Original Fiction Fest

ordinary trials?

Fri, 31 Aug 2007 19:51:36 GMT

Title: A Servant of Duty
Author: riyo amaya/ ambrose brighty/ me
OFF Prompt: 10. A man receives notice from an attorney that some previously unknown relative has left him the bulk of their estate . . . as long as he complies with a single condition.
Rating: G
Notes: WC—731. A snippet of a universe I never really got into, I guess. But I’m revisiting it. Revamping it. Setting is somewhat-Regency England. Jiggered the prompt a bit too.

His escritoire faced the south gardens, the hedge mazes stretching out in his line of sight. His father had appointed the library thus, 2 stories of leather-bound books and masculine elegance, set directly opposite his mother’s sitting room. He’d admired that about his father; that he would be so close to the woman he loved, even after she died. Anton could remember his father letting the door to the sitting room open late at night when all good sons would be abed, can remember him standing there in the doorframe, staring into the dark.

Anton breathed out a small sigh and barely resisted the urge to run his hands through his hair in frustration. Six months dead and his father’s ghost continued to haunt his days. Here in the library was the strongest feeling. He paused there, in the center of the room that was now his and took it all in: who his father was and who he was trained to be. Anton Crosarme, the fifth Viscount Berrisford, was nothing if not faithful to his duty.

He doffed his jacket, laying it across the back of the leather settee before sitting at the desk. His mind wandered the mazes outlined before him as the weight of his responsibility grew on his shoulders. Thoughts swirled inside his mind as minutes turned into hours. Luncheon came and went with hardly a whisper of food. The servants walked lightly past the room, not daring to disturb the master unintentionally.

Until Leigh had no other choice. The impeccably mannerly butler cleared his throat at the man before him, still the image of the boy he remembered—hair tousled and in his shirtsleeves, sullen and adrift. Anton roused himself to sigh.

“A visitor has come calling, milord. A Mister Joss Ferrier, of Winton and Stocks.” Leigh paused. “They were your father’s attorneys, I believe.”

“Indeed,” Anton murmured. “Send him in.”

“Very well, my lord.” He backed out of the room, hoping futilely that his emphasis on the boy’s position would perhaps give him a nudge toward decorum and propriety when entertaining a guest, such as it was. After a moment, Mr. Ferrier was ushered into the library to greed a still discomposed Anton.

A humble clerk, Mr. Ferrier opened with his apologies. “My condolences, my lord. Your father… he was a good man. Kind. He will be greatly missed, to be sure.” He coughed slightly and flushed to the thin roots of his nondescript hair. Perhaps the Viscount wouldn’t like to hear about his father so soon?

Anton gave a sharp nod. “He was. A very great man.” He changed chairs then, gesturing for Mr. Ferrier to join him on the long settee. “Am I to understand you are here on some matter of my late father’s, then?”

“Quite, your lordship,” he replied briskly, producing a sheaf of papers. As he shuffeled through them with a shrewd eye, he continued. “IT appears that we were remiss in informing you about a particular codicil—aha, there it is—pertaining to you in your father’s will.” He handed over the sheets, indicating the section he was referencing. “It was, of course, quite bad of us not to notice, but as soon as we realized, I was sent over direct to inform you…”

“Betrothed?” Anton bellowed. “What does he mean, betrothed?”

“I believe her name is Emilyanne Doyle, sir. You are affianced.”

“I see that much, you fool!” he snapped at the currently withering man. “Why the bloody hell didn’t someone inform me?”

A thick silence encased the room, sharp with the tension radiating from Anton as he paced to and fro like a caged tiger. Mr. Ferrier began gathering his scattered papers into some semblance of order, ready to make his escape. Whatever happened to not harming the messenger?

After a moment more, he collected himself and stood. “Forgive me, sir, if this news has brought you distress.” He plunged onward, ignoring the indelicate snort of his client. “I believe your father did this in your best interests in case he died. It is not all that uncommon. If you have further concerns, however, please direct them to our office. If you’ll excuse me…” He bowed his head sharply and departed the room as quickly as his feet would carry him.

Betrothed? Anton rolled the word over in his mind, still gobsmacked. What had his father done?

Thu, 30 Aug 2007 20:04:51 GMT

OFF Prompt: 20. It was a typical morning: cornflakes, coffee, lurid stories in the paper, and the dull ache of loneliness every time he saw the empty chair across the table.
Title: juxtaposition (perpendicular bodies)
Author: riyo amaya/ ambrose brighty/ me
Rating: PG
Notes: WC- 575. Days late- 15? More slave!assassin ‘verse. This one focuses more on the relationship between Dannaii and Our Unnamed Assassiness.

The Noi have something to do with it, after all. Saw the closeness of them conveyed through every mock battle, every wrestling match. The Noi have eyes, and they are not truly pleased to see their favorite pets growing close. Individual slaves are easy to manage, to control. If they get out of hand, there’s always execution or resale at the slave market. The Noi are nothing, if not practical.

Some nights, when they aren’t desired, they have the joy of swimming in one of the underground springs. The water there is cooler that their skin, cooler than the heated and humid air of evening. The caverns host a myriad pools like these: cool, dark and still. A dozen assassins know of this respite, with 120 other slaves who make the time to bathe in the springs.

But they aren’t sure exactly if this situation is detrimental. They aren’t even sure if there is something between the two. They are merely basing it on body language when they do touch. And what they see has them training at separate times of day, becoming each other’s night and day. Dannaii becomes absorbed in the short span of night, whereas she’s dedicated to the daytime.

They end up on opposing sides of a bigger pool, eyes catching. She shakes her head and resolutely begins to float on her back, water filling her ears and deadening sounds. She lets the water hold her, each tense muscle group slowly releasing one at a time.

During lulls in the early hours of her training, she sees him. He’s just come in to his room, perfectly situated from her vantage point. She can see him with a cup of tea, and his training laid out before him on the table. She sees it, and forces herself to remain on task.

She knows he’s there, not entirely watching her so much as providing himself as a lookout. She appreciates the sentiment enough to only allow herself a moment to linger so exposed before surfacing.

Dannaii stares hard at the papers in the early light of morning. Training takes longer, he knows, and he’s grateful for his typical mornings. He comes in from his training, tired to the point of exhaustion. But that doesn’t stop him from curling his hands around a refreshing cup of his tea, reading ghastly maneuvers he must learn, while trying to ignore the ache of loneliness he feels when he sees the empty chair across the table. He knows who that chair should belong to, though they are still young yet. He knows, and tries to ignore the intangible in favor of the tangible.

He nods and sets about some ritual only he knows, pouring water over his head through cupped palms.

The Noi know there’s something there. They know, and they make sure Dannaii becomes the night while the object of his affection becomes the day. They diverge, more and more every day, their suspicious master stopping them from all but a few moments together as their training begins to taper off somewhat.

An hour passes with them alternating their rest in the spring before they leave it again, returning to duty and a life that doesn’t belong to them.

It’s still the wee hours of the morning, and they are sitting across the table from each other. It’s a typical morning for them: tea, training, and the feeling of companionship in a dry and brutal world.

Orig Fic: Four Letters of Denial

Thu, 23 Aug 2007 12:20:13 GMT

Title: Four Letters of Denial
Author: misfit87
Prompt: #15 "She lies and says shes in love with him, cant find a better man...She dreams in color, she dreams in red, cant find a better man..."
- Betterman, Pearl Jam
Word Count: 845
Rating: PG
Summary: It was her little secret kept between her and the dreams she had while she lay wide awake curled up on her the left side of the bed.

She was laying in bed in the early morning of September. Angela had given up hope of getting any more sleep in before her alarm went off to wake Michael and herself for another day of work.

She lies…

It wasn’t abnormal for these past few months for Angela to be lying awake in the earlier hours, it’s all she was doing every day and she couldn’t quite remember where this habit originated from. It just started to become second nature and every night after Michael made love to her, she’d, Angela would stare up at the ceiling as Michael passed out asleep and she would dream up of ways she’d escape him, this apartment, this job, this wedding that she was supposed to work on organising each day. The Wedding. That was what she had to wake up to everyday at 5am to work on. Michael believed if he had to be up to go to his office block in the city then she had to be awake to. He figured things should be equal between them and that’s when Angela’s mother always stepped in.

and says she’s in love with him…

Fights between the three of them were merely a constant and evitable act between ever since the couple had moved in together nearly four and a half months prior to the engagement. Michael believed that once they were married it only seemed appropriate and the right thing that Angela take on less work and stay at home to prepare for the life of house work. The arguments between future son in law and future mother in law only increased the ideals of Michael’s perception of their future and she was already staying at home more often than she had liked.

, can’t find a better man.

Of course she hadn’t been restricted to stay within the apartment on the fifth floor on the corner of Marvin and Pitt, Angela did stray from the apartment to visit old high school friends Penny and Lizzy and socialise and go out with work mates such as Mathew, Vanessa and Fiona. She just didn’t do it as often and if she did just this everyone was just peachy with both parties, Michael and Angela.

She dreams in colour,

But at night she dreamed while she was lay wide awake, trying to rid of thoughts of Michael and her life, dreaming of another life with a better future and not one stuck with some child she never wanted, not with this man anyways. It didn’t help perhaps that her younger sister Yasmine always commented how good Angela was with her three year old twins. And so Michael wanted a housewife and a bun in the oven and it would look good for his campaign for the upcoming election.

, she dreams in red.

She had loved him once and that felt a life or two ago. She felt neither young or old but just sort of stuck in a time, not going anywhere particular, tching the world pass her slowly but fast enough she felt she couldn’t grab hold of the things she still cherished in life. She just sort of sat there, listened to Michael and smiled when the cue cards that flashed before her told her it was appropriate to.

Can’t…

Angela reminded herself as she lay there, I’m going to be a wife, Michael’s wife, a mother, the supporting prime minister’s wife, and I love my life, my Michael.

Find…

Thinking those thoughts for the millionth time made her want to vomit and that would only lead Michael to believing they, she was pregnant and that wouldn’t do her any good, even if she was seven weeks along. It was her little secret kept between her and the dreams she had while she lay wide awake curled up on her the left side of the bed. She starred at the red numbers on the digital clock as the numbers changed ever so slowly.

A…

Michael. He was her true love.

Better…

He actually told her that once, when he didn’t know she was actually listening for once. He had thought she’d fallen asleep, exhausted from their romantic evening, celebrating their three month anniversary. Yep, he was one of those people. Angela did believe that there was someone out there and she had fallen under a spell once thinking, yeah he could be it but now the only spell she was under was the mantra of thinking she can’t find a better man and it was all Michael’s fault really. He was the one to blame.

Man.

And so when morning came and the alarm went off, he rolled over in bed and smiled down at his fiance. Kissed her on the lips and leaned back resting on his arms. He stared into her eyes and told her he loved her, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face. She smiled up at him adoringly. He waits for reply.

And she lies, says she’s in love with him.

i could say it ain't so but darlin' what's the use

Thu, 16 Aug 2007 19:42:32 GMT

Title: a king ain’t a king...
Author: riyoamaya, wellowned, shadows_of…. Me, in all my incarnations.
Prompt: OFF #18: “I can’t stop you. I haven’t the power, and moreover, I haven’t the right.”
Notes: WC-517. Days late-1. Current project known as life @ 23. Catch more of it on my website (http://www.drowning-ophelia.4t.com). This is pre-proposal, post-friendship. I think this is Age 23, Part 1. Title and cut text from "It Takes Two" from Hairspray.

“I can’t stop you. I haven’t the power, and moreover, I haven’t the right.” Daniel tried to keep eye contact though she kept moving back and forth in front of him. He kept his hands tightly in his lap, too afraid of his need to touch her to stop merely at keeping her still enough for this conversation.

“Don’t you want to, though?” Sophie asked, her breath hitching miserably over the syllables. “Stop me, I mean.” She moved back to the wardrobe, trying to hide her expression in the clothes left hanging there.

“I know what you meant,” he sighed from the direction of the chair beside her bed, where all her clothes were being rolled into her suitcase. It wasn’t like this the last time they had to say goodbye, but they weren’t like this the last time, either. He flinched as he saw her lost look reflected back at him from the mirrored door of the armoire. “If I had my way, dear--.”

“Yeah, Daniel. Forever there’d be a garden of roses, for you and for me,” Sophie sang at him, trampling over the end of his sentence.

“I’m allergic to roses, actually,” he deadpanned, a half of a smile tilting up one side of his mouth.

She giggled sadly at him, pressing a hand against her aching eyes as she turned, before walking around the bed to hug him. He held her tightly, bones pressing into bones, curves into curves. This feeling was something that he never quite got used to, and never wanted to forget. How could someone live without this? It hurt to be apart. It made him feel empty and cold, the feeling only slightly disappearing when they spoke in emails and letters. He pressed even tighter against her, trying to savor this moment a while longer, smiling when he felt her do the same.

“You could, you know,” she murmured into his shoulder after a long time, where the quiet had stretched comfortably between them and they had some semblance of composure.

“Hmm?” he asked, not really following the segueing conversation.

“You could, you know, stop me. Have the right to, I mean.” He felt her face heat with blush against his jaw. “I’ve always thought that… well, if you maybe…” she huffed out a little breath and pressed her forehead harder to his shoulder. “It shouldn’t be nearly this hard to say, should it?” she whispered.

He took a small step back from her, leaning their foreheads to rest against each other affectionately. “Would you stay if I asked you, Sophie? Do you really want to give up your home and your friends for me?” He closed his eyes briefly, trying not to hope too much, knowing he wasn’t worth her giving up a lifetime of people she loved and cared for. He just wasn’t.

“I would stay if you just gave me a hint that you’d think about asking me.” His eyes flicked open, staring at her in wonder as those words sunk in. She gave a watery smile. “Don’t you know what you mean to me?”

Orig Fic: What Remains

Wed, 15 Aug 2007 22:10:00 GMT

Title: What Remains

Word Count: 5683
Warning: Implied death, illness

Prompt: the following lyrics -
our lives are made
in these small hours
these little wonders,
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away,
in these small hours,
these small hours still remain

-Small Wonders (Rob Thomas)

***
Summary: Summer camp makes the difference for one girl.

Tue, 14 Aug 2007 13:10:48 GMT

Title: Answerman

Prompt: #21 - It would have been easier to lie and say that she knew nothing.

Word Count: 935

Sometimes being the one with all the answers was more trouble than it was worth. Actually, no, strike that. It was always more trouble than it was worth. She’d found out long ago that the price for knowing all she knew was that she had to share with those who didn’t, so long as they asked. Of course, being nine and figuring out that you’re destined for great things is far different than being twenty-nine and being in the middle of said great things. Looking back, it would have been easier to lie and say that she knew nothing from the start but the deal was that if she had then it wouldn’t have been a lie anymore – she really would have known nothing from then on.

She can’t remember a time when the deal wasn’t in place and this made school ridiculously difficult. Prodigy, she was called, and genius and savant. She’s not entirely sure if she agrees with it though because she’s never been entirely sure if it’s her doing the thinking. Especially when the answers have a habit of just popping into her head fully formed. It did make some subjects tricky, like Art when she was told to draw a person and only given three colours to paint with, and it did get her into trouble too, like in Religious Studies when she said things the teacher didn’t want to hear. It would have been easier to lie on those occasions, she supposed, but she wasn’t about to give up what she had just because some people liked their own delusions.

College was the start of it proper, when she’d seen what a farce people had made of things, when she’d first decided something needed to be done. Some of it could be done then and there because, really, sometimes all people need is to be told is the truth and at that age people really will ask you anything when you invite them to. It was a difficult thing though - choosing where to direct her interest to where she could do the most good, make the most difference, to really start to set things straight. Psychology and Sociology and Politics were her final choices because in the end there are some things science can’t solve. Mathematics joined them in her second year because she really needed a break from the constant arguments with everybody else - except for that one girl with the faraway look and the knack of always knowing the right thing to say - about what was true in such a subjective world. Granted, it would have been easier to lie and just agree with them to stop the shouting but it wasn’t just that it would have ruined everything but also that some of their ideas were so stupid when it came down to it.

University carried on from where college left off. The degree was just a formality when everything contained in it were things she’d figured out long ago. The girl in college had helped her out immensely by knowing exactly which questions to ask to get the information they both needed. Still, it gave her a chance to get her influence out further and start on the really important changes. The papers about life, the universe and everything she put out in those few years are still cited today; it makes her smile when she hears bits of them crop up in conversation and almost laugh when the other person doesn’t even realise that they’re quoting her own work at her. It also gave her the chance to meet her future husband; the man who heard the universe sing in numbers and showed her beauty in such simplistic truth again. She’s never even felt the urge to lie to him and knows it would be much harder to deny knowledge to him than anything else she’s ever done.

Things sort of came to halt for a while after that. Politics didn’t pan out – it amused her greatly to find out that the last thing people actually want is an honest politician. She tried writing again for a while but found out that it’s all well and good knowing the answer to every question asked but if no-one asks you any questions then you’re no use to anyone. Salvation came in the form of an eccentric historian that talked more to herself than the people around her. She did have the talent of asking important questions though and knowing people almost as well as the girl from college did. It was around this time that her tactics changed and she tried the methods that had worked so well at university. It was what she was best known for, after all, and just might work on a wider scale so long as she said the right things after being asked the right things.

The book’s being published right now. It’s not very long and really quite easy to read, or at least that’s what her husband tells her, and the critics seem to thing it will do well. She does expect there’ll be a fair bit of trouble when it comes out but change is never easy and it is necessary. It’s the right thing to do and she’s certain of this as she can be because she was asked and that’s all that’s required for her to know.

Except… she’s thinking more often now that it would be easier to lie and say that she knew nothing. Maybe one day soon she will do and it’ll be the last truth she ever tells.

Parts one and two of this series can be found here and here

Tue, 07 Aug 2007 09:34:02 GMT

Title: Luck

Prompt: 5. "Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth.
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs.
Speak no feeling, no I dont believe you.
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit."
-Hide and Seek (Imogen Heap)

Word Count: ~1800

Rating: PG13

( Fake Cut )

Like Whispers in the Dark

Thu, 02 Aug 2007 07:26:46 GMT

Title: Like Whispers in the Dark
Prompt: #21. It would have been easier to lie and say that she knew nothing.
Word Count; 1,175

“Where is he?” Anne asks, eyes wide with worry.

“Where is who?” the man says with a hint of exasperation.

“Andy. My little boy. He was here just a moment ago. Surely you saw him,” she pleads, her voice cracking with panic.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, but he wasn’t.”

“You’re lying!” she screams, eyes frantic now, hands clenching into fists. “He was here. I was holding his hand.” She gestures at her side, “Impossible to miss. And now he’s gone. I can’t find him anywhere.”

The man runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Trust me on this, there was no boy.” He glances at the clock. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back later this afternoon and we can talk then,” he says gently, reaching out to touch her cheek.

She jerks away. “Tell me where my son is,” she says desperately. “Please. Let me look for him. Don’t keep me here. I want Andy. I want my son,” she’s screaming again, hands clawing at the air.

He sighs, rubbing a hand across his mouth. He shakes his head, Turing to a redhead in a dark uniform he says, “Double the dose. I don’t want to find her like this when I come back.”

“Yes sir,” she answers, bending over the cot, needle in hand. “This will only hurt for a moment,” she says as she locates a vein.

“No,” Anne moans, tossing her head side to side. “Please,” she begs. “Please help me.” But the woman presses down on the plunger and the world goes black.

*~*~*

“Anne.”

She blinks, head filled with cobwebs.

“Can you hear me Anne?”

Her head turns slightly, drool sliding down her chin.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” A chair scrapes across the floor and a body settles in. “I wanted to see how you are doing today, Anne.”

She licks her lips. “Water,” she manages after several false starts. A cup is placed at her lips and she gulps it down.

“Not so fast,” the voice says again.

It’s a nice voice, mellowed with age yet still sweet. Like a little girl’s. She blinks rapidly, trying to clear the shadows across her eyes. “Who is there?”

“Can’t you see me?” a rustle of fabric and bright blinding light. She winces, twisting away from it. “There, now isn’t that better?”

Anne smiles. “It is,” she says hesitantly. The woman is not young at all. Lines crease her face and her skin is so pale it’s nearly translucent. Anne can’t remember being this close to such an old woman. “Do I know you?” she asks, trying to be polite. She is almost sure that pain flashes in the woman’s eyes, but it’s gone and she wonders if she imagined it.

“I’m Cynthia,” she says encouragingly.

Anne tries to sit up, but can’t and it is then that she notices the straps across her bed. Terror starts to rise in her as she lifts a hand to touch the thick white band. “Where am I?”

“Don’t touch that,” Cynthia’s voice is agitated.

“How do you know my name?” Anne asks, pushing harder at the restraints. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, Anne. Please, let’s not do this today,” she puts her hands to her face, covering her eyes. “I thought he said you were doing better,” she mutters to herself. “What’s the point of all this if progress isn’t being made?” she stands abruptly, pushing the chair back against the wall.

“Don’t leave,” Anne is surprised at how weak her voice sounds.

In an instant Cynthia is at her side, stroking her hair. “I’ll be back,” she sooths, hands tracing patterns in the strands.

Anne flinches, trying to move her head out of reach. “Don’t touch me. I don’t even know you.”

Cynthia removes her hand. “I thought you wanted me to stay,” she says bitterly.

“I do,” Anne nods for emphasis. “You can’t leave now. You have to tell me what they’ve done with Andy.”

“Andy?” Cynthia’s voice is a mixture of disbelief and anger. “What about Andy?”

“You’ve seen him?” she asks, hope beginning to bubble inside of her. “You’ve seen my son?”

“Your son?”

“Yes, my little boy. He’s just about five, black hair, green eyes, a smile to melt your heart. You’ve seen him?”

Cynthia takes a deep breath, eyes closing momentarily. “I’ve seen Andy,” she says slowly.

“Where?” Anne says, as she attemps to sit up.

“Don’t do that,” Cynthia says, gently pushing her back down. “And stop asking about Andy. He’s fine.”

“How can you say that? How can he be fine? A boy needs his mother. I’ve been here,” Anne stumbles over her words, shuddering as she tries to remember how long it’s been. “I’ve been here,” she stops again, eyes wide with fear.

“You’ve been here a long time,” Cynthia says slowly. “You know that. And you know that Andy is perfectly fine.”

It would have been easier to lie and say that she knew nothing. But she can’t control her mouth and she’s screaming again. “Where is Andy!” she yells, over and over until spit covers her face.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Cynthia says quietly as tears seep out the corners of her eyes. “I just can’t do this anymore.” She turns to the wall and presses a button. A buzzing fills the room and a panel sides away.

Two men in the same uniform walk in. “Are you finished already Mrs. Cuplane?” one asks, his wide mouth tight.

Cynthia nods. “It’s too much.” She looks back at the bed.

Anne starts to struggle. “You know about Andy!” she is thrashing about so much that her arms slam against the metal frame. “Tell me what has happened to him. Tell me where they took him.”

Cynthia chokes back a sob, shaking her head in denial. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but at that moment Anne feels the prick of the needle and the blackness returns.

*~*~*

Anne can hear the low buzz of voices long before she can make sense of their words. She lays still, eyes shut, hoping to fool them into thinking her still asleep as she listens. Fragments of thought flutter through her mind, but when she tries to pin them down they disappear like mist on the fields.

“…another episode last night…”

“…asking about the boy again, not much use in…”

“…Couldn’t we just let nature take its course…”

The words float around her, almost connecting to something, but what that may be, she can’t remember. Something light and fruity smelling brushes across her cheek and she gasps.

“She’s coming around,” a deep male voice says, close to her ear.

“Andy,” she whispers. Her eyes flutter open, but she all she sees is her baby’s face, eyes sparkling with delight as he holds up a jar full of fireflies. For you, Mama he says. Then he laughs and dances away. Anne reaches out for him, crying out. “Don’t go,” she pleads, but he doesn’t listen. He never listens.

A Puff of Smoke

Thu, 02 Aug 2007 07:07:38 GMT

Title: A Puff of Smoke
Prompt: #32. Good minions are so hard to come by these days.
Word Count: 1,619

“Good minions are so hard to come by these days,” Caitlin said as she wrapped her long red hair into a tight bun. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, talking to her cat as if he understood her. She frowned as he yawned, “You’re lucky little man,” she said sourly, giving his ears a scratch. “You never have to rely on hired help.”

She picked up a long black stick etched with silver symbols and jabbed it deep into the mass of her curls. Wrinkling her nose, she flipped open the lid of her mirror and examined the result. “Might as well get this over with,” she said with a sigh before contacting Abby.

“Abilene Pringle’s line,” a pert voice said.

Caitlin rolled her eyes. “I can tell,” she said wryly.

The girl shrugged, her pretty blue eyes dancing. “Well, you never know who might be on the other end,” she said with a tinkling laugh. “I’ve avoided more than one unsavory conversation by answering that way.”

“I bet you have,” Caitlin said with a smile. “Unfortunately, you can’t avoid this one.”

Abby’s smile disappeared. “What did he say?” she asked nervously.

“No idea. Old Donny seems to have vanished without completing the task I set him,” Caitlyn said, leaning back to rest on her weight on one arm.

“Typical. He’s not exactly what you would call dependable. It’s so hard to get good help these days,” Abby said, pushing her hair behind her ears.

“I know!” Caitlin agreed, eyes rolling. “I was just saying the same thing to Tobias.”

“Really?” Abby leaned forward, inquisitively. “What did he think about that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Caitlin said with a vague gesture at the sleeping cat.

Abby giggled. “Well, what did you expect? He’s only a kitten.”

“Thanks ever so for pointing that out,” Caitlin said sharply.

“What about Adonis?” Abby said suddenly. “He’s never failed.”

Caitlin glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t know. Daddy doesn’t like me using him for things other than family business.”

“Come on, Caitlin,” Abby wheedled. “I’m your Best Friend. And this is a Matter of Life or Death.”

Caitlin scowled. She hated it when Abby capitalized her words. “It is not,” she muttered. “It’s only a party and it’s not even an important one. Daddy would be cross at me and that’s never a good thing.”

“You wouldn’t have to tell him,” Abby cajoled. “And if he found out about it you could tell him that you sent Donny first. It’s not like you just used Adonis without call. You depleted all your resources.”

Caitlin studied her toes. The paint needed a touch up. She bit the inside of her cheek and concentrated. She smiled at the pale green extra gloss with iridescent sheen that instantly covered them. “Oh, all right,” she said as she changed the color of her fingernails to match. “But you owe me.”

Abby bounced up and down, clapping her hands. “You’re the best, Caitlin! I promise to make it up to you.”

“Alright then. I’ve got to run. I have to find Adonis and see what I can do. I’ll get back to you when I have more info,” Caitlin said, setting the mirror on the bed in front of her.

“Contact me as soon as you know anything,” Abby said in a slightly demanding sort of way.

“I will,” Caitlin reassured her. She watched as the mirror fogged up and Abby’s face disappeared. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Being a teenager was just so hard some times. How was she supposed to keep track of her coursework if she had to run around playing messenger? “That’s what the minions are for,” she said in exasperation.

She tapped her fingers against her chin. It was only five, Adonis should still be on the grounds. She stood and opened a portal. “Adonis,” she said in the sweetest voice possible, “Would you be a dear and do me a tiny little favor?”

He was in the kitchen, leaning against a counter and eating an apple. He swallowed. “A tiny little favor?” he asked with a knowing grin. Caitlyn explained the situation while he continued eating. After she finished he glanced down at the watch on his wrist and said “I’m on the clock until six, but I’m not doing anything right now. I can fix your problem. Still,” he held up one finger warningly, “If anything comes up I will have to take care of it.”

“Of course,” Caitlin said with a nod. “The family is more important. I wouldn’t expect you to do any different.”

“As long as we are clear about that, I’ll be on my way,” Adonis said as he tossed the apple core into the trash.”

Caitlyn watched him leave the room, then closed the portal. “That’s taken care of,” she said to the empty room. Moving quickly, she walked to her desk and settled herself in front of it, feet hooked around the legs of a stool made of air. She licked her lips as she turned a page in her book, wondering if she could get away with just skimming this chapter.

Before she had reached the halfway point, a puff of blue smoke erupted in the air in front of her and a cream colored envelope arranged itself neatly in the middle of the book. She yelped with mingled surprise and delight. “You’re a miracle worker, Adonis!” she said as she turned it over and started to open it. A pang of conscience hit her and she set the envelope back down. Flipping open her mirror, she tapped Abby’s image and waited as it clouded.

“Abilene Pringle’s line,” Abby answered in a slightly bored voice.

“I’ve got something you want to see,” Caitlin said, holding up the envelope.

Abby squealed. “Holy Mother! I’ll be right there.”

A door shimmered into life on the wall next to her and before she could do more than shut the mirror Abby opened it and stepped into the room. The door shimmered again vanishing behind her as she hurried over to Caitlin.

“Let me see it,” she said in a high voice, hand held out.

Caitlin shrugged and placed the partially opened envelope in her friend’s hand. “I don’t see why I had to be a part of this,” she said as she shut her book and made her way to her to her bed. She flopped down on it and watched as Abby read the note inside.

“He says he’s more than willing to come and is going to pick me up at eight. Oh,” Abby’s face crumpled a little, “Oh, well, that’s not so bad,” she said under her breath, perking back up. “He wants to know if you will join us and if so if you would play partner to his cousin, Devon. You will, won’t you?”

Caitlin thought about it. “Is Devon the short one, with blond hair?”

Abby scrunched up her nose, “No,” she said with a shake of the head. “He’s tall. About your brother Jonathan’s height and has black hair and blue eyes. He’s not dreamy, but not bad on the eyes either.”

Caitlin scratched her cheek. “I don’t remember him, but I’ll take your word on it.”

“Caitlin Anneth Galliana, get down here this instant!”
Caitlin cringed. “I’ve got to go,” she said hurriedly, barely letting Abby acknowledge her statement before shoving her friend out of the freshly reopened door. Straightening her shoulders, she opened a portal to her father’s study and plastered a sweetly innocent look on her face. “Yes Daddy?”

“Don’t you ‘yes Daddy’ me,” Colon Galliana said with a frown. “What’s this I hear about you using Adonis as your personal messaging system?”

Caitlin pressed her lips together and tapped her fingers against her leg, buying time. Her father glared at her and she gave a saccharine smile. “Oh Daddy, it was really important and Donny is just so unreliable. You know how hard it is to find good minions.”

He snorted. “You are sixteen, Caitlin. You don’t need minions. You should be grateful I let you use Donny. Your brothers’ didn’t get to until they were twenty.”

“But Daddy…”

He cut her off with a snap of his fingers. “I don’t ever want to hear of you sending my second in command off on some silly school girl mission again. If you want to talk to someone, use your mirror. That’s what I bought it for.”

“Yes Daddy,” Caitlin said in a small voice.

“Go finish your school work, honey,” Colon said with an indulgent smile.

Caitlin opened a portal and walked through it, never once realizing that they weren’t alone.

When it closed behind her, Colon turned to Adonis and shook his head. “Are you sure, old friend?” he asked mingled disbelief and amusement.

Adonis smoothed his hair out of his eyes. “One hundred percent.”

Colon shrugged. “It’s your life,” he said with a sigh. “And I won’t mind having her spend your money instead of mine.”

Adonis smiled, “It will be well worth it. Give her a few more years and you’ll see. The potential is obvious already.”

“She’s cut from the same cloth as her mother,” Colon said with a nod. “And you’ll do right by her.”

Adonis rubbed his chin, “She’s got a point about Donny, though.”

Colon took a deep breath. “He’s pretty much useless. I only keep him around so my kids can get use to working with less than stellar lackeys. The sooner they realize the value of a good underling the better.”

“After all, it’s hard it is to find good minions,” Adonis said with a laugh.
</ll-cut>

Witch Red

Thu, 02 Aug 2007 06:28:58 GMT

Title: Witch Red
Prompt: #34. It was selfish of him to want it so much when he had no right, but the desire was greater than the twinge of conscience. Modified slightly.
Word Count: 2,680

I stand at the back of my class hands clasped behind my back, humming under my breath. I watch as Tabby nibbles on the end of her pen and Joan scratches her nose. Beth is staring off into space, like always, and Delia’s hand is once more at the nape of her neck. I sigh, moving towards her. She touches the hem of her headscarf checking to make sure no hair is showing as I lean over her and whisper, “Focus.” She starts and blushes, bobbing her head to show she has heard me.

From behind me I hear giggles. I turn my head slightly and catch that green-eyed cat, Tulia, mimicking Delia’s motions to her friend. I raise my eyebrows at them and they instantly quiet. “Five more minutes,” I say, walking to the front of the room and tapping the stand holding the hourglass. Beth gives a slight squeak and begins to franticly scribble on her page. I close my eyes and press my lips tightly together, repressing the urge to laugh as I realize that her essay will have more smudges and blots then words.

I open them just in time to see Glena peaking at Heather’s work. I clicked my tongue against my teeth in vexation, flick my wrist and her paper is in my hand. “First finished, I see,” I say wryly as she blinks.

“Yes, Mistress,’ she says hesitantly.

“You’ll see me after class, Glena.”

“Yes Mistress,” she repeats dully.

Tulia giggles again and I turn my eyes to her. “Are you finished as well, Tulia?” I ask.

“No Mistress,” she answers sullenly.

“Then keep your eyes on your page or you will be joining Glena.” She bends to her work and I glance at the hourglass. “Two minutes. Finish up your thoughts girls.” Zahra nods once, writes less then a line and sits back, her eyes meeting mine. I smile at her as she stands to bring her work to my desk. Seventeen pairs of eyes met mine one by one until only Bobby is left, head bent and hand writing furiously.

I clear my throat. “Time’s up,” I say and she bites her lip. I smile encouragingly, but her eyes do not clear. “Alright girls, that’s all for today. Be sure to read the next chapter in your text tonight and be ready to answer questions on the Hythanen Theory as well.”

They stand in unison, twenty heads bowed in my direction and say “Blessings of the Goddess be on you, Mistress.”

“And on you as well, my children,” I say as I settle myself back in my seat. They file out in twos and threes, exchanging thoughts on the essays they just finished and hopes about the meals their mother’s will have waiting for them. I smile, remembering myself at their age, and rifled through the papers until I find Glena’s. When I look up she is standing in front of me, a sour look on her face. I feel my smile fade as I pull up a chair for her. “Glena,” I say, her name a sigh.

“Mistress,” she says, licking her lips nervously.

“Why were you looking at Heather’s answer?” I ask, even thought I already know.

She studies her skirts as if she has never seen them and mutters, “Because she’s always right.”

I put a hand on my forehead and inwardly pray for patience. “As are you, Glena. In fact, you often beat her for best marks.” She glances up at me, then instantly returns her attention to her lap. There’s more going on here than is instantly apparent. I think back over the past weeks and say, “But lately your marks have been slipping. Is there anything I should know about? Has your sister’s pregnancy developed complications?”

She looks up instantly, “Goddess, no! It’s nothing as bad as that.” She sucks on her lower lip before continuing. “It’s only that I’ve got my woman’s blood now and,” she trails off, cheeks flaming.

I touch my hair involuntarily. “Oh, Glena. I hadn’t realized,” I say sympathetically. I have had this conversation many times, but it never gets easier. Trying to be cheerful, I smile and say “There’s no hard fast way of judging these things, dear. Many have had the change come on after they have become women.”

Her eyes shutter. “Oh, I’m sure that will happen,” she says sarcastically, pulling the scarf from her head to reveal a thick riot of black curls.

I stare at them, not knowing what to say. I see a tear trickle down her cheek and I am around the desk with my arms encircling her, comforting her as best I can. “I’m sorry,” I croon as she sobs. Her heart is breaking inside my arms and there is nothing I can do about it. “It will be alright,” I sooth. “You will see, Glena. Life goes on just fine, no matter what shade your hair is.”

She stiffens, pulling back from my embrace. “That’s fine for you to say, Mistress. You and all that Witch Red hair of yours.” Her words are weapons, cutting like knifes.

I hold up my hands in a helpless gesture. “We all have a path, Glena. Mine was defined for me. You will get to make your own.”

She laughs bitterly. “And what a path that will be. I will see all of you at work and know I can never be one of you. I will watch you dance and praise the Goddess and never join in. I will mother my daughters and pray that they don’t share my fate. That is my path.”

I shake my head, “It doesn’t have to be that way. You know as well as I that you are welcome in the Temple. All are welcome in the Temple. And your daughters will be blessed to be the woman you are.”

She looks at me blankly, eyes dull as fogged glass. “I know my fate,” she says in a low voice. “I will make the best of it. But I won’t go acting better than I am. I won’t be putting myself up for others to laugh at.”

I hear the finality in her voice and sigh. “You have two more years of training, Glena. That is plenty of time to decide what skill you will follow. I am here to assist you in every way possible. I will help you transition to a new settlement, if you like, or put you in contact with the right people here in Valerian.”

She nods, her eyes once more in her lap. “I know you will, Mistress,” she says in a voice I haven’t heard her use since her Mother passed.

“It will be alright,” I say again, knowing it isn’t enough.

She looks at me and smiles. It is a sad imitation of her normal smile, but it is a smile nonetheless. “Thank you, Mistress,” she says as she deftly wraps her hair. She tucks the tail of the scarf in place and hesitates, “You won’t tell, will you?”

I push a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Glena,” I say truthfully.

She stands and gives a little curtsey before leaving the room. I watch her go, emotion rolling though me. It’s already beginning, I think to myself. I glance around the room, stand and clap once. The desks right themselves as the chairs stack themselves neatly in a corner. I take a deep breath, pressing my hands into my stomach. “I’m not ready,” I say to the empty room.

I think back on my girls.

I’ve known each since her birth, when she came blinking and black haired into the world. All twenty have been in my keeping since their mother’s conceived and I was about to lose them. Oh, some will stay. The Reds. They always stay, hearts attached to the Temple in ways unknown even to them. But they wouldn’t be mine. Not the way they are now.

The moment a child quickens their mother comes to the Temple. A Priestess divines the sex of the child and appoints the unborn to a Guardian. From that moment until they reach the age of consent they are in that Guardian’s keeping. The Guardian watches over the child, minding them as if they were their own. They know the history of the child better than it does. They teach and mentor their charges, giving them as much of their time and affection as they possibly can. And when it comes time, they let them go.

I have watched this batch of girls for fifteen years. I have shared in their joys and comforted them in times of strife. I have given and given until I thought I would break. Then I gave some more. My whole life has been centered around the well being of my charges. And now I will have to distance myself from them. I will need to break the ties, let them become the women I have always known they would be.

Even though I have done this twice before, I am not prepared. I love them so much. I don’t know how I am going to make it through. Glena is lost to me already. I know it. I saw it in her eyes. She will never forgive me for being a Red. The Blacks never do. They fade out of your life so completely you almost forget they were ever there. It hurts all the more because of it.

I close my eyes and make myself contemplate their fate. Tabby, Joan, Beth, Delia, Tulia, Glena, Heather, Mae, Ileana, Rowan, Wren, Kelly, Janice, Bobby, Natalie, Fiona, Krista, Lana, Vera, and Zahra.

Glena’s a Black. I knew she would be. She hasn’t an inkling of power. Vera will be one too. Lana I can see going either way. But I’m leaning towards Black. Beth, sweet Beth, she’s a Brown. Her magic will come late and always be weak. She’ll count herself lucky, though. Fiona, Ileana, Rowan and Wren will be Browns as well. Wren will take it the hardest. She the closest to Blonde and she’ll be just strong enough to know what she is missing.

Bobby. She’s a Dark Blonde. Only a little bit more powerful then Wren. Poor dear. She would be better suited to the life of a Brown. She doesn’t have the thirst for knowledge a Blonde needs. Heather is middling strength for a Blonde. She’ll make the most of it, too. Tulia’s hair will almost be Red and she’ll put on airs because of it. But she doesn’t have the dedication to make a name for herself. Tabby and Joan. Those two will be content to be Blonde. Kelly will be disappointed, but won’t cause a fuss.

That leaves Delia, Mae, Janice, Natalie, Krista and Zahra. They’ll all make Red. Zahra’s been Red since she was nine. And Mae got it at twelve. Judging by Delia’s obsessive neck touching, I’d say she’s just made the change and is not yet ready to admit it. Janice will get it late. I’m thinking in her mid-twenties, right when she’s gotten use to being a Strawberry Blonde. She’ll lose a friend or two over it, if I’m any judge. But they won’t be the sort she would have wanted to keep.

I open my eyes and stare blankly at the room. Of them all, Zahra will be most powerful. The younger you are when your hair goes Red the stronger your gifts will be. She’s not likely to devote herself to the Temple, though. I see her as a Healer, not a Guardian. Mae will. She has the right temperament. The others won’t be given the chance.

Even Delia, who received her change at fifteen, is too old.

Too old at fifteen. I shake my head in disbelief, remembering my own childhood. I envied the girls whose hair remained dark as long as that. I hid my hair compulsively until I was compelled to revel it on my naming day. Ten long years of secrecy and shame. Because to me being a Red was the end of the world. The dream cherish by all my yearmates was my bane.

I wanted to be a Black.

I wanted the freedom.

Red’s have their lives mapped out for them at birth. There are only four paths a Red can take, and none of them leave her any choice. Healer, Guardian, Priestess or Guide. Guide is what the weakest are. The strongest go for Healer or Guardian, based mainly on their personality. The rest are lumped into the role of Priestess and spend their days divining and coaxing things to grow.

But Blacks. Blacks can do anything. They can lead the life of a warrior, baring arms and fighting under the cruel sun. They can leave their township, travel the world and see what it might hold. Their life is their own. No one expects them to bare child after child or tend the young of others. No one tells them to bend their will to the greater good. A Black can disappear for years while a Red must account for her every waking moment.

Oh yes, I envied them almost as much as they hated me.

It was selfish of me to want it so much when I had no right, but the desire was greater than the twinge of conscience. Even now, when I see those Black heads in the distance I wish it was me. I long for it, the freedom in their hands. That’s not to say that I am dissatisfied with my life.

I’m not a fool. I know I have the ideal. I have so much power I don’t even need to verbalize. A snap of the fingers, a twist of the hand and I have what I want. My choice of a husband was instantly granted. My daughters have all been Reds. Two are as strong as me. My sons married well and have had fulfilling lives. I have been Guardian to forty young ones, not counting my newest group of girls. All of whom have made their mark on our township.

If I were to die tomorrow, I would have led a good life.

And yet.

I closed my eyes again. This was getting me no where. It was well past my typical departure time and Calia would be missing me if I wasn’t home soon. I steadied myself, hands pressed against my thighs. Calming my breathing, I slowly let out all the negative thoughts in my mind. I open my eyes and walk purposely to the door, shutting it firmly behind me.

I walk home a little faster than usual, not wanting Calia to pester her father more then could be helped. Before entering the house, I say a little prayer of thanks to the Goddess for all that she had given me. Then I pushed the doubts of a life not lived aside, and walked into my house. Two pairs of merry green eyes met mine and I smiled.

“You’re late,” accused my red haired eight year old.

“I had some pressing business to take care of,” I say as I gather her in my arms. Raining kisses on her upturned face, I say, “And you are far too pert, pet.”

“She gets that from you,” my husband says in that deep voice of his, a smile playing at his lips.

I let my attention shift to him, releasing Calia as I studied her father. “And how are you today?”

He cocks his head to one side, a length thick black hair sliding across one cheek and shrugs. “I’ll be better after this one is put to bed,” he says with meaning.

I reach out and touch those wayward strands, smiling. “I’ve always wanted Black,” I say softly.

Calia rolled her eyes. “Goddess, who would want to be Black when they could be a Red?”

I glance at her, laughter bubbling out of me. “You’re right,” I say. “Who would?”

Yay!

Thu, 26 Jul 2007 03:37:55 GMT

I've updated the claims list -- remember, even if I'm not super quick (or really any definition of the word quick) about putting up the claims, if you've put in for it, it's yours!

Since I suck at updating, I'll extend the 'due date' to August 15th ...

Happy writing!

Thu, 26 Jul 2007 02:48:26 GMT

originalficfest prompt: 25. "What will you do when you've taken everything, and there's nothing left of me?"
Title: a cup of tea
Author: wellowned or shadows_of
Rating: PG
Warnings/Notes: slave!fic. part of the new slave-assassin verse. 565 words. also because thefragyle asked for my assassin to have a close moment with a friend. it was supposed to be nicer, but i'm not feeling it right now.

[edit: you can now find any other stories linked to this verse at shadows_of, tag slave!assassin 'verse.]

The tea they share is weak, just a hint of color seeping into the boiling water from the herbs tossed in. It’s the same tea they’ve shared since coming into the employ of the Noi, both barely ten years old and thrown face first into this world. It’s made from what looks like weeds and grasses, painstakingly gathered by her companion from his memories of a life before. The tea soothes and calms them, the heat and scent of it filling them with a sense of refreshment.

They don’t speak for a long stretch of time, knowing all too well the burdens of the day. They know too well the fear and the thrill of being able to move freely, of possibly never coming back to the compound—either through running away, or their death. They breathe in that scent of calm Dannaii fixes, relaxing in the time they have between training and utilization.

She watches Dannaii’s painted hands pour separate cups before they settle on the floor across the brazier from each other. His hands are so much a part of who he is here, the ink imprinting itself on the throats of those who would speak against the Noi. Even with the brutality of what the Noi have made him, she can see how those hands were gentle, a healer’s hands. She smiles softly, hiding it behind her cup, knowing just how soft those hands are.

“That is a look I have not seen on you in many days. It warms my heart to see you so.” He taps out a beat on his thigh, her eyes following the slaves’ shorthand rhythm for understanding. She nods slowly, her tongue thick with scar tissue that restrains her from speaking and telling him why she’s smiling. He smiles back at her, a sharp slash across his face. It should scare her, but after this many years, she can only remember the boy he had been.

Her fingers rest against his foot, the crossing strips of gold a burnished mirror of her own in the dying sunlight. She drums out responses to him on the sensitive skin of his ankle, chuckling in her throat when he squirms away from her light touch.

“’Annaii.” She garbles out his name, softly growling it as the cups in their hands are emptied and almost forgotten. The nights are short here, and she has to rest before the first sun begins to rise. Dannaii flicks a look at her from hooded eyes, almost angry, before he stands. She reaches out a hand to rest on his wrist, a flutter of fingertips asking what is wrong as the heat from her palm warms the abjad there.

He takes a painful breath and freezes. "What will you do when you've taken everything, and there's nothing left of me?" She stares at him a long time, confused. Another flutter of fingers, and another inscrutable look. Dannaii shakes his head, and puts his things away. “Go. Rest. I will see you on the next day.”

She pauses, uncertain. She folds herself to the floor, the knot behind her ear falling forward to brush the floor a moment, before she stands and walks away. These matters are nearly too much to handle, and she needs to let her mind empty before she will be able to rest enough to be pleasing on the next day.

Will a bird fall into a snare on the ground, if there is no bird-catcher?

Tue, 24 Jul 2007 00:20:33 GMT

originalficfest prompt-- 21. It would have been easier to lie and say that she knew nothing.
Title: the birdcatcher
Author: wellowned or shadows_of
Rating: PG-13, but only for the violence at the end, I guess.
Warnings/Notes: slave!fic. 523 words. The mix is longer than the actual fic, so I'm pretty sure you can pick 1 or 2 and enjoy that way. I suggest Echelon and Captured. Or, for the beauty of the song, Un Giorno Per Noi.

[edit: you can now find any other stories linked to this verse at shadows_of, tag slave!assassin 'verse.]

Ficmix:
Summertime, Nina Simone
Echelon, 30 Seconds to Mars
Un Giorno Per Noi, Josh Groban
Captured, Bic Runga
Knife, Grizzly Bear

She knows her place in society. She knows, and walks with her eyes deliberately pointed downwards, gazing instead at the clothed shoulders and torsos of whoever passes her alongside. The path she takes is dusty, heat making her mouth dry and her feet sticky. The flimsy sandals she wears, a delicate twist of the golden fibers of her station, do nothing to protect the soles of her feet from the dust clouds kicking up as she shuffles along. She knows her place in society, and keeps her face averted so she doesn't draw any more attention to herself.

Her coloring, stubbornly unchanged despite long years of 'treatments', gives her away as exotic. She moves quickly through the masses in the market, unable to blend in with the paler women and men around her. As she presses through the crush of bodies, only the knot of hair hanging loose behind her left ear, and the sparkle of gold as she makes a step keep her from being accosted. She is exotic, and what is more, she is owned by the Noi.

She makes her way through gate upon gate in the city, some lingering labyrinthine wall system guiding the residents of the arid land up and around, but never close to her destination. Never close enough, unless you are of the privileged few with the knowledge. The thought passes through her, stabbing white-hot behind her eyes and clenching her lungs tight. It would have been so easy to lie; to say she knew nothing. She breathes tightly and presses even further forward, the filmy gauze of her robes catching the down currents of the streets and backwards passages she traverses.

The closer she gets to her destination, the more she finds herself gnawing at the web of skin between her thumb and forefinger, pressing the inked abjad between sharp incisors. She feels it ache faintly, and moves on, ever forward. The Noi would not approve of the nervous gesture, breaking the pristine beauty they desire of all their exotics. She takes her hand and tucks it into her robes, the metallic tang of blood and jewelry mixing with fear in her throat. She moves ever on, spiraling in and out of the paths to her final goal, a knot forming in her belly that only winds tighter with her every step.

She knows her place in society, and wishes herself free only a moment as she sees the wide entry portals and the lounging guards, taking advantage of the respite between the first and second risings of the suns. It's a futile wish to be free, she knows, and she keeps her pace and stance heavy with the understanding that all she is, all she can be, is a tool of her master's will. She is a pretty one, dark and deceptively built, but a tool nonetheless. She knows her place, even as the knife she bears on her thigh becomes visible, and the heart of the latest in a line of upstarts is spitted upon it.

Every day, she is reminded that a tool is only useful if wielded by the proper hands.

A Twist of Fate

Fri, 29 Jun 2007 23:06:56 GMT

Title: A Twist of Fate

Author: CC

Rating: R

Disclaimer: This is an original fantasy story set in a world very similar to Earth. Please do not take the settings of the characters. This happens right after the evens of my first story, Fallen.

Beta: Thank you to alexcat for the grammar check! ^__^

Prompt 6:

Our lives are made
in these small hours
these little wonders,
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away,
in these small hours,
these small hours still remain

-Little Wonders (Rob Thomas)

Word Count: 1318

A Twist of Fate

I hope you like the story. The first two stories about Belen, Anwar and Aetos were posted here too. If you are interested, you can also find them here.

Dates

Fri, 29 Jun 2007 22:35:24 GMT

Hey all,

So so sorry to leave you hanging. I hope you've been writing! I'll get to the new claims tomorrow probably.

An end date ... good questions to those who have asked. I say August 1, 2007, just so it won't fall in the flurry of back-to-schoolness that seems to happen toward the end of August.

:D

Claims

Wed, 13 Jun 2007 22:34:15 GMT

I've put up all the claims I have so far ... please double check that I got all of yours. Up to five people can claim one prompt. :)

Claims

Wed, 06 Jun 2007 04:24:07 GMT

PROMPTS are open for claiming!

Go HERE to claim your prompt! Please respond with a prompt number.

If you'd like to submit a prompt, feel free to do so!

Submitted Prompts

Tue, 08 May 2007 00:28:32 GMT

Here are the submitted prompts. They are not yet open for claiming, but the more prompts the merrier! To submit a prompt, go here!

1. Ancient Egyptian artifacts on display in a prestigious museum.

2. A young girl sits at a table in a crowded mall with her friends. She accidently tips her chair over backwards and lands at the feet of someone important to her. That is the point when her world changes.

3. A woman starts making a list of the things she wants to put on her bridal registry. her fiance asks for the story behind one of the choices. In telling it, the woman realizes that she marrying the wrong person. (misfit87)

4. A man decides to give up coffee permenantly but discovers an even bigger vice that he's been hiding from himself all this time.

5. Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth.
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs.
Speak no feeling, no I dont believe you.
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.
-Hide and Seek (Imogen Heap) (maniacalmuse)

6. our lives are made
in these small hours
these little wonders,
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away,
in these small hours,
these small hours still remain
-Little Wonders (Rob Thomas) (zafiro_v, larinzia)

7. Felt someone calling me into the howling of the wind.
I heard the reflection of a sound echoing through my skin ...
And a distant drum rumbling under ground gently guides me on ...
Through my wild heart ...
-Sisters of Avalon (Cyndi Lauper) (kethlenda)

8. I try to grow up
But I am chased by my fears
It could happen to me
And I worry in tears
Reports of the girl
Makin' me scared
Led off to die and why was I spared?
Life is not fair!
-I am One of Them (Aly & AJ)

9. Pick a ... pic. 1, 2, 3. (talullahred)

10. A man/woman receives notice from an attorney that some previously unknown relative has left him/her the bulk of their estate . . . as long as [s]he complies with a single condition. (wellowned, cosmicink, larinizia)

11. Single woman, mid-thirties, works alone on the overnight shift. She discovers an abandoned infant in the ladies room and debates whether to keep the child or contact the proper authorities.

12. A long-time group of friends conspire to conduct an intervention for one of their members. Their intent is to impress on him/her why his/her new significant other is not the person he/she thinks they are.

13. A parent and their child, now grown, embark upon a long car journey. One reveals an old secret to the other. (cosmicink)

14. Pick a quote:
+ "There is only one difference between madmen and me. I am not mad." - Salvador Dali (absolut_jmo)

+ "All men by nature desire to know." - Aristotle

+ "All credibility, all good conscience, all evidence of truth come only from the senses." - Friedrich Nietzsche (alexcat)

+ "Charity creates a multitude of sins." - Oscar Wilde

15. Pick a lyric:
+ "Seems the road less traveled
Shows happiness unraveled
And you got to take a little dirt
To keep what you love
Thats what you gotta do"
- If You Could Only See, Tonic

+ "I just can't look its killing me
And taking control
Jealousy, turning saints into the sea
Swimming through sick lullabies
Choking on your alibis"
- Mr Brightside, The Killers

+ "You're still alive, she said
Oh, and do I deserve to be
Is that the question
And if so...if so...who answers...who answers..."
- Alive, Pearl Jam (pencil_gal)

+ "She lies and says shes in love with him, cant find a better man...
She dreams in color, she dreams in red, cant find a better man..."
- Betterman, Pearl Jam (misfit87)

16. "I was all right until you walked into the room." (greyannabel, pencil_gal, super_six_one)

17. He never thought he'd be one of them-- waiting out in the rain on her doorstep, like in some sappy story. It really wasn't all it was cracked up to be. (schaden_freude)

18. "I can't stop you. I haven't the power, and moreover, I haven't the right." (wellowned, misfit87)

19. Roses really were so stereotypical. (pencil_gal)

20. It was a typical morning: cornflakes, coffee, lurid stories in the paper, and the dull ache of loneliness every time he saw the empty chair across the table. (wellowned, super_six_one)

21. It would have been easier to lie and say that she knew nothing. (loopily, wellowned, misfit87, lielabel)

22. "I'm not sure why you saw fit to say this to ME of all people." (lielabel)

23. "He broke the coffeepot? I'll wring his little neck!"

24. He had an aggravating habit of playing devil's advocate. (pencil_gal)

25. "What will you do when you've taken everything, and there's nothing left of me?" (wellowned)

26. A girl is disowned by her parents. Ten years later, they pass each other on the street, and she doesn't even recognise them.

27. Two boys both grew up in households rich in material goods, emotionally stunted, with books for company. Their lives take entirely diverging paths. What happened in the interim?

28. A young man whose mind never fails him suddenly finds himself at a loss for words around one of his oldest friends.

29. A woman who has a useful life of productivity and intelligence and accomplishment wishes for nothing more than the chance and the right to break down and cry on someone's shoulder.

30. A man with a dark secret. A woman who fears emotional baggage. A love affair doomed to fail, everyone thought. (schadenkatz)

31. A person manages to keep faith in humanity and give everyone the benefit of the doubt despite betrayals, heartbreak, and any number of undeserved impositions.

32. Good minions are so hard to come by these days. (lielabel, pooka_belle)

33. It was a subject of everyone's amusement how a single glance from one tiny pigtailed six-year-old could reduce him to positively ridiculous amounts of adoration.

34. It was selfish of him to want it so much when he had no right, but the desire was greater than the twinge of conscience.

35. She was a study in contradictions, a girl with a beautiful smile and unbearably sad eyes. (larinzia, cosmicink)

New Round!

Mon, 07 May 2007 01:49:42 GMT

Okay people ... hit me with some new prompts. I'll be taking prompts until next Sunday (Mother's Day for those keeping track.)

Remember, not too detailed, but we want a variety of types!

:D

Challenges?

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 21:41:57 GMT

Hi all,

Soryr it's been so terribly long since I posted. Life got away from me. That said ... anybody interested in bringing back the OFF?

I was thinking something along the lines of the first round - prompts that are claimed.

View Poll: Another Round?

The Disposition

Mon, 30 Oct 2006 03:49:10 GMT

Title: The Disposition
Author: super_six_one
Characters:Lieutenants/Majors Polanski and Karlsson, both characters now used for 100originalfics along with a few select others.
Prompt: Brownout
Word Count: 4200
Summary: The Lieutenants must face reality.
Rating: R (m/m slash, m/f implied, language, violence)
A/N: I must say that the end of this piece was the most enjoyable to write because of its conciseness, but it is not betaed, thus there are mistakes. You can find part one here. Anyway, enjoy.

The broken face of time read 01:00.

Windows

Sat, 28 Oct 2006 09:30:41 GMT

Title: Windows
Author: cinnamon_sakaki
Characters: Alexandra and Samuel Luxley
Prompt: Jaded
Word count: 539 words
Summary: Set a couple of years after Doors, which should be read as this story won't make much sense otherwise! Alexandra likes to sit beside windows.
Rating: G

Alexandra always used to love looking up at the windows of the main house. They were huge, larger than the ones in the smaller houses, and were made of lovely diamond-shaped panes with each diamond a different colour. From the outside you couldn’t see in properly, because the glass was made in such a way that the view inside was fogged into swirling patterns rather than clear.

Now that she was on the other side, she’d discovered that you couldn’t see out of them, either. It was rather disappointing, though where they let the light in the rooms had an interesting alien cast because of the mixed colours.

Her favourite place to sit, nonetheless, was in the smaller living-room close to the stairs, where she curled snake-like in the window-seat. The colours of the window (her window) were variations of green, giving her skin a yellowish cast. Today’s sunshine only increased the effect. She turned her arm over, admiring the colour.

Being here meant that Xavier would be able to call her easily and that she could keep an eye on whoever came and went, as was her duty. It was pleasant to think that should anyone unwanted come in she could shoot fire at them from her fingertips. It had never been necessary, but when Sebastian, or Lyel if she was in a bad mood, came to have a talk with Xavier it amused her to imagine it.

Samuel liked it in this room, too. They talked a great deal, now that they both lived with Xavier. Alexandra had always considered Samuel the only one worth talking to (compounded by the fact that no one else seemed to agree), so it was a good arrangement. They talked about books, and magic – of which Samuel knew very little, making Alexandra feel pleasantly superior.

He didn’t like to be touched, she’d noticed. Alexandra saw the way he edged around Lyel or Sebastian or anyone who happened to visit so that they didn’t brush his leg or shoulder. He didn’t mind her brushing his hair, though, and sometimes when she sat in a chair he would lean back with his head against her knees. Not today, though. Today, he was just sitting on the floor as they talked.

There was a knock at the door and Sebastian came in. He cast his eyes over them and Alexandra could tell what he was thinking: Quiet. Boring. She pictured how his body would look on fire. “Is Xavier in his room?” he asked.

Samuel nodded. “Shall I–” he said, starting to get up.

“There’s no need,” said Sebastian, waving his hand. In Alexandra’s head, his stupid flashy clothes crinkled, then suddenly blazed. Samuel sat once more, a little further from Alexandra than he had been.

A little while after the door had closed, Alexandra said, “He spends a lot of time with Xavier, doesn’t he?” It was an effort not to make her voice heavy.

“Yes,” said Samuel, not sounding especially concerned.

“I mean,” she said, “they’re very close.”

“They grew up together, I suppose. They were quite good friends when they were little – I suppose you don’t remember.”

“No,” said Alexandra, chewing on the inside of her mouth. “I can’t help thinking that–”

Samuel got up sharply and headed for the door. “I’ve got some things to do, I’m afraid,” he said as he put his hand on the handle.

Fic: Snow

Sat, 28 Oct 2006 05:06:30 GMT

Title: Snow
Fandom: Faerie Hill (an original)
Word Count: 614
Prompt: "Grass is always greener" (even though I didn't request it)

"This is snow?" Anz asked, her face filled with wonder as a myriad of white flakes landed on her outstretched hands. There was little time to miss them as they melted on her warm skin, more falling in their place. "I never thought... I mean, it is cold but... amazing."

Kinnle was too busy twirling in the weather phenomenon to pay attention to her friend. "Of course it's snow, you goose. I promised you snow, didn't I?"

It was true that Kinnle had promised her something special, hinting that it might be snow, but Anz had long given up relying on her friend's promises. They had both spent their lives underground where night and day were obsolete and the only foliage they saw that wasn't contrived by faerie magic was the roots of plants and trees. Nothing, absolutely nothing was as beautiful as a simple wildflower growing out amongst the waving grasses. At least, she had thought this until she had encountered snow. It was simple and pure, things laughed at in court. Beauty was something to be attained with powerful spells, tricking the viewer into seeing an acceptable version of the being no matter what was true.

"I want to be like snow," Anz breathed, her breath making the delicate flakes disappear far sooner than she would have liked. "I want to be simple and pure."

Kinnle snorted, having stopped her twirling for her other favorite pastime - laughing at Anz. "Silly goose," she taunted, tossing her fair hair about so rapidly that no flake dared to land on it for fear of being tossed off again. "You can't be simple. You are a princess. It is your duty to be complex and severe, like your sisters."

As the youngest of thirteen princesses, Anz knew exactly what was expected of her. She was young enough that she could still dream of a different life but old enough to know that she would be just like the rest of them. It was her fate to be either brainless or calculating. No matter which way she chose to spend her life, she would be beautiful. The court adviser that was appointed to her would ensure that she was everything her father and mother, as well as the rest of realm, expected her to be. Soon, she wouldn't even remember that her nose was a bit too large and that she had more freckles on her left cheek than her right.

"I'm bored with this." Kinnle had begun to shiver, exaggerating the movements so that it looked like she was being rattled about in a sprung carriage. "Let's go find something else to do."

Anz knew from experience that there was no arguing with her. This girl was her one source of escape into the realm above the faerie hill but she was also the one link that, if broken, could spell the end of this fun prematurely.

"A little bit longer," Anz begged even though she knew she would pay for this request. Sure enough, the other faerie's snapping blue eyes narrowed, calculating what payment she would ask. Taking a deep breath, Anz added, "My blue scarf for another moment out here. Alone."

"Done. I'll meet you under the oak in a cat's wink."

Her mother would notice the absence of the scarf and Anz would be forced to cover up with a story that would surely get her a beating as she had no head for lies. For this moment, it was enough that she was able to lift her head toward the night sky and pretend she was a being of snow. Pure. Simple. Beautiful.