Archive | April 2013

L is for Llama Lawyers

Apr22

To [personal profile] inventrix‘s prompt. With more than a little nod to
Gregory Maguire’s Wicked series, which I have been reading.

The court-yard was turning quickly into a barn-yard.

It was intended to allow for Animals, of course; that was why it was outdoors. But it had been intended, by the worthies who had designed it, that there would be, perhaps, an Animal plaintiff or defendant, in a court otherwise composed of Humans of one ilk or another.

Not… this.

Judge Dernbian Occut stared at the court-yard. Stared, and then closed his eyes, which did not help, because he could still hear and smell the whole thing quite well, thank you very much. There was a bleating over there, and a complaining over there, and one rather young and incontinent Sheep had lost itself all over the pavers.

And the lawyer. The lawyer for the Prosecution – and all of its clients – were Llamas. At least, Judge Occut hoped they were Llamas. He had only, so far, heard bleating.

He banged his gavel and glared at his bailiff, who should have known better and, somehow, made this go away before it happened. “This court will come to order.”

The Bailiff, who was nominally Human but had, Judge Occut was sure, Bulldog blood in the lines somewhere, barked out at the crowd. “Silence! Silence! The Court of the Honorable Judge Dernbian FitzeGondalf Occut is now in session! Sit down if you’ve got it. Stand quiet if you don’t!”

A moment, a blessed moment of silence. Then the attorney for the defense wheedled forward. “Forthright Estiman, your Honor.”

“I know you.” The sleaziest sort of barrister, Forthright Estiman.

“I move that the charges against my client be dismissed. After all, the plaintiff, your Honor, is a Llama.”

The Llama stepped forward, and bowed, deeply, and very impressively. “If we could bring the Court’s attention to the case of Morinda v. Werwin, or the case of Lucy the Red v. the Sheep Satire, there is more than sufficient precedent for an Animal bringing suit. And as we are bringing a financial suit against one Kaber Bennidict, who has been more than willing to take Animal gold, I cannot see why he would suddenly think that an Animal is not worthy of his presence.” The Llama nodded toward the defendant’s seat, noticeably empty. “The charge is fraud and corruption, your Honor. Surely the esteemed Sir Bennedict could bring himself forward for that charge?”

Judge Occut cleared his throat, rather than sighing visibly. “Motion to dismiss denied. Forthright, you have ten minutes to produce your client, or I’ll pen you both up in contempt of court.”

It was the first time the Judge had found himself in sympathy with an Animal, but, then again, Forthright always could sway your sympathies against him.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/516485.html. You can comment here or there.

K is for Stolen Karma, a story for the Giraffe Call

Apr20

For [profile] stryck‘s prompt “Kleptomania,” and @KissofJudas’ prompt “Karma, and what comes of it.

He liked to steal.

Kyrie had started small – pens and school supplies, cookies and lunch. He had been eight, then.

By high school, he’d moved on to small jewelry at the mall, and pick-pocketing in crowded places. By the time he graduated, he had three pawn shops that fenced his stuff for him, and an incredibly nice apartment in a building owned by one of the pawn owners.

Kyrie had a short attention span, and moved quickly on from small-change stuff to bigger things. Burgling houses was no fun – he liked the human contact, the actual threat and challenge of things where he could, at any moment, get seriously caught.

(Not that he wanted to get caught. Not that he’d liked it, the couple times early on when he had. He was still banned from the biggest mall in town – not that they ever noticed him, now, when he came in. Stolen gold necklaces bought a lot of nice clothes and a new haircut.)

Burgling the houses of the wealthy when they were home, now, that was fun. Tons of fun. Slipping in and out again while they watched TV, while they argued, while they fucked the cabana boy…

…that had been his mistake. The fucking (ha) cabana boy.

And now, now Kyrie was caught again. Now he was caught, and the fucking (ha, ha) rich cougar lady was, oh, fuck, a rich Cougar lady. These knots around his wrists and ankles were awfully tight, and the woman was licking her lips and, gods help him, purring, purring at him. Cougars couldn’t purr, could they?

“Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Sorry, ma’am?” He swallowed hard. Her teeth were sharp!

“You’ve been stealing for a while, I think, haven’t you?”

“A little while,” he allowed.

“And now I’ve stolen you.”

Continued – http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/530235.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/515755.html. You can comment here or there.

J is for the Last Jubilee, a story for the Giraffe Call

Apr20

For several prompts, primarily J is for Jubilee, from [personal profile] sharpeningthebones.

The party hadn’t been going on for all that long, at least not in a global scale of things. Only a year or two.

It was the Last Jubilee. It was the Final Party. It had begun the day that D.C. fell. And it was going to go on until they ran out of gin and juice, or until they all died, whichever came last.

When Joey had begun the party, she’d expected it to last maybe a couple days. A week, maybe. She’d opened up all the doors of her house and invited everyone she knew to the party.

What else could she do? D.C. was down. New York had already fallen. So had L.A., London, Madrid. The gods were like locusts, devouring everything – and everything they didn’t kill, the so-called heroes were eating.

What use were carefully hoarded supplies against a crisis like this? What use was it living when everyone else was dying? Joey had gotten as drunk as she could, as stoned as she could handle, and then she had started calling people.

For everyone that didn’t answer, she took a shot. For everyone that did, she snorted a line.

It took her three weeks to call – or text, or e-mail, or skype – everyone she knew. Three weeks that she didn’t remember when they were happening, much less afterwards.

And then, then she started the party. “Invite everyone you knew,” she’d told her friends. “Bring ’em all.” It couldn’t have been that many people.

At first, only a couple people showed up. So Joey opened up the bar, and the fridge, and did a little surreptitious magic to keep the booze flowing and the food coming.

She spent the next week toasting the dead, and greeting her guests. The week after that, she spent meeting her new friends. And the week after that… even newer friends.

That had been two years ago. The booze kept flowing. The food kept coming. And the new friends kept coming.

If the world was going to go and end on them, Joey thought, well, then, they were going to see it out with the best wake they could.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/515397.html. You can comment here or there.

A Summary of Recent Writing

Apr20

Weeklies
Tasty Tuesday: Butternut Soup
WebLit Wednesday: K.A.Jones (LJ)
Side Story Saturday: No-one said it would be easy ()

Other Personal Stuff
Lampshades, Lasers, and Lobster, oh my (Personal foo)
How to stock Your Disaster Pantry (link)

Signal Boosts
ItsaMella’s Icon Day (LJ)
K Orion Fray’s April Prompt Call
Finch’s Iron Poet

Giraffe Call Is Open!

We are $10 from the next incentive level and All Prompts Will be Written.

Prompts from A-Z (LJ)
A – B – C – D – E – F – G – H – I
Signal Boost Poem: The Works of Thorne from A-Z (LJ)

Last Giraffe Calls
Fae Apoc:
Monsters (LJ)
Why Swords (LJ)
Other:
The Black Tower and its Council (LJ)
Questioned (LJ)
Veils (LJ)
Mud Fight (LJ), Stranded World, after Ax Fight.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/515186.html. You can comment here or there.

No-one said it would be easy

Apr20

No-on said it would be easy.
But no-one said it would be this hard.

Aelgifu sat in the break room, nursing her infant son while trying to figure out her biology homework.

Siggie was having a moody time of it lately, whiny and demanding whenever she left him with other people – even other-Mom, Io – for too long. His older sisters, in turn, were taking turns being as bratty as they could manage. None of them liked the apartment. None of them liked the day care. And, to a one, they all – even, on days like this, Ayla – wanted to go back to the Village, where all their friends were.

Nothing ever worth doing is easy.. Ayla kissed her son on the top of his head, and counted her blessings once again.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/514984.html. You can comment here or there.

I is for the Individual, a story for the Giraffe Call

Apr19

To [personal profile] thnidu‘s prompt, with help from [personal profile] lilfluff‘s prompt and [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt

Probably fae-apoc-post-apoc.

“We hold that the individual must always be more important than the institution.”

Iancu didn’t so much explain his position as he declaimed it, his long, elegant fingers twirling outward in a poetic swirl. Below the dais, Irene rolled her eyes.

“Surely you must have some form of government, some form of rules. Infrastructure? Education? Legislation?”

“There is no law, no teaching, no road that can bind the individual to the institution.” This time, Iancu pointed at the road-sign-like icon they had nailed to a tree: a single figure, standing in a green field. It looked to Irene like a prewar sign for the men’s room. “From this we take our stand.”

“But you have a stand. As a group. Someone must speak for you, for there to be a stand.”

“There is the individual, speaking for the individual. No-one may speak for another.”

“Then how do you get anything done?”

“Well, the individual does it. Sometimes many individuals do something while working near each other. That is how we built the road.” Iancu gestured to the lane in question.

Irene looked around the elven settlement. Houses were built in a myriad array of styles, but all were tucked away, barely visible from this central clearing. The clearing had any number of the independent “elves,” a subspecies of fae that she had not previously encountered (and hoped to never encounter again). Relics and icons of the world long gone hung in the clearing – not just the single “Individual” sign, but many others. One looked to her agéd eye to be a “school crossing” sign; under it, three elves were debating. Perhaps whether this suggested travelling in groups of one adult with a number of children. The lane, at least, looked well-built – if you allowed that it was seven lanes running next to each other. Irene pitied the wagon that tried to drive down that road.

“So there is no-one with whom the nation of Arista can negotiate?”

“No-one,” Iancu agreed. “Or all of us, one individual at a time. Such is the way of my people.”

“Then on who would we declare war?”

The gaggles of elves across the center clearing silenced. “War?” She thought Iancu’s voice might squeak.

“If we can not negotiate, we will go to war. Such is the way of my people.”

She watched Iancu’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I suppose you would go to war with each of us individually.” He coughed, and looked around the clearing. “Perhaps, as a convocation of individuals, we can appoint a speaker to negotiate with the Arista.”

“Wonderful.” Irene smiled. If they negotiated like they built roads, her people were going to get everything they wanted.

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/527456.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/514026.html. You can comment here or there.

H is for Holy Hot Hell Night, Batman

Apr19

To wyld_dandelyon‘s prompt.

Æowyn is a character from Addergoole: Year 9. This is set in Year 11.

The AC was broken in the halls of Addergoole, and the halls were, consequently sweltering.

Æowyn stripped off a layer, leaving her in a tank top and boxers, and tied her hair back in a ponytail. Things did not break in Addergoole, not like this, so it had to be someone’s idea of a prank.

Æowyn didn’t mind, not really. She wasn’t cold-blooded, not like some of the snakey Changes she’d met, but neither did she mind the heat. Some of the others, however, were clearly having a harder time of it. Eluned looked flat-out miserable, and Kendrew, a Cohort after Æowyn and Eluned and with a Change and power based on ice, looked as if he was going to melt.

“Holy Hot Hell Night, Batman.” She muttered it under her breath to amuse herself, and didn’t expect an answer.

“Holy hot snake ladies, Robin.”

“Holy… what?” she turned to follow a voice she didn’t recognize yet. Almost didn’t see him, as he’d managed to blend himself into a niche in the wall so well he was almost invisible.

“Holy hot snake ladies. Is Hell Night the day when they turn up the heat to see if we still sweat?”

Æowyn found a smile growing. He was cute, in a blonde-and-scruffy sort of way, if you could look around the edges of his apparent camouflage power. “In a manner of speaking. Do you?”

He wiped a hand over his brow. “Seems like it. You, too?”

“Despite the scales, yeah.” She looked at him, dripping in a corner. She could feel her fangs against her lips. “Something spook you?”

“Don’t tell anyone?”

“Cross my heart.” She made the gesture across the center of her chest, and felt the settling-in of a promise.

“I thought I heard horses galloping. When it turned out to be a centuar…. I freaked out.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “So you do sweat.”

“I just said… oh. Oh, it’s that sort of day.”

“Yeah.” Æowyn remembered her first Hell Night, and the way another blonde-and-scruffy boy had terrified her. “It’s that sort of day. Tell you what. ‘Come with me if you want to live.'” She held out her hand.

“Terminator. The heat really is on, isn’t it?” He studied her hand thoughtfully.

“I know a way to get out of the kitchen.” She kept her hand held out, not entirely certain what she was going to do.

“I’ll take it.” He slapped his hand into hers and squeezed. She squeezed back, and led him out of the heat.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/513563.html. You can comment here or there.