Tag Archive | giraffecall: perk
Callenian Poetry, an Excerpt
This is the donation-level perk for the June Giraffe Call. It’s not done yet, but here’s the first bit.
Callenan poetry falls into several different categories, but the largest division, describing all else, is spoken vs. written poetry.
Written poetry originated with the priesthood, and before them with the gods-chasers1 of the original Home Valley. The Callenian language, written, lends itself to artistic forms and decoration.
In the early days of the written word, the god-chasers would mark short prayer-poems, often calling out to longer spoken-poem works, onto the skin of the tribe’s Riders, onto the leather of their saddles, and onto the fur of their goats. As time went on, the artistic forms became more complicated; the holy texts of Callenia are written in formed poetry.2
Spoken poetry existed long before the written, and was first used to pass on stories and lessons from one generation to the next. In the style of epics, spoken poetry tends to rely heavily on repetition, rhyme, and a strong rhythm to carry mnemonic cues.
1. The Callenan left the original gods when settling Reiassan. See http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/365239.html
2. For examples see http://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/index.php?showtopic=1001
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/368020.html. You can comment here or there.
Neighbors, a story of Steam!Callenia for the Giraffe Call
Soon after Every Gift and Building the Wedding-House
If the demolition and construction of the new intersection, the re-construction of the former Bureau of Education building, and the presence of soon-to-be-newlyweds in said building hadn’t gotten the neighbors’ attention and drawn their ire, the two mechanical contrivances on the front sidewalk definitely did.
But not just ire, Katyebah was gratified to discover. People were also curious, and, more than that, people wanted to give advice. In Lannamer, heart of the Empire, heart of the Emperor’s engineering corps, it was unsurprising, she supposed, that most people were front-porch engineers.
“Shouldn’t that gear be turning leftwards?”
“Shouldn’t you have used brass and not silver? Silver tarnishes.”
“Shouldn’t you have used a better grease for that than goat lard? The whole place smells like a farm and it will go rancid very quickly.”
“That’s not wild aether, is it? You know what happens with wild aether.”
“You need another five degrees on that roof angle to allow for the snow. Like this.” The grizzled man that stepped forward looked to predate the Empire, possibly the continent. His beard was braided down his chest in the old style, two white braids woven with beads; his head was bald on top but he still had three respectable braids running down his back to his seat, all three heavy with beadwork. Katyebah almost expected him to be wearing leather and fur, but his tunic and waistcoat were fine North-country brocade.
He cleared his throat. Everyone stopped to listen. “The machines are good for lifting, although I’d fix the arm joint on that one; it’s bending the wrong direction for the stress. And the ‘jaws’ on the other one are cute, but they don’t have any gripping power at all. Nice job, though.” Over Uncle Bantas and Aunt Gelah’s stunned bows, he continued. “Your roof needs to shift angle, though. Just 5 degrees, but without it, it’s going to be dumping snow into your attic by a month into the cold season. Here, let me show you.” He pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and started drawing on the sidewalk.
As Katyebah studied the drawing, she thought maybe, just maybe, she might get along with the neighbors after all.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/367714.html. You can comment here or there.
Building the Wedding-House, a story of Steam!Callenia for the Giraffe Call
Soon after Every Gift
The rebuild of their wedding-house was almost complete, which was good, since their wedding was less than a week away. All that was left were the final pieces of the roof.
The problem was, given the tight space of the street, even expanded, and the neighbors to three sides who had had enough of construction, thank you very much, a conventional crane was out of the question. Ropes and pulleys would work, and, indeed, were working, but even with a five-pulley system, the going was slow, hard, and painful. But they were doing it, Katyebah and Larzhal, with the help of a few of their closest friends.
And then Larzhal’s uncle Bantas showed up with a… device, at the same time that Katybah’s aunt Gelah showed up with some sort of contraption, one of them snorting steam and the other one farting smoke, glittering brass and solid iron, both making noises like a boiler that had seen better days.
“Dueling devices?” Katyebah was joking, although she wasn’t sure it was actually a jest. “Larzhal…”
“It’s all right, my lovely Katye.” He kissed her forehead, cheerfully helpful in that manner nobody else would have been allowed to be. “They can’t do much…”
“To our home?” She did not shout, because she did not want to upset the neighbors any further, but it was close.
“How long do your Aunt Gelah’s machines normally work for?”
“Perhaps an hour. Your uncle’s?”
“Perhaps two. So we ask them to take turns.” Larzhal smiled. “Three hours ought to finish the roof, and I’ll call a carter to help them get everything home when they’re done.”
“I knew I was marrying you for a reason.” She kissed him, in full sight of the next-door neighbor. Perhaps they would be gifted with curtains for their wedding.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/364365.html. You can comment here or there.
Every Gift, a story of Steam!Callenia for the Giraffe Call
Some time after Road Map
If there was one situation in everyday life where everyone seemed to have a need to get involved it was weddings.
And the problem was, in this case, Katyebah and Larzhal couldn’t find a way to deny any of them.
They were providing the land for their house – not traditional, but when Katyebah and Onton had, with Larzhal’s help, designed a plan to widen Lannamer’s worst traffic intersections, they had necessitated the semi-demolition of several buildings. One of those lots – now holding half of a former Education Bureau facility – had been deeded to Katyebah and Onton for their service.
Onton, in a rare move of complete generosity, had gifted his half to Katyebah and Larzhal as a wedding gift (until then, they hadn’t realized they were getting married, although everyone around them knew it). And the Education Bureau, grateful for the excuse to rebuild, had donated the services of their builder for a week of time.
All that was left were the designs to turn a half a building on a small lot into a full home.
And there, well, everyone had an opinion. Onton, who had given the land, had spent half a day scribbling on plans, adding “improvements.” At least he was an engineer. The happy couple’s parents, who by tradition would have provided the land and the building, had any number of ideas and input, most of which were completely unsuitable.
As the sun set, two days before the builder would arrive, Katyebah and Larzhal stared at the notes, the gifts, and the two pieces of useful input their families had provided.
“Double walls on the windward face.” Larzhal’s uncle Bantas has drawn in the lines with smooth, engineer’s-hand lines. “It’s facing the road, so it will block sound and protect you in the winter.”
“I got an overshipment of these blue tiles. It’s not enough for the whole roof.” Katybah’s aunt Gelah had dropped the cartons with a loud thump. “But you could do some sort of design.”
Katybah’s pencil was wandering, sketching designs suggesting wind and sea. The ancient building had good lines and sturdy walls, those that were left. The double wall would close in the building, and the tiles…
“Block the wind and bless it over with a prayer?” Larzhal smiled. “Always practical.”
“Always using every gift. That’s the tradition, after all.” She leaned against his arms, and considered the turret Onton wanted them to install.
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/358516.html. You can comment here or there.
May Giraffe Call with Extra Second Prompt Winner!
My May Giraffe Call is open (and on LJ). The theme is Origins and Creations.
For every $25 donated, I will choose at random a prompter and write an additional prompt for them.
We are $9 from the $50 level!
For the $25 level, the winner is ![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
becka_sutton!!
I am still taking prompts!
Donate below
Art by Djinni!
I also take payment by Dwolla
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/340339.html. You can comment here or there.
Good Bones
For the February continuation poll, after Love and Hospitality (LJ) and Graduation Plans (LJ)
Addergoole has a landing page here.
There was a bouquet of flowers and a dead raccoon waiting for Wren and Nydia at their new apartment.
Nydia took care of the raccoon with a muttered Working, while Wren unpacked a vase and got the flowers set. Neither of them talked about the oddness of the gift; neither wanted to admit that they weren’t sure if it was a normal sort of thing, out in the world.
Out in the world. They moved their stuff into two of the three bedrooms and didn’t quite look at each other, didn’t quite admit that they both wanted to crawl into a closet and hide.
“Lady Maureen and DJ will bring the kids in a week,” Wren said. Nydia already knew this, of course, but it was more what Wren didn’t say, anyway: we have a week to get our shit together.
“Can we…”
“Of course we can.” Wren’s smile was bright and false. “Look. The job part, we know we can do. The mom part… we have practice at that. That’s not the problem.”
“No,” Nydia agreed. That wasn’t the problem.
“And we have this list. See? And that takes care of the rest.”
“Are we…” Nydia gestured incoherently. Wren smiled, seeming to understand. Of course, that’s why they were friends.
“Of course we are. We graduated from Addergoole. But, come on, don’t you think our former Keepers are, too?”
Nydia found herself squirming, but smiling at the same time. “Vampire,” she pointed out. “I always wondered… but I didn’t really want to think about it.”
“Control freak.” Wren picked up a box of cooking things and began unpacking, lining things up in a line against the back of the tiny kitchen’s counter. “And no, I didn’t consider adding either of them to the list.”
“Good.” Nydia knew she was lying every bit as much as Wren was, but there were some lies their friendship was balanced carefully on, and that was one of the big ones. “So who do we have to interview?”
“Eight men.” Wren tilted her head at the pink file folder. “One probably-just-human, three Faded, and four half-breed Ellehemaei. No Addergoole grads, but one of the Faded is a relative. Cousin of Kendra and Callista’s.”
“How many arms. How man… you said Faded.” Nydia smiled. “Okay, that sounds do-able. When do we start?”
“Tomorrow at noon. Lady Maureen set up the first appointment.”
There was a dead squirrel and three dead roses waiting outside the apartment the next moment. The squirrel went the way of the raccoon, the roses got hung in the entryway, and Nydia and Wren began setting up a life for themselves.
Storefronts were easy. The realtors that tried to sell said storefronts weren’t quite as easy, but Wren and Nydia knew exactly what they wanted, and they weren’t as easy to bully as they looked. Whenever the men started getting pushy, Nydia pictured Rozen and Baram, and the balding, middle-aged guy in the sweater vest didn’t seem scary at all.
“No,” she explained, again, “we’re looking for something with more space. The windows we can fix. The kitchen can be rebuilt. But this looks like you could, maybe, do a cookie shoppe out of here, if you didn’t ever want to expand.”
“Space like that is going to cost you. It might be better to start small and work up to a big place.” This one wanted to be paternal. Nydia had Opinions about that.
“We need a place that will suit our needs now. If you’re not capable of giving us what we want, we’re more than willing to take our money elsewhere.”
He looked like she had slapped him. “I just don’t want you girls to get in over your heads.”
“Girls. Are we girls, Nydia?” Wren was smiling. That was not a good sign.
“Five children between us, Wren, I’d say we probably deserve ‘woman,'” she agreed happily. “When’s our next appointment?”
“About… twenty minutes. If we leave now, we can get coffee first.”
“Coffee sounds delicious.” And like that, they were gone. Nydia felt a little bad – but just a little bad, over a thrill of naughtiness and empowerment that was completely new.
“What’s his name?” she asked, when the surge of pleasure wore off and she remembered what, exactly, their next appointment was.
“Oh, good question. James maybe, Jack? Jared?”
Nydia flipped through the paperwork. “Tate.” She giggles a bit. “We’re meeting with a Tater Tot?”
“Be nice, Nydia, he looks like a nice guy.”
“I’m pretty sure nice guys are not what we’re looking for.” They’d interview him anyway, of course. He deserved the chance and, really, he could be just what they needed. Or he could be a dud-spud.
Tate wasn’t quite a dud-spud, but he had all the personality of a french fry. Nice, handsome, strong… boring.
That was the order of operations for the whole day. Nice place, no foundation. Nice guy, no spine. Creepy place with great lighting. Jerk with a winning smile.
“It’s only day one.” Wren sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as much as, if not more than, she was trying to cheer up Nydia. “We have three more places and two more guys tomorrow. And two and three the day after that. We’ll find someone, and someplace.”
“I know.” By this point, Nydia wasn’t remotely surprised by the dead blackbird at their doorstep, or the box of chocolates next to it. “We have weird neighbors, Wren.”
“We’re only in the lease for three months. We can find a better place once we have everything else settled.”
“I hope so.” She glanced around to be sure they were alone, and dealt with the bird the way she’d handled the other two “gifts.” “I’m a little wary of those chocolates.”
“Sealed box,” Wren pointed out. “From the chocolatier next to the almost-good-place.”
“Great bones, no personality? That one had potential.”
“So did the boy right after that. We can refurbish the building…”
“But we don’t want to refurbish a boy,” Nydia agreed. “Not the sort of thing we’re looking for.”
“There’s always tomorrow.” Wren opened the box of chocolate and muttered a complex Idu charm. “Try the ones with pink.”
“Tomorrow,” Nydia agreed. She popped the pink candy in her mouth and wondered how you gave a boy a coat of paint.
Next: Moving Foread (LJ)
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/316053.html. You can comment here or there.
The Princess and the Huntsman, a story of the Aunt Family for the March Giraffe Call
A continuation of “Tell me a Story,” (LJ) and “Princesses, Knights, and the Huntsman” (LJ)
The Aunt Family has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.
Rosaria was not surprised to see Cady coming around more and more often. When Lily’s mother dropped off her handful of children to “visit Grandma,” there were often a few neighborhood kids in the van as well.
This particular day, it was Cady, Lily, her two brothers, and another friend, a shy boy with old shoes that she hadn’t met before, and yet felt she already knew.
“Gather round, children,” she said, as she did when the group was right, “it’s time for a story.” She had been asking around the neighborhood, trying to discover what Cady’s demon was. She had some clues, but nothing definite yet. Perhaps a story would tell her more.
“Once upon a time,” she began, reaching for the story as Lily whispered an explanation to her brother’s shy friend. Once upon a time, indeed. The threads were recalcitrant today, not wanting to give her a story. Rosaria coughed. “Some water for Grandma, dears?”
Chamus hurried to get her a glass of water, and Rosaria relaxed, letting the story take her where it would.
Not Cady, and not the new boy, no, today it would be Lily. Rosaria drank deeply from the plastic cup her grandson offered, and let the story take control.
“Once upon a time, there was a…”
“A knight?” they asked eagerly. “A Queen? A dragon?”
“A princess.” She smiled a bit as she said it. “There was a young princess, youngest of many princesses but no less beautiful. And this princess had come to fall in love with the huntsman’s son.”
She saw it hit home, and wondered if this tale was supposed to be cautionary. She liked those the least.
“She had fallen for the son of the huntsman, who himself would be hunstman in his turn, a skinny lad who hadn’t yet come into his full growth….”
“Is there a quest?” Cady asked eagerly.
“Hrrm, it seems there is. But we will get there when we get there, dear. The Princess’ parents didn’t disapprove of the match, because they didn’t, yet, know about the Princess’ infatuation. Thinking the Princess was too young, they were blind to the consequences.”
Interesting. Lily was squirming.
“But the young noblewoman herself was not so blind, and neither was the boy she loved, not the Hunstman, his father. They would have, she knew, many hurdles to cross before they could be anything more than distant friends. ” Oh, dear. I thought we had a few more years…
“And so, it seems, the Princess and the Huntsman agreed on a quest.” Rosaria smiled benignly, hiding the worry she felt. “To prove themselves worthy for each other, and for the world.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/301558.html. You can comment here or there.
Inter-cultural relations, a continuation of Dragons Next Door for the January Giraffe Call
For the January Giraffe Call’s donor-perk continuation, after Exterminator (LJ)
The client stared at Steve, stared at the Tiny, and screamed.
She had a window-shattering caterwaul that would make stronger men than Steve wince; he sheltered the Tiny man under an insulated cup and waited for her to be done.
“Kill it,” she screeched, “kill the horrid little thing, what is it, don’t show it to me, no, just kill it!”
He stared at her. The Tiny stared at her. He was pretty sure the cat was staring at her. Cats did that, though. “Ma’am, this is a sentient being. Tinies are covered under the Finch-Thompson-Harris Convention.”
“The what?” She’d come down to a low yowl by this point, but she still couldn’t bring herself to look at the Tiny.
Steve boggled. “You really haven’t heard of the FTH? The Convention of 1949 that dictated the direction of human-nonhuman relations? The laws that state that, for instance, killing a dragon has the same legal consequence as killing another human?”
“Or a Tiny,” the Tiny man piped up.
The woman stared at them. “That piece of toilet paper? You can’t seriously expect me to know that shit.”
“Mrs. Anderson,” Steve replied, as patiently as he could make himself be, “the FTH is one of the most important documents in the world. And, if you don’t expect to follow it, then you can’t very well expect the ogres and dragons to mind it, either, can you? Did you know that, before the FTH…”
“Are you a history professor or an exterminator?” she interrupted. “Look, I hired you to deal with the problem in my walls.”
“You hired me to kill bugs. These are not bugs.” He set the Tiny man down near the entryway to his home. “They are sentient species. At the worst, they owe you rent, or you can move to evict them for non-notification. Sorry,” he added to the Tiny man, “but that’s the law.”
“We notified,” the man squeaked. “My grand-dad notified, he did. We have a hundred-year lease, as is standard.”
Mrs. Anderson sat down in her overly floral settee with a thump. “They have a lease? The crea… they have a lease? There was nothing about that in the paperwork when we bought this house. What can we do about that?”
Steve shook his head. “Ma’am, you need a lawyer, a good one. And, like I said, a co-habitation councilor or a cross-species translator. And maybe a read up on the FTH.”
She looked over at the Tiny man. “My father… I really shouldn’t say that, should I?”
“Probably not,” he agreed. His job was clearly done here; he began packing up his tools.
“Ey,” the Tiny called up to him, “ain’t you gonna help?”
“I’m an exterminator. There’s nothing to exterminate, is there?”
“What, like bugs or mice? No, we don’t tolerate that kind of shit in our walls. Begging your pardon, ma’am.”
“No offense taken,” Mrs. Anderson answered weakly. “You really have a hundred-year lease on my walls?”
“Just this wall. There’s another family living over by the bedroom.” The Tiny man leered at her. “Pricey land, Upstairs. My grand-dad couldn’t afford all that.”
Mrs. Anderson looked like she was going to cry. “There’s more creatures… in my bedroom?”
“In your bedroom walls,” Steve corrected. “It’s fairly common practice. I have three clans living in my house.” He smirked, amused at himself. “They like the quiet.”
“It’s not all that quiet here,” she offered weakly.
“Nah, but we’re willing to overlook a little bit of shoutin’ now and then on account of the low rent.”
That got Mrs. Anderson’s attention. “Rent?”
“Well, of course. You don’t think we just freeload, do you? Now, there are those that do, but they’re not what you’d call respectable Tinies. No, no, We pay rent, first of every month, have since my granddad’s time.”
“To whom?” She stood again, pacing. “I would have noticed, I think. If the man who sold us this house, that horrid creature, has been collecting rent all these years after not telling me there were ‘Tinies’ in the walls, I will take him to court and not stop until he hasn’t a single red cent to his name.”
“Hey now, hey now, no need to get nasty again. Maybe he thought you knew? There’s Tinies in every house in the neighborhood. We have a carpool.” The small man smiled hopefully up at Mrs. Anderson. “We can move out, if that’s what you want, but it will be hard for us to find a place as nice as this one.”
She sat back down, and then sat further down, on the floor, so she could look at the Tiny. “You think my place is nice? My walls?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s ancestral land in there, which helps, but you have a lovely set of walls here, ma’am. We’d hate to move.” The Tiny paused. “And about the rent. We been dropping it in the drop box all these years. You never went to look?”
“The drop box?” She shook her head slowly. “No, I never knew of such a thing.”
“Well, then, I oughta show you.”
Steve stood up, content that his work was done. “I won’t bill you for the trip, Mrs. Anderson, if you can promise me you’ll work things out with this nice man and his family.”
She stood, shaking his hand. “Oh, no, at least let me pay your mileage. They pay rent,” she added, “that’s hard to find these days. And he thinks my walls are nice.”
“They’re very nice walls,” Steve agreed. He wasn’t going to work too hard at turning down money. “I’ll send you the names of some good inter-species translators. I know a gremlin who does good work.”
“I’d appreciate that. And, Mr. Canson… Thank you.”
Steve felt a grin spreading across his face. This one would turn out good, he knew it would. “The pleasure was all mine, ma’am. The pleasure was all mine.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/298552.html. You can comment here or there.
Giraffe Incentive: Podcast
So… I have committed to record myself reading one story – I’ll stretch it and say any story written for the January, February, or December Giraffe Calls under 750 words.
What would you like to hear me read?
Side note: Does anyone anyone have tips on doing those lovely text animations?
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/296032.html. You can comment here or there.