Archive | June 2016

The Day, a continuation, a ficlet of Doomsday Academy

Jun7

Acquiring Students
When my tablet runs out of battery…
The Crew Continues
Crew, Continued

Doomsday Academy, a few years under a decade before Cya Keeps Leo.

“We’re a day, you know.” They were on Aron’s bed again, cy’Lightning having proven the best at dealing with the nascent crew. Sunny was laying over the foot of the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Sunshine and darnkess,” she gestured at Kerr. “Stars,” she flopped a hand at Astarte, “and if we bend your name we get Aroon, and that’s a dawn.”

Aron raised his eyebrows. “That’s a day,” he agreed slowly. “Is that what we are?”

Sunny propped herself up to look at Astarte. The smaller girl looked back, twitched an eyebrow. Sunny shrugged one shoulder.

“Yeah,” Astarte answered. “I guess we are.”

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1121822.html

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But Not A Return, a continuation of a fanfic of Narnia and Valdemar

Jun5

(It’s friday somewhere? *innocent*
first: A Door in the Wall
Second: On the Other Side of the Door
Third: The Call Comes Again
Fourth: New Travelling Companions
Fifth: Complications and then Complications
Sixth: Stranger Things
Seventh: A Change and Changes

“It seems like they’re used to Heralds coming through,” Peter whispered into the dark. Marna’s friend Orna had put them all up in a broad sleeping loft where, she told them, her sons had slept before they’d left the house.

“And as they’ve not come back with wives and children yet, well, the space is open and someone might as well sleep there,” she’d continued, fussing over all of their protestations. “And there’s food for the eating, and the clothes fit you two well enough, and…” And on she’d gone, but she hadn’t turned down Susan and Lucy’s offers of help in the kitchen, nor Peter and Edmund’s offer to split wood for the coming winter.

“Even our age, or younger. Soleck had to explain a couple times that we hadn’t been Chosen, whatever that means. Seems like these Heralds do a lot more than just pass messages,” Edmund offered.

“If the Horses – Companions – are that rare here, it would make sense. You might team a messenger up with a talking Horse if you had them, or for a very urgent message…” Lucy had skill in keeping her voice very quiet, and yet sounding excited and ready to jump from her bed, as she did now.

“I heard them ask Soleck for a judgement on a small matter,” Peter murmured. “And he sounded as if he was used to such things. It seems reasonable that he might be empowered to send us on such a mission as this.”

“The question is,” Susan put in, “the mission itself. Not only ‘can we do it’, but should we? I mean… we can assume that Aslan sent us here, and if we assume that, then yes, we should do the mission. But…”

“But a cat is not a lion,” Peter agreed quietly, “and there are times when others pretend to speak with Aslan’s voice. I say… I say we go along for the time being, and do our best not to stumble too badly.”

“At least until we can find out what a stumble might mean, here.” Edmund sounded thoughtful. “I mean, will we end being turned to stone, or, well…”

“Causing a major diplomatic incident by wearing the wrong veil,” Susan filled in. She had made her own mistakes, back in Narnia, back on Earth. “Or simply irritate an ambassador by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“We should tread carefully and make friends,” Lucy agreed brightly. “It’s a nice world, so far. The people are nice. The houses are nice.”

“I do miss Mr. and Mrs. Beaver,” Susan admitted softly. “But this is a nice house. And everyone’s been so kind so far.”

“Perhaps there’s a war.” Peter sounded distant. “Lucy and Ed are right. We’ll have to tread very carefully indeed here. We’ll have to remember that this isn’t home – and that this isn’t home, either.”

“But we can find their… but we can do this mission, yes?” Lucy was nearly leaning out of her bunk. “It sounds like quite the adventure!”

“We can take the mission, yes.” Peter sounded like himself again. Trust Lucy to remind him he had a heart. “Something brought us here, after all. We should find out what, at the very least. And the best way to do that is to play along.”

Susan curled in her bunk, trying to ignore the cold feeling in her chest. She had often been the pragmatic one in their little team. Why, now, was she fighting it?

She wrapped her arms around her knees and made herself sound bright as she backed Peter up. “I’m sure we can learn much more about them than they’d expect. As Ed said, we look younger than we are.”

“We are younger than we are,” Lucy laughed. “I wonder how long we’ll be here, this time…?”

“I’m sure we’ll find out. Just don’t leave any pots on the boil anywhere,” Edmund joked.

“But for now,” Peter put in firmly, “we should sleep. We’ll have a long day ahead of us in the morning.”

Susan closed her eyes. An old verse of Narnian poetry came to her mind, and she recited the words silently until she could make herself sleep.

My love, I but stepped out a bit; my love, I but to the fence did flit.
My love, ‘twas just a moment gone. I swear I would return anon.

next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1122353.html

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1118143.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Goat Diplomacy, a story of Reiassan in the early days, up on Patreon

Jun2

“They burn dung.” The junior ambassador to the Ideztozhyuh hissed it out in a horrified whisper. “They’re burning goat waste in those horrid little stoves, Angirie!”

“They do.” The senior ambassador didn’t share his associate’s horror; indeed, he was smirking. “And they drink the fermented milk of their nanny goats, and they wear underthings made from spun goat wool. They boil the hooves down for a kind of gelatinous stew and they wear the horns as jewelry. They’re goat-riders, Hanzio. What did you expect?”

(read on…)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1117393.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

German Potato Salad & tastes of home

Jun2

Guys, I made German Potato Salad this weekend!

This is a ~thing~ for me, because GPS (always “GPS”) is one of the major staples of family picnics in my natal family. My grandma made it, my mom makes it… I’ve never made it.

I made it with purple potatoes and jowl bacon, which did a bit to get my brain out of the “will this taste like home?” place, and I think it turned out pretty delicious. Not just like grandma’s or Mom’s… but still delicious.

I was a slacker and forgot to call Mom for the receipt – thus part of the problem with getting it to taste right – so I used this recipe http://www.foodiecrush.com/german-potato-salad/ – and added chives, because this time of year we have loads and loads of chives and not much else.

It didn’t taste quite like home, but it tasted reminiscent of home, which, I think, is pretty darn good for a first try.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1116949.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

#ThrowbackThursday: 100 millihelens

Jun2

June 2, 2005: I had to go way back for this one; turns out I don’t write on June 2 very often. I was in a microfiction phase back then, certainly not for the first or last time. This is actually one of my favorites:

This is what they mean when they say “she’ll leave a bad taste in your mouth.”

Look at her. She’s fragile and lovely, like a butterfly’s wings, like a peacock feather (the eyes of a jealous goddess). She will break in your hand if you’re not careful; she’ll fly away if you’re not patient. You are drawn like a (dull, drab) moth to those lovely colors, the brilliant blue of her eyes and the clear gold of her hair. If you were a more clever predator, you’d realize that (as with many pretty little things) those bright hues signify “poison.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1116864.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

June Patreon Theme: Reiassan

Jun2

The poll has closed, and June’s Patreon theme is Reiassan!

Home of Rin & Girey, Edally Academy, goat-riding Calenyena and the Bitrani that just can’t win, Reiassan is a setting spanning thousands of years and an entire continent and then some.

And you can read more of it!

Think about it this way.

For $1/month, you’re getting $40 worth of my writing – and for everyone else who pledges, that amount goes up. It’s a magazine subscription, but one with no ads, where you get to vote on the content monthly.

For $5/month, you’re on the editorial board. YOU tell me what to write. YOU pick characters and themes and even pregnant forests for the serials. YOU pick characters for me to commission art of. You’re in the driver’s seat.

And if you like that, for $7/month, you can have your own super-secret story, written only for people at that prompting level (Be the first! Pick your very own story!)

Want even MORE exclusivity? Pledge $15/month and it’ll be like commissioning your own very story – a short piece of fiction ONLY for you.

Check it out!
Every pledge made gets us close to all patrons having more words in their inbox each month!

Icons by djinni (1st & last 2), [personal profile] inventrix (3rd), [personal profile] itsamellama (4th) and [deviantart.com profile] ev1ct-cm

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1116424.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

The Jury, a story for #ThimblefulThursday

Jun2

“I don’t like him.” Steven clearly had a group agreeing with him already – four of the 12 refugees in their little haven were nodding along. Steven’s reasons were obvious; Mal equally so. The rest had their own logic.

“I don’t think ‘like’ really enters into it,” Connie countered. She could see four others siding with her – including Inga, the reason Steven & Mal were against this.

“I think with all of us crammed in here, like is pretty damn important,” Steve argued. “Besides, I don’t trust him, and that definitely matters.” He wasn’t looking at Connie; he was looking at Dave and LaTasha, who both were still on the fence. “How did he survive out there? He doesn’t look like he’s been going all that hungry. What if some other group trusted him, let him in…”

“Hey!” Inga glared at Steven. “Spurious much?”

“I’m just saying…”

Connie cleared her throat. “Regardless… It doesn’t actually matter.”

“Bullshit it doesn’t.” Mal glared at her. “He can’t be trusted; he can’t come in.”

“None of us filled out an application. None of us were voted on,” Connie insisted. “We found this place. It’s not like we owned it, before.” She caught LaTasha’s eye. She’d nearly swayed her. “We were looking for a safe haven. And we found it.”

“Exactly!” Steven glared at her. “WE found it. Let him find his own.”

He’d nearly convinced Dave. Connie dropped her voice to counter his shouting.

“There’s nothing nearby. We’ve all looked. Guys… he’s a human being, and we’re human beings. We have to let him in.”

“Do we just let everyone in, then?” Mal spat. “Where does it end?”

Ing jumped to her feet. “This is ridiculous! I’ll be out there. Waiting.” She ignored Steven & Mal calling to her and swung the door open.

She stopped just outside. “You bastards. All your arguing… and he’s just gone.”

Connie was pretty sure she was the only one that heard LaTasha mutter “Case closed.”

This is written to May 19th’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1115942.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

Behind the Door

Jun1

That door!

It tingled when she walked by; on grey days, it shone. Garish yellow in a black wall, it stood out against bracketing brownstones. In the sunshine, it was an ugly door, but boring.

In the rain, it moved, but only when she wasn’t looking: she’d glance away and hear hinges squeak, peek back and see it cracked open, look away only to see it closed when she looked back. It tingled; it piqued the curiosity.

She waited in the rain, pretending not to watch.

The doorknob turned. The door creaked open. She held her breath, peeked sidelong.

“Curiosity,” a voice slurked out of the oily shadows. “How rare. How strange.” It tingled, ached, prickled. She turned slowly to face the shadow in the doorway.

“How delicious.” She had no time, no breath, to scream. A gulp, and she was devoured.

The yellow door tingled, sometimes, in the rain. But the house behind it shone in the sun, and the doors inside were endless.


I started a new occasional thing on Thimbleful Thursday, since I got the prompts prescheduled through next September.

Tell-Me Tuesday asks a question: this week‘s prompt was “Who’s behind the door?”

165 words, just barely in the limit.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1115829.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable