Archive | August 2013

What I want What You Want Fundraiser

Aug11

So!

What I Want: Djinni is hosting another icon day and, while you all ought to go request an icon, signal boost, and, if you can, tip, I’d also like to get the 24-icon perk, to fill in the holes in my Addergoole and otherwise cast lists.
So I’d like $100 to give to djinni.

I’d also like $50 for foyer accessories, because I really want guest slippers and a nice place to put them, and I’m almost done prepping the foyer to paint. But first is $100 for Djinni.

What You Want: Well, what do you want? I won’t promise to make it canon, but I can write it. Tip me $5 and I’ll write a drabble (250-500 words); tip me $10 and I’ll write you a flash fiction (750-1000 words); if you want more, talk to me and we’ll work something out.

No Matter What the first $30 will be tipped to Djinni for this icon day. If I reach $100, the first $100 will go to Djinni.

This is only open until Wednesday. I will write these things as first priority until they are done – pre-empted only by other things people have already paid me for. <3
Donate below

Art by Djinni!
I also take payment by Dwolla

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/561777.html. You can comment here or there.

Writing and bus rides

Aug11

I, at 37 years old, went to NYC for the first time in my life. It was awesome.

I met @Theladyisugly there, and we spent the day at the Met, and it was awesome.

And then I rode back.

On the bus, I wrote 3-3/4 of the stories from my pre-Call call. I’ll get them transcribed and posted (and finished) over the next four, five days.

(I had a book, or I probably would have written more, but I spent most of the way back just sleeping.)

The true call will open up next Saturday, so have no fear, if I didn’t get to your prompt, I’ll get to it then.

… NYC was awesome. The Met was awesome. Seeing B IRL for the first time was awesome.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/561409.html. You can comment here or there.

Bus Ride Pre-Giraffe Call

Aug9

I’m going to be on the bus for um quite a while tomorrow.

So I am opening up a short pre-call Call for things to write while I’m on the bus.

The theme is Identity.

Leave your prompts on this theme, and I will write as many as I can while riding the bus tomorrow!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/561317.html. You can comment here or there.

Carrying

Aug8

After Any Port

Baram looked between the short girl and his… his Viatrix. “You want her in here?”

“I don’t know if she wants to be in here. But she’s better in than out.” Via frowned for a moment. “Neska, right? I wasn’t there when you were Named.”

“Pocket Claws.” The girl shrugged; Baram didn’t blame her. “I, ah, someone pointed me in this direction.”

“Come in, if you mean me, mine, no harm.” Baram was managing to make that sound more and more coherent. He was getting far too much practice. “Not a safe house. But…” He let Via handle the rest.

“But if you don’t mind sleeping stacked or can help us build an addition, if you can work and will work, and if you’ll do what the Boss tells you with no orders, promises, or bond – then you can stay as long as you’re useful.” Via shrugged. She always shrugged at that part. Almost nobody stayed longer than a week. “It helps if you’re good with kids – where’re yours?”

Everyone who left Addergoole had kids. Some of them just didn’t have them. Baram’s house appeared to have more kids than anyplace else. He was drowning in children.

“Safe.” She stepped inside, keeping Baram between her and Viatrix. “With my mother.”

“Smart. You have a safe place already, then…?” Via stepped out of the way. “Let me give you the short tour.”

“I have a place I can keep them safe for a day or two. People… someone said that this place could be safe long-term.”

“Not a foxhole.” Baram fell in behind the girl. “Yes.”

The girl glanced back at him. Neska. Pocket-Claws-Neska. He would probably forget, but the more he worked at remembering the more bits he could hold on to.

“You don’t like people much, do you?” She had that quaver in her voice. Baram didn’t understand the quaver. He didn’t think it was fear, and it didn’t really sound like disgust, probably. He glanced over her shoulder at Viatrix.

Via snorted, and shrugged. “Baram doesn’t do people well. That’s part of why he has us.”

“Us?”

“Me. Jaelie, she left before your time, I think. Sa’Briar Rose. And Alkyone.”

“Alkyone? The Spear?” Her skin was pale all over again. “This place is run by the Life and the Spear…?”

“And the Briar. But no. This place is run by the boss.” She patted Baram’s shoulder in the way he only ever let her do. “It’s just managed by the three of us.”

“I thought you said this was a safe house.”

Now, Baram laughed. He could remember the skinny spider-girl – Callista-Bladed-Dervish – could remember her saying that.

“No. Not a safe house. Just a house that is safe.”

“..is it?” She looked around her; she was in a narrow hall between Via and Baram. No real exit. “For who?”

“For people who help out and carry their weight.” Via was big on that. Baram agreed.

“For people.” He put his hand on her head, splaying the fingers so that he encompassed the top of her head. “What I do. What I do is protect.”

She swallowed hard and stepped forward, so that his hand slipped to the back of her head. To her neck. “You’ll protect my children?”

“Yes. You carry your weight, I will protect your children.” Baram shrugged, and tried again. “Will protect children no matter what. Will protect you if you carry your weight.” His hand encircled most of her neck. She didn’t move. He glanced at Viatrix; she nodded.

Pocket-Claws-Neska made a quiet noise, like a hum. “Then I’ll pull my weight.” It sounded like an oath. She glanced up at Viatrix, and then back at Baram. “I’ll do what I have to.”

“Good.” Viatrix sounded just as serious, like she was collaring someone. “So will we.”

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This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/560738.html. You can comment here or there.

Crew

Aug8

In continuation of the second story here from over a year ago.

Ib woke not in pain. He woke not aching everywhere, not unable to move. He woke.

He woke, which meant he wasn’t dead. That in itself was a bit of a shocker. The last time he’d had a beat-down like this – close to this, there hadn’t been as much bone-snapping that time – he’d ended up in the hospital for weeks and in agony for months.

Today, he had a little pain in his lungs and his throat was a bit raw. That… that was not how this worked.

He looked up at the big guy in the doorway. Baram looked sort of like unfinished clay, like someone had lumped him together and then forgotten to glaze or bake him. He also looked like anyone going through the door would have to go straight through him. The doctor would have had to go through him to get to Ib; maybe she’d gone through the wall. That seemed like the safer option.

Ib had more important questions at the moment. He squeaked, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Why?”

Baram’s brow furrowed. “Mine. Not theirs.”

Oh. Ib swallowed. Well, if that was the price he had to pay… “Y-“

“What he means-” Rozen somehow shouldered the bigger guy aside. Ib had never been so grateful for an interruption. “-is that he considers you crew, and doesn’t like other people fucking with his friends.”

“Oh.” Friends. These were the sort of friends that you wanted, in a place where people randomly tried to break all your bones.

“I mean, if you want to Belong to him, I’m sure he won’t object. It might be a little awkward, and I don’t think he’s all that into guys.”

“No, no, that’s all right.” Ib cleared his throat, and found he could speak without squeaking if he spoke very slowly. “Thanks.”

“Crew.” Baram thumped his chest with his fist.

“Crew.” Rozen, unsurprisingly, was smirking.

“Crew.” Ib found himself smiling, too. Crew.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/560519.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Flight Rising/Tír na Cali Crossover – an Introduction

Aug7

A bit of an xover between Flight Rising and my Tír na Cali setting. If the slavery/breeding aspects of either bother you, this is probably not your story.

Technically, it was illegal.

Even more technically, it was legal, although you had to squint at the laws and sort of bend-and-fold them a little bit to make it work.

Nether the technicality or the really, really bendy technicalities bothered Maximilian and Delilah, or any of their little group of friends. They did it, and thus it was legal enough for them, especially if nobody outside of their island ever found out. They did it, because it was entertaining, and because their island was cut off from the rest of the world for four months of the year, but most importantly, they did it because they could.

Today, they were introducing one of Maximilian’s little sisters to the game.

“All right. You start out with a breeding pair. You can pick three characteristics you want – gender, fur color, basic type – for one of them, and we’ll pick you a second one more or less randomly.”

He handed her the breeding book. Inside, there were beautifully drawn pictures of their stock – Modified Creatures, moddies, human-and-Tuathan slaves whose genes had been magically altered to suit this group’s sense of aesthetics.

Claudette – like her brother Maximillian, a titled noble with no land and nothing to do with her time – flipped through the pictures. “I’d like this breed. The dragons.”

“You have good taste, little sister. The dragons are my favorite, too, although of course you’ll want to diversify a little once you’ve had time to get used to the game. What colors, and what gender?”

“Female. I want a matriarch.”

The girls always did, Max noted. None of the actual matriarchs, first-daughters, played the game. There would be no plausible deniability if they did. “And colors?”

“So it’s her scales, here,” her finger traced the picture, “and her crest?” Her brother nodded. “Blue, then, and purple.”

“Azure and royal. I’ll talk to the breeders, and we should have someone for you in a day. In the meantime, let’s get your lair and nests set up.”

They might get caught eventually. But it wouldn’t be in winter, when nobody risked the storms. And it wouldn’t be today, for sure.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/560131.html. You can comment here or there.

Camp Nano – Last line of July

Aug5

“What I believe Cecily meant, Fernley, if you would be willing to give her the benefit of the doubt…?”

~

I wrote 43,933 words in July, over my stated goal of 43,500 words but under my 50K true goal.

Back into the saddle! This story was planned at 52K flat and will probably be 54,000!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/559997.html. You can comment here or there.

Durjaya: Her First Year

Aug5

Sixth in a series of character-building vignettes following a bunch of characters through their time at Addergoole & beyond.

We haven’t seen Durjaya before, but her mother, Akaterina, is in Addergoole: Year 9.

Addergoole, Year 31

“Have a good time at school. I’ll be right here in four years to pick you up.” Durjaya’s mother kissed her forehead and gave her a little shove. “Take care of yourself, honey. And remember – it only looks safer.”

The bunker that was the Addergoole school certainly looked safer than the outside world, even than the pretty refuge Durjaya’s mother had created. It was out in the middle of nowhere – a two-day drive each way, a major investment in time and gas and a major risk on the untended roads – and Dar wasn’t entirely certain why her mother had bothered. Not for the safety; that was the seventeenth time in two days she’d warned Dar it wouldn’t really be safe.

“I’ll be careful, Mom.” She kissed her mom’s cheek. “You be careful, too.”

The school looked like something out of a novel. It had thick carpeting, the sort that the upper levels of Mom’s hotel had, wooden paneling, and kids wandering around in clothes that looked new. Plucking at her skirt, Dar understood why her mother had pulled out all the stops in getting her dressed for her first day underground. They all looked like the world hadn’t ended. They all looked clean.

The first week was a series of things like that: not quite shocks but not quite comfortable things. They would mention the world-ending war in classes, then go home through their electrically-lit halls to their hot-water-heated showers and their fresh food. Dar’s mom’s hotel had had all those things, sure, but most of the people around them hadn’t, and it had been a constant effort to keep everything working. Here, here everything seemed simple, effortless, and taken for granted, like the very few years Dar remembered before the war.

The Store provided new-seeming clothes with labels that looked genuine, food that might have been fresh in season somewhere but certainly not in the northern mid-west of the former US, shoes that looked mass-produced. What was more, the food, the clothes, none of it was rationed – they could buy as much of it as they wanted. The teachers were providing an education that seemed more thorough than anything Dar had ever seen. And there was no work. There was homework, and she could make her own meals if she wanted to, but that was it.

Finding out all her classmates were fae-demons was almost a letdown after all of that. Finding out they had dances was almost weirder. Dances every few weeks. The village around her mother’s hotel had held two parties a year, done-snowing and going-to-snow-soon. The dance was loud, and there was alcohol. Dar drank too much and slipped out before her brother – or anyone else – could bother her.

By the end of the second week, she’d almost adjusted to the strangeness, to the bounty of food, to the idle time. She’d almost gotten used to hot showers every day, to the heavy homework load, to the quiet, when the second Saturday found the halls a riot of noise and strange sparkling lights.

She bounced off a lizard-man, ducked into what she thought was a shortcut upstairs, and found herself being pressed up against the walls but some sort of nightmare monster.

“Say you belong to me and everything will be all right.” He made it sound reasonable. He made it sound tempting. He made the alternative sound terrifying.

It was too much like home. “No,” she snapped. “You say you belong to me.”

“I belong to you.” He dropped her on the floor. “What the hell?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/559004.html. You can comment here or there.