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February is World Building Month. Day One: Planners ‘verse

Feb1

[personal profile] piratekitten has declared February world-building month.

Every day in February, I will answer one question about any one of my settings.

The question post is here

The first question comes from [personal profile] lilfluff and is for the Planners ‘Verse

So it looks like they got started from family discussions after the panic of 1873. But how much was simply saying, “That worked well, we should keep doing that,” and how much was an actual organized effort to build something that could hold people together should civilization collapse.

When the Planners first began, their plans were very small-scale: they wanted to keep their family and their close associates safe through any collapse. They were intent on being the survivors, not necessarily in rebuilding a world.

What grew out of that was a combination of factors:

* A growth of target – they grew in number as they recruited new members, as their children grew up, married, and stayed close.

* A growth of technology – as technology improved, the “basics of survival” grew and grew – running water, modern medicine, transportation, and so on. In order to maintain that level of comfort, greater and greater infrastructure and education was needed.

* A growth of horror – the Cold War era led to the concept of “The End of the World as We Know It,” the belief in a global catastrophe. that left to a wider scope of planning as the focus could no longer be on the survival of the family; it had to be on the survival of the species if, in truth, the family was to survive.

All of this snowballed from “we’ll be comfortable through any small crisis” to “we are the supply and information depot for the post-apocalyptic world.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/652783.html. You can comment here or there.

Passing Knowledge

Dec31

Story: Passing Knowledge
Prompt: Knowledge – to Orgfic Bingo
Series: Planners
Summary: With the same characters as Promises Broken

Knowledge, the various ways the Planners pass it down

Teaching

Adeline stood in the kitchen, surrounded by children of a certain age – old enough to learn, and not so old as to feel the need to pretend boredom. Today, she was teaching them how to bake a loaf of bread.

“…and that’s how we grind the wheat. Now, we will do a little more in the manual grinder, there, Penelope, take your turn, but we have the electric grinder available here, too, for when there’s power.”

“There’s power today.” Darren might end up being a problem-child, but right now he was just a child.

“There is.” Adeline kept her voice calm and level. “And when we’ve each practiced with the manual grinder, we’ll do the rest in the electric grinder.”

“Some people buy flour in the store.” Hilary was already on her way to being more than just a problem.

“And so do we. But today, we are baking bread from scratch Carl-Sagan style.”

“‘If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.'” Several of the kids quoted it at Adeline, and she smiled. They might not care to learn how to grind wheat, but they learned nonetheless.

Storage

“What are you doing, Adeline?”

Elder Brice was bored, and a bored elder is never a helpful elder.

“I’m taking inventory.” They were down in the sub-basement, the LED lights burning eerily over their shelves of supplies.

“Don’t you note everything down as it comes out of storage?” He picked up a can and put it back in what Adeline was going to assume he believed was the right spot. “Why would you need to waste time on an inventory?”

She took three deep breaths. “First, my time is not subject to audit, Elder Brice.”

“I’m not being formal here! I’m just asking questions.”

“Second, there is always human error involved in everything.” She very carefully put the can he’d moved back where it belonged. “I am not always the person taking things out of storage. Products get moves. Things do, sometimes, go bad.” She shifted a bin of grain.

“Hey, what’s this?” The old man took the bin of grain and read the careful notes and diagrams written on the side. “‘Carl Sagan bread recipe. First, plant the grain…’ What, you forget?”

He was sneering. She hated it more than most things when her grandfather sneered.

“I am not always going to be the person pulling grain out of this storage facility, Elder Brice.” She took the bin back from him and put it on the shelf where it belonged. “And if I am not, someone else may need a refresher.”

“‘First, grow the grain?'”

“A very thorough refresher.”

Books

“What are you doing, Aunt Adeline?” Penelope crawled up on the stool to watch her aunt. “I thought we sealed up all the dried fruit last week.”

“We did. One moment.” The vacuum-sealer ran with a sucking whirr noise for a moment, and then stopped. Adeline trimmed the package and put it next to several others that looked similar. “I’m storing books.”

“Books?” Penelope peered through the plastic packaging. “‘Good to the Grain,’ that’s funny. Tas…'”

“Tassajara Bread Book. That’s the one we used last week. A different copy, of course.”

“But your copy has all the notes you and everyone else made.”

“And I copied every single one of those notes. One moment.” The machine whirred and stopped again.

“‘Flour Power: A Guide To Modern Home Grain Milling.’ These all have funny names.”

“They do.” She added the last book to the stack.

“Why didn’t you just seal up.., oh, then you wouldn’t have it.”

“And the grease stains and such in the book might damage its longevity.”

“Long…”

“Longevity. Long life.”

“So… these are for me, when I’m a grown-up?”

“Or your children, or their children, or so on. Yes. They’re for someone I can’t hand my grandmother’s books to myself.”

“And you’re sealing them to preserve them from moisture and air? Just like the apples?”

“Just like the apples, very good.” She patted Penelope’s shoulder. “That way, if there’s ever any question about anything in the storage vaults, there will be books there to explain everything.”

“Just don’t forget scissors to open the package.” Penelope grinned. “Like the can openers.”

“Exactly.” Adeline added a freshly-oiled pair of stainless steel scissors to the pile, finding herself smiling. Penelope may never need these books, but if she was quoting the unofficial house motto – <i>never forget a spare can opener</i> – she would do well in any crisis.

 

Promises Broken, Orig-Fic, Planners

Dec30

To kelkyag‘s prompt to my orig-fic card. This fills the “Promises Broken” slot.

This is set with new characters in my Planners setting; its landing page is here.

“There is a a reason we only have one Head for each House.” Adeline stood with her hands loose at her sides. Her chin was up and her lips were a firm line.

“And there is a reason I am an Elder.” Brice folded his hands in front of him and stared at Adeline’s forehead.

“We don’t have room for the Mason family, nor for the Stouts.”

They did not know if this was The End – no, not “the end;” the planners didn’t acknowledge that word. They didn’t know if it was The Cataclysmic Event. At the moment, it was just – just! – a long-running power failure with a side of some food and gas shortages. Family policy was to treat any disaster lasting longer than three days as if it could indeed be The Disaster.

“Make room.” Brice moved forward, just one step and a bit of a lean. He was no longer a young man – of course – but this particular branch of the family was a true farming household, and you did not retire from farming; Brice Whitehall was a large man with biceps like steel.

Adeline did not budge nor flinch. “That is not family policy, nor is it your call. Tell them they’re going to have to make other arrangements.”

“Why don’t we have room?” Another step forward. Any closer, and Brice was going to be talking to her forehead. “We have those three cottages in the alder stand in the back. Plenty of room in this season.”

“I have an arrangement with three families from town. Two of them have children who are in classes with our kids.” Adeline held still, held her ground.

“You think kids…!” The step that took him to talking to her forehead. “When I made a promise man-to-man…!”

“Yes. Because if this is not The Disaster, then those kids’ friends will be resources, PR, understanding. Make another promise, Brice.”

“Elder Whitehall.”

“You’re in my office, Brice. You’re going to have to break your promise.” She turned her back on him before he could press the issue.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/623287.html. You can comment here or there.

Beginning With a Kiss, a story of Planners Post-Apoc for Moonwolf

Jun25

This is a story for [personal profile] moonwolf, as payment for her compilation of The Planners Character List.

It involves the characters also found here (in order first-last):

Saying Hello
Forbidden
A Kiss Under Duck & Cover

It had begun with a kiss.

Which was, of course, a lie, the sort of lie the poets told, even now, with the world over for so long it was becoming a new world.

It had begun with a look and a smile. It had continued over the course of two years with more looks, and more smiles.

It had begun with an interest that was, if nor strictly forbidden, certainly frowned upon strongly. Tess was older than Thomas, four times his age when he came to the school. She was the Dean and he a novice. She was a grandmother and he a young, strapping man: good breeding stock, when she was past breeding.

It had begun with him shouting, and her scolding. It had begun with him questioning, questioning everything, and her answering, calmly, from the mandates of her people, from the charter of the Library, from the teachings she, too, had once questioned.

It had begun with an argument, with many arguments. The kiss was simply a way-point along the way.

Still, it was quite a kiss. Tess had not had a chaste sixty-two years, and Thomas, it seemed, had been paying attention to more than just books in his studies. The kiss was hot, their hands firm on each other’s shoulders, their breath nearly silent.

The sirens provided cover when their silence was not enough; the thick chairs, built to last centuries, provided a visual screen. Thomas’ fellow students, hiding, too, as the raid protocol demanded, provided the rest by politely looking anywhere else. It was possible that they had known this was coming longer than Tess and Thomas themselves had.

“Well.” When she could breathe, Tess sat back on her heels. “That…”

“Shall we catalogue it?” The boy smirked at her. “List it under ‘Embraces, unexpected and forbidden?'”

“You enjoy teasing me, don’t you?” Tess found she didn’t have any desire to get angry with him.

“I enjoy poking at the system. You are, as Dean, part of the system, of course.” He quirked an eyebrow in her direction.

“Poking, mmm?” Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. “Is that what you had in mind?”

“It might have been. Although, truth be told, the kiss was further than I thought I would get.” He tilted his head, peeking out towards the door. “The sirens are still going.”

“Then the guard has not yet turned them off. If they trigger the secondary sirens, then we will have to fight.”

“I know how to fight, at least.” He rolled his shoulders. “And if the sirens go off with no fight, then what, Madame Dean?”

“Then we go back to our classes.” She said that, at least, with all the firmness that her age and experience gave her. “And then-” He had raised his eyebrows, which was amusing. “-then you attend me in my office, when your classes are done for the day.”

“For discipline?” He was clearly teasing her as much as she was him. “Have I, then, been a disobedient student? Naughty?”

“When have you not been, Thomas?” She smirked at the boy. “Attend me in my office. We will go from there.”

“Ma’am.” From his kneeling position under the table, he bowed. “As you wish.”

She wondered, briefly, did he see that movie? Then she remembered, with a stab of something like pain in her chest, that movies, and the casual watching of such around the living room, with microwave popcorn and a polyester blanket – all of that was gone, lost in her memory and the minds of those as old as she was.

“I wish it.” It was easier that remembering exactly how much time separated them.

The sirens silenced, and they did not need, that day, to fight. Tess handed over her classes to an adjunct, and spent the afternoon cataloging damages, taking notes on the prisoners they had captured, and planning notes and pensions for those guards too injured to continue as guards, and letters and fatter pensions for the families of the two who had died in the attack.

She caught sight of Thomas twice. The first time, he was helping, with his medicine class, to attend to the lightly wounded guards. The second time, he was speaking with one of the wild-tribe women who had been captured. He spoke softly, and his hand was near the woman’s dirty one. Tess squelched the feelings like jealousy that rose up in her; this was not an appropriate time for such things. She had families to visit, and condolences to give.

Those condolences were still fresh on her lips and heavy on her heart when Thomas brought himself to her office.

They left her in less than a receptive mood to his cockiness; she turned, ready to be stern and short with him, only to find him looking every bit as solemn.

It shook her foundations. She stepped back, making the move into a gesture inviting him to sit. She had not come this far without learning to cover for her gaffes.

“You wanted to see me, Madame Dean?” He took the seat she offered, every inch the suave gentleman, if you paid no heed to the tightness of his voice or his face.

“I did. She folded her hands on her desk. It gave her an appearance of gravitas, if not the actual feeling of such. “I wished to discuss your future with this institution.”

He bowed from his seat. “I knew there would be a reckoning.”

That had not been the response she’d expected, but, then again, very little Thomas did fit within her expectations. “And yet you did it anyway.”

“And yet I did.”

“Wh… no.” She shook her head. “Now is not the time, as curious as I am.”

“If you’re going to send me away, Madame Dean, there won’t be another time.”

Tess pursed her lips. “Fresh from today’s raid and its consequences, I don’t think either of us are interested in kissing at the moment, Thomas, or in its reasons. Unfortunately for us, we will need to deal with the consequences.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “And so you will send me away.”

“No.” She leaned forward over the desk and dropped her voice. “And so we will discuss how to best keep you here without sullying either your reputation or mine.”

She had the dry pleasure of seeing him, for once, surprised.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/544892.html. You can comment here or there.

Looking Forward, a story of the Planners ‘Verse

May12

This is written to [personal profile] moonwolf‘s request, after she put together the Planners Character List for me, as per this post offering words for character pages.

M- this is about half the words. The other half will be Tess/etc.

“This family is determined to continue to look backwards.” Letty was one step from standing on the coffee table and shouting. “Everything you do, everything we plan, it’s all backwards-looking. Old tech, tech so old it’s not even tech, it’s just simple machines with a new coat of paint.”

The family was not really listening. Letty did this. She’d been doing this since she was twelve or thirteen. She’d been doing this when she majored in high school in math and engineering. She’d been doing it when she went to college and majored in programming. And now, now she’d brought home an outsider, and she was ranting in front of him at the family over Thanksgiving post-dinner naps.

Her uncle Tarver finally stepped in to intervene. He’d been her favorite uncle when she was a girl, and he could usually get her to see reason. “Letty. You know why the family does things the way they do. And you know why we keep things secret. This young man of yours…”

“Is sitting right here.” Eustace cleared his throat. He was a slender man, looking particularly boyish, clean-shaven, with his hair gelled and styled. Handsome, in a very city-fashionable style. “And much of the exploits of your family are a matter of public record, if you know which records to read.” He stood up and draped his arm around Letty’s waist. He was a good two inches shorter than her, and didn’t appear to have an ounce of fat or muscle on him.

He was as far from Letty’s uncles, cousins, and father, as far from the hard-muscled, hard-working farm boys she had grown up with, as was possible while still being technically male. And this appeared to bother neither him nor Letty one bit.

Tarver turned his attention on Eustace. “So you’ve been looking into us.” He made it an accusation and an interrogation all in one. “Studying us?”

“The surname does make it obvious when one of you goes, what did Letty’s Aunt Clara call it, out in to the world. And thus, when I met Letty, it was clear rather quickly that she was a member of your elite organization. As I was interested in her, it behooved me to become more educated about your family.” He was so very calm about it. And he was smirking.

Tarver smirked back. The boy had done his homework; that was one point in his favor.

His brother Matthew was less impressed. “So you learned about her family to draw her away from them?”

“No.” Eustace was quick enough on the uptake that Tarver didn’t have time to tell Matt not to be an idiot. “I am fascinated by your family. And I know that you are always looking for new members. It has never been my desire to draw Letty away from her kin.”

This time, it was Matthew’s wife Sonia who stepped in before Tarver could intervene. “So you want to green-card your way into the family through our Letty?”

“Well, it is the traditional manner. And it has the added benefit of allowing me to marry the woman I love.”
He was slick, Tarver had to admit that. “You love our Letty?”

Letty was making small noises of harassment and, Tarver thought, probably frustration as well. This was not the topic she’d been aiming to talk about.

She should have more faith in her lover. He tuned to look at the family, now having their undivided attention. “I love Letitia more than anything in the world. I am fascinated with your family and your goals. And I agree with Letty, wholeheartedly, that to ignore modern technology in seeking your goals is both wrong-headed and dangerous.” He sought Letty’s hand and took it. “And we will work together to change that, within ourselves if nowhere else.”

Tarver held his breath. This could go very badly, in any number of different ways. People had been kicked out of the family for less. Branches of the family had been torn apart over disagreements in the policies – and the young always had disagreements.

It would hinge on Matthew, on Sonia, on the other hard-liners. They loved Letty, of course. They loved the policies. But which did they love more?

Matthew coughed, cleared his throat, and looked to his wife. She, in turn, looked to Grandmother Ellen.

Ellen waved her hand. She was ninety-seven years old, and rarely stepped forward to serve as matriarch anymore. “Technology.” Her voice was strong, despite her failing health. “When I was a girl, the things we have now wouldn’t have been believable.”

This could still go either way. Tarver’s breath was still held. A glance told him that Letty and Eustace were also waiting nervously.

Sonia leaned forward and took Grandmother Ellen’s hand. “And we adapted, didn’t we, Grandma?”

The old woman looked at her family, then directly at Letty and Eustace. “Don’t rock the boat, young lady. Find your path, and then present them with the path.”

With that, she leaned back in her chair, exhausted. Tarver released his breath, looked at his cousin Ken, and started talking loudly about the weather and the farm.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/531371.html. You can comment here or there.

The Study of Emerging Cultures

May22

Continuing flash series! I’m going to write one flash for every Icon I have, over 4 LJ accounts, 1 DW, and a whole bunch of not-currently-in-use, until I get bored or run out of icons.

Today’s icon:

My Anthropologist, from The Planners ‘Verse

Icon & Art by [personal profile] meeks

Before This story.


Late Autumn, 315 Post-Conflict

For the entirety of my decade as a scholar in the Tower, I studied Ancient Cultures. The Ancients division of the Library is one of the largest, and it is an intensive field of study.

However, the problem with Ancient Cultures is that, almost to a one, they are Ancient and thus gone, lost in the Conflict or long before that. One can read about them endlessly, theorize, study, hypothesize, but one can not actually visit these cultures. In many cases, one cannot even visit their ruins.

However, in the branching study of Emerging Cultures, one has quite a bit more room for exploration and study. The isolated nature of the population pockets after the Conflict means that, in the past three centuries, many different cultures have evolved.

Some, such as the Wild Tribes, are not currently open for embedded exploration, the way the Tower’s Scholars prefer to study. The Tower has attempted such. Every single attempt has ended poorly, indeed, fatally.

(I must admit I was still tempted. A one hundred percent chance of death is no deterrent to knowledge!)

Instead, I have acquired myself a position in one of the canal towns, a port from pre-Conflict made over into the shape of the new world. It is a benign and placid place, no more foreign than my mother’s farm.

But I have learned, to my eternal joy, that several grouped family units of the so-called Wild Tribes visit this town regularly to trade. I hear I will meet the Kybelii next week!

Finally, I shall begin to learn the truth of Emerging Cultures!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/345118.html. You can comment here or there.

Rose of the City, a story of the Planners Verse for the Giraffe Call

Feb26

For [personal profile] eseme‘s prompt.

Planners ‘Verse has a landing page here.

In part inspired by this article.

“But the regulations clearly say that we can grow plants on our balconies, so long as we stay within the weight regulations. There’s no call on what sort of plants, the aesthetic value thereof, or if Mrs. Taylor upstairs can’t spy on me anymore.” Ashley’s arguments were by necessity well-reasoned-out and backed up by facts, which wouldn’t stop the super, of course, if he decided he really had an axe to grind. She was hoping the Mrs. Taylor thing would swing it, though.

“She says the thorns pricked her.”

“She was leaning over trying to push them out of the way if they did. Look, Aaron, sir, you and I both know how she is. And the roses…”

“They make a very nice screen, I agree. And they’re very pretty, and they hide everything else you’re growing here.” He looked over the three by ten balcony with raised eyebrows. “Quite an impressive set-up. You could feed a family of five with this.”

“Nah, but it does help.” She looked over the set-up with a smile, the roses trained up on nearly-invisible rope trellises to create a screen against the neighbor on the north, the compact compost pile masquerading as a table, the vegetables growing in planters hung four high in a complex PVC frame. Beyond her garden, the city, with all its crowded urban stink, stared back at her, but the garden helped mask that. “It helps remind me of home.”

“You’re a long way from it, aren’t you?” He patted her shoulder in a way that she should have minded but really didn’t. “All right. I’ll tell Mrs. Taylor to stuff it. You can keep your garden, honey.”

“Thanks, Aaron.” She decided today was not the day to tell him about the angora rabbits living in the second bedroom or the mushrooms in that closet. “You’re a great guy.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/284926.html. You can comment here or there.

A Growing Plan

Jan18

For skjam‘s prompt.

The Planners have a landing page here on DW and here on LJ

They had a plan when they moved in to the city.

Of course they did; they were the Planners. They had other names – the Seven Families, the Amalgamated Preparation Assembly, or just The Founders – but the one they called themselves, in their private meetings, was The Planners. And what they did was Prepare, Found, and, most of all, Plan.

They’d done this in several other cities already – move in, begin buying up unwanted, abandoned, cheap land in bad neighborhoods, empty warehouse space, anything they could get that was standing vacant. And then They would begin cleaning, stockpiling, restoring, and, in some cases, demolishing to make room for green space.

Bringing at least some food production to within the reach of the cities was their primary goal, although they couched it in different terms depending on the audience: raising property values, making community spaces, teaching the youth of the city about food, creating habitats for wildlife. The Planners had learned how to camouflage their long-term plans, and how to blend in with their environments.

Everything went a little weird when they got to Syracuse, though.

Kerafena knew much of it was her fault. It was her first management job, her first chance to prove herself, and they’d given her the budget they always gave to new-city developers, something with enough zeros to make her eyes water, and expected to see results within three years. She gulped, considered running away to Kalamazoo, changing her name, and becoming a short-order cook, and then shook herself and got on with her business.

She bought properties. She refurbished tolerable buildings, throwing money at contractors until she found a group she liked and doing much of the work herself. She rented out refurbished buildings, started planning some modern apartment space, and broke ground for a Planners headquarters.

Mostly, though, she tore down old, decrepit buildings and planted the resultant lots. She started with three such gardens her first year; by her third, she had enough that she needed to hire day labor to help her maintain them; by her seventh year, she had three property managers, ten full-time workers, day laborers by the truck in planting and harvesting seasons, and four farm stands in the heart of the city.

By the time the Elders came to view her progress, she had a ring of green properties circling the city, corn and wheat and parkland in what had been the most decrepit neighborhoods, a pumpkin field abutting the college, and – and this is where the Elders began to raise eyebrows – her cows had gotten out and were running through the McDonald’s parking lot.

Some inspiration from this song, esp:
“His cows get loose and run right thru the fast food parking lots
And Daddy gets calls from the mini-malls
when they’re downwind from his hogs. “

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/236525.html. You can comment here or there.

Inside the Walls

Oct17

For Lilfluff‘s prompt.

Planners ‘Verse, in the after-the-apoc by about 10 years. Planners have a landing page – here (or on LJ)

Commenters: 8

It seemed safe out past the walls, but Tess knew it was an illusion. As the junior elder at the Library, it was her job to take the stories of the refugees they let into the camp between the inner and outer walls, and the far fewer students they let into the inner sanctum. She knew from those tales that even now, ten years into what they were calling The Collapse, things were hard out there, and dangerous, and the bandits were only getting worse; with all of the country to gather in, they still had more refugees coming to their growing-cramped camp than they could handle, and the story was the same from every Family outpost they could reach. The world was a dangerous place, outside of their forts.

Tess wondered, as she took the long stairway down from the wall into the inner courtyard, if the elder Elders would make the decisions they did if they heard the stories she did. She was haunted by those stories, by the expressions on the faces of the refugees, by the injuries they would show – and the ones they would only hint at. She was haunted by the violence she sometimes saw just outside their walls, when those that weren’t allowed inside tried to set up camp, and the marauders were feeling brave.

“We should expand,” she’d told the elder Elders, and “we don’t have the resources,” they’d come back; “we’re already stretched thin with the farmland inside the walls. Maybe when the marauders aren’t such a threat.”

By then, of course, it would be too late for so many hundreds of refugees. By then, the ghosts haunting Tess’s nightmares would have doubled or quadrupled in number.

“Elder Tess,” the guard called, as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “We have more refugees than we have farm work, and the others are asking for something to do.”

Like that, it fell into place. “Do you have a few guards to spare?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ma’am, from a man probably old enough to be her father. Rank had its privileges. “We are over full strength right now; everyone wants to join the guard.”

The guard got full rations and a better place to sleep, and the test wasn’t as hard as becoming a Scholar. “Take those that want to out about two hundred feet beyond the outer wall, and begin prepping to build another wall. I’ll send an engineer with a plan while you get them gathering rocks and clearing the ground.”

If they didn’t have enough room for more refugees, the answer was clearly to build more room.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/151216.html. You can comment here or there.