Tag Archive | prompt: dailyprompt

Supply Exhausted

Jan18

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

This fills the “exhaustion” square in the January Bingo Card.

Names from Fourteen Minutes‘ random name generator.

Warning: this might be a bit creepy.

“How can we be running out?” Shadde-Reston had that high-management refusal to accept numbers that Basia knew far too well; one had to work around it with charts and graphics and, if possible, displays that invoked all the senses.

“Let me show you, Se.” When one is the bearer of bad news, be as deferential as possible. One didn’t want to end up being the next bad news.

“I don’t want more charts. Do you understand what this means, Basia? If we run out?”

“Se, I know that we are running out. I know that this will have huge effects on the economy. I know that it will cut the luxuries market by over a half. I know that it will cut the food market by more than that. People will starve.”

“It’s the end of an era!” Shadde’s voice was trilling upwards. Basia responded by keeping a completely level tone of voice.

“It is certainly going to require some changes. The most efficient plan would be to pare luxuries down to the very minimum, curtail euphoric production, and, of course, cut back on imports until we can restructure our economy.”

“I still don’t understand how this could have happened.”

“If you’d let me show you the demonstration, Se?”

“Your demonstrations are always so dreary, Basia.”

“That is my job, Se Shadde-Reston.” When one wasn’t being listened to, sometimes one had to resort to high formality. “This one’s job has always been to distill the facts for the Supervisors. And this one must do one’s job.”

“No displays. No demonstrations. No charts. Just tell me how we could run out? How do you run out of workers? They’re a renewable resource. Leave them alone and they make more of themselves.”

Basia coughed. “That would be the problem, Se. They, ah, stopped making more.”

“What did they do?” Shadde leaned forward over the 100-years-extinct-hardwood desk. “What did they do?”

Basia was going to have to spell it out. “Se Shadde, they stopped breeding. They stopped having sex.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/639467.html. You can comment here or there.

Omens and Ill, a story for the Bonus Round

Jan17

To [personal profile] lilfluff‘s prompt for here, my [community profile] dailyprompt prompt “getting your feet wet.” Also fills “Holy Place” on my January Bingo Card.

New setting? Might be in the same world as the oracle whose god got irritated. (here)

This REALLY feels like a draft of a novel beginning to me.

There were a few blind nay-sayers who took it as an ill omen when the temple of Orestin flooded.

Since most of the rest of the city and the surrounding land were also flooded, the majority of citizens were far less concerned. Their temple held a decent piece of land on a well-known street; the place was well-lit of the night time (when the city was less flooded) and well-trafficked during the day. But it was not on the city’s one hilltop

A few scholars and that sort suggested that it could be a sign that the temples themselves were places of worship, not the homes of the gods. Thus had been suggested since time immemorial, but there was still no agreement on the matter.

The acolytes of Orestin had no time for that debate. They were wading through ankle-deep water to prepare for the morning devotions; they were cleaning out unused space (from a time of greater prosperity; the acolytes of Orestin saved everything, including real estate) for those whose homes were unlivable, they were baking flatbread and pressing cheese, running the ovens full of whatever they could roast just to combat the damp.

An Acolyte of the Mulberry Ring, Tremmin, was currently knee-deep in water at the base of the temple stairs, herding the faithful (or those willing to pretend, at the moment, for a dry place to perch) up the stairs and through one of the three entrances. A citizen caught her eye and smirked, looking as exhausted as she felt. “You’d think it was a Quarterly Festival, wouldn’t you? You’ve even got the back door open.”

She wanted to say something clever, but Tremmin had been awake for, to her count, three days and four bells, although it could have been four days and three bells. The speaker rescued her with a tired smirk and an irreverent thump of the marble. “Orestin, I suspect, does not mind. Nor his is holy place less holy for the work you are doing today. Blessings, Acolyte, and may you find the place you are most proper in.”

“Blessings, Citizen.” The words came out of her mouth without bidding. “May your proper place be waiting for you.”

“I have already found it.” He breezed past, leaving Tremmin, still knee-deep in water, with the uncomfortable feeling that she’d just missed something very important.

She had no time for ill omens, however, so she turned to the next citizen. “Welcome, and may Orestin comfort you in this time of trial.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/638673.html. You can comment here or there.

End of an Era, a story of Steam!Reiassan for Bonus Round

Jan16

To [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt for here, my [community profile] dailyprompt prompt “end of an era.”

This is set in the Steam Era of my Reiassan setting, with new characters.

The Icon (in DW) is of another character in that setting/era, an artificer/Engineer, Diryid.

“It’s not the way things have been done.” Lebboozh stared at the engineers and workmen standing at the edge of his goat-field. “Barges and carts, Tinryo, those gave my father business, and his mother, and her father, back as long as there have been people on this mountain.”

“It’s the end of an era, Leb, that’s all it is.” The wagon-maker patted his shoulder. “It happens, you know. Remember your father when they made the new goat-harnesses?”

“That’s different.” Lebboozh grumbled because he did not want to think about his father’s face, all those years ago – either when he’d first seen the new harnesses that balanced the load more efficiently, or when he’d seen how much happier the goats were in the new gizmos.

He did not want to think about what Tinryo’s father had said then, either.

Remember what your mother said, when they started to put springs in the wagons?

“It’s the end of an era,” he muttered. “Let’s see where they’ll fit the goats in to it, why don’t we?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/637896.html. You can comment here or there.

Bonus Round: Daily Prompt

Jan13

[community profile] dailyprompt:

Today’s prompt is “getting your feet wet”.

Now accepting up to three prompts for this theme. Closed!

Bonus points if they dovetail with a square of my OrigFic bingo card

Take the first Step, or don’t.
Even your Knees are wet
Getting everything wet

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/635393.html. You can comment here or there.

Securing One’s Own Legacy, a story of the Aunt Family/Zenobia for the Bonus Round

Jan13

To [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt for here, my [community profile] dailyprompt prompt “doomed from the start.”

Zenobia is the post-American-Civil-War Aunt in the Aunt Family; her tag is here and the family landing page is here.

The Aunt is a hereditary title with some magical power in this family, and is always a woman who has nieces.

The Icon (in DW) is of another Aunt, Ruan. I don’t have one for Zenobia yet.

Her older relatives did not like Zenobia.

Her relatives did not like Zenobia, with very few exceptions. She was, to quote one particularly annoyed relative – her grandmother, Festia – a most recalcitrant and difficult child.

She was not supposed to become the Aunt. Her own Aunt Beulah had tagged her as one of five hopefuls, back when they were young (Zenobia had been twelve; the others had been between ten and fifteen), but her grandmother and the others of that generation had opinions on the matters. It would be Giselle. It would be Bernadette. It would be Mary, even, or Claudette, but it would not be Zenobia.

Bernadette had been the easiest to eliminate, because Bernadette did not want to be the Aunt. She wanted out of the little backwater town, out of the influence of the women of the family, out of the planned everything.

Zenobia sent her postcards three times a year, and got back lovely pictures of Paris.

Mary had been trickier. Mary liked the taste of power, she liked the whispers of knowledge, she liked the reputation that one got.

She was also an immensely good dancer, sinful as it was supposed to be. Zenobia talked to a boy who knew a boy who knew a man, and Mary had become The Flying Marionette, the headlining act in a famous circus, with a reputation for being a bit of a witch.

The farmer’s son from down the road had gotten Giselle pregnant when she was eighteen. A shotgun marriage and a family-quick house-raising had taken her out of the running.

And now the Grannies and aunts and cousins were starting to look askance at Zenobia, and Aunt Beulah was not ready to pass over the mantle to anyone.

It was likely Claudette would take herself out of the running in the next three or four years, but in the meantime, Zenobia had to shift their attention from her. She would be Aunt, but the family didn’t know yet that their attempts had been doomed from the start.

“Do you, Zenobia, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and health, in poverty and wealth, so long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/635229.html. You can comment here or there.

Bonus Round: Dailyprompt

Jan9

From: [community profile] dailyprompt

Today’s prompt is “the end of an era.”

Now accepting up to three prompts (total) for this theme. Closed!

Bonus points if they dovetail with a square of my OrigFic bingo card

The end of the Goat era? Reiassan.

The exhaustion of a supply: New world.

The last day of the shop: Closing Up

An Aunt passes on: Exhaustion

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/633248.html. You can comment here or there.

Romance was never this convenient to handle

Jan8

To Kelkyag’s prompt for here, my [community profile] dailyprompt prompt “a clone,” and here, my OrigFic Bingo card, “Hallucinations/visions.”

Paige waved at Mark Faine, although he didn’t see her, or at least didn’t respond – he never did, but being Mark Faine, he already had a girlfriend and hadn’t, as far as Paige could tell, been single for more than a day of their high school career. Which was a pity, ’cause Paige had more than made up for it by being single for their entire high school career, except that one day with Eilan Saffron, and boy had that been a mistake. It would be nice if there were two or three or maybe four Mark Faines. Maybe then she’d have a chance.

She should really get to lunch. She got a little Snickers-commercial when she didn’t eat on time, and this stupid Senior-year schedule had her lunch nearly right before she got on the bus. She headed away from where Mark Faine was totes ignoring her, around the corner, stepped away from the punks and sidled sideways around the jocks – no need to upset anyone, everyone had been on edge since the principal quit like that, all of a sudden. The new rules weren’t helping things either, and the punks all looked sad and funny without their metal.

She rounded another corner – Marmal High was full of corners, and somehow it seemed like there were more around lunch time – and ran into Mark Faine.

She was feeling fainter than she ought to be. This was just one of the demetaled punks, it had to be, Sid and Nancy T-shirt and an extra hole in the nose. She stepped away. “Sorry, didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, no worries.” The voice was Mark Faine’s. Paige knew that voice like she knew the latest Enhydra Lutris CD.

“Hey.” That was Mark Faine’s voice again, coming from the other side of her. She was hearing things. She was seeing things. Paige leaned against the wall and tried not to act totally disjoined from reality.

Standing in front of her, however, were three Mark Faines. She had to be losing it.

“Hey, you’re kinda cute.”

Nope, she was totes gone; she’d already lost all there was to lose.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/632920.html. You can comment here or there.

Alibi, a story of Science!

Jan2

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s prompt to my daily bonus from [community profile] dailyprompt.

There weren’t any witnesses, which helped matters, just three fuzzy surveillance vids and circumstantial evidence: Dr. Potter had motive; he’d been seen walking into the building, and he’d called the cops when it was all over and been first on the scene, hands covered in blood as he tried to hold Dr. Ahluwalia’s life into her body.

Dr. Ahluwalia’s last words had been not particularly helpful, either. “You bastard. I know…”

Of course, Dr. Potter and Dr. Ahluwalia were both employed by Those Madmen in the Tower, so there was no knowing what the late Doctor had known. And, while the police swore that they’d seen Dr. Potter for a moment as they arrived – long enough to hear those words – 1700 of the world’s best and brightest scientists were willing to testify in court that he’d been in another city at the New Ideas and Orthodoxies (NIO) Conference, giving a speech on ends vs. means. Dr. Ahluwalia had intended on attending, but backed out at the last minute, which the police felt sounded suspicious.

Even more suspicious, however, was the topic of Dr. Potter’s speech: On the ethics of cloning and the uses thereof; What to Do With Yourself.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/627670.html. You can comment here or there.