Archive | January 2015

Something Later in the Rin/Girey timeline, just for fun

Jan19

Rin/Girey/Reiassan has a landing page here. The prompt was “something hot;” I ended up with something cold. Whoops!

“Remind me again why we’re up here?”

It was snowing; it had been snowing since they left the capital – no, in truth, it had been snowing since before winter had properly arrived. Southern-born Girey was miserable in the cold; Rin’s first tour of duty had been further north than this, and she was in her element.

“Well, we’re up here to check on a few problems that have been brought to the Emperor’s attention. And we’re up here because it’s harder to assassinate us on the road.” They were on one path out of seven to their destination, neither the most obvious nor the most hidden. “Ah, here.” She tilted her head. “A way-station. We can thaw out your bits.”

“My bits?” It was impossible to see his eyebrows through the layers of hood and scarf Girey was wearing, but Rin could hear the raised-eyebrow tone in his voice.

“Your bits.” She stifled a chuckle. “It’ll take a while to heat up, but it looks unoccupied.”

Half an hour later, they were down to three layers of clothes, their coats and hoods dripping dry by the doorway. The fire was burbling along merrily in the fireplace, and the tiny cabin was warming up quickly. “So.” Rin raised her eyebrows. “How are your bits doing?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/886921.html. You can comment here or there.

A Rough Timeline of the Faerie Apocalypse, Part I

Jan19

May/June 2011: the first sightings of portals from Ellehem and suspicious activity begin.

October/November 2011: The violence of humans controlled by the fae and returned-gods-related natural violence are in full swing.

January/February 2012: Fights between returned-gods and fae-who-remained are a common occurrence as those who remained – Nedetakaei & Shenera Endraae alike – work to keep the Returned Gods from taking over.

March/April 2012: The armies of the world are fully involved.

May 2012: “Nukes work,” Russia reportedly tells the US, “but only if they don’t see them coming.”

June-October 2012: All-out war, ending not so much in a truce or a win in a pyrrhic victory for human troops: the fae invaders are nearly destroyed and the gates to Ellehem are sealed shut, cauterized. But there are few human troops left, and large parts of the world are devastated and ruined.

2013-2015: Starvation and disease take millions of lives. Many people have migrated out of cities, but the countryside is hostile; many people move all over the world, looking for safe places. Monsters and returned gods, hungry humans and just-as-hungry fae roam the place, attacking settlements for food or supplies.

2015-2020: People are settling in. Those that survive have mostly learned how to survive. Many live in the barest of subsistence living; some live in a decent level of low-tech/off-grid comfort, and a few have managed to salvage pre-Collapse technology and standards. The monster count is still high – the returned gods brought with them many creatures and made more here; there are hungry fae of all types, many very angry at the state of things, and unscrupulous humans are still to be found. Smart people live in walled settlements and do not talk to outsiders. Almost every corner of the world is cut off from the rest.

See also: Deaths in the Faerie Apocalypse

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/886776.html. You can comment here or there.

Answering, a continuation of Luke/Doomsday

Jan18

First: Visiting Doomsday
Previous: Some Perspective

Contains discussion of rape in the context of Addergoole..

It had been a good class. Leo’s kids had a lot of good questions, and Luke found that he really enjoyed answering them. It made him want to teach – not gym, not combat, not the earnest questions about the Right that some of his Students had, but an actual class.

Well, they had experts in their subjects for that. Luke was mostly an expert in skull-breaking.

Too soon, the class bell rang. Luke braced himself and nodded at the young, angry girl, LaKeziah. “You wanted to speak with me?”

“You bet I did!” She stood up, not having to rise up on her toes much to look Luke in the eye, and poked at his chest with one aggressive finger. “You have a lot to answer for, Mister.”

By now he’d been looking at her long enough to take a guess at her ancestry. “You’re Ilta’s daughter.” He paused for a moment, pulling up the memories. She hadn’t been Kept her first year, that hadn’t been… ah. “Your mother had some bad experiences at school, and, I admit, we didn’t catch the problems as soon as we should have.” He sat down again. “We try hard, but-”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!”

Despite himself, Luke smiled. “I’m nearly three hundred years old. The people who built and run this school, I saw them as infants. I’ve seen your mother, her parents, and her grandparents as infants…”

“And you let them be raped and tortured? How can you do that!?”

Luke let his wings flare. “Let me assure you, I’ve never ‘let’ anyone be tortured.”

“And what about raped? Are you going to tell me you don’t condone rape, either?”

Luke took a breath, and then let it out, thoughtful. Finally, he spoke more quietly, and very carefully. “First, I’m not saying this to treat you like a child – but because you are younger than me. You understand the difference?”

LaKeziah looked like she wanted to argue, but gave him the honor of thinking about it. “All right. Yes.”

“In order to answer your question – really answer it – I need you to have context you don’t have right now.”

“I understand rape just fine!”

“I hope that’s not true.” Luke searched for inner calm and found it with more than a little difficulty.

“Either way, the definition – even the way it’s been thought of – has changed a lot in the last three hundred years. So I’m going to ask you to do something unpleasant.” He leaned forward. “Research the way the definitions have changed during that time.”

“What, you think that will change my mind?”

“No, I hope it doesn’t. But if we’re going to talk about this, I want to talk about it right.” He found his wings flaring uncomfortably. “You deserve an honest, complete answer.”

She leaned back. “Hunh. Why? I’m just a kid.”

“You asked a valid question, and it deserves and answer.” Luke pulled his wings in. “Even if I don’t like it.”

“Okay.” She nodded abruptly. “I’ll do it. When’ll you be back?”

“Two months from now.” He was pretty sure Cynara would let him back in the door. “I’ll bring my own research, too.”

She’d been ready to turn around; her head snapped back to look at him. “You? What do you need to research?”

Luke gave her a grim smile. “The way the definitions of rape have changed since I was a young man.” He folded his wings close. “Also – some things about ends and means.”

“Hunh.” This time, her look was far less sharp. “You’re a weird one.”

“I know.” He nodded his head to her. “It helps if you think of me as being out of my century.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I’ve met old fae before – even older than you.” She shrugged, brushing it off. “I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will.” He made a note to ask the rest of the staff about Ilta, when he got home. Then again, he had a lot to talk to his fellow teachers about. Cynara. Doomsday. What else had he missed?

Nehara settled her hand on his arm. “Would you like to see the rest of the grounds?”

He stretched his wings. “I think I could use some time to clear my head,” he agreed. “But you’re missing all your classes.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. Everyone misses a little time now and then.” She flapped her hand. “It’s almost required.”

“This place seems more and more like a reaction to Addergoole,” he muttered.

Nehara turned to look at him, a little startled. “Well, of course it is. Why would you think it wasn’t?”

That was a good question. “Regine,” he said, piecing it together as he spoke, “said that Cynara wanted to be part of the Addergoole system.”

“Well, if the first two of every generation of my children had to go somewhere, I’d want to be involved, too. Wouldn’t you?” The smile she shot him was, for once, not friendly. “Of course, you are.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/886350.html. You can comment here or there.

Meet Feeya/Neska, a small piece about an Addergoole RP character #AGRP

Jan18

Feeya is a roleplay character in a currently-unknown year/Cohort, but post apoc. If she could spell, she’d spell her name Fille.

This story involves violence and some bad French.

Tempo’s nose was broken and he was missing two teeth; his knuckles were bruised and he was having a little bit of trouble walking. It didn’t stop Feeya from struggling against him, trying to add another bruise to his collection as they made their way down the hall.

Finally, despite his better judgement, he mumbled out an order. “Calmer. Cesser les combats. Calm your actions, and stop fighting for the moment.”

She steadied in his grip. “Right. Walk with me, marche avec moi, now.” Only by continuing to talk, short orders through a face that felt like it had swollen to three times its size did he manage to get her through the halls.

Where was Luke? There was a cy’Fridmar manhandling his angry Kept through the halls; Luke should be here with wings flapping and glare on. Instead, Tempo had to get the girl all the way upstairs, all the way into the gym. “Stay. Rester.” He released one of her wrists, blocked a punch, and knocked on the door.

Doug looked surprised to see them, although it could have been the broken nose. Tempo pushed Feeya in front of him. “Sir. I think she’s your Student.”

That stilled her. And it made Doug flare. “I don’t have any Students this year.”

“No, but I think you ought to.” He touched his nose gingerly. “She’s a fighter.”

“What did you do to her?” There was a clear threat in the teacher’s words. Tempo wasn’t surprised.

He touched the back of Feeya’s neck, where her hair was coming in shaggy and ragged. “Tried to give her a haircut.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/886206.html. You can comment here or there.

In Which Mieve Considers Her New Purchase

Jan16

First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which Amrit is Amazingly Eloquent.
Fae Apoc, approx. now.

Content Warnings: This setting, although not this ficlet, contains rape, mind control, and dubious consent situations.

This particular story contains kidnapping and slavery, bondage, and will eventually contain violence & Stockholm Syndrome.

The man in Mieve’s back seat – who she had nicknamed Fuck You, since that seemed to be the only words he knew – seemed to be having trouble with the hood. He was squirming, clearly trying to get out of the shackles and chains, and rubbing his head against the car seat like a cat, trying to dislodge the hood. It was buckled on; it wasn’t going to go anywhere.

“You might as well relax.” She pitched her voice louder than normal; the hood was very thick, designed to muffle sounds as well as light. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Uh oo.”

“I begin to see why they gagged you. Do you know any other words?”

“Uh oo eye-ay.“

“You certainly are eloquent.” The auction house hadn’t specifically said he’d been Kept already, Mieve knew – but the gall of them selling a fae slave they didn’t Own was pretty appalling. Then again, she’d just technically bought a fae slave she didn’t, by fae law at least, Own, so she couldn’t exactly throw stones.

“What am I going to do with you?”

“Uh aw.”

“Yes, it was a rather rhetorical question.” She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “I don’t suppose you’d promise to behave within a set of agreed-on limits?”

“Uh aw.”

“So glad to see you’ve come up with a new phrase. Well, I guess it’s the gag and chains, then.” Without the gag, he could just Work himself free – or he could attack her. Without the chains, well, there was nothing to stop him from walking off.

And he was new, he had to be – he was all fight. Most of the slaves she’d bought before had been Kept for a while already, long enough that they needed compassion, gentle handling, and a place to calm down for a while.

This one – well, if she survived a year with him, it would be interesting to see what he turned out like.

He was still struggling back there. That if was beginning to look like a very, very big one.

“Here we are.”

It was, considering the current state of the roads and the need for some level of stealth in route choice, a three-hour drive to Mieve’s cabin. It had passed in silence; it wasn’t so much that Mieve didn’t like talking to herself – she did that enough, when she was alone in her cabin for too long – as that she didn’t like doing it with an audience, and she certainly didn’t like doing it with a peanut gallery whose only comments were (as far as she could tell) “Fuck you” and “fuck off.”

Now they were “home,” though, the wards safely reset, and she could unwrap her new present, see if he was willing to learn any words other than his favorite sets.

First she had to get him out of the car. He’d cooperated enough getting in, but now that they were away from Fineus the Whoremonger and the rest, he had planted his feet and ass and was refusing to get out of the car.

“There’s cold water and beer in the house,” Mieve coaxed. “You just have to get out of the car.”

He muttered something less comprehensible than normal and levered himself out, nearly kicking Mieve in the process. Once standing, he turned his hooded head left and right, as if trying to catch a scent or some sight through the thick cloth.

“This way.” He was likely to be nominally more docile still blinded, and Mieve had a feeling she would need every edge she could get. She steered him through the back door and got it shut and locked behind them, a weight coming off her shoulders as she threw the bolt. Her clearing was safe. Her cabin was a fortress.

And, of course, she’d just invited a tiger into her fort. Well, she’d done less wise things before, and lived to tell the tale.

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/887320.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/885728.html. You can comment here or there.

Observing, a side story of the Unicorn/Factory

Jan15

Per [personal profile] kelkyag‘s request, this comes after The Grey Line (lj), Productive, The Governors (LJ), Right & Wrong, and Cleaning House.

Unicorn Factory has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ

They were moving the river.

Ansel stood, a hand on the unicorn foal nobody else could see, and watched them. They were shifting their water-catchers and moving in rock, lots and lots of rock.

“It’s all right,” Ansel assured the foal that was also his sister. “See? They’re going to clean the water.”

She headbutted his hip, using her jowl and nose to avoid poking him with her tiny-but-deadly horn. Ansel chuckled. “It’s going to be okay.” He pointed at the rock they were bringing in. “Someone decided to learn. And once they decide to learn, things begin moving.”

She made a noise somewhere between a whicker and a whinny. Ansel, in return, petted her mane. She didn’t speak, not the way humans did. But she knew more clearly than any of them what was good and right and what was wrong.

“It’ll be fine.” And because she believed him, Ansel found he, too, believed it.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/885447.html. You can comment here or there.

Kink/Fluff/Angst Meme: Jamian

Jan14

Honestly, can’t tell if this is kink, fluff, angst, or all three

Sometimes, he just needed to get away.

He slipped on a different Mask, did his make-up the same way, and rolled vinyl pants up his legs. He slid on fishnet and big stompy boots, and headed out to a club that only knew him in this face and this guise.

You didn’t need to be an Empath, place like this, to know who was sick and who was dying, who was hurt or grieving, but Jamian used every power his Change had given him. He whispered a healing here, a soothing there, flirted with an angry man and took away his disease with a caresses and some nonsense words.

At the end of the night, he went home with a tired nurse with a healer complex, and let them both relax for a while.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/885024.html. You can comment here or there.

Standards, a story of Jahnan and Yira for Three Word Wednesday

Jan14

This story is posted out of sequence, because I STILL haven’t quite finished Square Two on my Foedus [community profile] trope_bingo card. It will require some filler, I think, but will probably come after Mad in Atter

Written to the Three-Word Wednesday Prompt: Distracted, genuine, modest

New to the setting? Jahnan is a bounty hunter who has caught Yira and is attempting to return him for the bounty. However, Complications Ensue.

Yira Trembane’s hand had landed on Jahnan’s knee and was sneaking slowly up her thigh.

“I should have left you in the handcuffs,” she muttered. Getting to their next destination would not be a difficult navigation – if she wasn’t distracted.

“It’s not like I can reach any of the navigation from here.” Yira wiggled the fingers of his free hand in the direction of the input panels. “Or like I can get out. Your ship’s got that handled.”

The Maru’s “Guest Chair” was holding Jahnan’s prisoner firmly, bands pressed against his chest, forehead, lap, and ankles, but his lower arms had been left free, because, as he pointed out, he couldn’t reach any navigation instruments

He seemed to be doing some instrument-free navigation of his own, however, his fingers squeezing and creeping, squeezing and creeping. “Besides,” he purred, “you’re a very attractive woman. And it’s a very small ship.”

“You know,” Jahnan picked up his hand and moved it to his own lap. “I might be more flattered by that if you had a single genuine, honest bone in your whole body.”

“Oh, don’t be modest.” He moved his hand back to her knee. “You must know you’re an attractive woman.”

She moved his hand again. For such a big man, he had surprisingly delicate fingers. “There are over a hundred different human variants in the Known Universe, Yira, and, say, a hundred, two hundred nations, colonies, and cultures for each variant. At absolute smallest estimate, that’s ten thousand different definitions of attractive… and the last time I checked, your natal variant and nation is quite different in their tastes than mine.”

He set his hand much more gently on her knee. “And within those ten-thousand-plus nations, there are also millions of people, each with their individual tastes, which often don’t match the variant or nation’s average. Or you wouldn’t find me attractive, either.”

Jahnan left Yira’s hand where it was this time.

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/893899.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/884818.html. You can comment here or there.

Turn Left Story Two: That Damn Cat

Jan12

From the Turn Left meme here: http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/1005760.html; off of this story: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/260041.html in the Beryl/Damn Cat sequence, an AU.

They had gotten the cats distributed, gotten everything sorted out, all but one angry Siamese cat. The big old tom had clawed, bitten, and, when the vet had mentioned fixing, he drawn blood on four different people.

“Some cats,” the vet mentioned, “you just have to put down. You can’t leave him wandering, not knowing what he might have…”

She went quiet, because the cat had gone completely still. He wasn’t looking at the vet; he was looking at Beryl. His eyes, she noticed, were blue.

“I think…” she said slowly “…as long as you don’t try to castrate him, he’ll behave just fine now.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/884583.html. You can comment here or there.