Archive | September 2014

It’s not the Prom

Sep3

To Three-Word-Wednesday (Today’s words are Bribery, clobber, skeptical).

“No, no, not like that.” Anna leaned forward to grab Joachim’s shoulders. “No. You don’t want to clobber them over the head with it.”

Joachim twitched at the grab. “What am I supposed to do, sing them a love song? It’s bribery, not the prom.”

“It’s both of those things, exactly. Thank you, Aaron. I’ll take over.” Anna shooed the older man away with a flap of her hand. “This is how we do this.” She stepped into Aaron’s place. “Greetings, Mr. Todleron. How can I help you tonight?”

The boy twisted his face up. “Anna, I don’t think this is going to work.”

“No, no, who is this Anna? I am Karl Brust, and I run the store here. How can I help you this evening, Mr. Todleron?”

“Really?” The kid had gone beyond skeptical and into flat-out doubtful, but he still held out his hand and squeezed Anna’s. He got just the right amount of tension – not too tight, not too loose. If only he could do the rest of the routine that easily. “Mr. Brust, so nice to finally meet you.” He dropped into character fine. He’d always had that part down pat. “I was wondering if I could impose on you, just a little bit…”

“It’s a lovely night, wouldn’t you say? More small talk, Mr. Todleron. Remember that this is a date, not a snatch-and-grab. Caress him with your words.”

“Your eyes are beautiful, Mr. Brust.” Joachim smirked. “And the moon, too, is quite pretty.” His voice dropped in pitch, and he stepped up against Anna as he pulled her in. “But your lips are prettier still.”

And his eyes, Anna noted, were quite pretty. Why had she never…

“I’d say you’ve gone all the way out the other side to ‘clobber’ again.” Aaron’s dry voice broke the mood. “What was the line? This is bribery, kid, not your prom.”

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Safety, a continuation of Fae Apoc for the Giraffe Call (@rix-Scaedu)

Sep3

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned Continuation of Wildlife Refuge

“Why did you decide to go with the whole… ah… half-humanoid theme?” The faun-showing had been enough to get Capri in the second gate, as a temporary member of the Refuge. The walls looked sound, and the people inside – none Masked, so Capri, pants back up, also stayed sans Mask – seemed relaxed, so it was possible that either the Fomoire hadn’t made it this far south, or they just couldn’t get into the refuge. For the moment, Capri was safe.

Even more of a relief, the giraffe-taur at the gate hadn’t cared what else Capri had under the pants, as long as the legs were – as they were – animal. Capri had gotten a bracelet that was supposed to be a gate-pass, and then the ’taur had called over an Urmahlullu, Holly, to act as tour guide.

The parts of Holly that were human – her torso, her arms, and her head – were beautiful, with olive-brown skin and long black hair. The rest of her, the lioness body and legs, was… very differently beautiful.

Not like Capri could talk, not with the lower half of a goat. “I mean… I’m not sure who decided, but I guess the sign at the door is pretty clear.”

Holly twisted her whole human torso to look at him, while the lion legs kept walking forward. “Have you lived among humans?”

“Yeah? Of course?” Capri found that slowing was inevitable. Something in the brain couldn’t cope with someone going two directions at once.

“Then you understand how cruel they can be.”

“I… yes.” Capri had encountered cruel humans, although generally the half-goat-half-human part had not been their first target.

“You have lived among purebreeds?”

“What, me?” Capri swallowed a laugh. “Just ’cause they think the fauns and satyrs are descended from the Daeva doesn’t mean they want to be our friend.”

“Then you definitely understand how cruel they can be.”

“There are other half-breeds, though…” Capri could already see where this was going.

“And they, too, have their cruel moments. Or would you tell me that they do not?”

“No, no. I haven’t met any group yet that isn’t sometimes cruel.” Capri thought fast. “And especially ’taurs, it’s got to be tricky getting people to understand.” I skid on linoleum, thanks had been hard enough for Capri to thump into people’s heads.

“So here we are.” Holly gestured around the complex. “A place where being half-human, half-beast, and entirely Ellehemaei is understood. Cabins that are built to accommodate us. A no-taunting rule strictly enforced. Meal schedules that allow for issues such as four stomachs or a hibernatory pattern. This is a refuge.” She sounded so beatific, Capri expected to see a halo over her head. “And we can truly be safe and protected here.”

“From, ah, things like the monste-”

“We don’t use that word here.”

“Of course not. Things like the – can I say Nedetakaei?” If that one was out, Capri better think about running, and hoping ’taurs couldn’t run faster than fauns.

“That’s acceptable.”

“Nedetakaei, then, the creations the returned gods left behind, human hunters…”

The look the Urmahlullu was giving Capri was… worrisome. “We’re safe here.” Something about the way she said it rang of finality.

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Meeting the Archmage, a story (Of the Circled Plain) for the Giraffe Call

Sep3

To Skan’s Prompt

“Hello? Hello, Archmage? I’m Tad, I’m here for my apprenticeship…”

The cabin was, the way things were, a hermitage, stuck halfway up the side of a mountain. Tad’s family had dropped her off this morning at the base of the stairs, if you could call them stairs. Once she stepped on the first uneven cut of stone, she was no longer theirs. She belonged to the Archmage now.

Except that the Archmage was supposed to be here, in this cabin, and as far as Tad could tell, there wasn’t anyone here. The fire was still going in the stove, but you could do that with magic, couldn’t you? “Hello? Archmage, sir, ma’am, ix?”

“Here.” The voice was coming from near the fire. From the fire itself? Tad had heard of those who got devoured by the Flow, but not like… not like that, surely? “Look down, child.”

Tad looked down – and jumped back, grabbing for a shepherd’s crook she no longer carried. There was a mountain lion staring at her from the fire-rug.

The mountain lion yawned. “Surely you have seen a mountain lion before?”

The cat… was talking to her. Tad slapped her forehead with her palm. “Sir-ma’am-Ix…” Was that what she would become?

“Sit down, child. The Flow changes everyone differently, and there are many stories I will tell you about that, as our years together continue. But at this moment, I want you to tell me a story.

“Archmage, sir-ma’am-ix?”

“Ma’am will do. I haven’t thought about it in a while… so tell me, Tad, how you got old enough to be an apprentice with a name as short as Tad.“

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Micro-Housing becoming a trend fascinates me

Sep3

Hattip to stryck, who RT’d this tweet:

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I did a little quick googling, and found this article – from USA Today – about micro-apartments.

Like Tiny Homes, I find the concept fascinating (microapartments are a much more efficient use of space/walls, of course, because they can be stacked, but you lose out on window-walls and green space) – though I’m a little amused at myself for this fascination just a couple years after moving into our Biggest Place Ever (I mean, it’s about 1700 sq. feet + a garage-barn, but still. The last place came in around 700 square feet).

There’s not a lot of point to this blog post, just, hey, thing I find neat is trending.

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Giraffe Commission Rate Window AND September Theme Voting Window Almost Closed…

Sep2

I have three prompts to go on my Giraffe Call, after which the Giraffe-Call discounted rate (1 cent/word) will be closed until the next Giraffe Call.



Tips currently stand at $14 from the commission-a-piece-of-art level.

AND

The September Theme Poll will close Thursday the 4th at noon EDT. If you want a vote, you have to be a be a Patreon Patron at the $5 level or higher or donate (or have donated in August) $5 or more via paypal.

Want to kill 2 birds with one stone? Commission a piece of fiction from the Giraffe Call, get a vote, AND gets some nice, cheap fiction!

Closed!

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If You Want to Be A Samurai, a continuation of Doomsday for the Giraffe Call

Sep2

2 continuations were anonymously paid for; this is [personal profile] alexseanchai‘s requested continuation of the “Samurai” thread
Gonna be a Samurai
Gonna Learn how to be a Samurai and
Being a Samurai Takes Work.

First Year

“Dancing is a good idea, Austin, Sianna. It teaches balance, rhythm, and a sense of where your body is n relation to your partner.”

It turned out that almost everything was useful to learning how to be a samurai, at least to hear Miss Ascha tell it. But the weird thing was, everything was also useful to learning how to be a dancer, like Sianna – even swords-training – or a teacher, like Ethelwin wanted to be – even the meditation exercises – or even a bounty hunter, which is what Sweetbriar wanted to be this week.

Austin wasn’t sure if Miss Ascha was right; he wasn’t even sure if she was being honest or if she was just encouraging them to learn their math and dancing and meditation. But Professor Inazuma and Principal Doomsday agreed with Miss Ascha, yes. Dancing was useful for being a samurai. Addition and subtraction were useful for being a samurai. And science and history were very very useful.

They were his teachers, and Austin was going to have to listen to them if he wanted to be a samurai.

Second Year

“I don’t see why Sianna and Sweetbriar can’t run with you, Austin. You all need an escort, after all.”

“They’re going to run slow.“

“Well, isn’t that the point?” Miss Ascha could sound so reasonable when she was being so stubborn and difficult. “To see the city and understand it?”

“And to run.“

“Well, I’ll tell you what. You try it for two weeks, and if it leaves you miserable, then I will come up with another solution. But Ammon is willing to take the time to run with the three of you, and not many on the staff have that time or inclination.”

Austin had run all over his home town alone, before he came here. But he understood that he’d have to follow rules if he wanted to be a samurai. “Yes, Miss Ascha.”

Third Year

“And then the pre-collapse Americans… Yes, Austin?”

“Were they really shipping food all over the world?”

Professor Lily pulled another map down. This one had lines drawn all over it. “Many times they were shipping food to another country, like this, another continent,” she pointed at the map, “and then shipping a very similar food back from that continent. But most Americans in those days didn’t farm. Most people in affluent nations had never seen a farm, much less worked on one, as you have.”

“You’ve worked on a farm?” Sweetbriar had to know that already, didn’t she? But she turned around and stared at him.

“Yeah? Where’d you grow up?”

“Fishing boats.”

It explained a lot about his classmate, but Austin was more interested, right now, in what Professor Lily was talking about. “Didn’t anyone tell them how to do it more reasonably?”

“What sort of authority do you think would have done that, Austin? What sort does it now?”

“Well, whoever runs the town, right?”

From the look on Miss Lily’s face, Austin could tell that he was going to have to be a samurai farmer to make anything work out sensibly.

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There Are Always Choices

Sep2

After And We Are Not Monsters.

The girl called Rohanna did not take well to the collar.

Viatrix had sympathy for that. Nobody in their house had ever taken well to submission and, to the girl, they were the enemy. They had stolen her from her crew at hawthorn-point.

What she did not have was tolerance. “No.” She knew she was getting sharp, and could not manage to soften her tone. “No, what did I say?”

Rohanna snarled. “If I washed the floor I didn’t have to wash the dishes.”

“Try again, little mage.”

“Don’t call me that!” Rohanna swung back from Via’s hand. “If I cleaned the floor… well… I didn’t have to wash the dishes.”

“Better.” This time, Via caught Rohanna’s collar. “So. Floor again, or dishes. Your choice.”

~

The boy – not a boy, the Kept – named Kavan didn’t know quite what to do with, about, or for Baram.

It was mutual. Baram found that the slender fae with the fragile-looking body brought out memories, and he’d never been very comfortable with the sort of memories he was getting now. He found that the not-kid brought out a protective urge, and for the first time that he could functionally remember, the urge was meet, right, and by the Law. And he found that the little Kept frustrated the living shit out of him, in large part by being terrified.

“Your choice,” he repeated. Again. “My bed or the couch-bed.”

“Whatever my master wants.” Kavan stared at the ground

“Your master. Wants you to choose.”

~

The one called Ardell could be made to see sense.

The other one, the one named Delaney, was rabid. She hissed, spat and swore, none of it in any way useful. It seemed she knew the Boss, and wanted the Boss to help them. Everything else was irrelevant.

So Jaelie spoke to Ardell. “The Boss is busy, cleaning up after the people you led here.”

“I knew you could handle them.” The man was insufferably smug. “I knew Baram could handle them. He’s as tough as a truck.”

“Tougher. But you brought them to our door, and that causes problems.”

Delaney said something. Jaelie watched Ardell. “So. We’re gonna need oaths, or we’re gonna need to take information from your mind. Your choice.”

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Cats and Grandmas, a story(beginning) of Beryl and Radar for the Giraffe Call

Sep1

To eseme‘s prompt

The Grandmothers, as Aunt Eva tended to call them, had been on Beryl’s case recently about The Cat.

They didn’t all have the Spark, they didn’t all know first-hand what The Damned Cat was, but they all knew, and they all seemed to think that, since Beryl could talk to (or hear) the Cat, then it was her sacred duty to do whatever it was they wanted her to do about the Cat.

She’s stopped listening after a while, and when that had gotten her full-name-scolded (and reminded that she was not currently the Aunt, no matter what the cards seemed to hold, and would thus be respectful, thank-you-very-much), she had tried dodging questions.

When that hadn’t worked, she’d decided to take the problem to the source and ask Radar and Lam what she should do.

Lam was, predictably, no help at all. “Bite them.” The tiny Siamese kitten groomed herself between answers. “Then growl and hiss until they go away.”

Radar, more surprisingly, gave the matter some thought. “They want to know what I am, and why Lam exists, yes?”

“What you want, yes, and ‘why you made Lam.'” Beryl petted Radar behind the ear, where he best liked being petted. “They don’t listen when I say that you didn’t make her.”

“They wouldn’t want to. It means someone else is doing something they’ve forgotten how to do.” The orange tabby (today, at least, he was an orange tabby) sighed, an angry huff. “Well, child-kitten, I suppose we’re going to have to go into the attic.”

“Aunt Eva’s attic?” Aunt Eva’s attic was a terrifying place.

“No.” At least this time, he didn’t sound as if she was being stupid. “Aunt Bea’s attic. I’d suggest you bring gloves.”

Next: Cat’s in the… Attic

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