Archive | March 2012

Shit Keeps Coming, a continuation of Fae Apoc for the February Giraffe Call

Mar22

For Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt, half of the story, after Up Shit Creek (LJ)

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

Pyry found being their mother’s fair-haired boy – literally; all his hair had turned from sandy to golden-blonde when he Changed – nearly as uncomfortable as he’d found being the family’s whipping boy, and twice as strange.

His newfound power was, at the very least, a mixed blessing: he could turn any sort of used or rotten food back into fresh food, but that meant he spent a lot of time around shit, and his mother was suddenly bringing back the concept of the outhouse.

The human members of the family hadn’t been too happy with being guinea pigs for his new power, testing the food he horned, but they’d done it (what choice did they have? No more than he did), and it appeared that what he poked was, indeed, nutritious and healthful, and fine to eat, as long as you didn’t think about where it had been an hour ago. Pyry wasn’t entirely sure that it ought to work but so far, it seemed like it was.

Worse than spending even more time around shit, worse than the weird way the family was treating him, was his mother’s sudden insistence on finding him both a Mentor (which he was a bit old for) and, as if it was an immediate need now-now-now, a mate.

Yet even worse – if there could be an even worse, and there seemed to be a never-ending list of them – was that his mother, Svad, and Abasta still refused to let him go monster-hunting with the family. Indeed, despite his age, they seemed determined to treat him like some newly-fledged change-child. It was maddening, humiliating, and just about unbearable.

The advantage was, if there was one, that until they got him a Mentor, they didn’t know what to do with him, and the family, large as it was, only made so much manure. Pyry slipped out of the house between bouts of horn-poking, determined that he was going to do something, anything, other than sit around turning shit into apples.

He made it into the city with no problems. Of course, he’d driven into the city a thousand times before with no issue, but considering the way the family was reacting, they expected him to get abducted, murdered, and then raped every time he left the property. For his horn. Which nine-tenths of the population couldn’t see and would never be able to.

He had some money in his pocket, the family credit card in his wallet, and a chip on his shoulder when he reached the city. He parked the truck near his favorite bar, the one with the redheaded dancer on Wednesday nights, wished he had a hat that covered the horn on his forehead, and headed in for a few drinks.

As with his whole life these days, the moment he relaxed, everything went to feces in a bucket.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/305128.html. You can comment here or there.

A sequential vignette of Addergoole, Year 9

Mar22

To Friendly Anon’s prompt; a continuation of this vignette (LJ)

“So,” Porter asked, hat in hand and clearly uncomfortable, “are you going to help?”

“That’s a silly question,” Sylvia informed him. She stood up and turned the TV off. “Arundel is in my crew. Of course I’m going to help. Besides,” she added, as she would to no one save Porter, “I like him. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Porter grinned at her, giving her the impression he’d just wanted to hear her say that. “I like him too. So, what’s the plan?”

“First, we determine the situation. Then, we determine the possible outcomes. Then we determine a course of action.”

Porter nodded. “Practical.” As he held open the door for her, he added, “You’re always practical, Sylvia.”

She nodded brusquely, not sure if it was intended as a compliment, but certain it was accurate to his perception of her. It was, after all, a perception she’d cultivated.

“Let’s go get Arundel out of trouble.” She smiled, or did a little mouth-grimace that people could interpret as a smile if they tried (She didn’t like full smiles, never had, less so with her new teeth), and headed out into the world, or at least into the halls of Addergoole.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/304696.html. You can comment here or there.

Frog Pancakes

Mar21

To [personal profile] kelkyag‘s commissioned prompt, after Big, Bad Witch

“So.” Eva stared at the boy over her orange juice for a moment. “Pancakes, little kid thing?”

“Are they in the shapes of dinosaurs?”

She smirked. “I only do that for kids that are still shorter than my knees. They’re safe, normal round things.”

“Will they turn me into a frog?”

“I don’t know anything that can do that, legends aside… so probably not.”

“Then I guess I’m probably not too old for pancakes.” Was he flirting with her?

“Good,” she answered while she tried to figure that one out. “Because they taste horrible the second day and there’s way too many for me to eat on my own right now.” She passed him a plate and a glass of orange juice. “So. You thought I was a witch?”

“You still haven’t said if you are or not. And sometimes your family says stuff, you know.”

“I’m sure they do; everyone’s family says stuff. I just have a really big family.”

“Mmn.” He stuffed his mouth full of pancakes for a minute, eating like every teenage boy she’d ever seen, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

When she thought he might be able to breathe again, she added, “what sort of stuff, in this case?”

“Hunh? Oh, your family. Just… ‘Aunt Asta died, Aunt Eva’s The Aunt now.'” He dropped the caps in melodramatically. “If you don’t get a boyfriend, Beryl, you’re going to end up The Next Aunt.” He shook his head. “Like it’s a thing.”

“For us, it kind of is,” she admitted, gambling on honesty. “Sometimes we have more than one in a generation, but yeah.”

“So you really are a witch?” He looked down at the pancakes thoughtfully. “At least they’re not gingerbread.”

“You’re not running screaming in terror?”

He grinned at her, another one of those expressions she was pretty sure made Beryl go “:X” “I could feel it, you know? In my toes. I was just waiting for you to decide to tell me.”

Older Witches (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/304427.html. You can comment here or there.

Life in the Country, Tuesday edition (Actually Monday edition, just really late).

Mar21

From [personal profile] jjhunter‘s awesome How are You? (in Haiku) post from yesterday (which you should totally read):

My cat, very proud
And very loud, this morning,
presented a mouse.

3 or 4 a.m., to be specific, with the mouse so far up his mouth he was making a weird warbling noise. Good kitty. For a certain value of good.

This is the second mouse Drake has ever caught, and he responded in about the same fashion last time.

Now, I’m not known for being squeamish – except about dead things. So T had to get the mouse away from the cat/out of his mouth and dispose of it. We gave the kitty treats and told him he was a good cat.

Ah, life in an old farmhouse.

In other news, the crocuses and daffodils are up, my chives and garlic are happy, and there’s buds on the lilac. Yay Spring! (I grew up in Lake Effect, NY. Any day over 60 before the end of April is a blessing to be enjoyed to its fullest before it snows again!)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/303895.html. You can comment here or there.

Silent Song

Mar20

To Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt and @Inventrix’s request, the second half of a continuation of Porter Needs a Girlfriend (LJ), after Siren Song (LJ).

Porter fell.

He’d been pretty sure he was going to, but knowing you were going to and suddenly falling were different things.

He flailed, kicking his legs and shouting. The floor seemed a long way down. Why were the levels so far apart in this school? What if he broke something…

He landed while he was still worrying, both feet hitting the floor by some freak chance, and stumbled backwards until he fell into something.

He was… on a soft carpet, surrounded by bookshelves. In the Library, then? He slapped both hands over his mouth. He’d been shouting in the Library! He was going to catch hell for sure!

What was worse… he’d fallen into the Library. In the middle of the Library. If someone didn’t find him, he was going to end up late for dinner. Late for Timora’s mystery dinner date with hopefully-a-Ninth-Cohort.

And, really, to be pragmatic, he could be trapped in here forever, or until he found a door or a Door that got him out. Priorities.

A sign appeared in front of his nose. Please remember to remain quiet in the Library. The font was frilly, and the little sign was bordered with little purple flowers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just…”

The sign vanished, and another appeared. Please refrain from lewd activity in the Library.

“Wait, what?” he asked in a hurried hiss. “I…” He was leaning against something, wasn’t he? He twisted to look behind him. “…Oh. Sorry.” The statue in whose embrace he’d been cuddled looked as embarrassed as Porter felt. “You should get her some clothes. Look, um,” the signs were from the Librarian, right? “Um… sa’Librarian?” That might work… please? “I didn’t mean to drop in like this, but I’m a little lost…”

A third sign appeared. Please refrain from becoming lost in the Library.

“I’m trying, I really am, but there was this Siren, so I dove overboard, and overboard happened to be here…” He flailed. “I open Doors, you see. But this place doesn’t come with a decent floor plan.”

The next sign that appeared was hand-written, still florid but without the decorations. “You open… Doors. Show me. This way.” And then a sign with an arrow.

“I, uh…” His dinner was getting further and further away. “Yes… ma’am? Sa’Librarian. What do you want me to show you?” He wandered in the direction of the arrow, avoiding the eyes of the statue. “Hunh. History. I’ve never found this section before.”

A sign appeared: a flower-wreathed stop sign. Porter stopped obediently, hoping that, somehow, this would lead to dinner. Somehow.

He was standing in front of a section of blank wall, about the size of a doorway, something he’d never before seen in the Library. The arrow appeared again, pointing at the wall.

“You want me to open this? All right, I can do that. I hope,” he added in a mutter. “But do you know what’s on the other side?”

The arrow simply pointed again and, sighing, Porter opened a Door and stepped through.

Next: Iridium Hole, LJ

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/303624.html. You can comment here or there.

Reality, a story of the Black House for the March Giraffe Call (@rix_Scaedu)

Mar20

From rix_scaedu‘s prompt. This comes directly in order with the rest of the Black House story (see tag), right after Orientation (LJ).

Content warnings: no sexual content, but definite d/s.

The girl who had been Yaminah, On-Time-Chime, who was now Pretty oro’Gregori, had heard stories, all through school, of her new Keeper.

She had heard about the Kraken, about his tentacles, about the way that he had, his first year of school, held off three older attackers and ended up walking away from Hell Night having almost killed someone three years ahead of him in school. She’d heard second-hand stories, stories Damaris had told Ackerly. “This is how a Kept is treated. This is how my Keeper’s Keeper treated her.” She’d heard the way the teachers said his name – half anger, half awe.

Nothing had prepared her, any more than any situation that her power had gotten her in had, any more than being Kept by Ackerly had, for the reality of being in his house, in his possession – or in his arms.

He was gentle, for one, as inexorable as his hold was, stroking her back, comforting her. “It has to be frightening,” he murmured, when the sobs had calmed enough that she could hear him, “to have a power that takes you over like that. To be out of control of your own life.”

“Sometimes?” she admitted weakly. “Sometimes it’s useful. Sometimes I end up knowing things, getting things I wouldn’t, otherwise. But I miss my children.” She slapped her hands over her mouth, mortified, and peeked at him, only to find him smiling.

“I don’t blame you. I miss mine, too.” He smoothed her hair gently. “And your power thinks you will be safe here?” He set her down on the carpet. “Come. Let’s get to the bedroom.”

She waited until he stood, then followed his heels down the hallway. “I wonder,” he mused, “what it is your power wants me to protect you from?”

Next: First Day of Work (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/303541.html. You can comment here or there.

Alder by Post: Mailed

Mar20

Yesterday I mailed Alder by Postcards to:
Eseme
srmaclin (3 months)
JanetMiles (3 months)
Lilfluff (2 months)
My parents
Inventrix
kelkyag (2 months)

Tonight I will mail I’ve mailed! the international ones – Becka, Rix, and @theladyisugly

I still have a couple available for each month, if you’re interested!

Contemplating a double issue *laughs* either next month or for Issue 6. Issue 6 would make more sense…

Alder by Post
1 Issue, US $2.00 USD
I Issue, non-US $2.50 USD
1 year, US $20.00 USD
1 year, non-US $25.00 USD
2 Issues, US $3.50 USD
2 Issues, Non-US $4.50 USD
3 Issues, US $5.00 USD
3 issues, Non-US $6.00 USD

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/303227.html. You can comment here or there.

Hunting Junie III (A story of Dragons Next Door) (@rix_Scaedu)

Mar19

After this story, this story, a,d this story, part three of three as part of a fixtion exchange with Rix_Scaedu

Kelkathian and Azdekious regrouped back at Junie’s backpack, and braced themselves for Team B. They were the worst of the three, because they looked so benign, and because they weren’t fueled by money or job loyalty, but by some sort of faith Kel didn’t really understand.

“Okay,” Azdekious whispered. “The Harpies are on their way; we just have to keep Junie away from Team B until the wingies get here.”

“Easier said than done,” Kel hissed. “You know she… damn. There they are.”

Standing at the bus stop, walking an entirely-harmless looking dog that the gremlins had already learned to hate, was a completely-innocuous looking old man who would cheerfully sacrifice Juniper to his twisted altar of fate and never think twice about the fact that she was a little girl with a loving family.

“Ah, it’s my lemon girl,” he smiled. The gremlins didn’t know where he’d come up with the nickname, but Junie answered to it, and didn’t seem inclined to correct him with a true name. “Running late today?”

“There were lots of people swearing in the street,” Junie answered with bright innocence. “I had to take a bit of a detour.”

“Ah, that’s no good. People shouldn’t swear.” He tch’d and shook his head solemnly.

“My father says people should swear only when it’s most appropriate, or when they won’t get caught,” she told him primly. In her backpack, the gremlins readied everything they had in their arsenals and hoped they wouldn’t have to use it.

“Ah, well,” the old man seemed a bit tripped up by that, but managed, “your father seemed like a wise man.”

“A Very Wise Man, my mother says,” Junie told him, dropping the capitals in with a self-satisfied smile. “Unless he’s not listening.”

“Ah, well,” the creep repeated. Kel and Az would have been happy at his discomfort, if they hadn’t been bouncing with worry. “And when he’s not listening?”

“I’m not allowed to say,” Junie giggled. “Oh, look!” Those were the sweetest words the gremlins had ever heard. “There’s my friends! Aetia! Kyark, Skee!”

next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/308384.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/302848.html. You can comment here or there.