right next to the gym – and settled just as quickly into the maternity suite. “You stay with her,” Luke said firmly. “It’ll be good for you.”

“I… Aistrigh Tlacatl agkale…into… petros Eperu,” he gasped out. “Damn, woman, here, it’s okay.” He shifted, facing her, his face softening. “That’s got to hurt like hell.”

Satisfied, Luke nodded at the two of them and left. He hated dealing with pregnancy.

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30 Days meme Second Semester: 1b “Witness,” Addergoole Year 9

Jul24

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “1) the story starts with the words ‘It’s going down.'”

Addergoole/Fae Apoc Year 9 has a landing page (LJ Link)

“It’s going down.” Curry was breathless when he pounded on Thornburn’s door, his words coming out in ragged gasps. Ceinwen tried to pretend she wasn’t hiding, back in the little corner of the room He allowed her. “Kendon and Jeremiah, over that little carrotty Ninthie. What’s her name… Hoover?”

“Ahouva.” It was somehow unsurprising and yet still displeasing that He knew the pretty girl’s name. He knew them all. “I thought Jeremiah had his hands full.” He was sliding on his shoes as he spoke; Ceinwen, hesitantly, looked for her own.

“I thought he did, too. I guess he’s going for the greed factor. Surprises me… Kendon is no sweetheart, but I didn’t think the Prophet was the White Knight sort, either. I mean, he’s turned his back on a lot of shit in his day.”

“And we’ve turned our back on his shit, too.” Thornburn turned his attention to Ceinwen. “Stay here… no, you might as well come with. You can see what a challenge is like. But stay close to m e, and if I tell you to hide, no arguments.”

If he told her to hide, she’d have no choice in the matter, just as with any other order he gave her. She nodded mutely anyway, and then, pushed by some order she couldn’t even remember properly, whispered out a reluctant “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He offered her his hand while she tried to ignore the giddy stupid pleasure his praise sent through her. “Let’s go witness this mess.”

The List:
1a) the story starts with the words “It’s going down.” (LJ Link)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/87150.html. You can comment here or there.

Arguments with one’s self

Jul20

This is a short story in response to rix_scaedu‘s commission in my Giraffe Sale: More of Ceinwen & Thornburn.

Addergoole Year 9, next in order with the rest of them – Dark Corners is a good pre-read to this for context.

By Tuesday, Ceinwen was beginning to get used to the collar, or, at least, to the way it felt around her neck. She didn’t find herself reaching up at every opportunity to touch it, and the movement it made, shifting with every move of hers, didn’t cause sudden, unwanted reminders of Thornburn and his arrogant, knowing smile.

She hadn’t yet gotten used to the way everyone’s eyes seemed to go to her throat, though. Sometimes it was other Ninth Cohort students, their own necks circled by something, looking lost, or still bare-necked and looking like they’d missed the memo. Sometimes it was upperclassmen and teachers with sympathetic looks.

The worst, however, were the other looks, the vaguely disappointed ones, especially from someone like Taliesin, who she’d really liked, who’d invited her to a poetry reading next weekend. Somehow, she didn’t think Thornburn would let her do that. Worse, she doubted the invitation was still open.

She didn’t mean to start crying about it – she’d been so good, holding in the tears, not letting Him see how upset he’d gotten her. She could have kept going, except the leer that Curry gave her as she walked into the Dining Hall, the whispered insinuation that he couldn’t wait until Thorn was ready to share her.

She fled before anyone could tell her to stop, relieved that He hadn’t thought to give her any orders about lunch yet, and kept running, choking on the tears she was trying to hold back.

She fell into the girls’ room almost accidentally, looking for a place to hide, somewhere He wouldn’t come looking. The bathroom seemed to fit the bill perfectly, so she slipped in, hiding in the last stall, and let the tears come.

She was his. She was a possession, and everyone knew it. Everyone who looked at her knew he’d marked her, caught her. From the leers some people were giving her, everyone thought they were having sex. And his friends thought, eventually, He’d get bored with her and share her with them.

Share her. The sobs bubbled up, and escaped, one after another. Things got shared. You lent your favorite CD, your favorite pants. Not your girlfriend. Not your friend. She gulped air, trying to calm down, and kept sobbing.

It felt as if every tiny thing since Saturday morning was coming out all at once. Basalt, who she’d thought was an okay guy, grabbing her arm and yanking her down a hole. Curry laughing and leering at her. Thornburn’s gentle, calm voice. “I’ll protect you. Be mine.”

His smirk, afterwards, as he showed her exactly what kind of power he’d given over her. The box where he’d locked a quarter of her stuff, then another quarter of it when she complained about the first bunch. The collar around her neck. The weight of it when she was naked, pressed against his clothed body for sleep. The darkness of his shadows, even in her dreams. The shadows all over this school. The light she’d shined on all of it.

She caught the next sob, swallowed it, and stood, slowly, remembering that light, and the warmth of it. She scrubbed at her eyes and stretched her back, talking herself into some semblance of calm. Curry was an ass, yes, but Thornburn had said, over and over again, that he Kept her (at least in part, and the “in part” worried her a bit) to protect her. Did she really think Thornburn would share her? Did Curry think it would happen? Or was Curry just trying to freak her out, to see how much he could affect her?

She scrubbed at her eyes in the sink, trying to work her mind around the uncomfortable feeling of being a possession, and the even more uncomfortable part of her that wanted to accept it, to accept Thornburn’s rule. She was so tangled in the internal argument, she didn’t notice the door had opened until, glancing in the mirror, she saw a face behind her.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/81915.html. You can comment here or there.

@daHob’s prompt, not-@Sharontherose’s prompt, and some shelves

Jul14

1) I posted an Addergoole snippet on the Addergoole livejournal, because it’s right in line with the current story. This is to Hob’s prompt from this weekend.

2) I posted more on @shutsumon’s prompt (LJ Link). It was supposed to go to @sharontherose’s prompt, but it took a left turn. Or maybe I just can’t bring myself to give Thornburn backhistory trauma.

3) [personal profile] haikujaguar posted a more-photo-rich link of the shelf house I linked to in June

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/79153.html. You can comment here or there.

Dark Corners

Jul14

For @Shutsumon’s prompt “The things that lurk in corners,” though I think it’s going to be part of a 2-parter. Addergoole Year Nine, more Ceinwen and Thornburn.

While they don’t have a landing page yet, the Ceinwen/Thornburn story goes:

His (LJ Link)
I Hate You (LJ Link)
Keys (LJ Link)
(LJ Link)

And now Dark Corners:

When Professor Pelletier saw Ceinwen’s collar, she pursed her lips and asked one question: “Who?”

Ceinwen, who liked the Sciences Prrofessor, even if she was a little scary, gulped and answered: “Thornburn.”

That made the Professor frown in a strange way, and discarded answers flitted across her expression before she settled on a thoughtful “Well, it could be worse.”

Thinking of his friends, and the nasty things the one of them, Curry, had whispered, thinking of the electricity that had jolted her as she left her room Saturday night, Ceinwen couldn’t help but agree. Still, she was glad to have the professor confirm it. “I don’t like it,” she said anyway, because she didn’t.

“Neither do I, but you’ll do all right with him. Just shine your light on his dark moments, and you should be okay.”

“My light?” It wasn’t the strangest thing the Professor had said, but it ranked up there. And her knowing, pensive smile didn’t help much.

“You have a light that shines on the things that lurk in dark corners, Ceinwen. Aelgifu has something similar, but she was rather busy in her time here. Use it well, and it should see you, and all of us, through the rough times.”

She had no idea what the Professor was talking about; it sounded religious, which startled her a bit. Nobody here seemed the least bit faithful, for any definition of faith she’d ever encountered. She forgot about it, just trying to get through the day, trying not to think about Thornburn, foiled at every step by the collar he’d sealed around her neck.

The things that lurk in corners. That sounded like him, like his friends, like nasty Curry with the creepy look in his eyes. It sounded like most of the upperclassmen around here, truth be told. Creepy little monsters, waiting to jump out and bite when you least expected it.

The Professor’s words were still in the back of Ceinwen’s mind when she went to sleep that night, naked against the soft jersey of Thornburn’s pyjamas. Shine your light on his dark moments. What was that supposed to mean? So far, her captor had been dispassionate, cool, and collected. He acted as if owning another person was completely normal; of course, so did large portions of the school. But he hadn’t been mean, or violent, or angry. She hadn’t seen any darkness at all.

She drifted off to sleep, pondering what Pelletier had said. Darkness. The things lurking in the corners. What was she supposed to do, go around with a flashlight, poking it in dark places?

Dark places. The room around her came to vivid life in her dreamscape – taller, narrower, full of shadows. Everything locked away in chests and boxes, like the box Thornburn had put half of her stuff into. Everything covered with spiderwebs and dust. And in the corner…

No. She didn’t want to go there. She was his, awake; she didn’t want to be his in her dreams, too. She fled, finding that the door didn’t hold her, here.

Corners, everywhere. Bits of color and shining light, yes, but dark gritty corners, everywhere, tiny creatures skittering about. Like a basement, just like a basement. She flailed, heart pounding, reaching for the light switch.

White, shining trails of light poured out of her, twisting in spirals like a ribbon, drilling into the corners, illuminating everything, wrapping it all in streamers of golden brilliance. In one corner, a black waif of a shadow reached for the light, grabbed it, and stood, stretching, becoming a specter of sunlight herself. In another, the shadow and the person split, the shadow slipping further into the corner, the person (un-recognizable, just a silhouette of a thin boy) standing tall.

Shine your light on the things that lurk in corners.

She twisted, turning her light back homewards, pulled by the bond he’d imposed on her, pulled by the dark corners in her captor’s dreams.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/77895.html. You can comment here or there.

Keys, two variations, for jeriendhal’s prompt

Jul12

For jeriendhal‘s prompt “You mean it was supposed to have a key?” First, an Addergoole Year Nine – Ceinwen and Thornburn, then a Planners.

—
“There’s no lock.” Ceinwen sat in front of the mirror, staring at the plaque Thornburn had put around her neck. She’d known that when he sealed it there, but today, with classes just moments away, it seemed more real, more permanent.

“No, there isn’t,” he agreed. He was giving her space this morning, letting her feel her way around this new relationship. What part of her wasn’t busy hating him appreciated the room.

“There’s no way to take it off,” she said, trying not to panic.

“No, there’s not. I will take it off you when I free you.”

She wrapped her hands both around the damned thing, tugging on it, even as the pulling pressed it against her windpipe. It wouldn’t budge. “Why isn’t there a lock? If there was a lock, there’d be a key!” She knew she sounded hysterical, and wasn’t sure she cared anymore.

He wrapped his hand around her wrists gently. “You mean it was supposed to have a key?” he teased.

“It was supposed to have a way out,” she whimpered.

—

Bauer was particularly proud of the work he’d done on the vaults.

Sure, Elder Jasmine had sent him here, to work with Elder Oliver, mostly to keep an eye on a man who was past his dotage and into “how is he still standing upright?” But Bauer was every bit as much a member of the Family as Jasmine and Oliver, albeit a bit (eighty years, in Oliver’s case) younger, and with fewer descendants by an order of magnitude or two. Even if he was here to spy, he couldn’t help but do his best work, too. Besides, the Family might need it. That was what this was all about, right? The Family, the world, might someday need this planning.

So he’d put everything he had into the security on the vaults, even if he had no idea what was in them (All of the elders were secretive, but Oliver took it to extremes. Bauer wasn’t sure he told his wife what he’d had for dinner). They were supposed to withstand a nearby nuclear blast, but none of that meant anything if squatters and other intruders could just waltz in. So Bauer made them secure. So secure he was pretty sure his own wife wouldn’t be able to make it in, if he hadn’t given her the back door (Family was Family, but a wife was a wife).

He worked with the contractors (a different team for each section, and a few pieces he did on his own), under minimal supervision from Oliver, who just wanted to be sure the vault doors were always closed, for eight months. They set up locks and labyrinths and puzzle traps, all designed to funnel the unwary back out somewhere far from the central vault. They encoded everything in Bauer’s own complex cipher, and then
finally he brought his aging boss to the front door of the new catacomb, where even the lock was encoded.

“Impressive,” the Elder creaked. “Sturdy, and the ciphers here look to be uncrackable without the key. So give me that for my office file, and we’ll call it a job well done.”

Bauer couldn’t help it. He grinned at his difficult uncle. “You mean it was supposed to have a key?”

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Kink Bingo: His (Marking/Possession)

Jul3

[community profile] kink_bingo – O-1 – possession/marking – from my card.

Fae Apoc, Addergoole, year Nine, the same characters as here. Fae Apoc’s landing page is here (Lj Link); Addergoole is here.

She tried to breathe, but found she was having trouble working around the panic. He’d seemed like a such a nice guy, before today. Before he and his friends had jumped her in the hallway. Even then, he’d hung back, trying to convince the rest of them to be gentle with her.

It hadn’t been his hand that had bruised her ribs, but it was his large, large hand around her throat now. Not choking, not at all, though his thumbs were pressing into the sides of her neck with nearly bruising force, but holding her while she struggled, holding her upright while she wanted to collapse to the ground and sob.

“Look at me,” he murmured. Terrifyingly, her body obeyed without asking her what she thought about the matter, she found herself looking into his dark brown eyes. He looked concerned, even now.

“What?” she whispered. She’d worn her voice out, earlier, shouting. “What do you want from me?”

“Time will tell,” he answered unhelpfully. “What I already have from you is what you need to understand. I’m going to let go of you for a moment, and I want you to sit down and try to pull yourself together, okay?”

Since sitting down was what she wanted to do anyway, she nodded, feeling his fingers catching her chin as she moved. Why didn’t he just let her go?

She didn’t want to leave right now, she reminded herself. The halls outside were dark and full of monsters. In here, it was light, and there was only the one monster, at least.

He released her, and she sagged to the floor, watching him with dull interest as he walked over to his desk and picked up a bag. “I know,” she breathed, “they told me words had power. Watch what I say. I didn’t think…” She hadn’t thought. That covered it.

“You can be caught even if you are thinking. It just takes more work. And I’m won’t be unkind. But you have to be very clear on this. You agreed to it, no matter what the duress. I own you. And until I graduate, or you do, you belong to me. You’re mine, Ceinwen. That is, after all, what you said.”

She nodded, afraid to repeat it, afraid something else would happen if she reinforced it. She was his. What did that mean? He couldn’t keep her a prisoner here, could he? In the middle of a school?

He returned to her, still holding the bag. “I will take very good care of you,” he murmured, as he knelt in front of her.

He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. This close, now that she could breathe again, he smelled earthy, but not unpleasantly so. “I will protect you,” he continued, a bit louder. It sounded like a ritual. “I will guide you, and keep you safe, and warm, and fed.” The next kiss went on the top of her head, and then he tilted her chin up with one of his huge hands, and kissed her lips. “This is what I will do for you, Ceinwen, because you are mine.”

“I’m yours, Thornburn,” she echoed, moved by something she couldn’t put words to. The situation seemed to demand the words from her, but her pride demanded she add on to them. “Although I didn’t know what I was saying, although I came to you because I was scared, because you said you’d keep me safe.”

“And I did, and I will.” He reached into the bag, then, and pulled out… something. It glittered warmly in the artificial light. Some sort of necklace, it looked like, a series of amber plaques bordered and connected in gold. A choker? It had no closure, she noted, in a moment of rising panic. How was he going to put that on her? How was it going to come off?

He murmured words that made no sense, and the choker parted between two plaques. She shied back, and he moved forward more quickly than she could escape, holding the choker against her throat, around her neck, with one hand. He pressed the ends closed, murmuring again, and the necklace settled in to place against her skin.

“You are mine,” he repeated, “and I’ve marked you such. As long as you’re wearing my collar, no-one will mess with you. No-one will touch you, no-one will harm you.”

The collar was warm, a weight that seemed to encircle all of her the way his hands did, echoing her pulse back to her. She took a breath, and felt it remind her of its presence, pressing against her windpipe. She shifted, and it moved with her. He would be with her every moment she wore it, because she’d never be able to forget it was there.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but the panic was gone. She couldn’t escape this. “I’m yours,” she repeated. With his mark on her, wrapped around her, there was no way to deny it.

He brushed a thumb against the collar, looking pleased. “You wear it well,” he rumbled. “I will be proud to have you as mine.”

The pressure against her throat seemed unbearable, as his praise sent waves of pleasure through her. She was lost.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/68162.html. You can comment here or there.

30daysMeme: I Hate You

Jun27

Day 20 of 30 days of Fiction: “20) Write a scene with the opening line “I hate you; I just want you to know that.”

(Days 18 & 19 are waiting on [personal profile] kc_obrien to wake up)

Fae Apoc, Addergoole, year Nine, new characters. Fae Apoc’s landing page is here (Lj Link); Addergoole is here.

“I hate you; I just want you to know that!” She shouted the last words as she headed for his bedroom door. Somewhere, she could go somewhere and get away, think for a while, get away from his smug smiling face for a while.

“Sit down,” he said, without so much as a frown or a raised voice. Unwillingly, without any choice at all in the matter, she sat, her ass thumping on the squishy carpet.

“I hate you,” she muttered, scooting towards her escape on her ass. Unhurried, he walked past her and leaned against the door.

“And Friday you thought I was such a nice guy,” he teased.

“That was before yesterday,” she retorted. She wasn’t getting out that way, and the underground room had no other exit; she stopped moving. “I hate you.”

“You’ll get over it in time. At least enough to see that you made the right choice.”

He was so damn self-assured. He had seemed like the best choice, when he and his friends had been bullying her in the hallway Saturday night. “Just pick one of us and it will stop,” they’d kept saying. When the short one with the fangs bit her, she’d made her choice. Now, now she didn’t want anything to do with him, and she was stuck. At least she could still hate him.

“You can’t change the way I feel!” Could he?

“Actually, I could.” He sank down to the floor, so he ws only towering over her by a foot or so. “I could order you to love me. But I won’t.”

He sounded as if he thought he was being so very generous. “Thank you,” she muttered. “I still hate you.”

“That’s okay,” he replied, the smile finally gone. “I understand.”

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