For the second prompt. Featuring my main OCs and everyone being little shits. Spoiler: finally wrote something with these guys woo “You’re probably wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today,” Mandy begins. She pauses, then adds, “Okay, Ethan already knows, obviously.” She turns to her boyfriend. “Ethan, you’re not allowed to say anything about why I have gathered them all here today, a’ight?” He salutes her jokingly, and she nods. “Good. Anyway, you’re probably wondering--” “Cut to the chase, Mandy,” Melissa sighs, not even looking up from her video game. Mandy rolls her eyes. Melissa had always been the type to just want social obligations over with, and today seems to be no exception. “Look, Melissa, I know you’re super busy breeding for shinies--” “I’m breeding for perfect IVs, actually.” “Whatever! Look, the point is, I have an announcement to make.” The others begin shouting out their assumptions. Luna suggests pregnancy. Judy suggests that the couple is engaged. Melissa, apparently still annoyed by Mandy’s erroneous assumptions regarding Pokemon breeding, suggests terminal ass cancer. Mandy facepalms. “Shut the fuck up, guys. I’m trying to say that I got the part.” “She’s gonna be...what’s her name? That girl from Hamlet who goes nuts and dies or whatever?” “Ethan, how is it that we’ve been dating for two years and you don’t remember Ophelia’s name?” Ethan scratches the back of his head nervously. “I kinda started tuning the weird theater shit out after a while, to be honest?” “Ugh. You’re lucky I love you, because otherwise I would absolutely be pissed off right now.” Suddenly, Mandy breaks into a bright smile, her grey eyes almost maniacally wide. “But yeah, I fucking rocked the audition! This is it, guys, this is my big break!” “...Does getting a lead role in a college production of Hamlet count as a big break?” Luna asks Judy quietly. Judy shakes her head. “I heard that, and yes, it absolutely fucking does. Look, if I do well--which I will--that means more roles, which means more exposure, which means I’m gonna actually make it in the world of theater! That’s a big-ass break in my book!” “I guess that’s a fair enough point,” Luna says, shrugging. “But, uh...couldn’t you have just posted about it on Facebook or something? What was the need for you actually having us come over?” Mandy smirks. “Dramatic effect, of course. Why else would I do anything?” Spoiler: a fun fact note that ethan is a trans guy and mandy is a cis girl. it is literally impossible for ethan to have knocked mandy up. luna's suggestion is thus the most unlikely (assuming mandy isn't cheating, which she's not), even moreso than melissa's. NOW YOU KNOW
Late, but for the first prompt: A character, through some means outside of their control--a curse, a scientific experiment gone wrong, whatever--becomes some other species (animal, alien, whatever--hell, even human if the character is non-human)...and, contrary to what one might expect, actually likes their new form. (DEFS NOT MY BEST WORK this is what I get for typing smthn last minute on my break) Spoiler Honestly, if there were ever perks to being a cat (even a cursed one!), you were pretty sure "ability to sit on someone's shoulders" made the top ten list. Not that you weren't usually tall, but it was incredibly fun, especially when Morian took you outside! Or out out, to Actual People Places. Like Home Depot, for instance. "I need a new shower shelf shelf," she informed the befuddled greeter, who seemed to be alternating between staring at her broken shelf (you didn't like being alone, even if you liked being a cat, and Morian had compromised by letting you sit on her shower shelf), and you (the rather large Maine Coon draped over her shoulders). "This one's too small for my cat." "Your...cat," he finally says, and you mrrt at him, much to Morian's amusement. "Yes," she replies, "my cat." You can practically see the exact moment he gives up. It's two seconds before the moment where he turns and leads her over to an aisle, and about ten seconds before he starts talking about proper installation, and not just hanging cheap plastic crap from a showerhead. You think he's ignoring you, or attempting to pretend that you don't exist. That definitely has to be remedied. Possibly with a fluffy tail. Possibly with a fluffy tail flopping on top of his shiny head. He attempts to pretend it's not happening. Morian attempts not to laugh. You mrrrrow as loud as you possibly can. You love being a cat.
*finds thread* *reads prompts* *cracks knuckles* Okay. Time to turn my psychic space nerd into a dragon.
... my snarky narrator for this universe is fond of footnotes. Is there a way to format that here? It's not really something forums are designed for...
features my cheiron group hunters being nerds. terrible nerds. Spoiler: by "fresh materials" they mean people. “You’re probably wondering why I gathered you all here today,” Rita began. “I am,” Mari said. Jack, from his position flopped on the couch, nodded. “I don’t think I want to know,” Samantha groaned. Rita giggled, not remotely deterred. She took a sip of her energy drink, and continued. “Tada! Since we’re going to a con, to, uh, ‘pick up’ some ‘fresh materials,’ I took the liberty of making us cosplays! But, since I know Samantha doesn’t play video games, and I didn’t know if either of you have played what we’re cosplaying from, I figured you should all come over and play, to familiarize yourselves with your characters! Or you can watch me play, I’m good with either!” Rita smiled happily, looking at her coworkers. Samantha looked even grumpier than usual. Jack seemed to be deep in thought. “What are we cosplaying from, anyways?” Mari seemed intrigued. Before Rita could answer, Jack started laughing. “It’s Revengeance, right? We’re totally going to be Desperado. That’s why Mistral’s song’s been blaring outta your office, right? Please tell me you’re making Rodriguez be Jetstream Sam. Please.” “What do you take me for? Of course that’s who Samantha has to be, her name’s Sam and one of her arms got cut off!” “First of all,” Samantha said, cutting in, “My arm didn’t actually get cut off, just slightly mutilated, and second, I did not agree to this. I’ll go to the con, because it is part of the job, but I am not dressing up as a videogame character.” “C’mon, I’m getting you a sword! Plus, Boss said we’re all gonna get paid overtime for this!” “I...guess I’m dressing up as a videogame character. Wonderful.” Samantha said. She paused for a second, before continuing, “I get to keep the sword, right.” After getting an affirmative, she wandered out of the room, apparently having given up on the rest of the conversation. “Do you think she’s going to stand out there the whole time?” Mari wondered. Jack laughed, and said, “Course. She has to be here to complain about everything. The second we fire up the game, or Rita makes a reference, or you start tumblring, she’ll come back.” “I guess that’s true,” Mari said.
oh, oh hey I can literally write canon bits for this. Or, I can write something COMPLETELY noncanon, but terrible. choices, man.
Prompt: Losing a loved one Spoiler: Skip Carcelan Serpents are born as two. Two of them in the same egg. Twins, always. The Carcelan society is built around it. Mating partners can change, but your twin? Your twin is always with you. (Centuries later you will find that the other species that inhabit the lands beyond the valleys of Carcela do not quite understand it.) Beyond growing up together, and your twin mirroring and inverting your colours (scales and eyes), and being the person who's the lookout for your shenanigans, and helping raising your children... There's a bond. You don't need to see them to know them. They are part of your soul. Carcelan serpents feed off the same life energy. When one twin dies, the other does, as well. (When your parent's twin Rhiache fell sick, your parent Salwa fell sick in turn. You and Caitrion did everything you could, but there was nothing to be done. You buried them curled together, as is custom.) When you go paint Eshwa's pots with staining greenberry paste, Caitrion keeps their eyes open for interlopers. When Caitrion applies wax to Beshu's chalks, you warn them when their twin Chyshe approaches. When you two hear that Rchiu and Mrese want to venture beyond the Valleys of Carcela, you look at each other, and know that you had the exact same thought at the exact same time. (When Rchiu and Mrese return, their souvenir for you are candies that glue your teeth together. You spend the rest of the day making noises at each other and messing with people) Caitrion was gifted, in a way you weren't. They always said you could learn the magic as well, but... for Caitrion it's like breathing, for you it's like breathing water. Possible, but... you're at home in the skies. Like Caitrion is. You're Yond, and you know there's something missing, in this world. It began when Caitrion worked their first spell, eyes wide, and one thing that was became something else. A skip in reality, a branch in perception that was not meant to be. A missing puzzle piece, the picture can be inferred from the other pieces, and makes sense, but there is a piece missing. You tell Caitrion, and they listen. Let's find out what it is! They're excited. It's the calling. It's their calling. You're afraid, a little bit. You catalogue the missing world, and try to make sense of it. It's there when Caitrion is there. It's worse when Caitrion works their magic. They colour flowers and there's a skipped note in a song. They grind a stone to dust and for the rest of the day you're missing the twelfth of your eleven tastes. They intone a song and you join, and your melodies dance together but stop just shy of touching. It's worst when they're gone. Caitrion lives faster and faster, they fly and look and move, when you're observing. A rock in a river, you tell yourself. You tell Caitrion. They say, Yond, you slowed down. They say, Yond, I'm worried. You say, Caitrion, I'm worried. There's a skip, and for a moment, just short, infinite, unbearable moment, your twin looks like a stranger. They noticed it as well, you think. You spend the rest of the day hugging in silence. Caitrion holds you as if they were afraid you'd disappear. You hold them as if it were the last time you'd ever see them. When a travelling Kalean mage came to Carcela, you sat nearby and tried not to listen to the mage's and Caitrion's animated conversation. There's so much that you still haven't seen and explored in Carcela, and you're sure that if you have just seen a little bit more, you can connect the lines and figure out what it is that is missing. There's a tree here, a tendril winding itself around it, digging into the cracks in the bark, growing leaves like a gown for the tree. If you asked someone else what's missing from it, they'd answer, "Flowers, duh". But... It's not the flowers. It doesn't need them, it's got the leaves, and the roots that just travel where they need. Caitrion would answer, "That thing I can't see but you can". Because Caitrion knows, as much as they can know. And since Caitrion can't see that missing thing, they can't help you. They want to, you think. They say it. But they're focusing on their own calling instead. That's... That's alright. Twins tend to have differing, but complementing callings. No matter how close you are you are not one. It's in the scales and eyes, the colour of your scales is the colour of your twin's eyes, the colour of your twin's scales is the colour of your eyes. It's like coins, Caitrion says, coins have different sides as well. Coins, you ask, and Caitrion answers that the people outside use coins to help with the trading. The traveller showed her some. They're shiny, and some are small, and some are larger, and round, and with corners, and some have holes in them, and all of them have symbols. There's a kind of magic in there, they say. Caitrion, you say, I think your calling is outside of these vales. Caitrion smiles, and hugs you, and three moons later they leave. More strangers come. Many bear messages, for you, from Caitrion. They're learning. They hope, that if they learn enough, they can understand what you're seeing. Your own calling keeps you in the valley, but you wonder if the missing thing is missing outside as well. There's just so much. One of the travellers stay. They're a serpent, that much you can see. But they have no wings. They have no twin. The concept of something missing is obvious in them. So obvious that everyone else can see it as well, but... Their presence is a wholeness, in a way. You're searching for the missing thing, and, in At Teshiah's presence, you can't find it. You look at the gaps and the skips and suddenly there's something there. At Teshiah speaks of the thing that fills the gaps, like a fish grasping water, and you provide the hands. It all fits. This is something huge. When Caitrion returns, and you tell them, because you need to tell them, they need to know, it's grand and wonderful, and they've got that lopsided slightly exasperated grin and punch you in the arm, and say "Seriously, that was it? I don't believe you, sometimes", and they tell you of their own research, and how it might fit. Caitrion is a bit stiff with At Teshiah, a quiver in her shoulders, a skip in her answer, filled with... With what? There are others in the valley, however, who come around. Chyshe develops a cataloguing system that makes everything so much easier, and you can bounce the greatest ideas off Mrese's skull. In a way, Carcela is this missing thing, you all exist, but few even know of you, and fewer come here. You're missing from the world and the world is missing from you, but that's alright. You're still there. Caitrion skips more times, they're spinning, grasping something while missing hands. But they're still there. You feel it like being torn in half. You wake up to a sun that has not skipped ahead, but you're in the skip. You don't know where Caitrion is. You hurry home because that's where they were last, and you don't find them there, just someone looking like them who is writhing on the floor in pain. Someone you, intellectually, recognize as Caitrion. But it's not them. It's not them. It can't be them. You'd know it was them on a visceral level. The visceral level is gone. Your sense of Caitrion is gone. They're not. They're still here, but... not. "No. I see.", they say. "And I do not like it." And then they're gone. You know they're out there, somewhere, but when you close your eyes and feel where they are, like listening to the wind or to your own pulse, there's silence. Like eating, and tasting nothing. Like opening your eyes, but not seeing. Holding something, but it's like it wasn't there. But you're still there. You're in your home and you expect three things but there's only two. You want to water the plants, but they've all been moved. There's a room that was occupied just yesterday, but it suddenly isn't. Except it is. Except it isn't. There's early snow, except At Teshiah tells you it's on time. There was a skip. But you're still there. You're the skip. Yes, that's the same Yond from the previous prompt fill.
Prompt: Losing a loved one. This is a concept I've had in my mind for a while now, probably at least partially inspired by both Welcome to Night Vale and the cherubs of Homestuck. (eta: It's also definitely inspired by China Miéville's Embassytown.) I ended up writing way more than I expected - it's about 1860 words. (eta: Ironically, @whimsicalobservant, it looks like we've both written about twins. More or less.) indivi(dual) Spoiler Three days now she had spent mustering courage, and three nights now she had curled her hand around the knife in her pocket and done nothing. It was past sunrise now on the fourth day since her birthday, and her doubleself still yet slept. Their room's wide windows faced the east, and when the sun rose, so did she. It was thus her job to wake her double, before any of their family could intrude and see one part of Jae Virkos still in slumber while the other coolly observed the world. It would be unseemly. In truth she should have tried harder in years past to either change her double, so that she would rise with the sun as she did, or change herself, to naturally sleep in later. Perhaps her task would be easier if she had, if their differences weren't becoming greater with every passing day. As it was, she sat upright, staring down at the tangled bedsheets and her sleeping double. At the truth she had tucked away for years: that they were diverging from one another. As the sun's rays grew longer, she looked at her double, who shared her pale blue skin, her focused stare, even her lightning-quick wit, and a traitorous, shameful thought stole across her mind: this is a different person. Immediately she chastised herself for even thinking it, reminded herself that even if she and her double did diverge in sleeping habits, in favorite foods, in favorite friends, in dreams... these were only minor divergences. In every way that mattered they were one. One mind. One soul. One name. One person, merely mirrored across two bodies. Yet the thought came again: she is a different person. She slept on, undisturbed by the dreams that plagued the part of Jae that now sat awake. Dreams of accusations, proclaiming her guilty for a crime she had yet to commit. For a crime that, in the waking world, in reality, was not a crime at all, not on Castor, the Aekili homeworld. If they were as similar as doubles ought to be, she thought, this would be easy. She would know that her double had the same views on the matter that she did, and while she would have to be cautious, wary of a strike in the night, while she would have to outsmart herself, at least she would be free of this guilt, this absurd conscience shrieking that she was wrong. For if she and her double thought similarly on this matter, neither would be innocent. Jae Virkos had celebrated her twenty-second birthday three days ago, and while the celebration had been fun, it was also a bitter reminder of what was to come, at least for the part of her that sat awake. Nearly all of her friends were individuals by now, adults at last, with the markings on their foreheads to prove it. Only Zelias was still doubled, but judging by the hatred she'd seen in each part of him when he looked at himself, that wouldn't last long. She wondered which mark he would end up with; would it point left, for intellect, or right, for strength? After the guests had left, there had been a muted private celebration, just Jae, her parents, and her younger brother, Ky, who remained blissfully unaware of any tension. The awakened part of Jae envied him for that, for that childish naivety. Ky didn't notice the gruff silence of their father or the judgmental stare of their mother. She was twenty-two now and still not an individual, which bordered on dangerously childish. Oh, certainly nothing would be said outright for another year, and Jae would still be accepted in her normal social circles without question. But the whispers would grow, and the frowns, until Jae turned twenty-three, and then they would call her childish, outcast, coward. This part of Jae had no intention of waiting until she was twenty-three to become an adult. It was about time she grew up, gained the status she deserved as an individual. Embark on the rest of her life. And she intended to be the one to claim that life - she wasn't about to yield it to the other part of her. As such, on the night of her twenty-second birthday, she stole away from her room in the dead of night and slipped a pocketknife into her sleeve, returning to her room swiftly, to reduce the chance of anyone seeing her without her double. That night she settled back into bed, watched her double sleep on, blissfully unaware... and did nothing. That night, and two nights more, she could only watch, until she too fell asleep. Unable to move. Unable to strike. Able only to watch, and curse inwardly. If she had become afflicted with the bloodlust, as many Aekili did upon reaching adulthood, she would not be conflicted; she would only feel a deep, festering hatred for her double. Or if her double had the bloodlust instead, she would at least have the comfort of acting in self-defense. But neither had occurred, and worse, her double appeared to harbor none of the murderous thoughts that she did. (It is not murder, she reminded herself. It is only murder if you kill a different person. She is part of you, and killing part of you is only one part of you dominating over the other.) Were it up to her double, Jae would remain a child for another year, perhaps even indefinitely. This part of Jae, the one with a knife in her hand, did not intend to face that ridicule, those whispers. This part of Jae was tired of being only "this part of" Jae. (It is not murder. It is the natural way of things.) Not experiencing the bloodlust was, of course, no excuse. Yet the trial she faced was the greatest of the four trials of dominance, for she had neither hatred nor self-preservation to drive her, and her double had not died in some stroke of misfortune. (Dominance of one part of the self over the other is not to be mourned, but celebrated.) (It is not murder.) This was no test of strength, nor intellect, nor luck. This was a trial of will. (It is not murder. She is not a different person. She and you are one.) It was childish to treasure your double, to let your love of them stay your hand. It was cowardly, weak. She stared at her sleeping double, at the picture of peace she made, sprawled across the bed, the morning sun bringing a warm tint to her skin. Her double wore a soft smile on her face - no doubt her dreams were as peaceful as she was. For while her double had as sharp a tongue as she did, there was no malice in her heart. She would not even consider smuggling a knife to bed, and she did not hear the whispers calling her - - "monster" - - "murderer" - (it is not murder) - as she slept. If her double was peace, then she was war - a more Aeklilian virtue, to be sure. Yet despite knowing how right and natural this was, how the strong dominating the weak was the Aekilian way - despite all of this, she felt as though she was on the edge of a precipice. Like if she were to hide away the knife for another day, another night, she might never pick it up again, the will to strike forever lost. (murder) This is not murder, she told herself, steeling her nerves. This is dominance. This is, at long last, becoming her own person. This is her will. Knife in hand, she turned to fully face her double, considering. Swung a leg over her double, straddling her - she had no fear that she would wake, for that part of Jae Virkos slept deeply. If she chose, she could strike now, prevent any chance of her fighting back. Instead, with her other hand she patted her double's face lightly. "Wake up," she said, and heard a tremble in her voice. She pursed her lips, tried again. "Wake up," she commanded, and was rewarded with her double's eyes fluttering open. "What's... going on?" she muttered. "Will," she said, and held the knife to her double's chest, the tip just above the skin. Her double inhaled sharply, eyes flying open, before she slumped back. "And here I thought... I had more time," she said, eyes shuttering. Her use of "I" to express only that part of Jae, rather than the whole of Jae, was unorthodox, more than improper... but here, in this moment, where Jae diverged from herself, it felt natural. "You expected this?" "Is my mind in any way hidden to you?" "No." There had never been any question as to whether her double could be hiding some intent to kill. She knew her double too well for that. "So yours is not hidden to me. I only thought... perhaps a few months longer. Not the whole year, certainly, but a few months..." She exhaled. "Well." "Indeed." She tightened her hold on the knife, but hesitated. "Why did you not resist?" she asked, softly. "Make preparations? It would be self-defense." "It would be ultimately fruitless unless I was willing to kill you, and I am not. Even now." Her double looked her in the eye. "Go on then, Jae. Don't let my love get in the way." Still she hesitated, teetering on the precipice. Perhaps her double could tell (of course she could tell), for she added, eyes darkening, "Prove you have that vaunted will you care so much about." Her lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. Jae struck, driving the knife into her double's heart. Blood welled out of the wound, spilling across her hands, soaking into the sheets. (Murderer.) She trembled, and found herself weeping, pressing her forehead to her double's, watching the light leave her eyes. Knew that once she left, she would be expected to be strong, to be proud - yet in this moment she could not imagine feeling anything but this grief, intertwined with sick shame. The sun was well above the horizon when Jae Virkos finally sat up. The sun cast its light into the bloodstained bedroom as Jae dipped trembling fingers into the wound, reached them up to paint the hallowed mark of will on her forehead. Later, she would be marked permanently, but not yet. Not yet. (Murderer.) She did not ask, what have I done? She knew all too well what she had done, the life she had taken, the crime that would haunt her for the rest of her days. Aekili justice did not consider it a crime, but she knew the truth. Her double had been a different person from herself, and she had killed her, and now she was alone. Her double would not breathe again, sleep again, would never even have a name of her own. The grief, the guilt, the stark truth; all of these hung invisible around her neck, a millstone she would forever carry, even as society would laud her for her dominance, for her vaunted will.
If I do that, I'll just snap up all the easy ones and never get around to the hard ones, and then I'll never improve
*stops writing first story, starts on another in the same continuity to the new prompt* I think I'm trash for my own fictional universe. But at least I'm writing again!
Prompt: Losing a loved one At least it was shorter than the other one! This is out of the middle of a much bigger plot, though I did my best to make it make sense on its own. The setting is multiverse-hopping science fantasy. Superpowers-magic-and-traveling-between-dimensions school is expensive, but since the students have superpowers, magic, and can travel between dimensions, (and because the school is kind of fucked up) they can pay their way as mercenaries. CW for child abuse, dissociation, mind control, and underage soldiers. The narrator is not entirely reliable, and likes footnotes. A Tale of The Atlas of Worlds (in which your faithful narrator's words are frequently disregarded) Spoiler: story It was much like being asleep, but the dreams were bad. Zach was aware, in a corner of his mind, that his mind was under telepathic override, that his body was stumbling around under some other psychic’s direction. It was a technique he’d learned about in school (he went to a very unusual school) though he hadn’t learned to do it himself yet. At the time, the dreams seemed much more important to him. He stumbled through a variety of dark and chilly dreamscapes. The situation changed often, as dreams do, but usually he was looking for someone, or for something to eat. His captors would have had no idea what he was dreaming, or even that he was dreaming. His consciousness was completely disconnected from motor functions, even more thoroughly than in natural sleep. Their telepath could have peeked through her own barriers, but did not. She didn’t care, and she didn’t choose to be cruel, and there were better ways to do psychic interrogation if she needed more information, which she didn’t.1 When the override ended, though, Zach’s mind crashed back into control of his body. He was sitting on a hard floor, surrounded by his enemies, and he recoiled in terror before he saw them. Humiliated, he closed his eyes, gathered himself, and said, “I surrender,” which he hadn’t had time to say when he was captured. “No shit,” someone answered. “We splattered you. Say it in Celestian.” Zach realized he’d been so woozy he’d surrendered in English. He opened his eyes, and repeated it in the angels’ language. Only two of the enemy planeswalkers looking down at him were angels. The other two were a faerie called Puck, who Zach knew slightly, and a human he did not. Young but older than him, they were senior students at the Babel Academy where he was a junior. But Celestian was also the mostly-accepted common language at the multi-species Academy, so they all understood him now. “It was a good try, little cousin!” Puck said in the same language. He held out a thin, long switch of wood with the bark still on, a piece of the World Tree and thus a terminal of a computation network powerful enough to bend realities. “Zachary Amsterdam of Team Atlas, I bind you by geas.” Zach touched the wand before Puck could poke him with it. He caught a glimpse of the vastness of Yggdrasil’s mind, and flinched.2 “You are bound,” Puck said, “to submit to captivity, to attempt no escape, to offer no resistance or aid to resistance…” Zach let the legal terms wash over him without really listening. He didn’t have to know what they were, he was going to follow them anyway. A geas is more like bending the subject’s future than controlling their mind. God, Zach thought, they really had gotten splattered. He’d known the probability of losing this battle when they made the plan, but they’d been doing okay. Not winning, exactly, but they’d had the angel planeswalkers, the Traveler’s Syndicate, off-balance and confused. Then the Babel seniors, Team Nova, had made their counterstrike. They'd hit Zach, Taro, and Kit, each out of contact with the enemy, in different places, and supposedly hidden, all at the same time. Zach had gone down in about two seconds. Taro had been shot out of the air, sniped straight through the cloud layer, and from that altitude he was probably dead. Kit was probably not dead, being immortal, but judging by the impossible flare of magic that started the ambush, Team Nova knew a way to contain or disable a protean. “… until you are returned to Babel at the end of hostilities,” Puck finished. “So where do I go now?” Zach asked. “The town jail?” Puck snorted, and the human girl gave him a funny look. “It’s an angel colony,” she said. “They don’t have a jail.”3 Zach shrugged. “Hey, they’ve got lots of things angels don’t usually have, here. An army,” he tilted his head at the Travelers, “an aggressive foreign policy. Money, apparently, since they hired you guys. Why not a jail?” Crap, Zach thought, that was a hint. Zach shouldn’t be giving away hints. Had there been something sneaky in the geas that he hadn’t listened to? He snapped his mouth shut. “Oh dear,” Puck said. “Did I forget to forbid psychological warfare and sedition in that surrender geas? How silly of me.” His teammate and the Travelers all glared at him. “Up you stand, little cousin, we’ve got a nice storage room in the basement for you. With a lock spell, since physical locks seem hard to come by in this town.” Puck led him down personally, and alone – well, what did he have to be afraid of? Zach was geasbound. There were ways to break a geas, maybe, but not without Yggdrasil knowing it was broken. “Your backup plan isn’t bad,” Puck said casually. “If we let you contact the general population of the town, you probably could affect their will to fight, even without your psi.” Zach pretended he hadn’t heard. “For all the sweetness and light they claim for themselves, angels are awfully good at guilt, aren’t they? Sadly, the Travelers intend to tell their people that all of you are dead.” “Propaganda?” Zach said, before he could stop himself. “That’s another for the angels-aren’t-supposed-to-do-that list.” He tried not to panic. Okay, this was the geas, he was geasbound to hint at tactical secrets. But that was probably all the betrayal Puck had been able to put in, the future would only bend so far. If Zach was stubborn enough, or cryptic enough… “Outright lies, in fact, at least so far.” Puck bowed Zach into his improvised cell with ironic grace. “Here you are, little cousin. Give me some words to win by.” “The enemy gate is down,” Zach blurted. Puck raised an eyebrow, and closed the door. Zach curled up on the mat in the corner of the room, to worry for Taro and to curse himself for an idiot and a failure.4 - For various reasons, your illustrious narrator will be, in a manner of speaking, keeping his distance from the following scene.5 I hope you will not think too harshly of the character introduced therein. It was a difficult time. - One way to disorient and dishearten a prisoner is to keep the lights on all the time, so they lose track of the day-night cycle. Another way, as Team Nova discovered by accident, is to give the prisoner control of their own light switch, but no windows or clock or any other way to tell time, so they disorient themselves. Food was teleported into Zach’s closet/cell twice, once by psi and once by magic, but not by any schedule. He slept twice, once on purpose with the light off and once by just drifting off after a crying jag, but these felt like naps rather than a real night’s rest. Still, Zach was fairly confident it was the next day when his door opened again. He was curled up on his side, facing away from the door. “Unless you’re Souten or Kit come to rescue me, I don’t want to talk to you.” He heard the door close, and a rustling as his visitor sat down, and spoke in English. “It really is you.” Zach froze. “What.” “Yeah, you know my voice. Turn around, brother.” Students of Babel Academy sometimes use family titles among themselves. On some teams, though usually not Team Atlas, teammates called each other ‘brother’ or ‘sister.' This was not that. “Tommy!” Zach scrambled around, and saw his little brother in Traveling clothes – a one-piece suit of silvery fabric that might stop a laser, with a stiffer layer under it that might stop a knife. There was a tool belt, too, holding among other things weapons. Zach didn’t know, and Tommy didn’t intend to tell him, that the laser pistol was uncharged. “You – what – how did you get here?” “Took the Gate from Celestia.” “Pfuh. How did you get to Celestia?” “Same way you got to Babel, I bet. Just teleported right out of the house, and the universe, basically by accident.” Tommy hunched up where he sat. “I thought maybe I’d end up where you were. Or where Mom was. But I guess it doesn’t work like that. The angels were… they were angels. They took care of me. The Travelers showed up, because, y’know, human.” “And free jumper,” Zach added. “Angels use Gates. Someone who could planeswalk on their own would be really useful.” “Yeah, I guess. They let me come along, anyway.” Zach frowned. “Wait. You said ‘where Mom was.’ Wasn’t she home with you?” He made a face. “Did she jump too? Are we gonna find Mom running around on, I dunno, Gaea or Carcerus or something?” “Mom’s dead, Zach.” The world behind Zach’s eyes went white, and slow, and very strange. His face was still, but Tommy’s telepathy was not constrained by a geas. He could easily have noticed Zach’s feelings, if he’d chosen to. “You saw her dying. She didn’t even make it to the hospital.” “The EMT,” Zach said, slow and level, “said she’d be fine.” “He lied! Come on, Zach, we’re psychic. We weren’t trained yet but we could tell when grownups lied to us. Don’t tell me you didn’t know!” “I didn’t know,” Zach said, wondering if he had. That thought, Tommy read. “I know when you’re lying, too.” Zach didn’t answer that. “She had brain cancer, Zach. They said it would have killed her soon anyway, even if she hadn’t had the stroke.” “Oh.” “Don’t you get it? It was in her brain. That’s why – the doctor said it would have been affecting her personality. Her actions.” “I don’t think I like what you’re saying, Tommy.” “She was sick, Zach. It wasn’t her fault.” The white in Zach’s mind became very loud, and felt like it was moving. Falling, maybe. “It was not me,” he said, enunciating very clearly, “who would lock the basement door. I couldn’t have. The lock is on the wrong side.” “Zach, don’t be stupid…” “It was never you that heated up the kettle,” Zach said. “What did you tell the angels about the scar on your hand.” “… the same thing I told the doctors,” Tommy sighed, though it hadn’t really been a question. He was wearing gloves. Traveling clothes came with gloves, though the two Travelers that Zach had met the day before had not been wearing them. “I know it sucked, Zach. It was bad. But it wasn’t her.” “You're saying we were raised by a brain tumor.” “The times between,” Tommy said, “remember? When she wasn’t mad, when she made sense. She was nice to us then. That’s how she really felt! She was sorry, she couldn’t help it.” “I’ve heard that before. She would say that.” “I – I – fuck you!” Tommy had never used that word before. “F- f- They put her on the ambulance and we turned around and you were gone. Vanished. Popped right out of your sneakers.” “I didn’t actually have them on.” “We turned around and you were gone,” Tommy said again. “We got to the hospital and Mom was dead. They called Dad and he didn’t pick up. Or they didn’t have the right number. Whatever, he never came, because he never has, why should he come back just because Mom died.” Zach understood this to be an accusation, something like, you started it, you left and then I was alone. Inside the whiteness, it didn't bother him. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “I almost wasn’t. I started praying for… I mean I had some weird thoughts…” They were interrupted by a muffled voice from the headset dangling around Tommy’s neck, saying something in Celestian about “…coming through the Gate.” The corner of Zach’s mouth twitched, in a way that was supposed to look like a smile, and he fulfilled his geas too late: “Hey, Tommy. Did you guys ever catch the angel on our team?” Tommy blinked. “You had an angel?” “No, coming here, from the other side. A flash syndicate from Celestia.” “I guess he must have gotten mixed up with the civilians that evacuated through the Gate,” Zach mused. “There wasn’t supposed to be any…” “No, they’re not reinforcements. They’re asking why we’re aggressing against less developed communities.” Then, shortly, “There’s kind of a lot of them.” “What did you do?” Tommy whispered. “We looked at the big picture,” Zach said, and his mouth twitched again. “The enemy gate is down.” Tommy ran out of the room, and Zach settled in to wait. ----- Spoiler: footnotes 1 Or at least, she thought she didn’t. If it were me, I’d have read Zach’s mind the instant I’d caught him, no matter how well the battle was going. But no one, at this point in time, was taking advice from me. 2 Zach had encountered the mind of the World Tree before, and even spoken to it, but it’s not something you get used to. 3 In fact, they both had to use an Elemeccan loan word to even say jail. There is no such term in Celestian. I’m sure the Travelers were confused. 4 It might have already been too late at this point anyway, but in fact the hint was not understood. The phrase refers to a win condition that can be achieved despite an otherwise-hopeless disparity in strength. Puck, and even his human teammate, missed the reference and thought Team Atlas was hoping to sabotage the Gate between this colony world and the angel homeworld. There were, in fact, two people on the side of the angels who knew who Orson Scott Card was. But Team Nova’s nerdy demon was just then fighting a very flashy duel, (or beating up a little kid, depending on your perspective,) and as noted above, no one was talking to me. 5 Don’t expect any more charming footnotes for a while.
