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dahob's prompt to my Giraffe Call!
Set in the world of Fae Apoc, sometime in late 2011/early 2012.
Day five. They were beginning to run low on supplies, no matter how carefully Yonit parceled everything out. Carl had a massive cut running down his calf, and it gotten infected, despite all of their care. They had spent the last four days complaining about the fae, wishing them all dead, and pacing the tiny, cramped life boat.
A massive fight between someone calling themselves Llŷr and someone who claimed to be Poseidon had swamped the Atalus in the middle of a trans-oceanic trip. Yonit had been one of twenty-two people who had made it into this lifeboat; they'd lost radio contact with the other boats two days ago.
And now - now they were running low on supplies, and the bitching about the fae was getting worse, and Carl had a fever. She'd done what she could in whispers and muttering, but there was no privacy in the little tube of a boat, and she needed to be able to concentrate.
"I guess," Carl muttered, sounding half-delirious, "you guys will have to eat me first. I hear the heart's good eating. Save that for the women."
Yonit swallowed hard. "Would you guys..." She was going to die. She was going to die one way or the other. Maybe she could manage to save them. "Would you rather be... be reduced to cannibalism? Or would you rather be on the boat with a fae? 'Cause, um... some fae have the ability to make food. And water."
She closed her eyes and waited for the shouting to start.
Having trouble picturing the lifeboat? It's this sort.
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.
dahob's prompt to my Giraffe Call!Set in the world of Fae Apoc, sometime in late 2011/early 2012.
Day five. They were beginning to run low on supplies, no matter how carefully Yonit parceled everything out. Carl had a massive cut running down his calf, and it gotten infected, despite all of their care. They had spent the last four days complaining about the fae, wishing them all dead, and pacing the tiny, cramped life boat.
A massive fight between someone calling themselves Llŷr and someone who claimed to be Poseidon had swamped the Atalus in the middle of a trans-oceanic trip. Yonit had been one of twenty-two people who had made it into this lifeboat; they'd lost radio contact with the other boats two days ago.
And now - now they were running low on supplies, and the bitching about the fae was getting worse, and Carl had a fever. She'd done what she could in whispers and muttering, but there was no privacy in the little tube of a boat, and she needed to be able to concentrate.
"I guess," Carl muttered, sounding half-delirious, "you guys will have to eat me first. I hear the heart's good eating. Save that for the women."
Yonit swallowed hard. "Would you guys..." She was going to die. She was going to die one way or the other. Maybe she could manage to save them. "Would you rather be... be reduced to cannibalism? Or would you rather be on the boat with a fae? 'Cause, um... some fae have the ability to make food. And water."
She closed her eyes and waited for the shouting to start.
Having trouble picturing the lifeboat? It's this sort.
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.
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