Archive | January 2018

Small Town, USA – a blog post on Stranded

Originally posted on Patreon.

Autumn spends a lot of time in really small towns.  I mean, some of that is just that’s what she seems to like, but you’d think she’d spend more time in big cities that have big craft festivals, wouldn’t you?  I mean, she’s trying to make enough of a living to pay for the occasional inn or motel or Bed N’ Breakfast room, and those aren’t cheap.I like small towns.

I grew up between three small towns, out in the middle of farmland (literally: My parents built their house on land my grandfather and his father before him had farmed, on a road my grandfather literally built as a high school summer job).  I grew up with a small-town library where the librarian knew me and I knew her, in the sort of place where a party really is a bonfire in someone’s backyard because, really, where else are you going to  go?  My parents grew up in small towns.  Pretty sure at least two of my grandparents did, too.  We’re small town people, rural people.

I have to admit, some stereotypes of small-town living (Everyone knows everyone, for instance) I never really understood.  I mean, I knew my neighbors, but in farmland, that isn’t all that many people.  And small towns these days often have housing tracts tacked onto the sides of them, apartment complexes, trailer parks.  So they’re not that image of small-town living that seems to permeate the media (And, to look at another setting for a moment, Regine’s vision of a small town with The Village outside of Addergoole)  The houses go back layer after layer from Main Street.  You go over the canal (in many cases) or the railroad tracks and you’re almost in another neighborhood.  But you’ll still run into people you know at the grocery store, at the Fireman’s Carnival (I haven’t written a story about anyone at a carnival yet, have I?), at the Canal Days Craft Festival (Where Autumn really ought to have a booth…)
Continue reading

Into the Woods, Into the House

First: A story featuring a male keeper and a female Kept.
Previous: Crazy Like a Fox

The return of “Mdom not asshole”.  I cannot find that I posted this first part, but if I have, I apologize. 

🌳🌳🌳

The gate was still terrifying. Mélanie felt far too relieved by Jesper’s hand on her leg and the warmth of him pressed against her side. She needed it; she was fighting against panic with every step the horses took.

The horses didn’t seem to mind at all. She found that reassuring. They walked through the creepy, terrifying gate, waited placidly while Jasper closed the gate behind them and locked it, and headed cheerfully towards what seemed to all appearances to be a half-collapsed stone stable and carriage house. Continue reading

Beauty-Beast 28: Power

FirstPreviousLanding PageNext

This chapter comes with an additional content warning:
While I’m dancing around it quite a bit in this chapter, there is body horror in what Ctirad and his former Owner find in the basement.

🔒

Ctirad leaned against Timaios again and focused on his breathing.  “Can I…”  What was he doing.  “…Sorry, nothing, sir.”

“You may ask for anything you want without punishment, Ctirad, especially while you are here, alone in my room, and someone is doing something as intimate as searching your memories.”

“It’s all right, sir. It’s nothing.” Continue reading

A New World: History is in the Eye of the Beholder

First: A New World
Previous: Made In the Ikitem Peninsula

A map.  She wondered if there were maps anywhere in this place.

The next couple floors proved not so helpful – informative, but not for what she wanted at the moment.  There was a diagram of what a typical house would look like in the time of  Kaelingrade Torrent-Step, which was remarkably accurate but made her wonder what people lived like in this day and age.  They even had a couple different rooms mocked up.  She was pretty sure the bedroom had come from Joaon’s home, the place he had lived before she had taken him in.

There was an explanation of potion-making that relied a little too heavily on the mundane properties of some of the reagents but explained, in detail she would need to go back and read, how certain inventions of the modern world had build off of the foundation of potion-masters like herself.

It was strange to walk up floor after floor of what she had built as, essentially, a barrier against the world and see her whole world laid out in details.  What people ate.  What people wore.  What people did. Even what people defecated in – which was an interesting one, and she was going to have to discover that sooner or later.  

This tower, she realized, had been set up as a monument not just to her, but to her whole world.  It was an explanation of what had come before.

“That can’t be right.”

A voice on the stairs sent her moving for a hidden passage that appeared covered by a display on pottery.  She moved as quickly as she could, finding the display pivoted the way the cabinet she had once had her did.  

“It’s a museum, Halsey, I don’t think they’re just going to lie to you.”

“Not lie, no, but they might get something wrong.  I mean look at this.  That has to be some sort of error.  Think about what they said in history class.”

The two voices sounded pubescent, one male, one female.  Halsey was the female voice, the one who thought the displays were wrong.

Kael should get up to her potions room, but she stayed a moment to see what was “wrong” about the displays.”

“You know what Mr. Catalon thinks about the natives.”

“He’s a history teacher, Corin.  He can’t go around lying about history!” What if I was wrong?

“I don’t see why not.  History is in the eye of the beholder, right?”  The translation spell was still working, because Kael heard a whispered take the bait.  Corin, it seemed, was trying to prove a point?

“That’s beauty.  History, what is it… oh, yeah, written by the winner.”

“That’s right!  And we won the invasion!  Right?” Come on, come on, don’t make me use the big stick…

“It wasn’t an invasion…” Halsey sounded uncertain now, a why wouldn’t it be?  They were savages, right, but… lingering behind her words.

“We came in, we took their land, we set up our own government.  So uh.  We probably wrote history to suit us.”  Now even Corin sounded unsure.  “They didn’t have anything interesting, so they needed us, that sort of thing. You know.”  

Kael knew all too well.  Her own people had done that twice in her lifetime – in her first lifetime.  The second time had been the reason she had retreated to a tower in the wasteland .

“Yeah.”  Halsey’s tone was thoughtful now.  “Do you think… do you think it’s really all lies?  What else do you think is lies?  I mean.  If they lied about this, then they don’t really have to tell us the truth about anything, do they?”

“That’s, uh, that’s a little extreme, Halls.  I mean.  Yeah, they probably lied about the Red War, too.  I mean, wouldn’t you?  But that doesn’t mean, like, they’re making up presidents or anything.” What have I done?

These two, if they made it as far as her potions room, were definitely going to be interesting.  

“Okay, so.  Let’s look at this again.  They’re not making up presidents here, they’re just saying how these people lived.  So why’s it wrong?”

“You sound like Mrs. Hosmer,” Halsey complained.  “Okay, so they didn’t have the sort of technology to build stone buildings.  They lived in mud huts and they weren’t using steel or even iron tools yet.  No mining, we’ve never found any mines.”

What?  Kael should get upstairs.  But she stayed to listen, wondering what other lies these children had been taught.

“So we haven’t found any mines.  What about metal tools?”

“I… haven’t heard of any?  There weren’t any found in the Kasfour dig, I know that.  Some stone tools and some really nice glasswork.  They were really good with glass.”

Kasfour?  She needed a map.  Why hadn’t she asked the nice young man down in the gift shop for a map?

“Okay, so that’s a start.  We don’t know if they had metal tools.  But isn’t this tower supposed to be pre-colonies?  And it’s definitely stonework.”

“By magic.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

“So?  What’s wrong with doing things by magic?  The warships and colony vessels we sent over were magic, too, weren’t they?  And we had the mages.  They just had potions-masters.  I mean… How do you build a tower by potions.?”

Very, very carefully.  Kael had far too much to do.  She was going to need to find a way to leave the tower without risking getting “fired.”


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Blog Post: Catching Up

Well!  I haven’t done a what’s-Lyn-Doing blog post in quite a while!  Boring life, ey?

(I suppose after a summer of MRIs, spinal taps, blood draws, funerals, babies (other people’s) and major home renovation, anything would seem a little boring).

So, what have I been up to?  What have YOU been up to?

Crafts

Knitting, knitting, knitting.  I knit my mom and dad each scarflets for Christmas, knit a sleeveless jacket and a hat for Eclipse Viking Baby Capriox. I joined a knit-a-long and am working very slowly on a large asymmetrical triangular shawl, and I am almost done with Secret Project One and about to start on Secret Project Two.  Winter is good for knitting!

House

We were 1/2 of the way through installing new under-cabinet/over-sink LED motion-activated-switch lights 2 weekends ago – and then we realized we had no 1/2″ drill bit. *facepalm*  So now we have a bit and it’s too cold to go out to the garage. Soon!  Then the dishes and our new sink and awesome new faucet – and dishwasher! (it was a busy summer)- will be illuminated.

Oh, and we got a door and a front wall of sorts on the bathroom before we had company overnight back in the beginning of December.  And half the ceiling.  Maybe we’ll get the other half of the ceiling done tomorrow!

Health

I live!  I have new drugs which are jabbity once every two weeks and sort of make me feel like crap for a little bit afterwards.  But they should, ah, stop a repeat of this summer, hopefully! (The bad part with the big needles, not the good part with the home renovations).

Weather

I think the weather is trying to kill us.

I mean, I live on the North Coast; that’s kind of a given.

Yesterday it dropped /twenty degrees F/ in /two hours/.  And then is continuing to drop steadily an average of 1 degree an hour from 5 pm yesterday until about sunrise tomorrow.

Thursday and Friday the high was in the fifties F.  Today it’s 11.

How about you?

Keeping warm? Crafting? Writing? Arting? Healthy? Homed? Continue reading

Under Water

This comes from a conversation I had with Inspector Caracal & Lilfluff on Mastodon. 

Content warning: Attempted murder.  

🏊🏼

The school pool was empty, which meant, technically, Aelia should not have been in it.

She needed to swim off some stress, though, and she needed to make sure she was in decent shape when the match came.  They’d lost against Rotterville-Hampton the last three times, and that was just not happening again. Continue reading

Young at Heart

Written to the Thimbleful Thursday Prompt from yesterday, of the same name. 

🖍️

“It’s a cloned heart, freshly made in our lab.”

Dr. Hischa was very proud of the heart in a box. It was displayed like the crown jewels, held up for the cameras and, more importantly, for the patient. “This heart isn’t the heart of a donor. Nobody had to die for it.  It’s your heart — but your heart as it was when you were a teenager.”

The patient, a woman in her eighties, coughed out a laugh. “Hopefully early teens.”

“Had wild teenage years, did you?”  Dr.Hischa remained jocular, but a very observant viewer might have noticed a slight twitch.

“That’s a good word for it. Wild.” The patient chuckled.  

“Well, now you can be young at heart, ah-ha-ha, again.  Won’t that be wonderful?  Now, let’s just…”

Prepping included reams of paperwork; recovery included weeks of testing and physical therapy.  When the cameras once again turned on Ms. Palorin, she was lounging sideways on a chaise, her children and grandchildren eyeing her uncertainty.

“So, Ms. Palorin-”

“Oh, call me Milly.”

“So, Milly.”  Dr. Hischa’s smile was strained around the edges.  “How are you feeling?”

“I have to say, I haven’t felt this good since I was a teenager the first  time.  I feel great.  This is the bee’s knees.  I can run up stairs.  Want to see me do a cartwheel?”

“Mom!”  Her eldest daughter, sporting pinched face and frown lines, threw up her hands.  “Mother, you can’t!  Act your age—”

“-not your shoe size, nyah, nyah.  I know, Catherine.  But right now I feel like acting six.  Or maybe sixteen.  This new heart is wonderful, Dr. Hischa!”

“It’s wonderful that you’re feeling capable of being more active again, Ms. Palorin.  Now, of course, the rest of your body will still require some care.  I do recall from your chart that your broke your hip two years ago, so cartwheels might be a little over the top…”

“Pshaw!  Besides, I said call me Milly.  ‘Ms. Palorin’ sounds so old, and Mr. Palorin has been gone for thirty years—”

“MOTHER!”

“Oh, Cathy, it’s not like it’s not true.  Anyway.  I’m having a blast with this new heart.  I think I’ll go out and see what the kids are doing these days.  What do you say, Susie?”

Her granddaughter, of about the age to be called “kids these days” grinned widely. “Of course!  I can show you the new dances, too.  It’ll be wild!”

“Ms. Palorin, your hip—”

“What? It’s not like you can’t just clone me a new one. And then,” Milly laughed, “I can be young at hips again, too, and think how much fun that will be!”

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The Hidden Mall: Normal ⛲

First: The Hidden Mall – a beginning of something
Previous: The Hidden Mall: Ropes & Vines

The Hidden Mall has a landing page here: http://www.lynthornealder.com/verses/the-hidden-mall/

Abby and skinny-Liv slept in beds bracketing Liv-1, who had been tied down probably more thoroughly than she needed to be.  Abby had thought she’d have trouble falling asleep – a strange bed, a strange world, and with no idea what might be out there – but she was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

She woke to a streak of light coming over her eyes from a window far overhead.  The vines seemed a lot closer than they had been the night before, but they hadn’t made it over her or – she glanced over – to the Livs’ beds, and both Livs were there.

And awake, too.  “I have to pee,” whined Liv.  “I mean, I really  have to pee.”

“Let’s see how good the bathrooms are here.  I seriously need a shower,” Abby sighed, “but that’s not happening any time soon.  How are you feeling, Liv?”

“Other than having to pee?”  Liv considered. “I want to see the Beavers.  But it’s not.  Um.  it’s not urgent. Peeing is urgent.  And eating.”

“So we can’t tell,” Skinny-Liv mused, “if she’s getting better or if the compulsion is just overridden by biological compulsions.  Come one.” She unbuckled all the restraints and dropped them in her bag.  “So, Abby, you found something that wasn’t trying to kill us, in terms of settings.  Not bad.”

“it’s still a ruined mall, though.  I mean, like you said, thy planted kudzu, and it’s going everywhere.”  Abby tidied up the area, not sure, as she did it, why she was doing it.  “Everyone have everything?”

“We slept in the mall,” LIv whispered.  “We slept in the mall.  In a dead mall.  That’s kind of weird.”

“Yeah, but everything is weird right now.  Here’s the ladies’ room.”

“What, do you think some guy is going to walk in on us?”  Skinny-Liv wrinkled her nose.  “Never mind, it’s probably a mess.  Men’s rooms usually are.”

“I want to go home,” Abby admitted in a small voice.  “I can’t, I mean, I don’t know how to get us there.  So uh.  I’m gonna do things as normally as I can.”

It was hard to pretend to be normal when they picked big fruits off of a kudzu to eat for breakfast, or when they wandered out into the mall and bathed in a big fountain.  They took towels from housewares and picked up a bigger backpack and a little camp stove and propane tank in sporting goods, cooked some of the fruits, and made a lazy circuit of the mall.

They had almost decided this mall was a benign one when Skinny Liv made a choked sound.  At first, Abby thought they’d come back around to where she’d left her bag, but no.  They were next to a Cinnamon Hut; they hadn’t gone by one of those yet.  And that backpack was too worn to be hers.  Too… She took a step forward.  It had the same patches.  It had the same broken zipper with a twist-tie.  It had

a semi-skeletal hand holding onto it, emerging from the vines.  The hand had bones showing through flesh; it was definitely no long alive.   Abby, driven by something between horror and curiosity, moved forward.

“Abby… don’t.”  One of the Livs pulled at her arm.  “Abby, you don’t want to-”

“I want to.  I – people keep telling me I don’t want to know, but I do.  If all of me but me have died, I want to know how.  I want to know why.  I want to know if I’m gonna fall over from a brain tumor in twenty minutes and leave both of you alone in here, and, if so, who’s going to help you?”

“Abby?”  Something about the voice told her this one was her Liv.  “Abby, I can take care of you, too.  It doesn’t have to all be on you.  Do you want – do you want me to look?”

Yes.  “I can do this.  I think I can do this.”  She used a towel she was still carrying to push aside the vines a little at a time.  They writhed and reached for her, grabbing at her.  “And if Abby is here, what happened to her Liv?”

“Probably ran off.  It’s – when something is eating your friend and you can’t stop it and she tells you to run, when it starts to eat you, too… We’re cowards, Abby, sorry.  Her Liv probably grabbed the nearest back door and ran.  And Abby? We should, too.  We should go, because those vines are acting a lot more energetic now.  We should go.”


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A story for my Apocalypse Bingo card. 

💥

Therosa had been walking through nothingness for well over a week, and it was beginning to wear on her.

Certainly in a physical sense: unlike most of the places around, the rubble hadn’t been cleared, cars had been left where they stopped, and junk was scattered about.  It was as if the Thing had hit yesterday and not nearly fifteen years ago.

Except the bodies.  Scavengers had pulled out a lot of them, but there were cars with the windows closed and intact remains still inside; there were a few here and there, as if a giant had trampoline-jumped, throwing people up into the air so that they landed willy-nilly.  Some of the buildings had faces pressed against the windows, faces that made Therosa reach for her gun, until she realized they were mummified, gone.

And there was nobody, nobody alive.  There were hardly even animals visible, just the bleached bones of people and of society, crumbled bits of buildings and the long cracked main road she could sometimes see through the rubble.

She kept walking.  She had never gone longer than four days of walking without seeing someone.  Not necessarily friendly someones, but people, living people, and the evidence of their passing.  Where had everyone gone?  Nowhere she had been had everyone died, even if the death rate had been between horrendous and mind-blowing everywhere.

She scavenged a few things here and there, not deviating more than twenty feet from her path.  There had to be people here somewhere.  There had to be something that was going to jump out at her, or shoot her, or-

She was picking up a dropped backpack – a kid’s backpack, pink, with Minnie Mouse.  There, in front of her, mostly covered by an old rug and only visible from this particular angle, was a trapdoor.

She was so going to get shot.  Or worse.

She moved the rug aside and opened the trap door.

A ladder went down into a room she was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be there, not in what had been labelled as a law office.

She made sure the door closed solidly above her but didn’t lock and put her flashlight on its dimmest setting.  There, the shelf was just out of whack. She moved it aside, wincing every time it made a noise.

And there was a giant vault door, hidden behind a pretty decent curtain.  Heart in her throat, Therosa began to open the door.  If nobody had survived, if nobody had made it down here, there would be viable supplies.  She could live down here.  She could settle down.

The door stuck and jammed in her hand over and over again.  Finally, she went back to the shelf and got a bottle of WD40, which she applied liberally to every possible surface that might need it.  Using a rag to protect her hands, she turned the handle again.  Nobody had opened this thing since the end and probably a few years before that.  Visions of cans and cans of food filled her mind’s ey.

The door swung open.  Therosa found herself face to face with as many people as could physically fit in the narrow corridor in front of her.  The one in the front was ancient-looking; just behind him was a slender teenaged girl and an infant.  They were all pallid; they were all dimly-lit and the light made them look almost green.

“Is it safe to come out?”  The old man’s voice was a croak.  “Is it safe now?  Is the war over?”

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