Alder's Grove

After discussing it with my Patreon patrons, I've decided that any Patreon story written as a continuation of an extant public story will be made available for general consumption after three months. Here's the first two.

---

This story includes portions originally posted http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/665445.html and http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/697268.html to make a complete story.
❄️
There was something amiss with Winter’s sister.

With the oldest of Winter’s sisters and the most steady, the most easy-going, the least likely to have things go amiss.

Read on!!

---

This is written to Clare K. R. Miller 's request for More Daxton & Esha.
~~
Daxton was captive again, struggling not to take it in ill grace. This time, it seemed unlikely that Esha could rescue him.

It was a captivity far more posh and sometimes far less comfortable than his time in the Red Queen’s dungeons.

Read On!

After /concurrent with “Nothing could possib-lie go wrong.”

“Hey, the insurance convention’s down the street!”

Festivals like this one were not exactly Winter’s cup of tea, nor were they his forte, nor were they a place of pleasure for him. They were loud and raucous, chaotic by nature, and crowded. And as much as he disliked them, other people disliked him being there.

“Look, man, I don’t know what they told you at the academy, but that’s just not undercover. Also, I’m not dealing anything illegal here.”

They were, however, the best place to meet other Strand-weavers, if you knew the proper places to look.

“Excuse me.” The woman in the pottery booth looked less likely to dislike him on sight than many. Her strands were calm and her peace was deep and thorough. “Have you seen anyone else who looks grossly out of…”

“Hey, who do you kids think you are! This is a private party!”

“Excuse me.” He nodded politely at the woman. “I think I see who I’m looking for now.”

I asked for Non-Addergoole Prompts here; this is to rix_scaedu's prompt mashed up with ankewehner's

Stranded World has a landing page here.



It was the season for candles. Autumn settled in her van/RV, approximately eight thousand miles from anyone she knew, and lit a candle on her table.

Just one candle, and hers was red. This was how this thing was done. She sat down on her beanbag, and studied the flame.



It was the time for the flame. Winter excused himself from the quiet social obligations of the party to set a glass candleholder in the North-facing window.

He pulled up a chair in front of the window, and settled in before lighting the candle. Just one, and his was white. There was an order to this, as in all things.



It was just about that time. Spring kissed New Boy deeply, did something somewhat obscene to Slightly Less New Boy, and left the two of them to entertain each other or complain about video games.

She dug the candle - spring green - out of her underwear drawer and stuck it in a metal can in her East-facing window. There was a way to do things, but she was the tangler, so she added two birthday candles for contrast.

She lit all three and stared into the flame.



Everything happened when it had to, and in its own time. This just happened to be the right time to light a candle.

Summer was alone, tonight; she had arranged it that way. She lit the orange-yellow pillar candle and set it, carefully, on the plate from home. Things went the way they needed to, and this way needed one light, and no more.

Summer stared into the flame and thought of home.



Icons all by the wonderful djinni

This is a continuation of Tangles and Knots commissioned by anke.

It is part of my Stranded World series.

There was a knot sitting on the skein of reality, a heavy knot with complex weaving that spoke of intentional tying and tangling. Winter walked away from the camp of trailers and RV’s, walked to the small town’s corner store, and passed his suit jacket to the old man sitting at the picnic table there.

“That’s a nice coat.”

“Custom tailored. But I don’t need it where I’m going. I need something less obvious.”

The old man’s bleary eyes turned sharp for a moment. “Son, you’re going to have to change more than the coat for that.”

Winter undid his tie and added it to the sportcoat, then pulled the elastic out of his ponytail. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt and untucked it, so that it hung sloppily over his belt, then ran his hands through his hair until it was no longer tidy.
( Read more... )

To rix_scaedu's prompt to my orig-fic card. This fills the "freedom" slot.


Autumn and Winter are characters in my Stranded World setting; this story is earlier in their lives than most of the stories.

"It's about Freedom." Autumn sat on the edge of the bridge, feet dangling over the edge, not so much looking at the water as looking at the reflections in it. Hers, wild-colored and wild-haired, and his, cool-hued and smooth-tressed. Even here, even 'dressed down,' he looked proper.

"Of course it is about freedom. Everything in life is." Winter spoke in measured tones, careful tones.

"How can you say that?" She twisted to look at in properly now, him, the connections between them, the lines around his life. "When you are so tied up in strands, so smoothed-out and constrained?"

"How can you say you are free?" His voice was, of course, calm. "When you do not know where your next meal will come from, when you are uncertain where you will sleep at night, when you have no home?"

"This is the life I chose." Autumn tried not to raise her voice too much. He was her brother. He was her big brother; he would always be her big brother.

"And this is the life I chose, Autumn." He patted her shoulder. "You find your freedom on the open road, and I... find mine in an office. Are we not both free?"

For kc_obrien's prompt.

Stranded World has a landing page .

"I do not know what this is."

Winter frowned at the glass rose that had appeared in his office mail cube; behind him, Latricia laughed.

"It's a rose. It's not going to bite you."

"It must be a mistake." His frown deepened; being laughed at by his sisters was one thing, but he didn't like it when his co-workers did it.

"Honey, it's a blue rose with frosted tips. If that's not for you, somebody's trying to send Cathy Rodin a really mean message."
( Read more... )

Hey, two dates is closer to a habit.


Important things:
* Irene left us a day of rain, that's it.
* The earthquake shook my work building, just enough to notice it.

Tonight's dinner was what's-in-the-cupboard: pasta with tomato-and-sardine sauce
http://www.amazon.com/Roland-Sardines-Tomato-Sauce-5-5-Ounce/dp/B000UZXSZE/ref=sr_1_17?s=grocery&ie=UTF8&qid=1314747354&sr=1-17

We have a closing date on The House! Thursday at 3 EST!


Funky links of the day: One murphy bed, two murphy beds, and Fitocracy, which turns out to be pretty cool.


And vocab:( Read more... )