Tag Archive | morepls

Escape From Rochester (Camp Nano July’14 project) Character Profile 2

This is the second in a series of character profiles for my upcoming July Camp Nano Project.

The story follows a group of friends and acquaintances as the faerie apocalypse destroys Rochester, NY

Emmett has never been comfortable anywhere, and R.I.T. was no different when he showed up.

He’s older than the rest of the students, for one – although you wouldn’t know it to look at him – starting at twenty-two instead of finishing there. He chose to live in the dorms anyway, in hopes that he might find some sort of community there, and had some luck, although not quite the way he’d hoped.

The guys down the hall started playing a Shadowrun game on Friday nights in the lounge; the first couple times, they played around Emmett, who was watching TV in the corner and did not really mind. The third time, one of their number was out somewhere else and they invited Emmett to sit in.

Emmett, who hadn’t played any sort of game since Jr. High, found he liked it, and quickly found that there was more of this sort of thing going on on campus. That’s how he met the gaming club, which is how he met Jo and Cadey, which is how he ended up hanging out at Anelle’s Samhain party, the confused date of two avowed lesbians.

Emmett is small and skinny, barely over five foot tall, with straight hair past his shoulders in an unbelievable red, hazel eyes, and skin that freckles if you look at it funny. When he actually pays attention to what he’s doing, he can be very good at swaying a group of people, or, especially, a single person when alone with them, but he rarely tries.

He’s never been particularly strong, nor will he ever be, but he’s robustly healthy. He enjoys spending time hiking when he has the opportunity, and spends a lot of time in the nearby parks and cemeteries.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/712036.html. You can comment here or there.

Continuation Chosen by Random Numbers – Three Glass Beads, Peacock-Blue

A continuation/extrapolation/etc. of Estate.


Rhoda Burks – three beads from a fringe, glass, peacock blue (in wine glass) – October 27th, 1929

The note was handwritten on an index card – no, the back of a library card, the old style – yellowed, the ink faded. The card was clipped to an even older-seeming ledger book, the book itself tied about thrice with silk ribbon.

Three-times tied with silk meant do not touch in every lexicon of the family; Lilyah knew she ought to put the book and its card back where they’d come from – in a glass box, on a bed of obsidian, covered in a virgin’s handkerchief, deep in the archival layers of the family house – but she was not really known for a lack of curiosity.

Besides, she reassured herself, it couldn’t be that old. The family had only branched off three generations ago. It wasn’t like the Root Family, where the stuff in the Aunt house went back to pre-emigration England.

But Lilyah had only had the house for a week… and she didn’t really have it; Aunt Kelly wasn’t dead yet, no matter what the Grannies kept saying.

She settled for copying every piece of information she could into a nice, safe, Staples-brand spiral notebook. The name, the three beads from a fringe, the type of ledger book & the company that had made them. Everything she could get, including the type of knot.

Finally, she thought to turn the library card over.

Protective Burke, Rhoda
Sciences Limits on and Protections from
299.99 Witch-Craft, New York, NY, 1928

Suddenly in a hurry, Lilyah locked the book back into the glass case. She wrapped her notes in a ziplock bag, shoving a few sprigs of rue in there for good measure, and put the case back in the chest it had come in.

She failed to notice the small envelope that had, impossibly, fallen out of the ledger book. If she had, she might have noticed that it held three peacock blue glass beads.

Hidden History, Misplaced Beads

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/710632.html. You can comment here or there. comment count unavailable

A Place Description (@korionfray)

So, the writer in my attic, K Orion Fray, sends out a weekly writing inspiration e-mail, which includes a writing prompt.

A prompt from several weeks ago:

Take a ten minute chunk and write something new coming into your scene. If you described a person, make them notice their setting. If you wrote about a place, have someone walk into it. If you described an object, make something interact with it. The trick here is to not duplicate what you did before–so don’t write two people yet! Be sure to keep yourself to ten minutes this time around. Here’s a timer you can use, if you need help with that!

Description in line is something I still need work at. So I kept on from the last description prompt and here we go.

“If you can’t tell me, show me.” Sergeant Allise, again, didn’t seem to change her tone, but her voice still seemed more gentle.

“Yessir, right away, sir.” Kira coughed. The last thing she wanted to do was show… Ket was staring at her. All right. She could do this. “Sir, we have what is clearly an anomalous event happening between South and Main.” She clicked three buttons on her far-too-universal remote and lit up the screen.

Their cramped ready room was not by any means state of the art. They were a small team in a very small precinct, one classically overworked and underfunded. But the projector (and the remote), Kira had paid for out of pocket. It was the best set-up available. It made you feel like you were in the scene.

That was exactly what Kira didn’t want with this scene. She squinted her eyes shut, but she already knew what she was going to see. “Okay, this is what the Mayflower apartment building looked like yesterday. I’m sure you know it -“

“I used to live there.” Ket’s whisper was harsh; he’d never gotten the hang of being quiet.

The Mayflower was a standard downtown apartment building, eight stories tall, with a sandstone facade and a bit of carving over the double-doored entrance to give it that proper feeling. This city being what it was, of course, it didn’t pay to look too closely at the carvings. The apartments were cheap, passably-well-maintained, and almost everyone who’d gone to college here had spent at least a night in one of them.

“Brace yourselves.” She lifted the remote up. “This is the Mayflower today.” Click.

The back half of the Mayflower – which, from the street, they shouldn’t have been able to see anyway – was missing about a third of itself, in a big pac-man style bite that should have (Again with the shoulds, and Kira should know better by now) knocked the building over.

The front had melted, and twisted. In places the sandstone had shifted into dune-like piles of sand. In other places, it had fused into glass – glass that had formed into a disturbingly eye-like shape.

Through that eye, you could see the bite out of the back of the building. You could also see what had happened to some of the people.

A Scene Description
A Place Description
A Deletion

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/697975.html. You can comment here or there.

Untangling Knots, a continuation of Stranded World for @Anke

This is a continuation of Tangles and Knots commissioned by [personal profile] anke.

It is part of my Stranded World series.

There was a knot sitting on the skein of reality, a heavy knot with complex weaving that spoke of intentional tying and tangling. Winter walked away from the camp of trailers and RV’s, walked to the small town’s corner store, and passed his suit jacket to the old man sitting at the picnic table there.

“That’s a nice coat.”

“Custom tailored. But I don’t need it where I’m going. I need something less obvious.”

The old man’s bleary eyes turned sharp for a moment. “Son, you’re going to have to change more than the coat for that.”

Winter undid his tie and added it to the sportcoat, then pulled the elastic out of his ponytail. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt and untucked it, so that it hung sloppily over his belt, then ran his hands through his hair until it was no longer tidy.

The old man nodded slowly. “It’s a start, at least.”

Winter nodded. “And a jacket?”

“You wanna borrow mine?”

“Consider the suit coat collateral.”

The old man nodded slowly, and slid out of the old denim-and-flannel, with its even older veteran patches and the three bike sigils. “You run into someone from the old gang…”

“I understand. I won’t claim those false pretenses.” Winter coughed. “That is, I ain’t gonna pretend to be something I’m not.”

The man squinted. “You do that better than you ought. And with your white hair, might ought to be older than you look.”

“Younger, usually. But I thank you. I should be back within the hour.”

Thus armed, Winter bought a 40-oz bottle of beer and tucked it, wrapped in its paper bag, loosely into a pocket. He scuffed his perfect shoes in the mud and carefully removed, as Spring would say, the poker from his ass.

He shuffled into the edge of the trailer camp, his head down and his shoulders hunched. The lines of the strands were twisted here, the rope-work turning into a complicated macramé pattern.

“Hey! What are you doing about here?” Not the Tattered-coat one, at least, probably not. This was a woman, with dishwater-hair and a jaw that spoke of poor dental work, blue jeans and three flannel shirts.

Winter raised his head slowly to her. “Looking for…” He blinked, blearily. There were panhandlers on the street, on the way to his office, back in the clean city where he lived (so far from Autumn’s raucous world). He imitated the oldest of those on a bad day. “Looking for… someone.”

“Well, you ain’t gonna find them around here. Get on with you. Go.”

Winter shuffled forward, took a messy swig from his bottle, and moved closer. “Looking,” he insisted. The strands knotted and twisted around her.

“And they. Ain’t. Here.” She reached out towards Winter.

He grabbed as if reaching for her hand, “missed,” and stroked his hand through her strands. The knots were tight, but he was the one who smoothed chaos lines straight. “Looking for you. Looking for Tattercoats.”

She froze at the name, then shuddered as he found and untied a knot. “Tattercoats isn’t…. isn’t…” She slumped to the ground.

Winter caught her on the way down and set her, carefully, on the stairs. “My apologies.” He had the scent now, though, in the knot he’d unhooked from her agency. “Sleep calmly.”

Winter himself was… not calm. He grabbed the strand he’d untied from the woman, and pulled.

He would be meeting this Tattercoats. Very soon.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/697268.html. You can comment here or there.

Betting Time

This is to [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt to this bingo card.

It fills the “Greed” square.

It is part of my Space Accountant setting and comes before Accident and after Betting on It.

They were playing Flotsam, Genique and the two young men, wagering with time, their own free time, and Genique was losing.

She was losing, it appeared, badly. She was down thirty-six hours and a massage, most of it to Marsey the hitter, but a few hours here and there to Darretchon the hacker.

And Marsey had plans, she could tell, for every one of those hours. He was licking his lips. It would have been flattering, if it wasn’t a bit scary.

“One year.” He flicked the chips in.

Genique tried not to smile. The boy was hungry.

“One year.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/691458.html. You can comment here or there.

Unwelcome Guests, Part the Third

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of Unwelcome Guests & Unwelcome Guests, Part II

(I should pay a little more attention to my list; this was for longfic)

Baram and his family are part of the “Baram’s House Elves” sub-series of the Addergoole ‘verse, which can be found here; Baram is also a background character in Addergoole.


“Girls.” Baram nodded at Via and Aly the second he heard the “basement” door shut.

“On it already, boss. Jaelie’s down with the kids and Aloysius. And Aly’s been waking up the rest of the defenses. Now she can swap with Jae and Jae can get the trees ready.”

“Good.” Baram paced out onto the front walk. There wasn’t much to pretend to do here, but he could still pace.

Behind him, the girls moved. This was not their first attack, not by far. They knew what they were doing.

The walls shifted. They weren’t awake, whatever Viatrix had said, but they were ready, braced, and stronger than they normally were.

“Precious cargo tucked in.” Jaelie touched Baram’s shoulder. “Aloysius has rear guard.”

“Good.” Baram didn’t have to like the useless thing to admit he could come in handy. “Trees?”

“They’re good trees, aren’t they?” She stroked the trunk of one of the front-gate flanking plants. “My favorite trees.”

Baram suppressed a shudder. Hawthorn trees weren’t supposed to be that big, and they were not suppose to /purr./ “Good trees,” he agreed. “Almost here.” The dust was rising on the horizon. “Inside.”

“Boss…”

“Inside. Might not be a fight, best to find out.”

She sighed. “Inside, yes, boss.” She slipped out of sight just as the motorcycles roared into view.

Baram did his best to look casual. There was a bolt that needed fixing on the gate, anyway.

There were six of them, four males, two females; four warriors, two bitches, if Baram was reading them right, but they didn’t split along gender lines. They were wearing leather, which might mean they were young – or might mean they were pragmatic. Baram had met Aelfgar and his soldiers; Baram sometimes remembered, in dreams, flashes of being a soldier.

Take nothing for granted. They could even, he supposed, be just wandering through. Since the world had started ending, they had definitely seen odder things.

“Afternoon.” He nodded at them, doing his best to seem normal-and-human. Normal-and-human was not an easy setting for him, but these were people riding large motorcycles and hung with weapons. Their bar was a little lower than people in suits in glassy offices.

“We’re looking for a pair.” The leader – probably female, hard to tell, didn’t matter much in this case anyway – snarled it out without even bothering with the pretense. “One male, one female, skinny. They came this way.”

Baram shook his head. “Haven’t seen anyone like that.”

The leader narrowed her eyes and glanced, briefly, at the man Baram had tagged as her bitch. He paled, closed his eyes, and murmured incoherently.

“They’re near. I promise it, I swear it.”

“You lie.” It wasn’t clear whether the woman was talking to the man or to Baram. It didn’t matter; she was drawing a weapon. “You. Tell me again. One man, one woman.”

Baram shook his head. “Bad idea. Ride away now.”

“You, you are not going to tell me what to do.” She dismounted, and took steps towards the front gate. “Tell me. One man, one woman. And I might let you live.”

“Last chance.” He still hadn’t drawn steel. He didn’t need to. “Ride away. Now.”

“You fucking deaf or just stupid? Give us our prey and we’ll let you live.”

Baram found himself roaring, just as the trees by the gate found they could reach the woman. “This. This is a Safe. House.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/681233.html. You can comment here or there.

Unwelcome Guests, Part the Second

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned A continuation of Unwelcome Guests.

(I should pay a little more attention to my list; this was for longfic)

Baram and his family are part of the “Baram’s House Elves” sub-series of the Addergoole ‘verse, which can be found here; Baram is also a background character in Addergoole.

Delaney snaked her way in front of Ardell, grinning, all sweetness-and-light and innocence. Baram didn’t budge, and he didn’t miss the three weapons she was carrying openly. Spear, sword, gun.

“We heard you were running a safe house, Baram. We heard you had some Addergoole girls working for you. We heard you had weapons, had food.”

Ardell slunk to the side of Delaney. No smile, more weapons. He often pretended, but he wasn’t pretending to be sweet, at least. “We heard you were living the sweet life here, surrounded by pretty things. Like the girl who answered the door. And we figured we’d pay an old friend a visit.”

Baram looked at the two of them. He glanced over his shoulder – very briefly – at Alkyone. He looked back at people who had been, if not his friends, his allies.

The next words came easily to him. “Who are you?”

They shared a look. A look, and then Delaney’s shoulders shifted, and Ardell took a step backwards. “We’d heard…” Ardell frowned. He looked actually bothered. “We’d heard you forgot things.”

“Did you really forget us?” Delaney did a believable pout. “After everything we went through together?”

Ardell picked up on the cue. “Yeah, man, all that time together in school, we were like crew. We were solid friends. And you forgot all of that?”

How much of it did they mean? Baram shrugged. “Forgot most things. Jaelie remembers for me.”

“This is Jaelie?” Delaney waved her fingers. “Hi. We’re old friends of Baram’s, like we said.”

“No.” Alkyone’s voice was hard. “I’m Alkyone. Jaelie is elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere.” Delaney sneered the word out. “Aren’t you cute? And I bet you think you’re smart, too. Move over, chica. We’re here to visit our old friend, Baram.”

“Alkyone is a new friend.” Baram spoke slowly, the way he could remember talking, sometimes, when he was having a bad day, “one of those episodes,” Jaelie called them. “Alkyone lives here.”

“Well, of course she does.” Ardell took Delaney by the shoulders and pushed her out of the way – carefully, Baram noted; there was no violence in the way they handled each other. “And you do, too, right, buddy? Remember how we said we’d always open our doors to each other?”

“Don’t remember you.” He remembered the conversation Ardell was talking about. Ardell and Del, Ib and Rozen and Baram. Baram remembered saying nothing, shaking no hands, just sitting back with someone pretty curled on his lap and watching them talk.

Baram wondered how much of the rest of his Addergoole experience he remembered differently, like the spider-girl and her horrified memories of him. But this was different; this was lies.

“Of course you remember us.” Ardell’s voice was getting sharp. “Of course you’re going to let us in. Baram, come on, think of all the things I’ve done for you. How much fun you had with my Kept over the years. How much fun you could have with my Kept now.”

“You have Kept?” That was a different matter.

“Boss. Trouble on the horizon.” Viatrix came up on Baram’s other side. “Looks like bad trouble, too. The alarms caught seven.”

The alarms had been the girls’ idea and mostly their implementation; Baram’s house wasn’t the only group of people still living here, but they were the most combat-ready and, in other ways, the most vulnerable. Kids made you weak, but in weird and strong ways.

“First alarms?” The first alarms were four miles out. Plenty of time.

“Second.”

That was harder; the second were two miles out.

A glance back at their unwelcome guests showed Ardel’s shoulder’s tense and Delaney trying to press herself as close to the threshold as possible. “Come on, Baram, you’ve got to let us in. For old time’s sake. For when we were friends.”

“Boss. They’re trouble.” Alkyone’s voice held warning. “And they’re bringing trouble here.”

Del’s voice shifted to nasty again. “And do you think they’ll care if you have actually helped us? No, they will take you down one way or the other.”

“You brought enemies to our door?” Baram didn’t need to look to know that Via and Alkyone were now holding their weapons. Via’s voice told him everything he needed. “You brought hunters here, to our safe haven?”

“It’s not yours, bitch.” Ardel had lost the last semblance of courtesy and niceness. “It’s our friend’s. Baram’s.”

“I think you’re under a misapprehension-” Alkyone began, but Baram had had enough of the back-and-forth, especially with potential hunters on the way.

“Their house, my house, our house. Not yours. Get in back. Basement doors by apple tree.” Baram pointed. “Stay there if you want to live.”

“So you remember us, buddy?” Ardel’s smile was back as fast as it had left.

“No.” Best to keep up the lie. “Get in basement. Fast.”

The door by the apple tree didn’t lead to the house basement, but the hidey hole there was safe, protected by Baram’s threshold…

…and a bit of a trap. Another thing Ardel and Delaney didn’t need to know until they were in there.

Luckily, nobody expected that sort of thing of Baram. They moved – fast.

On the horizon, Baram was beginning to be able to make out an oncoming enemy.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/675139.html. You can comment here or there.

Locked In, a story for Trope Bingo/Bonus Round

This is to [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s prompt to my [community profile] dailyprompt here.

This fills the “locked in” square in the Trope Bingo Card.

Names from Fourteen Minutes‘ generator.

“All right. This is looking bad.” Richan frowned at the door.

“Looking. Looking.“ Cathuyet shook her head. “I’m not sure looking bad is the phrase you’re looking for.”

“Would you shut up and let me work?”

“No. No, I won’t. And I’ll tell you why.” She pushed the lantern into her partner’s hands. “Because we have twenty-five minutes to get out of here. Failure is in no way an option.”

“I know, I know.” Richan paced around the room for what had to be the seventieth time. “There could be another way out.”

“There is most definitely another way out.” Cathuyet’s voice was level, but she wasn’t paying her partner much attention anymore; she had a small ball of light floating over the lock mechanism and was tapping at things with a tiny hammer. “I can think of at least four.”

“What?” Richan paused in the pacing to stare at Cathuyet’s back. “Then why- Oh. That hardly counts.”

“Well, they’re exits.”

“Traps!”

“At least the first one would dump us into the lake. We’d almost certainly survive. Can you bring the lantern over here and look at the top left lock? I think we need to focus on that one and the bottom right one at the same time.”

“We might survive, but what about everyone else?” Richan obligingly hung the lantern on a hook in the ceiling and began examining the lock in question.

“Well, that’s why we’re not taking those routes.” Cathuyet peeked up. “Richan, do you hear that…”

“Grinding sound? Yeah. Yeah, that sounds… shit.”

Richan reached for the lantern. “That hook – damnit, rookie mistake.”

Cathuyet stopped Richan with a grab to the wrist. “No, leave it. Remember what happened back in the labyrinth.”

Richan froze, and then, very slowly, nodded. “Right. Once you’ve set something off, minimize other factors. Like in the lake trap. Blasted waters, I hope that Edmose got out all right.”

“It’s a lake. Right now, Edmose has as good a chance of survival as we do.” She tilted her head and leveled her breathing.

“I can’t believe…”

“Richan, stop beating yourself up – this place is made to cue mistakes like that – and act like the safecracker you are. Listen.

The younger thief did as instructed; soon the only sounds in the room were very measured, quiet breathing and the creaking of the mechanisms. Creaking. Everything here was relatively new; nothing should be sounding that decrepit. That meant…

Richan jammed a stiletto into a hole just as it opened. The gear-creaking sound clicked, clicked again, pushed against the knife… and stopped. With no sound at all, a door slid open.

“Richan, you’re a genius.” Cathuyet used a mirror on a stick to check out the passageway ahead. “Clear in all directions. And so are we. With twelve minutes to spare.”

“Only if we get the idol and get out of the final chamber before the time tips over.” This entire set-up had been built on a balance board, with only the hour-timer keeping it from flopping sideways.

“Right.” She wiggled through the entranceway – and stopped.

“What?”

Cathuyet was choking, soft laughter that shook her shoulders. “There’s another blasted door. We’re still locked in.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/673910.html. You can comment here or there.

Stranded in Winter, a story of Stranded World (ha) for the Giraffe Call

This is to [personal profile] moonwolf‘s prompt here to my February Giraffe Call, with a side order of [personal profile] librarygeek‘s prompt here

Warning: cliffhanger.

Autumn (and Winter, et al) are from Stranded World.


Winter – the season, not her brother – left Autumn stuck in one place, this year not just in a single town, the way she often spent the colder times, but stuck in the town’s tiny inn, the snow actually pressing the doors shut.

She’d spent the first day sitting in the tavern down stairs, drawing, playing online when the spotty wi-fi was working, and working on her very messy accounting. The second day she’d spent half hiding in her room, and the other half helping the also-stuck cook-and-owner clean the kitchen top to bottom. The third day, when it was clear that the snow really wasn’t going to let up, they’d both crawled out a second-story window, jumped off the porch, and started shoveling their way down to the ground.

When they’d gotten the door clear and most of the inn’s sidewalk, and after they’d taken a break for cider and cheese, they dug across the street to the Library. The Librarian, eighty years old if she was a day, had been subsisting on biscuits and tea. She was so grateful for the rescue that she let Autumn check out whatever she wanted, on the theory that it wasn’t going to go anywhere anyway.

The inn-cook, no older than Autumn, had said, over and over again, that this was the worst winter he could remember. When the Librarian said it, too, it pricked Autumn’s curiosity.

She read ancient newspapers while munching on onions rings and chicken wings, helped the inn-cook shovel to the grocery and then to the grocer’s house, read until she fell asleep, and read over breakfast. When she and the inn-cook had re-cleared paths that had gotten a foot of snow overnight, she headed up to the highest place she could reach – the Library’s cupola – and started looking. Looking.

She drew the patterns she wanted on her arms: the weather, which was generally mild, with inches, not feet, falling at once. The people, who were generally stoic and tended not to leave town much (except Autumn, and others like her, who came and went with the seasons). The anomaly, snow past her hips and still falling.

And when she was done, her arms and chest bare to the frigid air and covered in snowflake patterns, she opened her sight to the Strands.

And fell down, nearly blinded. “Oh.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/663858.html. You can comment here or there.

Accident

This is to [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt to this bingo card.

It fills the “Accidental Marriage” square.

It is part of my Space Accountant setting and comes after Taking Chances.

“So you see…” First Mate Cleonorayen Clyd looked uncomfortable. Genique would have felt bad for her, but she was rather busy feeling bad for herself.

“No, I don’t see.”

“It’s space law. It only has to last a year – but it has to last a year.”

“Do you have any idea how much a kid could bankrupt me in a year?”

“I don’t suppose ‘you should have thought of that before you signed the bunking form’ will fly, will it?”

“I was asking for a bigger bed! The Quartermaster said I had to!”

“Ah.” Clyd laughed. “That explains everything.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/644302.html. You can comment here or there.