aldersprig: (GIRAFFE!)
My Giraffe (Zebra) Call Is Open!

Written to lilfluff‘s prompt.  Definitely a beginning.  


“I don’t see why I should step down.  Everyone knows Winter is evil.”

There were four seasons and four courts.  There had always been, as long as the words went back and before that

read on…
aldersprig: (Syadaia)
To Lilfluff's Prompt: this is set in the immediate post-war era in my Reiassan setting. The Calenyena have, after centuries of war, finally conquered the Bitrani. 

And now they need to deal with that conquered land.


“What did I do to offend the gods, the engineers, and the Empress?”  Tetatelai Mapmaker grumbled at her goat, her partner, and the world in general.  “Whose boots did I piss in, whose tent did I stumble against, what city did I misspell?”

“You know,” Openpennait Sword-bearer raised his aristocratic eyebrows at her.  “Some people would take this as an honor.  You are in charge of adding new territories to the Empress’ maps.  That’s an impressive duty.”

read on…
aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
First: A New World
Previous: Touring

The Kael-room. That was an interesting turn of phrase. Kael knew this tower like the back of her hand; she had been living her for nearly a century before - before she lived here for quite longer in some sort of suspended animation, she supposed. A hundred years. The tower came with a grant. Now that was interesting. Who had provided such a thing? How had the tower’s presence been explained? She was fairly certain much more than a hundred years had passed. Buildings she could see from the windows looked far beyond the current - the current-when-she-slept abilities of normal humans, and there hadn’t been enough wizards in the world to raise so many towers. And yet many of these buildings appeared to be well over a century old, if the aging signs had not changed utterly.

She paused to look out a window. The world around her tower was so much more crowded, and the people in so much more of a hurry, than anything she remembered from before. All those people. Were they heroes? Were they adventurers? Who would come to a seat of the muses that would need to see a Kael - a Kael, not the Kael, and even Kael could recognize the phrase Back Stage.
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aldersprig: (kai-sky)
First: A New World

Kael did not sit for long. It was not in her nature to just sit - or she probably would have had far less trouble with heroes and the like. Instead she stood again and brewed several potions in quick succession.
Her ingredient stores were a bit low. She was going to have to venture out into - into that - and see what she could do about it. But first, first she needed a few things.
A potion of Cloak of the Road coated her in clothing appropriate to her station in this place. She looked down at the sleek, snug clothing and approved. This world, whatever it was, had nice clothes. Better than robes, she thought, or the things that people had worn when she’d first reached adulthood.

Her stairs were covered with dust, too. The whole tower looked as if nobody had touched it in - no. No, there in the dust were footprints. They were covered with their own layer of dust - not new, but not all that old, either.

Interesting. Perhaps the spell had been weakening. Perhaps someone had wanted a potion.
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aldersprig: (kai-sky)
Kael drifted off in a haze of fumes.

It hadn’t been exactly what she’d intended to do, but the Blessed Mugwort and the Watery Cress together ought to create a long and dreamless, ageless and still sleep, even if she’d been aiming for more of a quiet watching throughout the ages. Something must have gotten in the mix - probably that last batch of adventurers.

Kael dreamed of a time when such idiots didn’t come traipsing through, just because her tower was black, or just because they’d heard that she was generous with the potions that they needed.

She closed her eyes. This hadn’t been meant to put her to sleep. It really ought to bother her, she thought.

But it was such a nice dreamy sleep. And she couldn’t hear the stupid adventurers anymore.

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aldersprig: (Pterry)
Part I
💰 💸 💰 💸 💰
Abigail reached out her hand without thinking. “What - oh.” It was an amulet, bronze-like in color, the script swirling around it looking similar to that on the awning.

“What is it?” Liv crowded in close. “What - hunh. What is it?” she repeated.

“I’m not sure,” Abigail admitted.

“It is,” the old woman interjected, “a key and a shield, a sword and a lock. It will do what you need it to. And for you two, it is free. Now, should you want something else, do come in and look around.”

Oh, a freebie. Abigail slid the amulet on its cord around her neck and stepped into the old woman’s shop.

Inside seemed like a tent more than a shop, with blankets layering the walls until you couldn’t see the shape of the room it was in, shelves stacked here and there and hangers dangling from ropes criss-crossing the ceiling. The skirts and dresses hanging from the hangers were the prettiest things Abigail had ever seen.

Liv, on the other hand, seemed drawn to the cases of jewelry and strange things arranged in a back corner. Abigail found her digging in her pocket. “I’m down to five dollars,” she moaned. “I never should have gotten that stupid necklace from Spencer’s.”

“I will trade,” the old woman suggested. “The ‘stupid necklace’ for this piece you want.”

The piece looked like scrimshaw, a twist of bone carved with an elaborate pattern.

“Is that even legal to own?” Abigail wondered.

The old woman smiled. “The animal it comes from is not endangered. A trade? The piece you regret for this piece? It will look lovely with that blue dress in your bag.”

Liv looked down at the piece, sighed, and nodded. “A trade, thank you. That’s very nice of you.”

“I deal in trades,” the woman told her, “and regrets. Thank you for your custom, young ladies.”
Without seeming as if they were leaving, they were outside her shop again.


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aldersprig: (AldersGrove)
Written to [personal profile] lilfluff's prompt: "Kids at the mall stumble on the secret wing with the stores not listed on the mall’s map."

“And then Kevin said - what?” Abigail stopped mid-story to frown at Liv, who had gone silent and tense in the middle of Rue 21. “…oh. Come on, this way.” She took Liv’s hand and pulled her past the menswear. “Vic Carter, I swear,” she muttered as she pulled. “Bullies should not be allowed in the places normal people go.”

Liv had no problem being pulled - she never did - and kept her head down and her voice low. It wasn’t like they hadn’t done this before. “We’re normal now?” she muttered.

“Well, compared to that pile of unkind sentiment and bile?” Abigal got them out of Rue 21 and looked both ways. It was clear towards Hot Topic…

“You’ve been reading Austen again or something, haven’t you? - shit.”

“Oh, look who they let out of their cages!” Vic Carter’s snotty voice came at them like a weapon. “Didn’t I tell you two worms to stay away from me?”
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Part II:

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aldersprig: (lock and key)
Written to some of [personal profile] lilfluff's prompts.
The characters uh. Have something to do with [personal profile] wyste's ongoing very long fanfic. That is, ah,
are completely original. Really.

Jaime had gotten himself “arrested” by simply being in the wrong (right) place at the wrong (right) time, an occurrence that had been happening far too much lately. A suggestion that he happened to be maybe A Little Bit Magical had gotten him put in the right cells, and then it had taken just four or five mundane tricks to assure that he wasn’t actually stuck in the cell.

It sounded simple if you didn’t think about the weeks of planning and four people worth of preparation that had gone into this, all of which had involved quite a bit of arguing, more than a bit of negotiation, and a tiny bit of blackmail.

Jaime had gotten his mission. Now he just had to get out of it.

And the lock was proving slightly more tricky than he’d expected.

He was swearing quietly at the door when it swung open. He slid his lockpicks up his sleeves and tried to look disgruntled and imprisoned.
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aldersprig: (luke)
A sequel to a feral cat-girl

Mike was far less help than Luke had hoped he’d be. Mostly, Mike was standing off to one side, laughing. “Luke, only you could go looking for students and find a feral tiger.”

“She’s not one of ours. At least, I don’t recognize her and she looks a little too old to be one we were supposed to get.” Luke shifted his grip as the catgirl tried to bite him. “I don’t think she has rabies but I don’t really want to find out the hard way, and I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Have you tried talking to her?” Mike smirked from his safe position out of harm’s way. “I know that’s not really your specialty....”

You try talking to her. I think she thinks I’m dinner.”

“You know, I think some chatting would do you good. Just say hi to her, Luke.”


“Just a couple words, then I’ll help.”

Luke sighed. “Hello, kitty.” He felt stupid. She was snarling at him more like a cat than a person. Right, what would he say to an unhappy animal? “Easy, there. I don’t want to hurt you.” He mellowed his voice. “I don’t. I have some food back in the van, actually, if you’re hungry.” She wasn’t over-thin, but if she was wild, she was probably hungry. “And fresh water. Do you understand? Water.”

She’d stilled and was staring at him. He didn’t know if she followed anything he said, but she seemed to be relaxing.

Then, suddenly, she stared over his shoulder. Her ears went back and she hissed.

Luke turned, half-losing his grip on the girl as he did so, just as what was clearly a dog-boy leapt on Mike.

aldersprig: (Library)
March is Worldbuilding Month! Leave me a question about any of my worlds, and I will do my best to answer it! (I need more questions, guys)
This eleventh one is from [personal profile] lilfluff: just what was the nature of the apocalypse in The Planners?

You know, I have been doing a Very Good Job of leaving that completely unsaid.

The things I know are: It was not nuclear, it was not alien, and it was not zombie. It was not climactic - I.e. Giant Flood, that thing in 2000 or whatever the movie was with a giant freeze everywhere and the book-burning, and it probably didn’t involve Mad Max. It was probably not an asteroid strike.

It destroyed a large portion of the infastructure and it was probably that destruction that killed off a large portion of the population.

It was a worldwide apocalypse, not centered on any one nation.

It may have had a lot in common appearance-wise with the apocalypse in the TV show Revolution, although it was not cause by Plot Nanotech. Basically: the power all went out. Cars stopped working. Going anywhere became a challenge.

I think it involved several EMPs or a world-wide EMP. Either a backfiring test strike that ended up with several large nations making a mess of the world, or something like solar flares that made a mess all on its own.

As far as apocalypses go, it left the landscape mostly untouched, the people devastated, and technology a mess.
aldersprig: (lock and key)
Unknown ‘verse, possibly the one I wrote another slave rebellion in that nobody’s ever read, to [personal profile] lilfluff’s prompt “Mistress meets former slave after the successful rebellion”.

The rebellion had gone far more smoothly than anyone had ever expected such a thing might go.

It was bloody, of course; it was violent, of course, and in the end there were nearly as many slaves dead as owners.

The thing was, though: there were a lot more slaves than owners, and they had been a lot more willing to die than their owners had.

Paleyah Rose, formerly Junior Lady of Rose Heights, had not been willing to die, and her personal slaves had not felt very strongly about killing her, the way some owners’ slaves had. She was incarcerated in what had been the slave quarters of Rose Heights, and she had been put to work with such tasks as the current establishment believed she might be able to handle. At the moment, that was light cleaning and light food preparation, her former Head Chef keeping the position but working under his own free will now.
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aldersprig: (AldersGrove)
After New kid moves in next door

There were four tall people in the family and one short one, a child, all of them tanned and with their hair unruly and sun-bleached. The tallest one was staring right at Sinclar and Ainsley, looking through the leaves of the potted plant at them.

He raised his eyebrows, smirked, and crossed the distance between their “stoops,” as Ainsley’s parents insisted on calling that little tiled area outside each apartment.

“You’re the Nessons, right? The Biddles are on the other side…?” Up close, he was very tall, but looked not that much older than Sinclair.

Ainsley squeaked. Her sister saved her. “We’re the Nessons. The Biddles have two boys and a very young daughter.” She nodded her head in a polite greeting. “I’m Sinclair Nesson, and this is my sister Ainsley.”

“I’m Ted Jendrock.” He thrust out a hand to them, and then, seeing their confused faces, “what, people don’t shake hands in this place?”
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aldersprig: (AldersGrove)
The apartment next door to Ainsley’s family’s home had been vacant since the Hawkings had left precipitously in the middle of the night, back when Ainsley was twelve. By this point, four years later, Ainsley and her sister Sinclair had started working on an application for the place. When they were both of age, they posited, they could move two or more mates in there easily enough, and still be close to their parents.

Now there were people moving in, moving in to their place.

“People don’t just move in.” Sinclair was staring at the wall between the two places. There wasn’t much noise - the Complex was well-engineered for many people in close proximity - but it felt like an invasion nonetheless. “Nobody moves in to the Complex.”

“Well,” Ainsley offered weakly. “Is it the Mccormicks? Their boys are just a couple years older than us - maybe they had the same idea.”
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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: (Cali)
After Kitties

Enasshi’s new assistant gardener tugged at the sleeves of his coat. “This is…” He coughed.

“It is,” agreed the head gardener, a fox moddie who was wearing breeches and nothing else. “The good news is, when you’re in the back yard, the gardens, or anywhere but the front yard or the public spaces, just wear the pants - and the shirt if you want it. The rest is for public places.”

The assistant gardener looked down at the pile of clothing in his arms. “So she knows we get it dirty, ‘cause there’s seven changes of clothes here. But there’s seven changes of clothes here. I think that costs more than she spent on me.”

“Let’s be honest.” The head gardener smirked. “She doesn’t spend all that much on us.”

The assistant gardener looked up, startled. “…Us?”

“Oh, come on, kid, you didn’t think you were the only one, did you? No, this is on purpose. Here, sit down, put those clothes down. Nobody does yard work at noon, anyway. No.” The head gardener tucked his tail around a stool as he sat down. “She found out about the moddies that don’t work out. ‘Unsuitable’ moddies. Don’t you dare tell anyone I told you, but Helena, the chatelaine, she was first. And after that - there’s not an unmodified staff member left in the house.”

“We’re… all ‘unsuitable?’” Suddenly the assistant gardener looked frightened. “But isn’t that dangerous?”
aldersprig: (Gremlin)
This one peters out more than some of them today. I wasn’t sure where it wanted to go.

Anne Herrington had heard things about Smokey Knoll, of course, but the house was so cheap and it was such a nice house.

She didn’t ask too many questions of the old owners - a very nice couple with three kids, the youngest still in diapers - because it was clear that the two-bedroom house was too small for their growing needs. The tiny strip of city-style front lawn was a little overgrown, sure, and the back they’d let go wild to raspberry bushes and wild roses, four woody apple trees and a vigorous smattering of grapes, but Anne had quite the green thumb and was looking forward to the challenge. The house itself was solid, passed all inspections with flying colors, and came in ten grand under her budget.

And, yes, it was actually in Smokey Knoll, not adjacent as the realtor had tried to sell it, but so what? Smokey Knoll was supposed to be a beautiful place. Sure, the people were a little… strange, but Anne had grown up around strange people. She might be normal, but that said nothing for her parents’ friends, or her friends in school, or that brief phase of college experimentation…
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aldersprig: (Cali)
There had always been something a little strange about the Baroness Enasshi ni Firanne O Tertia’s household.

To be fair, the entire O Tertia household had been strange right from its founding, and their little barony, barely more than a town and some fields, drew more attention than something its size had any right to.

But ever since Enasshi - and what sort of name was that? - took over from her mother Firanne (speaking of names) on that worthy’s seventieth birthday (speaking of anomalies; most Baronesses had to wait until their mother died, not just until they turned seventy; seventy was nothing to the children of the gods), the little Barony’s little household had gotten even stranger.

Lady Enasshi had spent three years in Great Britain when she was in her early twenties, something that was not unheard-of but not all that common, and there were those who suggested that it might be a British influence. Others suggested the two years in Japan, the year in France, or even the six months she’d spent touring Africa. As a rule, it was generally agreed that, for a Californian noble, she’d spent far, far too much time overseas.

Which might be what they could blame for her staff, almost all bred moddies somehow unsuitable for Agency service. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with having genetically-modified staffers. It wasn’t even that there was anything wrong with having them as your butler and maid, your cook and your groundskeeper. (There was something a little questionable about having one as one’s Consort, but the Lady’s choice and the Consort’s were sacrosanct in that matter, and absolutely nobody was going to tell Lady Enasshi that she couldn’t have a dapper, well-turned-out cat-boy as her Consort.) It was just that, in addition to the oddity of a staff that was almost entirely moddies, from the chatelaine down to the pot-boy, in a rather well-appointed household, Enasshi insisted on dressing every single one of them in beautiful and elaborate livery that wasn’t now and had never been the style in Tír na Cali.

Most Californian nobles dressed their slaves simply- khakis and shirts with the household monogram was common - saving the frou-frou and ornamentation for their companions, their butler (only sometimes) and fancy-dress parties. Visiting their houses, even the house of a Countess, was like visiting a friend. Everything was casual. With Lady Enasshi, not so much.

“I don’t know what to wear,” bemoaned the youngest daughter of the Baroness Stasia ni Ysabet. “The last time I went to a lunch at Enasshi’s, the boy trimming the weeds was better dressed than I was. And I was in couture!”

aldersprig: (Shooting star)
E-mail box clean out continues!
This is to a combination of [ profile] lilfluff's and [ profile] rix_scaedu's prompts here

"I don't believe in aliens." The elf lord stuck his chin out and glared at the gathered others. "There is life aplenty on this planet, for one. For another, the stars are gods-lights trailing across the ceiling of the world. There is no place for these 'alien beings' to come from."

Others on the council nodded their heads. "There are the gods, but they do not visit this planet except in cases of extreme emergency." A grey-haired elf ticked off points on her long fingers. "There are us, the fae of Underhill and the Hidden Vale. There are humans. There are the water-borne, who are neither fae nor human. That is more than enough for anyone to deal with."

The messenger cleared his throat uncomfortably. Up until a week ago, he hadn't believed in aliens either - and until half an hour ago, he hadn't believed in elves. "Be that as it may, ma'am, sir, everyone... but the aliens want a breeding pair of unicorns, and you are our last hope of finding any."

Tip Box ;-)
aldersprig: (Cali)
So [personal profile] lilfluff sent me a bunch of prompts for my birthday in 2014. *cough* This is from Tír na Cali.

It was the Lady's birthday, and the house was in an uproar. The Lady herself was not all that demanding -- but her Lady Mother was, and that meant that everything had to be absolutely perfect: the Lady might own them, but the Lady Mother was still Baroness, and she could make their lives miserable and their Lady's life horrible.

The cakes were divine and adorable, the house was scrubbed till it gleamed. The landscaping was trimmed until everything was level and bright and lovely. The household slaves were all in their absolute best uniforms. Even their collars were gleaming. In five minutes, Herself, the Lady Baroness, would arrive.

And their Lady Mistress was sitting on the veranda, happily sharing a tray of hors d'oevres with a scrawny teenaged boy who was still in slave-raider pants and the bright orange slave-shop collar.

"What?" she asked her chatelaine, when the patient woman found them. "It's his birthday too."

aldersprig: (Girey)
[personal profile] lilfluff asked for words for games, and from there for words for winning and losing.

Winning! And losing...

The Calenyena have three sets of words for winning and losing: in games for fun, in games with a prize/in a single battle, and in a large war or conflict.

Pol is an archaic word which once meant to fall. (Falling, as from a goat, is now duddie, from Dudiedah, tumble). It now means to lose shamefully - where you could win something.

Pyuh is for when one suffers small, unimportant loss. We were playing Monopoly and I lost.

Darnietda comes from an old word meaning to slip and fall (into the river) It now means "to lose" in a large way, for instance, "The Bitrani lost the war."
aldersprig: (GIRAFFE!)
Written to [ profile] lilfluff's prompt here to my Giraffe Call!

Set in the world of Fae Apoc, sometime in late 2011/early 2012.

Mossliden's spine was twitching. Her hands twitching. Her wings were twitching. But she raised her chin and very carefully held the white flag visible.

The Ashanevai were camped in a small, inaccessible cavern, very defensible and almost impossible to sneak up on. Mossliden approved, and she was not trying, at the moment, to sneak anywhere, but it still made her very uncomfortable.

A bearded man - humans would probably think him about 50, because he had grey in hair and beard and lines on his face - stopped her. "I know you."
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If you want more, I'm sure I can manage more of this one! Drop a tip in the tip pack below.

Giraffe Call rates apply: $1/100 words.
aldersprig: (Cali)
In the Tir na Cali setting, how widespread are gifts/powers outside of California?

The Tuatha de Danaan, the leaders of Tir na Cali, would have you believe that there are no psychic powers such as theirs anywhere outside of California.

This is, of course, ridiculous.

Even though the Tuatha attempted to bring every relative with them when they left Ireland, it is likely they missed a few, just for starters. And it's not like all the Irish stayed in Ireland.

For another, the Tuatha were only one of three bloodlines of known psychics in Ireland, to say nothing of what might have happened with other bloodlines. While they did their best to wipe out the other Irish bloodlines, again, it's safe to assume they missed some. And when they moved to America, the Tuatha did not know about recessive genes, and thus it's likely they missed many who carried the grey-eyes-and-power linked genes as a recessive.

What the Tuatha were, at the time they left Ireland and certainly in the present time, were the only bloodline to self-select for power so intently and so continually. Other nations had small lines of psychics; the power would pop up from time to time in many different places. But without the concentrated breeding for the best powers, no other nation on earth has as many or as strong of powers as does Tír na Cali.

And while runaways do happen, however tightly California tries to hold on to its power source, the US knows enough to look for grey-eyed (or slit-pupiled yellow-eyed, etc.) people. If Californian slavers don't grab them first, anyone who has the look - or makes the mistake of demonstrating some psychic power - is sucked up into a secret government facility, never to be seen again. There are rumors that Russia and China do similar things, for similar purposes - to replicate the power that Tír na Cali has.

In the general non-Californian population, less than one in 6,000 people have psychic powers as recognized by Tír na Cali, and less than one in 1,000,000 have any sort of strong psychic power.

Written to [personal profile] lilfluff's prompt here.

I still need lots more worldbuilding prompts! Check it out!
aldersprig: (BookGlasses)

Davyn didn't know where he was. Well, he was in a kennel, yes. He was in a locked kennel that had been moving for a while, that, yes. But the kennel wasn't quite moving anymore. It felt like he was in a car - in a trunk, maybe? That would be awful - and the car was moving.

"Bark?" he tried quietly.

"Good puppy, that's it." The girl's voice came from very close - like she was sitting next to Davyn's kennel. But if she was there, who was driving?

"Listen, my parents are - ow, ow... oww."

"Good puppies stay quiet, puppy. Now, what do you think I should call you?"

Davyn whined. He had a name. He had parents, who might actually miss him. He had a home, and this whole thing had been a horrible, awful, no-good plan.

"Let's see. I think... Spots?"

No, no, whether or not he had freckles, he did NOT want to be Spots. Davyn whined louder, hoping he could get away with that much.

"Mmm. All right. I think Fleet. Fleet's a good dog name, don't you think?"

Davyn stayed quiet. There was nothing he could say to that. Heck, there was nothing he could say, period, not without getting zapped.

"That's a good puppy. And here we are! We're going to have so much fun, you and me, pup. Fleet. You're going to be a good Fleet for me, aren't you?"

What had he gotten himself into? Davyn stayed quiet, and hoped the crazy woman would at least remember to feed him.
aldersprig: an egyptian sandcat looking out of a terra-cotta pipe (Default)
"Should we stop him?"

Anya was new to the guarding business, just out of the Academy and still shiny around the edges.


Tobin, on the other hand, had been guarding Miss Anna's Establishment for forty years.

"He's gonna..."

"Darlin'." Only someone like Tobin could call someone like Anya darlin' and survive it. "It's Miss Anna. And that's her private audience chamber."

"Oh?" It didn't take her all THAT long for it to click. "Oh!"

"I'm pretty sure the last burglar to try to break in there is still 'working off his debt.'"

"When was that?"

"Oh? Mmm... four, five years ago." He grinned. "Let the guy get in. My boots need shining."
aldersprig: (Shooting star)
By the time the Earth ships found the Caschitari, it was too late. The Puradoon had already been through, and had wiped out everything; every building bigger than a shack had been knocked down, every lifeform they could find had been destroyed; the libraries, the data centers, the cultural spots had all been ashed.

From the readings, the human scientists estimated the Puradoon had come through about a decade past. They did that, the Puradoon, washed through star systems like locusts. Earth was close to stopping them - but too late for the Caschitari.

Or so they thought. Until the sensors picked up strange readings, deep in the basement of what had been the great museum of the Caschitari. A seed? A seed, the scientists agreed. A seed of...

They brushed dirt off of an ancient drinking vessel, and noises began. Talking noises, whispers, at first, and then louder. Building noises, all at once.

From the tiny seed deep in a drinking vessel, the Caschitari civilization was rebuilding itself.
aldersprig: (Cooking)
The Meme

Today's prompt is from [personal profile] lilfluff: Comfort foods

Mmm Comfort food.

I'm one of those people that has to not work to eat all their feelings... and I also tend to want to feed everyone else. "You're sad? Here, have food. Angry? Food. Happy? Celebratory food!"

But when I really need comforting... when I'm sick, it's broff (broth) if I'm really sick, or chicken soup if I'm just a bit sick.

I like this risotto that T. cooks, too - it's got just a bit too much cheese in it, and sweet onions, and it's creamy and starchy. If I'm feeling ambitious, it's mac n' cheese, although cauliflower and cheese works okay with the thick cheese sauce we use.

I mean... really, anything familiar is going to be good. Sometimes the comfort food I want is enchiladas Thorne, made with rice & lentils and taco sauce. Sometimes it's pizza, bought from the take-out place down the street. And sometimes it's chocolate chip cookies, with the recipe I've got memorized. It's mostly starches, really. I like starches when I want comfort food. <.< Starches and fat.

And then there was that once, when I was feeling lousy, when I found the recipe my mom used when I was sick - vanilla custard - and made it myself. 'Cause as much as I like being taken care of, I'm a grown-up now, and sometimes you just gotta make your own comfort.

What about you? What's your favorite comfort food?
aldersprig: an egyptian sandcat looking out of a terra-cotta pipe (Sandcat)
The Meme

Today's prompt is from [personal profile] lilfluff: Your favorite games


I like games, although I am not the board game fanatic that some of my friends are. I grew up playing gin rummy with my dad, Uno with my grandmother, Yahtzee with family & Monopoly whenever I could get people to play with me. My first fiance and I played Pente a lot, and he made a stab at teaching me chess, but i have little patience for strategy.

And, of course, I'm a gamer, so there's things like World of Darkness - Vampire, Werewolf, Changeling, etc., in primarily Live-action but also tabletop forms. I'm facinated by EarthDawn/ShadowRun but have never played them. And, while we're talking about roleplaying, I enjoy playing in my own settings most of all.

Computer games: I try not to get too involved, or I lose months. I liked Flight Rising until they were mean to Djinni, at which point I lost interest completely. I was utterly into Glitch until they folded, much sadface all around. And currently I'm into FarmVille, much to my enjoyment and consternation.

Games! I like playing Scrabble with my husband, although he almost always wins. And we've been playing Carcasonne lately, and I really enjoy that a lot.

I suppose "my favorite" game is the one I'm into at the moment, whatever moment that might happen to be.
aldersprig: (Library)
I asked for Non-Addergoole Prompts here; this is to [personal profile] lilfluff's prompt.

235 words, 'Planners verse 5 years post-Collapse.

The Far Northeast branch of the Family had done everything by the book, and then improvised where there was no book. They had gotten their Ark Library secure before the first murmurs of trouble, and had been all safe inside, with an equal number of non-Family experts and friends as Family, when the worst troubles hit. They had sat tight, letting in a select handful of wandering refugees only as they could safely feed and shelter, and had immediately begun classes in which everyone taught and everyone learned. Their food supplies exceeded book suggestions. Their heating plans were on par for the northern Maine winters. They were completely, totally prepared.

The problem was, they had also been, for five long years, completely, totally isolated from the rest of the world. Communications lines had not survived the collapse, which had been anticipated.

What hadn't been anticipated, or at least not considered relevant, was the strange flailing feeling of a continent-sprawling organization in constant contact with one another suddenly finding itself cut into component pieces.

The day the Family scouts finally found the Far Northeast Ark Library, the Northers broke into every reserve stock for their party. Alcohol flowed. Chocolate was baked. Rich foods were served, and loud music boomed.

Of course, while five years was not all that long in terms of the Family's long view, it was certainly long enough to drift away from Plan...
aldersprig: (AylaSmile)
Nano project #5 is the first novella in a series of 8, following 8 students through their 8 years at Doomsday Academy.

That means, of course, I need to figure out 8 students. Three I had pregenerated: The Catboy Samurai and his best friends Sianna the dancer and Sweetbriar the prickly. The other five...

Well, here's a little something about one.

The school was big. It wasn't big-big, not like the ruined city you'd seen once, but it was still big, and it was inside a city, a not-ruined city with walls and houses and animals.

And it was busy, everyone going here and there and everyone talking to everyone else. There didn't seem to be any order. There didn't seem to be anyone in charge.

There were people in collars, sure. Everywhere had people in collars. But you saw one of those people in collars telling someone not collared what to do - and the not-collared person went and did it!

You found a quiet place where you wouldn't be in anyone's way, a little platform up in a tree. It didn't look like anyone had been using it recently, so you probably weren't breaking any rules.

From here, you could watch the students and teachers - you assumed they were students and teachers, but it wasn't like any school you'd ever seen - the strangers and the slaves, and try to figure out where everyone fit in.

It didn't seem like anyone did, that was the thing. And, more than that, there didn't seem to be any place for you to fit in.
aldersprig: (KinkBingo2)
Written to [personal profile] lilfluff's prompt.

"I've always wanted to see the Imperial Capital." Prince Rodegard bounced in his seat, ignoring the armed guards surrounding him and acting not nearly the age Edora had been assured he was. "Is it as shining and bright and tall as everyone says it is?"

He was a hostage, technically. The entire railway car was filled with people devoted to getting him - and, by proxy, Edora - back to the Imperial Capital, where he would remain as assurance of his royal mother's good behavior. But the young prince had volunteered, and, from the looks of things, hardly understood the situation he was in.

Well, it was Edora's job to instruct him, as well as to protect, guide, and direct him. "Well, as with anything, your Royal Highness," she replied, in the language of the Capital and of her childhood, "there are many facets to the Capital, and some of them shine more than others."
Read more... )
aldersprig: (flower aldersprig)
A continuation of Flying-Squirrel's Freedom (or Fetters)

"Freck, freck, freck!" Farley was still fighting against the fetters when the Fondly sisters came for him.

The foremost one - Fanny, probably - was dangling a set of keys from her finger. Her red-furred ear sported a new notch, but she and Fiona were otherwise unscathed. "Finally." Fanny's smile had way too many teeth. "Do you know how long we've been looking for you?"

"And we only had to kill half a pirate ship to get you." Fiona looked around ostentatiously. "I wonder where we can get some more crew..."
aldersprig: (flower aldersprig)
Written to [personal profile] lilfluff 's prompt

Farley woke fuzzily.  The fetters were fixing him firmly in place, pressed against some sort of stake in the ground. 
"Fuck."  He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and shifted his arms.  A series of dull aches and sharp pains greeted the movement.  The webs between his arms and body were stretched badly.  His hands were bound above his head and behind the stake; his ankles were bound similarly.  At least he was on his knees.  That gave him a little bit of slack - a little.  Not nearly enough. 
Where was he?  Bound to a stake, that much was clear.  But... oh.  A mast.  Farley swallowed around a lump in his throat.  This wasn't going to go well.  If the pirates...
"Eeeee-ah!"  Farley jerked his head around, trying to look behind him, and got nothing but more pain for his efforts.  That shout.  He knew that shout.  
"Diiiiiiie!"  And that one.  Farley struggled against the chains in earnest now.  The Fondly sisters were very good fighters - very, very good fencers.  Unless the pirates that had him were of the Natashon Clan, they didn't stand a chance.  And, in a manner of speaking, neither did Farley. 
The Fondly sisters were very friendly.  Very, very friendly. And, while Farley wasn't the sort of squirrel to stay in one place - he was a flying squirrel, pretty much your definition of flit-about - well, the Fondly sisters had a way of making their wishes come true. 
"Dieeeee... aw, you died."  
Farley fought harder against the fetters. 

Further fic:
aldersprig: (Oligarchy)
Thank to [personal profile] lilfluff for the prompt.

Written for Friday Flash

The shift came with the moon.

It was inexorable, unavoidable, inevitable: if you had the blood, then you shifted. All over the world, in every land, someone would look up at the night sky... and Change.

In Parkwood, where one particular moon-bound had been rather overfriendly a few generations back - the milkman, it turns out - the whole town would, on those nights, simply, quietly, Change. Women, men, children - those few who had not had the blood had found it very uncomfortable and moved out, or, in a few cases, married in and simply learned to work around it.

Neighboring towns had learned to stay clear of Parkwood on those nights, when the moon was new and the sky was dark. It was a strange place to be, when everyone around you was covered with fur and nuzzling against your leg, helping you across the street and washing your car. It was a strange place indeed, when the werewolves Changed.
aldersprig: (Shiva Unhappy)
For [personal profile] lilfluff's requested continuation of Down in Kitty Town, from then January 2012 Giraffe Call

Irena sank into the cushions of her seat, letting the slow hypnosis take over as a team of Agency cover-preppers worked on her. Her body was already beginning to change. By the time she woke up, her personalty would have been shifted as well. She cursed her supervisor sleepily. She always came back from these missions with a desire to scratch the linoleum and a month of panicked nightmares.


Rrrina woke up in a crate. How had she... oh. Her Master. Her stupid, mean, heavy-handed Master had gotten bored with her. "I'm sick of Siamese." Like she was a slipcover or something. She'd yowled and screamed, so he'd sedated her. Her butt and back hurt; he'd beaten her, too. She wouldn't be sorry to see the back of him, if only it didn't mean she was in a crate again.
Read more... )
aldersprig: (Shiva Unhappy)
For [personal profile] lilfluff's prompt.

Tír na Cali has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.

"I need you to head up to Oregon City," Miles told her.

"One of the seventeen people up there causing trouble?" she joked weakly. She'd had plans for the weekend, but Miles had a way of knowing these things and sabotaging them.

"It's not, technically, Oregon City. Not anymore." He passed her the data pad with the file. "Baroness Maeve deeded a square of it to a daughter of one of her slaves, a moddie. And her daughter, Baroness Sybil, expanded that to two square miles. Autonomous. Her own law there."

"She can... yeah. She can do that, can't she? If the Countess above her doesn't object, she can call on the Yseult precedent."
Read more... )


aldersprig: an egyptian sandcat looking out of a terra-cotta pipe (Default)

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