Archive | May 2013

I for Icarus Fallen

May12

Rion prompted “I is for Icarus fallen,” and ri has a character in Addergoole named Icarus. [profile] stryck prompted “Infamous,” and thus it had to be THAT Icarus, too. Thus… this.

Icarus goes to school in Year 44. See the other Luke/Myst stories for his parents’ romance

Why Akakios had chosen to name his son Icarus, Luke had never known, and probably would never try to ask. Talking to the alpaca-boy made Luke irritable on a good day; talking to him about his son made everything… so very Mara.

Icarus. The name was infamous, the story known even now, even twenty-five years after the world had ended. “Icarus?” a stranger would say, and then ask, every time, “has he fallen?”

Ha, ha.

Luke had considered Icarus his own since he’d built the boy’s mother Mystral a house, his in parenting if not in blood. And, as with every other son he’d raised he felt it in his bones when the boy fell. Tripped and fell when he was running. Slipped out of a tree and broke his arm. Playing Superman, fell from the barn roof.

He was a boy. Boys fell. Luke reminded himself of this every time the boy came home with a new scrape, cut, bruise. Doug had fallen. Aleron had fallen all the time. Sons fell, grandsons fell; centuries ago, Luke had done his own share of falling.

None of them had been named for that tragic, fucking infamous fall.

It made Luke hover, and he hating hovering. Every time Chavva came running, “Dad! Icarus fell again!” his heart stopped. Every time he ran out to check the boy over, to pat him and Idu Tlacatl him and reassure him that it was all right, branches broke sometimes, every time, he worried it would be the last time.

It wasn’t until the boy was ready to go to Addergoole that Luke wondered if Akakios, the fluff-for-brains, had been being metaphorical.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/531946.html. You can comment here or there.

Deaths in the Faerie Apocalypse, Part 1

May12

A discussion in several parts of the near-extinction of humanity in my Faerie Apocalypse Setting.

The casualties of the Faerie Apocalypse came in several stages.

The first few stages focused primarily on cities, especially the cities with the most dense populations, because the returned gods were drawn to those areas.

It is known from the readings of Addergoole that the Daeva and Daeva-bred half-bloods, called succubi as a whole, can feed off of emotion, using it as a combination of a drug and subsistence.

What was not covered in those books was the lesser but still strong effect that masses of emotion – in short, worship – have on all Ellehemaei. Although non-succubi fae cannot live off of the emotions of single people, all fae have a genetic weakness (akin to a propensity for addiction) to crowd/mob emotions.

So the returned gods, who had been exiled because they were trying to be gods, came back to earth and congregated in the most crowded ares they could find.

They, themselves, were the causes of the first casualties.

First, directly: smiting, tantrums, experiments.

Not all the returned gods treated humanity as their personal playground, but some certainly did. Some killed people to prove the point that they could. Some killed people in anger, when the worship was not exactly what they wanted.

Some were being extravagant in showing off their powers, and accidentally, for instance, electrocuted someone, or drowned them, or gave them a heart attack.

In northern Canada, a vengeful deity removed all of the clothing from a three-mile radius in late November.

Another god destroyed a dam holding back a mighty river – not on purpose, but because she wanted to show off her powers of water control.

And some wanted to know what made humanity tick, and took many of them apart in learning it.

This series of casualties, statistically speaking, was a small downturn in the human population. However, it was only the first step.

Part II – http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/534355.html / http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/668348.html / http://addergoole.livejournal.com/236978.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/531566.html. You can comment here or there.

Looking Forward, a story of the Planners ‘Verse

May12

This is written to [personal profile] moonwolf‘s request, after she put together the Planners Character List for me, as per this post offering words for character pages.

M- this is about half the words. The other half will be Tess/etc.

“This family is determined to continue to look backwards.” Letty was one step from standing on the coffee table and shouting. “Everything you do, everything we plan, it’s all backwards-looking. Old tech, tech so old it’s not even tech, it’s just simple machines with a new coat of paint.”

The family was not really listening. Letty did this. She’d been doing this since she was twelve or thirteen. She’d been doing this when she majored in high school in math and engineering. She’d been doing it when she went to college and majored in programming. And now, now she’d brought home an outsider, and she was ranting in front of him at the family over Thanksgiving post-dinner naps.

Her uncle Tarver finally stepped in to intervene. He’d been her favorite uncle when she was a girl, and he could usually get her to see reason. “Letty. You know why the family does things the way they do. And you know why we keep things secret. This young man of yours…”

“Is sitting right here.” Eustace cleared his throat. He was a slender man, looking particularly boyish, clean-shaven, with his hair gelled and styled. Handsome, in a very city-fashionable style. “And much of the exploits of your family are a matter of public record, if you know which records to read.” He stood up and draped his arm around Letty’s waist. He was a good two inches shorter than her, and didn’t appear to have an ounce of fat or muscle on him.

He was as far from Letty’s uncles, cousins, and father, as far from the hard-muscled, hard-working farm boys she had grown up with, as was possible while still being technically male. And this appeared to bother neither him nor Letty one bit.

Tarver turned his attention on Eustace. “So you’ve been looking into us.” He made it an accusation and an interrogation all in one. “Studying us?”

“The surname does make it obvious when one of you goes, what did Letty’s Aunt Clara call it, out in to the world. And thus, when I met Letty, it was clear rather quickly that she was a member of your elite organization. As I was interested in her, it behooved me to become more educated about your family.” He was so very calm about it. And he was smirking.

Tarver smirked back. The boy had done his homework; that was one point in his favor.

His brother Matthew was less impressed. “So you learned about her family to draw her away from them?”

“No.” Eustace was quick enough on the uptake that Tarver didn’t have time to tell Matt not to be an idiot. “I am fascinated by your family. And I know that you are always looking for new members. It has never been my desire to draw Letty away from her kin.”

This time, it was Matthew’s wife Sonia who stepped in before Tarver could intervene. “So you want to green-card your way into the family through our Letty?”

“Well, it is the traditional manner. And it has the added benefit of allowing me to marry the woman I love.”
He was slick, Tarver had to admit that. “You love our Letty?”

Letty was making small noises of harassment and, Tarver thought, probably frustration as well. This was not the topic she’d been aiming to talk about.

She should have more faith in her lover. He tuned to look at the family, now having their undivided attention. “I love Letitia more than anything in the world. I am fascinated with your family and your goals. And I agree with Letty, wholeheartedly, that to ignore modern technology in seeking your goals is both wrong-headed and dangerous.” He sought Letty’s hand and took it. “And we will work together to change that, within ourselves if nowhere else.”

Tarver held his breath. This could go very badly, in any number of different ways. People had been kicked out of the family for less. Branches of the family had been torn apart over disagreements in the policies – and the young always had disagreements.

It would hinge on Matthew, on Sonia, on the other hard-liners. They loved Letty, of course. They loved the policies. But which did they love more?

Matthew coughed, cleared his throat, and looked to his wife. She, in turn, looked to Grandmother Ellen.

Ellen waved her hand. She was ninety-seven years old, and rarely stepped forward to serve as matriarch anymore. “Technology.” Her voice was strong, despite her failing health. “When I was a girl, the things we have now wouldn’t have been believable.”

This could still go either way. Tarver’s breath was still held. A glance told him that Letty and Eustace were also waiting nervously.

Sonia leaned forward and took Grandmother Ellen’s hand. “And we adapted, didn’t we, Grandma?”

The old woman looked at her family, then directly at Letty and Eustace. “Don’t rock the boat, young lady. Find your path, and then present them with the path.”

With that, she leaned back in her chair, exhausted. Tarver released his breath, looked at his cousin Ken, and started talking loudly about the weather and the farm.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/531371.html. You can comment here or there.

H is for (I don’t know why you say Good-bye)… a story for the Giraffe Call

May10

For Rion’s Prompt “A hello in a goodbye,” along with some others for color.

“So this is goodbye.”

He lingered by the door, hand on the doorknob. Waiting for… he wasn’t sure for what. Something.

She nodded. That hadn’t been, not really, what he wanted, but he supposed it would have to do. “Goodbye. Sayonara. Hasta la Never. Au re-not.”

He flinched. “I get the point.”

“Are you sure? You’ve always been hard-headed.”

“I just don’t understand why.” He had meant not to sound plaintive, not to beg.

“And you never will. I could carve it in hieroglyphs on your forehead, and you would still not understand. Save us both the trouble, and leave.”

~
He left.
~

The door swung open, and he stepped out of her life. “Good-bye.”

She didn’t answer; he hadn’t expected her to. He turned his back on her, her room, and everything she entailed, turned around to face the hall and a new life.

“…Hello.”

She could have been the twin of the woman behind him, dressed in black instead of white, her eyes blue instead of brown, the same nose, the same hair, the same chin.

“Hello.” Her voice, too, was the same. “Can I help you?”

“I was just leaving.” He gestured at the door behind him, only to see that, where the door had been were only hieroglyphs on the wall. He looked back at her. “But this could be hello.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/530743.html. You can comment here or there.

K for kleptēs, a continuation of the Giraffe Call (@rix_scaedu)

May10

For Rix_Scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of K for Stolen Karma.

Kyrie was in a panic. A true, honest-to-goodness freak-out panic. He pulled against the ropes, even though they were cutting into his wrists, tugged and yanked and just gave in to the hysteria. He shouted at the woman, incoherent nonsense that really boiled down to “let me go, let me go, I’ll do anything, just let me go.”

She stopped his screams with a kiss that left him almost choking on her tongue. “If you are not quiet, I will make you be quiet.”

It took a moment for that to get through the panic, and then Kyrie shut his mouth and nodded. When she seemed unlikely to rip any part of him out (She had claws. And when she had kissed him, her teeth had been far too sharp), he swallowed, and tried words. “You stole me?”

“I did.” She rested her hand possessively on his stomach, the tips of her claws just beginning to pierce his skin. Kyrie fought to hold still. “As I said, Karma is a bitch.”

“So… when I steal things.” He swallowed, and tried again. “If I stole things, I would sell them. Fence them, I guess.”

“There are people I know who move stolen goods – and stolen people. I could, indeed, fence you.”

Kyrie had gone still, and not just because of the claws breaking his skin. “You don’t sound like that’s what you want to do.” Please, don’t let it be what she wanted to do.

“No. You’re correct. But I’m not sure you wouldn’t prefer being fenced.”

Kyrie swallowed. This was not going well. “I’m sure we can work out some sort of deal…” When in doubt, bargain. “Did I steal something from you in the past? Something you want back?”

“Honey, if you’d manage to steal from me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d be trying to negotiate with worms, if anything.”

He couldn’t help but shudder, driving her claws deeper into his stomach. He’d had marks get angry before, but that was nothing like this. They’d yell, they’d swear, they’d threaten to call the police. Nobody had ever told him, cold-blooded and entirely serious, that he could be dead.

Then again, he’d never been stupid enough to steal from a Kin before, as far as he knew.

She was watching him, licking her lips. He had to say something. He had to keep her talking. If she was talking, she wasn’t eating him. “What are you going to do with me?” That, he considered, might not have been the best choice of conversational topics. On the other hand, it was near and dear to his heart – and the intestines her claws were getting closer to.

“You’re a very good thief, are you not? And, from what I’ve heard, an even better blackmailer.”

“I do those things.” No use in denying it.

“It’s a rush for you? Like the kill?” Her tongue kept darting out, brushing against her lips.

“You could call it that.” He shrugged, barely a twitch of his shoulders – he couldn’t do much else, but he wanted her thinking of anything but the blood on his stomach. “I think of it like base jumping, or any other extreme sport. It is a rush, yeah.”

“Very good.” She leaned down until her lips brushed against his throat. “Then, little thief, you are going to work for me now. And I’ve got the adrenaline rush of a lifetime for you.”

Watching her, feeling her sharp teeth against his throat, Kyrie was pretty sure he’d have preferred being fenced.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/530235.html. You can comment here or there.

G for the Gate, a story of Facets of Dusk for the Giraffe Call

May9

Another take on [profile] cluudle‘s prompt. I didn’t want to start another Facets story when I have so many hanging out there, but this just called to me.

“That. Looks ominous.”

The team stared up at the gate.

“It looks beautiful.”

It had to be at least a hundred feet tall at its apex.

“It seems rather expensive.”

It was either made out of solid gold – unlikely – or gilded over the entire edifice.

“It seems rather gaudy.”

The whole thing had been sculpted or molded with flourishes, pineapples,
arches, and scrolls. There was not more than a six-inch span of straight line anywhere in the entire structure.

“Not to mention shiny.”

There were cabochons set into the gold, mostly yellow stones, reflecting light even more brightly than the metal did.

“And imposing.”

It was, after all, a gate. The doors were not solid, but they were made of some sort of woven mesh. The largest holes through the mesh were the size of Alexa’s fist, the smallest not wide enough to allow a hair through. The gate was set into an equally-shiny but black-silver fence, every bit as tall and every bit as impassible.

“Not to mention impossible.” Peter’s instruments did not seem to like the thing.

“Well.” They stepped up to the gate, studying it. Glaring at it. Contemplating it, as were their wonts. Cole cleared his throat. “I say we knock.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/530014.html. You can comment here or there.

F for Feisty Friend Felines of the Family

May9

To Rix_Scaedu‘s prompt and Kelkyag‘s prompt.

After Kitten Troubles and Auntie Kitty

Aunt Family have a landing page here.

“Well?” The Siamese kitten sat primly down on the edge of Beryl’s bed and began grooming a paw.

“Well?” Beryl stared at the kitten. Physically, she looked like any other kitten. But her voice, such as it was…

“Well?” Radar echoed. He seemed as uncomfortable with the whole thing as Beryl was.

::Well?:: Her necklace wanted to get in on this, too, and that was just too much. Beryl took the necklace off and put it – him? – in the silk-lined box she’d found for moments like this.

“Well.” The kitten looked between Beryl and Radar. “What can you do for me?”

Before Beryl could manage to respond to the small thing’s giant arrogance, Radar had arched his back and hissed at the kitten before batting her hard three times with his paw.

“We.”

“Are.”

“Their.”

“Friends.”

The kitten cowered, ears flat. “We’re cats.” There wasn’t much fight left in her voice, and she was mewling unhappily out loud. “We’re cats.” She repeated herself as if the words meant more to her than they did to Beryl.

“We are their friends.” Radar sat back and began washing his paws. “We are more than cats, my feisty daughter.”

“Don’t call me that.” Her ears were raked back again, and now the kitten looked as if she would try hissing at her father.

He was unimpressed. “It’s what you are. A feisty feline.” He seemed to like the sound of that. “And their friend.”

“Why?”

Radar glanced at Beryl. She, other than getting her hands out of the way of two angry cats, had chosen to stay as still as possible. This wasn’t really her business, not yet.

“That’s what we were made for.”

“You might have been made. I was born.”

“Well.” Radar did the cat equivalent of a shrug, and washed another paw. “Someone made you. Someone made you, and you were made from a kitten I sired. I was made to be their friend. And thus… you are their friend, too.”

“Or?”

Radar showed all his teeth to the kitten. “There is no or.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/529730.html. You can comment here or there.