Tag Archive | secondsem

30 Days Second Semester: 20, The End of The Purple Bag, Misc-misc

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “20) Write the end of the story ‘The Purple Bag.'”

misc-misc, no setting

Almost there. Although the temptation was strong to just end her trip here, in the dusty, beautiful bazaar, she’d come too far to stop before the end. Sorrell reached into the bag, wiggling her fingers around. When she’d started this trip, there’d barely been room to get her fingertips through the opening. Now, she had to reach all the way past her elbow into the netherspace.

The trinket that came to her hand was tiny; no wonder it had gotten pushed to the bottom. She pulled it out carefully, studying it.

A puzzle ring, nine interlocking rings twisted carefully together, held by a single bronze pin. A ring. Sorrell stared at it, wondering what its story would be, wondering where it would take her. She had been so many places, on so many worlds, finishing so many lost quests. To have it all come down to a ring…

…no Elvish writing, thank God…. Still.

“Excuse me.” The man’s voice sounded familiar; she turned slowly, hoping he wasn’t an enemy left over from some quest.

Stunning golden eyes looked down at her. “You have my ring.”

“Your…” she looked at the ring in her hands. She knew those eyes. “I found your lamp.”

“You did, thank you. And allowed me to return to my home.” He gestured grandly at the bazaar and the city beyond. “And now you have found my ring, and given it a home.”

She glanced down at her finger, where she’d absently set the puzzle ring.

“…oh.”

The List:
1a) the story starts with the words “It’s going down.” (LJ Link)
1b) the story starts with the words “It’s going down.” (LJ Link)
2) write a scene that takes place in a train station.
3) the story must involve a goblet and a set of three [somethings]
4) prompt: one for the road
5) write a story using an imaginary color
6) write the pitch for a new Final Fantasy styled RPG (LJ Link)
7) prompt: frigid (LJ Link)
8) write a scene in the middle of a novel called “The Long, Dirty Afterwards” (LJ)
9) prompt: mourning dead gods (LJ)
10) write a story set in three different time periods. (LJ)
11) Write a movie trailer style trailer for a story, existing or not-yet-written. (LJ)
12) prompt: sweet iced tea (LJ)
13) re-write a story that everyone knows (LJ)
14) write a vanilla story dealing with kinky subject matter (LJ)
15) prompt: ascension (LJ)
16) write a scene that takes place at the end of a long road trip. (LJ)
17) write an uncomfortable story (LJ)
18) prompt: a step too far (LJ
19) write a story in which something goes BOOM. )LJ)
20) Write the end of the story ‘The Purple Bag.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/118872.html. You can comment here or there.

June Again –> Boom: 30 Days Second Sem, Addergoole, Abduc. prompts.

Aug25

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “19) write a story in which something goes BOOM.”

Also for the Abduction Prompts: here

Cya/Cynara is a RP character from the Addergoole roleplay. Her Wiki page is here This takes place sometime post-year-9 but before-the-apoc.

June again. Cynara packed the boys off to school, called the younger’s father to remind him to pick them up afterward, then spent a good couple hours helping Hroderich move into his own apartment. He was a good kid, got along well with her sons, but, well, like his brothers, wasn’t really into girls.

Once she had him tucked in, with one last you-were-a-good-Kept hug and a now-be-a-good-man punch in the arm, she double-checked her packing and started driving.

It was a ten-hour-drive from Hroderich’s new place to the Village outside of Addergoole. Cya found it meditative, a way of spring-cleaning her brain of the cobwebs and trailed her most recent Kept had left, of sweeping out the dust of former loves and lovers. She slept at a motel halfway there – the old lady winked at her. Didn’t know what she was up to, but after four years of this trip, recognized her. Cya smiled back at her, left her the tray of cookies, and slept.

It was late morning on move-out day when she drove into the Village and started waking up her power. If she let it ride most of the time, she could push it, times like this, ask it to Find things that were esoteric and a bit vague. Find me the boy I can take home with me, she asked it. Someone who’ll fall for it, someone who might need it.

The tugging in her head was like a compass. This way. Down Main Street and up the hill, to the gate of Maureen’s house. Hunh. A linen shirt and a thatch of auburn, a bit untidy, khakis and no shoes. Leaning against the outside fence, staring in.

She leaned up next to him, studying the kid-pack playing there, picking out the girl that was probably his.

“She’s lovely,” she murmured. When his attention turned reluctantly to her, she offered a hand. “Cynara.”

“Pellinore.” His grip was firmer than his effete look suggested, and she swallowed a smile. Ambrus’ sons were fun.

Pellinore had accepted Cynara’s offer of a ride; his mother’s home, the only place he knew other than Addergoole, was only a day’s drive from the school, and his mother, in a state of denial, it seems, had left him to find his own way home.

It took him about an hour to realize that something was up, an hour they spent cheerfully gossiping about Addergoole professors and ignoring any of the really uncomfortable topics, such as who’s the bitch who won’t let you get near your daughter? or so, who Owned you and how bad was it?. Mike seemed a safe topic, so they joked about cy’Linden, and cy’Luca, and how some things never changed.

And then he happened to notice (because she allowed him to; she had practice, by now, at very subtle Mind Workings) that they were going very fast down a road in the wrong direction to get him home, and his Addergoole-honed caution reminded him that she, too, had gone through the School of Hell.

He didn’t stop to ask questions, she gave him that. He began rattling off a combat Working as fast as he could speak, pointing at the road beyond the car.

Boom! A wall of force and earth began rolling towards them with a crack like thunder. Cya swerved to miss it while she muttered her own working, destroying the earth wall with another boom and then throwing in a fast mind-control while he was still trying to make her emotions twist.

“Stop,” she said, as gently as she could with his created panic twisting inside her. “Release the Workings.”

He stared at her sullenly, her control forcing obedience, his own panic clearly rising. Torn by his resemblance to another son of Ambrus, she patted his knee. “Look at it this way,” she offered. “It could be a lot worse.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/117884.html. You can comment here or there.

30days Second Sem / Abduction Prompts / Scent / The Generation Ship

Aug24

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “18) prompt: a step too far.”

In the same world/ship as Evolution and All Green Dots. Short version: Alae is the ceremonial Queen on a generation ship; Eka is her partner.

“Trepp, Alae, it smells like stale piss.” They had both been on edge lately, vibrating with the tension of the ship, with the political maneuverings that threatened both of them, feeling crammed in even Alae’s larger cubic and not spending any hour aside from work apart. The perfume had been the cracked cog that had thrown them out of working order. “Do you own a scent that can’t be smelled in the next star system?”

It was a step too far, enough to send Alae storming out into the corridors, alone and without a weapon, stomping through the ship like a force of nature, ready to rip the panels off anyone who got in her way.

Jol Ruinson was the hapless fool who crossed her path first, a hydrologist from the upper port quadrant. “Alae, your Majesty,” he oozed. He always oozed, like he was half-liquid himself. “Have you come to recant your refusal? Have you seen the light?”

“Hardly,” she snapped. “Jol, I will marry you when the void is safe to breathe, when the ship stops moving, when our water falls from blue skies. I’ll marry you when myths are true, and not before.”

She could tell the moment the words were out of her mouth that it was too much, too far. She had been turning him down (and a half-dozen others) since she moved out of the crèche, but she had always been polite. Today…

“Your perfume smells like piss, your Majesty,” he snarled, one hand going for her hair and the other, holding a taser she hadn’t noticed, for her ribs.

She didn’t lose consciousness until he dragged her until the dark.

And for Eseme’s prompt wanting to see a rescue in this setting:

“You have got to be treppin’ kidding me,” Eka shouted, her voice echoing off the corridors. “It’s a finite space, a ship. How can you not find. One. Woman. In. A. Spaceship?”

The police squirmed uncomfortably under her barrage. “Engineer,” one of them began, another quickly interrupting, “Princess.” She turned to the third, waiting to see how he’d address her.

“Eka,” he said quietly. “There are seven hundred fifty thousand people on this ship, and the cubic to match. We are doing everything we can to find Alae.”

She stared at him levelly for a moment, then, reluctantly, nodded. Everything we can. “All right,” she agreed quietly, “but, perhaps, you’re not doing everything I can.”

It only took a few minutes to convince the beleaguered officers to go along with her plan, and another half hour to set up the scanners to do what she wanted. The planners of the Zimmer had taken great pains to limit surveillance to the large public-gathering sites, valuing privacy where personal space was inherently limited. But the life-support systems were fine-tuned, able to deflect the smallest variations. Eka doubted anyone had used the system to track their lover’s perfume before. It took the scanners fifteen minutes to isolate the trail.

The supply corridor had been blocked off in a remodel two generations past, the only access a panel that had been unscrewed. In the space behind – half the size of Eka’s apartment – Alae and her captor lay, dimly lit by the standby lights. The engineer princess dove forward, heedless of weapons, to gather her Queen in her arms.

“I told you,” she murmured, “your perfume was a bit strong.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/117747.html. You can comment here or there.

30 Days Second Semester: 17, Misery Loves…

Aug23

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “17) write an uncomfortable story.”

Faerie Apocalypse (LJ Link), Addergoole Year Nine, the day after “Say Yes.” (LJ).

Thorburn seemed jittery and uncomfortable on Wednesday, as if somehow he’d been the one to get the wrong end of Tuesday night. It grated on Ceinwen, set her teeth on edge. What right did he have to play the victim?

“I still hate you, you know,” she informed him, since he wouldn’t let her leave the room.

“Stop saying that,” he snapped, without looking away from his homework.

Bereft of even that pleasure, she pulled up a second chair and sat next to her Keeper, staring at him. He was Masked, handsome, his dreads tidy, his eyes improbably hazel-green. “You’ve never shown me,” she said abruptly. If she was going to be uncomfortable, she’d find a way to share it. “Even on Hell Night, you kept your Mask up.”

He frowned, closing his book, finally, to look at her. She plowed on, a little nervously.

“I know there are people without physical Changes, one or two of them, at least. And I know that some aren’t visible with their clothes on, but I’ve…” she swallowed hard and forced herself to continue, “seen you with your clothes off. No Changes. Why haven’t you shown them to me?”

He was still frowning, and she struggled against the urge to quail backwards. His orders last night left her uncomfortable with talking about what had happened, but this… if he wanted her to stop, he’d tell her.

“I mean…”

“When you Change,” he interrupted her. “When you Change, I will show you. I promise.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/116889.html. You can comment here or there.

30 Days Second Semester: 16, Coming Home

Aug22

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “16) write a scene that takes place at the end of a long road trip.”

John Stollich never knew, when he got home from a tour, what would greet him. Sometimes he thought that was why he stayed on the road as long as he did, coming home only, really, to cut another CD. He’d come home one time, and Onyx would be wrapped around his leg, best-daughter-ever, happy to see him, chattering about what she was learning in school, don’t-ever-leave-again-Dad. The next time, she’d be distant and chill, or flat-out nasty.

The nannies weren’t any better. At best, they lasted a year, year and a half. It was either John that turned them off, or Onyx, or the sometimes-strange things that happened around her, or her insatiable and incorrigible curiosity.

Bringing her on the bus had, because of that curiosity, never been a good option. He did so for very short periods of time, when the bus had been well-scrubbed and censored. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to a prepubescent kid what condoms were for.

He braced himself, getting rid of all thoughts of condoms, groupies, and drugs, and opened his front door. Was this going to be good visit, or a bad one?

She wasn’t in the living room waiting, which was new – generally the nanny brought her down. Instead, his manager, Ray, sat there, frowning.

“What is it this time?” John dropped his duffle bag and waited.

“She ran off again.”

“Damnit, Ray, what is this, seven times?”

“Fourteen.” He paused, then added, reluctantly, “Her aunt called again.”

I present another reboot, for a setting written so long ago I can’t find the original (which itself was a reboot). Onyx-Black and the fanfic of doom.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/116122.html. You can comment here or there.

30days Second Semester, Preparing the Stage, Cali

Aug17

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “14) write a vanilla story dealing with kinky subject matter”

Tir Na Cali, in the Harem sub-setting – landing page here (and on LJ).

Bettie was very proud of her inventory. She kept each piece in pristine condition, clean, oiled, free of defect, hung in its proper spot, ready for her hand, or that of the Lady or Lord that called for it.

There was, she mused, not that much difference between her and the harem-keepers. They all kept their inventories ready; they all served the same niche. And they all, in the end, worked on the same slaves.

She laid out her floggers and restraints. The Lady Ursula had called for some supplies this evening; she wanted to be certain everything was perfect.

Mink oil came first. The best floggers and whips were made of leather, firm enough to hurt, but giving enough not to break the skin. They needed to be cared for (and sometimes, even so, blood needed to be cleaned off as well), oiled, smoothed, made supple. They needed to be as good as they could be.

She worked the oil into her favorite three floggers. Stephan made the best noises with the heaviest flogger, so she worked that one up first. Perhaps the Lady would have another choice, maybe the delicate one more likely to leave welts but easier to swing. She oiled that one, too, and then moved on to the restraints.

The leather needed oiling, the buckles a bit of buffing. They took a lot of wear, but, with care, would long out-last their wearers. Bettie was very proud of her inventory, and, she thought, took better care of it than the harem-keepers did of theirs.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/111135.html. You can comment here or there.

30 Days Second Semester: 11, Remember the Tale

Aug16

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “13) re-write a story that everyone knows.”

Misc-urban-fantasy, maybe misc-post-apoc.

The streets between Roana’s house and her grandmother’s weren’t safe anymore, and everyone knew it. The Wolves had marked their territory, eight blocks of wasteland surrounding what had once been a pretty park. Anyone caught in there was fair game, especially not wearing their colors. And no-one wore the Wolves colors they hadn’t marked themselves.

But going around added an extra hour to her trip, an hour which went through only nominally safer territory. After all, the Wolves at least showed you their teeth. So she put on red – nobody wore Red in this city, Red was passé – her kerchief and her coat. It was supposed to snow, but she hadn’t seen her grandmother in weeks.

The first couple blocks were fine. Neutral territory, what people called The Mother-Land. Mothers with big guns and bigger voices kept this area clear of violence.

She knew the moment she stepped into the Wolves’ territory. The stink was unmistakable, even without the tagging, even without the gloom and the way the world seemed to twist in the shadows. She kept her chin high and kept walking.

Where do you go, little Red? Go home.
The streets here aren’t safe, and you’re all alone.

The streets whispered to her, taunted her, called to her. She kept walking.

What’s in the bag, little Red? Turn around
Scurry on home, now, don’t make a sound.

She could hear their voices, calling from the ruined fire escapes, calling from the windows, whispering from the alleys. She knew no one would be there if she turned, so she kept walking, chin up, determined.

Under your coat, little Red, let us in,
We want to taste that pretty white skin.

The park was the worst, the barking yaps of the Wolves following her in there. Every shadow could hide a monster, but she kept on. The brambles grabbed her jacket, but she kept going. The roots tried to trip her, but she kept on.

Such pretty eyes, little Red, can’t you see?
How hot our hunger is, how big our teeth?

She tugged her coat a little tighter, knowing it was coming. Knowing that they’d strike at the old fountain. Knowing that they wouldn’t remember they myth, remember why she wore red.

“Run away girl, pretty Red, run away.” The Wolf that stepped out of the shadows would be their alpha, biggest of the batch. None of the others would bother them until he was done.

“Hurry home now, and be safe, safely stay,” he sang. He remembered the words, at least. Did he remember the rest.

“I’m just going to my Grandmother’s,” she told him. “Through the woods and o’er the fountain.”

“But there are wolves in the woods, little Red, aren’t you scared?” he leered. His teeth were big, and sharp, and yellow.

“I don’t worry, Wolf, that I’ll be spared.” The myth had a life of its own, here in the dark, here on the edge of the bridged fountain. “And you’ve forgotten the end of the story.”

“What’s in the bag, little Red? Run and run,” he crooned, “Or stay right here, leave me my fun.”

She reached into the bag for the first time, stepping towards him. Here, right here, yes. He crossed the bridge towards her, ready to leap. He couldn’t turn this down, not a Wolf, not in the Woods, not with her red hood.

“Under your coat, little Red, let me in. I want to taste that pretty white skin.” At “skin,” he lept, and she swung, reversing the axe, hitting him in the stomach with the butt end. He went flying, and she stepped delicately down off the fountain, to eye the crumbled man. She set her axe to his throat, letting him feel how sharp it was.

“Don’t you remember?” she smiled at him, “How the story ends?”

“The woodcutter…” he gasped.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/110567.html. You can comment here or there.

30DaysMeme, Second Semester, Sweet Iced Tea

Aug15

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “12) prompt: sweet iced tea.”

This is more of the Reid/Cali crossover fanfic, directly after the last piece.

The stories before this:
Never Been Caught : First written, last in sequence.

Shots Fired: First in sequence

“Well, Crap, Where am I?”, after “Shots Fired” and before the story below.

“Excuse me,” their captive croaked. “Could I have some water?”

Morrigan turned in surprise, studying him. She hadn’t heard it when he woke, which shouldn’t have surprised her. She knew he was an Agent, even if not from their Agency.

“I’ve got some water here,” she answered levelly, and got the cup with the straw from the cooler. “We’ve also got some sweet iced tea, if you’d rather.” She pressed the straw to his lips anyway.

He drank slowly, buying himself some time, she guessed. “Thank you. I appreciate you taking such good care of me.”

Behind Morrigan, Cym choked out a laugh. “Shit,” she swore, “that’s her. The Lady of Kindness herself.”

Morrigan laughed quietly. “It’s a nice technique,” she told Reid. “They teach a similar one in our Academy.” He was looking a bit worried, so she offered again, “some tea? You were held captive for a few days, I bet you’re hungry, too.”

He licked his lips, contemplating that. “I didn’t know that Californians were fond of sweetened tea.”

“We’re not, generally,” she allowed, smirking at him. “We stopped at a gas station just before we… rescued… you, and that was all they had for drinks with caffeine.” She shook her head. “We are, whatever we are, not serial killers, Agent.”

“Could I have a little more water?” Stalling. She pressed the straw to his mouth and let him. He was a bright boy; he could tell he was trapped.

“You’re those Agents,” he said slowly.

“We are,” she agreed.

“I’ll have that tea now, please.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/110185.html. You can comment here or there.

30 Days Second Semester: 10, Coming Soon: Reiassan

Aug5

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “11) Write a movie trailer style trailer for a story, existing or not-yet-written.”

Reiassan/Rin & Girey – landing page here (and on LJ).

Pan over a rocky landscape, following a river that wends its way south, past a white-walled cliff city, past farms cut into the mountains. As we begin, the travel up the road, running Northwards, looks like a long, ragged snake.

Voiceover: The two nations on the continent of Reiassan have been at war as long as either of them can remember.

As we grow closer, the snake reveals itself as an army, slowly marching, tired, wounded, but proud. The almost-universally dark-haired and short figures wear bright colours, and we can hear, over the crescendos of the music, the thudding rhythm of a cheerful marching song. Their armor is Romanesque in feel, and their mounts, those that have them (Officers, better-dressed, no less tired, no less wounded) ride tall, husky goats.

Finally, after generations, one nation has emerged victorious.

We see, among the short, brightly-dressed soldiers, others, dressed in bland browns and tans, wearing chains, some male, some female, mostly taller, fairer people. The camera is still moving Northwards, picking out faces on the long train of people.

The war is over.

Cut to generals signing treaties in a tent, one dark-haired, one blonde, both tired-looking.

Pan out from the tent to the mess of the battlefield. Scavengers and medics tend to the wounded and bury the dead. Near the tent, a man in rich-looking robes is forced to his knees on a platform.

The Callanthe had defeated the Bitrani. They have killed their King.

We see the axe begin to fall, and the camera cuts away, again. A dark-haired woman in a bright green tunic looks down at a scruffy blonde soldier in the remains of expensive, if dull-colored, clothing and armor. His hands and ankles are shackled.

Now they must learn to live with them.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/99133.html. You can comment here or there.

30 Days Second Semester: 10, Planning a Family, Tír na Cali

Aug4

For the 30 Days Meme Second Semester, for the prompt “10) write a story set in three different time periods”

Tír na Cali – landing page here (and on LJ).

Author’s note: the Cali royalty trace their lineage back through three clever pioneers (Istvia, Imogen, and Gwydion) to so-called witches who came over from Ireland to settle the west coast of North America.

Ireland, 1685

The witch looked over the table at her cousin, a pretty young thing that, until now, everyone had assumed was just daft. The girl was floating the dishes in the air, all of the dishes, weaving them in and out in a series of loops that looked like a Maypole dance.

The witch stood, pondering her dim-witted cousin, and nodded at her brother. ::James, Alice’s son with the lovely eyes,:: she murmured into his head. :: He’ll make a good groom. He’s always thought she was fetching.:: And he could lift more than a man ought to, and carry it for nearly ever.

Sacramento,California 1849
Istvia and Imogen studied each other over a game of chess, although both were minding Imogen’s youngest daughter, playing patty-cake with the dark-haired boy Istvia used as a fetch-and-carry page.

“She’s already showing signs,” Imogen murmured under her breath. “She has a bear that follows her everywhere, even if she forgets to pick him up. It upsets the help.”

Istvia, who already knew this, nodded sagely. “He,” she tilted her head at the boy, still feet short of his adult height, “gets things off tall shelves.”

“Mmm. Worth a try, then.”

Hillsboro, Oregon, 2011
Catherine ni Johanna ó Imogen studied her teenaged niece. The girl was playing checkers with a slave boy, a handsome teenager who, like many of the slaves on Catherine’s estate, bore a striking resemblance to Catherine’s family. This one, however, though he had the eyes and the nose, was a good head taller than the free men in the bloodline, and, on brief observation, rather more clever, too.

Catherine had carefully discouraged her niece’s friendship with the boy, disapproving in an over-the-top way only teenagers believed. With luck, there’d be a child before Yule.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/98205.html. You can comment here or there.

Alder's Grove Fiction

The Worlds of Lyn Thorne-Alder