Mar. 16th, 2017

Snowed In

Mar. 16th, 2017 08:42 am
aldersprig: (blizzarded)
(Yes, I find it a little amusing that I have a “Blizzard” Icon. It’s from a setting!)

So, we spent the last two days snowed in, how about you?

The last time I can remember that a major storm was supposed to hit NY, with all of the bells and whistles and a name, was Sandy - the hurricane, which totally ignored Ithaca except some rain and went on to devastate NYC and New Jersey.

To be honest, I was expecting more of the same from Stella. Ithaca just doesn’t get snow most years, not like Rochester or Buffalo do (those giant inland seas dump a lot of snow on their cities…)

I figured I’d get up Tuesday morning and there’d still be grass visible.

As a matter of fact, when I woke up at 2 a.m. Tuesday morning, there still was grass visible.

Not so much by 6 a.m.

Definitely not so much by mid-day.
Read more... )
aldersprig: (Cali)
After Kitties and Fancy-Dressed Kitties

Rrian, the new assistant gardener for Lady Enasshi, found himself spending his off time looking at the other slaves on the estate.

Helena, the chatelaine, had a very subtle mod - she had cat eyes and slightly pointed, slightly tufted ears, and a slight change in the way she walked. To look at her move around the estate, you’d have thought she had been raised from day one to be a fine lady’s chatelaine.

And maybe she had, Rrian reminded himself. Not all moddies were made or raised by the Agency, the way he had.

Tabitha, the assistant chef, definitely had been. The way she handled a knife was terrifying. The way she looked at Rrian - now that was something.

He let her stalk him into the rear garden when he was off-duty, leaving enough of a trail that even a full human might have been able to find him. She didn’t need it. But he wanted to be sure she knew he was aiming to be followed.

She caught him by the fountain of Enasshi’s royal ancestor Tertia, pounced on him and knocked him to the ground. Rrian looked up at her and smiled.


“You were Agency,” she accused. She sniffed the sides of his neck. He bared his neck to her, because she was sharp.

“So were you.” He grinned at her, all sharp teeth. “And here we are.”

She settled back on her heels, straddling his thighs, looking at him. “So what do we do now?”

“Well… According to what the head gardener, the chatelaine, and our Lady herself has told me… on our time off? Anything we want.”
aldersprig: a red-heded freckled girl, smiling (Autumn)
March is Worldbuilding Month! Leave me a question about any of my worlds, and I will do my best to answer it!
🌏
This seventh one is from [personal profile] inventrix:
Does everyone who does magic work with Strands? Corollary: if there are people who think they don’t, is it just like how Autumn uses ink - it’s their approach, not the fact that it’s different magic?

Also, what ARE Strands, anyway.


Okay!

So, in Stranded World, everyone who works magic is working with the Strands. Like Autumn and sometimes Summer, they don’t always directly manipulate the strands, and some of them don’t realize what they’re doing at all, but all magic involves manipulating or reading (or cutting, although I guess that’s a manipulation) the Strands.

So, yes, a psychic might be using tea leaves or a palm-reading, but what they are actually seeing is the way the Strands seem likely to move in the near future.

And the Strands are… the world.

Autumn sees primarily the Strands that are connections between people, because that’s her strong suit. She visualizes them as lines, and there are indeed Strands connecting people - love, hate, co-workers, family - everything that makes people touch and make a connection, even eyes meeting across a subway, causes some sort of strand.

They are the actions of people, too, past, current, and potential, streams of movement running through the world; they are the connections people make with things and things make with things.

Some philosophers haves suggested the whole world is just composed of Strands upon Strands. They may be right.
aldersprig: (Beryl)
This comes after King(maker) Cake, King for a Day, After the Kinging, and Stone: Aftermath
👑
“Stay here.” Beryl had the bossiness of the family down to an art form, especially the way she seemed to have convinced herself that she wasn’t actually bossy. Stone would’ve been impressed, if she wasn’t his sister. His little sister.

“It’s my room.”

“Yep. Stay there anyway.”

“Not going anywhere.”

Their parents had dealt with having four children in an imbalance of genders in a three-bedroom house by splitting both kids’ bedrooms in half, so Stone’s room wasn’t exactly spacious, but it was his, and he guarded it as jealously as a king would his castle. Beryl - who wanted the same respect, and got it from him, at least - knocked and waited in the open doorway.
Read more... )
👑
Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1278737.html


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aldersprig: (AylaSmile)
Chapter 4: Cynara
by Lyn Thorne-Alder


“Creepy.” Cynara stared at the barn, at the lift slowly lowering the Jeep, at the warehouse they were coming down into. “This is not exactly inspiring any confidence in this Adder’s Who—”

“Addergoole.” Luke Hunting-Hawk was not the most talkative of travel companions, and he clearly didn’t want to be out here hauling her in. He’d been wearing the same pissed-off since he showed up at the motel room door to collect her. “It’s the Addergoole School.”

read on…
aldersprig: (Marked)
MARKED - 5.6

Nilien caught her breath and pulled herself slowly to her feet. Her knees were scraped, and her left ankle felt as if there were knives poking into it.

She checked herself over quickly; other than the blood on her knees and the general disheveled state of her clothes, she seemed okay. There were a couple rips in her bloud and one in her skirt, her palms were chafed, and her ankle looked swollen already. But she was still alive.

read on...
aldersprig: (Beekeeper)
First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which They Stop Kissing Long Enough to Talk.

🐝
She lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. As far as she could tell, Amrit was still asleep. His breathing was even and he made little noises, sometimes, that did not quite sound like speech.

He was warm next to her. It was a petty concern, but she liked it. He was warm — and it was stupid, but she was coming to trust him.

Not stupid, she argued with herself. He’d made promises. Oaths. He hadn’t had to do that. And here they were…

Here they were, in bed together. Warm together, although it would be months before that was a real necessity.
Read more... )
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