MeetCute

Jul. 12th, 2018 01:43 pm
aldersprig: an egyptian sandcat looking out of a terra-cotta pipe (Sandcat)
Originally posted on Patreon in July 2018 and part of the Great Patreon Crossposting to WordPress.

There were times when she regretted that the Mara could not shift their sex the way the Daeva could, and this was one of them.

The colonies were still wild, of course; that was why she had come.  She was craving a challenge.  She was craving a frontier.

She kept running into men who wanted to put her in a house.  Put her in a house and put her in her place.  And that – that was not what she wanted, not a house-man with house-soft hands, not a house-life with curtains and furniture.  She wanted a frontier.

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: (AldersGrove)

Originally posted on Patreon in June 2018 and part of the Great Patreon Crossposting to WordPress.
It‘s June World Building!  And I continue with some more questions from Inspector Caracal’s List!

🌋

11- How many different governments does the story interact with? How are they different or similar, or why is the one isolated?

Nimbus really doesn’t interact with any of the Sky Island Governments, but as mentioned before, there are four of them.  Her parents belong to the academic group and live on one of those Islands (although I may need to check that).

The Sky Islands are intermingled only with each other, of course, and do not touch the land below.  Many of the differences and similarities were mentioned above in “Who Lives in your World?”; notably, while msot of the people on the Sky Islands share a single broad set of values, each government represents a subsection of those values.

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: (Oligarchy)

originally posted Jun 14, 2018 on Patreon

Mr. Reginato had been teaching 10th-grade advanced mathematics for a very long time.  A very, very long time, but the old paper records were long since gone and, since students enjoyed his class, he didn’t seem to be a line-item on the pension fund, and the school’s test scores in mathematics grade 10 and above had always been superb – or at least as long as people knew Mr. Reginato had been there – nobody was going to talk to him about retiring.

As a matter of fact, they were paying him, it appeared, approximately $100 a year, which absolutely couldn’t be correct, but that was the number that the accountant had in her files, and nobody really wanted to ask her any questions either.

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

Loss

May. 31st, 2018 03:24 pm
aldersprig: (AldersGrove)

Originally posted on Patreon in May 2018 and part of the Great Patreon Crossposting to WordPress.
This story comes after “Securing One’s Own Legacy” and is a tale of Zenobia.  Warning: it covers grief and loss. 

Zenobia looked good in black.  And she was in no position to appreciate it.
She was actually mourning the man, although she doubted anyone in her family would believe that.

Lewis had been a sweet man, a patient man, and willing to do just about anything to keep his family off of his back, which had included a sweet but entirely sham marriage to Zenobia – a marriage he had, in the weeks before his death, explained to their pastor exactly how sham it was.

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
Originally posted on Patreon May 2018.  Part of the Great Patreon Mirroring to WordPress.
This is a not-necessarily-canon beginning I started some time ago. I have some idea where things might go, but this is what I have so far.⚒️

Eva had not exactly been expecting the police to show up at her door with a warrant, but she was not completely surprised, either.

“Officer.”

“Miss Bauer.  I have a warrant here to search your house for Donald Olson, or the body thereof.”

“He’s not here, in this life or the next, but you’re welcome to search.  Come on in.”  Eva stepped out of the way.  She’d had time to clean up anything she didn’t really want the police seeing since her last encounter, two days past, with Officer Halligan and her cronies.  “Watch your step; I heard one of the cats having a hairball but I haven’t found it yet.”

The officer stepped in with exaggerated care.  She’d come to the front door, of course.  It was a good thing Eva had cleaned all of Aunt Asta’s detritus from the front foyer last week.  The front room and foyer still had a sort of prissy, maiden-Aunt sort of feel, but that was in keeping with at least one of the reputations of this house.  “How long have you been living here, Miss Bauer?”

“Four months, Officer.  Can I get you some tea while your team searches?  And may I read the warrant?”

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: (tea3)

“Now remember, this is not going to be a cure-all, and it might do something you don’t expect.  Be careful, and don’t get caught.”

“Thanks, Aunt Eva.”  Chalcedony slid the little vial into a side pocket in her purse, ignoring the looks her brother was giving her from the passenger seat of her car.  “Thanks for waiting, Stone.”

“Still better than the bus.  What…?”

“Olivia.  More to the point, Dan Williams.”

“… Chalce…?”  Stone raised his eyebrows.  She ignored him, or at least pretended to, as she got her car onto the road and headed towards school.

She wasn’t going to be able to ignore him forever.  When she turned onto the main road, she cleared her throat and tried to answer.

“Olivia.  She doesn’t have what we do.  She just got here, she doesn’t have family, she doesn’t have -”

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: (lock and key)
For my birthday, Rion gave me the Fantasia Rory’s Story Cubes

So, as a thank-you, I rolled up a story.

Now, this is a fun set.  If you look at this image, you can see that the first option is a cage.

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: (Oligarchy)
So it’s not a library, it’s a museum, but it does remind me a bit of this month’s theme.

Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)

🕯️

There had once been Nine Hopes.

They had been more than people and yet somehow less; they had been above the bustle and yet below it; they had been the absolute core of civilization and that which it aspired to above all else.

The first Hope to be lost had died in a long and ragged storm that ravaged the coast and destroyed cities.  With it went the whisper of the peaceful sea god.  With it went the trade treaties that had nearly been signed.  With it went thousands of lives.

The second died slowly, a wasting disease that took out a third of the country’s old and weak – wise and knowledgeable – skilled and clever.  With it went history and solidity.

The third and fourth Hope to go slipped away in the night.  Nobody was quite sure if they’d died or not.  Nobody really wanted to know.  The sunshine was a little less bright, the spring a little less pleasant, the winter a little more frightening.  There were rats in the grain silos and mice in the attics.

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: (Aldersprig Leaves Raining)
Originally posted on Patreon.

Autumn spends a lot of time in really small towns.  I mean, some of that is just that’s what she seems to like, but you’d think she’d spend more time in big cities that have big craft festivals, wouldn’t you?  I mean, she’s trying to make enough of a living to pay for the occasional inn or motel or Bed N’ Breakfast room, and those aren’t cheap.I like small towns.

I grew up between three small towns, out in the middle of farmland (literally: My parents built their house on land my grandfather and his father before him had farmed, on a road my grandfather literally built as a high school summer job).  I grew up with a small-town library where the librarian knew me and I knew her, in the sort of place where a party really is a bonfire in someone’s backyard because, really, where else are you going to  go?  My parents grew up in small towns.  Pretty sure at least two of my grandparents did, too.  We’re small town people, rural people.

I have to admit, some stereotypes of small-town living (Everyone knows everyone, for instance) I never really understood.  I mean, I knew my neighbors, but in farmland, that isn’t all that many people.  And small towns these days often have housing tracts tacked onto the sides of them, apartment complexes, trailer parks.  So they’re not that image of small-town living that seems to permeate the media (And, to look at another setting for a moment, Regine’s vision of a small town with The Village outside of Addergoole)  The houses go back layer after layer from Main Street.  You go over the canal (in many cases) or the railroad tracks and you’re almost in another neighborhood.  But you’ll still run into people you know at the grocery store, at the Fireman’s Carnival (I haven’t written a story about anyone at a carnival yet, have I?), at the Canal Days Craft Festival (Where Autumn really ought to have a booth…)

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: (Theocracy)

A long, long time ago
I can still remember how

Maggie’s Ell Jay made me think
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make words sing and dance
And maybe make them think, too, for a while
.♪♫♪

Ahem. 

A long time ago, M.C.A. Hogarth posted something in her LJ about tropes she’d like to see.  One of them – which I have tried more than once to write – was about the young male (it might have been a mage?) recruiting the older female (fighter?  Maggie, do you remember?)

Anyway, I was looking through my archives and I found this first chapter, or so, of Fiametta, a Strand-Worker living up on the top of a mountain. 

7/5/2011 is the last save listed on it. 

⛰️

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: (Theocracy)
Everyone gets their inspiration from somewhere; every setting has its seeds in something.Stranded – well, Autumn – came out of the book Blue Highways.

According to Wikipedia, this book came out in 1982.  I don’t think I read it that early at all – I would’ve been six – but someone recommended it to my father, and I read it.  I was probably in my early teens.

The story, as I remember it, involves someone making their van into something like an ad-hoc RV and driving around the county – specifically on the back roads, the non-highways, the ones marked blue on old maps.

The idea really spoke to me, lodged in my mind.  Sometimes I would fantasize  – who am I kidding, would? – Sometimes I fantasize about loading up a van and doing travel writing, meeting people in small-town diners and taking pictures of little waterfalls you can only see if you take the back roads.

Autumn started out that, that and my wish to be able to draw and the small fantasy of living in a Ren Faire that I sometimes still indulge in.  I mean, Autumn as a character in a story started with a three-word-Wednesday prompt (abrupt, kernel, wield; I have no idea how I got from there to

“I heard you did divinations.”

“You want the blue tents over in Psychic Alley.”

“Not that sort of divination, not those fake-Rom shams. You do the skin-painting.”

But Autumn, travelling around to small towns and solving problems –

– she came from William Least Heat-Moon’s stories, traveling around the blue highways of America, meeting people, being harassed by the police, building stone walls.

I can’t promise it’s a good book.  I read it probably 2/3 of my life ago. But it definitely stuck with me, and in sticking with me, it gave us the core of Autumn and her travelling, mystery-solving ways.

But here’s a fun map of where he travels – I didn’t realize it was so large an area – http://littourati.squarespace.com/storage/moon-files/moon_map.htm

And here’s the Wikipedia page on it – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_Highways

This paragraph:

Stories that arose from Least Heat-Moon’s research as well as historical facts are included about each area visited, as well as conversations with characters such as a Seventh-day Adventist evangelist hitchhiker, a teenage runaway, a boat builder, a monk, an Appalachian log cabin restorer, a rural Nevada prostitute, fishermen, a HopiNative American medical student, owners of western saloons and remote country stores, a maple syrup farmer, and Chesapeake Bay island dwellers.

That almost sounds like a set of prompts for Autumn, doesn’t it?

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: (tea3)

Ever weekend for several years, T. & I have been making this oatmeal.  A few months ago, we actually settled it down to weights, because it was getting kinda variable in size.It’s not really a recipe, more of a formula, so I’m offering it here free.

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: an egyptian sandcat looking out of a terra-cotta pipe (Default)
Okay, I guess the theme is really talking to me this month. 

Here’s another bonus, spurred on but not really related to a line from a Popular Mechanics article I read last night: (paraphrase) “AI is going to make the Industrial Revolution look small.”

🤖

Autumn knew better than to grab the strands of the world too much around HAllowe’en.

Everything was thinner at that time, more responsive, more willing to bend and twist and open.

But the Strand looked so tempting.  It was this line of connection, this connection that went — nowhere?  It trailed off into a space in mid-air, looking as if it turned into wires at the end.

So she followed it, drawing the look of the wires on to her arm in watercolor, little circuit-board designs that appeared to  her mind’s’ eye.

She stepped through a thin space in the air and found herself on a silvery road, the buildings rising up around her on left and right, stretching above her, making it a tunnel of mirrors and glass.

Oops.  She tied off a marker so she could find her way home and followed the wires of the Strand, trailing along through wires upon wires upon wires.

She turned a corner into another tunnel and found herself face to face with someone doing the same thing as she was.

Someone?  Not quite.  But not quite something, either, a metallic-and-plastic figure wearing a knit hat of red-orange-and-green and a swirling dress that matched.

The Strand from Autumn went straight to this figure.  She stopped.  She stared.  The figure stopped and stared.

There were a few other people on the road — mostly human-seeming, some only humanoid-seeming.  From the corner of her eye, Autumn could see all of them connected by tenuous strands.

“You are—”  The figure frowned.  The expression was cartoony, plastic eyebrows moving and lips turning downward.

“You’re…”  Autumn shook her head and bowed.  “I’m Autumn Roundtree.”

“I am ATMN-1985.  I am called Autumn.”  The figure raised an eyebrow at AUtumn.   “You do not belong here.  Your only connection here is me.”

Autumn took a moment to study ATMN.  “You’re —”

She was connected all over the place, as much as Autumn was, back home, as much as her mother was.

“An autonomous Intelligence designed to understand connections between beings.”  The smile was broad and surprisingly genuine-seeming.  “Your counterpart.”

“Amazing.”

Autumn felt a tug on her, and ATMN made a noise of concern.

“Your connection is thinning.  You cannot stay, you need to go where you came from.  Or—”

“Or,” Autumn agrees solemnly.  “It was nice to meet you, ATMN.  Perhaps I will see you again.”

ATMN curtseyed.  “I would like that.  I would like this new connection to last.”

Autumn hurried back as her connection to her own world tugged and throbbed by turns.  She followed the thinning line back to where she’d started and pushed through the thin space in the world.  Her ears popped, her head rushed, and, for a moment, she lost consciousness.

She came to leaning against the old maple tree in her mother’s back yard, leaves crunching as they fell down upon her.

Nothing but a pack of cards,” she muttered.  She knew better than to reach for Strands around Hallowe’en.  It always left you with too many questions.

Want more?

Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: an egyptian sandcat looking out of a terra-cotta pipe (Default)
Speaking of Magical dates…here is the Day of Magic in Fae Apoc!

 🎃

In the world of the Faerie Apocalypse – Addergoole, Doomsday, etc. – there is something that is colloquially called The Blindness of the Gods, and something called a Mask.

Actually, I have to back up a step.

There are, in Fae Apoc, three groups of human(oid)s:

* Those who are fae, who have Changed and have magic: Fae, ellehemaei

* Those who are 100% human, or near enough as to make no difference: Humans

* Those who have fae blood but are not fae, have not Changed, and often can only access a little bit of magic, if any: Faded

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

aldersprig: an egyptian sandcat looking out of a terra-cotta pipe (Default)
Part of my continual crosspost/mirroring project

Set some years after the apocalypse. Jamian is a character from my first webserial, Addergoole.  Miryam came from Addergoole: Year 9.  This is just a little bit of them on a beach, to Rix’s prompt and Wyste and B’s choice of characters.  Oh, and Cay and Vi are also from Addergoole.  Arna has most of her mentions in Addergoole: a Ghost Story but also comes up  in Year Nine

🏖️

Jamian still loved the idea of summer vacation.  The world had more or less fallen down around their ears; the resort towns were all boarded up, fallen down, or walled off into compounds; there was no office job to take a vacation from, no school to get the kids out of, and his kids were all out of the nest anyway.  But he still would take a week and just walk down to a beach somewhere to dip his feet in the water, while Cay and Vi laughed at him from a solid vantage point.

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Mirrored from Alder's Grove Fiction.

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