Archive | April 2017

Cats – a story piece/outtake/worldbuilding from my Camp Nano novel

[personal profile] rix_scaedu asked for cats. Here’s some cats, with my camp nano protaganist.

This ‘verse really needs a name.

Jen liked cats, always had.

Face families weren’t allowed to have cats. They weren’t allowed to have pets at all — it was a point of change, a point of interest — but sometimes if the “host family” had kept a dog, they would have a dog for a little while.

If you used magic around dogs for too long, you ended up with a dog who was a lot more… dog. They were cleverer, more loyal, the sort of dog that waited weeks for their masters or learned how to open the doors and fetch the beer.

If you used magic around cats for too long, they ended up… strange. They were the sort of cats that slipped outdoors when no doors were open, seemed to be talking back to you (and sometimes were), trailed good luck or bad behind them like a flag and waved it at anyone who annoyed them — or sometimes at random passers-by.

Sometimes, she’d heard, you ended up with cats who would eat up a sign or a design, just rub against it and it was gone, and then spit it out later on a whim. You had cats who really, really liked their person, and those cats just vibrated with magic.

Jen wanted a cat.

The Stepford Angels didn’t have regulations the way Face families had, but they still had pragmatic rules. She was on the road more than she was “home;” she spent much of her time blending in, being invisible, much like she had when she was a Face. There wasn’t a lot of room for any sort of pet, much less one that might suddenly set off fireworks.

But it didn’t stop her from wanting the cat, staring every cat that wandered by, and, sometimes, leaving good-luck charms for the cats to rub against and take with them.

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Luke’s Rescue Mission 2

After Exclamation Points. Sword/Lady timeline, so maybe 50-75 years after the apocalypse, probably canon.

When Luke got back to Addergoole with Heraclea, Patronus, and the kids — Mike had shown up after two days with a teleporter and a clairvoyant, looking miffed and clearly trying to hide a worried expression — he sent Cynara a fruit basket full of the most exotic fruits Addergoole’s magical greenhouses could grow, a brief note telling her who he’d found, and what he’d rescued them from, and copies of all of Addergoole’s most recent survey maps of North America.

She sent him back one of the maps — Texas-area, he noted, where the third of her original “trouble spots” had been — with eight color-coded dots listed as “need rescue or help, soon; might be in trouble in the next year; they’re doing something hinkey, keep an eye on; and “you might want to deputize.”

Along with that was a list of three other people who might be interested in helping him rescue or check on alumni — all of them Addergoole grads and two of them people Luke had enjoyed teaching — along with their locations and a note that said if you don’t have a teleporter, I can loan you one.

Luke might have thought she was trying to keep him occupied, distracted even, but by the time he got her package, he had already gone to the second spot on her map.

Ehud had been at Addergoole twenty-five years ago, and prone to getting in trouble even then. Now, he looked as much abashed as relieved as Luke waded into the slave market and bought up his contract.

“Anyone else from Addergoole here?” he snarled. He hated slave markets, but this one was too far from Addergoole — on the edge of the Appalachians — for him to start making a point about taking it over.

“Um.” Ehud shifted. “No. But there’s a fae girl who’s never heard of it, and one from Doomsday. She’s super embarrassed,” he added, “but it makes her angry. And then she fights the slavers…”

“Right.” Luke was glad that Ehud had come cheap. “Show them to me.”

He sent Cya all three fae, once they’d been freed, cleaned up, and fed, a box of chocolates Maureen only made for special occasions, and, after a little shouting, a list of Addergoole students and their children, as comprehensive as they had.

She sent him back the list with several annotations, the Florida-quarter quadrant marked up — this time with names — and some very nice whisky.

She also sent a note: if you can’t kill the bad ones, the really bad ones, I know someone who deals in justice.

When he got back from Texas with his newly-recruited posse, he sent her (at Laurel’s suggestion) some samples of fiber plants they’d been working on, and a student of theirs who appeared very good at Finding with a note They need summer study. Teach them what you do?

He wasn’t at all surprised when her next package included a contract on behalf of the Finder. He didn’t think twice before he signed it — though he did ask Drake to read it over first.

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Worldbuilding: The Agencies Meet

To Lilfluff’s Prompt, ” Something relating to the agencies discovering each other?” This is more of my Camp Nano project

The Joining

Cade Ferrel’s organization didn’t even have a name, just “Agency 3-1-7″ and “Protocols 7, 9, and 12″. They didn’t have a budget line, or at least not an admitted one, and the money they got wasn’t impressive by anyone’s standards.

(There was a rumor his predecessor had once turned a surveillance job, posing as a panhandler, into a hundred percent increase in the month’s budget. While Cade was pretty sure that was an exaggeration, it still remained a very telling story.)

What Agency 3-1-7 had was a very open-ended mandate and a couple extremely open-ended laws about how they performed that mandate.

And Cade was looking at a witch who swore up and down that magic was real.

Now, Cade had encountered lots and lots of people who swore just about everything was real, from the Moon Landing to aliens to brain-tapping via tap water (“why do you think they call it tap water?”) to a magical ritual being what really killed Kennedy. But most of them didn’t have Top Secret government clearances and badges that matched Cade’s for obscurity.

This particular so-called witch belonged to Agency 3-2-9, with a sub-reference to Protocol 19. Cade had actually heard of Protocol Nineteen; even though Agency 3-1-7 didn’t fall under it, sometimes they used it for this and that. Mostly that, lately, where that meant bending the law because we don’t have any funding.

The witch was telling Cade that there were things that could be done to surveil without equipment. With the only cost being in time and getting one of Agency 3-2-9’s workers in place for ten minutes.

Ten minutes! Cade was in love.

Cade wasn’t going to have to panhandle to make budget this quarter.

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Here, Kitty, Kitty

A sequel to a feral cat-girl

Mike was far less help than Luke had hoped he’d be. Mostly, Mike was standing off to one side, laughing. “Luke, only you could go looking for students and find a feral tiger.”

“She’s not one of ours. At least, I don’t recognize her and she looks a little too old to be one we were supposed to get.” Luke shifted his grip as the catgirl tried to bite him. “I don’t think she has rabies but I don’t really want to find out the hard way, and I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Have you tried talking to her?” Mike smirked from his safe position out of harm’s way. “I know that’s not really your specialty….”

You try talking to her. I think she thinks I’m dinner.”

“You know, I think some chatting would do you good. Just say hi to her, Luke.”

Mike!

“Just a couple words, then I’ll help.”

Luke sighed. “Hello, kitty.” He felt stupid. She was snarling at him more like a cat than a person. Right, what would he say to an unhappy animal? “Easy, there. I don’t want to hurt you.” He mellowed his voice. “I don’t. I have some food back in the van, actually, if you’re hungry.” She wasn’t over-thin, but if she was wild, she was probably hungry. “And fresh water. Do you understand? Water.”

She’d stilled and was staring at him. He didn’t know if she followed anything he said, but she seemed to be relaxing.

Then, suddenly, she stared over his shoulder. Her ears went back and she hissed.

Luke turned, half-losing his grip on the girl as he did so, just as what was clearly a dog-boy leapt on Mike.

next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1309910.html

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Funeral: Theft and Ownership

First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Family Problems

Senga’s good mood only lasted until they got to the parking lot. Erramun had stopped growling, but he didn’t look happy – not that she expected him to; she wouldn’t have been in his situation, and she wasn’t sure she was in her situation.

“I think you frightened her,” she murmured. “This is my car.” She nodded her head at the nondescript vehicle in the nondescript color behind them, a mintish-green Corolla she’d bought because it looked like a hundred other cars within any given three-block radius.

He raised his eyebrows. “Making a lack of statement?”

“Exactly.” She beeped the car open and slid into the driver’s seat. “Unless you’re worried about your ride being stolen, why don’t you come with me now, and we’ll come back for your vehicle later?”

“I walked.” He slipped into the passenger’s seat. “I don’t – didn’t – live that far from here. But.” He coughed and shifted in his seat, not looking at her. “There’s stuff I don’t want to leave there too long.”

“Right. I’ll show you my place, then you can go get your things. I have to get ready to take possession of a manor, anyway.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Family manor? Why’s your cousin want it?”

“Same reason she wants you, possibly. Because it’s mine.”

“She probably wants to use me as a murder weapon,” he pointed out, managing to look at Senga this time.

“Well, she might want to use the house as a kill zone. It’s been used for that before.”

“And what about you?” He sounded like he was forcing the words out. Considering the situation, Senga couldn’t blame him.

“Me?” She eyed him sideways. “I’m not in the business nor habit of murder. What I want to do with you – well, I’m going to have to figure that out, aren’t I? I didn’t expect to get anything from Great-Aunt Mirabella, much less…”

“…a slave.”

“A Kept. A responsibility.” She managed a small smile. “They’re not quite the same thing, you know.”

“I was alive when your grandmother was nursing at the teat,” he countered.

“Unlikely, but possible. I’m young, but my family isn’t. And my grandmother was Great-Aunt Mirabella’s sister.”

“…Unlikely, then,” he agreed. “You still don’t have to educate me in what being your bond and bound servant means.”

“Of course I do.” She maneuvered the car through traffic and wondered how she was going to explain this to her team. “You know what the words mean and probably know the law – and the fae Law – better than I do, but that doesn’t mean you know anything about how I handle having a bond servant.” If they were going to use that term, which was strange, archaic, and just like Great-Aunt Mirabella, she was going to make sure they were using it the same.

He was eyeing her sidelong. “You are young. What do you mean, ‘how you handle it?’ A collar is a collar is a collar.”

“Now that,” she said, feeling a little bit irritated and letting it show, “is just about the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all day, and I’ve been around my family.”

next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1322137.html

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Tootfiction/Thimbleful Thursday: At Arm’s Length

She’d learned early that the thing to do was hold your-gloved, armored-arms out and push. The things weren’t clever, weren’t strong, were just persistent. With your arms held in the direction of the things, you could plow through. Facemask down, coat on, push.

The first time had been a surprise. She’d come out the other end pleased to survive. After that, she pushed everywhere. Need food? Push. Need a new hideout? Push.

When she pushed and someone pushed back, she was briefly stumped.


Written to March 30th’s Thimbleful Thursday prompt as an experiment in tootfiction – 500-character-or-less fic.

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Exclamation Points, Lady/Sword Timeline, Luke

Explanation: (Cal you can skip this part you were there)

Okay, here goes.

So: This is in the Lady/Sword timeline after Cya releases Carew and Leo releases Jeska (in late spring/early summer). Cya doesn’t Keep someone – a very notable even – because she has Plans.

These Plans are, OOC, part of the merging of the timelines. IC, they’ll show up soon enough.

Luke gets antsy, the way he does when Boom starts doing something different, and comes to visit to ask them about it.

In the course of that visit, Cya gets a little tetchy, and not just the purposeful level of tetchy she was doing to prod Luke (see: plans).

She gets a map of the former US and Finds with her power the five places where Addergoole alum actually need Luke’s intervention. She highlights them and tells him exactly what the map is for.

Luke, of course, is going to go look, because what else do you do when faced with that? Not go try to save the students you taught who might be at risk?

And yes, Cya is up to something. But this is Cya. She is always up to something.

I wonder what she and Xanatos would do if faced with each other?


​Luke was paying attention.

He had been paying more and more attention for the last decade, but now he felt like he/ was coming out of a fog. He was looking at students, he was asking them questions and actually getting answers; he was asking other teachers questions and getting some very interesting answers.

Last year he had stopped two cases of potential abuse before they’d gotten that far, and when Regine had argued with him, he had raised his eyebrows and waited, an expression he was pretty sure he’d picked up from Cya.

From the grumbling way that Regine had handled that one – he’d brought Mike in on that, too, because one of the abusers had been one of Mike’s Students – she’d seen a resemblance, too.

He was paying attention, but the map Cynara had handed him had still thrown him for a loop. Those are your five Addergoole alum most in need of your intervention or the intervention of the school as a whole, she’d said, and pointed at a map, one, two, three, four, five.

He looked at the first one. It was around a place he was pretty sure wasn’t a town anymore. The last time he’d been there – had to be at least a generation ago now – it had been a wasteland, a ghost town with half the buildings crumbled, the skeletons of the dead still where they’d fallen.

That first one felt pretty intense, like exclamation points. I’d look at that one first. She’d said it casually. She wielded a power that could find anything like some people wielded minor telekinesis. Luke still wasn’t sure whether he ought to be running away, attacking, or asking for more help.

He looked at the map one more time and took flight. There was someone who needed help, with exclamation points. He was going to go help.

He flew off having left Mike a note as to where he’d gone and why. If he didn’t come back, someone would need to clean up the mess, he supposed. It was a strange thought for him, if he didn’t make it back. Those weren’t thoughts he often – ever! – had. Not in centuries.

It could be a trap. He didn’t think it was. He was pretty sure that traps weren’t Cynara’s style, or, if they were, they wouldn’t come with paper trails.

Cynara, he reminded himself, was Feu Drake’s Student. He’d had more than a few concerns over cy’Drake over the years, and some of them had been justified.

He still didn’t think it was a trap.

He Worked the air and the forces around him, folded his wings tight against his back, and shot through the air quickly. This was too far away. He should have used a teleporter. He should have used a car. Something.

He flew, fast and arrow-like, zooming through the air, not looking at the scenery more than he had to to orient himself.

He landed at sunset, an easy three hours’ normal flight away, strapped himself high up in a tree, ate three of Laurel’s energy bars, and slept until dawn.

The next day he pushed himself, feeling the pressure of Cya’s pretty intense, like exclamation points.

He saw the place come into sight an hour after he started flying. It looked even more of a wasteland than it had the last time he passed it. The roads, such as they were, leading into it had been marked with yellow and orange paint in a skull and crossbones. There were at least three teams that he knew of that did something similar: Warning, this place is dangerous. Sometimes it meant this place hates fae.

He circled out of easy arrow- or gunshot range, looking for something, anything. The place was overgrown with vines, twisting around all the buildings. In some cases, they’d actually pulled the buildings down.

“Here! Help!” The voice was thin, barely audible. It could be a trap. Luke swooped down anyway.

“Here!” A second voice joined the first. Luke homed in on the voices, found them in a broken-roofed former house. He recognized one of the right away. Heraclea. There was no mistaking that height or that magenta hair. .

He perched on the broken edge of the roof and looked down at them. They were both tangled in vines, looking pale and far too thin. Patronus, that was the other one. Of course. If Heraclea was here… He’d been so proud of them, staying together after graduation. “Don’t you have Huamu?” he demanded. Not that either of them looked in any shape to do any Workings right now.

“Don’t let them touch you,” Heraclea warned. “They’re… not exactly Huamu. They’re not exactly they.

“They’re uh. Some sort of fae. And neither of us are great at the whole flesh thing, but there’s definitely a mind.”

“Where’s the kids?” Luke’s heart was in his throat. Had he taken too long to get here?

“I think- I think there’s a nursery.” Heraclea’s voice was tight. “They’re too little, we think. Too little to be good eating. Luke, if you can’t get us, get them.”

“Where’s the mind?” he demanded. “Is it sensing me, here?”

Patronus muttered a long Working that left him even more ashen and faint-looking. “The mind, it’s in – it’s the Town Hall, I think. And it only knows what it touches. It’s blind, but it can sense wind currents. Luke, it’s huge.”

Luke set his jaw. “Then I’d better surprise it. Hold on, kids. I’ll get you out of there.”

He rose up into the air and circled. There was the Town Hall, and now that he looked, he could see that the vines all got bigger as they went in that direction. there wasn’t a hole in the roof in this one, though. He circled twice before finding a place to land, on the edge of the fountain facing the town hall.

He ate another energy bar, saving the last two for the kids, and stared at the building. He was going to have to do this quickly, not give the thing a chance to react.

He ran over the Workings four times in his head, holding perfectly still, and then shot them off as quietly and as quickly as he had ever spoken. The first one cut off every vine leading out of the building, Destroyed a long stretch of the plant-flesh and froze the outer end of the stumps. The second one found everything that counted as Tlacatl – flesh of makers, humans and fae – in the town. The children were not in the building with the monster; they were several buildings away.
The third one wrapped every Tlacatl being not the monster in a force shield, while the fourth Working ripped through the building the monster’s core was in, pulling every bit of heat out of it and freezing the thing solid.

Luke walked in – strolled in, if he was being honest, and found the being that looked almost human, if bloated, green, gigantic, and frozen – at the heart of it. He took aim with his rowan sword and cut the thing’s head off.

After that, it was a matter of collecting the kids – not just Patronus’ and Heraclea’s three, either; there were seven pre-pubescent children being fed on some sort of plant nectar, freeing Patronus and Heraclea, and burning the rest of the plant-monster until there was nothing but ash left.

Exclamation points, he thought to himself, and took a long hard look at the other four points on Cya’s map.

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#faepril – a feral cat-girl

So [personal profile] anke is doing #faepril over on tumblr (see here) so I decided to write some fae descriptions. Here’s Luke wrangling a wild catgirl.

I kid you not, this showed up on the random Ellehemaei generator.

She wasn’t so much hiding as she was stalking him, Luke realized. He kept getting flashes of her from the corner of his eye – she’d left her Mask down so he could see the catlike ears, the long lashing tail, both striped in a ginger almost the same color as her hair, which fell in wild curls to both sides of her face. He could see the muscles working in her arms as she swung down from a tree branch to land on a roof, but then he lost sight of her for a moment before catching her behind a building, tail lashing, far too much of her dark-tanned honey-brown skin showing. Was she wearing clothes?

It took him several minutes of waiting patiently, sitting in the center of what had been a quaint little town some time ago, before he realized she was actually blinking out of existence. Then she blinked in front of him and he moved, fast as he ever had, and managed to catch her, gently, one hand on each wrist and stiff-arming.

She snarled, teeth like a big cat’s, all sharp and dangerous and – oh, one was broken, that had to hurt, and struggled, but it seemed like she couldn’t flash away when he had her held and she wasn’t stronger than him, no matter how strong she was.

Of course, now he had the tiger by the tail, as it was. “Mike,” Luke bellowed – at this point he wasn’t going to spook this little wild fae any more than he already had. “A hand?”

Here, kitty, kitty: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1305115.html

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Beauty-Beast 10: Impressions

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🔒

“Ctirad.” There was a hand on his chin, with a grip that he would have to fight to get out of. He held even stiller, if that was possible. “I did not buy you to use you. I bought you to have you, yes. To own you. But not to use you.”

“But…” Ctirad felt his brow furrow. “Why? And…” He considered his question before deciding he had already pushed all his limits and might as well keep pushing. “What’s the difference? And why have slaves if you’re not going to use them?”

“That – well, both of those, it’s going to take time to answer, because the answers need to be lived. But the short version is, if I’m using you, it has nothing to do with you, just a vessel for my wants.”

“…I Belong to you, sir.”

“Sir,” Sal said quietly from the front seat. “When you end Ermenrich, can I be there?”

Ctirad flinched back, although the hand on his chin kept him from moving far. “I’m fine,” he protested. “You make it sound like I’m sort of whipped dog and he was holding the whip.”

“I’m sorry, Ctirad.” The hand released his chin, only to appear a moment later on his shoulder. “You’re right. You have… beliefs that don’t mesh with how I handle Keeping, that’s all.”

The rush of misery that flooded over Ctirad was nothing new, yet somehow it was even worse than it had been with Ermenrich. He bowed his head and held his shoulders stiff and tight and straight. “I’m sorry, sir,” he muttered. “I’ll try-”

“Balls. Listen, please. Just try – not an order, a request – try to give it a couple weeks until you can see how things work in my household before assuming you’re going to be pimped out or put out on a leash to kill, all right? I want you to understand how I want to treat you, but I don’t think you can, yet.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” he didn’t know what to do with not an order. He clenched his fists in his lap and waited for punishment or explanation of his mistakes.

He didn’t expect the soft hand on his cheek. “I know it’s not going to be easy. But I think you can adjust, if you trust me a little bit and give me a little time to show you what I want of you – and what you can expect from me in return. All right?”

What was he supposed to say to that? “Yes, sir.” He tried not to lean into the touch, but it felt good, and he had not been touched so much in the last two months as he had since Timaios had taken possession of him.

“I think – I think it is time for you to see me.” Timaios still sounded reluctant. Ctirad was beginning to get concerned about what his new Owner must look like. “I think I have to start introducing you to me sooner rather than later. You can open your eyes.”

Ctirad opened his eyes slowly, letting himself adjust to the light. It was late in the day, the sun not too bright, but he’d had his eyes closed for a while.

He blinked a few times before his new Owner’s face came into view, and then he blinked a few more times. “You’re…” He worked his jaw and blinked again.

“Yes,” Timaios agreed. “That’s the first reaction.”

“…. You’re Tim Kaprinsky. You’re the mogul. The- uh. The mogul heir. You’re Tim Kaprinsky? And you wanted me. And Ermenrich crossed you. And – and you wanted me.”

“Yes.” His new owner nodded. His face, along with being famous, was perfect, chiseled cheekbones, firm chin, dark brown hair just long enough to look tousled, skin just a few shades lighter than his hair, eyes a sort of golden hazel. Ctirad worked his jaw a couple more times and thought about being the bedroom toy of Tim Kaprinsky.

🔒

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Second Worldbuilding Post of the Night – ‘Verse without a Name – my Camp Nano Project

I’ve been doing some worldbuilding for my as-of-yet-unnamed-World for my Camp Nano Project, which is either called The Hidden City or Dealer’s Choice or Where the Wild THINGS Went.

[personal profile] clare_dragonfly asked: Do the three different capitalized types use different kinds of magic?

Yes!

Well, yes and no.

Okay, so most of the organized magic in this world works in Signs, Sigils and Designs, a Sigil being a more complicated Sign and a Design being a more complicate Sigil or pattern of Sigils.

But the different types of workers for The Agencies – Agents, Workers, and Faces, I said, but I think Agents are Hands. And I’m not entirely sure about Workers, they might be Eyes – well, each of them specialize in different sorts of those things.

For instance, a Face is going to be very good at nothing interesting to see here and there’s nothing strange going on. They’re all about making things appear as normal as possible, so that people don’t panic, even when their government, at least The Agencies in their government, are doing awful things.

An Eye is going to be good at surveillance signs, the sort of thing that tells them what happens, or if someone crosses a certain trip-line point, or if a specific person touches that sign. They set up designs looking for certain sets of words, or for certain complaints.

A Worker, a Hand, will use signs to enforce compliance, or to strengthen them, or to protect them – combat magic, more or less. They are aimed at being the elite forces of The Agencies, and magic is certainly part of that.

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