Genre: just-past-modern fantastic realism meets cyberpunk paranormal romance
Characters: College-age layabout who is handsome and clever, generally quite lucky
Woman a few years older, in Shadowrun she’d be a runner, possibly a street shaman.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1034977.html. You can comment here or there.
To ![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kelkyag‘s prompt to my other bingo call.
This fills the square “The Three Languages,” and is from the Stranded World, from the seasonal siblings’ mother Eugenia. The Stranded landing page is here.
The Three Languages: talking about Strands
“They say a child found the strands.” Eugenia had gathered her children for storytime.
She cleared her throat. “A child who had no skill. So her father sent her out to the woods to learn a language.
“She came back the next night. ‘I know how to speak to the wildness,’ she told her dad.” Eugenia always did the voices. “‘Bah,’ he said, ‘try again.'”
“She came back the next night, again. ‘I know how to speak the calm order.’ And ‘Bah,’ he said, ‘try again.'”
“And the third night. ‘I know how to speak to kinship.’ And that was that for her dad. ‘Out,’ he bellowed.
“And out she went. But she had learned the language of the Strands, and she did not return.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/696176.html. You can comment here or there.
This is in the Stranded World Setting, which has a landing page here. this comes after the donor-perk story The RoundTree Siblings Prepare for Thanksgiving (On LJ.)
They took a moment, the four of them, away from their respective dates (or non-dates), all feeling a little bit guilty about that, to stand on the porch and look at each other.
It wasn’t that uncommon for those who knew the strands to slide their vision sideways when looking at someone else, to see what was going on with them in a more meta sense. For an outside observer, though, those four minutes of staring not-quite-at-each-other might have seemed surreal, even creepy.
Summer reached out first, to sketch a good-luck charm in the air over the foreheads of each of her siblings. That got her three variations on their family wide-mouthed crooked smile, and then Winter took his turn, smoothing out bumps and rough spots. They were a volatile, wild set of sisters, and there were more than a few knots in each of their patterns.
He paused by a tangle near Spring’s heart, question in his expression; she moved his hand gently away, towards a tight knot of conflicted emotion in a similar spot on Autumn. She, in return, flinched, shrugging uncomfortably, but submitted, like a kitten to an older cat’s grooming, to her brother’s ministrations.
That caused Spring to make some nice little tangles in the air around them, nothing too messy, but nothing too smooth; she’d been tangling Winter’s lines since she was born. He patted her head in revenge, and they all glanced at Autumn.
She already had her pen out, and, while there was still a small knot near her heart, she was smiling warmly as she drew, on the underside of each of her siblings’ left wrist, a small pattern. Family, the sigil said. Love. Warmth. Peace.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/176596.html. You can comment here or there.
djinni‘s wonderful work!
This is Autumn, and now I suppose I should write more about her, shouldn’t I? 🙂