Archive | July 2015

Train-of-Thought Cloverleaf Worldbuilding considerations

Jul21

went like this:

– Cya starts trade routes relatively early on, as soon as she has trade goods in the city
– because of the climate control, Cloverleaf can produce crops not otherwise available that far north.
– Ooh, flour sacks. They have cotton… https://blog.etsy.com/en/2011/feed-sacks-a-sustainable-fabric-history/, http://www.buchanancountyhistory.com/feedsack.php
– (From that thinking about IRL examples skipped to)
– Baby Boxes: http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-22751415, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maternity_package
– Cya does a lot of basic-standard-of-life stuff, I bet they do this
– there are probably unwanted children. State-run creche/adoption center? Probably
– what about abortion? Oh, bog, abortion.
– “Government cheese” and basic rations? Still thinking about details here
– Free hostel-style housing, free xx months in actual housing – not designed to eliminate poverty but to eliminate some of the horrors of poverty
– booming fabrics market as well as the custom-made fashion set by people like our printing-press guy
– And BOOKS! Entertainment! !!
– Spices, spices are very important
– how much of the means of production does our dictator control? How much does she allow to be controlled by the elected government? (how much of a fascism is she okay with and does she slowly relinquish control?)

Side note: I figured out why she runs it as a dictatorship!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/960419.html. You can comment here or there.

Nightmare in Gotham, a story based on a dream

Jul17

This is almost 100% based on one of my dream/nightmares last night. It’s not the entire dream, and I filled in some background and smoothed a couple things out. But the rest – it’s as dreamed

Zombie Apoc AU, Gotham/NYC DC/Marvel

The Joker’s crew was clearing buildings again.

Other neighborhoods, sure, the Bats protected, but there were only so many of them. A couple neighborhoods, the Family protected, and the Penguin was rumored to have his whole underground town laid out in the basements of fallen buildings.

But over here, nobody but the Joker ruled. Those who cared about such things did a lot of hiding — not that everyone wasn’t hiding, anyway. People said the zombie threat was past, but could you believe them? They’d said that before, and look where that had gotten the world.

Once a week or so — as the joker got bored — they would pick a building, at random or at will — and scour through it, taking anything that his Funnyship wanted. “Tax,” they called it. Sometimes a more clever minion would point out that the Joker’s crew protected them from zombies. Nobody believed that. The Joker’s crew protected them from the Joker, mostly.

They were halfway through a tenement, one that probably hadn’t changed much in terms of residents or quality of living since the world ended. Things were going pretty smooth — some shouting, sure, but when you stuck a comically large gun in someone’s face, usually they stopped arguing pretty fast — and then this thug in spandex came ripping out of a room they’d already cleared.

He was wearing red and blue, with some sort of spiderweb pattern all over his top, and his mask had big eyes like goggles. He plowed into the Joker and pushed them both out a broken window, till they were struggling and fighting on the brickwork like some sort of circus act.

“Isn’t Spider-man supposed to be all thin and wiry?” one mook asked. This guy was built like a stack of bricks, heavy and dense — and he was fast, moving like a whirlwind, and somehow still sticking on the side of the building while he did so. A couple minions tried to join the fray, only to find themselves thrown off like so much chaff.

“You think he’s a zombie? The mask and all.” New Mook had joined up for the safe place to sleep and the food. Older Mook stared at him for a moment, then shook his head.

“Nah. Zombies are all gone, remember?”

The Boss was holding his own. The Boss held his own against all comers, lately. If his older mooks had noticed that he was a little less verbal and a lot more carnivorous lately, well… nobody said a word. You worked for the Joker, you were used to not saying a word.

“Think we oughta help?”

Another hapless bystander joined the fray, only to fly off at breakneck speeds.

“Nah.” One of them would survive, and then they’d figure out where they stood.

The guy in red went rocketing out of the fray like his hair was on fire, bouncing off walls before appearing to explode in a puff of smoke. The boss climbed back up the wall and into the broken window, brushing dust and spiderwebs off his tattered suit.

“Done,” the Joker quipped, his smile a bit redder than it had been before. The mooks nodded, muttered their yessirs, and went back to clearing the buildings.

~

Peter lingered at the edge of town for a while, studying the river. He was going to have to leave. He’d felt the symbiote climbing higher and higher in his brain during the fight, until it made a grab just as the Joker tried to bite him. Another battle like that, and there wouldn’t be any Peter left.

The suburbs were empty, everyone said. He’d go there.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/960110.html. You can comment here or there.

Fox Hunt Continues – On Patreon!

Jul13

The Hunt Continues, the July Patreon microstory, has been posted:

George sidled up to the clothesline, checking the lay of the land. Nobody around; he could hear the household slaves in the kitchen, gossiping around what Her Ladyship had done.

They ought to be more careful, he thought dryly; someone might overhear…

A Patronage of just $1/month will give you access to the rest of the Patreon stories!

Want input into the story prompts? A Patronage of $5/month lets you prompt to your heart’s content and for $15/month you will get your own personal story!

Check it out!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/959789.html. You can comment here or there.

An Educational Visit, Part V/?

Jul11

Written to [personal profile] inventrix‘s request/commission after I Should Visit, Part I, Part II, Part III and Part IV; 1,425 words

Regine’s eyebrows went up. “You have an Addergoole student here?”

Cynara, curse her, smirked. “We have several. However, Deimos was conceived and born outside of Addergoole.”

Regine twisted her lips. Definitely a student of Feu Drake, this one. “He is on our rolls to attend Addergoole next year.”

“His mother didn’t contact you?” Cynara raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps she was waiting until her first two children graduated.”

Regine held Cynara’s gaze. “Why do you think she would do something like that?”

The woman’s smile was sickenly sweet and innocent. “To avoid retribution against her children, of course.”

“And I suppose you told her that I would do such.” She would wipe this insolent speck off the face of the planet, but Luke would be irritated with her.

“If I had, who could blame me? You have threatened my own grandchildren.”

“I did no such thing!” Even as Regine protested, some small, honest part of herself reminded her that she had certainly considered it.

“Director, I was a student of Drake in my youth. I can certainly read into the words spoken. However, I said nothing like that to Eulalia; when we have third-children here, we normally suggest the mother inform Addergoole as soon as possible.”

“So this is common?” Regine gestured around the shabby little dorm room. “You often steal away Addergoole students for your school? No,” she interrupted Drake, “don’t explain for her. I want to know what she thinks she’s doing.”

“I steal no-one.” Cynara’s voice was calm and smug. “I invite parents to send their children here. Some of them, as I do, have children we have borne outside of the confines of Addergoole.” She gestured to her toddler, who was opening and closing the door to the “cottage” with glee.

“If they don’t want to want to send them to Addergoole, they’re under absolutely no obligation to do so. And if they have children who will be going to Addergoole, well, there’s absolutely nothing that says they cannot come here until then. We have several of those in attendance.”

“How dare you?” Regine stepped closer to Cynara. ”The sheer unmitigated gall of you, you insufferable mistake of a child!”

Cynara kept smiling, despite the insults. “If I am a ‘mistake,’ it wasn’t me that made it.” She pulled up a chair and sat down. “Professor Drake, maybe Kovi can show you our garden?”

“I would like that,” Drake agreed solemnly. He murmured Words that Regine was certain he did not mean to be secret, a Working that would allow him to monitor the conversation. She found it irritating – but she had far bigger fish to fry right now.

They waited, in seething silence, while Drake coaxed the toddler out of the room. Regine had several Workings ready; if it came to battle, she did not intend to lose. But she would wait, patiently, rather than have it be said that she put a child at risk.

“So.” Cynara steepled her fingers and looked over them at Regine. “I think we have some misconceptions here. You seem to have come here to judge me or my school. And while that may be your intent, you are in no position to do so.”

Regine opened her mouth. The git did not give her a chance to speak before continuing.

“You are the Director of a school I once attended, and a revered member of a dead society.” She at least did not look pleased at that. “More than that – we are not friends, and we are not allies. If we are careful, we can end today not being enemies, and for all of those others involved, that would be a good thing. However.”

Regine had been accused of not recognizing emotions when they bit her in the face – Mike’s words. However, even she could see the hatred in the face in front of her.

The voice remained entirely calm and stable. As angry as she was, Regine could not help but notice that.

“It is likely,” she began, and it was clear she was beginning something, “that I will forgive you for Dysmas, for the fact that he believed treating me like a thing was the way it was supposed to go. After all, it might not have directly been your fault; Agatha and Delaney taught him that.”

She took a breath. Regine heard something in that breath, and stopped her response.

“It is possible,” Cynara continued, “that I will forgive you for the time my son brought his rapist home for dinner. Or the time my grandsons brought a boy to me so broken, I cannot believe that the administration missed it. Trenton,” she added, before Regine could either ask or place the possibilities. Cynara had two grandsons – that she knew of, she added to herself – two years apart.

She remembered this boy. She nodded slowly, and did not interrupt.

“I may someday forgive you for the disservice you did to Boom as a whole, for years of dismissing us as unstable, as volatile.“ The words were nails the way she said them, hammered home with accuracy and strength. “For cursing us with your derision for being insane, when it was actions you condoned that sent us there.”

She had shifted as she spoke, small movements, animated ones. Now she froze, her gaze pinning Regine.

“I will never forgive you for what was done to Leofric. For watching his insanity for decades. For the fact that you let that bitch shatter him, and left us – broken ourselves, and children – to pick up the pieces.”

She leaned back in her chair. Regine was watching for it this time, waiting for the attack. Instead, she saw the moment that Cynara chose to put the anger away, carefully, as if in a box.

She had a momentary, incongruous memory: the chests Cynara had brought to school, large, clunky, and her only luggage. The sleeker, better-made ones Yoshi and Vidrou had brought, and then the carved boxes their children had pulled behind them like wagons, their wheels forged of steel.

The great-grandchildren had come to school with boxes, too, she realized, so elaborately carved that they looked like works of art.

That was worth considering at another moment. She waited, to see if Cynara was done.

“I spend fifty years–” Her voice was rough, as if she, too, was not sure if she was done or not– “carefully instructing twelve- and thirteen-year olds how to survive emotional abuse and rape without shattering. Teaching them how to lose just enough self to survive, without–”

Regine was certain that if she had not been there, Cynara’s voice would have broken. The woman lifted her chin, paused, and continued. “—without breaking, as their forebears did. I should hope you’ll forgive me, sa’Lady of the Lake, if I built a place with the hope of avoiding that in the future.”

“Your descendants still come to Addergoole.”

They were unwise words, stupid words, but they were the first thing that came to her lips. Why build the school, when all those great-grandchildren would not benefit from it?

“Well,” Cynara’s smile was tired, “if you recall, I did ask to be part of the Addergoole system initially. Since you turned that down – something about volatility, if I recall correctly? – I suppose I’ll just have to make sure as many children get the chance as possible. And besides, they get their first few years here. It’s an 8 to 18 program; that’s a good number of years to establish habits before they go to Addergoole, even if you call them at fourteen.”

Regine didn’t like it, but there was very little she could say to that. Except, she supposed – “And the oaths you swore?”

“Those ridiculous promises you make us all agree to, so that we can leave your place? They’re stupid, you know.” Cynara shook her head. “In this day and age, no child fails to know that fae exist. If you were seeking a level playing field – and what fun would that be, mm? – there are better ways to do it.” She stood up and tilted her head towards the door. “Professor Drake has been tormented by my little demon long enough. Why don’t we go rescue him?”

Regine nodded, rather than argue something where she had no polite way to do so. As they made her way down the stairs, however, Cynara continued, casually. “We don’t break our vows here, stupid though they may be. But you might consider, in due time, why some people’s children seem to know so much more, coming to Addergoole, than others’.”

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/961728.html

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Invisible People, a continuation of a thing.

Jul10

First: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/958781.html

“You are not what I bid on.”

The sub shop had delivered Steve as per their standard issue, hooded and bound. The gag was extra, but Steve understood why they’d added that part.

He looked up at the speaker — she’d said kneel and he’d knelt, not because he was feeling particularly obedient, but because he wanted the hood off — and tried to communicate his frustrated scorn by eyebrows alone.

She looked down at him with something that could have been irritation. “The Silver Quill has a very good reputation. They shouldn’t have mixed something like this up.”

Steve worked his mouth around the gag, trying to make his displeasure with being something like this as clear as possible. The sooner she worked through her little complaint-fest here, the sooner he could be out of these bindings and…

…he really didn’t know what came after that. He sat back against the bindings and waited. She’d come to her conclusion, or call the Quill, or something, eventually. All he could do was —

“Do you know what happened?”

Steve blinked. Him? She was looking at him, not at anyone else, not at a phone.

“You,” she agreed. “Did you overhear anything?”

He considered that. Those were two different answers. After a moment, he decided he could answer yes to both, and nodded.

“Okay, good. I’m going to take the gag out. It’s easier than playing twenty questions.”

Steve nodded again. What was he going to say? What could he say?

The gag coming out felt strange. The Quill had not really wanted to hear Steve, and so he’d been muzzled for most of the last week. He waited until she sat down in front of him, and then until she cued him to speak with a hand gesture.

“They wanted to get rid of me, as quickly as possible. Mistress.” He bowed his head carefully. It pulled at his bonds in several places. “And they said — that is, I overheard them saying you seemed like the sort that wouldn’t complain.”

Steve risked a glance at her. Her eyebrows were up and her lips were pursed. “Well, then. I suppose I ought to prove them wrong.”

Steven swallowed hard and thought harder. “Please don’t. Look. Please don’t send me back.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/959397.html. You can comment here or there.

Jumping Sharks, a dystopic story bit for Thimbleful Thursday

Jul9

The new TV shows were stretching further and further, going more and more extreme in their desire to get the viewer’s attention. First it had been the Extreme Games. Then it had been the Survivor Shows. Now… Now it was this.

Aisleigh left the television on as she tidied the house. She was an honest citizen in good standing, and so her home wasn’t monitored, of course. Still, it was easy to track viewing practices, so she left the TV going.

The bookshelves needed a good dusting. Not only did that make the place look sharper, Aisleigh often found things she’d mislaid, and, less often, bugs someone had intentionally hidden. If they thought she never moved The Lesser Uses for Goldenrod, well, then obviously they weren’t studying her all that hard.

“Today, here on The Biggest Challenge, we have a brand new obstacle! Stay tuned to see our contestants struggle to stay on their skis as the tow boat executes turn after turn. Will they make it? Just how skilled are they?”

The announcer’s voice dropped deeper and softer. “The station and the Enforcement would like to remind all of the viewers that theft, murder, and rape are crimes. All criminals will pay restitution to their victims and to the state. And we all know –” now his voice rose up into his dramatic near-shout “–what happens to those who cannot pay!”

The audience behind him shouted happily. “They dance the dance!”

It was, Aisleigh thought, one of the worst slogans: Those that can’t pay the fiddler must dance the dance. But it certainly kept the reality shows stocked with “actors.”

“Today,” the announcer declared, “triple-murderer Shaun Cortwright is going to face an even more exciting challenge. Today, he is going to have to jump a shark! Let’s see how long he can stay on the skis while the hungry beasts swim below him!”

Somewhere in a planning meeting somewhere, Aisleigh was certain, someone had uttered the phrase “jump the shark” to a director. And someone had said “that’s it!”

She turned off the television. Criminals couldn’t pay their restitution if they didn’t bring in the ad revenue. Certainly, people would watch. Bloodsports always garnered attention. But maybe, if enough people turned off the tv, someone would explain exactly what “jump the shark” was supposed to mean.

written to Today’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/959052.html. You can comment here or there.

A drabble of a thing I’ve been thinking of (Partially from something @cluudle said)

Jul8

in the same not-yet-a-‘verse as http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/938413.html

“You are not what I bid on.”

The sub shop had delivered Steve as per their standard issue, hooded and bound. The gag was extra, but Steve understood why they’d added that part.

He looked up at the speaker — she’d said kneel and he’d knelt, not because he was feeling particularly obedient, but because he wanted the hood off — and tried to communicate his frustrated scorn by eyebrows alone.

She looked down at him with something that could have been irritation. “The Silver Quill has a very good reputation. They shouldn’t have mixed something like this up.”

Steve worked his mouth around the gag, trying to make his displeasure with being something like this as clear as possible. The sooner she worked through her little complaint-fest here, the sooner he could be out of these bindings and…

…he really didn’t know what came after that. He sat back against the bindings and waited. She’d come to her conclusion, or call the Quill, or something, eventually. All he could do was —

“Do you know what happened?”

Steve blinked. Him? She was looking at him, not at anyone else, not at a phone.

“You,” she agreed. “Did you overhear anything?”

He considered that. Those were two different answers. After a moment, he decided he could answer yes to both, and nodded.

“Okay, good. I’m going to take the gag out. It’s easier than playing twenty questions.”

Steve nodded again. What was he going to say? What could he say?

The gag coming out felt strange. The Quill had not really wanted to hear Steve, and so he’d been muzzled for most of the last week. He waited until she sat down in front of him, and then until she cued him to speak with a hand gesture.

“They wanted to get rid of me, as quickly as possible. Mistress.” He bowed his head carefully. It pulled at his bonds in several places. “And they said — that is, I overheard them saying you seemed like the sort that wouldn’t complain.”

Steve risked a glance at her. Her eyebrows were up and her lips were pursed. “Well, then. I suppose I ought to prove them wrong.”

Steven swallowed hard and thought harder. “Please don’t. Look. Please don’t send me back.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/958781.html. You can comment here or there.

The Call Comes Again, a continuation of a fanfic of Narnia and Valdemar

Jul7

first: A Door in the Wall
Second: On the Other Side of the Door

…Perhaps you could find the help that you needed as well

Susan looked at Edmund, who was frowning. She looked at Lucy, who wore a smile which was at the same time hopeful and very confused. She looked finally at Peter, who was looking what she thought of as Kingly.

Help that they needed? What could it be that they all needed together?

Peter took a step forward. He bowed politely to the cat and cleared his throat. “Please,” he said, sounding so much like a schoolboy that it hurt Susan to listen. Who was this shy boy? “Where are we? And who am I speaking to?”

::You are in the southernmost corner of a nation called Valdemar, in a world that is not that which you were born on, nor the same world as your Narnia. And I am Tesnel. I am a Firecat, a representative of Vkandis Sunlord.:: The Cat – Firecat, Susan supposed – took a moment to groom herself. ::I was chosen to speak to you because of your affinity towards other catlike avatars of the gods. And… we need your help.::

Well, that was certainly an introduction. Susan, as she had so often done with Animals in Narnia, sat down on the ground to be closer to eye level with the Firecat. “What is it you need our help with? And, I’m sorry, but… do you have any proof?”

::Your time in both lives has made you cynical, Daughter of Eve.:: The cat did not sound as if she disapproved.

“Susan–” Peter began, but the cat cut him off.

::And I have brought some gifts for you that I believe may help you trust.:: The cat blinked, and a pile of objects appeared in front of her.

This was a magic Susan had not seen before, fascinating and strange. To make things appear out of nowhere! But the objects themselves — that was even more fascinating.

“Is that… is that my bow?” She knelt down, remembering at the last moment to wait politely for the others.

Edmund hung back, but, then again, Edmund had not received a present from Father Christmas all those years ago. Poor Edmund, Susan thought suddenly, to be reminded forever of what had really been one foolish, childish mistakes. As if none of the rest of them had ever done anything silly!

::Step forward, King Edmund. you have not been forgotten. Father Christmas, I am told, made a special trip for you.:: The Firecat nudged a package forward, wrapped in red paper with golden ribbons. ::Open it.::

Susan looked at Lucy, who was cradling her gifts. She looked at Peter, who was checking the line of his sword and posing. She looked back to Edmund, who was staring at the small package nervously.

::You were called the Just, and although it may not be fair that your gifts have waited so much longer than those of your siblings, it is just, for these gifts will serve you in much greater stead here in Valdemar.:: Tesnel pushed the package towards Edmund with a paw. ::Open it, King Edmund.::

Susan sat down next to her younger brother. “Open them, Ed. It’s okay.”

“You know why Father Christmas didn’t give me gifts when he gave them to the rest of you lot.” Edmund did not look at Susan; he was staring at the wrapped parcels. “I don’t deserve these.”

“I say,” Susan said, as firmly as she could muster, “that if Father Christmas says that now is the time for these presents, well then, you oughtn’t do him a disservice by ignoring them. Come on, Ed. It’s time.”

Edmund pierced her with a look, such an inscrutable look that Susan struggled not to gasp. “‘It’s time’, says Queen Susan. Then I guess it must be.” He opened the package, his fingers seeming to tremble on the wrappings.

::To be just,:: Tesnel seemed to whisper in their minds, ::you need both strength and understanding. The mace is an ugly weapon, King Edmund, that you remember that war is ugly and use it only when needed. And the vial, well, that offers understanding. One drop on your tongue, and you will speak any language. One in your ear, and you will understand any speech. One drop on your eyes, and you may read or write any language.::

Edmund managed a thank you that was rather stammered. To Susan’s eyes, he looked stunned. He touched the gifts again, as if reassuring himself that they were truly there.

::You will all have need of yours gifts soon, I’m afraid.:: Tesnel bowed her head. ::You have been called here because, as Narnia once was, Valdemar is now: they are in need of help. Soon, a companion will arrive to explain things to you. But know this, children of another land, kings and queens of Narnia: :: The firecat looked solemn and serious, in the way they had only known one other feline to look. ::This is not an easy road, but it is a necessary one. And it may be that you four are the only ones who can walk it.::

The firecat wiggled its whiskers, a gesture that should have been comical and was instead sad, and was gone, leaving the four of them standing alone in front of a strange forest.

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/963929.html

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A Double-AU Crossover in need of a title, part the second: Intimations

Jul7

First: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/955989.html

The tension was high in the room, and one of the most deadly people in the world was smiling at Tony. Things were about to get really, really bad.

Tony leaned back against his suit and grinned, his billionaire playboy philanthropist smile, all razzle and a little bit of dazzle. “Oh, you know me.” He flipped his hand sideways, taking in the whole tower and everything else. “I like to fuck everyone.”

He leaned forward before she could attack, which was a miracle in and of itself. She was holding back. Why was she holding back?

Hopefully, the same reason he was.

“And,” he added, in an entirely different voice, one he normally reserved for Pepper and other deadly serious situations, “I always keep my word. Including to my crew, Agent Romanoff. I seem to recall saying that the Avengers are the most important thing in my life — aside from Pepper, because you know she wouldn’t stand for being second to saving the world or anything.” He raised his eyebrows at her. Her move.

She rolled back on her heels, her hands settling at her sides. “You’re saying you’d be in a crew with a Shenera Osera.”

“No.” Tony shook his head, caught her eye, and smirked. “That would be crazy if, say, I was a Shenera Endra.” He flipped his hand negligently. “I’m an Avenger. You’re an Avenger. That makes us crew. The rest is just details.”

Deliberately, Tony threw off the most casual salute he had ever managed — it barely made it within a mile of his face — and turned back to the suit. “Could you pass me the welder?”

She was up against him before he’d finished the sentence. “You don’t like having things handed to you.” Her breath was warm on the back of his neck. In terms of stupid ways to die — well, he’d come up with worse.

“Crew, remember? Besides, Dum-E’s scared of you. You’re very intimidating.”

Natasha handed Tony the spot welder. Her hand lingered there, and her eyes lingered on his.

There were reasons he didn’t like being handed things. Tony held the eye contact. This was important.

“Tony? Tony, I know you’re in there. You’ve been avoiding your mail all week.”

Pepper had the world’s worst timing, or perhaps the world’s best. The door slid open and Pepper came around the corner, something waving in her hand.

Before Tony had had a chance to even think about moving, Romanoff was five feet away, leaning against Dum-E like he wasn’t terrified of her and studying her nails. “What did Tony do this time?”

Pepper was, of course, brilliant. She studied the two of them for a heartbeat, decided it was nothing she had to worry about, and looked directly at Tony, still shaking the letter. Proper paper, folded, he noted, with a wax seal. “Do you know what this is?”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Heavy rag paper, looks like, someone still using the outdated system of the US Postal Service – unless they sent it by Pony Express? The Post Office machines can’t handle wax seals. They didn’t consult Stark Industries on those. That was a Hammer design.”

Pepper didn’t listen. She had quite a bit of skill not listening to Tony. “This,” she hissed, her voice soft, “Is a letter from ‘the Council,’ demanding you explain your actions. Tony, who — or what — is the Council?”

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/978324.html

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