Tag Archive | prompt: tropebingo

Locked In, a story for Trope Bingo/Bonus Round

Feb21

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.

I have Gone Bingo Mad

Feb20

au: crossover [au: space] locked in [au: alternate gender norms] [ hurt / comfort]
bets / wagers [unrequited love / pining] [ bodyswap] [ wingfic] [mind control]
matchmaker [ chosen family] [FREE
★
SPACE] 		[telepathy / mindmeld} [ coming out (of the closet)]
trapped in a dream [ transformations] [road trip] [au: fantasy] [power dynamics]
au: college / highschool [fork in the road] [ presumed dead] [meet the parents / family] [futurefic]

So [community profile] trope_bingo gave me a card…

As always, I WILL write the first prompt; after that, I’ll write at least one Bingo going out from that prompt and after that I’ll write as the mood hits or as I’m commissioned to continue.

Note: although this is primarily a fandom bingo, I’m writing original fic for all, because this is me. Trope Bingo’s Definitions.

My January Card, My December Card, and a couple bonus rounds are still open, too. I’d better get writing!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/637047.html. You can comment here or there.

The Special Captive, a Criminal Minds/Tir Na Cali xover for Trope Bingo

Feb7

To [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt to this [community profile] trope_bingo card.

This fills my “au: crossover” square.

The stories before this:
Never Been Caught (and on LJ): First written, last in sequence.

Shots Fired (and on LJ): First in sequence

“Well, Crap, Where am I?” (and on LJ), after “Shots Fired”

Sweet Iced Tea (LJ), after “Well, Crap…” and before:

Refurbish and Sell

Morrigan’s “Special Captive” made his first attempt at escape somewhere in the middle of Texas.

“I told you to keep him sedated.” Cym was less than impressed, rather completely less than, glaring at Morrigan with her hands on her hips. “And now look.”

“Let him go.” Travis’s urge was more of a hope than an order, which probably saved them both from Morrigan doing something unwise. “Seriously, Morrigan. You know the Fibbies are going to be after us like woah for this one, and we can’t afford it.”

“We grabbed him, he’s ours. Nobody gets away from the slave runners, you know that.” Morrigan slid on her coat. “Travis, if I find out you let him go on purpose, I’m going to put his collar on you.“

“She’s not bluffing, you know.” Cym was oh-so-helpful.

“I know. What is it with this kid? He’d just another boy genius. Of all the types for her to get attached to…”

“Think he’s noticed the tracker I jammed up his ass yet?”

“Depends on if he took a shit or not.” Their captain was already in the wind, invisible and silent in the nighttime forest. It made Travis feel a bit exposed, of course, not having her there to cover their asses. “And if he did, well, there’s your trick, too.”

“Damnit, Travis…”

“I know. You don’t like it. But it works. Well… see if the signal lines up with your whammy.”

Cym stared at the screen for a moment, then hit the com. “Mor? I’ve got a reading on him…”

“Listening.” Morrigan’s voice was the short, clipped one she often used when she was invisible.

Cym listed off the coordinates. “From the looks of it…”

“Got it. Shit, he’s shaking. Okay. Got him. Goddess blast you, kid-“

They could hear his voice over the com. “Not- not a kid. Just, the pain-“

“Well, yes. You ran away on a wounded leg. Of course it hurts. What were you – no, don’t answer that. Did you call for help? Travis?”

“I don’t see any phone signals but we ought to run. Hurry, Mor, the last thing we want-“

“Leave me. Team’ll find me.” The fibbie’s voice was weak. Well, as Morrigan had said, he’d been shot.

“Or you’ll die out here. No, you’re coming with us. You’re coming with me.”

Cym and Travis shared a glance. “Did she-?”

“Well, it’s in the contract.”

“I never-“

“Travis, you never like them. Besides, what else is she going to do? Put an FBI agent on the open market?”

“Well, he’d bring in good money. He has that sad lost-puppy look a lot of the rich ones like.” Travis flopped his hands, seeming to suggest a limp pallidness that really had nothing to do with the captive.

“And he’d bring way too much attention. She should leave him-“

“But we know she won’t.”

“I can hear you, you know. Get the door.” Morrigan’s voice was short and sharp over the comm. “He’s half unconscious. We have to hurry.”

“Just…” They all fell silent as the kid spoke. “Just some Dilaudid, please. It will help with the pain.”

Morrigan strapped herself into the back seat, the boy in her lap. “Drive, Travis. Head for home.”

Spencer Reid fell unconscious again, cradled in the amazingly protective arms of the Tír na Cali slave raider.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/660612.html. You can comment here or there.

Betting on It

Feb3

To [personal profile] kelkyag‘s prompt to this card for [community profile] trope_bingo.

This fills my “Bets/Wagers” square.

This is in my Space Accountant setting.

It comes before Accident and after Taking Chances.

Genique planted herself between two handsome young pirates sitting together at a table Quartermaster Marist Irio had identified as the “young bucks” table. She looked between the two of them – they were less fresh than Basi, but still shiny, new, and very handsome.

“Hello.” She offered the taller of the two her hand. “I’m Genique. I’m the new bookkeeper.”

He stared at her hand for a moment. Genique looked him over quickly. Ah, blue tattoos around each ear and down into his coverall. Trenciscot Tertius.

“My apologies.” She folded her hands into what, on her home planet, would be considered a “prayer” stance and nodded her head over her hands. “Genique Wadevier, from Maymonta. I’m the new bookkeeper.”

He folded his hands in a similar-but-different way, one curled over the other, and bowed a little bit deeper than she had. “Marsey Wilswoodronny. I’m a hitter and, more importantly, I do the tunnels and chutes. This is Darretchon; he does security systems and computers.”

Genique twisted to look at Darretchon; he was blonde where Marsey was brunette, his skin dark-tanned where Marsey’s was naturally chocolate, and he had a long, braided beard, where Marsey was smooth-shaven. More importantly for the moment, he had bone plugs in his earlobes and three silver rings in his left ear.

Bookkeeper did not out rank security systems, not on a pirate ship. Genique pressed the heels of both hands to her forehead and lowered her head. “Darretchon.” The Abrandell system was known for its rather stringent rules.

That did not, it appeared, apply to pirated. “Please, please.” He touched one hand to his forehead. “Genique. Miss – Miss? – Wadevier.”

She dropped her hands and smiled at him. “Definitely Miss. You?”

“Ah, still Misten. Wives aren’t really… well, it’s a pirate ship. And I’m a pirate.”

And the Abrandell did not look any better on piracy than anyone else (except perhaps Trenciscot Tertius, but they were, after all, founded by pirates of one sort and another). “Well. It appears that I am, too.” She lifted her glass. “To piracy.”

The young men seemed startled, but Marsey grinned at her wide enough to show two gold-covered teeth and lifted his glass, which got Darretchon to lift his glass, and then they were drinking.

“So.” Genique had been gifted with a deck of playing cards from the Pit Master (gifted or bribed, who was counting?); she pulled them out now. “I know they know the game Flotsam on Trenciscot Tertius, because it was a Trenciscotian who taught it to me. Do you know it as well, Darretchon?”

“Flotsam? Yes. But what are we wagering? You’re new, aren’t you, Miss Wadevier?”

“Please, call me Genique. And yes. I have very little more than what you see on me right now.” Which was true, so long as you had a broad definition of very little. Gifts and bribes were in not short supply around here.

“Flotsam doesn’t really work without wagers.” Marsey was already hooked, leaning forward. “What do you have in mind… Genique?”

She pulled out a set of chips from her pocket, the other half of the Pit Master’s gift. She watched their faces fall – nobody wanted to play for tokens. “Why don’t we say…” she pushed a white chip forward. “This is ten minutes.” A red chip: “a half hour.” Blue: “A night.” She’d skip green; she pushed forward one black chip: “A week.”

Darretchon swallowed. The Abrandell were sometimes prudish… “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Miss… Genique?”

“I think she is.” Marsey was almost purring. “I’m game. Come on, Darret. It’ll be fun.”

Darret looked between the two of them and, finally, nodded. “I’m in.”

Betting Time

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/655103.html. You can comment here or there.

Dream, a story of Vas’ World for Trope Bingo

Jan31

To [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s prompt to this [community profile] trope_bingo card.

This fills my “trapped in a dream” square.

This is in my Vas’ World setting.

Um. This might need a warning?

There had been any number of things they could have done in the situation.

The official handbook listed five. The unofficial handbook listed another four methods of handling cases like this.

In none of those nine methods (or the three the team had penciled in themselves, House Rules), was “eat the berries and agree to be sent on a vision quest” anything but the stupidest of last resorts.

Which in no way explained why Malia was laying calmly on a camp bed, her hands folded on her chest, letting the soporific in the berries put her into a deep sleep.

What did explain it was: 1) the natives read as sufficiently human, if blue (purple, Paz insisted, purple), 2) the natives had managed to take them more-or-less hostage, and 3) the natives claimed to know where the missing member of their team was.

So they penciled a new House Rule into the unofficial handbook:
If the indigenous population of the world turns out to be biologically human, throw the rulebook out the window and use Anthropology 101 instead.

Thus there they were, Malia eating the berries. She closed her eyes, her breathing leveled, and Paz settled himself into a waiting posture, monitoring her pulse.

~

Malia had volunteered-or-been-chosen for the Berry Mission because… well, lots of spurious reasons that came down to Low Woman on the Totem Pole. She didn’t mind, which probably had something to do with how she’d ended up here, too. She also had more experience with hallucinogens then any other three members of the team, but that wasn’t on her official dossier.

She let the berry juice flow through her. It was already knocking her out, but the fun part would come…

…there. She was running. Something had frightened her, although she wasn’t certain what, something big, something that seemed, still, a little ridiculous to be afraid of.

Ridiculous or not, she was still running, her feet pounding on the stone.

Wait, stone? She glanced down at the ground, noted pavers, ran into something – she could feel the punch in her gut, the air whooshing out, and then she was falling.

She could see the hole above her getting smaller and smaller. Her gut still hurt, worse than she thought possible. But she wasn’t landing. don’t land in a dream…

She was dreaming? She pinched herself, and felt a distant memory of pain. Dreaming. She had… above her, a large monster jumped into the hole. He was purple-blue, and fuzzy, like some sort of children’s-show monster, and her heart was pounding in terror.

Pounding. Pounding. The drums were loud in her ears. Her feet were loud on the stone. She was running, running, but she’d forgotten something. She turned around, only to find herself face to face with the monster.

The monster was sitting in a rocking chair, big, furry blue arms wrapped around something precious. She reached for it, only to find herself grasping fur and teeth.

Something was biting her, clawing on her, eating off her fingers – she was holding the large blue monster, only he was smaller, small enough to be held, and she kept cradling him, even though he was eating off her fingers, one by one, showing them to her as he devoured them. Finger, Finger; she started running again.

Her feet were pounding on stone and she was running, cradling the monster and running. Stone? She looked down, seeing pavers, and tripped, falling into a hole. She fell, the hole above her getting smaller and smaller but the ground getting no closer. Don’t land in a dream…

Dream? She was dreaming?

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/649844.html. You can comment here or there.

Matchmaker

Jan22

To [personal profile] clare_dragonfly‘s prompt to this [community profile] trope_bingo card.

This fills my “Matchmaker” square.

“He’s a brat. A bastard.”

“We’re all bastards here, Sabine. Almost all.” Querida’s correction came fast on the heels of a glare from George.

Sabine added her own glare to the mix. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. The little shit is either going to end up cy’Fridmar or cy’Drake, and neither way is it going to be my problem. “

“Oh, come on, Sabine, you know that it wouldn’t be that bad if you had a collar on him.”

“Why are you pushing this so hard, George? I’d have figured you’d be, i don’t know, against Keeping.”

“A Keeping, done properly, is not inherently sinful. I have faith that you would treat the boy properly, and, considering what he’s going to end up with otherwise…”

“Now that’s just fighting dirty. What’s more, it’s fighting dirty and I’m not going to take it.”

~~

“She’s a bitch. She’s a terrifying bitch and I’m not going there with anyone, much less her.”

“I understand, Holles. However, for all that Sabine can come off as a ‘bitch’ to you, I think you need to consider the possibility.”

“I told you, I have no intention of giving into this stupid shit for anyone, much less that bitch.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Professor Valerian. “And why do you care, anyway? You’re not my Mentor, you’re not her Mentor…”

“Shira Pelletier sees the way things might be. I’m not that good. What I can see, sometimes, is how people might click.”

“Your innate power is matchmaking?”

“No. But I have developed a skill in it.” She was implacable. Professor Valerian outside of class was often like that – terrifyingly direct and utterly immovable. It was like trying to argue with some old oak tree. The tree might not hit back, but it was going to win.

He had to try, anyway. “There’s no way. Nobody trapped me on Hell Night; I’m home free. Can we drop this now?”

~~

“Hey, look, it’s Bible Boy. Does your religion allow you to play pool?”

“Cillian. Tzefira. Donahue.” George nodded to each of them in turn. “I’m here to make a deal.”

Holles didn’t dare hope. He didn’t dare anything, even watch, but he couldn’t really stop himself from listening.

“A deal.” Donahue took over the conversation. “We were just playing a lovely game of pool.”

“You were hustling the young man after Tzefira got him drunk. It’s not hardly a fair game.”

What? Well, he was a little tipsy, but it was just a game of pool. The stakes hadn’t been for real… had they?

Yeah… yeah, they had. And he was losing pretty badly.

“And what of it? There’s no rules against cheating, or we’d all be having quite a different life.”

“Of course there isn’t. But, considering the particular interest certain people have taken in this kid, maybe you might want to think about this deal before it lands on your head.”

“And what are you going to offer me that’s sweeter than his squirming panicking self and the things he will do to get out of a bad situation?”

Querida stepped forward around George. “We have some ideas.”

~~

Sabine stared at the boy. She was uncertain why Querida and George had bound his hands behind his back, except that it added more than a little force to the words they were saying.

In this situation, she could’t, or at least wouldn’t, say I told you I didn’t want him. Not when they were passing him over collared and bound.

“This is an interesting solution,” she said instead.

“He was going to end up under Donahue for a year, and neither of us thought that was a lovely idea. Besides, almost walking himself into a trap has softened him up a little bit.” Querida patted Holles on the shoulder. “Mind you, I’m not saying he’s not still a brat. But I think he’s a brat you can work with.”

She didn’t have that many choices. “All right, then. Holles…”

“You’re still a bitch, too.”

“Of course I am.” Nobody else would put up with you. “Come here.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/642400.html. You can comment here or there.

Another School, Another… (an AU of Addergoole)

Jan19

This is to [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s prompt to this card, for [community profile] trope_bingo. It fills the “au: college / highschool” square.

As such, this is decidedly AU, with characters from my Addergoole ‘verse.

Mike was lost. He straightened his cuffs in tie, checked his reflection in a trophy case (yay, tie, double yay, trophies), and wondered where he was. The school was new, sure, but how could he have gotten this lost before he’d even made it to a class.

“Hey, you the new guy?” They face coming into view up the stairs looked familiar; a quick glance back at the trophy case told Mike why. Broad nose, glower, short no-nonsense haircut, check. He was a lot shorter in person, though.

“That’s me, The new blood.” Mike shifted posture, trying to look shorter. “The dumb one who got lost before my first class.”

“Mike, right?”

“That’s the short form, yeah.” There was absolutely no point in alienating the jock faster than he had to. “And you would be… Luca Hawk?”

“Call me Luke.” Call-me-Luke tilted his head at the stairs. “Professor Storm sent me looking for you. You’re late to class.”

“I think I took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.” The thing was, Call-me-Luke wasn’t glaring any less, but Mike didn’t think it was directed at him in any way. The jock just seemed to be generally glare-y.

“That happens. Other new kid got lost, too.”

“So, will you show me to.. Professor Storm’s class?”

“That’s what I’m here for.” The guy actually cracked a bit of a smile.

Mike was in trouble. When Luke smiled, he was absolutely stunning. He swallowed and let himself be led into class.

The teachers – Ms. Storm and Ms. Kalonimos, Mr. Garcia and Mr. Petros – were far too good looking to be in a school, certainly all in the same school. It didn’t matter. His classmates – Regine and Laurel, Shira and Sang Ki – they were all beautiful, delicious, and even Regine, the school genius, smiled at him. It didn’t matter. The jock had smiled at him.

The guy was helpful, he was friendly, and he was distracting. Mike tripped and fell in gym; Luke caught him and set him on his feet. He got lost three days running, and Luke found him. It would have been brilliant, if Mike was doing it on purpose. If he’d been doing it on purpose… and if had been working.

Shira liked him. He kind of liked Shira, too, scary as she was. (Mike wasn’t one to throw stones, not with his glass house, but he was pretty sure the girl was feral. At least it was a nice-smelling sort of feral). She liked him, and had been very clear on exactly how much she’d like to like him somewhere behind the bleachers.

Ginger liked him. Ginger wanted him to take her to the Homecoming dance. Regine… offered to help him with his homework, which Mike took her up on because he was pretty sure she actually meant it.

But Luca Hawk, Mr. Call-me-Luke… Mike twisted an ankle coming out of class because he was looking the wrong way, slipped, and fell right in front of Luke. Again.

As the jock was helping Mike up, again, he muttered something in Mike’s ear.

He couldn’t have… he didn’t… he… Mike went limp.

I’m flattered, but I’m not into guys.

Mike’s school life had just gotten a whole bunch longer.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/639834.html. You can comment here or there.