Archive | May 2011

15 minute ficlet: I Serve (Content warning: Implied abuse)

May8

Originally posted here in response to the prompt “smear.” It’s, ah, um, fan-fiction for a roleplay in my Tir na Cali setting that [personal profile] kc_obrien is running for me.

Anascha smeared the lotion down Castor’s back in long, gentle movements, minding the welts and bruises, and the lacerated rough patches by his shoulders. “Damnit, Cass, what did you do this time?” she muttered into his ear. She didn’t think anyone was listening, but you never really knew. Not here. Not in the Lady’s household, where having friends was a luxury none of them could afford. Not when even the Lady couldn’t trust anyone… and if their owner wasn’t allowed that freedom, then her slaves wouldn’t be, either.

“I…” he groaned, and then put his face back on the pillow. “Gods below, Ann, that stings.”

“I know, but it will numb everything in a moment.” She worked with a quick and practiced hand, spreading the goo over his whole back, his ass, his upper thighs. She’d done this before, and damn the risk in helping others. Even Castor. “What happened? You didn’t…?”

“I’m not a complete moron,” he hissed, as the lotion touched an open laceration. “There’s no way out, and I’m not going to sell what little integrity I have at a bullshit attempt. No.”

“I know, I know,” she soothed, moving up to his neck and working in above and below his heavy steel collar. “I just thought… she’s going to be angry at you for a really long time, you know.”

“I know.” He flopped against the bed with a sigh. “She has every right to be. But I belong to her now, Anascha. We both do. And I’m going to serve her as loyally as I served her sister. My honor demands it.”

“Right up to the assassination attempts?” she murmured against his ear. He stiffened again, and shook his head.

“Of course,” he muttered tiredly. “I will do what my lady demands of me. I always have.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/40957.html. You can comment here or there.

15 minute ficlet: Reasons

May8

Originally posted here in response to the Lyrics Prompt “I don’t need your reasons – I know you’re good.”

“I don’t need your reasons.” Junji took the photo from the too-thin, too-blonde woman. “I’m here to do a job.”

“But…” She gestured with manicured hands, fruitlessly.

“But?” Junji shrugged, studied the picture, and handed it back. “You have something you need done, and you’re willing to pay for having it done well. Right?”

“I know you’re good… I mean, I heard you were good,” she faltered. “You come really well recommended. And,” she muttered, “no one else would take the job.”

“Well,” Junji shrugged philosophically, “it’s that sort of job. That’s what I get called in for.”

“You don’t mind?” She seemed to be saying I’d mind.

“Why should I?” She didn’t answer You learn to stop caring. “It’s money they aren’t getting, and I am, and after all…”

“A girl’s got to do what she’s got to do to survive.” The blonde nodded, understanding. “Even if you have to take the jobs no-one else wants.”

Junji eyed her, beginning to understand the client. That wasn’t good. She didn’t like the kinship-feeling. She didn’t like thinking of her clients as people, or her targets. They were money-in, money-out. They were what she had to do to survive.

Ack. She looked at the picture again, studied the way his nose tilted just to one side, the expensive suit that didn’t actually suit him, the very very charming blue eyes. “Not your son. Not your husband. Not your ex, or your lover.”

“The boss’s son,” she murmured, gratified and embarrassed all at once. “I’m divorced, single, and my daughters live with their father.”

“And he’s…” Not a rival. Too far above her in the hierarchy to be that, and too young. They were on different tracks completely.

“Really, really good with his tongue,” the woman whispered, her blush suggesting the blonde had once been normal.

“Ah.” It helped, Junji was surprised to find, to know something about their reasons. “I’ll deliver him to you tomorrow, as per our agreement.” And probably not take the opportunity to try out that tongue herself.

“I know you will,” the woman smiled. “You’re the best.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/40612.html. You can comment here or there.

Well. Drabble. Moonlight Outing

May2

From [community profile] dailyprompt: “not quite like that”

and

“wearing someone else’s clothes”

and

“together, they fight crime!” It all fell together from those three, but Ascha still managed to surprise me. Might be fae apoc.

“So when do we get to meet this mystery woman?” Kendall teased.

“It’s not quite like that,” Ascha protested weakly.

“I suppose it has to be different,” he conceded. For a moment, she thought she’d somehow dodged the bullet (why were metaphorical bullets so much harder than the real sort?) but he persisted, “I mean, you’ve brought every other boy, girl, and alien you’ve dated home for dinner at least once. Sometimes more than once, when Javari was living with us. But that’s ‘dinner,’ I guess.”

“There was only the one alien,” she complained weakly. “And, really, you make it sound like I have a revolving door on my bedroom. I’ve lived with you for five years, Ken.”

“I know, I know,” he said, rushing to placate her, and, for a second time, she thought she’d derailed him. “Five years, six months, and three weeks. And in all that time, there’s been six people, including the alien. So, no. Next to me, you’re a nun. Next to Corinne, you’re… well, not a nun. But that’s because she is.” He flapped a hand impatiently, clearing out that conversation. “The point is, have you ever not brought one home before?”

“I have still brought home every being I’ve dated, and even the stray cat I picked up that turned out to be sentient.” And maybe that would distract him? Please?

“Aah, Tabby. What happened to her?”

“She got her own talk show, eventually. Now she’s writing self-help books and owns her own house.”

“That’s gratitude for you.”

“Yeah. Teach me to pick up strays.” Not that Tabby hadn’t sent her a couple fat checks, but she’d long since learned to keep money away from her roommates; they had a habit of devouring it.

“Ascha, you’re never going to stop picking up strays. Like your mystery girl. Come on, A, after the alien, is there really anyone you couldn’t bring home?”

“Damnit, Ken-doll…”

“You know, you’re not making it any easier on yourself, stalling like this. Dish, A.”

She sighed , turning her back to him and packing up her bag for work. “She’s not a lover. She’s a friend, mostly. I’m not even sure she likes girls.”

“I’ve never known you to spend this much time alone with a ‘friend’ who wasn’t someone you could bring home for beers,” he complained.

“Yeah, well…” She sighed. “We’ve got a thing, but it’s kind of fragile. I tell you what, I promise I’ll bring her home as soon as I think it won’t blow up in my face, okay?”

“I’ll take what I can get, I guess. Go on, you’ll be late for your date.”

“It’s not…” but he was already out the door. “…quite like that,” she told his departing back.”

“I was beginning to worry,” Heather commented.

“Sorry, my roommates were getting on my case. They want to meet you.”

“Your roommates?” Heather shrugged into her vest and straightened her sleeves. “Is that the incubus you were telling me about?”

“Nah, Javari moved out. So mostly just garden-variety freaks.” She grabbed her uniform from the shelf. “They think we’re dating.”

“You don’t want to tell them the truth?”

Putting on the leather pants and tight-fitting armored shirt still felt like wearing someone else’s clothes. In a sense, she was, she mused, as she pinned her short hair up under the hood that masked her features, leaving only her eyes visible. Ascha stayed at home. The Bronze Sword went out – and the Midnight Maiden.

“Do you think they’d believe the truth?”

Heather – no, the Maiden – settled her weapons into their sheathes and checked her veil. “I don’t know. Some people would probably rather we were risking our lives fighting crime together than snogging in the back seat.”

“Some people, probably,” the Sword agreed. “Mine flip out about a paper cut.” She stepped into the elevator with her partner. Someday soon, maybe, they’d have a proper fortress, but this did for the time being.

“My family would flip more about the snogging,” the Maiden admitted, so quietly that she was nearly drowned out by the creaking of the ancient lift.

“Well,” the Sword offered, before Ascha could shut her mouth, “perhaps there’s more than crime to fight tonight, then.”

She resisted the urge to slap her hand over her mouth as Heather turned slowly to look at her. It would only make it worse.

“Perhaps,” the Maiden murmured, in her moonlight and whisky voice.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/38979.html. You can comment here or there.