Archive | May 2013

“Gifts of the Giraffe” now avilable

Better late than never.

Gifts of the Giraffe, an e-book compilation of the December 2011 Giraffe Call, is now available in pdf.

(If you have a good program you have used for converting to epub, please let me know).

If you donated to the December 2011 or January 2012 Giraffe Call (if you don’t remember, and I don’t fault you that, I have records), or if you have donated $50 or more to Giraffe Calls in the time between then and now, this .pdf is free for the asking.

If you have not donated, it is available for $1.33.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/529378.html. You can comment here or there.

April Giraffe Call Update

I keep plugging away at the April Giraffe Call. At this rate, I’m not sure there’ll be a *May* Giraffe Call… but the April one keeps going!

My Signal Boost Poem awaits more signal boosts (or art).

I have written so far:
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
A BCDE – F – G – H – I – J

Continuations:
I

Prompter Count: 23
Extra Prompt count: 1
Donator Count: 6
Total letters to be written: 36/26

And we’ve reached $70 in donations!

Just $5 from being able to get the accessories for the foyer; just $10 from 2 people getting extra 500-word continuations!

Buy an Extension
500 words $5.00 USD
750 words $7.50 USD
1000 words $10.00 USD
1250 words $12.50 USD
1500 words $15.00 USD
1750 words $17.50 USD
2000 words $20.00 USD
100 words $1.00 USD

I’m excited! This is a much more energetic call than I’ve had in a while. And, once I get through all the prompts owed to people… on to the non-English letters!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/528965.html. You can comment here or there.

Rock Gardens.

I’ve been thinking about rock gardens.

I even have a Pinterest board of rock gardens.

See, our property has a lot of rocks. It’s got so many rocks, it’s sort of like someone dumped a thin layer of topsoil over a gravel quarry.

(Someone did. The glaciers. We’re at the bottom of the Finger Lakes, which means we’re the dumping ground for a lot of Canadian rock. Anyone want their rock back?)

So as we do anything in the yard… we pull out rocks. Big rocks, little rocks. Tiny rocks and huge rocks.

We’ve started covering up a pretty horrid border garden to the west side of the house with large flat rocks, tucking Coleus plants in between the rocks. It’s looking decent so far; will look better once we get down more weedcloth.

But we have this wet sunken corner of the yard… and I’m thinking more rocks. Rocks, and a little water feature. Maybe a waterfall.

What do you think?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/528778.html. You can comment here or there.

E for Emrys – Harder than Diamonds – a story of Addergoole for the Giraffe Call

This is for, I believe, Friendly Anon’s “E” prompt, “Emrys.

It comes after/concurrent with –
Toy Soldiers
With Friends Like These…,
Cleaning Up and
this scrap (http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/398701.html)
Monsters
Mimosas.
S for Shahin

There had been any number of hard things in Emrys’ life with Shahin.

Many of them had been, in retrospect, a very soft level of “hard,” teenage drama, teenage angst and jealousy and anger.

Some of them, even some of the moments very early on… there were nights Emrys still woke with the memory of that cabin, the dragon, the monster’s knife sliding down Shahin’s pale skin. Those moments still counted as hard, diamond-hard. (“Our love is harder than diamond.” They still said that, moments when everything seemed harder than they could bear.)

Walking away from Shahin had been harder than most of those times. They had squeezed hands, kissed, and broken their vows of forty-seven years without a backwards glance. Neither of them had shed a tear. Neither’s voice had trembled. Their kids were grown and gone; their grandkids were grown and gone. Their great-grandkids would be leaving for Addergoole soon.

And neither of them were big on revealing their cards, in any case. So he walked away from his warrior wife, walked into the hands of another woman.

That had been a hard moment, sapphire-hard like the etchings in Shahin’s arms, blue-hard like the tears he wasn’t going to shed. That had been a difficult moment, but it had been what he had to do. They were warriors, and this fight was going to happen here, with these people, and not where Shahin’s path was headed.

They were warriors, and they had made their decision, hard as it had been, hard-like-sapphires and blue like misery as it had been.

That had not been the hardest moment in Emrys’ life, but this one was. Kneeling on the floor of their enemy’s camp, knowing that he had failed Shahin, that moment was harder even than diamonds. And he did not know if their love was stronger than that.


And this one is a bonus. It comes after Addergoole: TOS, at the beginning of Year 6 of the Addergoole School.

“How does it feel, not being the youngest anymore?”

Emrys rested his hand on the small of his wife’s back as they watched the new students trail in. She, in turn, leaned into the hand, so subtly that no-one but him could tell she was leaning at all.

“They look so young.” Her voice was pitched for his ears alone; she shifted to pose as a new student stared openly. Shorter even than them and ginger, he looked as if he’d never seen a goth before.

“So did we.” Emrys turned his sharpest smile on the ginger boy before he got any ideas. “Remember?”

Shahin smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her dress. “That was a century ago.”

“A year.”

“The same thing, in the fullness of things. It was forever ago, either way.”

Emrys found himself smirking, just a bit. His wife, love her as he may, was a bit of a drama queen. “And here we are, back at the beginning.”

“Back at the beginning,” she agreed. She licked her lips and turned her smile, now, on a tall blond in a cowboy hat.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/528375.html. You can comment here or there.

Way Back Wednesday: Shira Pelletier

1702

The woman stalked through the forest.

She had not worn a name in many years, and could not, precisely, remember what she had been called when she had landed here.

She spent her time, her attention, worrying about more real concerns: She had to eat, and to eat, she had to hunt. She needed shelter, sometimes, and for that she needed to build. She needed, more rarely, companionship, and for that she needed to speak to the fur-hunters who also worked her forests.

“Wild girl,” they called her, and chasseuse sauvage, and fourreuse de forêt, and more pleasant names. They paid her in trinkets and good food for the furs she brought them, and gave her company without asking questions.

And none of them asked about her ears, which perked above her twisted hair like a deer’s.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/528106.html. You can comment here or there.

D is for Dungeon

For @dahob’s Prompt: Dungeon, Dragon, Demon, Dinosaur.

I could use prompts for D, G, H, and J, pls.

“I told you this was a dungeon crawl.” Drew ran her gloved hand along the left-hand wall. “There’s a demon – “

“That’s not a demon, that’s Damon.”

“Take a good look at him and tell me he doesn’t suit the role. Besides, he’s between us and the treasure.” Drew smirked triumphantly at D.D. “See? Dungeon crawl.” Joking about it almost covered the tremor in her voice.

“Okay. So allowing that there’s a Damon-demon, it’s still just a bunch of passages under a building.”

“With a dragon.”

“That’s got to be a dinosaur.”

“Neither of them make any sense.” That was what was getting to Drew. Nothing had made any sense since they’d snuck into the abandoned mental hospital.

“You’re the one that thinks this is a dungeon crawl.”

“That was supposed to be a joke!”

“But it’s looking more and more real. So, gamer girl. What’s the treasure?”

“An exit.”

“And how do we manage this?”

“Left-hand rule. I think.”

“All right. And weapons?”

“Well, there’s the grappling hook. And the crowbar.” She dug through her pack. “I don’t really want to take either one to Damon…”

“He’s not that cute.”

“He’s still a person. The dragon-dinosaur-thing, on the other hand…”

“I’m not so sure about Damon. Here, give me the hook.”

A howling sound in the distance caught both their attentions. “Forward.” Drew didn’t sound nearly as confident as she wanted to. “And remember, the Maglight is a weapon too, but only if we want to risk getting stuck in the dark.”

Somewhere behind them, a demon chuckled.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/527800.html. You can comment here or there.

I for the Interloper, a continuation for the April Giraffe Call (@Rix_Scaedu)

For Rix_Scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of I for the Individual.

The hardest part of negotiating with the elves, Irene soon realized, would be keeping a straight face.

They were so young. Not as individuals (ha), but as a unit, as a culture. They had, it seemed, no memory at all, no records at all, of the time before the Disaster. Nothing but road signs, which they had taken as icons of their new world.

Irene’s people, the Arista, were not so young, nor was she herself so young, that the time before had faded. They had records, and, more than records, they had stories.

The elves had none of that. They had no oral history, no written word at all.

(Not quite accurate, she later learned. Many of them had developed their own alphabets, often working off of the shapes on signs. But their reach for complete individuality made any organized… well, anything… difficult if not impossible.)

“Haven’t you encountered outsiders before?”

“Our beliefs forbid it.” Iancu had ended up being the unfortunate spokes-elf for the group; it was his job to take to each individual the proposals that Irene put forth and attempt to reach some consensus. Today, Irene had felt bad for him and, instead of trying to move forward on the treaty, she was instead asking him questions. Those, she thought, he could handle without a committee.

“But your beliefs didn’t stop me from walking into your grove. They wouldn’t have stopped the Arista from making war on your forest.”

“Our beliefs forbid strangers.” Iancu got that peculiar shoulder-shrug that Irene was beginning to recognize as cognitive dissonance.

It took Irene a moment to process this. “You beliefs forbid strangers.” She thought, perhaps, that repeating it might make it make more sense. It only made it odder. “How do you… what do you do?

Iancu seemed to understand her question, which was good, because Irene wasn’t entirely certain that she did. “There are caveats in our beliefs. An individual may choose to step outside of the rules and beliefs – because the individual is more than any of those things, of course-“

“Of course.”

“-and, in doing so, deal with situations which our current rules don’t handle. Normally, we find a new icon to deal with this situation.”

“So… how did you end up talking to me?”

“I was the one who met your eyes, and thus I had to put aside my belief that you did not exist, could not exist, and speak to you.”

“And the others?”

“We are working on a new icon, to handle the situation so that we can speak to…” Iancu’s hands twitched. “To people who should not exist. We should have it done, soon.”

Irene thought about all of the things that the elves had attempted to work on in tandem. “I believe that, as an outsider who does not exist, I may be able to provide a solution. Do you have supplies on which I could paint an icon?”

Iancu hesitated. Irene did not blame the poor elf; she had, after all, come her declaring war. “You could provide us an icon?”

“I could.”

“I will provide you paint. And a painting surface.”

When Irene left the grove, several weeks later, the elves were still discussing the icon she had made them: Three concentric circles, alternating red and white. In the center of the smallest circle, a tree.

Irene had a feeling the elves would prove very easy to negotiate with, in the future. It was just going to be keeping a straight face that tripped her up.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/527456.html. You can comment here or there.

Magic Mondays: Faerie Apoc, Unutu

In the Faerie Apocalypse ‘verse, there are 11* Domains and 11 Manifestations – Domains being Things You Can Affect and Manifestations being How You Affect Those Things.

Of the 11* Domains, Unutu is my favorite.

Unutu is the word that covers “Worked Objects” and can be anything from a stretch of cloth to a steel girder. At its purest, Unutu is plastic-like – if you are using the Manifestation Meentik (Create) and have none of the other object-like Domains, you are likely to end up Creating something that seems mostly plastic.

However, if you have, for instance, Huamu (plants), you can then more easily create, say, hemp or cotton cloth. Eperu (earth) and you can make those steel beams. Panida (Animals) and you can make a wool jumper or a leather collar.

Of all the Words, thus, Unutu is the one most often combined with another Word. And it can be, in today’s day and age, the most versatile.

Recent discussion on Twitter gives me another example: You can use Jasfe (repair) to repair a pitted, pot-holed road, or you can use it to repair your car once the road has done it damage. Or your tire, once it gets a flat.

With Meentik Unutu and a sufficient knowledge of how things need to work, you can make just about anything you might need.

Well, except food. You still need Huama and/or Panida for that.

And no, we’re not going into Tlacatl here.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/527170.html. You can comment here or there.

Waking Early

This is @Inventrix’s commissioned continuation words from the March Giraffe Call.

Addergoole East is the school run by Dean Kailani Storm; it opens in some form before the 2011 apocalypse and is a full-fledged school for fae and humans within a decade of that.

This story takes place at least a generation after that. So: 2011+10+20 (Yr 17+10+20) = 2041, Year 47 of the Addergoole School, Year 20 of Addergoole East.

Kiba woke with the sunrise, un-surprised to find her roommate already up and gone. Serenity was a work-study student; her parents hadn’t had the money to pay tuition (so very few people did anymore), so she did odd jobs around the place to cover the cost of her education.

So did Kiba, of course, although she was a legacy student. “It’ll keep you honest.” Her mother was a big proponent of keeping Kiba honest. As if, without constant supervision, Kiba was going to turn into a lying, cheating, philandering wanderer of some sort.

Of course, to hear her mother tell it, that’s what her father had been, so maybe there was some merit to the concern.

She dressed quickly – there was frost on the trees outside, and, although the school was well-insulated, it wasn’t all that warm, not when the fire had died down – and hurried downstairs for breakfast.

The dining hall was nearly empty, this early in the morning – most students would either come down in an hour, when the main breakfast was served, or had already eaten earlier, like Serenity. But Kiba liked it now, quiet, with the warmth of porridge to fill her up and the slow happy caffeine of a mug of tea for a bit of extra perk.

Her first class wasn’t until eight, but her Mentor was waiting for her out in the orchard. “You’re early.” It was clear Kavan Pensus approved. “Let’s go through the first seven Kata while we wait to see if the sleepyheads show up.”

“Yes, Professor.” Kiba bowed low, smiled, and began the exercises. There had been nothing like this back home, even with her parents having come out of Addergoole First. Of course, home had been a lot of trying to stay alive and trying to hold on to a culture that had been gone before Kiba had been born.

Professor Pensus had his own set of kata; the Seven were a set of stretches that slid seamlessly into calisthenics and from there into attack poses.

As she stepped into the calisthenics, Pensus, down on the floor in a split, began quizzing her. “How have you been sleeping?”

“My rest,” she caught her breath, and remembered to speak evenly, “has been pleasant. Serenity isn’t – is not having nightmares any more. She is sleeping more evenly, as well.”

“And Kaspar?”

“Professor.” She finished her last jumping jack and paused long enough to practice her disappointed-gaze at her Mentor. “Such things are private.”

“And I am your Mentor.”

“Yes, but you are not my lover nor my Keeper.” She fell into the next set of poses before she could be corrected.

“These things are true. And yet can I not be concerned about your life?”

“You can, of course, be concerned and curious. But it still remains my right to have a private life, so long as I do not give that right to another.”

“And you do not plan to give that right to Kaspar?”

“Am I late?” Jethro hurried into the courtyard and dropped into the first Kata.

“You are on time. What have I told you about being on time?” The professor was clearly enjoying this. Kiba hid her smile in another pose.

“Yes, Professor, I mean, no, Professor, I mean…” Jethro, who was never good at the mornings anyway, was saved by the rest of their cy’ree appearing.

“How do you get there so early?” Jethro and Clove shared most of Kiba’s classes, so they walked together from their morning training session most days. “I mean, there’s never a morning when you’re not there.”

“Come on, Jethro.” Clove clucked in amusement. “What does the professor tell you? Use the information you’re given.”

“The information I have is that Kiba shows up early every morning for training with Professor Pensus. I assume that she’s not a ridiculous kiss-up, because I’ve never seen her kissing up to other teachers. See, more observed information. And she doesn’t have morning chores.”

“But her roommate does.”

Kiba looked between the two of them, amused. “Excellent deduction, Clove. Actually, I’m just used to getting up early, and never got into the habit of sleeping in that some people get into when they come to school.”

“Farm family?” Jethro hazarded it a little more cautiously. Kiba wondered if he was afraid of offending her.

“Farm family.” Kiba nodded. They didn’t need to know the nitty-gritty stuff, at least not yet. “And, besides, I really like the morning session.”

“So maybe you are a kiss-up.” Jethro’s arm came around Kiba’s shoulder in a way that was somewhere between friendly and familiar. “Let’s see how you feel after the afternoon session.”

Kiba didn’t move his arm. She found she liked its warmth. “We’ll see.” Glancing over at his expression, and catching Clove’s in the process, she thought maybe there were quite a few things they’d be seeing.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/526938.html. You can comment here or there.