Tag Archive | character: autumn

Not That Kind of Girl, a story of Stranded World for the Giraffe Call (@Wyld_Dandelyon)

Feb20

For [personal profile] wyld_dandelyon‘s prompt.

Stranded World has a landing page .

http://www.songlyrics.com/the-band-perry/all-your-life-lyrics/

Autumn lay back in the warm July sun, staring at the clouds. “I don’t need wine and roses,” she said, mostly to herself. “I’ve never been the sort of girl that asks for that, or the sort of girl that men give that to.”

She swallowed a small lump of bitterness at the feeling. “And I don’t need love songs; the boys that sing them are generally silly, anyway.”

There had been the one, a beautiful bard with a voice like a dream. He had written music for her, sung to her after lovemaking, brought her roses, brought her wine. He had been something else… but he was the sort that didn’t travel well, and she was the sort that never stayed in one place.

“I heard a song the other day,” she continued, to the silence near her. “Something like ‘I don’t need the whole world… I just want to be the only one you love.'” She laughed shortly. “Hypocritical, wouldn’t it be? But sometimes,” she turned to look at him, her heart in her throat. “Sometimes that’s what I want, Tatters.” Or at least a name to call you by.

“Lady Fall.” His eyes were serious, though his tone was light. “What you want of me, you have but to ask.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” she countered angrily. “Don’t I deserve better from you than lies, at the very least?”

He flinched. “It was not my intent to lie to you, but simply to…” He gestured, and his tone changed. “I wanted to give you the roses and the wine that you want, though you say you don’t. The poetry. But I have never been a grapes and thorns sort of man, I’m afraid.” His tone changed again, as if he was dialing himself down. “I’d give you romance if it was in me, Autumn.”

He paused, as if looking for the words. “I can give you mead and leather, if that’s enough.”

She studied him for a moment, her heart twisting. “If that is what you have,” she answered, wondering if she was lying, “than that, my love, is enough and more than.”

The song she is misquoting is The Band Perry’s “All Your Life.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/277986.html. You can comment here or there.

Laying the Foundation

Feb15

For [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt.

Stranded World has a landing page here.
🔨
“I think you should come hang out next weekend,” Calgary told Autumn, over the last beer of the last day of Faire. “Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur are building a house.”

“Seriously?” she raised an eyebrow. She was far too drunk to be polite when faced with that.

Calgary grinned, and quaffed her beer. “Three friends of mine, been together since college. Not Faire folk but fair folk, if you know what I mean. And they’re house-raising.”

“Sounds like fun.” She set her mug down with exaggerated care. “I’ll be there.”

“I know you will,” Calgary grinned. “And you’ll love it.”

The location was as out in the middle of nowhere as it was still possible to get in a northern state, a two-acre lot in the middle of two hundred acres of field and half-wild forest. And it was a mess, a mass of machines and parts-of-buildings and everywhere people, people in a cacophonous of color and personality, like the Ren Fair only a hundred times louder.

And there was Calgary, at the center of it, waving Autumn down. “Come on! Huey, Dewey, and Louie want to meet you! I’ve told them so much about you!”

And that was a danger line, but Autumn was in a good mood, so she smiled, and let Calgary lead her to what looked like it would be the front door.

“Caetlyn, Gemini, Xavier, this is Autumn. Autumn, this is Larry, Curly, and Mo.” Calgary cheerfully introduced her to a buxom blonde in a pink flannel shirt, an androgynous person wearing a yellow t-shirt, and a tall man, head shaved, wearing a blue polo.

“Pleased to meet you,” Caetlyn smiled. “Calgary told us that you might be able to bless our threshold? You know, in the weaving way?”

Smiling and nodding, Autumn resolved to have a word with Calgary later.

“This would be easier if I had my brother with me. He’s very good at the orderly things. But I can lay down a foundation for you, and I’m pretty good with a hammer and a trowel, too,” she smiled. “Do you mind if I paint a little, where it won’t show?”

“Heck,” Xavier grinned, “we’d love it if you’d paint where it would.”

“See?” Calgary was unrepentant. “Flora, Fauna, and Meriwether are good people.”

“I see they are,” Autumn agreed sincerely.

She’d come prepared to help hammer nails and wrestle building materials, but it seemed the trio had enough people for that. So she settled in what would be a doorway, and began to weave and twist the strands.

She laid down a solid foundation of welcome and kinship, pulling from everyone who was here, every bit of love they poured into the building, and making it a tangible, knowable thing: this house was built with love. Enter it with love as well.

While she watched them place two stained glass windows, she painted a design that would be hidden by the doorjamb, a secret series of imps: Don’t forget the humor. Come here with a smile.

They put up an interior wall, and she got to work on the art that would show while, behind her, three people carefully installed a hidden door and three hidden compartments. Into her mural, a tree reaching for the sun, with three trunks woven together, she added: respect one another’s secrets, and keep them.

Tired at the end of the day, and drinking a beer with the trio and Calgary, she sketched them a doodle: Chance encounters are the best sort. Smiling, she bid them a good night, and kissed their doorway in benediction as she left.

🔨

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/270007.html. You can comment here or there.

Lines of the City, a story of Stranded World for the Giraffe Call

Feb4

For [personal profile] eseme‘s prompt

Stranded World has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ

Autumn didn’t like the city.

She thought, all in all, it was a fair dislike. The city was noisy, crowded, smelly, loud, and foreign; the traffic impatient, the people worse.

She had grown up near people like those she chose to live with now – people who were sideways-of-normal enough that they didn’t judge, or, at least, when they did, there was someone else to call them on it. Walking into the city was walking back into the normal world, as her mother would say, “Mundania.” It was remembering how to put on a face that felt stiff and uncomfortable, like a suit, like a mask.

There were times, however, when the cities were unavoidable. Paperwork. Downtown craft festivals. Her brother calling. A mysterious message from someone who might be Tattercoats and might not be (The handwriting had been all off, but the wording had been perfect). And so into the city she went.

Craft fair meant she could shirk conventional appearance rules; paperwork meant she could not. Winter meant she had to look nice, but a little odd, to tweak him. Tattercoats meant she had to look pretty. She had spent more time getting dressed today than she normally took in a week, and ended up looking, to the naked eye, quite a bit like Autumn-dressed-down, or perhaps a Victorian Gypsy.

The paperwork people did not notice, which, after all, was the whole idea. She filed her forms, paid her fees, and left poorer and more knotted into the system, but less likely to become far more poor and far tighter knotted. Her father had taught her that: “‘Render unto Caesar,’ honey, means ‘make sure the guards have no reason to look at you.'”

Her father, she pondered, had been more than a bit of a rebel.

Winter had noticed, if only for the many-times-touched lines of her clothing, but had simply said, “you look very nice today, Autumn.” Winter was only a rebel in having gone as smooth and orderly as was humanly possible.

And then she was in the park, waiting for someone who might or might not be Tattercoats, and a man walking by looked at her, looked at her and didn’t say anything, but tipped his hat at her as if it was 1890, and Autumn felt something twist. She reached for the connection to Tattercoats, found it, as always, elusive and uncooperative, and found instead the heartstring of the city.

She was sitting on the bench, reading songs in the heart of the metropolis, when her alarm rang an hour later to remind her of the festival. She left humming, new songs in her heart and a new design for a picture already presenting itself. She might prefer the wild roads, but the city, it seemed, would have its own song for her, too.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/257670.html. You can comment here or there.

Welcome, a story of Stranded World for the Giraffe Call

Jan12

For rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt.

Stranded world, after The Unexpected Gift (LJ) and A Christmas of Melancholy (LJ)
🎁
Autumn turned to Gregor, still reeling. “If you,” she said firmly, “have any world-shaking gifts, could you, I dunno, wait until July or something?”

He chuckled. “I’m flattered, luv, but I’m not the man in your life the way the Tattered one or your late father are. I’m just a friend.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” Autumn’s mother tsk’ed. “There’s no ‘just’ about your friendship, Gregor, not when you’re here with her, supporting her through all of this, when you could be doing holidays with your own – well, I know you have trouble with your family, but surely there’s a young man?”

“I have about as much luck in love as your daughter does,” he answered dryly. “If there was someone…”

“Then you’d be welcome to bring him here for the holidays. I hope you know that, Gregor.”

From the look on his face, he hadn’t. “I, uh.”

“Gregor,” she said, a little exasperated, “do I have to name you a season to have you believe me? Fine, Gregor-the Equinox, you are counted as family here.”

“An Equinox isn’t a season,” he protested weakly.

“Well, it is now.” She bapped him gently on the nose, while Autumn watched bemusedly. “You’re part of the family, son, get used to it.”

“I, ah.” Autumn hugged him tightly, silencing his uncertain protests.

“You,” she told him, glad to have something else to focus on, “are family. You’ve known that for years, Gregor.”

“But my parents…”

“Are not me. Clearly.” Autumn’s mother joined in the hug. “Since I haven’t said it yet, welcome to the family, Gregor. Equinox. And, while my late husband may not have left you a present – well, I got you a couple, and Spring and Summer each sent one.”

“Winter…?”

“Sends his regards, which is about all he does for anyone. You’re family,” she repeated firmly.

“Wow.” He looked down at the two of them uncertainly. “Well… Merry Christmas, every one,” he misquoted. “I guess now I gotta get a boyfriend and make Autumn bring a real boy home?”

“Well…” Autumn’s mother’s gaze fixed on her again. “There is this young man sending her jewelry.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/229581.html. You can comment here or there.

A Christmas of Melancholy, a story of Autumn/Stranded World for the Giraffe Call

Jan6

For KC_Obrien‘s prompt.

Stranded world, after her other Christmas story
“I’m afraid,” her mother told her, before she’d managed to stop crying, “that this Yule may only get stranger.”

“Stranger?” she asked, tucking the box with the pendant in a pocket. “I’m not sure I can handle that.”

“You’re a strong girl, Autumn. You’ve always been the strongest of my children.”

“I…” That was a weird thing to say, and she wasn’t sure it was true. But with Tattercoats’ gift still sitting heavily in her pocket, she just nodded. “What is it, Mom?”

“Your father left you a gift.”

The bottom dropped out of the world. “My… Mom!” She swayed uncertainly, leaning hard against Gregor’s arm. “Mom,” she repeated quietly, blinking back sudden tears. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s not… well, he left these a long time ago, honey. One for each of you, on your twenty-third Christmas.”

“Why twenty-third?” That question paled as another one took its place. “Wait, that means Winter knew about this already.”

“Yes. And I swore him to secrecy, as I’m going to do with you – and you, Gregor, don’t look at me like that. It would have been nice if he could have arranged to be here with you, but you have Gregor, and he’s a nice young man for such things.”

Gregor smirked at Autumn’s mother. “And many other things too,” he joked, giving Autumn a chance to calm herself down.

“Don’t I just bet. It’s in here, honey, under the tree.”

“Of course.” Her voice was a raw croak; when had that happened? She let Gregor guide her, not feeling all that steady. “This is a dirty trick,” she muttered. “You’ll be lucky if Spring doesn’t burn the house down when it’s her turn.”

“I’m always lucky that Spring doesn’t burn the house down.” It wasn’t a big box, but the outdated paper made it stand out from the rest of the tree immediately. Minnie Mouse. Autumn swallowed a sob.

“Twisted Strands, Mom, this is macabre.”

“This wasn’t my choice, Autumn. This was your father’s call. And I’m sorry, baby girl. I’d have done this differently.”

She took a ragged breath. “I know. I know, Mom. So. What did Dad leave me?” And why now? She knelt on the floor, feeling four years old again, the shadows of her siblings pressing in on her. Whatcha get, Auttie? What is it? Her hands shook as she opened the box. Alone, not alone. Winter had done this before her. Winter had done everything before her.

First, a slip of paper, with her father’s unmistakable handwriting. Autumn. Save this for the one that really needs it. She moved the paper gingerly, afraid it would disintegrate.

Underneath, nestled in silk and twined in protective strands, sat a small cobalt glass bottle, corked and sealed in wax. It looked, to her eye, mostly-full of a dark liquid. “Ink,” she whispered, nearly falling over. “He left me ink.”

“Your father,” Gregor murmured, “seems to have been a very wise man.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/222285.html. You can comment here or there.

Linkback Incentive Story – A Family Tree

Dec21

Five years ago

“Aren’t I supposed to be the twister, the chaos-bringer?”

Spring looked at her older sister, trying to hide her amusement and really not succeeding at all. Her sister, in return, looked back at her with a glare that could melt paint.

“You are supposed to be, at the moment, helping me, and not telling Mom.”

“Have no fear, I still owe you for that… incident. But I want a picture.”

“Spring, if you don’t get me out of this damn tree, I’m going to get Winter to organize your sock drawer!”

“Coming, coming. Oy, Autumn, when did you get so cranky?”

Four years ago

“Explain to me again what you’re doing?” Summer sat on her sister’s bed, watching the haphazard packing and surreptitiously smoothing everything out, organizing it, and, just because she could, laying luck and happiness charms in every single shirt and pair of panties.

“I’m going on the road, more or less.”

“The RV thingy in the driveway would suggest that, yes. Weren’t you going to do college?”

“I was going to, but, well, Winter’s good at school and you’re going to be brilliant and… and I won’t be, either of those things. So the money’s for you two.”

“Nobel of you.”

“Ain’t it?”

Three years ago

“So how long are you going to do this?” Winter studied Autumn’s chaotic receipts, and, with a long-suffering sigh, began stacking them into organized piles.

“As long as I can afford to, as long as it’s fun, as long as it teaches me something.”

“You know you sound like Spring, right?”

“Well, it’s not as if she has a monopoly on making a mess, you know. She just happens to be the best at Tangling the world up.”

“All you seem to tangle up is your own life.”

She sighed. “That’s only the half of it, big brother, trust me.”

Two years ago

“I’m just saying, Autumn, you could bring someone home you actually intend to have a relationship with. He’s a nice boy, and he’s very appreciative of my cooking, but isn’t there going to be a special someone in your life? Even Spring has boyfriends.”

“Spring, generally, has boyfriends for about an hour. Maybe a month and a half if she’s been around Winter a lot.”

“Well, that’s Spring. You don’t need to be a chaos-demon, you know. One of those in the family is really quite enough.”

Autumn shook her head at her mother. “Mom,” she sighed, “I don’t TRY to make messes.”

One year ago
“I love your family, Autumn m’dear, but I get the feeling they’re not quite as fond of me.”

“It’s not that they don’t like you, Gregor, it’s that…”

“That I’m not the sort of boy that’s going to bring any grandkids. Although with a family of four, you’d think your mother would cut you some slack.”

“I’m supposed to be the ‘family’ one. Winter’s in charge of being level-headed, I’m in charge of being good with people…”

“Summer’s in charge of bad relationship decisions?”

“You saw that, too? Well, someone has to make the bad choices.” It shouldn’t always be her.

Thanksgiving, this year

“I know what it is,” Spring muttered to Winter. “I know what she’s doing.”

“Do you?” he asked gently, looking over at Autumn; his date and Spring’s were discussing business, much to everyone’s surprise; Autumn was making bad jokes with Summer’s dates and her own perpetual escort.

“You taught me how to see the tangles, Winter, I know you can see that one. The wild knot around her heart? The mess she’s pretending isn’t there?”

“Spring,” he answered, just as gently, “she’s always been a tangle. Chaos follows her.”

His littlest sister sulked. “Being a chaos-harbinger is my job.”

“It is. It’s her destiny, however.”

~fin~

This is Tir na Cali. Cali has a landing page here (or on LJ)

This story comes after Revenge of the Pumpkins (DW), When in Rome (and on LJ), which is after Too Hot for Prime Time (and on LJ) from September’s Giraffe Call.

“Lady, ma’am, Mistress,” Jason gulped, “I have no idea what is going on.”

Her eyes met his in the rear-view mirror, and her voice was gentle as she spoke to him. “You know the important things, Jason. I have bought you, and you are mine now, correct?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he answered, too nervous to even feel resentful.

“When nobody else was interested, because of your spunk and attitude. That part’s important, don’t forget that.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he echoed, and, because she had mentioned his spunk, he added, “so you shopped the bargain bin for me. I get it.”

“That, too,” she agreed. “But it’s important to remember that I bought you for that spunk, not just because no-one else wanted it.”

He nodded slowly. “You wanted someone with… a personality?”

“Among other things. I wanted someone with some life left in them.”

“You make me sound like a bull in the arena,” he complained.

“That’s exactly right.” Before he could balk at that analogy, she continued. “You know you belong to me. You know why I bought you. You know that today is Samhain, Hallowe’en. And you know that I have a costume waiting for you. What else do you need?”

“Why are they dragging that woman away?” he tried. “Okay, revenge of the food, but this seems a little extreme. She’s crying.”

“You would, too. She’s been picked to tithe to the poor and needy for the next year.”

“Like that? By being hit with a stick?”

“Just like that.”

Jason shook his head. “You people are crazy, Mistress. Absolutely buck nutty.”

“Foreign,” she corrected. “We’re a lot different from your people, but that’s not the same as crazy.”

“Looks the same from here,” he admitted.

“Well, you’ll have to learn.” Stopped at a light, she looked back at him. “Make no mistake, Jason, while I’m interested in your ‘spunk,’ I am not interested in disobedience. I will give you clear rules. If you do not follow them, you will be punished. If you continue to disobey, I will sell you. And the place I will sell you to will make the work camps look like a vacation resort. Do you understand?”

Jason gulped, and nodded. “Yes, Mistress.” Shit, shit shit. “I understand. I’ll be obedient.”

“I know you will.” Her smile, this time, was sharp and predatory. “Mind you, there’s nothing saying you can’t be a brat. You just have to be an obedient brat.”

“O… okay. So it’s safe to say I think you’re crazy?”

“In private, yes. In front of other people, I might not be so tolerant.”

“… you people are all nuts. Mistress.”

“And you will learn how to live with us, Jason. Or else.”

Jason gulped. “Yes, Mistress. And are you going to tell me why you have a costume for me?”

“I could tell you why,” she decided. “I knew I was buying someone today. And we always do a costume event at the ranch for Samhain, getting in the spirit, you know?”

Jason nodded nervously. “Okay. So you… have a costume for some slave you might buy?”

“Well, you wouldn’t want to be left out, would you?” she smirked. “When everyone else is getting into the celebration?”

“Mistress,” he answered, as honestly as he could, “I don’t know what I’d be being left out of.”

“You’ll see soon,” she assured him. “We’re almost there.”

“Oh, good,” he answered tiredly, and settled back into his seat. The cuffs were pressing against his back, his feet and other bits were getting chilled, but it wasn’t the slave shop anymore, not the auction hall, and not a work camp.

He didn’t want to think things were looking up, he really didn’t. That seemed like asking for more trouble. And there was this weird Hallowe’en thing to contend with, and the unknown costume…

And a garage. His new owner was pulling into a large garage, between an SUV and a Mustang. “I do well enough for myself,” she answered his unspoken question. “Wait here.”

“Yes, Mistress.” What else was he going to do? He waited, while she headed out into the garage and disappeared from sight, waited while his fingers and hands started to grow numb and he started drifting off.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/198573.html. You can comment here or there.

The Unexpected gift, a story of Stranded World/Autumn for the Giraffe Call

Dec20

For rix_scaedu‘s prompt.

Stranded world, after the Thanksgiving stories of recent.

Autumn’s mother greeted them warmly, hugging Gregor as if he was her own son, which, considering how often he showed up at family events, he might as well be. “Merry Christmas, Gregor. Merry Christmas, Autumn. Two holidays in a row! Truly I’m blessed.”

“Thank you, Mom.” Autumn smiled uncertainly at her mother’s effluvient happiness. “Summer said she wasn’t coming home for this one…?”

“Neither Summer nor Winter, but Spring will be home soon with her young man. I put your mail on your bed, honey.”

“Mail?” She blinked. “It came here and not my drop box? I’m sorry, Mom, I tried to get everything routed so it didn’t bother you…”

“Autumn, Autumn, helping out my daughter doesn’t bother me. Any of my daughters. It was just a couple things, anyway.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Feeling guilty, embarrassed, AND curious all at once, Autumn glanced at Gregor.

“I’ve seen your bedroom, Autumn. I’ve slept in your bedroom.”

“Shh, don’t tell my Mom,” she joked, winking at her mother. “I’ve sort of dying to see what this is,” she apologized.

“You and me both, darling.”

The mail was mostly prosaic – junk mail, a high school reunion letter, a mis-mailed bill. The small box, however, caught her eye, and she nearly opened it without reading the wrapping.

There was no return address, simply a postmark – Tucson, Arizona. She knew that handwriting, though, knew it better than she knew his voice.

“Tattercoats,” she whispered. “He always leaves things in the drops.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to risk it getting into the wrong hands?” Gregor offered.

“But what…” She opened the package with numb fingers. The box inside was no more explanatory, a simple carved box like you could buy in fairs and fests across the land. Her hands barely worked as she opened the small thing.

The paper was on top, and for a moment she was afraid this was a cruel joke, a prank of Tattercoats. He’d done small things of that sort before. She opened the paper without looking underneath, willing her fingers to feel again. Willing her heart to beat.

My Lady Fall, my Autumn Leaf.

I am a coward, and so a coward you find me, mailing this to your mother’s home rather than bringing it to you, sending you this instead of a ring that you so deserve, mailing you this instead of appearing, myself, with an apology. For an apology this is, and a hope that, after my dreadful behaviour, you may still consider me,

Your Bard for now and always,

Tattercoats.

She stared at the pendant, worked in gold, worked to look like one of her own trees, a ruby nestled in its trunk, its branches reaching up to hold the chain. “Bastard,” she whispered, her eyes wet with tears. She’d almost managed to walk away.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/202991.html. You can comment here or there.

The family that knots together…

Nov15

For eseme‘s prompt.

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.