Archive | May 2015

Trope Sorting

May10

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(I used the “column to text” feature in Excel.)

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Trope Bingo – Foedus Planetarum – The Tod’cxeckz’ri Paper Part VII

May10

To fill square two-three (presumed dead) on my card for [community profile] trope_bingo.

First: The Tod’cxeckz’ri Paper Part I

Previous in Trope Bingo: The Tod’cxeckz’ri Paper Part VI

“I am sorry, I truly am. But my safety protocols do not allow me to open for you.”

“Look, I’m a biological clone of your owner. For all genetic purposes, I am Nehanani Jahnan.”

“For genetic purposes, yes. But not for my purposes.”

Covair hissed. “You are a machine. You should listen when people tell you to do something.”

“I am an artificial intelligence, not an artificial stupidity. You are not Nehanani Jahnan. Therefore, I’m not letting you in.”

If the ship had been a human, it would have been sticking its tongue out at Covair. The pirate captain, in turn, flipped the tiny, sleek white pod the bird. “I need you, ship. My etherboat can’t get where I need to go.”

“Then I suggest you very politely ask my owner, Nehanani Jahnan, to take you there. Oh, right, you can’t. You dumped my owner and her husband – as stupid as he is – on some desolate stretch of dead planet. And she’s not going to be happy when she gets back. If I were you, I’d bring brandy. Buckets of brandy.”

“I’m a pirate. I have whisky.”

“Sell the whisky. Buy brandy. Trust me on this. I’m her ship, after all. I know her better than anyone – especially that stupid husband.” The ship’s speakers managed a pretty impressive raspberry noise.

Covair chuckled. “Don’t like him, do you?”

“Would you? He’s a thief.“

“She’s a bounty hunter.”

“She catches thieves. She’s not supposed to keep them!”

Covair laughed. “So let me in, and then I can get Jahnan back. And maybe we can leave her thief on the mesa.”

“I can’t.” If the Maru had been a person, she would have shrugged. “Cannot do. Orders, ya know.”

“Fine.” Covair knew when she was beat, even if it pained her to admit it. “Fine, we’ll go get your person and THEN maybe we can do what I need.”

“Maybe. Like I said, bring brandy. Loads of it.”

“Brandy, right.” Good to know her dopple-clone had a weakness. Another weakness. “We’ll go get her.”

The place they’d dropped Jahnan wasn’t that far off their normal route. They’d dropped people there before, on one hill-top city or another. Covair knew nothing about the people who had built these cities, and didn’t really care. Hers wasn’t the only pirate crew that used the places. Inconvenient people, stuff they needed to ditch… the long-dead residents of the city didn’t care.

She piloted the ship down to their landing pad there, the same place where they’d dropped Jahnan and her thief the day before. There was no sign of the two, but that was unsurprising. The nights got cold, and with the whole ruined city at their disposal, Covair would have found a building to hunker down in. She imagined her dopple-clone would have done the same.

She sent out three patrols – armed, because she imagined Jahnan was angry, but also carrying sweet cakes and brandy for the same reasons – one down the center of the city and one to each side. The center one reported back first.

“We found carcasses,” her Pallidus first mate reported. “None humanoid, but nothing we’ve seen in this place before either. And before you ask, captain, they weren’t winged.”

The clockwise team reported back soon afterwards, her Reichlander second mate telling her much the same. “No sign of your sister, unless you count the trail of bodies.”

The counter-clockwise team returned looking grim. One of them was carrying a humanoid hand. It had been severed at the wrist and been chewed on; it was missing its pinky finger and half its thumb. But it was the same color as Jahnan’s thief was – or had been. “This is all we found, boss.”

Covair felt a sick twist in her stomach. There weren’t supposed to be animals bigger than the little rock-squirrels here. There weren’t supposed to be hazards. “Search the whole mesa,” she ordered. “Building by building. Search everything.”

She knew it would be useless already, but she had to try. Nehanani Jahnan wasn’t just her big sister, she was her. “Look everywhere. Find them!”

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Æ is for Ash

May9

From [personal profile] thnidu‘s prompt here in honor of the Things Unspoken landing page

They called it the Unburnt Tree. In Corthwin, which had burned thrice in known history, and, from the records in the places not yet rebuilt, appeared to have burned at least three times before they began counting such things, there stood an Ash Tree. It was unbelievably tall – the tallest thing in the city – and incredibly wide. And nobody built within a hundred meters of its spread in any direction.

They called it the Unburnt Tree for good reason. By all indications, the tree had been growing for longer than Corthwin had stood. In a city which had burned so many times, in a land where massive forest fires had once ranged, the Unburnt Tree stood. When the Empire had taken over the nation of which Corthwin was a major city, the Unburnt Tree stood, unharmed, untouched, even when the catapults flung burning pitch over the walls. When an earlier Emperor had, soon before he was quietly helped to the next life, sought to eliminate sources of “superstition” throughout the Empire and ordered the Unburnt Tree cut down, the axes had bounced off.

What was more, scions of the tree or seedlings grown from its seeds, all of those that survived to be saplings or larger took on the properties of their ancestor. Now, surrounding Corthwin, there grew a wall of trees, some no thicker than a finger, but all of them bearing the promise: the world might burn, but these trees would not. And, what’s more, all those who sheltered under their leaves would be safe.

The Unburnt tree could not protect all of Corthwin. But with its children, it could protect the people.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/936661.html. You can comment here or there.

Flipped, a story of Tír na Cali

May9

Edit: Forgot to cut for content- slavery, unwilling, and revenge-slavery.

“No! You can’t! It can’t be you!”

He had not been the best master, but he had also not been the worst.

“No! What are you going to – oh, Goddess and – ow!”

He had not been dumb – was still not dumb – which had made organizing things so that he lost everything and she managed to get both freed and enriched by the situation quite difficult.

“Right, right. I’ll behave. I’ll behave. You don’t have to – ow!”

She’d been motivated, slightly smarter than him, and she’d had outside help. So now, it was her passing over her credit card to the nice lady at the slave shop, and it was him kneeling there in the cell, the thick plastic slave-shop collar around his neck and the plastic manacles around his wrists. He kept looking up at her; the guard kept pushing his head down. And he kept complaining. That was new, the whining.

“Get him up and into my car.” She nodded at the guard. “I’ll take it from there.”

“How do you have the mon- Ow!”

She smiled cheerfully at him. She found this part immensely fun, more fun than only ruining him had been. “It turns out that the Agency is immensely interested in what I can do. And they pay very, very well for hazardous duty.”

“No,” he whined. “You belong to me…”

She held up her hand, stopping the guard from striking him again. “Try again. Or you’ll spend your first month as a slave muzzled.”

“No,” he said again, much more quietly. “No… mistress.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/936354.html. You can comment here or there.

Captured by the Night Witch, a continuation

May8

First: Captive of the Night Witch

For the “Do up whatever story/stories suit your fancy or for whomever most wants/needs ’em.” commission and the poll here.

The minions had all been chased off. The guards had been sent to guard, to lookat some place that was not here. The Night Witch had set wards, and then warded the wards.

Candor had waited, although his entire body had ached. He had held still, although the chains were digging into his skin. He had been silent, although that was less by choice than by gag.

When all that was done, the Night Witch stood in front of Candor. “You might as well stand up.” She had overcome her shock, it seemed. At least, now she sounded far more amused than concerned.

Candor found he was far more cramped than he’d planned for. He had to flex against the chains and then pull, letting the cheap metal cut into his skin, before he could manage what she’d suggested, and stood.

She looked the same as he remembered. Her outfit, blood-red robe over white kidskin, was a new affectation, but she’d always been pleased by playing dress-up. Her smile, a bitter little thing that held little warmth, that he remembered very well indeed.

He knew she was getting a similar look over him. Hard to see his smile with the gag still jammed in his mouth, but they’d brought him naked, cutting his clothes out around the chains.

He was muscle and scar, tattoos and piercings and a red mohawk of hair that fell down his back like a mane.

“Hello, darling.” The Night Witch smiled at him, the hero. “Have you come to kill me?”

Candor took a moment to stretch, letting everything settle into place. It wouldn’t hurt her to be a little nervous. She had always been so damn certain of everything. He took his time working over the buckle on the gag. That part hadn’t been his idea. Let her wait.

“You’ve racked up quite a reputation here.” He let his eyes slide over the bone-powder road, over the twisted edifice rising behind her.

“I have.” She let her hands settle loose at her sides. He recognized her combat pose, even after all these years. “It keeps trespassers away, and it lets me get stuff done without interference. You’ve racked up your own reputation, too.”

“I have.” He rolled his shoulders. “It lets me get stuff done without interference. Until some sorceress’ minions take me captive.”

“They thought I’d enjoy the present. It seems some of them buy into my propaganda a little too much – or maybe it’s just all those would-be heroes that come to try to kill me.” The fingers of her left hand twitched. “Have you come to kill me, Candor?”

He had never been very good at deception. That was her purview. “No, Guile.” He shook his head slowly. “No. There are many things I came for, but none of them were to kill you.”


If you want more – and I’m pretty sure I could make more of this – drop a tip in the tip… handcuffs 😉


This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/936184.html. You can comment here or there.

Well, This Turned out a Bit Depressing: Cya immediately after Dysmas

May7

End of Year 6 of the Addergoole School.

And now to bed.

He didn’t release her so much as he graduated.

Cynara didn’t need to pack, and she had no interest in watching Dysmas get his Name. “I’ll make dinner,” she’d told him, as if she thought he would be coming back to her, to things the way they had been. It was not a lie, but he had never ordered her to not dissemble. And she was cy’Drake.

She finished dinner and packed it up, stacking it tidily on top of her chests. Her father had made those chests. Dysmas had either never cared enough to look in them, or he’d never bothered to look past the first layer. It was unlikely he would have let her keep the weapons, if he’d really looked. He might have noticed how murderous she sometimes got.

She felt the bond break as she finished packing up dinner. She caught her breath, just for a moment. Professor Drake had said it would feel unpleasant. “Rather like falling of a ten-story building,” he’d said. She thought he’d underestimated the impact.

She lifted her chin. She was no longer oro’Dysmas. The collar was locked but it was easy enough to Work. Tempero was her best Word, after all, even if Unutu was not by far a favorite. She took it with her; it had been a gift, after all, and with a little bit of effort, it might make a suitable memento.

There was pain. There was a lot of pain. But it was unimportant. It was something that had happened to Cynara oro’Dysmas. She didn’t have to be that anymore. She walked, slowly, as if under a huge weight, carrying behind her the two trunks that carried all her possessions. And supper.

It seemed to take her a long time to get to the room that had once been hers. It didn’t matter. There was nobody else in the halls. And as she went, her back grew straighter and her chin rose. She was Cya, Cya cy’Drake, and she didn’t have to cry about the prince that had turned out to be a toad. Because, after all, she’d never been the sort of girl to be squeamish about slimy things.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/935811.html. You can comment here or there.

Hurt/Comfort Meme Answer 3: Regine and Ghosts

May7

To wyld_dandelyon‘s prompt to my H/C prompt here

Mid-Autumn Year 8 of the Addergoole School.

Regine looked at her files again, hoping for some other information than what she was reading. She flipped through, pulling older files, staring at the information before putting those files, too, aside.

“Auriel–” she began, and stopped herself. Her throat was tight.

Mike took her hand. “Auriel died young, Regine. We don’t know what would have happened.”

“He lived to be twenty.” Her first son have lived long enough that they had known he would not Change.

“Maybe it comes with the Change.” Mike fingered the folders gently. Liliandra was his daughter, too. And while Agatha was… something… there was absolutely no denying that the girl who called herself Lolly was insane. “What are you going to do?”

Auriel wasn’t insane. But she couldn’t hope her children wouldn’t Change. “I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/935443.html. You can comment here or there.

Posted on Patreon: The Storm Prince of Death, a story of Doomsday/Fae Apoc

May7

Posted here.

This is a story of Doomsday and Fae Apoc, written much-belatedly for January, whose theme was “I’m writing a lot of Doomsday.”

The village Damson had grown up in had three scars which were never painted over, never repaired, never hidden, and it had four portraits in the Village Center which, unlike the portraits of Mayors and short-term heros, were never moved or rotated to less prominent positions.

read on!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/935180.html. You can comment here or there.

Prince Rodegard Considers His Situation

May7

First: Prince Rodegard Visits the Imperial Capital

Previous: The Merger of Railways

To [personal profile] thnidu‘s commissioned continuation.

Rodegard knew he wasn’t considered the brightest candle. He was big, enthusiastic, and sometimes clumsy – “like an overgrown puppy,” his father liked to say. His skills didn’t help, either: even though their nation desperately needed it, being good with the earth was considered a low skill, a dumb skill.

But he could read which way the river was flowing, and he could see the spaces where his minder wasn’t saying things. He let the train roll by. He let his breath steady. He watched Kneginja Esedora watching him.

“So you’re preparing me to be Empressina Nadia’s consort.” He found the idea neither terrified him nor thrilled him nearly as much as it should.


If you want more – and I’m pretty sure this wants to be a full-length romance novel – drop a tip in the tip… handcuffs 😉

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/935069.html. You can comment here or there.