Tag Archive | prompt

Meeting the Parents

From my call for prompts and (LJ post); to flutterbychild‘s prompt “The members of a M-F-F triad come “out” to one of the women’s parents’…and things get rather interesting.”

Stranded World, Summer.

They had discussed it all beforehand. Summer’s mom was just an e-mail send. Bishop’s parents: “Dad’ll probably buy me a beer, and mom will swoon. No biggie, really.” So it was Melinda’s parents who would be tricky, and thus they managed to schedule that meeting earliest on Parents’ Weekend.

Mellie clung tight to Bishop’s hand and leaned into the arm Summer draped around her waist as they waited in the lounge. Other kids, other parents swarmed by, barely glancing their way. What was another college couple and their third wheel? Summer smirked, and traced good-luck charms into her girlfriend’s hip.

“There they are.” Her voice was a thin whisper; she raised it to call across the lobby. “Mom! Dad!”

Summer could see the resemblance; Mrs. Chambers had the same eyes as Mel; Mr. Chambers had the same nose. They both shared an open, warm smile, and a fondness for hugs; Summer shared a glance with Bishop as they released their girl into her parents’ hugs.

It wasn’t long before they had her hands again. “Mom, Dad, this is my boyfriend, Bishop… and my girlfriend, Summer.”

They could see the way Mrs. Chambers bounced over that one – saw it, decided to ignore it, kept going. Mr. Chambers was already busy giving Bishop the Manly Handshake of warning, so Mom got to handle the “How nice to meet Mellie’s friends.”

Melinda could have let it go. They’d discussed this, over and over again. She took a breath, and plowed on calmly. “No, Mom. Summer’s my girlfriend.” Pause. “We’re all dating.”

“Are you sure, honey?” Her mother sounded shaky. Her father was eying Bishop uncertainly. “I mean…”

“I’m sure, Mom.” Melinda squeezed her mother’s hand gently. “We’ve been dating since the second week of the semester. We’re sure.”

“Well,” Mr. Chambers rumbled thoughtfully, “they’re braver than we were, back then.”

“They are,” Mrs. Chambers agreed. “Just… Mellie, let’s put off telling Grandma for now, can we?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/101982.html. You can comment here or there.

Perspective Shift – Vas’ World – for @sharontherose

Aug8

From my call for prompts and (LJ post); to @SharonTheRose’s prompt “a misogynist funds himself in a woman’s body, in a patriarchal system.”

Vas’ world, from the point of view of the McAliens.

a misogynist funds himself in a woman’s body, in a patriarchal system.

Seffie knew something was wrong the moment he woke up. He was in the wrong house, for one; the ceiling above him was painted in strange blue lines, not the red curlicues of the home he had built for the wife and children he had yet to find and make.

The blankets over him were wrong, woven in patterns he didn’t recognize, and they flowed strangely over his body, lumpy, incorrect.

“Woman!” Even the voice shouting in the next room sounded wrong, the accent twisted and barely intelligible. “Where is my food?”

Food sounded delicious. Seffie wondered where the woman was. He wondered, too, where he was. He levered himself up – his back hurt something fierce; had he been wounded in battle? He didn’t remember there being a battle – and he had to piss.

“Woman!” the hoarse voice came again, and a man in strange clothing stepped into the room. He was looking straight at Seffie. “By the holy seven, woman, what are you still doing in bed?”

“What by the nine are you talking about?” Seffie snapped – or started to. He got out “what,” in a high squeak, and finally got a glimpse of the body below the blanket. “What…?” he tried again. The voice that came out was a high, sweet, woman’s voice, which went with the swollen tits and round belly. He swung his feet to the ground, or tried to – he couldn’t see them over the belly, glaring at the man, who was even now crossing the room. “A hand?” he tried.

The brute cuffed him casually across the face. “Woman, if you are not in the kitchen before I get to the table, I will give you more than a hand.”

Seffie had taken worse, but never without dealing it back. He glanced at his fist – smaller than it should be, but still a fist – and slammed it into the man’s stomach.

As the man grabbed him by the hair, it occurred to Seffie that, just maybe, he shouldn’t have angered the village shaman.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/101133.html. You can comment here or there.

In search of an Heir, a drabble

Aug7

From meridian_rose‘s prompt “What do you do if there aren’t enough princes/princesses to go around, and/or they’re gay or asexual or infertile?”

Though this one feels like just a beginning to me, too; I’d already gone over my 150 by nearly 3x

The King and his Consort sat studying each other over tea, a list of names on a piece of parchment between them. The King was old, his beard long and grey; his Consort, his third wife, slightly younger than his oldest son.

“Caleb doesn’t like girls,” she murmured, circling the name of his first son. “There will be no Heir there.”

“I never liked girls either,” the King murmured. “You close your eyes and think of other things, and do your duty.”

His Consort, unsurprised by this news, merely shrugged. “Caleb can’t seem to bring himself to that, and he outright refuses to marry. The people like having a Queen.” That their marriage was morgantic, she didn’t mention. Like her husband’s tastes, they’d gone over that ground long before.

“Well, Andrew. He likes women.”

“Impotent and infertile. And no woman would stand his presence long enough to marry him, except a maid who had no choice… and she wouldn’t be suitable for Queendom.”

“My brother’s son? Augie?”

“Immature, infantile, irresponsible. Prefers the company of horses to that of men or woman. And dogs.”

“Hrmf. Can’t have a puppy as heir. Damnit, woman, I’m not going to live forever.”

“Well, the way I see it, you have four choices.” She kept her voice level. It wouldn’t do to snap at him; ancient, crotchety granther or not (“not,” on the last point, really being the problem at hand), he was the King.

“Four?” he peered at her over his glasses.

“You can hope Augie grows into an adult who will close his eyes and do his duty. The second daughter of the king of Tanquir has a bit of a horsey look to her.”

“I’m not sure I have the time for that,” he admitted.

“You can put Caleb on the throne, and allow him to put his lover as Consort.”

“Grandchildren,” the king pointed out.

“Well, they do have adoption. And his Consort might be more willing to close his eyes,” she pointed out.

“Hrmf, what’s the third choice?”

“Find a practical, brutal woman willing to cuckold Augie and give you an heir.”

“We’re getting further and further from the royal line here, woman.”

She forbore to point out that the royal line seemed incapable of giving their King an heir, and, instead, moved on to her fourth option.

“Well, sir,” she offered carefully, “There’s always your daughter.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/100718.html. You can comment here or there.

Soo…. What do YOU want me to write today?

Aug7

Taking prompts again… on a general theme of gender, sexuality, and how they go funky.

I’ll write at least 150 words on everything I get between now and this time tomorrow. And, as always, tipping guarantees more wordage – and helps me buy the lovely giraffe carpet. For more information, my Donor landing page is here (and on LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/100478.html. You can comment here or there.

Wedding Plans, Reiassan, for Rix’s Prompt!

Jul22

This is a short story in response to rix_scadeau‘s commission in my Giraffe Sale: a continuation of Rin & Girey, after this story

Reiassan has a Landing Page – and on LJ.

“Lady! Lord! Are you here for the wedding?”

Rin had been caught up in coming home, equally caught up in watching how her prisoner reacted to this, the heart of her country. She hadn’t expected the question, although she supposed she should have. There were so many cousins, so many sisters and aunts, brothers and uncles and far more distant relatives. Someone was always getting married.

“No,” she told the children, smiling at them. Brightly dressed in their silk qitari, these were no urchins. School must have just let out. “I, we,” she caught herself quickly and hoped Girey hadn’t noticed, “are just home from the front. So tell me, who is getting married? What news have I missed?” She leaned forward, half-off her saddle, as eager for the gossip as they were to share it.

“Princess Elenerja,” blurted out a pretty girl almost old enough for weddings herself, earning her a glare and a bony elbow from what had to be her younger brother.

“Elen?” Rin sat back into her saddle, wondering if she’d misheard.

“She’s marrying a spice merchant from the border!” the brother blurted out. “Not even a lord.”

Girey was looking at her oddly; she mustered a smile for him. “So,” she said brightly, “I suppose we’re going to a wedding. You’ll get to see how we do things up north.”

“Elenerja?” he murmured. “I’ve heard that name before.”

“I should imagine so,” she answered quietly. “She’s fourth in line for the throne.”

“Aaah. So getting married is nothing all that surprising, is it? Or is this another one of those situations where you people do everything backwards, too? She’ll want her eighty-one heirs, too, won’t she?” He was, she noted, smiling, almost as if he was trying to coax a smile out of her, too.

She obliged him. “Not really eighty-one,” she demurred. “We’re fertile, but we’re not quite that fertile.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to find the time,” he admitted. “So the fourth in line is getting married,” he persisted, unwilling to be sidetracked. “And this surprises you. Why?”

She got her mount pointed in more or less the right direction again, it having gotten distracted by a tasty hanging plant, and frowned at him. He really wasn’t going to drop it. “She had – Elen, that is – she’d joined a priestly order of Tienebrah that didn’t go in for marriage or child-bearing or siring. She’s been part of the order since she was a young woman; if she’s stepped out of it now and is getting married, it means something in the political situation has changed recently.”

“And that worries you.” The road was wide here, and people got out of their way, so they were riding abreast, knees nearly touching.

“It worries me,” she agreed. She eyed him, wondering at his patience. He’d been asking her for the entire trip who are you when what he meant was what position do you hold?, and she’d avoided answering for just as long. “I want to know what she knows that I don’t.”

“To know what the political climate will be like?” he hazarded.

She shook her head. “More to know if someone is going to try to kill me any time soon.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/84023.html. You can comment here or there.

Sharing Stories – Dragons Next Door – to meeks’ prompt

Jul21

This is a short story in response to meeks‘ commission in my Giraffe Sale: the dragons’ storybooks, as discussed here

Dragons Next Door has a Landing Page – and on LJ.

The neighbor girl Juniper had taken to reading to Baby when she came over to sit with the hatchling, which she was doing with pleasant regularity. While Baby’s brain was not nearly developed enough to comprehend the stories – at this stage of life, a hatchling was primarily an eating-and-growing machine – the Smiths approved of the idea. Even now, the hatchling was learning, collecting information. The more Juniper talked to the child, the more language skills would develop.

They were, however, curious about the stories she read. So many of the stories humans and other small creatures told about dragons were nothing more than echoes of their own fears and flaws. Would some of that seep in to Baby through the reading? Juniper’s family seemed fairly rational beings, for small creatures, but they were still small creatures.

The little thing was a bit intimidated around them – biologically, humans were supposed to be afraid of predators who could eat them in a couple gulps, after all – so they didn’t try to listen in when she was there, in Baby’s nursery, but when she left her storybook behind, they pounced eagerly on the opportunity to peruse it.

The stories they found inside – beautifully illustrated in pastels – were different from the tales they remembered from their own childhood, although, to be fair, those they remembered had been held up as examples of why small creatures could not be trusted. This one portrayed a juvenile dragon (the colors were wrong, but detailed points of biology could be forgiven) and a young human, together with a presumably-also-juvenile pixie (with the tiny races, age could be very hard to determine) on a grand adventure together, searching for some device called the MacGuffin, which appeared to be a plaid ruby.

Turning the pages carefully with their foreclaws, the Smiths agreed that it was a very nice children’s tale, and suitable for Baby, if some of the message was to inadvertently sink in. Wanting to repay the favor Juniper was doing, they searched in their vault for an appropriate story to share in return.

They ended up finding what they wanted in Cxaidin’s hoard of childhood books. Left carefully visible, so-casually set on the human-sized table Juniper’s parents had provided, the tome was nearly as big as the table, a wide, brightly-hued volume with both binding and pages of leather (paper burned) colored with plant and insect dyes.

The story, one which Cxaidin remembered warmly, told of a juvenile dragon (the colors, in this case, were correct) learning how small and tiny creatures were different from dragons, and how best to interact with them. The Smiths noted, a bit ruefully, that the colors on both the human and the pixie seemed a little bit off, and the portrayal of the orc was outdated and stereotypical. The interaction between the young dragon and the young human, however, they deemed worth sharing.

The happy ooh and aaah noises Juniper made when she discovered the book made them very pleased indeed with their choice.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/83050.html. You can comment here or there.

Prompt-Me results: Wow. Also, want moar? Giraffe sale.

Jul15

last Saturday and Sunday for 24 hours, I opened up a line for prompts; ask for anything, and I’ll write 10 minutes or 250 words on it. I got quite a bit of short fiction out of it!

In my Addergoole ‘verse:
Joff Gets a Pony (LJ Link), for @daHob’s prompt of the same title.

Devil Deals (LJ Link) from Rix’s prompt, wanting more of Rozen/Aviv in the post-apoc.

Keys (LJ Link), for jeriendhal‘s prompt “You mean it was supposed to have a key?” (Half of this is Addergoole Year9; the other half is Planners).

Dark Corners (LJ Link), Addergoole Year9, to @shutsumon’s prompt “the things that lurk in dark corners.”

Plans is in Addergoole’s current timeline, to @dahob’s prompt asking how Regine sees her students.

Stranded World got:
Bringing Home the Bacon (LJ Link), for kc_obrien‘s prompt of the same title.

Tir na Cali got a new subsetting:
Frying Pan, Fire (LJ Link), from lilfluff‘s prompt regarding a slave school.
Final Exams (LJ Link), from wyld_dandelyon‘s prompt of the same name.

The rest of Fae Apoc got an early history, apoc and a post-apoc story:
eseme wanted goddesses. She got Coming of Age (LJ Link)

(LJ Link)From kc_obrien‘s prompt: “Can I get a short piece from another perspective of some of the internees/guards in the community featured in Discovery Channel/Invisibles (LJ Link)?

First Planting (LJ Link) came from clare_dragonfly‘s prompt of the same title

Reiassan got two stories:
Old Friends (LJ Link), From fayanora‘s prompt “An unexpected ‘Hello.'”

Mighty Sword (LJ Link) from the_vulture‘s prompt – “An intelligent and mighty enchanted sword… that’s afraid of the dark.” In an older era of Reiassan.

Facets of Dusk got another story:
Trouble in Doubles (LJ Link), from kc_obrien‘s request for Josie/Facets and elfling_eryn‘s prompt: “There’s only so much trouble you get into in a day…unless, of course, you have a clone or two at hand.”

And, as always, there were a couple things from no known ‘verse at all:
Waiting Vigil (LJ Link), from lilfluff‘s prompt”The beach, overnight in winter.”

Three Inches (DW Link), for @Inventrix’s prompt for a pookah

Want more of something? I’m having a giraffe sale (it’s like a fire sale. Only it’s giraffe.(*); from now ’till this time next week, I’ll continue any written piece at a rate of $4 for 400 words.

(*)You see, there’s this carpet I want for the new house, and it looks like a giraffe pattern.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/80372.html. You can comment here or there.

Mighty Sword – from the_vulture’s prompt – Old!Reiassan

Jul14

From the_vulture‘s prompt – “An intelligent and mighty enchanted sword… that’s afraid of the dark.”

Old!Reiassan (pre-Rin and Girey by at least a war). I’ve written half a short story involving Lyuda and never posted it.

Cardon had gotten the sword for her. In retrospect, she should have suspected something right away, but he generally made sure his fighters were well-equipped; the business rode on their well-being and capability to finish missions.

And on the surface, it was a nice sword. It was etched all over in enchantments, some of them so old neither Lyuda nor her scholar friends could read the language. It held an edge no matter what, cut through just about anything, and never got too heavy. Attuned to her through a ritual that, for síra-flingers and priests, was blessedly short, it would never cut her, although it had once cut her greave in half when she’d misjudged a swing. On a mission, it was a perfect sword.

Until the first nightfall she camped in the [Dark] Forest Valley, and the sword, sheathed at her side, began talking to her.

Complaining, really. It sounded like an old soldier whose teeth had gone, querulous. At first, she thought someone was playing a trick on her, a village kid or a vagabond.

“A forest? Really? Who camps in a forest? Barely a ground cloth and a blanket to your name – what sort of mercenary are you?”

She’d been on the road for two weeks, and her riding goat and remount weren’t much conversation. If someone in the woods wanted to talk to her, she’d talk back.

“A sensible one. The nearest inn is another four hours’ ride away.”

“And what kind of country doesn’t have inns on the road, I ask you that?” The voice had a strange drawl to it, when you got over the whine.

“And who’s asking?” She couldn’t place the accent; it sounded almost Bitrani, but old-fashioned.

“I am. Adsplodea. Your sword, you uncivilized lout.”

“My sword.” She was less surprised than she perhaps should have been; Cardon had gotten the thing for her. “Okay. So what’s wrong with the woods? It’s a clear night, beautiful, warm…”

“Dark.” The weapon nearly hissed it. “It’s dark in here, lout. I can’t stand the dark.”

Lyuda swallowed a laugh. She needed this sword, damnit. “Come share the fire with me, Adsplodea. There’s plenty of light by its warmth.” She unsheathed the weapon and lay it over her knees; the bladed shimmered, and sighed. Yep, it was definitely the blade speaking.

“Perhaps you are not a complete lout.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/79438.html. You can comment here or there.

Keys, two variations, for jeriendhal’s prompt

Jul12

For jeriendhal‘s prompt “You mean it was supposed to have a key?” First, an Addergoole Year Nine – Ceinwen and Thornburn, then a Planners.

—
“There’s no lock.” Ceinwen sat in front of the mirror, staring at the plaque Thornburn had put around her neck. She’d known that when he sealed it there, but today, with classes just moments away, it seemed more real, more permanent.

“No, there isn’t,” he agreed. He was giving her space this morning, letting her feel her way around this new relationship. What part of her wasn’t busy hating him appreciated the room.

“There’s no way to take it off,” she said, trying not to panic.

“No, there’s not. I will take it off you when I free you.”

She wrapped her hands both around the damned thing, tugging on it, even as the pulling pressed it against her windpipe. It wouldn’t budge. “Why isn’t there a lock? If there was a lock, there’d be a key!” She knew she sounded hysterical, and wasn’t sure she cared anymore.

He wrapped his hand around her wrists gently. “You mean it was supposed to have a key?” he teased.

“It was supposed to have a way out,” she whimpered.

—

Bauer was particularly proud of the work he’d done on the vaults.

Sure, Elder Jasmine had sent him here, to work with Elder Oliver, mostly to keep an eye on a man who was past his dotage and into “how is he still standing upright?” But Bauer was every bit as much a member of the Family as Jasmine and Oliver, albeit a bit (eighty years, in Oliver’s case) younger, and with fewer descendants by an order of magnitude or two. Even if he was here to spy, he couldn’t help but do his best work, too. Besides, the Family might need it. That was what this was all about, right? The Family, the world, might someday need this planning.

So he’d put everything he had into the security on the vaults, even if he had no idea what was in them (All of the elders were secretive, but Oliver took it to extremes. Bauer wasn’t sure he told his wife what he’d had for dinner). They were supposed to withstand a nearby nuclear blast, but none of that meant anything if squatters and other intruders could just waltz in. So Bauer made them secure. So secure he was pretty sure his own wife wouldn’t be able to make it in, if he hadn’t given her the back door (Family was Family, but a wife was a wife).

He worked with the contractors (a different team for each section, and a few pieces he did on his own), under minimal supervision from Oliver, who just wanted to be sure the vault doors were always closed, for eight months. They set up locks and labyrinths and puzzle traps, all designed to funnel the unwary back out somewhere far from the central vault. They encoded everything in Bauer’s own complex cipher, and then
finally he brought his aging boss to the front door of the new catacomb, where even the lock was encoded.

“Impressive,” the Elder creaked. “Sturdy, and the ciphers here look to be uncrackable without the key. So give me that for my office file, and we’ll call it a job well done.”

Bauer couldn’t help it. He grinned at his difficult uncle. “You mean it was supposed to have a key?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/77773.html. You can comment here or there.

Trouble in Doubles – Facets of Dusk – from kc_obrien and elfling_eryn’

Jul12

From kc_obrien‘s request for Josie/Facets and elfling_eryn‘s prompt: “There’s only so much trouble you get into in a day…unless, of course, you have a clone or two at hand.”

Facets of Dusk, which needs a landing page.

Josie was holding on to Alexa’s hand this time, and they were both pretending that they just hadn’t gotten around to letting go, both pretending the other one needed the hand-holding. They’d gotten good at it, and in this world… this world, they both needed it.

It was like coming home, walking down the street in a neighborhood you’d known, and finding it blasted and destroyed by war. More than any other of the worlds Josie had seen, it looked like home. The signs were almost the same – hell, some of them were the same; there was the ruins of a Krispy Kreme, and she was pretty sure that was a FedEx office. The road names were mostly the same, or similar. If they turned that corner, they’d see one of the bars Cole thought they didn’t know he went to, or a bombed-out pit where it should be.

They turned the corner, because they were here to explore, and none of the instruments Peter was waving about, nor the charms Aerich was wielding, were suggesting danger. Josie’s senses were saying something different – saying Run. Leave. Flee. But she couldn’t pinpoint it, and she didn’t want to let down the team by panicking too soon. She held tighter to Alexa, which was good, and not just for the comfort the other woman gave her.

Because when they turned the corner, Alexa stared back at her. Alexa harder, dirtier, dressed in scavenged clothing that doesn’t fit perfectly, but nonetheless Alexa.

Josie backpedalled, swallowing a gulp of panic, reaching for the center of her calm and not quite finding it, scrabbling until she backed right into Peter.

“Easy, easy…” He hadn’t seen the Alexa clone yet, but he set his hand on her shoulder, trying for calming, she supposed. She could feel from the way his fingers tightened when he realized what she was panicking about. And then it got worse.

By that point, Alexa was looking at herself cautiously, the two of them so very calm about it. The dirtier version whistled sharply and, from a doorway to a mostly-standing building (that would have been Cole’s bar, back home), stepped… Josie.

They stared at each other, both of them breathing raggedly, uncertainly, both of them reaching for their Alexas, although her doppelganger had no Peter, no team watching her carefully (not true. The team was watching both of them, all four of them, but the clone-Alexa and clone-Josie had no other friends with them).

“No.” Even the voice sounded the same, the high, reedy panic Josie was trying to swallow. “No.” She glared at her Alexa angrily. “No. I know you’re a clone, but I’m not.”

Clone!Alexa shook her head. “Well, are you a twin, then? And if so, menina, your other half is totally screwing you. These guys look like they took a bath today.” Her diction was nothing like Alexa’s – lyrical, laid-back. Clone!Josie, on the other hand, sounded a lot like her.

“I’m not a twin. Not a clone.” She was, Josie noted clinically, starting to really panic. “I don’t know who she is but she’s an imposter.”

That just made Clone!Alexa bark out a laugh, one that Real!Alexa shared. “Come on, who do you think would want to be us? Up there in the shining places, maybe, but down here on the street?”

Josie was listening in awe. Behind her, Cole muttered to Aerich, “did you know this could happen?”

Instead of an answer, Aerich murmured back “Saints forefend we meet another of you. Can you imagine how much trouble two of you could get into?”

“Or more.” Xenia offered helpfully. “Since they have clones.”

Josie ignored them and stepped forward, offering a hand to Clone!Josie. “Hello,” she greeted her, using the calm tone of voice she knew helped her when she was freaking out. “So, ah, which would be better? A clone, or traveler from another world?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/77073.html. You can comment here or there.

Alder's Grove Fiction

The Worlds of Lyn Thorne-Alder